CHAPTER TEN
The Duke of Raeburn was true to his word. He made no further effort to force his suit upon Audra. Nor did he attempt to see her again. By the end of the week, she was recovered enough not to start at the mention of his name or be tempted to fly to the window each time she heard the approach of hoof beats in the lane.
As for the dull ache that had settled in her heart, she supposed that, too, would disappear given enough time and distance. At least her decision to leave Meadow Lane met with unqualified approval from one quarter.
Mrs. Saunders nearly smiled when Audra informed her that she had given up the lease. "At last, you are being sensible," her aunt said. "Now you may find some property more suitable than a hunting lodge; this time with a respectable widow to bear you company. Perhaps when Cecily finally weds, you could make your home with her. An elder unmarried sister can be most useful when one begins to have children."
Aunt Saunders proceeded to offer several other helpful suggestions regarding Audra's future, until Audra felt if she received much more of this bracing advice, she would have her first megrim. She was relieved when her aunt turned the conversation to Cecily’s prospects instead, more relieved still to discover Mrs. Saunders had finally made up her mind. She would take Cecily to London with her.
Their imminent departure obliged Audra to set aside any plans for arranging her own removal from Meadow Lane. Wellington had managed to deploy his entire army with far less difficulty than seemed required to send one slip of a girl off to London for the Season.
Two days before Mrs. Saunders and Cecily were scheduled to leave, Audra entered her sister’s bedchamber to find it a scene of complete confusion. Unpacked trunks stood open, while the bed was littered with hair ribbons, bonnets, gloves and muslin frocks tumbling to the carpet. Neither Cecily nor or her maid were anywhere to be found.
Sighing, Audra proceeded to fold some of the garments, laying them away in the bottom of one of the trunks. Although Cecily would be acquiring a new wardrobe in London, she insisted upon taking nearly everything with her.
To Audra’s astonishment, she discovered an old nightgown that Cecily surely must have outgrown. Her fingers snagged on the delicate lace trim, her heart snagging on a memory. She could picture so clearly those times when Cecily bounded into her chamber, a small blond ghost in her white nightgown as she leaped upon Audra’s bed to escape the terror of some nightmare or to demand to hear a story. Muffin’s feet would be ice cold because the child never could remember to slip on her mules.
An unexpected wave of melancholy washed over Audra at the recollection. She fought to dispel it, briskly folding up the nightgown, telling herself not to be a wet goose. She would miss Cecily, but it was not the first time she had parted with her sister.
And yet when Cecily had departed for boarding school, Audra had always known the girl was coming back. But this time was different. Aunt Saunders's remark had given Audra much pause for reflection.
When Cecily finally weds . . .
And, of course, Cecily would. It was the natural outcome of a Season in London for a girl like Cecily—pretty, of good family and possessed of a respectable dowry. Audra had no doubt Muffin would soon be betrothed, swept away by some dashing young man to a home of her own, which was quite right, the way it should be.
Why, then, did it make the prospects for her own future seem so dreadfully bleak? Audra had always been so certain that she knew what she wanted. After all those years of chaos with Lady Arabella, Audra had desired nothing more than peace, the solitude in which to enjoy her books.
It had never occurred to her until recently that solitude might also mean loneliness. She had never given a thought to marriage until the Duke of Raeburn had stormed across her path. She wondered if she had been wrong to refuse him. If not his offer of marriage, at least his request that she remain at Meadow Lane. He had only asked that she give him a little more time, the leisure to court her, but the truth was she had been afraid to grant him even that. Unlike Mama, she had never been able to take risks in matters of the heart. Perhaps it was wrong of her, but she had always flattered herself she was so much more sensible than her parent. She was no longer so sure.
The packing forgotten, Audra sagged down on the edge of her sister's bed, propping her chin on her hand. She had never felt so confused in her entire life. Lady Arabella had been more like a flighty older sister to her. Audra had always believed that she was so independent that she had never felt the lack of a mother until now. But today, she would have given much for the counsel of some older and wiser female.
