by Carola Dunn
“Not in the least.” She pulled her hand away. “I do not care for parties. Pray leave me alone, Luke. I have the headache.”
Gerard, basking in the pleasure of having a friend of his own age with whom he had no need be on guard, as he had in Switzerland, made no demur.
Only the weather could now upset Luke’s plans.
The weather cooperated. A few high mare’s-tails wisped in the western sky, but the sun shone bright and the cooling breeze was welcome.
The family at the Mote, the medieval manor in Ightham, were at home, delighted to see the Everetts and happy to show off their house to the Darcys. The two young ladies thought a picnic on Oldbury Hill the best idea in the world, could not imagine why they had not thought of it themselves. Their brother, who was preparing for the ministry, was persuaded that it was not unthinkably wicked to eat alfresco on the Lord’s Day, and they joined the party.
With the group thus enlarged, Luke could not in common politeness monopolise Gabrielle. He was amused to see that the future churchman was greatly taken with her. How shocked he would be if he knew the half of her adventures!
A thin haze of clouds spread gradually over the sky, and the ladies, in their thin muslins, began to shiver as the breeze grew stronger. Two hours exploring the grass-grown ruins proved enough even for Gerard and Rolf, and the hampers had long since been emptied of all but crumbs and ants.
They walked down the hill to the carriages, and farewells were said. Gabrielle and Dorothea donned the wraps they had brought with them, Luke and Rolf took up the reins, and. they set out for Wrotham.
A mile or two beyond Ightham they came to a crossroads. The gig, in the lead, went straight across.
“Are you warm enough?” asked Luke, turning to Gabrielle. “Then we will turn left here and go home a different way. It is a little longer but very pretty.”
Since he forgot to watch where he was going, it turned out to be considerably longer.
“How on earth did we get here?” he said in surprise as they drove into a small town.
“The horses brought us,” said Gabrielle. “Are we not where we are supposed to be?”
“No! This is Sevenoaks. I must have missed the turn. Lord, look at the time!” He pointed at the church clock. “I promised to be back by evensong and we shall never make it.
“I got up early and went to the eight o’clock service,” said Gabrielle, putting on a saintly face. “We could stay here, look about the town, and then go to evensong here.”
“I must not keep you out so long. Gerard will be wondering where you are.”
“Fustian! Gerard knows better than to worry over me.”
“Lady Harrison, then. I expect she and my stepmother will ring a peal over me for endangering your reputation.”
“Have you endangered my reputation?”
"Not in the least. But you know how elderly ladies fuss.”
“You cannot call Lady Cecilia elderly! I daresay she is not many years older than you are. And madame is of an age with my father, I believe, though she looks older because of what she refers to as her embonpoint.”
He laughed. “All the same, we will go home now.” Driving round the town square, he directed his team back down the lane by which they had arrived. “Have you not heard from your father yet?” he asked seriously.
“No, not a word.”
Hearing the tremor in her voice, he said, “Communications with the continent are particularly difficult at present, as I have reason to know. You must not think that because you have received no news, he has sent none.”
“If we were only expecting a message! But he told us he would follow us here if we decided to come without him. He should have arrived by now, I am sure.”
“What is his business? What might have delayed him? Wait, here is the turn and I nearly missed it again.” They entered a narrow lane so overhung by huge oaks that it formed a long, dark tunnel. "You have a shocking effect on my driving, Miss Darcy.”
“How fortunate that the evenings are so light at this season, in spite of the clouds, or I daresay we should be hopelessly lost. I wish you will call me Gabrielle, since you have said that I may call you Luke.”
"May I?”
“You may, as long as you promise never to shorten it to Gaby, as Gerard does. He used to call me Gabby, when he was little. I don’t know which is worse—to be named a simpleton or a chatterbox!”
“Since you are neither, Gabrielle, I have no difficulty in promising. Yours is a beautiful name that does not deserve abbreviation. Mine is different. I have always been called Luke, except when I was in a scrape as a child. I beg that you will never call me Lucius!”
