by Dorothy Mack
Her mission accomplished, an attentive and relieved Vicky encouraged her host to expatiate on the contents of his library as they strolled back to the drawing room. There they found the two girls happily absorbed in conversation and the mistress of the establishment giving a fine performance as a mother not counting the minutes that her son has been absent in the company of a female who could wreck her plans for his future. Lady Lanscomb continued in this vein, expressing civil regret that the young ladies would not be able to stay to dine, and when they took their departure shortly afterward, almost outdoing her guests in the graciousness of her adieux.
CHAPTER 8
Despite an emphatic denial from his guest, Sir Hugh could see by the pallor that belied his brave words that the short journey from the Green Feather had taxed Mr. Massingham’s returning strength. Closing his ears to protests, he had the invalid installed in a bedchamber without delay. And there Mr. Massingham languished, well cosseted but unvisited by his host until the following morning. He had just consumed an enormous breakfast and was accepting a second cup of coffee from Ferris when Sir Hugh entered the large well-lighted chamber that looked over the carriage drive at the front of the house.
“Ah, that smells good. If there is another cup, Ferris, I’ll join Mr. Massingham.”
“Certainly, sir. I took the precaution of having another cup sent up,” replied the butler without a flicker as he poured out the aromatic liquid from a silver pot. “Will there be anything else, sir?”
“No, that will be all, thank you, Ferris.”
“Very good, sir.” The butler signalled to a silent footman to remove the large breakfast tray, leaving just the coffeepot. After an encompassing glance around the room to see that nothing had been omitted, he followed the footman out, closing the door soundlessly behind him.
“What an admirable creature, anticipating your every wish!” exclaimed Mr. Massingham in mock awe. “You do yourself proud, Hugh.”
Sir Hugh, unmoved by his guest’s teasing, studied his face as he took a sip of the steaming brew. “You are looking decidedly better this morning. How does the leg feel?”
The other man grinned. “It feels fine until I drop something on it like that book a few minutes before breakfast arrived; then it hurts like the very devil. I shall try walking on it a bit later.”
“Not until Dr. Jamison has signified his approval, you shan’t.”
Mr. Massingham’s expression grew stormy, but the fire died out of his eyes as his host continued to sip his coffee, his hazel glance steady and calm as ever.
“When is that damned leech coming?” the patient demanded irritably.
“He said he’d call in around noon.”
Mr. Massingham looked mollified and made an effort to remember his manners. “I haven’t even thanked you properly, Hugh,” he said a trifle awkwardly. “It’s good of you to put up with me. I’ve thrown your whole household into an uproar.”
“Nonsense. Did Ferris appear to you to be crumbling under the strain of your presence?”
“God, no!” Mr. Massingham laughed. “He strikes me as one who wouldn’t start at the blast of the last trump. He’d finish whatever task he was performing before presenting himself for judgment.”
This sally drew an appreciative smile from Sir Hugh.
“All the same, I’m mighty grateful to you for having me.”
His host brushed aside this attempt at thanks. “Nonsense,” he said again. “I plan to enjoy your company immensely as soon as you are on your feet, and Mama and Elaine will delight in cosseting you in the meantime.”
“Elaine?” queried Mr. Massingham. “You didn’t mention a wife the other evening. Is Elaine your sister?”
“Practically, I suppose. She is my mother’s ward and a most agreeable girl.”
“Ah! An heiress perhaps?” inquired Mr. Massingham with a knowing smile. “May I wish you success?”
A short silence succeeded this pleasantry; then Sir Hugh sighed resignedly. “You never did know the first letter of the word tact, Drew. If that dark face and clacking tongue of yours hadn’t made it a simple matter to pass you off as a Frenchie so he could slip you behind the lines on occasion, Wellington would have banished you to the farthest outpost of the campaign.”
“He kept me at arm’s length unless he wanted information. Said I was too brash by half,” Drew admitted ruefully. “You did say she was like a sister to you. I was out of line there, though I meant nothing by it.”
“No, but now that you have broached the subject, I think we might clear the air a bit. Miss Seymour tells me you intend to go on with this elopement if Miss Hedgeley acquiesces.”
