by Buck, Gayle
“Precisely, miss. So there was your papa stomping and roaring around in a rare taking and swearing that he would avenge your honor and that he would see to it that this lord of yours, Lord Cardiff would be brought to book for making off with you,” said Hitchins, her hands busy with hairbrush and comb as she expertly arranged her mistress’s honey blond locks in a becoming fashion.
Thea corrected the maid. “He is not ‘my’ Lord Cardiff, Hitchins. And while it is true that he made off with me, it was only to place me in my Uncle Owen’s care.”
“Yes, miss, and I suspect that angered your papa more than all the rest,” said Hitchins with some shrewdness. As a finishing touch, she threaded a blue satin ribbon through her mistress’s hair.
“Oh, dear. Well, it will be a jolly luncheon, will it not? I only hope Papa will not throw one of his tantrums.”
When Thea was completely dressed and coiffed, she regarded her reflection with satisfaction. She looked much more like herself than she had for days. She hoped Lord Cardiff would approve. After the way he had behaved in the gallery, a surge of hope had entered her heart. Perhaps she would be given another opportunity to consider his suit. At the thought, followed by a vivid memory of his kiss, an attractive color rose in her cheeks and her eyes sparkled. Even she could see that she was in rare beauty.
Thea turned impulsively to her maid and grabbed her hand to give it an affectionate squeeze. “I have truly missed you, dear Hitchins! I have been so miserable and looked so awful without you to help me.”
The maid gave a sentimental sniff. “I missed you, too, miss. I was that put out when Mr. Quarles set me on foot! But it has all ended for the best, after all.”
“Yes, indeed!” Thea looked at her maid, a tiny frown suddenly forming between her brows as a thought occurred to her. “Hitchins, how is it that Papa and my brothers and you were able to come through the snowstorm? It was still snowing heavily early this morning.”
The maid grimaced. “Now that is a harrowing tale, miss! Mr. Stafford had me pack your things at once, and we up and left not an hour after he had the letter from your great-aunt telling him where you were going. We drove all day and through the night, and when it began to snow, not a word would he listen to from your brothers or the coachman. I was in constant fear of us losing our way or being cast into a drift and freezing to death. Mr. Stafford himself got out of the carriage and guided the horses in the worst of it. We are fortunate to have made it here at all, miss!”
“That sounds very like Papa,” said Thea, shaking her head. She recalled what she had thought to be only a dream, the distant sound of banging on a door and raised voices. Obviously what she had heard was the arrival of her willful parent. “He is obstinate to the teeth.”
“Just so, miss.”
“My uncle and aunt did not say anything at breakfast concerning my father and brothers,” said Thea with a frown. “I wonder why.”
The maid overheard her and snorted. “There was much said between the two gentlemen in the black of the night, miss! I doubt not that Mr. Stafford and your brothers slept the sleep of exhaustion this morning and that was why you did not see them at breakfast. I could scarcely drag myself up out of bed.”
“Poor Hitchins! You must rest today, for I do not wish you to become ill,” said Thea at once.
The maid thanked her mistress for her kindness. “Howsomever, I shall do better to move around a bit. My bones get stiff with the cold, miss.”
Thea started downstairs with much on her mind. She could not reflect dreamily on Lord Cardiff as she would have liked, but had to think about what the implications of her father’s arrival meant for her. It was amply apparent from all that her maid had told her that her father was determined to have his way. He had declared his course of action, one which Thea viewed with utter dismay.
She decided that she must be equally resolute in taking her stand. She had come to realize she had a high stake in her own future. No longer was she the dutiful daughter who trusted implicitly in the sagacity of her parent. Her father had unfortunately proven his all-too-human foibles. She only hoped that her own willfulness was a match for her sire’s obstinacy.
Her aunt’s suggestion that a season in London would go far in restoring her reputation had taken deep root in her mind. Thea was fixed in her determination to take advantage of what had been so generously offered to her. As for the report that her father meant to force Lord Cardiff to the altar with her, she would have none of that, either. If she was ever to accept a suit from Lord Cardiff, it would be one made by his lordship of his own free will.
