by Joan Smith
“Licked to a splinter” was Sir Darrow’s compliment when she descended the staircase. Long as she had lingered at her mirror, she was downstairs before the other ladies. “Have you got a kiss for your new steppapa?”
She kissed his sere cheek, and his blue eyes danced in pleasure. “I see you dragging about the place like a stray kitten, Sal,” he said in a kindly way. “You must never feel you are not wanted under my roof. We shall have merry old times, Mabel, you and I. A daughter is something new to me. You and Mellie are the only children I have. I’m in no hurry to lose you.”
“Thank you, Sir Darrow.” He shook his head. “Papa.” She smiled.
As if on impulse, he looked at her with a curious look and said, “Did Mabel tell you what Monstuart said when he saw me coming out of here t’other day?”
“No.”
“Go to hell. That’s what he said. I was very civil to him. Made him welcome, told him you were planning to ask him to the wedding, and he told me to go to hell. I respect a man who speaks his mind. Strange, though, is it not? You don’t suppose he was jealous of me? Ho, there’s a good joke, his thinking you would ever marry an old pelter like me.”
“Monstuart is never hesitant in speaking his mind.”
“I fancy you’ll hear a piece of it tonight. Ah, here is the bride.” He went forward, arms out, to greet his new lady, and Sally went to the saloon to think over what he had said. Would she be subjected to another piece of Monstuart’s mind? If he dared to cast a single slur on anything to do with her or this marriage or Derwent’s marriage, she would unceremoniously empty her wineglass in his face.
That was her mood when Monstuart arrived, not the first to come but far from the last. His dark eyes scoured the room for Sally and found her staring boldly at him. She immediately tossed her head and turned away. If he began edging toward her, she edged in the other direction. Without ever precisely looking at him, she managed to know where he was and where he was going and was at pains to take evasive action. When the players began their show, she took a safe seat between Sir Darrow and Der-went. Thus buttressed, she got through the concert with no awkwardness.
At dinner Sally had arranged her place at the far end of the table from Monstuart, and on the same side so that he could not even look down the board at her. There was to be no dancing. At twelve-thirty, the crowd began to disperse, and she had not exchanged a single word with him. While she had taken elaborate steps to avoid doing so, something in her resented his lack of initiative. When he was one of the first to leave, she was ready to crown him.
In a fit of the sulks, she went into the vacant library and slammed the door behind her. She would not cry. She had a wonderful life to look forward to. Sir Darrow loved her like a daughter; he had agreed to giving her all of her mother’s money for her dowry. The rest of the season would be better, and if she didn’t find a husband this year, next year she would do better. In the autumn the whole family was going to the Lake District. Her future could hardly be brighter, or her effort to hold in her tears more difficult.
When she heard a tap at the door, she thought little of it, except to be grateful she wasn’t crying. Monstuart had left, so obviously it was only some guest who had gotten lost in the labyrinth of the house, or perhaps it was just Mama.
“Come in,” she called.
The door opened slowly, and Monstuart stepped in.
Chapter Fifteen
“I thought you had left!” Sally exclaimed.
“I did. I came back.” Monstuart stood hesitantly at the doorway, waiting to see if she picked a book from the shelf and hurled it at his head.
“What do you want?” she demanded. He began to close the door behind him. “Please leave that open,” she called imperiously, for no particular reason except to annoy him.
Monstuart left the door ajar and strolled warily toward her. “I thought the party was breaking up and I might return a little later and speak to you in privacy. As I have waited for a quarter of an hour and still the guests are hanging on, I decided to come back.”
“The guests may be lingering, but I am eager to retire. What is it you have to say?”
He advanced toward her. Sally’s lack of cooperation was swiftly eroding his good humor. “I came to apologize for my tirade the other day, when you let me believe you were marrying Willowby.”
“I said nothing of the sort.”
“You didn’t correct my misapprehension. You knew what I thought.”
“It’s not my job to correct the many errors you fall into. You made your opinion of me perfectly clear,” she charged. “From the very beginning you have done nothing but find fault with me.”