“So she told you about that, did she? She would.”
“She could scarcely have avoided the issue under the circumstances,” Sir Hugh pointed out in a reasonable spirit, “so you needn’t look as ugly as bull beef. Miss Hedgeley is only seventeen, and she was in some distress when Miss Seymour found her. You could not expect anyone who possessed a conscience to abandon the child without making a push to rescue her.”
“Good Lord, anyone would think I’d abducted the girl! Drucilla was mighty eager to elope with me, which she’ll tell you herself if there is any truth in her. What was I supposed to do when she started putting on die-away airs in Stamford, eighty miles from London? Could I bring her back at that point, and no one the wiser, when she’d been gone all day and left a note behind detailing her intention to marry me?”
“You were in a bit of a cleft stick, to be sure,” conceded Sir Hugh, “but we needn’t consider that at this point. I gather Miss Seymour’s credit is good enough to envelop Miss Hedgeley’s absence in an aura of respectability if her uncle keeps his wits about him.” He looked a question.
“I have heard of the family,” replied Mr. Massingham grudgingly. “She is a niece of Lady Honoria Blakney, I believe. M’mother and Lady Honoria were bosom bows back in their schooldays.”
“Then all’s right and tight so far.” Sir Hugh eyed his brooding companion and charged ahead abruptly. “Is your heart set on wedding this girl?”
“I’ve run away with her, haven’t I?”
Sir High considered this reply for a moment, then said slowly, “Miss Seymour fears that your primary interest may be in Miss Hedgeley’s fortune.”
“That woman’s a menace! Except for her interference, I’d be married by now. And I’d be a good husband to Drucilla, too!”
The other man made no comment on this evasion, but asked instead, “Why did you not obtain her guardian’s consent to the match?”
The dark eyes of the man on the bed shifted away from his host’s and his lips tightened. For a time it seemed he had no intention of answering, but after a charged silence he turned a deliberately blank gaze back to the patiently waiting Sir Hugh. “Her uncle don’t approve of me or my rackety existence. He’s a fanatical Methodist — rails against dancing, gambling, racing, everything, in fact, except attending lectures by dissident preachers. Thinks Drucilla should sit home and sew or visit the sick in her spare time. Won’t let her have pretty clothes or go to parties — at least not Ton parties.”
“Miss Hedgeley was quite fashionably attired on the two occasions on which I have been in her company.”
“She bought some of those things on the sly and the rest before we left town. Kept me waiting and walking the horses for over an hour before we could set off. Very determined girl, Drucilla.”
“However did you meet her? It doesn’t sound as though you travelled in the same circles at all.”
“That was pure chance. She and her aunt were in a hackney carriage that bolted when a dray cart broke loose and ran across the street. I was on horseback and managed to stop the hack before any damage was done. The ladies were grateful, and the aunt gave me permission to call. Things were going along swimmingly until the uncle decided I wasn’t a proper influence on a young girl. So we had to find ways to meet without his knowledge.”
“Or you could have dropped the a
cquaintance, since Miss Hedgeley’s guardian did not approve of the connection.” Sir Hugh ignored Drew’s thinned lips and flared nostrils. “What about Lord Mallard? From what you have told me of Drucilla’s family, I cannot help wondering if he too might not regard such a marriage as a mésalliance.”
“I would not be at all surprised.”
Something in his friend’s voice caused Sir Hugh’s gaze to sharpen. Drew was facing the fireplace, but Hugh was seized with a sudden conviction that those dark eyes were staring at an internal picture, not perhaps a pretty picture, but one that was affording him a certain grim satisfaction.
“My esteemed great-uncle had done me the honour of selecting my bride.” The man on the bed glanced back at his host, and the absolute stillness of expectancy encouraged him to continue. “Her lineage, as you may imagine, is impeccable. No, Drucilla won’t win my uncle’s heart with her black eyes and dimples. Her birth’s unexceptionable on the paternal side, but just let him get wind of a pack of religious merchants!” He let out a rude crack of laughter and lapsed into silence.
Curiosity and good breeding warred in Sir Hugh’s breast for a time when it looked as though Drew had finished with the subject. Eventually, curiosity triumphed. “Was the girl an antidote?”