Thea wanted above anything else in the world for Lord Cardiff to look at her again just as he had done earlier that morning and offer for her because he desired to make her his wife. She knew that he was supposed to return shortly to duty in Spain, and she looked upon the snowstorm that had set back Lord Cardiff’s leave-taking as providential. It meant that she would have just a little more time to try to fix his lordship’s interest.
Of course, the arrival of her father and brothers would almost certainly be an obstacle to her object. Not for the first time, but perhaps never more fervently, Thea wished her family to perdition. In a most loving way, naturally.
* * * *
Cardiff was wishing much the same thing about one of his devoted servants. He had endured several minutes already of his coachman’s glum outlook regarding their delay to London. The coachman had enumerated various evils, ranging from such things as the groom appearing suspiciously as though he were taking a cold to the possible foundering of the highbred team if they were to eat their heads off for several days. Cardiff shook his head, gave a shrug and spread his hands in mute apology.
“I know it, John. We are indubitably snowbound. Lay the blame to my door. It was my decision to remain another day. Stay close to the fire, both you and Mathers, until the weather is not so threatening. I promise you that we shall get on the road as soon as we are able.”
He was glad to be able to send his coachman away with the excuse that it was time for luncheon. The man’s restlessness pricked at his conscience. He should have left the day before when he had the opportunity, but instead he had remained because of a half-baked sense of responsibility towards Miss Stafford.
His memory replayed for him those incredible moments with her in the gallery when he had held her tightly in his arms. A glinting smile crossed his tanned face. “Responsibility, Cardiff? More like bewitchment!” he murmured to himself in self-mockery.
Cardiff emerged from the library, where he had met with his gloomy servant, and sauntered across the entry hall towards the parlor. His attire was better suited to his company than it had been earlier. He had been able to change his raiment, due to the helpfulness of Mr. Owen’s valet, who had unearthed various selections from the Owens’ sons’ wardrobes that had been left on previous visits. It was fortunate that neither of the Owens was as tall as their sire, so that the bottle-green frock coat and tan breeches he now wore fitted his own athletic frame well enough. He would not entirely disgrace Mrs. Owen’s gracious table, he thought.
Stepping into the parlor where he expected everyone to gather before luncheon, Cardiff stopped short when his gaze fell on Philip and Thomas Stafford. The expression on his lean face tightened momentarily before he moved forward. His tone of voice expressed only a mild curiosity, but his keen eyes were sharp on the two sturdy gentlemen. “Whatever are you two doing here?”
“My lord.” The two brothers shifted their feet and looked uncomfortable. They had both risen to stand at his entrance, their physical attitudes almost expressing embarrassment.
“Let me hazard a guess. Your esteemed parent has sent you here to forcibly retrieve your sister and me,” said Cardiff in a cool voice. He smiled, but there was a steely hardness in his penetrating blue eyes. “I warn you, I’ll not stand for such treatment as I endured at your hands for a second time.”
“You shouldn’t have run off like you did, my lord,” said Thomas in feeble expostulation.
“Oh, wasn’t it sporting of me?” asked Cardiff in a very dry tone.
Philip mumbled under his breath as the ready flush rose in his face.
“What was that, Philip? I did not understand you,” said Cardiff. His glance was challenging, but the young gentleman did not choose to meet it.
It was left to Thomas to clarify, which he did in a wounded voice. “You left us in a rare hobble, my lord. We didn’t have enough between us to pay the shot and we were obliged to sneak away like thieves.”
“I thought that might happen,” said Cardiff with satisfaction.
Philip clenched his fists, almost beside himself with remembered ire. “Did you, my lord! And as though that wasn’t enough, since we suspected Thea would want you to take her to our great-aunt, we followed you there. We were forced to endure a regular rake-down from the old tartar,” he said bitterly.
Cardiff threw back his head and laughed.
“But none of it was as bad as Papa’s reaction when he found out we had lost you,” said Thomas plaintively.