“Unless I am excessively displeased with you,” she said, laughing. “I make no promises; I shall hold it in reserve.”
They drove out of the tunnel of oak trees. The sky was by now dark grey and threatening, and Luke urged the horses to a trot. They reached Wrotham village as the church clock struck seven, and a few minutes later pulled up outside the Dower House.
Tombaugh came out to hold the horses while Luke helped Gabrielle down from the tilbury.
“There’s a visitor, miss,” he said. “Come to stay a couple o’ days, my lady says.”
“Oh? Who is it, Tombaugh?”
“A Monser Derveenar, miss. A Frenchie, I reckon.”
“Alain! How delightful! You know Alain de Vignard, don’t you, Luke? Will you come in?”
“Thank you, no. I had better get on home, for I must leave early tomorrow. Goodbye, Miss Darcy.”
As he climbed back into the carriage, a few drops of rain fell.
Chapter 16
“I don’t like to bear tales, miss,” said Tombaugh ominously.
Luke called me “Miss Darcy!" thought Gabrielle. What is amiss?
“But the wife says as it’s me clear, bounden dooty.” Perhaps he does not like it that Alain has come to visit? “And I couldn’t tell her la’ship, being as she’s so almighty fond o’ the woman.”
He could not suppose that she was responsible!
“But I seen it wi’ me own eyes. Swear to it in a court o’ law, I would.”
She had not invited him, after all. He was far more Madame’s friend than hers.
“Right there, they was, under them elm trees: Mam’selle Marie hobnobbling wi’ Master Luke’s man Baxter.”
No, he was just being discreet, observing strict propriety in the presence of Tombaugh.
“What did you say, Tombaugh?”
“Her la’ship’s abigail, out there right early this morning she were, hobnobbling wi’ Baxter.”
“Hobnobbing with Baxter! You must be mistaken.”
“Wi’ me own eyes I seen it,” he repeated obstinately.
“Called the missus, didn’t I, and she’ll say the same. ‘Tain’t right, she says, and miss ought to be tol’.”
“How odd!” Gabrielle remembered how Marie and Mrs Tombaugh had nearly come to cuffs over the raspberry tarts. Any tattle from that quarter must be taken with a pinch of salt. “I am sure there is a perfectly reasonable explanation,” she soothed. “It may be that Baxter was bearing a message for Lady Harrison from Lady Cecilia.”
Tombaugh snorted.
“Up to no good,” he muttered. “That Baxter’s allus been a queer nabs, if you was to ask me. Neither groom nor gentleman’s gentleman, not properly.”
“That’s enough!” said Gabrielle sharply. “I do not care to hear you criticising either Mr Everett’s or her ladyship’s choice of servants. You will not refine upon this incident, if you please. I wish to hear no more about it.”
Baxter, she knew, was far more than groom or valet to Luke. If spiteful minds had not invented the whole story, it was possible that he was engaged upon some investigation for the Foreign Office. Rumours floating about the countryside could only hinder him.
“You will not speak of this again,” she repeated firmly, and went on into the drawing room.
Alain was alone there, looking o
ut of the window as he had been the first time she had seen him, in Russell Square. When he turned, she thought he looked as handsome as ever but thinner, his face almost haggard.
“Are you unwell?” she asked, stepping forward with hands outstretched. “You do not look at all the thing.”
He took both hands and raised one to his lips.
“Right as a trivet,” he said with an effortful smile, “if I have that extraordinary English phrase correct. How do you go on, Miss Darcy?”
“Very well. Is madame gone up already?”
“Yes, and Gerard is not home yet. She vows that if he is late for dinner again, he shall not eat.”
“No fear of that! If he may not eat in the dining room, he will do very well in the kitchen. I had best go change for dinner myself, or I shall be late.”
“Wait a moment, Miss Darcy. I had hoped to have a private word with you.”
She looked at him closely. “There is something wrong, isn’t there. Dorothea?” Sitting down, she waved him to a chair.
He bit his lip. “Yes. I hoped we had not drawn attention to ourselves, but if you observed us, her mother and brother must have done so also. She suspected that was why she was forced to leave London early.”
