The Wooing of Miss Masters

by Susan Carroll

  The stern set of his mouth twitched with something akin to amusement. "Since there is little likelihood of my doing that, I fear I will be deprived of the pleasure of your fair company."

  Audra glared at him. "You have to be the most conceited person I have ever met. But there! What more can be expected of a man who travels with twenty trunks full of clothes?"

  He looked a little confounded at that, and feeling as if she had at least gotten a little of her own back, Audra started to flounce away from him when she caught sight of a movement by the edge of the woods. Cecily's pug darted into sight, this time in fierce pursuit of a frog. Feeling vindicated, Audra could not refrain from flashing the duke a look of triumph.

  "If Your Grace will excuse me, I must see about recovering my imaginary dog."

  But she had not taken two steps nearer to the little beast when, as usual, the pug began to growl and back away as if it had never set eyes upon Audra before. A peculiar choked sound came from the duke's direction. If it had been anybody else but Raeburn, Audra would have sworn the man smothered a laugh.

  "Come here, Frou-frou," she called through clenched teeth.

  "Frou-frou?" the duke echoed. His Grace might not know how to smile, but he certainly could smirk.

  "I assure you I never named her that," Audra began hotly and then broke off. It was a complete waste of time trying to explain anything to that man. Besides, with a jaunty flick of its tail, the pug was racing back into the woods again. Audra charged after it, not even troubling to bid the duke farewell.

  Raeburn watched as both the pug and the woman vanished into the twilight, leaving him alone in the glade. A rueful half smile escaped him. He scarce knew whether to laugh or curse, his amusement tempered by an uncomfortable feeling that he had just made a thorough ass of himself.

  "How was I supposed to know there really was a dog?" he muttered. It was all the fault of Miss Long and her scheming kind, their foolish stratagems rendering him suspicious of any woman he chanced upon. He had never before been wont to think that every stray female was eager to cast herself into his arms.

  Even if he had, Miss Masters had certainly set him straight on that score. Simon did laugh then, as he recalled the lady's indignation when she had informed him she had no use for a husband. She had looked rather magnificent, that wild mane of chestnut hair tumbling about her shoulders, her eyes flashing scorn. Not a beauty by any means, but he had lied when he had said her eyes were unremarkable. Far from it, he thought they were the most honest gray he had ever seen.

  He ought to set off after Miss Masters and tender her some explanation of his boorish conduct, even extend an apology. But he had too great a regard for his own nose. In her present humor, the lady was likely to draw his cork. Besides he doubted he would catch up to her, and he had no notion where she lived.

  Simon shrugged, telling himself it was of no great consequence. He didn’t need to worry about currying the good opinion of a woman he was unlikely ever to see again. Dismissing the incident from his mind, he followed the line of the moat, heading for the wooden bridge that crossed to the inner court of the castle.

  He returned to his bedchamber to change for dinner, as they kept country hours at the Castle Raeburn. While he struggled into a fresh white shirt, he was surprised to find himself still thinking about Miss Masters, recalling some of the things she had said to him. What was it she had called him? The most conceited person she had ever met, but then what more could be expected of a man who traveled with twenty trunks?

  Simon frowned, wishing he had informed her that nineteen of those twenty trunks belonged to his sister. But then, what business was that of Miss Masters? Still it irked him all the same, he who prided himself on his good sense and the plain manner of his attire, being accused of being a popinjay.

  He could not help brooding about it as he descended below to lead Lady Augusta into the dining room. Was Miss Masters partly correct? Not about the trunks, of course, but about his conceit. Had he become a little too puffed up of late, too full of his own consequence as the duke?

  Annoyed with himself for giving any weight at all to what Audra Masters had said, Simon attempted to shake off his air of abstraction. Linking his arm through Augusta's, he led her into the small dining chamber. Simon much preferred its simple paneled walls to the more ostentatious formal one with its gilt and trim and overwhelming chandeliers.

  Waving aside the footman, he held the chair for Augusta himself and then settled at the opposite end of the gleaming satinwood table.

