Finagled

  Marcus Howard was twirling the stem of his drink with a smirk on his face. Lady Cropplefloop, repulsed, had fluttered back to the tittering group of older females, Nan was making eyes at her husband, and Maryann twitching as Thomas broke the relative silence with a loud "Oho! Regina? What what!"

  "Some women cannot help themselves," Mr. Howard said, with a warm smile to Ramona, "it is, I believe, in their very genetics to gossip, please don't hold it against Alyssa. She was hoping you might know more than she did about the matter, which is clearly next to nothing. Just a lot of talk that went on back then. George has never said a thing against Regina, and I have no reason to believe she didn't have a good reason for leaving when she did. She was so attached to her husband. They were inseparable..."

  "I am sorry sir, but you seem to be engaging in a bit of gossip yourself. I have no desire to speculate about anyone’s virtues or sins. If you would like to talk about who may or may not marry whom, I will happily oblige, for that is a harmless sort of gossip, but where reputation is concerned, I am a completely disinterested party."

  "How admirable!" Marcus Howard said. "Forgive me, I had not thought my statements to be gossip. I was, actually, quite good friends with Andrew's father."

  "I apologise for appearing rude. Let us change the subject and begin our conversation anew," Ramona said.

  "Indeed. So, what do you think young Flavia Toilingwood’s prospects are? Do you suspect she has an eye for any of the young gentlemen present?"

  Ramona chuckled, "Indeed, I do." but said nothing more, in spite of his pressing.

  Flavia was clearly fuming as she watched the apparent flirtation before her very eyes. It did not matter that the lady in question was her hostess and newly married to the Duke of Blusterfuss, seeing Marcus' eyes light up with laughter when the cause was any lady other than herself was infuriating.

  Ramona managed to keep the guests entertained for the hour or so before everyone retired to get ready for the ball.

  It was still light outside, but it was cold and gray. Ramona shivered as Melanie helped her out of her day gown. She worried slightly that she had not heard from George since he had gone into the drawing room with Regina and Andrew, but she had heard from him so little of late, she had not really expected him to come and find her afterward. She had just hoped for it.

  Ramona had ordered some beautiful, rust colored fabric and worked, with her ladies, on making a beautiful gown to wear this evening. The color was extremely flattering, it added a nice warmth to her skin, and seemed somehow seasonally appropriate, like a warm fire on a cold, late autumn evening.

  Melanie dressed her hair beautifully, filled it with amber colored gems, and, standing in front of her mirror, Ramona felt especially pleased with her appearance. She went downstairs a bit early to make sure everything in the ballroom was readied. The musicians were in place and there were no swathes of wayward fabric preparing to trip an exuberant dancer.

  On her way down stairs she passed Andrew going up, she gave him a slight smile and said, "you had best dress soon and come down," but he avoided her gaze, he colored slightly as he rushed past her, and brushed her aside with an unexpected strength. She stood on the stair for a moment, surprised, before collecting her senses and continuing down the stairs.

  She looked in on the drawing room, to see if George was still there, but found it empty. He was, she found, just stepping out of the large french doors in the ballroom, into the garden, just as she entered. Perhaps he was upset by seeing his late brother's wife. It must have been a painful reminder of the sad end he had met.

  She hesitated and then decided to follow. It may not have been the best idea that she had ever had, but she was not always guided by logic, sometimes emotion took control, and she remembered George's soft sleeping face as he convalesced after the unfortunate incident outside of the hotel.

  She longed to provide some comfort to him again.

  The french doors opened onto a large wintered garden. At the moment, it was somewhat dark and desolate, but the hedges were still tall and green, and some late blooming flowers were just closing against the approaching twilight. George could have gone anywhere, so, pulling her thin russet wrap close about her pale white shoulders, Ramona made a slow turn around the garden, stepping quietly amongst the fallen leaves and nettles that were impossible to keep out of the garden path.

  She heard voices ahead, and was startled to recognize George's strong voice accompanied by a that of a woman. As she strained to listen, she knew she should walk away. Whatever it was, it certainly did not concern her. Yet she felt a strange feeling, remembered being in George's arms in the arbor, at that ball that seemed now like something from another life. This was the perfect spot for an assignation, as she well knew. Was that why George was so distant with her always? Was there someone else who had his heart? Holding her breath she strained to hear the words, fearing what they might be, as they made their way through the darkness to her small perfect little ears.

  "Oh George, you cannot deny it," the voice sounded like it could have been Regina, but Ramona was not quite sure.

  "I have no intention of denying the past," he said.

  "And with our past, how could you do it? You made a promise, to Andrew, and to me." she said.

  "And I have kept it," he said.

  "You mean, you have not bedded your pretty little wife? Or are you using some form of contraceptive machine? It is not enough, you fool. Why do you think I came back?" she challenged him.

