by Joan Smith
“You might have mentioned it to Maggie or Aunt Charity.”
“Or inserted an advertisement in the papers for the world to read,” she said, glaring.
“I was very glad I hadn’t told you, with the agitated state you were in this morning. You must admit you would have done her an injury if you could, after her stunt last night.”
“I am not so vengeful as that.” Clara fell silent for a moment, but she was not considering her ill-treatment, as Ben thought. When she spoke, it was on a different matter entirely. “I was just thinking...” Ben’s gray eyes lifted in interest. “This George Moore ...”
“What about him? You said she didn’t speak to anyone when she was out with you.”
“She spoke to Captain Carruthers.”
“Captain Carruthers ain’t George Moore.” He stopped speaking and stared. “Is he?”
“That possibility had just occurred to me.”
“You said Aunt Charity knows him.”
“She knows of him. She hasn’t met him.”
“I don’t see how Moore could have latched on to his name.”
“Your aunt didn’t actually mention his name. She had heard of a retired officer coming to the neighborhood. That’s all.”
“From your description, the captain can’t possibly be Moore.”
“Maggie’s description of Moore, and Nel’s too, is dramatically different from yours. They both said he is devastatingly handsome, and so was Captain Carruthers. It seems an odd coincidence. Ben, do you think—”
A frown drew his eyebrows together. “Describe the captain to me.”
“He was tall, about six feet, jet black hair, lovely blue eyes—the shade of bluebells, you know, not dark, but not light either.” Ben’s frown deepened. “Well dressed, very fine teeth.”
“Oh God, it can’t be him,” he moaned, more in hope than conviction.
“He was not in the least greasy,” she offered as encouragement.
“Clara, I didn’t mean he greased his hair, or wore oil-soaked jackets. His manner is smooth, oily.”
“His manner?” she asked, astounded. “Do you mean to sit there and tell me you described that Adonis to me as a greasy hedgebird?”
“If he’s Adonis, I’m the King of France. He’s a demmed caper merchant, smiling and smirking and scraping his leg at all the girls.”
“Captain Carruthers did not smirk. He had a very gentle, shy smile, and he was certainly a real gentleman. There was none of that self-conscious strutting of the parvenu trying to look at ease among his betters. About Moore, how are his teeth?”
“Just teeth—rather large, white, straight.”
“I would not call the captain’s teeth large. They were just the right size for his mouth,” she said pensively.
“It’s got to be him.”
“It must be. Nel exchanged a few words with him. There is no other way she could have contacted Moore. At least I know who we’re looking for. And as you have given me your description of his spavin-backed team, I shall be on the lookout for a bang-up pair of grays and a carriage of the first stare.”
“The rig is dark blue,” Ben said resignedly.
“Oh how could you give me such a poor description of the man? Have you no eyes in your head? Moore is the most handsome man I ever saw.”
“You’ve made that amply clear, Clara,” he snapped. “He’s a demmed greasy hedgebird, and he’s probably not Carruthers at all. God, how I rue the day I got saddled with that pest of a girl. I wish I had given her the thrashing of her life last night, as I wanted to. I should have broken both her legs. That would have slowed her down.”
“How did you come to get saddled with her?” Clara asked calmly. She was becoming inured to his exaggerated speeches.
“Her guardian. Papa’s good friend, is old, and not well since she was foisted on him. Seeing what a rare handful he had inherited, he invited me to his place, trying to convince me to take her on permanently, as my wife. She was fifteen at the time. It was just before I went to the Bellinghams’, in fact. Papa was still alive then.”
“What did you say?”
“I didn’t say no at once, as I should have. At fifteen, she was less forward. She had a huge dowry, and she’s damnably attractive, Clara. I don’t understand why you ladies can’t see it.”
“I don’t understand why you call Captain Moore a greasy hedgebird.”
“Of course her manners were not polished then.”
“Unlike the high gloss they now wear,” Clara snipped.
