Madeleine Robins

by The Heiress Companion

  “My dear Lady Bradwell, how do you do?”

  “Do?” asked Lady Bradwell vaguely. “O, yes, it’s Margaret’s mother. How do you do? Dear me, I cannot seem to think straight today. I wish I knew why I feel so distracted.”

  “Pray do be seated and collect yourself,” Mrs. Cherwood offered generously.

  “Is it hot in here? No, no, how foolish I am; there is quite a breeze. It is really quite chilly, is it not?” Lady Bradwell fluttered a great handkerchief to no purpose and stared about the room as if it were strange to her, “Have you seen Jack?”

  “Jack?” Mrs. Cherwood asked blankly. She had no idea what was the matter with her hostess, but was beginning to feel rather uneasy about sitting so close to her. There was, after all, a breeze in the room.

  “My son. Named him after my father. No, it was Lyndon we named after Papa. You haven’t seen him, have you? No.” She answered before her guest could make a sound. “I rather thought not. He’s probably in Naples again. No, that’s Lyn. Drat, you’d think I could keep my two boys apart in my mind, wouldn’t you? Do you not think it terribly hot in here?”

  Mrs. Cherwood stared at Lady Bradwell in amazement. Then began to edge a little away from her. Lady Bradwell stubbornly moved closer.

  “I haven’t seen Lord Bradwell,” Mrs. Cherwood offered after a minute.

  “Why would I want — O, that’s right, Jack has the title now, don’t he? Dear me, I do feel so queer!” Lady Bradwell continued to fan herself with the huge kerchief, fluttering it now and again in Mrs. Cherwood’s direction.

  “Perhaps I had ought to ring for something to drink?” Mrs. Cherwood suggested uneasily. “Or perhaps Rowena — yes, certainly, Rowena will know what to do.” Whatever her feelings in the past regarding her niece had been, Dorothea Cherwood had a healthy regard for Rowena’s ability in the sickroom. “Yes, certainly, I shall desire for Rowena to attend you, Lady Bradwell.”

  “Rowena! O yes, the dear child. What a pity she means to leave me,” Lady Bradwell murmured. “Well, that is the way of the world. Children grow up and they leave you.” Her voice trembled on the edge of tears, then brightened. “I am terribly thirsty. Did you say tea? Or perhaps lemonade. Yes, I think lemonade. We used to have lemonade at the nursery picnics, and —” Lady Bradwell’s voice dropped into a murmur, then faded artistically to a sigh.

  Mrs. Cherwood rose, purpose in every step, and rang for a footman. “There now,” she said apprehensively, watching her hostess with a distracted eye. “You see, someone will be along directly.”

  But it was not the footman who entered. It was Mrs. Ambercot, followed closely by Ulysses.

  “My dearest Louisa, what are you doing out of bed?” Anne Ambercot fretted. “Lully, you are certain that Dr. Cribbatt has been summoned?” Seemingly, she was too taken up in wrapping a shawl about Lady Bradwell’s shoulders to acknowledge Mrs. Cherwood’s presence.

  “He’s been summoned right enough, Mamma, but there’s word from the village already that the fever is about, and if Lady Bradwell is come down with it again —”

  Mrs. Cherwood let out a muffled shriek. “Fever!”

  Mrs. Ambercot turned to face the guest for the first time. “My dear Mrs. Cherwood, I beg that you will not alarm yourself. It is only a small chance that the scarlet fever has returned, but I should hate to see Lady Bradwell fall victim to it again.” Indeed, Lady Bradwell grew more feverish by the moment, unwrapping the shawl from her shoulders each time Anne Ambercot secured it there, murmuring distractedly that it was so hot! “Now Louisa, why don’t we take you back to your room, and Taylor will tuck you into bed, and we will fetch you some tea —”

  “Lemonade,” Lady Bradwell announced defiantly. “I will have lemonade. And Mrs. — Margaret’s mother, shall come too. Don’t you wish some lemonade?”

  Mrs. Cherwood blanched.

  “Certainly you shall have lemonade,” Mrs. Ambercot agreed soothingly, and together with her son contrived to lead the older woman out of the room.