“Who? Oh, my uncle’s choice! No, she’s quite good-looking if you like ’em cool, blond, and heartless, which I emphatically do not! She’s in the same style as the Seymour female.”
“I scarcely think any female who nursed a patient around the clock for days could be accurately described as heartless by the beneficiary of that devotion, unless he himself had too little heart to recognise the quality,” declared Sir Hugh, not bothering to conceal his contempt.
Mr. Massingham had the grace to look ashamed. “I shouldn’t have said that,” he admitted honestly. “The woman has only done what she thought was her duty, but you must see that she’s thrown my life into chaos!”
“What were you doing to your life by contracting an impulsive marriage that will be much disliked by both families?”
There was another tense pause; then Mr. Massingham quoted in a flippant tone that contained more than a trace of bitterness, “I am ‘one whom the vile blows and buffets of the world have so incensed that I am reckless what I do to spite the world!’ ”
“If by ‘the world’ you mean your great-uncle,” retorted Sir Hugh, reducing the high-flung quotation to prosaic terms, “how does your reckless marriage spite him?”
Drew looked at his friend with a kindling eye. “My uncle’s choice of bride was not merely a suggestion, you understand; it was an order! And do not be thinking the affair was to be gracefully arranged with a noncommittal introduction performed by a mutual friend and the two parties being given an opportunity to become better acquainted under pleasant conditions like a house party. My uncle had no opinion of such niminy-piminy foolishness as that! To him, a facade of good manners is sheer hypocrisy, as well as a waste of time, a commodity about which he is almost as clutch-fisted as with money. No, I was summoned to his side almost the moment I returned from Brussels and presented with a fait accompli. He believed it high time I married, he had selected a suitable girl for the honour, she was waiting in the pink saloon, and I was to lose no time in making her an offer.”
“Rather disconcerting,” murmured Sir Hugh.
“To say the least! The only insult he omitted was in not having the girl present while he delivered the ultimatum.” Drew raised a hand to forestall any comment. “And whatever you may believe about my lack of finesse, Hugh, I remembered that he was an old man and that he was out of touch with my generation. I even reminded myself that he was desperate to see me married with a son who would keep my cousin Harry out of the succession. I had had to keep him in the dark about joining the army,” he explained in an aside. “He despised Harry’s father wholeheartedly, so that my health is a great concern to him. I promised him that I would meet the girl with an open mind.
“Now, you might think he’d be pleased to find me so amenable, but not he! He merely threatened to cut me off with the proverbial shilling if I did not do as he commanded.”
“And you could not bring yourself to comply?”
“Not after I saw whom he had chosen for me, not for two fortunes!”
“Dear me. And yet I believe you said the girl was not unattractive?”
“Oh, Melissa’s pretty enough — at least I imagine a stranger would find her so — until he got to know her for the vain, cold, vindictive, and heartless creature she is and always has been.”
“You were already acquainted with this unappealing lady?”
“All my life, or so it seems. The families were friends. She was always around during my childhood, and many’s the punishment I’ve endured because of that lying vixen and her tricks. But that is neither here nor there, though the fact of her being still unwed at twenty-seven should tell you something. I told the old man as gently as I could that nothing on earth would induce me to marry her. I even offered to take her younger sister if it was the breeding that concerned him, but he flew into a rage. I wouldn’t have been surprised to have seen him carried off then and there by an apoplexy. Roared all the traditional oaths, warned me never to darken his door again, cut off the allowance he had made me while I was in the army, and promised to change his will so that I’d never see a penny or an acre that wasn’t part of the entail.”
“While you were remembering his age and his desire to keep your cousin out of the succession, perhaps you should have recalled also that he held the purse strings,” suggested Sir Hugh dryly.
“I have no intention of dancing to any tune of my great-uncle’s piping.”
Sir Hugh read stubbornness in the set of his friend’s jaw, and resentment in his narrowed eyes. “And so, to show Lord Mallard that he had no power to command your obedience, you cut off your nose to spite your face by embarking on this marriage venture,” he summarised, not mincing words.
