“But he was displeased, wasn’t he, Becka?” Mary asked unhappily. “I had nowhere else to go, with Trudy in Suffolk and no one at home at Farthington Hall. I did not mean to make trouble for you,” she cried penitently.
“No more have you. I am pleased to have you here and know that you are safe. Do not mind Jason. He gets into the crotchets sometimes, poor dear. He does tend to be a rather high stickler and I fear you have offended his sense of what is proper, but it will not stop him feeling responsible for you, and so he will do what is best,” she assured her sister.
“Now do lie down for a bit and I shall send a maid to you later. I’m sure your own Grimms will not be up to it yet. I fear you have frightened the poor girl out of her wits.”
She settled her sister on the bed, kissed her, and drew the covers over her. When the exhausted Mary had fallen asleep, Rebecca crept from the room.
As she had no desire to face either Miss Turnpeck’s vapors or Clayborne’s tongue, Rebecca repaired to her own room. But there was no evading his lordship, for soon there was a tap on the door and he entered, a worried frown on his brow.
“I am sorry for this trouble, Jason. Now you seem to have a full complement of underage Farthingtons, to say nothing of their aging governess.”
“I realize it is no fault of yours that brings your sister here,” he replied equably.
“What are we to do with her, Jason? We could send her home with Miss Turnpeck, but then Meg would probably have to go, too, and I do not wish to lose her company as yet. Can Mary stay here with us? I cannot imagine what I shall write to Mama. She will be excessively angry, but she will hardly bestir herself from Paris.”
“I am willing to have her stay with us, Rebecca, but she is a regular hoyden and is like to be a burden to you. Can you manage her?”
“She is my sister,” Rebecca replied stiffly.
“That is little to the case. You are young yourself to have charge of her, and Miss Turnpeck, I can see, will be useless,” he remarked dryly.
Rebecca said softly, “I can manage.”
“I hope you can. And, Rebecca,” he said seriously, “you are to come to me with any problems.” When she looked skeptical he continued, “Do not imagine that I am an ogre. You are not in the habit of trusting in me, but I am your husband and you should learn to accept my protection, for it will be freely given always, no matter what problems we may have.”
An agony of desolation swept through Rebecca, who felt her loneliness sharply at that moment, but she replied evenly, “Thank you, Jason. I shall remember.”
Clayborne regarded her sad, downturned face. Gently he lifted her chin and said softly, “Please trust me, Rebecca.” He stood there hesitantly for a moment, but merely continued, “I shall write to your parents and your Aunt Adeline apprising them of the situation.” Then he touched her cheek and quickly left her.
Wonderingly, she raised a hand to the spot where he had touched her cheek. It was a gesture he had occasionally used before their marriage, and in those days she had taken it as a sign of affection. Why had he done it now? Although he was unbending a bit in public, he continued formal in any private encounter. She sighed and shook her head. No doubt he felt some sympathy for her because of Mary’s advent, and the problems it was likely to generate.
Dinner was less than enjoyable that evening, with Miss Turnpeck flushed and scolding, Mary pale and quiet. Clayborne put an end to the scolding by pointedly taking over the conversation himself. There was no hint of reproof in his manner as he directed his remarks kindly to each of the ladies in turn. But Meg continued to look upset and Rebecca could not keep her attention on what her husband was saying. Everyone was delighted to escape early to their rooms, and it was only then that Rebecca remembered the drawing of the maze.
In the chaos of Mary’s arrival she must have put it down somewhere, for she could not find it in her reticule or anywhere in her room. She drew a wrapper on over her night dress, took up her candle and walked barefoot to the drawing room. The house was quiet, the servants having retired after the houseparty was settled for the night.
In the drawing room Rebecca searched on the tables and under the chairs, finally locating the drawing crushed under a cushion. Plumping up the cushion, she sat down to study the sketch, and noted the delicate female hand with curlicues of embellishment. She was about to put it away when she noticed a line at the bottom which read, “Next time you shall surely find me, Jason.” It was signed Alexis.