“She was young, orphaned. I thought with time and effort, she might make a good wife. Till I went to the Bellinghams’ and met you,” he said. The last words, spoken in a tense voice, caused Clara to look up in surprise. She found Ben studying her with a penetrating gaze, and her heart raced.
“I had more or less indicated to Anglin that I would keep an eye on Nel,” Ben continued, “though I told him immediately upon my return that I would not be marrying her. I hoped Mama would have her to Braemore for longish visits, and Maggie might become her friend, but she proved uncongenial company. They both took her in strong dislike.”
“I can’t imagine why!”
A muscular spasm moved his mouth. “To continue with the saga, I visited Anglin and Nel as often as I could get away, took her around here and there when she came out of school last year, but there was never any question of marriage. Then Mr. Moore turned up from God knows where, but accompanied by an unsavory reputation. Duns followed him, you know, and soon a story of unpaid bills in the village. Nel was immediately infatuated, having very bad taste,” he added with heavy emphasis.
“How did she meet him?”
“At a public assembly, initially. Anglin is now stricter about where he lets Nel go. Moore was allowed to call once or twice, before his reputation was known. Then he was denied access to the house. I don’t know what Nel may have contrived about meeting him elsewhere. Two weeks ago, she vanished. Tolkein had come down with measles, you recall, and Nel was being looked after by one of the older servants. Nel said she was tired and wanted to lie down. She sent the woman to the kitchen to press some gowns. When they took food up to Nel later, she was gone. Anglin immediately sent word to me at Braemore. I dashed over and decided the best thing was to bolt my team to the border, for I was pretty sure Moore meant to marry her, to get his hands on her fortune. That is his line of business, attempting to make a runaway marriage with an unsuspecting heiress.”
“I would not call Miss Muldoon unsuspecting now. Surely she realizes after that dash to Gretna Green—And why do you think they are not headed there again?”
“He’s too sly to try the same destination twice. The biggest city offers the most places of concealment. I wager it’s London. Poor Nel.”
“Poor Moore,” Clara retorted.
“She’s still young, Clara. I know her being an orphan doesn’t serve as an excuse with you. I expect I was more impressed with it than I should have been, but she is not calm and cautious like you.”
“She’s a featherheaded ninny.”
“Exactly. If only Mama and Maggie—I wanted to help her somehow. Perhaps I felt guilty at not marrying her as Anglin wanted. Papa thought it an excellent match as well. She proved too much for Anglin. He had a stroke when she took off, and I was obliged to remain with them for the week before Christmas to watch her. It was during that time we got in touch with the Bertrams in London. They are related to her, a younger couple, which is all to the good. They agreed to take her on, but they were leaving town for the holiday, and so I had to bring her with me to the wedding.”
“What happened when she ran off with Moore?”
“I overtook them at Brackley, just fifty miles away from Anglin’s place. Moore’s spavin-backed team made poor time. Of course it helped that Nel can never drive through a village without getting down to shop, and usually to eat as well. I tried to loosen a couple of his wonderful white teeth, but they’re long-rooted. I managed to get her home before morning, and as it has
been kept hushed up, she is not considered ruined.”
Clara listened closely, and when he finished she said, “I think you should have let her marry him. No, I don’t though,” she said reconsidering. “He’s too good for her.”
Ben’s face was a mask of outrage. “Too good! Clara, he’s only after her money.”
“What of it? Lots of people marry for money, and he’d earn every penny of it. It is considered unexceptionable if a penniless beauty nabs a rich gentleman. Why should poor, beautiful men and rich ladies not be given the same privilege? I say Nel should be allowed to buy her penniless Adonis if she wants him. But I still think he’s too good for her.” As an afterthought she added, “I wish I could afford him myself, providing he is Captain Carruthers, of course.”
“Upon my word, you’ve taken leave of your senses.”
“Not at all. What is money for, if not to buy what you want? If Nel wants him and can afford him, let her have him. Don’t try to tell me that whatever his character is, it is one shade blacker than hers.”