Lost in these dismal reflections, she did not notice when the bedchamber door opened, until Cecily breezed in, slamming it behind her. Ashamed to be caught wool-gathering in this morose fashion, Audra bolted to her feet, briskly resuming the task of folding garments into the trunk.
"Oh! Audra, there you are," Cecily said. Her eyes and cheeks bright from some brisk outdoor exercise, she swept a fur-trimmed pelisse from her shoulders and added it to the pile on the bed. "Whatever are you doing packing my things? Heloise will take care of it."
"I don't mind," Audra said. "And as for your maid, her head is so far in the clouds these days, if the packing were left to her, you would arrive in London with nothing but a toothbrush."
"Indeed. Poor Heloise. Being but a country-bred girl, she is quite overwhelmed at the prospect of our journey."
"Unlike yourself. So sophisticated and entirely blasé about the whole thing."
Cecily pulled a face at Audra before turning away to her mirror. Her face flushed pink with excitement, she removed her bonnet and, humming, she snatched up a brush to smooth out her golden curls.
"I finished my last fitting at the dressmaker's," she said. "So I will at least have one decent traveling frock. Oh, and Audra, don't pack my lilac silk. I will need it when we go out to pay calls this afternoon."
"Not again," Audra groaned. It was but another of the disagreeable aspects of having Mrs. Saunders at Meadow Lane. Her aunt had wasted no time in receiving the ladies in the neighborhood whom she felt worthy of her notice and accepting invitations from them.
"I hope it is not the Colebys again," Audra said.
"No." Cecily paused in her brushing, long enough to steal an uneasy glance at Audra. "I fear Aunt means for us to take tea at Grayhawk Manor."
"Grayhawk Manor? That's where the Entwhistles live!"
"I know. I told Aunt you would not care for it, but Sir Ralph's sisters have been pressing us to call forever. Aunt Saunders feels that we should. Since Sir Ralph is a baronet and the local master of the hunt, that makes him rather an important personage. Pray, Audra, I hope you will not make too great a fuss about it."
Audra shrugged, saying she supposed she could endure it. Hopefully Sir Ralph would be out riding instead of there to sicken her with his hunt stories. It didn’t matter in any case. She seemed to lack the spirit of late to raise a great fuss about anything.
As she commenced the task of sorting through Cecily's fans, her sister cried out, "Oh, don't throw that one out, Audra. It is my favorite." At which point Audra suggested that Cecily might leave off fussing with her curls and do a little herself toward preparing for the journey to London.
"I have!" Cecily said indignantly. "I have only just returned from taking Frou-frou for a walk, to accustom her to what it will be like in London, the streets so full of traffic."
"And what traffic did you possibly find in our quiet little lane?"
"A great deal. The farrier's cart passed us and Lady Coleby's carriage. Frou-frou did quite well until her barking frightened the Duke of Raeburn's horse."
Audra steeled herself not to start at the mention of the duke, but she could not control the quickening of her heart.
"He has acquired a new mount," Cecily said. "Rather skittish."
Half a dozen foolish questions rose to Audra's mind. How had he looked? What had he said? But she gave voice to none of them, bending over the trunk, packing fans as thou
gh her life depended upon it.
But Cecily required no prodding to keep talking about the encounter. "I was afraid His Grace would be furious with Frou-frou. And you know how terrified I get when he scowls. But when he regained control of his horse, he spoke most kindly to me. He hoped I have a pleasant sojourn in London, and he even asked after you. I told him you had not been feeling quite the thing of late and were probably suffering from a touch of biliousness."
"You what!" Audra straightened so suddenly she banged her leg up against the corner of the trunk. Biting off a curse, she rubbed the throbbing kneecap. "Cecily! You know I am never ill. What possessed you to tell His Grace such a thing?"
"Because it is quite true. You have been so pale and quiet of late. You never even bellowed at Frou-frou the day she chewed up the binding of your Wivenhoe book."
"That's Ivanhoe, and it wasn't important. I daresay I would never have gotten around to finishing the book anyway."