  During the course of turtle soup, Augusta made cheery inquiry as to how his walk had gone. "You were absent so long. I am sure you could not have spent all that time just looking at a bull. What did you do with yourself all afternoon?"

  "Nothing of import, merely made a fool of myself."

  "Oh." Augusta took a spoonful of creamy broth. "I thought you might have done something different for a change."

  He accorded this sally no response. He considered regaling Augusta with his encounter with Miss Masters but thought better of it. Gus had already enjoyed enough mirth at his expense for one day.

  Instead he could not refrain from asking abruptly, "Gus, do you find me conceited?"

  "No, dear. Only impossibly arrogant."

  Simon grimaced. Trust a sister to provide all the reassurance one needed.

  Augusta looked up from her soup dish, regarding him with a puzzled look. "Whatever makes you ask such a thing?"

  "No particular reason." Simon was quick to change the subject, asking how the preparations for the ball were going.

  It served the trick of diverting Augusta's thoughts, but he was almost sorry. She launched into a lengthy account of her concerns about acquiring enough lobster.

  "And I still cannot make up my mind how to decorate the ballroom," she lamented. "Would simple floral arrangements be enough, or should I try for something more exotic?'

  "Hanging the room with black crepe seems appropriate." His suggestion met with no more than a disgusted look from his sister.

  Even though he had inquired, Gus ought to realize all these details about the ball did not interest him in the least. Not a single aspect of it except perhaps . . .

  To his own astonishment, Simon caught himself asking, "Have you sent out all the invitation cards?"

  "Of course. But if you have recollected someone else you wish to invite, I suppose—"

  "Oh, no. No!" Simon made haste to disclaim. A vision of Audra Leigh Masters danced through his mind, only to be quickly dismissed. "Why the blazes should I want any more infernal females invited?"

  "Well, I did think we might have asked the Marquess of Greenwold. He has two charming daughters, though they do live a little far off."

  "Then no matter how charming, let them stay there. I don't want to be plagued with any overnight guests." Bored with the subject, Simon summoned a footman to refill his wineglass.

  "You might show a little more concern, Simon," Augusta complained. "At least in what ladies will be in attendance."

  "Why? I fear that the only female that has roused even a passing interest in me, has already said she'll be damned if she's coming."

  "What!" Augusta dropped her fork, clattering it against her dish. "Simon! Who is she?"

  But Simon already looked as if he regretted having said so much. He attacked a joint of lamb instead, maintaining a most maddening silence. Augusta knew that stubborn look too well to badger him with any more questions. Consumed with curiosity, she glowered at him. If she did not murder her brother before this visit was over, it would not be because he hadn't done his utmost to goad her to it.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  For several days after her encounter with the Duke of Raeburn, Audra's thoughts still turned on all the crushing retorts she should have uttered. The arrogance of that man! That he should have supposed for one minute that she had come creeping about his estate, merely to throw herself at his head, assuming that she was like all these other foolish chits hereabouts,
panting to make his acquaintance.

  Audra's cheeks burned anew whenever she recalled the duke's insolent manner, subjecting her to his inspection. Had she been a vain woman, she would have been quite devastated by some of his remarks about her person. A Long Meg with unremarkable eyes indeed! She was fully aware of her own defects and did not need them pointed out.

  Although she had given him a blistering scold, she had not said near enough. This frustrating feeling was coupled with a dread that she had said perhaps too much. Apparently he had not realized she was his tenant, but there was no saying that he wouldn't by now since she had so stupidly furnished him with her name. She did not know if His Grace was a vindictive man, but he obviously had a formidable temper. She lived with the hourly expectation of a notice arriving, demanding her immediate eviction from Meadow Lane.

  Yet she doubted she need fear any such grim messenger today. Rain was coming down so hard, one would have to be a madman to venture forth. Water cascaded down the long windows in the parlor like a waterfall. Audra regretted the fact she had invited her great-uncle Matthew to travel from his home in the village to spend the day with her and Cecily. She hoped that elderly gentleman would have the good sense to send his excuses.