“You are not completely innocent of the same charge. I was judged before I reached Ashford. It was my duty to protect Derwent’s interests.”
“A duty you took rather lightly, I might add, shearing off when you were supposed to be reconsidering.”
“You weren’t slow to push forward the wedding, behind my back. You only did it to get the better of me.”
“What a monstrous ego! That wasn’t the only—the reason.”
A flash of triumph lit his eyes. “I am aware of the other reason—viz. to get yourself a Season. You have succeeded, so let us cease bickering about that.”
“It’s impossible to talk to you without quarreling.”
Monstuart hunched his shoulders. “No matter, bickering is actually my manner of courting a lady. I assumed it was your way of receiving my attentions, to retaliate thrust for thrust. Come now, you must own it is more interesting than the conventional exchange of banalities. You know your hair is like a raven’s wing and your eyes like emeralds, or whatever gemstone is in fashion this year,” he said offhandedly. Sally peered from the corner of her eyes. “I know I am the manliest man you have ever met and, what you never would tell me, almost certainly the wealthiest.”
“I would never—”
“Of course you wouldn’t. I have just said so. Even among friends, I would be only the most eligible, not the plain Anglo-Saxon ‘richest.’ "
“I wasn’t angling after your fortune, so don’t think it!” she charged angrily.
“I acquit you of such sensible behavior. But pray, don’t tell me you have not enjoyed our bouts of mutual insulting, for I don’t believe it.”
“I may have enjoyed bickering—a little—but it had nothing to do with courting in my mind. I like the insipid conventions very much. And no one ever told me I had hair like a raven’s ... wing ....” The words petered to silence.
“You have, if it gives you any pleasure to hear it. Only a curly raven’s wing, of course.” His finger flicked a curl over her ear. “Ravishing.” The finger moved to brush her cheek. “Skin like marble, eyes like a panther’s—and the sleek stride of one when you walk, too, all smooth and undulating.”
“Monstuart! I cannot believe these are the conventional banalities.”
“They are the similes that occur to me. I didn’t mean to offend you. I admire panthers, especially their walk.” Her marble face colored alarmingly as she stared at him from her slanted emerald eyes. “Dare I proceed with my compliments, or have you had enough?”
“That is more than enough,” she said primly, though she was dying to hear more.
“I won’t take it amiss if you care to find a resemblance to Adonis in me,” he suggested playfully. “Since we have lowered—raised—altered the tone of our conversation.”
“Adonis! You’re more like Bluebeard.”
Monstuart rubbed his chin. “I shaved not six hours ago. My beard grows quickly. It is taken as a sign of virility among those of us who are cursed with it.”
“I really must go now,” Sally said.
“Will you be kind enough to give me some hint, before you leave, as to how I should proceed in future?”
“I suggest you proceed with more propriety, if you care for the good opinion of me or anyone else.”
He nodded his head in agreement. “I care for yours. May I
do myself the honor of calling on you tomorrow morning?”
After a moment’s consideration, she replied, “If you will behave, you may.”
“I shall make every effort to behave in a manner you think you will like, ma’am,” he said. He bowed and walked toward the door. Before leaving he stopped and tossed over his shoulder, “But you’ll be bored to flinders, Sal.”
* * * *
The next morning before she rose from the breakfast table, Miss Hermitage received a large bouquet of red roses and a box of bonbons from her “respectful suitor, Monstuart.”
“What can it mean?” Mrs. Hermitage, now Lady Willowby, asked in confusion. “I am sure he hadn’t a word to say to you last evening, Sal.”
Sir Darrow’s eyes twinkled merrily across the board. “Go to hell, ho! I knew he was jealous as a green cow.”
Lady Willowby looked a question at Sally. “It sounds as though Monstuart must be in love with you.”
“Love!” Sir Darrow smiled. “The young use that as an excuse for bad manners nowadays. Go to hell—-imagine. In my youth, we behaved better with the ones we loved, not worse.”