"That is precisely what I mean. You have not been reading much, so you must be ill."
"But there is no need for you to go telling Raeburn all of that, Cecily. He might think that I—"
She broke off, flushing with discomfort, forcing herself to remember it didn't matter what Raeburn might think. She concluded lamely, "I am sure His Grace could not have been much interested in the state of my health."
"But indeed he was. He seemed dreadfully concerned. I think he would have called here this afternoon except that I was obliged to tell him we were going to Grayhawk Manor."
"Thank heaven for that," Audra muttered. She had never imagined that she could feel grateful for an engagement at the Entwhistles.
"I have been wondering, Audra," Cecily continued. "I believe Aunt Saunders must have been wrong about the duke."
"Wrong? How?"
Cecily did not answer immediately, being more concerned with taming one wayward curl. Satisfied with her hair at last, she left off primping and came to curl up on the bed. She leaned forward in a confiding posture. "When Aunt first came here, do you remember that night His Grace dined with us?"
Audra flushed and nodded. The chess game in the library and that heated kiss. How could she ever forget it?
"Well, Aunt Saunders entertained some notion that the duke found me attractive, but I have been giving the matter a great deal of thought." Cecily wrinkled her small pert nose.
"Now, don't eat me, Audra," she said. "But I did just begin to wonder if maybe it was not you that the duke might be trying to fix his interest with."
"Me?" Audra croaked. "How absurd."
"I thought so, too, at first, but the more one considers it, it becomes plain that you and His Grace are monstrously well suited."
"We are?"
"Yes, you both make the same sort of odd little jests. He clearly detests large parties, and so do you. I daresay he would never object about your bringing a book to the table, nor mind your being so clever. In fact, I think he rather likes it, and you would never be daunted by his awful scowl or his surly tempers."
She concluded with a little sigh, "I think it would be just perfect if he were to make you his duchess and sweep you off to his castle to live happily ever after."
"What romantic nonsense, Cecily," Audra said. She forced a smile. "Happily ever afters are only for heroines in books."
"I might have known you would say something like that. Perhaps I have been foolish, weaving daydreams about you and the duke, but I do worry so about you."
"About me?" Audra echoed, considerably surprised.
"Who will take care of you after I am gone? Make sure you are not forever straining your eyes, with your nose in one of those fusty books, reading so much you forget to eat your breakfast."
Audra was hard pressed not to laugh, but Cecily looked so serious, she felt deeply touched at the same time, "I shall contrive not to starve, Muffin," she assured her sister solemnly.
To her dismay, Cecily's eyes clouded with tears. "I almost wish I was not going."
"Why, Cecily, you have talked about nothing but London for months. I thought you were so excited, so happy when Aunt Saunders finally made up her mind."
"I was. I still am, but I am frightened, too."
Audra wrapped her arm about Cecily's shoulders. "What is there for you to be frightened of, pet? You will have a wonderful time. If anyone was ever born to grace Almack's, it is you. I predict you will be the belle of the Season."
"I am not dreading any of that part of it. You know how much I love balls and waltzing and becoming acquainted with new people." Cecily fretted her lower lip. "It is only that I have realized I am quite grown up now, am I not? By this time next year, I could be betrothed, even married."
She blushed deeply. "It is a wondrous prospect, but a little terrifying, too, to trust the care of one's heart, one's life into the keeping of one man. Do you not think so?"
"Well, I-I . . ." Audra stammered.
Snuggling closer, Cecily said, "Oh, I know what you must be thinking, and perhaps you are right. I am a goose. I did not expect you to understand, Audra. You have never been afraid of anything."
Audra found herself unable to reply or even meet her sister's eyes. She gave Cecily a rough squeeze and drew away. "Never mind, Muffin. You are but having a last minute attack of nerves. Your only fear just now should be that you will break poor Jack Coachman's back when he attempts to lift these trunks of yours."