  “But — madam, Mrs. Ambercot —” Mrs. Cherwood called after her. “What shall I do?” Mrs. Ambercot had passed out of hearing, apparently concentrating upon guiding Lady Bradwell back to her room. Ulysses Ambercot appeared in the doorway for a moment.

  “Do, ma’am?” he asked blandly.

  “If she’s — if Lady Bradwell is truly ill, I really ought not to trespass on her hospitality — it wouldn’t be civil at this time, and —”

  “In that case, I would suggest that you return to London for a time, ma’am,” Lully answered baldly. “Lord Bradwell has already removed my sisters and Margaret to Wilesby House — I hesitate to advise you to remove Meg from there, as she is still not wholly recovered from her accident in the kitchens. And there is always the chance that one of us might have been exposed...” He let his voice trail off suggestively. “As for yourself, I see no reason why you should expose yourself to the sickness, do you?”

  Mrs. Cherwood regarded him with positive affection. “No, no, I would only be in the way. You will take care of my Margaret, won’t you?” she added in afterthought.

  “With all my heart, ma’am.” He answered truthfully, repressing an urge to make a caustic comment about his mother-in-law-to-be’s maternal instincts.

  “Well, then,” Mrs. Cherwood mumbled to herself, and set off for her rooms to order her carriage and set her maid to packing.

  And that, Ulysses Ambercot thought with satisfaction, may be the best half-hour’s work I have ever done. He turned and went to join Lady Bradwell and his mother in the lady’s boudoir.

  o0o

  “She believed me!” Lady Bradwell crowed. “I swear I haven’t had this much fun in an age. I should have gone on the stage when I was young. I see it now.” The shawls removed, Lady Bradwell and Mrs. Ambercot were regaling themselves with ratafia and laughing over the scene in the garden room. “Ulysses, dear, I beg you will apologize to Margaret if it made her uncomfortable to plot against her mamma in such a fashion. I know it goes against all propriety but —”

  “I think everyone rather enjoyed it, Louisa, so stop fretting,” Anne Ambercot scolded gently.

  “And it has answered famously, ma’am,” Ulysses assured her from the doorway. “She’s gone off in a pother to desire her maid to pack and her groom to bring the coach round in half an hour. But I recommend that you keep up the charade for an hour or so to be on the safe side. I’ll have Taylor alert you when Mrs. Cherwood has actually taken her leave.”

  “In that case, my dear Anne, I think I am going to have to send you back to Wilesby as well — all for verisimilitude! I shall make your apologies to Rowena, and when Mrs. Cherwood is gone, why, you may all come back to Broak again if you like.”

  Ulysses cleared his throat consciously. “To tell truth, ma’am, I was rather hoping to show Margaret about Wilesby a bit and —”

  “Show her her new home? Well enough, but I want your promise that you will bring her back to visit often.”

  “Of course, ma’am. I am convinced that Meg would not have it else. You will make our apologies to Rowena, won’t you?”

  “Good God, Rowena! I hadn’t even thought of her,” Lady Bradwell whispered. “Goodbye, Anne. Goodbye, Ulysses. And ask Drummey as you go if he can locate Rowena for me?”

  o0o

  Miss Rowena Cherwood, following her disastrous encounter with John Greavesey and Lyndon Bradwell, had uncharacteristically retired to her room to sleep. Now, some hours later, she was awakened by a peremptory knocking on her door, and her aunt’s voice demanding admittance.

  “Yes, Aunt?” She answered the door, patting distractedly at her tangled hair with one hand.

  “This is just to say goodbye, my dear. I cannot stay in a house where there is sickness, Rowena, so do not think to ask it of me. I’m at a delicate time in my life, and it cannot be expected of me, especially for a stranger. Now, I am certain that you will keep an eye on Margaret for me, won’t you? Good. My bags are packed, and although it means I sha
ll have to sleep in a posting house tonight, without my own sheets, too, I shall feel better so. And do consider that Mr. What’s-his-name’s suit, will you? It may be your very last chance.”

  All traces of sleep were gone from Rowena’s voice. Ignoring the last part of her aunt’s message, she demanded: “Who’s ill? What are you talking about, Aunt?”