Rebecca grinned, and wondered if he had indeed found her the next time. Only one woman of her acquaintance had the Christian name of Alexis, and that was Lady Hillston. Rebecca had met that dashing young matron during her season last year and she chuckled out loud to picture the straight-laced Clayborne with her.
“Up to some devilment, Rebecca?” Clayborne asked from the doorway, startling her.
“No. It is just this old maze drawing. I found the note amusing,” she laughed, her eyes dancing in the candlelight, as she held it out to him.
When Clayborne had read the note, which he had long since forgotten, he did not share her amusement. In fact, he made to put the drawing in his pocket, thought better of it, and handed it back to her without a word. His face was unreadable in the candlelight, and Rebecca said lightly, “I shall make a copy of it and return it to your study.”
“That will not be necessary. Shall Mary go with you to Hampton Court?”
“Yes, if you are agreeable. I am sure it would cheer her, and you must have noticed that all the animadversions she has borne have quite depressed her spirits.”
“If they have depressed her willfulness, we will be in luck. But I am not against her going. No doubt she will get in less trouble accompanying us than staying home.”
“You come, too?” she asked, surprised.
“I think it would be wise. Would you rather I did not?” He watched her closely in the candlelight.
“No, I think I shall be rather relieved to have you with us,” she admitted.
He nodded and said only, “I will see you to your room.”
* * * *
When the party had assembled for Hampton Court there was some discussion as to the driving arrangements. Finally it was decided that Captain Hardcastle, since he was unable to drive with his broken arm, would share the carriage with Meg and Miss Turnpeck, while Clayborne would take Mary and Captain Gray would take Rebecca, in their curricles. As Meg would be just as happy to be nowhere near a horse, this arrangement satisfied everyone, except perhaps Mary, who was still worried about Clayborne’s reaction to her arrival.
“I am sorry to have caused you such inconvenience by arriving as I did,” Mary ventured timidly as they drove off.
“There is no question of inconvenience, Mary. My concern was more for your safety and reputation, but let us not speak of that any more. I gather you are interested in driving. When we reach open road I have a mind to let you try these bays of mine if you wish to.” He smiled down at her.
Mary’s face was transfigured with joy. “You cannot mean it!”
“Why, have you never driven a pair before? I made sure you must have.”
“And so I have, but never such prime ones as these. I may not be able to manage them,” she confessed, “for I have only driven round Farthington Hall in the phaeton with an old pair, and the stable lad had to be much coaxed to allow that. I waited until the coachman had taken Miss Turnpeck and my sister into Salisbury, you know. They don’t expect me to accompany them since I have no interest in all their sashes and bonnets,” she explained scornfully.
“I see,” he said seriously, repressing a smile. “Here, I shall show you how to hold the ribbons, and once I have the edge off them you shall have a try.”
Knowing him to be an excellent whip, Mary paid close attention. Clayborne found her an apt pupil and a disarming child, and was much inclined to be more favorably disposed toward her, though he noted that she was more likely to be occupied by pastimes such as riding and driving
than those amusements her sisters found enjoyable. She spoke of balls with loathing, and of the theatre as past enduring. It would be no easy matter to keep her busy and out of mischief in the city, he thought wryly.
Captain Gray, undoubtedly encouraged by the sight of Clayborne allowing Mary to handle the ribbons, offered to instruct Rebecca. Since she had never driven even one horse, a pair seemed overmuch, but she was willing to try. After she had nearly ditched them twice, which caused more laughter then alarm, the captain suggested that she desist for the day, and they drove along companionably to Hampton Court.
Upon their arrival Captain Hardcastle emerged from the carriage with a stunned expression on his face, and none of the curricle riders had the least doubt that Miss Turnpeck had once again taken an opportunity to expound on the intricacies of history commonly associated with this famous landmark. After they had made a tour of the palace, Rebecca and Meg, with due gravity, challenged the captains to see who could reach the center of the maze first, and the four set off immediately, while Clayborne proceeded more leisurely with Mary and Miss Turnpeck. They could hear the laughter ahead of them, and calls back and forth for a while, but soon these were rather distant.