“I don’t think it’s you he is in love with, Darrow,” his bride informed him.
“No, no. He was jealous of me. What do you think of that, Mabel, a top-of-the-trees buck like Monstuart jealous of your husband?”
“Don’t be so foolish, Darrow. And eat your crusts.”
Lord Monstuart arrived shortly after his gifts. Miss Hermitage received him in the Gold Saloon, with her mother playing propriety while Sally thanked him most civilly for his gifts. Lady Willowby took up her netting and moved discreetly to the far side of the room.
“I received the flowers and bonbons, Monstuart. Thank you very much,” Sally said primly.
“I reconsidered,” Monstuart replied, “and decided you were right. Some token obeisance must be made to convention so you may hold up your head among your family and friends. But let it be understood entre nous, Miss Hermitage, you are not to eat any of that box of disgusting sweets. Let Mellie gorge herself. She’ll run to fat inside of a year anyway, but I don’t want your sleek lines blurred. A pudgy panther, you know, would be a ludicrous sight.”
Sally tried nobly to swallow her smile and look offended, but her trembling lips gave her away. “May I smell my flowers?”
“By all means, but I don’t want to hear of their going beneath your pillow, or into a book to be pressed. And if you try to stick one in my lapel, I shall throttle the breath out of your white marble throat.”
“Just how great an effort are you really making to behave, Monstuart?”
“About as great an effort as I think will please you. None at all, in other words. We have endured one boringly civil evening at Ashford. I must congratulate you on your performance. You nearly convinced me you were a proper bride for Heppleworth. Why the devil did you do it?”
“To deprive you of an excuse to prevent the wedding due to my impropriety.”
“It had quite the opposite effect. I had decided to permit the wedding and only withheld Derwent’s money so you would have to continue seeing me.”
“Monster!”
“Now the gloves are off. Let us get down to some serious blows. What did you mean by calling me a Bluebeard last night? I didn’t find my chin shadowed when I got home.”
“No, and didn’t bother checking to see if it was, either.”
“I did! I’m a little vain of my appearance when I’m courting. But of course you were alluding to that other gent, the one who killed all his wives and locked their bodies in a room. A singularly foolish method of disposal. Like Bluebeard, I will be happy to entrust the keys of my house to you. And unlike Bluebeard’s Fatima, you may open any door you wish. My life is an open book. Not a dull one, either.”
“I didn’t assume it was, when you required my father’s services on a delicate matter.”
He shot a quick, sharp glance at her. “I sued a neighbor who decided he wanted to put a fence down the middle of my pasture.”
“Papa did not deal in trifles.”
“It wasn’t a trifling fence—six miles long and ten yards inside my boundary. And not for a trifling fee either, I might add. I figure in twenty or so years I’ll recoup what I paid the Hermit for the job. It served me right. I was green enough at the time to want the prestige of saying the Hermit was handling my affairs, and he was crafty enough to dowse me.”
“I see no particular delicacy in a misplaced fence.”
“You are your father’s daughter. How does an elephant’s memory fit inside a panther’s head? I said my life was an open book, and I’ll read you that unedifying chapter in toto, if you wish. I was— ah—negotiating with my neighbor at the time for his daughter, not in marriage, and he decided to see how far he could up the price. So I decided to show him.”
Sally sniffed in displeasure. “The Hermit’s daughter is plagued with another doubt. How does a neighbor who apparently owns some considerable lands dispose of his daughter, not in marriage?” Lady Willowby looked up at hearing the word Hermit.
Monstuart glanced at the mother but continued speaking in a normal voice. “When she has made herself a byword with her behavior, he is sometimes inclined to do so. I wouldn’t want to give you the notion I am in the habit of ruining maidens.”
“What a charming neighborhood yours is, to be sure. This chapter makes lively reading. The protagonists promise delightful company for your wife.” The word “wife” caused another glance from Lady Willowby. Again Monstuart ignored the warning sign.
“He moved away. So did the daughter. An elderly couple bought the house.”