  “Your Lady Bradwell, that’s who’s ill! Came wandering into the garden room where I was sitting, spouting all manner of nonsense, entirely about in her head. Mrs. Ambercot said she thought it might be a relapse of her illness. I cannot stand a sickroom, you know that, Rowena,” Mrs. Cherwood insisted querulously. “I am leaving. Write me when things get settled down — I do hope Lady Bradwell don’t die of it. And do have that Ulysses Ambercot keep a good watch on Margaret. I knew she should have accepted Lord Slyppe.”

  Mrs. Cherwood’s last few admonitions were spoken to empty air. Rowena, with a sinking heart and clenched teeth, headed quickly for her mistress’s room.

  She began as she entered — “My dearest ma’am” — only to break off again. Lady Bradwell was seated in her bed, wrapped in a robe trimmed in swan’s-down and silver, reading the second volume of Camilla and drinking tea.

  “Drummey found you, dear child?”

  “Drummey? No, ma’am. My aunt did, to take her leave of me. And she told me —”

  “That I was perishing of the fever, I collect. And half out of my wits as well. Well...” She spread her hands. “I am abed, as you can see. And if your dear aunt took it into her head to come and take her leave of me, which I place no strong dependence on, I would certainly have a relapse fast enough.”

  Rowena sat heavily on the edge of the bed, nearly oversetting the tea tray.

  “It was all a sham, then?”

  “My dear, I simply could not endure her presence here another day, and since I felt that any direct request was likely to cause your aunt to dig in her heels, and to harass you and dear Margaret — who has retired to Wilesby with the Ambercots, by the by — I decided that the time had come for a little mummery.”

  Rowena regarded her employer respectfully. “My dearest Lady B, I salute you. Obviously, I have been taking the wrong tack all these years with Aunt Doro. When I told the truth to her, I would have been better served to have feigned leprosy or smallpox.”

  “I admit to using rather heroic measures, but it seemed worth it at the time,” Lady Bradwell said calmly, sipping her tea. Watching her, Rowena began to chuckle. “That’s the thing, my love. I think you need to laugh as much as you need — Lyn, dear! Come in!”

  Bradwell stood in his mother’s doorway, taking in the scene before him: his mother drinking tea, muffled in swan’s-down to her chin, and Rowena Cherwood, her hair fallen from its braided crown, laughing weakly to herself.

  “You don’t seem delirious with fever, Mamma,” he said mildly.

  “Of course not, darling. Come drink a cup of tea with us.”

  Rowena moved nervously at the foot of the bed. At the sound of his voice, her laughter had stopped immediately. Now she sat studying her knuckles and wishing fervently that she were elsewhere.

  “Perhaps later, Mamma?” Bradwell suggested.

  “Now,” his mother said with finality. “I have a question to put to you.”

  Lyn answered with more composure than he felt. “Anything, Mamma.”

  “Do you love Rowena?”

  “Mother!” Bradwell regarded his mother with amazement.

  “Lady Bradwell, please,” Rowena begged in tones of anguish.

  “Do you love Rowena?” Lady Bradwell asked again, and sipped at her tea. “I am past the point of subtleties today, as you may well imagine. I have heard both sides of your stories, and I am tired of waiting for the two of you to make me happy by coming to your senses. Do you love my companion, Lyndon?”

  He stood very straight, like a soldier being interviewed on the field. “I do, ma’am.”

  “Thank you.” Lady Bradwell nodded dismissively. “Rowena?”

  “Ought I to stand at attention, ma’am?” Miss Cherwood asked irrepressibly.

  “No delaying tactics, child; do you love my son?”

  “Of course I do, ma’am, but —”

  “No buts, please. There, now. It has been said, with a most reliable witness. I see no reason why you cannot resolve your difficulties past this point, as you are agreed on the most important matter.” As simply as that, Lady Bradwell put down her teacup and raised up her book again. Rowena and Bradwell stared at her for a moment.

  Lyn recovered first. “The worst part of Mamma’s character is how alarmingly often she is right,” he said lightly. “Rowena, you know this isn’t how I’d planned to talk to you?”

