Lord Rathbone's Flirt

by Gayle Buck

  “I daresay,” said Mrs. Arnold, rolling her eyes. “But in all truth, I shall be glad to sit down and talk with you. I shall scold you a little, too, for neglecting me so shamelessly. I have not seen nor heard from you in months except for that single short note. You were in mourning, of course, so I was not greatly surprised when I did not see you in London. How in the world did you ever come to be here?”

  Mrs. Arnold’s gesture in Miss Pettiforth’s direction was ex­pressive. Once more Miss Pettiforth was the object of attention and her bright chatter overlaid more staid conversations. Lord Rathbone was standing close to the beauty. Her face was tilted up to his and her fingers rested upon his lordship’s sleeve. The viscount’s dark head was inclined to Miss Pettiforth’s pretty confidences and he appeared to be amused.

  Verity laughed. “Give me a few moments, Betsy, and then I shall be free to explain it all to you.” The coffee was quickly served and she was able to slip away to a corner with Mrs. Arnold.

  The tale was quickly told and at its conclusion, Mrs. Arnold shook her head in wonder. “I would not have had the courage to do the same in your place, Verity. And really, I am mildly insulted that you did not feel able to appeal to me, at least. You should have known that I would not have turned you away, nor begrudged the least expense even if Charles never returned.”

  “That is just like you, Betsy, and well I knew it to be true of you and, indeed, of one or two of my other friends. But my scruples forbade me to attach myself to anyone’s charitable sleeve. Besides, it was the only way I knew to meet Eliza­beth’s needs. And fortunately, I was not forced to interview for some detestable post,” said Verity.

  “No, you fell into a veritable outpost of heaven with the Pettiforths,” said Mrs. Arnold, quizzing her.

  Verity laughed, shaking her head. “Perhaps not quite that, no. But I go on very tolerably, I assure you. I admit this house party did raise up awful spectres for me, but thus far it seems to be going better than one might have expected.”

  “I shouldn’t place too much reliance upon Miss Pettiforth’s continued good behavior, Verity. If I do not mistake the mat­ter, she has the look of a banked volcano,” said Mrs. Arnold, looking over at the beauty.

  Miss Pettiforth was no longer hanging on Lord Rathbone’s sleeve. Instead she was flirting outrageously with every gentle­man within reach. At odd moments her eyes would cut to the viscount’s tall form, where he stood conversing quietly with Mr. Pettiforth and Mr. Arnold.

  “I have the most lowering feeling that you have the right of it, Betsy,” said Verity with a sigh.

  Mrs. Arnold’s prediction was proven out over the next few days. Miss Pettiforth exhibited by turns her best and worst be­haviors. Even Mrs. Pettiforth was driven to exclaim once, “Ce­cily, do leave off these vapors! Pray, do you wish to give his lordship an exceedingly odd notion of you?”

  Miss Pettiforth had burst into stormy tears and raced from her mother’s private salon. Mrs. Pettiforth turned to Verity. Her mouth was set in a grim line. “Verity, something really must be done. Surely you must know of a way to settle my dearest Cecily’s nerves. I do not wish her to give Lord Rath­bone a disgust of her, which is precisely what will happen if he should chance to see her in one of these miffs.”

  Verity said slowly, “I can see only one way, ma’am. Miss Pettiforth attends to you on most occasions. Perhaps if you were to hint that she might have to forgo some of the treats in store for her or even to go on a repairing lease, it would prove to steady her. If she goes on as she is, she will be completely burnt to the socket before your guests make their departures.”

  Mrs. Pettiforth’s eyes narrowed, her expression sharply in­trospective. “Yes, you are quite right. Lord Rathbone might even leave before—why, it is not to be thought of.” She nod­ded at Verity. “Very well! I shall speak to her just as you say.”

  Mrs. Pettiforth was apparently as good as her word. Miss Pettiforth emerged from her interview with a much subdued air. For several days the beauty’s behavior was painstakingly correct, whether in her own home or out in the neighborhood. The entertainments went forward much more pleasantly for Verity, who did not feel called upon as often to divert Miss Pettiforth’s quick temper.