  But her relative seemed short of that commodity, for shortly after noon Mrs. McGuiness popped her head into the parlor to announce that the Reverend Masters's carriage was fair floating down the lane. Biting back a dismayed exclamation, Audra joined the housekeeper at the front door to hustle her uncle inside, helping the plump elderly gentleman to remove his drenched cape and rain-slicked beaver hat.

  His flowing waves of white hair were pulled back into a slightly bedraggled queue. Beneath brows as thick as a drift of snow, his pale blue eyes twinkled up at Audra.

  "Stap me, m'dear, but I believe I should have brought my oars."

  "Uncle, you are fair drowned," Audra said. "Come by the fire at once."

  "Don't fuss, girl." Reverend Masters paused to chuckle and pat the round belly straining beneath his waistcoat. “A man of my girth is hardly like to be washed away."

  Nonetheless he permitted himself to be led to the chair before the parlor hearth. His cherub's face glowed from the heat of the crackling blaze, his complexion remarkably smooth for a man of ninety-odd years. It was hard for Audra to remember sometimes that he had been her father's uncle, not her own. Reverend Masters attributed his longevity to the fact he had never listened to a thing the fool doctors told him, always stuffing himself with as much pastry and Madeira as he desired.

  "Ah, that's better." He sighed as he held his hands over the blazing fire. His nose turned a bright red as it always did when he was too warm or had drunk too much port.

  Although he protested, Audra insisted he remove his boots. As she knelt down before him and tugged them off, she continued to scold. "It isn't that I am not glad to see you, Uncle, but you should never have come out on such a day."

  "I had to, m'dear. Another day closeted at the parsonage, and I would be fit for nothing but Bedlam. Would you believe it, I was so desperate to fill my hours, I nearly thought of writing a sermon."

  Audra laughed, too accustomed to such outrageous comments from her uncle to be shocked. There had never been anyone less suited for holy orders than Matthew. But as he had explained to Audra once, "What the devil else is there for a younger son besides the army? I could tolerate being shot at by some irate husband, but by a total stranger I had done nothing in the least to offend? No, no, m'dear. That is asking entirely too much."

  He was something of a reprobate, her uncle Matt, and greatly scandalized the rest of her father's family. Those same fusty relatives did not approve of Audra either, which perhaps was why she and Uncle Matthew got on so famously. Whatever the reason, Audra was immensely fond of the old gentleman. His proximity had proved one of the chief inducements to her signing the lease on the lodge.

  Without making her solicitude obvious enough to vex the old man, Audra removed his boots and took great pains to make sure he hadn't taken a chill.

  She had just settled upon the settee opposite him when Cecily tripped into the parlor, Frou-frou ambling at her heels.

  "Was that Uncle Matt's carriage I heard arriving?"

  "Indeed it was, miss." Uncle Matthew's broad face beamed. "Bless me, the child grows lovelier every day. Come here, my pretty niece, and give your uncle a kiss."

  Cecily dutifully complied, bestowing a soft peck on his cheek. Audra watched with tolerant amusement. Although he was not in truth Cecily's uncle, Reverend Masters had "adopted" her, ever having a soft spot in his heart for a lovely girl. Never averse to receiving compliments, Cecily gave him a dazzling smile.

  But Audra was forced to admit that Cecily had been nothing but charming these past few days. She had never mentioned a word about their quarrel, her disappointment over having to miss the upcoming ball, or any of her dissatisfaction with life at Meadow Lane. Her disposition had been of such sweetness, so cheerful, so obliging, it was enough to make one wonder if the girl was up to some mischief.

  Yet Audra was immediately ashamed of herself for harboring such a suspicion. She was becoming as evil-minded as his horridness, the Duke of Raeburn.

  Cecily seated herself upon a footstool, near the arm of Reverend Masters' chair, playfully calling upon Frou-frou to "make her curtsy to Great-uncle Matt." The dog actually deigned to wag her tail for him. It was apparently only Audra at whom the little beast chose to growl.

  That did not disturb Audra, who still felt like doing some growling herself, every time she recollected how Frou-frou's escapade had led to her disastrous meeting with Raeburn.

