Madeleine Robins

by The Heiress Companion

  “Just being engaged?” she asked doubtfully.

  “Well, I’d prefer that you do the whole thing and marry me completely, of course,” he answered solemnly. “Of course, if you really couldn’t stomach that, I wouldn’t insist.” Busy regarding the carved feet of the sofa, Ulysses missed a leap of joy in Margaret’s eyes, and then a slight, mischievous smile that passed across her face.

  “But how would that help my position here?” she asked blankly.

  Now he looked up, to find her smiling shyly at him.

  “I was hoping you wouldn’t make me explain that far.” Smiling back at her, he noticed that he had somehow taken hold of both her hands. She watched him; he regarded her nervously. Without warning, both of them began to chuckle.

  “O, come on, Meggy, don’t make me wait.” He implored her through gasps of laughter. “If — if — you don’t care for me —” His voice settled into a more sober tone. “Well, send me about my business and I shan’t bother you again. But I did think —”

  “If you think that you like me half as well as I —” Margaret began, and was stopped when Ulysses so far forgot himself as to envelop her in a painful, but highly satisfactory embrace. It was not until Margaret let a small squeak of discomfort escape her that he released her, apologizing ferociously for hurting her, and reviling himself as the greatest monster on the earth.

  “But how long, d’you think, until I can — hum — hold you without hurting you?” he asked at last.

  “Well, as long as you don’t squeeze me too dreadfully tight, I imagine it can’t be very long.”

  “Margaret, will you marry me? I mean, do I have to wait until you’re well again before I can ask? To tell truth, I don’t think I can wait that long.”

  “Lully, you aren’t asking me because you feel sorry for me, are you?”

  “Not for that reason, nor any other that my idiotish little sister may have put into your head. I’m asking because I should dislike to end as a bad-tempered old bachelor of eighty, the terror of my family and the regret of every matchmaking mamma for sixty years.”

  “And you think I can help to avert that?”

  “Margaret, little love.” He looked squarely at her. “I think you are my only hope.”

  “O, Ulysses!” she breathed. “What an utterly perfect thing to say!” And was again taken into a strong, but very gentle embrace.

  “And just think how you will put my Aunt Dorothea’s nose out of joint!” Rowena’s voice came from the doorway. “Congratulations, Lully, for finally realizing what I’ve known for above two weeks. I shall not excuse myself for walking in, children; if you will leave the door open —”

  “And what is it you have known for above two weeks?” Mr. Ambercot asked interestedly, from over the top of Margaret’s ear.

  “That you two were head over ears in love with each other. I dislike to interrupt you, and I’ll leave you to make your au revoirs in private — yes, you see that I do have some sense of decency. But Jane suggests that you take Eliza home as soon as possible. She won’t tell me what happened, but it seems that Eliza is still crying, and Jane says —”

  “Spare us what Jane says, and tell her that — I shall take Lizzie home in just a moment.”

  “And in the meantime I should leave you to your wooing and take my intrusive presence elsewhere?” Rowena asked good-naturedly.

  “Exquisitely put,” Mr. Ambercot agreed.

  “All right then. But remember, Lully, that you don’t want to tire Meggy too much.”

  “And Meggy would like to make it known that she is perfectly able to take care of her own welfare,” Margaret said with dignity, from a vantage point tucked into Ulysses’ shoulder. “And that she dislikes to be spoken of as if she were in another room.”

  “Meggy is very right.” Rowena sketched a curtsy in her cousin’s direction. “I’ll be up with your supper in half an hour, coz. That is, if you can think of anything so unromantic as food.”

  “Certainly she can. Your business is now to mend yourself as quickly as possible, sweetheart —” Ulysses began. By the time he had finished explaining the whys and wherefores, with satisfactory demonstrations of his concern, Rowena had closed the door behind her.

  Standing in the hallway, she smiled. Perhaps Lady Bradwell was right after all; this matchmaking business, when handled correctly, was a greater amusement than she would have thought. With a shrug, she went to find Jane and the very damp Eliza, with word that Lully would shortly be ready to return to Wilesby House.