“So I guessed. You are come down to meet her?”
“I did not intend to. I wanted only to see her surroundings, find out whether she was well, perhaps catch a glimpse of her in the distance. I know there is no future for us, and I have told her so a thousand times. She is born for better than to be shackled to a penniless refugee, even if this ghastly business . . . even if her family did not stand in the way. I ought not to see her.”
“Probably not.” It was Gabrielle’s turn to bite her lip. “But it is my belief she is pining for you. She has been in the megrims ever since we came here, though she has not confided in me.”
“She is the dearest, sweetest angel! I cannot bear to think that she is unhappy. What must I do, Miss Darcy? I would not have her think I have abandoned her, yet to give her false hope were the act of a scoundrel!”
“What a coil! Oh dear, I do not know what to advise.”
“No, it was infamous of me to burden you with our troubles. I must make up my own mind. But if I decide to ask her to meet me, will you be my messenger?”
“Yes, if you will promise that should she refuse, you will accept her decision gracefully and not attempt again to contact her.”
“I promise.” Alain’s face was agonised. “If she should have the strength to reject me of her own free will, then all the love I bear her could not justify further endeavours on my part.”
“Gabrielle!” Gerard burst into the room, this time comparatively clean but decidedly dishevelled. “Rolf is teaching me to drive the gig! Is it not famous? Oh, hello, Alain. You must come out with us tomorrow and I will show you. I nearly made it through the gate on the second try, but the back wheel caught on the post.”
“I hope you were not going too fast, then!” said Gabrielle. “But at present, speed is what is needed. We have fifteen minutes to change for dinner.”
* * * *
Up at the Great House, Luke had changed his clothes hurriedly and was tapping on the door of his father’s dressing room.
“Come in!” called Lord Everett. “Oh, it’s you, Luke. Did you have a pleasant day?”
“Delightful, thank you, sir, except for a discovery I made at the end of it.”
“Discovery? What sort of discovery? Damme, my boy, cut the mystery if you please!”
“Has my stepmother told you of a young Frenchman who was seeing altogether too much of Dorothea in town?”
“She mentioned him in passing. De Vigny, or some such name. Seemed to think him a charming young man who knew his station in life too well to presume. No encroaching mushroom, she said. What of him?”
“Since he is the Vicomte de Vignard, he cannot precisely be described as a mushroom, but for all his title he ekes out a meagre living as a secretary. He is staying at the Dower House as guest of Lady Harrison.”
“Hmm. You think he has designs on Dorrie?”
“What else can I think, sir? The man is devilish attractive to the ladies, and I fear Dorrie has warmer feelings for him than she ought.”
“If he is a fortune-hunter, all we need do is drop a hint that her marriage portion cannot possibly be considered sufficient to set up household.”
“Oh, I acquit him of more than a passing interest in her fortune. To speak bluntly, judging by appearances he is head over heels in love with her!”
“I shall speak to her mother about it. Dorrie was always the most obliging child. A word in her ear. . .”
“Both Lady Cecilia and I have dropped words in her ear, to no avail. He must be sent packing, sir, and forbidden to return to Wrotham.”
“Come, come, Luke! I cannot possibly so insult Lady Harrison’s guest on no more than a suspicion. You may be sure that I shall watch the situation, and take appropriate measures if necessary.”
“Henry?” Lady Cecilia appeared at the door. “Are you ready, you two? The gong will ring in a few moments.”
“Coming, my dear. Luke has been telling me that that young Frenchman you spoke of is staying at the Dower House.”
“De Vignard? Oh dear! But it will not do to order Dorrie not to see him. Nothing encourages fancied love like oppression! I shall take her down there tomorrow morning, so that she may meet him unexceptionably in company.”
“I’ll give you ten to one,” said his lordship hopefully, “that after a week’s absence, she has already forgot him.”
* * * *
Alain was not in when Lady Cecilia and Dorothea arrived at the Dower House next day. Since her mother had thought best not to inform her of his presence, Dorothea chatted quite happily with Gabrielle, while the older ladies made plans to tour the house.