  Nevertheless, the days were fraught with stress for Verity. For some inexplicable reason known best by himself, Lord Rathbone showed her small partialities. Once he retrieved for her the book that she had forgotten. He strolled with her in the walking gallery, ostensibly in the company of Miss Tibbs and the girls; but since he had steered her away from the others, Verity knew it for a particular attention. On numerous occa­sions he spoke to her and smiled at her in such a way that her heart quickened.

  Then, just when she was beginning to feel easy with him, he treated her to a formal bow or his eyes passed indifferently over her when he entered a room. The viscount blew hot and cold, until Verity felt herself to be so off-balance that she scarcely knew what to think. In addition, she sensed that Lord Rathbone’s gestures of partiality had not gone entirely un­noted. She caught certain speculative glances from some of the house guests that made her uncomfortable. Altogether it was a confusing time.

  The rumor of a grand ball that was being planned by the Squire and Mrs. Passenby, to which the whole neighborhood was to be invited, could scarcely be reflected upon by Verity with anything but a shudder. She thought of it only as an op­portunity for Miss Pettiforth to somehow disgrace herself, or for Lord Rathbone to further his campaign with her.

  * * *

  Chapter 12

  Before the invitation to the ball reached the Pettiforth manor, Miss Pettiforth was in a fever of impatience. It had been she who had first heard rumors of the ball. When the invitation was at last received, she was thrown into a transport of joy, for she had received indulgent permission from her mother to at­tend. For two weeks she could talk of little else. A new gown had been commissioned and was waiting to be worn to the event that evening.

  “My first grown-up ball!” she exclaimed. “I shall dance every dance. And I shall be the prettiest girl there. Isn’t it for­tunate that Camilla Redding has taken the spots? I vow, I am quite in charity with her just now. I shall send her a nice bas­ket of fruit.”!

  Verity looked across the sitting room at the girl. Miss Petti­forth had jumped up and begun primping herself in front of the mantel mirror. “Cecily, you would do well to guard your tongue. Such catty remarks will not win you many friends.”

  Sophronia, with all the awkward frankness of her fifteen years, said, “Much she cares for that! She knows Camilla Red-ding can take the shine right out of her and Camilla is popular, besides! Cecily hasn’t any friends.”

  “How dare you!” exclaimed Miss Pettiforth, angry color flooding her face. “I shall box your ears for that imperti­nence!” She advanced on the younger girl, but Sophronia pru­dently whisked herself out of reach behind a settee.

  Dorothy gleefully chanted, “Camilla’s the belle! Camilla’s the belle!”

  Miss Pettiforth exploded with rage. She made a swipe at the younger girl, but missed. Dorothy stuck out her tongue. Sophronia laughed.

  “Girls, girls!” expostulated Miss Tibbs. “I must insist upon order.”

  “As must I. Cecily, sit down!”

  There was such a whipcrack in Miss Worth’s voice that Miss Pettiforth instinctively started to obey. When she realized it, she leaped up again, bursting into a storm of tears. “You are mean and cruel, all of you! I shall have something to say to Mama, I promise you.”

  “Undoubtedly you shall. But so shall I,” said Verity coolly. “I do not believe that a young woman who starts up in such a fiendish temper toward her sisters can be trusted to conduct herself properly in society. Mrs. Pettiforth has charged me with imparting to you the points of conduct expected of a young miss emerging from the schoolroom. She has high hopes for your come out. If you choose to toss aside your op­portunities by behaving like a spoiled baby, then I can only recommend that you remain for another year in
the school­room!”

  Miss Pettiforth stared at Miss Worth, her tears suspended with shock. She was suddenly made uncertain. Her mentor’s calm declaration put her forcibly in mind of her mother’s warnings. Her bosom heaved of a sudden with strong feeling. “I detest you! I detest you all!” She swung round on her heel and ran out of the sitting room.

  “Oh, well done, Miss Worth,” exclaimed Sophronia.

  “I fear that you have made a poisonous enemy in Miss Petti­forth,” said Miss Tibbs quietly, not once faltering in her em­broidery.

  “Miss Pettiforth has never liked me,” observed Verity with a small laugh.

  “Cecily is a mean old cat,” said Dorothy, giving a decided nod. “I don’t like her, not one bit. And neither does Sophy.”

  “Sophronia, Dorothy, you will go up to the schoolroom at once. There you will work on your copybooks until I come for you,” said Miss Tibbs sternly.