  "To hurt those who would love you." George responded.

  "Oh, you are such a pretty talker, Georgie." she laughed. "Would you love me? Right here, again?"

  Ramona felt her face flame up. Her nails digging into the palms of her hands, she turned, lifting her skirts carefully, and ran away lightly.

  The bright candlelight shocked her, coming from the growing dark outside. She felt somewhat dazzled and dizzy. A few of the guests had entered the room. Drinks were poured by the servants and a light, friendly conversation was buzzing around the room. Ramona tried to keep the sinking, sick feeling she felt off of her face and out of her voice as she addressed her guests. They must have sensed something was amiss, because they asked her if she was well, and she replied, "just a bit dizzy. It has been a long day. I had so much to prepare for. I just need to relax now and enjoy everything that has been arranged."

  "Indeed," they said, arching their eyebrows. The whispers started, of course, Ramona was pregnant. It had been a few months, she was probably experiencing one of those illnesses so common to young mothers-to-be. Everyone began to condescend a bit., but Ramona did not catch their hints and amused smiles.

  She fluttered about the party, she danced with the husbands, she watched the french doors for George's return. And then he returned, flushed, with that curl out of place and she felt a sick sinking feeling, but she did not show it, she doubled her efforts to appear cheery and entertaining, an interesting conversationalist and exquisite dancer.

  George watched her, from the wall where he stood now, looking slightly unhappy, she caught his eye for a moment, but it was like he wasn't really looking at her, just staring into space, and the harsh look on his face made her recoil slightly, caused the person she was speaking to to ask if she needed to sit down.

  "Yes," she responded.

  Then she was seated, in a chair made for sitting, and sit in it she did, like a person seated in a chair made for sitting.

  It was supposed to be a lovely night. She felt rather sad again. She tried to watch the light feet of the dancers and enjoy the warm tones of the draperies and flowers that filled the room. It probably wasn't more than fifteen minutes after George came in that he approached her, though it felt like hours.

  "Are you feeling alright?" he asked.

  "What?" she started, "Oh. I guess I am just exhausted."

  "Too much labor to enjoy the fruits of your labors." George said.

  "Yes. I suppose so."

  "That is unfortunate. I
told you that you should have let Mrs. Lopple handle more of the preparations."

  "So you did." Ramona said, shortly.

  "Are you too tired to dance?" he asked.

  "I... perhaps I am." she said, avoiding his eyes.

  "Oh come now. What will people say?"

  "It doesn't matter." Ramona said.

  "It does. The whole reason they are here is so they can talk about what a lovely dancer their hostess was when the retire for the evening."

  "Oh. Oh fine, George, fine."

  She let him lead her to the dance floor. A lively waltz was beginning, and in spite of herself, she felt swept up in being swept up in George's arms. They had not danced in so long, the other partners of the evening had been paltry in comparison to George, even with his injury to slow him down.

  The night came to a close. Ramona said goodnight to her guests as they retired to their quarters. It was late at night, but not so late as it might have been at a London ball. There were too many people over the age of 30 present for such a thing to continue much past midnight. The young people protested, but found their way slowly and sleepily up to their rooms where they collapsed into a youthfully exhausted sleep. George took Ramona's hand on the stair, as she wavered, truly exhausted, in her mind and body, but also, in her heart.

  "Good night, Ramona," George said, at her door.

  "Good night." she replied, still not meeting his gaze.

  He squeezed her hand.

  She closed her door.

  Chapter Twelve

  Ramona did not have the energy or motivation in the morning to don her beautiful riding habit, part of her wedding trousseau, and join the men on their hunt, as she had intended. It was very early, and while the men acted invigorated by the cold of the morning, and the 4 hours sleep that they had acquired, Ramona felt crumpled and bruised. The young people stayed in bed until noon, and Ramona was, after all, closer in age to them than anyone else currently residing at Loathewood. When Melanie brought her a tray, provided by the sideboard downstairs, of hearty, greasy delights, she groaned and pulled her blankets up over her head. She would get up in time to see the men come home. She might even get up earlier than that. But she would not ride out with them.

  She had fitful, dark dreams. The faces of those she had seen, danced with, laughed with the night before became twisted and long, and their voices along with them, dark, soulless blinking eyes as she turned around the dance floor in their arms.

  It was a loud, solid knock on her door that roused her. Melanie entered.

  “Your Grace, the men are just coming back," she said, "they are in the courtyard now. There has been an accident."

  "Hmm. Not George?" Ramona sat up suddenly.

  "No Your Grace, it is Andrew's mother, Mrs. Regina."

  "Regina?" Ramona said, "Did she ride out with them?" She wanted to add: How interesting that she was so prepared to partake of the festivities to which she had not been invited, nor known about beforehand, but her sour reply died on her lips. Regina had been injured. Personal feelings aside, Ramona felt concerned.