“But she’s a lady!”
“Is spending money the prerogative of men alone? This is news to me. I haven’t much, but I spend it exactly as I wish, and would advise Miss Muldoon to do likewise.”
“I always took you for such a sensible lady. You’re as foolish as Nel.”
“I have been a poor little orphan since I was a child,” she said, assuming a sad countenance.
“You’ve become a brazen baggage since I last knew you.”
“Only since I have had the advantage of Miss Muldoon’s acquaintance. I see I have been much too nice in my demands on myself. But tell me, since you spent the week before Christmas with Nel, how did Moore get to her to arrange this second attempt?”
“It must have been on Christmas day. I could not take her to Braemore, for fear of disrupting the family Christmas. I made Prissie’s wedding sound as enticing as I could, hoping to keep her from dashing off before I got back, and thought I had succeeded. Lord, what a time to be hobbled with her presence.”
“You are in everyone’s black books, except possibly Herbert’s, by bringing her to the wedding.”
“The wedding?” he asked, surprised. “I didn’t mean that.”
“What did you mean then?”
“I meant having her along when I finally found you, tumbleweed, after two long years.”
“I have not been lost,” she said in a failing voice, as some idea of his import washed over her joyful body.
“You have been lost to me. For twenty-four months I have been scouring this country and Scotland looking for you.”
“I—I was only in Scotland for three months.”
“I know it well. After Papa’s death, and for the month before, of course, I had to be home tending to business. When I was free to begin looking for you, the Bellinghams directed me to Scotland. I went there in April, and very nearly fell into a totally different engagement, quite against my will.”
“The Scottish squab?”
He gave a hopeful smile. “Have you been keeping track of me, too?”
“No, only listening to gossip. After I left Scotland, I went to Devon.”
“As did I, too late again. I missed you by days, weeks, and months in Sussex, London, Devon, Scotland, Yorkshire. I never knew such a girl for traveling. Of course, I, unlike yourself, was not free to roam every day of the year. I had Braemore to see to, as well as Nel. I think you might have given me a clue where you were, Clara. You knew—you must have known at the Bellinghams’—how I felt about you.” His voice was low, but his tone was ardent, and the glow in his eyes spoke of total sincerity. “And if not there, surely some of the messages I scattered about the countryside must have gotten back to you. The half of England knows I’ve been looking for you.”
Her reply was breathless. “Short of sending you my itinerary, I don’t see how I could have done so.”
“ ‘The Maid of Lodi’ might have served as an excuse. You could have sent me the words, as you promised you would do.”
“What would you have thought of me if I had been so encroaching, writing to an eligible bachelor?”
“I would have thought you were pursuing the friendship a little, and would have been happy. Why do you think I expressed so much interest in the lyrics of a song? But writing to a bachelor would not be the cautious Clara’s way, of course. You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.” This belittling metaphor slipped out unnoticed, till Clara gave him a look, half-laughing, half-incensed. “Another of my left-handed compliments for you,” he said sheepishly.
“Two in one. Old and a dog. You outdo yourself. It remains only for you to call me an ape leader, and I shall want for nothing more.”
“Only if I may be your ape. Really I am not far from it. I feel positively savage to see you smile at Ormond, or call Moore handsome, or look at any other man. To tell the whole shameful truth, I was none too happy with Major Standby the other night. You must proceed with the greatest caution, Clara, or you’ll have a homicidal maniac on your hands. I was always afraid that when eventually I found you, you would be engaged, or married or something. How does it come you are still single?”
Clara’s emotions were in blissful turmoil at this declaration. The only possible cause for grief was that she might be dreaming. To conceal her overwrought state, she simulated annoyance and said, “Lord Allingcote, you have just asked the most despicable question in the world. Don’t ever ask any lady over twenty that utterly gauche, hateful question, or you will see savagery that puts your little blusters to shame. I have received three very flattering offers, and I shall say no more.”