“It wasn’t like that,” protested the man on the bed, moving his legs restlessly. “Drucilla’s a delightful piece, and a man must live, after all. I might be able to retrench and manage on my income if I were still at Heather Hills, but the place is leased for the next fifteen months. After my mother died, the estate started to go downhill. I couldn’t trust the bailiff when I was out of the country, so I had my lawyer lease it for me. I didn’t know I’d be coming back to England so soon. Life is damned expensive in London. One has to spend the time doing something! I’ve run up some debts and —”
“How deep in dun territory are you?”
“Not too badly dipped, though without that allowance I’ll never come about.” He shrugged broad shoulders under the brocaded robe. “Some people live on their expectations for years, never more than one step ahead of the tipstaffs. I don’t want that.”
“Hence Miss Hedgeley?”
“Well, I admit I had not planned on becoming a tenant for life for a while yet, but it’s a solution, and if I must be married, I’d as soon marry Drucilla as any of those whey-faced milk-and-water misses that parade through Almack’s every year. She’s good fun and good-tempered, though I did think she had rather more spirit. But,” he added philosophically, “one can’t have everything, and though I have no desire to sound like a coxcomb, she certainly did not need much persuading into that elopement.”
“Perhaps she wished to spite her uncle also.”
This suggestion, offered in a somewhat facetious spirit, was considered seriously by Mr. Massingham.
“That may be part of it, but the girl is attached to me, and I’m not going to let her down by crying off now. That would be the act of a cad. I’m well aware Miss Seymour thinks me no gentleman, but I wouldn’t sink so low as to break that girl’s heart!”
After two meetings with Miss Hedgeley, Sir Hugh’s opinion was that her heart was made of sterner stuff than her betrothed imagined. He would have said she was simply testing her wings, so to speak, and had not as yet formed a lasting attachm
ent. Before he had the opportunity to articulate this observation, however, a disturbance at the door heralded the arrival of Ferris with the information that Lady Lanscomb and Miss Fairchild would like to meet Mr. Massingham if he felt able to receive them.
At Drew’s nod, Sir Hugh told Ferris to show the ladies up. He barely had time to warn his friend not to betray any prior acquaintance with Miss Hedgeley, a command that brought a lowering scowl to the latter’s face, when Lady Lanscomb entered the room in a soft rustle of skirts. Elaine slipped in behind her, and the butler withdrew.
Sir Hugh performed the introductions, drawing up chairs for the ladies around the huge tester bed.
Mr. Massingham was staring thunderstruck at the older woman. “No, no, you are hoaxing me, ma’am,” he protested, raising his hostess’ extended hand to his lips. “I might be persuaded to accept you as Miss Fairchild’s mama, but it is inconceivable that you could be the parent of this great gawk. It is pure anachronism!”
“Pshaw, you naughty man!” exclaimed Lady Lanscomb, all dimples and smiles. “Hugh told us that you were noted in the regiment as a fearful tease, but he failed to mention that you were also a flatterer!”
Mr. Massingham clutched his left breast in agony. “Your doubt of my veracity wounds me to the quick, my lady. Someone has been traducing my character.”
“Fustian!” declared her ladyship, settling happily onto the chair nearest the bed. “It’s my guess that for once rumour has been most accurate.”
When Sir Hugh left the room in response to a message five minutes later, his lively parent and his outrageous guest were well-launched on a light-hearted flirtation under the appreciative eye of his mother’s ward.
CHAPTER 9
Humming softly, Miss Victoria Seymour let herself out a side entrance and headed toward the stables at a leisurely pace. Overhead, two or three cotton-puff clouds appeared stationary in a dazzlingly blue sky. The grass under her feet was soft and resilient, the air was warm with the barest hint of an autumn nip — a glorious day, perfect for exercising Shadow, perfect for any outdoor activity, perfect for simply existing. There was a spring in her step, and the gravel under her feet made a satisfactory crunching sound. Her booted feet executed a little skip as she flung her arms up into the air in an all-embracing gesture of delight, following which she cast a quick embarrassed look around, hoping none of the servants were observing their mistress’ odd behaviour. She was still completely alone, and once more she experienced that strange little tingle of pleasure in solitude that had occurred when she walked on the road leading from the Green Feather.