  Chapter Seven

  It would be difficult to determine who was the more delighted at the news of Margaret’s engagement to Ulysses Ambercot: Lady Bradwell or Mrs. Ambercot. Of course, Ulysses himself protested that his delight must take precedence over theirs, but he was immediately shouted down by the dowagers, and told to mind his manners. Margaret, who was privy to a great deal of this rejoicing from the vantage of her sofa, smiled and dimpled prettily no matter who was delighted, nursing a secret surety that no one could be as happy as she. Together with Rowena, Margaret summoned up the courage to compose a letter to her mother informing her of her engagement; when it was done Rowena regarded the document with pride and a touch of malice, remarking that this would put a crimp in her Aunt Doro’s bonnet for sure.

  “She can’t object, surely,” Margaret protested fearfully.

  “Mind it? Lamb, if I know your mamma she will be aux anges — only furious that she had no part in engineering the coup!”

  Jane Ambercot professed herself ready and willing to welcome her new sister into the family at any time, and she and, Margaret were happy to spend hours closeted together discussing Ulysses’ talents and vagaries. Both the Bradwell men congratulated him and felicitated Miss Margaret, and Lyn Bradwell privately assured a somewhat apprehensive Ulysses that there were no hard feelings cherished on the matter. Anne Ambercot rode over from Wilesby House practically every day, as much to gossip happily with Lady Bradwell as to further her acquaintance with her daughter-to-be, and privately assured Rowena that, short of herself, there was no one in the world she could better like for Ulysses than Margaret.

  The only person, in fact, who was not delighted was Eliza Ambercot. The worst of it was, in her eyes, that she had brought it all about. While she was publicly all that was sweet and sisterly, in private she would have gnashed her teeth had she not feared for the effect of such a practice on her teeth. It was these Cherwood women, Eliza decided, who had caused all the mischief With very little effort she found herself growing to hate the sound of her soon-to-be-sister’s voice. As for Rowena Cherwood...

  Suddenly Eliza began to recall ills done her in times past by Rowena. The fact that Rowena twelve years before had been rather less aware of her than of the stable boy, and much less likely to have deliberately done her a mischief did not weigh with her. Moreover, Lyndon Bradwell, who had treated her so infuriatingly on their last meeting, had taken to chatting quietly with Miss Cherwood after dinner until the tea table was brought in. Clearly, now that Margaret was to be treated, perforce, as a sister, her cousin was left to become the enemy.

  Rowena was aware of none of this.

  Jane had been at last released entirely from the sickroom, although her lace mitts still covered light bandages, but with an almost-sister to minister to, it was not considered strange that she opted to remain at Broak awhile longer. Lord Bradwell insisted that she was not fit to travel (although he offered more than once to show her ’round the stables: A short, refreshing turn in the close air and noise of the stables could clearly do her nothing but good, he reasoned). Mrs. Ambercot put up no resistance to her daughter’s protracted visit; Lady Bradwell confided to Rowena that she and Jane’s mother had made wagers as to when Jack would finally come to himself and offer again. Since Anne Ambercot was at Broak nearly as often as her son, and Jane was practically in residence there, it was not strange that Eliza should spend a good deal of time at Broak as well. It was not strange, but it was often awkward.
/>
  When Mr. Greavesey called one afternoon to deliver balm for Margaret’s healing burns and Lady Bradwell’s ubiquitous drops, he found no one on hand but Miss Eliza available to take them from him. After some pointed queries it was revealed to him that Jane Ambercot, Lord Bradwell, Miss Cherwood, and Mr. Bradwell had gone for a brief drive; that Miss Margaret Cherwood was fast asleep, and that Lady Bradwell and Mrs. Ambercot were closeted together, “talking of weddings, I suppose.” Eliza finished with dissatisfaction.

  “Surely you should be with your mamma, Miss Ambercot?” Mr. Greavesey observed in his first flush of disappointment in Miss Cherwood’s absence.

  “I am not a child, Mr. Greavesey, at the end of my mamma’s leading string,” Eliza informed him loftily.

  “Well, it is a shame that Miss Cherwood is not available, since I most particularly wished to give her advice on the administration of this salve.” Greavesey pouted.