  "What happened? Has the Doctor been called? Here, dress me quickly, something plain, not what I laid out for today."

  Melanie complied, as she hastily laced and buttoned Ramona into her clothing, and tossed her hair tightly and simply atop her head, she replied, "She fell from her horse, my lady, your horse, actually, she rode out on Sally. The Doctor has been called of course."

  "Well, then, where has she been taken?" Ramona straightened her dress a bit without glancing in the mirror.

  "She is in the front sitting room, Your Grace."

  "Is she conscious?"

  "I do not know."

  "Well, we shall see then. Thank you, Melanie." she gave a warm smile to her devoted maid.

  Downstairs in the front sitting room, laid out rather majestically in a deep plum riding habit, Regina's dark hair had been loosened by the fall, and fell in long waves off the edge of the chaise longue, her eyes looked slightly bruised and leaves and twigs clung to her tight skirts. She was, in short, even more beautiful than she had been the night before. Ramona caught herself gasping at the sight of her. Several of the men stood around, somewhat uselessly. George was just dipping a rag into a bowl of water.

  "George," Ramona said, "here, let me."

  She took the rag from his hand and gently pushed him away. Kneeling by the chaise she arranged Regina's hair in a slightly more seemly fashion and wiped the unconscious woman's forehead, she washed dirt from her clear skin and cleaned the scratches that marred her right cheek. Her fingers were also dirty and scraped, and Ramona saw that her dress had been torn, revealing a thin, white petticoat beneath the richly colored fabric of her habit.

  "A blanket, please, and send for my maid,"

  The other men present were quiet, except for Thomas, who, seeing the tear in Regina's gown for the first time, said, "Oho! Undergarments! What what!" loudly, making Ramona's face burn in sympathy for the unconscious woman..

  George said, "Please, if you could all step outside," he went to fetch a blanket, and have someone call for Melanie.

  The blanket and the doctor arrived in quick succession. Ramona sent Melanie to find something more comfortable for Regina to wear. Her habit was tight, and gave her no freedom of movement.

  After a quick assessment the Doctor agreed that it would be best if she could be gotten into looser clothing and onto a bed. She still had not regained consciousness, but her breathing was steady.

  Ramona and George stood together outside of Regina's room. It was, Ramona saw with some surprise, in the section of the house where she had seen Andrew on her first full day at Loathewood. This wing had been used, she determined, as the living quarters for that young family before it was broken up by Regina's desertion and Malcolm's death. She had noticed a feminine touch to the decor, and the fact that it had something more of a lived in feeling than other areas of the house that had not been used in centuries.

  The Doctor came out.

  "She’s awake now. She is very confused. Someone should stay with her at all times until the crisis is passed. She has a broken arm, but aside from that, the main concern is her head injury."

  "Of course. I... I can go in with her." Ramona said.

  "No," George said, suddenly, sharply, "a servant can stay with her just as well."

  "And she is asking for her son," the Doctor continued.

  "Yes, of course. I don't know that he has been told of the accident... did he ride out with the hunting party?" Ramona asked George.

  "No. No he did not. He had a bit too much champagne last night and was sleeping it off." George sounded angry.

  "Goodness." Ramona replied. "Well, someone should go to him. George, I think it should be you."

  "Yes. Of course." George said.

  Ramona walked with him to the hallway that forked, in one direction to her room and George's, and in the other, Andrew's, and the stairway that led to the lower floors. Ramona wanted to go to her room for a moment, freshen up a bit before going down to give the doctor's news to the other guests.

  George went to Andrew's room and knocked, at first a light rap, and then somewhat firmer.

  "What is it?" came the aggravated, pubescent voice on the other side.

  "An accident, Andrew. I would talk to you."

  The door opened, "Accident? I... I didn't have anything to do with it."

  "Andrew. It had not occurred to me that you did."

  "Well," the boy stumbled over his words, "is she going to be okay?"

  "It seems so. She is asking to see you."

  "Me? Why... why does she want to see me?" he stuttered.

  "I..." George cocked his head, "I believe because you are her son."

  "I... my mother?" Andrew said, turning pale.

  "Yes. Who did..." but he was cut short as Andrew pushed past him, running to the northern wing where his mother's room was located.

  Ramona was leaving her room and approaching the stairway whe
n he stumbled in his tracks, and looked at her with a hot heat in his eyes, he took a deep breath and pushed past her, pressing her into the wall.

  She stood still for a moment. Bracing herself against the wainscotting. George approached.

  "Andrew pushed you?" he asked.

  "Yes. It was... I am sure, an accident, he was in a hurry to get to his mother."

  "Yes. It was... peculiar." George replied, narrowing his eyes.

  "How so?"

  "I just had a strange feeling... but... I'm sure it’s nothing. I can't imagine how he might feel, to regain a mother and have her life endangered in the span of a few hours."