  Dorothy cried out at the injustice, but Sophronia only tossed her head. She took her sister’s hand. “Never you mind, Doro. It is worth it for having got a little of our own back at Cecily. And I’ll help you with your copying.”

  The smaller girl brightened. “Yes, she was very angry, wasn’t she? I am glad. I shall be ever so glad, too, when she weds Lord Rathbone like she keeps saying she will. Then she’ll have to leave, the mean old thing, and we shall be com­fortable.”

  “Dorothy.” Miss Tibbs looked over the edge of her specta­cles at the younger girl and a half-scared, half-ashamed ex­pression settled on Dorothy’s face.

  Sophronia tugged at her sister’s hand, anxious to be gone before either of them incurred further displeasure. “Come along, then, Doro. We shall go up to visit Rebecca, too. Poor thing, she has been so bored with just Nurse to talk to her. It must be horrid to have a head cold.”

  “Yes, and if we see Cecily on the stairs we shan’t say a word to her just as though we don’t see her. That will put her in a proper flame,” said the incorrigible Dorothy.

  The girls left arm in arm, their heads together as they whis­pered.

  Miss Tibbs sighed and shook her head. “One cannot alto­gether blame the girls. I have tried to instill a proper respect in them for their elders, but in this one glaring exception it has been difficult.”

  “And I know precisely where the difficulty lies,” said Ver­ity.

  Miss Tibbs glanced over at her, a speaking expression on her face. “I am afraid so. As I have told you, I could do noth­ing with Miss Pettiforth and she succeeded in upsetting the others so badly that carrying forward my duties became next to impossible.”

  “That I call well imagine,” said Verity. “It is a wonder that you were able to accomplish anything at all.”

  Miss Tibbs sighed. “There has been a string of governesses that have come and gone in this house. Miss Pettiforth would have none of them, and because of the resulting chaos, they were let go. Sophronia and Dorothy, and little Rebecca, too, are good girls, though their conduct may not always reflect it. They possess quick and eager minds. That is unusual and very welcome. I did not want to be forced to leave a post where I had pupils with such possibility. But Miss Pettiforth posed a problem which I could not solve. At last I approached Mr. Pet­tiforth and suggested that a different son of female would be more advantageous to his daughter, given Miss Pettiforth’s lack of interest in lessons. Mr. Pettiforth at once seized on the practicality of my suggestion. He is perhaps more aware that anyone that Miss Pettiforth’s assets are completely wasted in the schoolroom.”

  “So it was completely at your good offices that I came to be part of this household,” said Verity, plying her needle.

  “Indirectly, yes. I was quite glad when you came.” Miss Tibbs smiled. “However, now I almost regret that it was upon you whom Mr. Pettiforth’s choice fell.”

  Verity looked up, startled. “I beg your pardon?”

  Miss Tibbs got up, folding her bit of handiwork. “I like you very well, Miss Worth. It is a thankless, difficult task that you have been set, bringing that spoiled beauty into line. You have already exceeded my expectations, I must confess. I do wish you well in your continued care for Miss Pettiforth.” She hesi­tated, then said, “But have a care for yourself, too, my dear. A lady’s reputation is a fragile commodity and once wasted can never be regained.”

  A swift tide of color rose in Verity’s face. The older woman smiled again, perhaps a little sadly, and left the sitting room. Verity bent her head again to the embroidery that she was working on. Her thoughts naturally turned on the governess’s quiet warning. For warning it most certainly was, she knew.

  Miss Tibbs was a very observant, intelligent woman. She heard perhaps more than she was thought to, due to her am­biguous position, belonging neither to the family circle nor to the servants’ hall. The governess in a household was nearly al­ways ignored except in the discharge of her duties, and people spoke in front of her as though she did not exist. That would be even more true with a party of guests in the house. Un­doubtedly Miss Tibbs had overhead things uttered by some of the houseguests or that had been said by some of their ser­vants. She had thought the gossip sufficiently grave to drop that word of caution.

  Verity sighed. The embroidery dropped to her lap as she stared in the direction of the window where the rain lashed. The past few weeks had proven to be more and more difficult. Lord Rathbone’s attentions toward her had become increas­ingly marked and now, obviously, others were becoming aware that she was the object of his gallantries.

