The Unlikely Rivals

by Megan Daniel

  All in all, it was a mellow scene, heartwarming in its domesticity. Mrs. Gleason brought in a fresh pot of tea and flitted about seeing that everyone was comfortable. Everyone was.

  Then quite suddenly the peaceful scene was rudely shattered. The door was thrown open, and a bristling Mr. Dawes surveyed the scene. “Mrs. Gleasonl” thundered Mr. Banks’s Bath agent

  The housekeeper yelped her surprise and dropped a teacup with a crash. “Lawks a-mercy, Mr. Dawesl You do give a body a start.”

  “Mrs. Gleasonl” he repeated. “What is the meaning of this invasion?” He was trying to look forbidding, but when one is very thin, and very old, and only five feet tall it is difficult. He went on. “I had heard rumors of this, but I could not credit them. I had to see for myself. Mrs. Gleason, who are all these people?”

  “Well now, let’s see,” she answered, looking around. “There’s Miss Crawley, in course, and all her young ones. Here’s Mr. Rowbridge and ...”

  “Rowbridge!” Mr. Dawes shot his pale grey eyes to the sofa. He recognized its two occupants at once. “You

  two! I might have known you were behind this. Well, we shall see what Mr. Banks has to say when he knows of this. Nice goings on, I don’t think!”

  “Shut up, Dawes,” came a voice from the wing chair, the back of which was facing the door.

  "What the . . . who . . . where . . · Mr. Dawes blustered.

  Samuel Weddington peered slowly around the back of the chair, a look of unholy amusement in his eyes. “Mr. Banks knows well enough what is going on in his house, and he likes it very well indeed.”

  “Mr. Banks!” cried Dawes. “Sir! I didn't... I couldn’t ... why...” He trailed off in confusion.

  A sea of heads turned toward Mr. Weddington, all save Mama who was scribbling away and had not, in fact, even noticed the agent’s entrance.

  Derek found his tongue first. “Banks? You’re Banks?'’ “Great-grandpapa!” said Saskia. “Is this true?” The old man only raised a bushy brow and gave her an elfin smile. The cousins turned to their great-aunt to be surprised by the expression on her face. She was looking . . . guilty! “Aunt Hester!” said Saskia as realization dawned. “You knew! You have known all along.”

  “Well, of all the shabby tricks ...,” began Derek.

  Aunt Hester thought some attempt at defense was in order. “You needn’t get the wind up so. I didn’t know it when I sent for you, I promise you.”

  “But you have known for some time, have you not?” Derek scowled.

  “Yes,” she replied calmly. ‘Tor some time.”

  “But Aunt Hester,” said Saskia. “Why?”

  “I think I know,” put in Beatrix, looking from her aunt to her Opa. They were exchanging rather sheepish looks. “It was because you knew that Saskia and Derek were in love with each other, wasn’t it?”

  ‘Well, I didn’t know that just at first, of course,” said Aunt Hester. “I merely thought to divert myself with watching their antics, and I convinced Weddington to go along with me. But we have both long since seen

  which way the land lay. Why, it’s been plain as a pikestaff for ages. It is amazing they haven’t seen it themselves. Is that what they mean, do you suppose, when they say love is blind?”

  “Never knew a Rowbridge so slow with his wooing,” grumbled Mr. Weddington.

  The two principal subjects of this discussion sat frozen. Saskia stared open-mouthed at her sister who was returning an encouraging smile. Derek’s eye fixed on his great-aunt who shot back a look of challenge. “Don’t you think,” she said archly, “that it is high time you and Saskia went for a stroll in the garden, Rowbridge?”

  The two of them slowly, almost reluctantly, turned to face each other, a look of speculation in their faces. “And,” she added, “you needn’t worry about that silly contest. You have both won.”

  A smile touched Derek’s eyes, and Saskia felt something in her go limp. She felt him take her hand, felt him pull her gently to her feet, felt him lead her to the door, past the still speechless Mr. Dawes, and out into the garden.

  “You know,” said Mr. Weddington as the door closed behind them. “Never thought to say it of a Rowbridge, but I like that young man. If his grandfather’d been more like him, I’d have given him my Susannah without argument.”

  "Would you, Opa?” asked Trix. “Even with that marquis waiting in the wings?”

  He thought a moment. “Well maybe I wouldn’t,” he admitted. “I’ve learned a thing or two since then, I hope.”

  “Of course you have. Isn’t that the wonderful thing about growing old? I can hardly wait. Only think what a lot of things I shall know.”

  He beamed up at her, this child of brightness, then let his eyes wander to the painting she mirrored. He spoke softly now, to Susannah Rowbridge. “You know, he turned out to be a rum one, that marquis. Worse than Edward Rowbridge ever was.”

  Saskia and Derek made their way to a stone bench in the overgrown rose garden. They sat some little while in silence, birds twittering nearby. Finally Derek spoke.

  “Saskia,” he began tentatively. “Is ... is there even the smallest shred of truth in what they’ve been saying in there?”

  She stared at the ground and spoke so softly he could barely hear her. “I am so sorry to put you through such a scene, Derek. I know your feeling for Beatrix, and how much it must hurt. I honestly thought she returned your regard, I never suspected ...”

  “Beatrix? Why, what nonsense are you talking? My only feeling for Beatrix is that she is a pretty and charming creature who would make a delightful sister- in-law.”

  “Sister-in-law?” she said weakly.

  “Yes, sister-in-law. I have had the effrontery to fall in love with you, you see, even knowing my cause to be hopeless.”