“Such tediously respectable neighbors explain your lengthy holiday with Lady Dennison.”
“I have told you about that.”
Sally glanced at him from the corner of her eyes. “Is it true that politics makes strange bedfellows?”
“Probably, but in this case it has made no bedfellows that I am aware of. Now have you any chapters to read me?”
“We’re not finished with the last case yet. The aforesaid daughter for whom you were negotiating—was the transaction completed?”
Monstuart brushed an invisible speck from his jacket shoulder. “It was, and so were a few others. I’m not a saint.”
“Nor even a very faithful sinner, it would seem!”
He twitched impatiently. “It is my intention to be a faithful husband, and it is an intention that will pave no roads to hell—one I intend to keep, in other words.”
“Surely that much is implicit in the word ‘intention.’ "
“Strange, I feel I’ve had this conversation before, with your father. He put many probing questions to me regarding my intentions in the aforesaid negotiation. There were redeeming features in the case. I mentioned, I believe, that I was a green and callow youth at the time.”
“Many years ago,” she slid in mischievously. “Would you say your book has taken a turn for the duller since then?”
“No, but I say with no fear or doubt that it will take a turn toward propriety if you will marry me. My wild oats are all sown.” Monstuart regarded her steadfastly.
Lady Willowby was hanging on every word now. How did he dare to propose in a public room? Sally looked at her mother, then back at Monstuart, with an angry question in her eyes.
“I’m flattered, quite beside myself at your enthusiasm,” he offered.
“You should be happy I don’t beat you over the head with an andiron. How dare you propose in such a public place?” she hissed.
“It is the only place I dared to reveal my scarlet past to you, here, where I am safe from your claws— for the time being. I know your temper is not stable. I have found in the past that after the first burst of violence is over, you subside back into docility rather quickly. I am the same myself, and with the two of us falling into a fit of passion—angry passion, that is—simultaneously, God only knows what havoc we might create. You with your andiron and I with my streng
th and virility. Nothing would remain but hair and claws. There, I see your temper is subsiding already. What do you say to my offer?”
“What offer?”
Lady Willowby shuffled along the sofa, closer to them.
“Dear elephant, your father would despair of you. You missed the most important bit. Amid all that jungle of verbiage there was a definite statement of intent. The less legal-minded call it an offer of marriage. There should have been a profession of undying love and devotion as well, I expect. Pray consider it said.”
Sally took a deep breath. “Lord Monstuart, if you think to escape the banalities entirely, you misjudge your quarry.”
“Oh, excellent, Sal! You never disappoint me. What a predatory, hunting interpretation you put on my decent offer.”
“I expect you would like to hang a panther’s head on your trophy wall, to boast to the world of your prowess, but if you think to get it with that offhand offer, you are mistaken. Derwent tells Mellie he adores her ten times a day, and what do I get? A box of bonbons I am not to eat, flowers I cannot press, and a casual remark that I may consider myself courted. Well, you, sir, may consider yourself turned off.”
Monstuart listened with a bored expression. “So there,” he said when she stopped to draw a breath. “Now I am turned off. I make a dash to find a new mistress on whose bosom I drown my sorrows. You become fiendishly jealous and have a go at some unsuspecting gent—Peacock, perhaps—no, you wouldn’t like him with his daylights darkened. Better stick with the invalid. We are both desolate and realize--after, say, a week’s remorse—that we have made a wretched but fortunately not irreparable mistake.”
Sally turned and flounced across the room. Lady Willowby received a commanding look from her daughter. She picked up her netting and hurried out the door to tell Mellie and Derwent the news.
Monstuart strolled nonchalantly after Sally and continued speaking over her shoulder. “I come crawling back with my tail firmly tucked between my legs. We meet by careful chance on the street. I offer to carry home your fish. You accept—coldly, of course--but you deign to accept. At the door, I hint I could do with a drink. Your coolness begins to thaw. You relent and ask me in. Where would you like to hear your second proposal? Let’s make it right here, since you have cleared the way for privacy.”