  It didn't help to hear Cecily merrily regaling Uncle Matt with the story, at least as much of it as she knew. Giggling, she said, "And naughty Frou-frou led my sister on quite a chase through Raeburn's Wood. Poor Audra was out looking for her until well after dark."

  "Oh, brave woman!" Uncle Matt's gaze shifted toward Audra, clearly taking a wicked relish in her discomfiture. "What? Were you not afraid of the Scowling Duke leaping out to demand a forfeit for your trespass?"

  To her dismay, Audra felt a hint of red creep into her cheeks. Was it possible that Uncle Matthew had actually heard something of her meeting with Raeburn? It had never occurred to her that the duke might be so ungentlemanly as to spread the tale of their infamous encounter.

  Audra squirmed in her seat. "What makes you ask me such a thing, Uncle Matt?"

  "Nothing, m'dear. It was only a jest, certainly nothing to make you look as if you had just swallowed a fly."

  "You will have to excuse me," she said stiffly. "I found the whole affair less than amusing."

  "Why, Audra, it's quite unlike you to take snuff over such a trivial thing. What's happened to your sense of humor, child?" Her uncle shot her a puzzled but penetrating look that rendered Audra extremely uncomfortable. She felt relieved when Cecily inadvertently came to her aid by explaining, "I fear Audra has reason to still be cross. While she wore herself to the bone tramping the woods, my wicked little Frou-frou doubled back." Cecily dotingly rubbed her pet's neck. "Audra returned in despair, only to discover Frou-frou curled up in her favorite chair."

  Uncle Matt and Cecily both chuckled at that, laughter in which Audra was quite unable to join. She glared at Frou-frou, muttering, "That dog is lucky to still be alive."

  "I daresay." Uncle Matt chortled. "Especially knowing you m'dear, I don't doubt but what the search interrupted your reading." The rector reached down to pat an open book that was, as always, left littering the small chairside table. Uncle Matthew squinted at the spine. "Why, by my faith, is this still Ivanhoe? I thought you received this book days ago. With your habit of devouring books, you ought to be done and ready to lend it to me."

  "I have been a little distracted of late," Audra said. She was not about to admit the distraction was of a most disturbing and curious kind. Poor Ivanhoe was indeed a sorely vexed man with his sweetheart and father held prisoner at Torquilstone. But that was no
reason that every time she pictured the knight's scowling face, the image should turn into Raeburn's dark frown. Nor why at the turn of every page, her traitorous mind should keep conjuring up a hero with black, silver-flecked hair and fierce bushy brows. It was not only annoying but foolish to keep imagining Ivanhoe in Raeburn's massive proportions, that deep chest, those broad shoulders, and those brawny forearms. Audra had seen samples of armor before. If Ivanhoe had been such a strapping figure of a man, the metal plating would never have fit him.

  Since she quite detested His Grace, she didn't know why Raeburn should assume the role of Ivanhoe in her mind. If he must invade her head, she should imagine him as the black-hearted villain Front de Beouf. Better still she should not think of Raeburn at all.

  It disconcerted her to realize that her inability to concentrate had not gone unnoticed, even by Cecily. She informed Uncle Matthew in grave tones, "Audra has been so restless of late. But I suppose that is the sort of crotchets that older, er, I mean that more mature ladies have from time to time."

  "No, it's only the damp," Audra retorted. "My rheumatism, you know."

  Uncle Matt choked at that, and Audra took the opportunity to change the subject by challenging him to a game of chess. He was a skilled player, and Audra had enjoyed many lively skirmishes with him in the past, neither giving much quarter.

  Lining up the ivory pieces upon the board, she and the old gentleman were soon engrossed in the game. The afternoon passed pleasantly enough despite the rain that beat against the glass. The parlor was silent but for an occasional snore from Frou¬frou, the crackle of the logs on the fire and the tick of the clock on the mantel.

  Even Cecily sat quietly engaged with her stitching. If she was bored, she concealed her occasional yawns behind her hand. Audra lost all track of time, breathlessly watching her uncle's hand hover over his bishop, waiting for him to fall into her trap.

  She did not notice when the rain stopped until her sister pointed it out her. Springing up from her seat, Cecily skipped over to the windows.