Nor did Gabrielle mention Alain. He had not yet told her his decision, and she did not want to distress her friend unnecessarily. So when he walked into the drawing room, Dorothea was unprepared. The incredulous joy on her face left no room for doubt in Lady Cecilia’s mind that her husband had been too sanguine, and a glance at the young man only confirmed that their feelings were mutual.
There was nothing to cavil at in Alain’s manners. He first bowed very properly over her ladyship’s hand before addressing Dorothea.
“How do you do, Miss Everett?” he said, and if he held her hand an instant too long, it was only an instant.
“Monsieur!” she breathed, eyes aglow. Neither of them seemed to feel the need of any further conversation, but their gazes never left each other, and both answered at random when spoken to.
Gabrielle could not help but wonder what it must be like to be so in love with someone who loved you too.
“Dorothea!” said Lady Cecilia firmly at last. “Lady Harrison is going to take me about the house and explain to me what she thinks ought to be done.”
“Yes, Mama.”
“You shall come with us. I am sure you cannot help but benefit from her advice against the day when you will furnish your own house.”
“Oh no, Mama! I mean, I expect I should learn a great deal from her ladyship, but Gabrielle and I were going to walk down to the village.”
“I am sure any errands you have can wait until the morrow. If not, you may send a maid or one of the footmen. Miss Darcy will hold you excused, will you not, Miss Darcy?”
“Of course, ma’am.” Gabrielle could hardly say anything else.
Alain offered to accompany her to the village. But though he made an effort, he was not a lively companion. She showed him the church, and the endless memorials to Everett ancestors seemed to depress him still further. On the way back he confessed that seeing Dorothea in her family setting had made him, if possible, the more aware of his unworthiness.
“But your family is just as good, is it not? The French nobility is in no way inferior to the British.”
“True. By birth I am her equal. But this magnificent
estate . . . compared to my single room! In London, in society, the difference was less noticeable. Here, I am nothing!”
Since she could not but agree, Gabrielle held her tongue.
Alain left the next morning, without meeting Dorothea again. No sooner had the hoofbeats of his hired horse died away than Tombaugh approached Gabrielle, his face foreboding.
“Can I have a word wi’ you, miss?”
“Of course. What is it?”
“I don’t like to bear tales, miss.”
“I’ve heard this before, Tombaugh! If you have seen Marie talking to Baxter again, pray keep it to yourself.”
“’Tweren’t Baxter, miss. Monser Derveenar, it were. Right in this house! We ain’t had such goings-on in this here house in a dunnamany years.”
The thought of ‘goings-on’ between stringy, bad-tempered Marie and lovesick Alain was too much for Gabrielle’s gravity. She laughed.
“I bain’t joking, miss,” said Tombaugh, offended. “Heard every word, I did, only they was talking that heathen Frog lingo, so I couldn’t make it out. Above stairs, just outside her la’ship’s dressing room it were, and at an ungodly hour of the night, too.”
“I care not what hour of the night it was!” Gabrielle was angry. “If you and Mrs Tombaugh will not drop this ridiculous feud with Marie, who has been with my lady for years, then I shall be forced to report it to Lady Cecilia.”
The servant looked sulky, but bowed and said, “Very well, miss.” As he left, she heard him mutter, “Just you wait till we’re all a-murdered in our beds!”
There was no change in the quality of service provided by the Tombaughs, so if they had not gone so far as to mend their fences with Marie, at least they did not hold it against their temporary employers. Gerard, in fact, was a firm favorite in the kitchen, to which he repaired at any hour of the day when overcome by pangs of hunger.
Rolf frequently joined him, but their depredations on the larder were more than compensated for by the baskets of produce carried down from the Great House every day. Nothing that the gardens and orchards of Wrotham produced was lacking, from raspberries, cherries and blackcurrants to all kinds of vegetables—and even chickens, pigeons and a ham. To this Gerard added the odd rabbit, and when he was persuaded to add up the household accounts, he said he could not believe how cheap it was to live in the country.