  “I know it isn’t how I’d planned to talk to you,” she admitted.

  “Then you will listen now?”

  “O Lyn.” Forgetting completely where she was, forgetting that her mistress sat not five feet away, Lady Bradwell’s companion rose and moved toward him. “I’m sorry for all this brangling to no purpose and — for everything that went wrong. Don’t we have more to talk about than our pride?”

  “I shouldn’t much mind,” Mr. Bradwell began, taking Miss Cherwood into his arms, “talking about setting up a nursery, or planning when we are to be married. But later, I think.” He bent his head to kiss her. “Yes, later.”

  For a moment the two of them were so involved in each other that Lady Bradwell was able to raise her eyes and admire the sight of them, lost in love and completely unaware of her. With a shake of her head she returned to her book.

  “But Lyn, love,” Rowena began when she had her breath back. “About my money?”

  “What about it?” he asked, smiling. “I was a pompous idiot. If you want to tie it up for the children, sweetheart, that’s fine with me. If you want to set up that salon of yours, you have my blessings. For myself, I would prefer to rise in the party according to my own merits, if such a thing is possible in these days —”

  “No selling kisses in the street like the Duchess of Devonshire and her sister?” Rowena teased. “Not even one tiny little pocket borough?”

  “My dearest love, you are enchanting and delightful and wicked and beautiful — and as many other flattering things as I can say. But if I find you kissing tradesmen in the streets, I will not be pleased.” He ran a caressing finger across her cheek.

  “Very well then, I suppose we shall just have to go on as we go on. After all, Lyn, I’m used to making do with a little. Broak has been no challenge at all! At last, I can show off my talents as a housekeeper. Did you know I once fed seven hungry marines and their lieutenant, not to mention Mamma and Papa and myself, with one very old and tired chicken! This will be fun!”

  Lyn judiciously silenced his betrothed with a kiss. “I’ll eat boiled mutton for weeks on end if it makes you happy, darling, but I doubt it will come to that. God, I’m glad we’ve quit fighting. Another day and I think I would have stormed the office and carried you away by force.”

  “Which would probably have scared Aunt Doro away as effectively as ever that false fever did.” Rowena chuckled into his collar. “And if you hadn’t spoken, I imagine I would have simply languished at your door until you came to your senses. That would have been dreadful work, for I’m really very poor at languishing.”

  “Then I’m glad you were spared it.” Another smile, another kiss. “Think,” he said a little unsteadily, “of how happy we shall make your aunt!”

  “She’ll be furious,” Rowena disagreed happily. “I believe she wanted me to marry Mr. Greavesey so that she could be certain that I understood the error of my ways in refusing Lord Slyppe’s offer. Aunt Doro will be positively livid, and so revoltingly polite that I shan’t know how to deal with her.”

  “Simply feign illness, my love. Or else, we can send her Eliza Ambercot to matchmake for, and that ought to keep them both out of trouble for a time.”

  “And keep Eliza from importuning you with her sighings
?” Lady Bradwell asked from the bed.

  The lovers sprang apart as if shocked.

  “Good lord, children, back as you were. You’ve forgotten about me for this long, I can stand to be ignored for another five minutes or so.”

  And when Rowena, conscious of her duty as Lady Bradwell’s companion, would have broken from Lyn’s embrace to plump her pillow or pour out more tea, anything, in fact, to demonstrate her gratitude toward her employer for her generosity, Mr. Bradwell had other ideas. Reaching out with one arm, he neatly caught her about the waist and spun her back to face him.

  “We’ve five minutes, sweetheart,” he said, kissing her lightly. “And after that...” Another kiss at the corner of her mouth. “After that, we’ve our entire lives.”

  “But not in my bed chamber!” Lady Bradwell murmured from the bed. Oddly, no one was listening just now.

  Copyright & Credits

  The Heiress Companion

  Madeleine Robins

  Copyright © 1981 by Madeleine Robins

  ISBN: 978161138 111 5

  Book View Café eBook Edition November 2011

  v20111010vnm

  LTER

  www.bookviewcafe.com

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