  Eliza’s demon spoke for her: “Yes, I know she will be dreadfully sorry to have missed you....” Her voice trailed off suggestively.

  “Will she?” Greavesey had no trouble in believing this plumper; it had been his opinion for some time that Rowena Cherwood would, given enough time, drop into his hands like a ripened peach.

  “O, yes,” Eliza assured him, warming to her subject. “Why, I — no, I ought not to tell you this —”

  “O, Miss Eliza, surely —”

  “Why, Mr. Greavesey, surely you know!” Eliza cried. “Miss Cherwood has been — but no, I mustn’t betray a confidence. I know that there is someone she has a partiality for, and —”

  “Dare I hope, Miss Eliza?” Greavesey had forgotten the medicine in his hand, forgotten the doctor waiting in the village for his assistant’s return, had forgotten even the courtesy due a young lady. He sank into a chair and raised his eyes to meet Eliza’s. Had he not been, as the younger Miss Ambercot assured herself, such a loathsome little toad, she might have had some compunction at this point about leading him on in this fashion. “After all, I have the promise in me to become something of a man of substance, don’t I?”

  “Certainly, sir,” she assured him demurely.

  “It is not every young lady who can boast of such a suitor as I,” he continued. To this statement, at least, Eliza could not take exception (although he would not have been flattered by her agreement had he understood her reasoning). “And after all, delightful as Miss Cherwood is, she cannot have much by way of expectations except to continue in her present very honorable, but somewhat depressed, condition.”

  Eliza was a trifle baffled by this statement, which she collected referred to Rowena’s employment, but again nodded confidingly. “Shall I tell her that you called, sir?”

  “No, no, my dear young lady, pray do not give yourself the trouble. If you will direct me to the housekeeper or some other reliable domestic with whom I may leave my medicines?”

  Given Mrs. Coffee’s direction, Greavesey sprang up in a fashion startling in one of his cadaverous appearance and walked — no, strolled briskly off to locate her.

  “Toad,” Eliza muttered to herself when she was certain he was out of earshot. “They deserve each other!”

  Quite comfortable in the knowledge that she had sown the seeds of considerable trouble for Margaret’s cousin, Eliza settled in for a short nap.

  o0o

  Jane Ambercot protested, after the first five minutes of their ride, that she really could not stand to drive on such a glorious day — if she truly was not to be allowed to ride, perhaps they could walk for a while? Lord Bradwell seemed a little discomforted by the suggestion; it was plainly unheard of to him that anyone, particularly anyone with Jane’s usual good sense, could actually like to walk when she might be driven in comfort. But Miss Cherwood and Miss Ambercot were being handed down from the carriage by Lyn, and Jack Bradwell realized there was nothing for it except to hand the reins to the groom and bid him return the vehicle to the stable yard.

  “I call that very accommodating of your brother, sir,” Rowena confided to Lyn as they started off along the roadside, “considering that he is obviously reluctant to take to his feet.”

  “I suspect that if Jack ever musters the courage to re-propose to Miss Ambercot, she will have him walking a great deal,” Mr. Bradwell replied in a low voice.

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  “With a tendency toward corpulence, I suspect that walking may be the very best thing in the world for my brother, ma’am. Do you think he will come to the point?”

  Rowena, smiling, reflected that since the accident in the kitchen there had been a considerable lessening of the formality between herself and Lady Bradwell’s prodigal son. “How can you ask me, sir?” she answered at last. “Can I be supposed to know?”

  “To hear Mamma speak of you, yes,” he said in no uncertain tone.

  “O.”

  “I don’t mean that to sound derogatory, Miss Cherwood. But Mamma has been praising you to heaven and Anne Ambercot for your handling of Margaret and Ulysses!”

  “And nothing I can say will convince her that I did nothing to forward the match, except to listen to each sympathetically. As a matter of fact, I believe you are more to be congratulated as the author of that match than I.” She waved aside his snort of indignation. “Eliza Ambercot said something about an interview with you the other day, and I collect you were so disobliging that she could do nothing to relieve her feelings but throw a fit at Meg — Lully of course felt himself bound in honor to offer for her after that.”