  Not for a moment did Verity believe that Lord Rathbone had any serious intentions toward her. It was scarcely conceiv­able that it could be so. His lordship was a landed peer, wealthy and sought after as one of the most eligible gentlemen in England. Lord Rathbone could literally take his choice from amongst the young ladies of the realm.

  Verity knew, for Mrs. Pettiforth had confided it to her ears, that Lord Rathbone had come down from London to make one of the houseparty for the express purpose of looking over his cousin, Miss Cecily Pettiforth, as a possible bride. His lordship had apparently decided that it was time to think of setting up his own nursery and had been advised by his mother to cast his sights at this member of their own family. Since fortune was not a consideration for Lord Rathbone, the suggestion that he meet Miss Pettiforth had been met with a shrug and a tepid ac­ceptance, according to the letter sent to Mrs. Pettiforth.

  All this and somewhat more had Mrs. Pettiforth confided bit by bit to Verity during the times when she was considered by her employer in the light of an ally. Mrs. Pettiforth had several times trotted out speculations about her daughter’s chances at snaring such a rich matrimonial prize. Verity had tried diplo­matically to avoid voicing her own opinions. She could only assure Mrs. Pettiforth that she would do all in her power to steer Miss Pettiforth into showing off her best side.

  Mrs. Pettiforth had been immensely satisfied. “That will do the thing, indeed, Verity. I am certain that nothing more can be needed, for my darling Cecily is quite a catch for any young man, so pretty as she is.”

  Verity had murmured her agreement, reserving her own judgment that any gentleman of sense would hardly wish to be saddled with a wife who was every bit as selfish and self-centered as she was lovely. Of course, if all that was wanted was a pretty ornament, then the gentleman in question would not need to look any further, for Miss Pettiforth suited the qualifi­cations admirably. That was an unkind thought. Verity knew, and she should be ashamed of it, but she was too much of a re­alist to obscure any such truth with platitudes.

  “I know that I may rely upon you, Verity, not to repeat any word of this matter,” Mrs. Pettiforth had said. “But I wished to impress upon you how very important it is that Cecily show her best face while Lord Rathbone is with us.”

  Verity had tried to carry out her commission. She had tried to curb Miss Pettiforth’s impulsive vulgarities of phrase. She had tried to smooth away the beauty’s all too frequent crotch­ets. She had gently but firmly pointed out to
her charge the proper way of a lady aspiring to a great position. All efforts had met with but moderate success.

  Miss Pettiforth, with the uncanny instinct possessed by one totally self-centered, had known without a word spoken to her the reason behind Lord Rathbone’s visit. Her mother had only confirmed what she had already divined. She had been inordi­nately pleased to have such a prestigious gentlemen upon whom to practice her wiles and she was supremely confident that she could turn his lordship round her little finger at any moment that she chose to do so.

  Verity knew what her charge thought. Miss Pettiforth had boasted too often to allow for misconstruction, and had pro­ceeded with cunning to prove that she could snap up a plum of a peer before her eighteenth birthday.

  However, Lord Rathbone had not fallen quite so easily at Miss Pettiforth’s feet as that damsel had anticipated. He had been annoyingly elusive. Miss Pettiforth had early begun to fall away from her pattern-card behavior and to show more of her true colors.

  Verity felt that she had done her best to spike the worst of Miss Pettiforth’s impulses, but it had been a harrowing time. Coupled with her problems with the spoiled beauty was the ever-present anxiety that had been added to her burden through Lord Rathbone’s strange bent in her own direction. Verity dreaded the day that his lordship’s attentions became so obvious that Miss Pettiforth noticed them. There would be the devil to pay and no mistake, for the girl had a raging temper when she was crossed.

  As for herself, Verity felt that his lordship’s attentions were at once disconcerting and dangerous to her. She had been quite aware from the first that he represented a twofold danger.

  Verity had foreseen that Lord Rathbone’s seeming prefer­ence for her company would occasion gossip. She had tried to repulse him without giving offense. It had not served. He had continued his erratic flirtation with her. Taking her courage in her hands, she had flatly rebuffed him. She had seen by his ex­pression that he had been both astonished and angered. He had bowed stiffly and walked away.