Cardiff was insensitive enough to laugh again. His eyes gleamed unrepentantly. “You’ve had a full plate of it since I last saw you,” he observed.
“Just so!” exclaimed Philip, eyeing his lordship with dislike.
“Well, my sympathy is tepid at best. You must agree that my own situation while in your company left much to be desired,” said Cardiff in an uncompromising voice.
“It’s all the fault of that Quarles fellow,” said Thomas darkly.
“Yes and as though there hasn’t been enough trouble already, our sister Tabitha insists that she will still have him,” said Philip in absolute disgust.
Cardiff was so startled that his mouth dropped open. This revelation he had not expected. “Do you mean to say that your sister still wishes to wed Mr. Quarles, even after what he did?” he demanded.
“Oh, Tabitha thinks it highly romantic that Quarles made off with Thea. She wishes he had done so with her and forgives him for making a mistake in taking the wrong sister!” said Thomas with heavy sarcasm.
Cardiff felt that he preferred not to delve much deeper into the affairs of Miss Tabitha Stafford. She was obviously a lady of unusual thought patterns. However, he did feel himself compelled to ask, “What does your father think about this?”
“Papa growls and grouses, but in the end he’ll let Tabitha have her way. She has always been his favorite,” said Philip gloomily. “He won’t be able to stand her squalling and begging to be wed to her precious Quarles. As for Quarles, he has made his pretty apologies and swears that he must have suffered from a brain fever.”
“Brain fever! Why, he knew precisely what he was doing,” said Cardiff, his eyes kindling with wrath. The indignation he felt had much more to do with Thea Stafford’s feelings on that occasion than his own. He could still recall the fearful expression in her eyes when he had thrust open the door.
“Yes, so I have said. But Tabitha will not listen,” said Philip, scowling and thrusting his square hands deep into his breeches pockets.
“What a fellow to have for a brother-in-law! It is enough to persuade one to wash one’s hands of family altogether,” said Thomas.
“Yes, and run off to enlist besides,” said Philip with feeling.
“You paint a vastly pretty picture, Philip. Pray don’t tease me so cruelly,” sighed Thomas.
“I mean it, Thomas,” said Philip, throwing an intent glare at his brother. “I mean it, dash it!”
Thomas stared at his twin; then a slow grin began to spread across his face. “You’re not bamming me, Philip?”
Philip shrugged. With a complete lack of filial feeling, he observed, “Papa isn’t going to die any time soon. Only recall how he rattled us down! He’ll be around long after the war is over, I’ll be bound. Why shouldn’t we have a bit of fun instead of kicking our heels at home?”
Thomas whooped, turning around in a circle on his boot heels.
Cardiff had listened with growing amusement. The two sounded like a pair of sulky schoolboys whispering plans to escape from an over-stern headmaster. “Perhaps you ought to discuss your future rebellion in private,” he suggested. “It wouldn’t do to be overheard by just anyone.”
“We’ll do just that, my lord,” said Philip, nodding and exchanging a look with his brother.
Cardiff had for several minutes realized that there was no immediate danger forthcoming from the Staffords, and so he sat down in a satin-covered wing chair to await his host and hostess. If Mr. Stafford was also a guest of the Owens, he guessed that luncheon would be a vastly interesting meal. Perhaps something on the line of being invited into the French generals’ tent for interrogation, he reflected ruefully.
However, there was still something about which he was curious. “You have not yet answered my question. What brings you to the Owens’?” he asked. He crossed one knee over the other, looking the picture of ease. “And how did you get here in such deplorable weather?”
“Papa brought us,” said Thomas succinctly, apparently feeling that no other explanation was necessary.
His brother better understood the direction of Lord Cardiff’s inquiry. “Papa wished to retrieve Thea and bring you to account, my lord,” said Philip in reluctant amplification.
“Bring me to account?” Cardiff looked his surprise, his brows slowly rising in an expression of disbelief. “I fail to understand what your sire can be thinking.”
“No more than the rest of us,” muttered Thomas. His brother gave a short laugh in appreciation.