“You don’t have to say more. That leaves me free to imagine you have been waiting for me.” He looked hopefully at her. “I said imagine, Clara, my dear. You must feel free to correct me if my modesty has placed me under a misapprehension.”
“Of course I feel free,” she replied, feigning obtuseness.
He scowled, but continued with his rant. “And what a long wait it has been! I lost track of you completely when your aunt married and went to Greece. I was beginning to fear you had become a stowaway, that the tumbleweed had taken to water, and I’d never see you again.”
“You would not have followed me across water?” she asked accusingly.
“Even without a boat, if only I had known which body of water to plunge into. I nearly fell off my chair beneath the palm trees when you walked through that door into Auntie’s gold saloon, Clara. I thought I had finally run mad and was seeing a mirage. Perhaps it was my oasis that put the idea in my head, but I had the strangest sensation you were going to dissipate before my very eyes when I got close to you. And after years of concocting romantic outpourings, what blithering inanity did I hear issue from my mouth but, ‘Fancy meeting you here, Miss Christopher!’ as though you were a mere acquaintance. I had a strong urge to throttle myself.”
Her lips moved unsteadily. “You are possessed of these urges to violence too often, Allingcote. Fortunately you never carry them through. Nel, Moore, me, yourself—the world would be sadly decimated if you committed half the acts you threaten.”
“It’s that savage I told you of, lurking beneath my well-cut jacket. A wrong word or look and I revert to the jungle beast.”
She patted his hand in a maternal fashion. “But a harmless little beastie.”
“A tiger on a leash,” he countered. “Don’t push me too far. I very nearly locked horns with Ormond when he was urging you to go out with him and write him letters. I didn’t want you to suspect I was a callow youth and tried to let on I liked him. I did, actually, when he verified your claim to be no more than friends. But you distract me from my story.”
She gave a sigh of well-simulated impatience. “I thought we had had the whole story by now.”
“No, no. We are just coming to the best part—the climax! The hero and heroine meet in the middle of a crowded room after years of involuntary separation. Involuntary on my part at least. We hear bells rin
ging, heavenly hosts of angels singing, the scent of roses on the air.”
“And my hero says, ‘Fancy meeting you here, old girl. Care for a glass of sherry?’ “
“That is what I said, but I wanted to bolt you to my side with chains of forged steel.”
“How convenient.”
“With Nel on the other side, it would have proved an awkward arrangement. I had to be pushed out the door with her and told—not very politely either, considering the silver tea set and the Wedgwood cups—not to show my nose a minute more than was necessary.”
“The Wedgwood cups? Countess Kiefer gave her the cups.”
“So did I. Don’t interrupt. In any odd minute I did fight my way in. Aunt Charity had you hopping. I had hoped you would not take Nel in aversion, that you might accompany us on a few outings. You would have liked the Roman Museum, I think.”
“Think again. I didn’t care for it in the least when Sir James made me go with him—three times.”
Allingcote frowned heavily. “Don’t be difficult, woman. I’m trying to make love to you. You would have liked it with me for a guide. We need not have gone inside and looked at the bric-a-brac. Museums are best appreciated from the window of a carriage. But of course Nel managed to get your hackles up, too. When both you and Maggie tore off on me the minute I came into the room that first evening after dinner, I knew my plan was futile. What had she said, by the way?”
“A great deal about the many accomplishments and gowns of Miss Muldoon.”
He shook his head. “Her little scene last night didn’t help, but I don’t think it fair that you took it out on me. You were not at all kind this morning, Clara, only because I inadvertently mentioned your gown was two years old. It has held up remarkably well, incidentally,” he said, fingering a fold in her skirt while laughter lurked in the depths of his eyes.
“It has seen a good deal of wear, too.”
“You want to tell Aunt Charity where you buy such durable goods. But it was your face I meant looked the same, and your hair. You wore it like that at the Bellinghams’.”
“Then the style is two years old. How time flies. I shall have it rearranged next quarter allowance.”