This sally elicited a chuckle from Cecily. By dint of more teasing, Audra soon had her sister smiling and cheerful. By the time Audra left the chamber to attire herself for the ordeal of calling on the Entwhistles, Cecily was quite restored, waltzing about the room as she decided what bracelets to wear, all her doubts and fears banished.
Although Audra smiled, she closed the door behind her with a heavy sigh. If only she had managed to do as much for herself.
Audra expected to derive little pleasure from the afternoon ahead of her. By the time she crossed the threshold of Grayhawk Manor, she had begun to wish she had not been so lethargic, that she had taken the pains to manufacture some excuse to spare her the ordeal of taking tea with Sir Ralph's sisters.
Her first glimpse of the towering main hall did little to rouse her enthusiasm. What once must have been a respectable Georgian manor had been turned into a veritable chamber of horrors, the walls crammed with hunting prints, deer antlers, and other mounted objects too dreadful to contemplate. Audra stole a closer glimpse at one such and was appalled to realize it must be a fox nose hammered in place with a brass nail. She averted her eyes, trying not to examine any other such trophies more closely.
Fortunately, the drawing room in which the Misses Entwhistle elected to receive their guests boasted a more innocuous decor—a few stiff family portraits and a collection of Wedgwood figurines on an étagère. At one end of the long room stood both a pianoforte and a harp.
Audra devoutly hoped that neither of her hostesses would be tempted to favor them with a selection that afternoon. Both Sir Ralph's sisters had weak voices. Although they were not twins, they were both pale and colorless creatures, and Audra frequently had difficulty telling them apart.
When they came forward to make their curtsies, Audra was still not sure if she was addressing the elder Miss Entwhistle or Miss Georgianna. She was content to let her aunt and Cecily take over the conversation. Ensconcing herself upon the settee with a cup of weak tea, Audra occupied herself with counting the minutes until this ordeal was likely to be over.
The visit was only enlivened when Sir Ralph popped his head in the door for a few moments. He had several of his unruly hunting dogs at his heels, but neither of his meek sisters seemed the least disconcerted at having these beasts running tame through the house, not even when the largest one gulped several biscuits off the tea tray.
After greeting Cecily and Mrs. Saunders, Sir Ralph wrung Audra's hand in hearty fashion, his bristling red hair standing on end like a wild red flame.
"B'gawd, Miss Masters, when my sisters told me yo
u were coming, I could scarce believe it. Coaxed you away from your books at last, eh?" He gave one of his loud braying laughs. "You must have Georgy or Sophy show you over the house. One doesn't like to boast, but quite a place, Grayhawk Manor. Mentioned in all the guidebooks."
Audra managed to return some politely noncommittal answer. If the rest of the manor at all resembled the front hall, she felt she had seen quite enough of it.
But Mrs. Saunders professed herself deeply interested. She was quite fond of touring great houses, although Audra oft thought she only did so to catch the housekeepers out in acts of negligence, examining famous antiques merely to see if they were dusted properly.
The elder Miss Entwhistle kindly offered to escort Mrs. Saunders and Cecily over the manor's finest chambers. Sir Ralph held the door open for the three women, also excusing himself.
"I am expecting something to be delivered soon," he said, giving Audra a broad wink. "But I shan't tell even you what it is, Miss Masters. Quite a surprise. If it arrives soon, I may let you have a peek at it."
After this remark, which was clearly intended to tantalize her, Sir Ralph grinned and quit the room, his dogs galumphing after him.
Far from being intrigued, Audra supposed he must be talking about some new hunter or hound. In either case, she was not interested in viewing any animal that soon would suffer from Sir Ralph's careless handling.
As odious as she found Sir Ralph's presence, she almost regretted his going. She was now left entirely alone with Miss Georgianna Entwhistle, a painfully shy young woman. Holding a conversation with her was next to impossible. Audra felt something akin to a toothdrawer, extracting sentences from the girl syllable by syllable.
She was glad of any interruption, even when it was only the Entwhistle butler come to announce the arrival of another caller. That was until the manservant made his stiff bow and said, "The Duke of Raeburn awaits in the hall, miss."
The Wooing of Miss Masters Page 16