  “What?” Bradwell looked at Rowena blankly. “What in God’s name is the chit — O, damme, I recall it now. I was writing letters and she wished to get up a flirtation or something.” They walked in silence for a few minutes while he considered this. Jane, leaning on Lord Bradwell’s arm, was listening with every evidence of interest as Jack described improvements in his shooting cages.

  “I hope he does offer for her soon.” Rowena chuckled drily. “Jane should get some recompense for listening to that recitation!”

  “Is that the only reason you can conceive of for her marrying my brother?” Lyn regarded Rowena with something near dislike.

  “Of course not. What a silly notion. I admit he should not do for me, but all I meant was that. After all, love oftimes adds a positive charm to the least likely topics — at least to the listener who loves the speaker. Are you determined to pick a quarrel with me, Mr. Bradwell?”

  “No, certainly not,” he answered stiffly.

  For a few minutes neither one said a word, each apparently bemused. Rowena stopped to gather a few primroses, offering some to Jane and carrying the rest herself. Bradwell, watching her, wondered if she knew the picture she made, dressed in a peach-colored walking dress of jaconet over an ivory slip, her leghorn hat lined and trimmed with the same peach hue which framed her dark hair and vivid face; she carried the flowers in one gloved hand and bent her head smilingly to breathe their fragrance. Bradwell smiled himself, watching her, but when she turned to resume her walk at his side, his eyes dropped very suddenly to his boots.

  “Miss Cherwood?” he began at length.

  “Sir?”

  “I think — well, I must make my apologies to you.”

  Rowena looked at him with some confusion.

  “What on earth for, Mr. Bradwell? Unless you’ve committed some solecism I’m unaware of, which I misdoubt.”

  “Are you unaware of anything?” he retorted. “No, I didn’t mean to sound that way. But Mamma said that you were under the impression that — well, our first meeting was not exactly a fortunate one, and I was, I remember, rather crude in my words to you on that occasion —”

  “Never tell me that your mamma has been refining on that for all this time!” Rowena said, altogether astonished.

  Lyn flushed with irritation. “I’m not saying these things at Mamma’s command, Miss Cherwood. I only meant to apologize if I had given you the impression that I disliked you, and to hope that I had not given you an
ineradicable dislike of me.”

  Rowena, uncomfortably aware that he was behaving far better than she, curbed her unruly tongue long enough to thank him for his consideration. “Shall we be friends, after all then? We do share at least one common concern, you know.” Obviously Bradwell could not fathom her meaning. “Your mamma, Mr. Bradwell.”

  “Are you snubbing me by becoming the perfect companion again, Miss Cherwood?”

  “If I am becoming any such thing, Mr. Bradwell, I assure you that it is entirely unintentional. Only, I am such an imperfect companion that I fear I take myself a little too seriously at times. I apologize in turn if I have seemed a trifle touchy on the subject.”

  “Well, are you two done apologizing?” Jane’s voice broke into a circle of silence that seemed to encompass Rowena and Lyn. “I’m afraid I am less up to snuff than I thought, and Lord Bradwell suggests that we return to Broak now. I think,” she teased, arm comfortably linked with Jack’s, “that he is merely afraid that I will have a fit of the vapors and he will have to carry me back to the house unassisted.”

  “In such an event, Miss Ambercot, I assure you that I would certainly do everything possible to lend him a hand,” Lyn informed her with ridiculous propriety.

  “And I should be delighted to carry your hat and parasol, Jane,” Rowena added.

  “No, but won’t you run along beside the spectacle and fan me with my hat and threaten to go into strong hysterics?” Jane asked in tones of deep disappointment.

  Lord Bradwell regarded the three of them with a very unappreciative eye and denounced them as completely daft.

  “Not at all, Jack. I can see you simply don’t want to share the honor of Miss Ambercot’s transportation with anyone else. I call that mean-spirited in a man and brother,” Lyn complained bitterly.

  “If it disappoints you that greatly, Mr. Bradwell, I can contrive to faint too, and leave you to carry me back to Broak,” Rowena offered.

  “Excellent, Renna!” Jane exclaimed delightedly. “If these men do not behave themselves, I will walk ahead of you, and they may —”