Growing impatient with the pace kept by Miss Turnpeck, who was actually hurrying more than she thought strictly necessary, her wispy gray hair becoming disordered, Mary led the way, delighted with the blind alleys which caused them to retrace their steps. Clayborne, perhaps wishing to keep Miss Turnpeck out of breath, had set an ambitious pace, but took pity on her and slowed his steps. Soon Mary was out of sight, and when next they came upon her she was returning in the company of Captain Hardcastle.
“He’s lost the lot of them,” she giggled, throwing him a wicked look. “And I do not think we shall ever reach the center.”
“Of course we shall. Take pity on a wounded soldier, ma’am. Come, we shall find it together. I’m certain that it must be very close now.” Placing her hand ceremoniously on his uninjured arm, they strolled off together. Clayborne and Miss Turnpeck listened to her artless chatter (she recounted her driving lesson), and followed close behind. They could hear other voices now, and soon came upon the rest of their party.
“Pooh, it is nothing,” Rebecca was saying, while Captain Gray and Meg hovered over her. “Do cease this fussing.”
“Oh, Jason, Becka has twisted her ankle,” Meg cried when she caught sight of him.
“I tell you it is fine. I shall be right as a trivet in no time. And we won!” Rebecca announced.
“I’m not surprised,” Clayborne responded dryly. “Let me have a look at your ankle.”
“I will not have any fuss,” she whispered fiercely to him as he knelt beside her, taking the foot in his hand. “There is little the matter with it, and I am sure I shall be able to walk in a moment.”
“There is nothing broken, in any case,” he announced after probing gently with his fingers. “What has put you in such a taking?”’
“I do not wish to spoil our day,” she said firmly, but her lip quivered as she looked reproachfully at the swelling ankle.
“You cannot walk on it,” he stated rather than questioned. “Well, that will not spoil our day. I can carry you back to the carriage, and we can still have our meal at the Mitre in Twickenham as we had planned.”
“Carry me!” she exclaimed, horrified. “No such thing. Just lend me your cane and I shall manage.”
Clayborne laughed at her horrified expression and said, “All right. Try the cane first, though I would not pinch you if I carried you,” he promised.
“More’s the pity,” she retorted saucily, as he assisted her to rise. When she attempted to put her weight on the ankle she gave a gasp of pain, but determinedly grasped the cane and attempted a few halting steps. Clayborne stood, hands on hips, regarding her mockingly.
“My dear, I am afraid you lose after all,” he announced and scooped her up into his arms. He proceeded to lead the party out of the maze, guided by Meg, who shamefacedly produced the drawing to give them directions amidst cries of “Unfair!” from the captains.
Rebecca felt herself blushing, much to her chagrin, and announced to her husband, “I feel most undignified. Are you sure it is quite proper for you to carry me about this way?”
“It is expedient,” he declared. “Now you must not expect me to talk to you for your weight is quite making me puff,” he said, smiling down at her.
“Wretch! I shall pay you back for that.”
“No doubt.” Then he grew more serious, saying, “Rebecca, your sister Mary is a charming child, but we shall have to give some special thought to keeping her amused in town. I gather she has a deal more affection for horses than people, generally.” He continued after a slight pause, “My sister was like that.”
“Your sister? I have never heard you speak of her, though Mrs. Lambert has.”
“She died several years ago in childbirth. Have I never mentioned her? I was very fond of Caroline. Her husband and son live near my Yorkshire estate, much retired. I think he has never quite got over her death.”
“And your nephew? What is he like?”
Clayborne grinned. “I’m fond of the little tyke. He’s four by now. I saw him last fall when I was at Easingwold. He wanted to know all about you.” This brought a frown of recollection, and an end to their easy badinage. “You will be most comfortable in the carriage, I think,” he observed as they approached their vehicles.
“Would you do something for me, Jason?” Rebecca asked, mischievously.
Clayborne deposited her gently against the squabs and looked doubtful. “What?”
“Would you take Miss Turnpeck up with you? Just to the inn, you know. I am sure she would be thrilled, and it is not so very far, after all,” she pressed, demurely. As the others had reached the carriage by now, Rebecca called, “Miss. Turnpeck, Jason thought you might enjoy a short turn in his curricle, just to the Mitre, you know.”