“I trust we have already agreed amongst the three of us that I shall not be a party to your father’s plans,” said Cardiff in a hard voice. He wanted his position perfectly understood. He would not be coerced into marriage. When he wedded, it would be of his own will and of his own timing.
Thomas shrugged. “I am perfectly content to let you do as you will, my lord.”
“And I,” said Philip, nodding. “It’s perfectly plain Thea will have none of you. So I can see little point in attempting to force you to wed her.”
“Your magnanimousness unmans me,” murmured Cardiff.
The two brothers regarded him, frowning and uncertain how to interpret his meaning. Cardiff smiled in a friendly way, wiping the sardonic expression from his face. The Stafford twins were too easy to make light of, and he regretted the impulse. They were only a pair of overgrown boys, after all, and not particularly bright.
“In light of our agreement, let us put aside any lingering animosity or ill feeling,” he said. He grinned up at the pair. “Tell me, what did you think of my hot punch?”
There was nothing more certain of breaching the brothers’ defenses. Thomas and Philip instantly gave his lordship their opinion that he had served them a vile trick, but the hot punch had been the best they had ever tasted.
Cardiff chuckled and agreed that he had treated them shabbily. “But what else could I do, short of bludgeoning you in your beds?”
Thomas and Philip laughed and before many minutes passed were chatting with Lord Cardiff as though he was an old and valued acquaintance rather than someone they had met only a few days before and had treated with such scant respect.
The irony was not lost on Cardiff, and as he sprawled in the wing chair listening to his youthful companions, he felt a hearty measure of amusement. His enjoyment was enhanced when the brothers, apparently all unpleasantness faded from their collective memory, began plying him with questions about his experiences in the army and the war with the French. He saw then that he had been elevated to the level of hero worship, and he chuckled to himself.
Chapter Nineteen
The pleasant interlude ended when the door to the parlor opened and Mr. Stafford stepped across the threshold. His stocky frame seemed to fill the doorway. The older man’s heavy frown blighted his sons’ easy discourse before he leveled it on Lord Cardiff. “My Lord Cardiff!” he uttered with loathing, his face at once darkening with swift anger.
Cardiff calmly regarded the outraged patriarch, his expression chiseled in impassivity. His tone civil, he said, “Good day, Mr. Stafford. It appears that we were destined to meet again.”
“Aye, and no doubt you wish me to the very devil,” said Mr. Stafford with a martial light in his pale eyes.
“There is some truth in what you say,” admitted Cardiff. He ignored the choke of laughter that broke from Philip, but Mr. Stafford did not. The father rounded on his son, about to deliver a blistering setdown, but Cardiff forestalled him by the simple expedient of drawing Mr. Stafford’s attention back to himself. “Would you care to sit down, sir?”
Mr. Stafford turned back to Lord Cardiff, breathing heavily. His expression was set in hard, uncompromising lines. “I would not! My lord, you have played fast and loose—”
“Come, Mr. Stafford. I am persuaded that as reasonable men, we may discuss this matter in a cool manner,” said Cardiff with a polite smile. “It is but for you to acknowledge your error and we will become the greatest of friends.”
“His lordship is right, Papa. There’s nothing to be gained by berating the poor gentleman,” offered Thomas. He earned for himself a scorching glance from his sire. He hunched his broad shoulders, and his stolid features became obstinate. “Well, there isn’t any use in it. Thea has made up her mind.”
“We’ll see about that!” said Mr. Stafford, grinding out the words.
Cardiff sighed. “Am I the only one who feels a certain degree of déjà vu?”
The paneled door opened again and Mr. and Mrs. Owen entered, accompanied by their niece. They had met Thea on the landing and all had walked downstairs together to the parlor.
Thea had at once taxed her aunt and uncle about why she had not been informed of her family’s arrival over breakfast. “If we had done so, my dear, your interesting morning with Lord Cardiff would have been quite ruined,” said Mrs. Owen with immense practicality.
Thea had colored instantly, leading Mr. Owen to chuckle at her.