  She was still studying the ground, and he couldn’t see the slow and totally transforming smile that crept up her face. “But it isn't hopeless,” she whispered.

  “Saskia” He took her hand once more and lifted her chin to study her face. “Can you mean . . . ?” He had no need to finish the question; the answer was writ large in her eyes.

  Suddenly Saskia was taught that those strong arms, the ones that had gently carried her in from the storm, were not always so gentle. They were ruthlessly crushing her now as Derek’s lips found hers. She felt not the slightest desire for the crushing to stop.

  When the situation made breathing critical, they pulled apart, gazing into each other’s eyes, quite lost in the wonder of it all. “Can it really be,” said Derek at last, “that you are not in love with Ned Durr ant?”

  “Captain Durr ant?” she exclaimed, snapping back to reality. “Good heavens, nol He is all that is kind, of course, but what could make you think I would fall in

  love with a sea captain who’d spend six months out of seven away from me?”

  A warm smile touched his lips. “What a very sensible answer.”

  “Well, I am sensible, I’m afraid.”

  “I know, my darling. Sensible, practical, and often entirely wrong-headed.”

  “Well of all the . . .” She got no further as the sentence was bluntly cut off by another crushing kiss. When he finally released her, a pert smile appeared. “There is nothing at all sensible in a young lady who kisses a gentleman to whom she is not betrothed.”

  “Quite right!” he exclaimed. “We must remedy that.” Before she could protest, he was down on one knee. “My very dear Miss van Houten,” he began ponderously. “I have for long looked upon you as a paragon among women. My excessive admiration for your esteemed person has led me to hope that bountiful Venus, the goddess of love, will smile on our union with favor. Like Daphnis and Chloe, our love will be...”

  “Derek Rowbridget Get up this instant! I will not be proposed to in this odious ‘Kneighleyish’ fashion!” The wrinkles of amusement deepened about his eyes. “And how dare you laugh at me!”

  “I’m not laughing, sweet termagant. I am only trying to determine if those remarkab
le eyes of yours are most beautiful when you are angry or when you are harboring a strong desire to laugh. The anger makes them quite magnificent, with little yellow sparks shooting out like fireworks. But on the whole I think I prefer the laughter.” He leaned and lightly kissed each eye in turn.

  “Then you will do well not to make me angry, won’t you?” she teased.

  “Ah, no such rash promises. I’m sure you’ll be ripping up at me at regular intervals. And I am quite likely to do the same to you, for I shan’t put you on a marble pedestal, you know.”

  “Oh, well,” she answered. “It’s just as well. I’ve been on one or two, you know, but the trouble with pedestals

  is that they are not very large, and one tends to get awfully cramped standing always in the same position. And then if one moves about at all and tries to get a bit more comfortable, one usually falls off.”

  Now he was laughing outright. “Dear delight! With you for a wife I shall never be bored.”

  “Am I to be your wife?” she asked saucily. “I have yet to hear you ask me.”

  "You will marry me, my girl, with no more argumentation!” He looked her in the eyes. “Won’t you?” he asked softly.

  “Yes,” she smiled back. “I think I will.”

  “Sensible girl,” he chided and proceeded to kiss her insensible.

  It was quite some time later that the lovesick pair made their way back to the house. They returned to the library to discover that the family party had broken up. Only Mama remained, her pen scratching across the page. Her red wig had slipped to one side, and there were ink spots all over her neckruff.

  “Mama?” said Saskia. “We have something to tell you.”

  Her mother looked up. “Hello, my love. Why, where has everyone gone? Are we to have lunch?”

  “Mama, Derek and I are going to be married.”

  “Well, of course you are, dearest. I have known it forever. I can’t think how it took you so long to learn it You are usually so sensible about such things.” The two lovers only grinned at each other. “Tell me, darling,” Mama went on. “How do you spell malmsey?”

  “Malmsey?”

  “Yes. As in a butt of Malmsey?”

  “Oh, dear, Mama. What shocking adventure have you got poor Magdalena into now?”

  "Oh, it’s not Magdalena. I’ve quite finished with her. « About time, to. She was getting to be a dead bore. This is Lucinda.” Cornelia Crawley, Authoress, pushed her wig back on top of her head and splashed her pen in the standish. Saskia and Derek, arm in arm, tiptoed out.

  Lucinda’s strength was ebbing fast. She couldn’t hold on much longer to the rough stone edge of the battlements. Below her, the inky water of the moat loomed. In her heavy petticoats and farthingale she

  would sink like a cannonball.

  A lantern swept the wall over her hands; she held her breath. It swung back, paused, stopped. The jingle of My Lord of Granthum’s spurs sounded loud in her ears, and the yellowish light grew nearer.

  “My Lady Lucinda,” he intoned with malevolence as he caught at her bleeding hands and pulled her up. His sword and his leer glinted in the oily lamplight.

  “ ’Od’s death! What a beauty it is! Thou mayst love me, or thou mayst not, My Lady, but I’ll have you yet!”

  About the Author

  Megan Daniel, born and raised in Southern California, combines a background in theater and music with a passion for travel and a love of England and the English. After attending UCLA and California State University, Long Beach, where she earned a degree in theater, she lived for a time in London and elsewhere in Europe She then settled in New York, working for six years as a theatrical costume designer for Broadway, off-Broadway, ballet, and regional theater

  Miss Daniel currently divides her time between her homes in New York and Amsterdam, together with her husband, Roy Sorrels, a successful free-lance writer. Her first two novels, Amelia and The Reluctant Suitor, are also available in Signet editions.