Miss Turnpeck flushed with pleasure, and turned an adoring look on Clayborne. “You are so thoughtful, my lord. I should dearly love a ride in such a handsome vehicle.”
“Vixen,” he murmured to Rebecca, then climbed down from the carriage and gallantly handed Miss Turnpeck into the curricle. Captain Gray took up Mary and the party set off for the Mitre to partake of a much needed repast. With a chuckle Rebecca settled back in the carriage and glanced at Meg.
“Really, it is too bad of you, Becka,” her sister protested, laughing. “I have never seen such an expression on Clayborne’s face as when you called to Miss Turnpeck. Had he agreed?”
“Not exactly, but I am sure he was about to. Could he deny me such a small favor?”
“Small!” Captain Hardcastle exclaimed. “I have never in my life endured such a chatterbox as on the journey down. It was absolutely wicked of you, Lady Clayborne,” he scolded gleefully.
“Do you suppose,” Meg asked with great solemnity, “that he will teach her to drive his pair?”
“I regret that I didn’t suggest it to him,” Rebecca said, disappointed. “Meg, you should have done so. It would have made our day.”
“Yes, but now he will be in a temper, Becka, and very displeased with you.”
“No, I don’t think so, for he is scrupulously fair by his own lights and I was only repaying him for a most ungracious comment on my person,” Rebecca laughed.
So the three of them drove contentedly to the inn, where they joined the others for a gay meal of roasted leg of mutton, boiled ham, chicken, beans, boiled plum pudding, potatoes, gooseberry tarts and raspberries with cream. Clayborne was his most urbane, and gallant to Miss Turnpeck, though he insisted that she should ride in the carriage for their return, as it would be too chilly a drive for her in the curricle. He took Rebecca aside as they were departing and declared, “Most unhandsome of you, madam,” but his eyes were smiling and he said, “She enlightened me on the history of Twickenham—did you know Pope lived there?—and I assure you nothing could be of less interest to me.”
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“Your just desserts, sir.”
“How is your ankle now?”
“It is sore, but I can walk with the cane and I am sure it will be healed in a day or so. I shall dance at Lord Stonebridge’s.”
“I am delighted to hear it. Do not neglect to save a dance for me—the first waltz, perhaps?”
“Certainly. I shall be honored, my lord.” She made to sweep him a curtsey, but she sighed with a jab of pain from the ankle.
At a gleam in his eye, she knew he was threatening to carry her to the carriage once again, and said firmly, “No, no. I assure you I can walk now. Just give me your support and I shall be fine.”
They left thus companionably for the carriage and Meg heaved a sigh of relief as she watched them go. She found his lordship’s temper rather erratic and was pleased that the pair seemed to be getting on better, even after Rebecca’s joke on her husband. Though Meg herself had not the slightest desire to play a prank on Will, she was happy to see Rebecca cheerful again. In fact, Meg felt so in charity with Clayborne that she agreed to drive back with him since Rebecca would need to rest her ankle in the carriage and Captain Gray had claimed Mary.
Aware that Meg was not fond of horses or sporting vehicles, Clayborne kept to an unhurried pace and skillfully directed the conversation to topics of interest to her. She was totally unaware of the information he obtained from her regarding Rebecca’s younger days, merely pleased that he should show such a marked interest in herself and her sister and life at Farthington Hall.
Satisfied with their discussion, Clayborne assured himself that his growing tendency to subtly obtain information about his wife was not underhanded spying but necessary circumspection. If she would not tell him the truth, he had every right to find it out for himself. And when he confronted her with it... well, then perhaps she would admit her fault and they might come to some understanding at last. Carrying her to the carriage had been very unsettling.
Chapter Nine
Mary was chatting gaily with Captain Gray when they entered Clayborne House but she let out a gasp on sight of her Aunt Adeline and Cousin Sally. Her aunt glowered at her, and her cousin sniggered behind her mother’s voluminous black bombazine gown.
Lord Clayborne's Fancy Page 9