by Mary Brendan
Edwina stared at her manservant, recognising again the wry humour lurking in his eyes. ‘It is not a matter for jest!’ she snapped testily. ‘I am in a tizz over whether I am a fit grandmother. Dearest Lizzie has no other close kin, apart from the hag of a Dowager Marchioness and her little step-brother who can do her no good turn as he is but seven years old. Perhaps I should not have meddled, but let well alone. What if Lizzie never forgives me? I might get notice to quit before it all comes right! What if Stratton rejects her? Oh, what will I do then?’ She whirled about, displaying some stamina as she marched away, then speedily stomped straight back. ‘And do you realise what sort of man we are dealing with? This is not a fool to be trifled with. Oh, no! And now I have forgot what I must say to him.’ She flapped a hand and, eyes closed, waddled around in a circle, rehearsing inaudible lines.
‘Of course he is not a fool. He is a fine fellow: a lesser man might be making matchwood of your stair spindles, instead of demolishing his shoe leather in the hallway. Lord Stratton must have covered a mile over marble since arriving. Yet still he remains self-possessed. It should greatly reassure you that, if all goes to plan, Lady Elizabeth’s future well-being is entrusted to worthy hands.’
‘Do you imagine I would have risked her to anything less?’ Edwina squealed, puce-faced.
‘No, of course not, my dear. Calm yourself, please,’ Harry Pettifer soothed. To obscure the casual endearment, he pressed on steadily, ‘I simply congratulate your choice. But you must have expected that the Viscount would be…miffed, on receiving your note.’
‘Miffed? You think Trelawney is miffed to discover he cannot have back his ten thousand pounds and a little extra? I think the Viscount, self-possessed or no, is a deal more than miffed with me,’ Edwina emphasised, bulge-eyed. ‘And so is m’granddaughter! My sweet, dear Lizzie is fair spitting mad. Are you sure her chamber door is secure?’ she demanded, prowling the cosy drawing room searching surfaces for a dish of sweetmeats. Finding none, she resorted to chewing on a fingernail. ‘If she should bolt to that vicar, she’ll wed him just to spite me. But…I shouldn’t have done it. Locking her in her room like a naughty schoolgirl will guarantee a fit of the sulks.’
Abruptly she ceased perambulating and summarised matter-of-factly, ‘Lady Elizabeth has long needed to be properly settled. All this loitering in slums and prisons makes her vulnerable, as does her…unlucky past. Cadmore sent another letter only last week. I wish to heaven I had managed to intercept it. But she had received the post on her way out to meet Sophie. If I was younger I’d shoot the blackguard down dead! She needs a man to care for her. A man other fellows respect and will not dare cross. I can’t imagine any man…unless he is moonstruck…attempting to cuckold Stratton, can you?’
Edwina received a smile and gesture of absolute agreement. ‘Just for a moment I s’pose m’nerves had the better of me. It is all too late for second thoughts, anyhow. The deed is done; and done for Lady Elizabeth’s own good. Should I turn up m’toes impecunious, she’ll never need to beg a living from that miserly crone of a Dowager Marchioness, or her vinegar-faced daughter-in-law. Stepmother to Lizzie?’ She snorted in disgust. ‘She’s never shown the dear girl a jot of affection. So, I must set to, rally m’courage and cut this crazy babbling…’
‘I’m happy to hear that, Mrs Sampson,’ drawled a voice from the doorway. ‘I’ll admit I was beginning to fear for your sanity, too, when I received your letter. My apologies for the intrusion, but I find myself a little pushed for time. I think we should…set to…right now,’ was added in a deceptively mild tone that brooked no refusal.
Edwina smoothed her skirts, then strained her generous lips into a welcoming smile. ‘Come in…come in, Stratton. Good of you to respond to m’note so quickly. Tea, Pettifer,’ she ordered with a hand flick. ‘And don’t be tardy. You heard the Viscount: he is a busy man and must fly off before he is properly arrived.’
Harry Pettifer arrowed a glance at the tall, imposing man just inside the door. The Viscount’s narrowed hazel eyes were most definitely upon him, too. An almost imperceptible movement of Ross’s dark head acknowledged the butler’s neat bow.
‘Oh, and Pettifer…’ Edwina said casually. ‘Don’t forget you were to attend to m’granddaughter…’
Harry Pettifer inclined his head, tacitly indicating that nothing had slipped his mind.
Elizabeth yanked at the door again. She rattled at the knob, peered into the keyhole, then banged angrily on the panels with two small fists. After a moment spent glaring at the wood she turned, marched back into the room, her blonde head flung back, and closed her eyes, trying to calm herself. It wasn’t her grandmother’s fault…was the mantra that echoed in her aching head. She must not blame Edwina. In her own idiotic way no doubt the woman truly believed she was securing her a nice future. Her grandmother must have been swayed by that…Elizabeth’s soft lip curled into a sneer, her violet eyes glittered…roguish gentleman, as Edwina was wont to quixotically term him.
Walking on stiff legs and with rigid fists at her sides, Elizabeth moved to her bedroom window and looked out over the gardens. She forced her humour to lighten; made herself appreciate the dazzling late summer flowers in the borders, the laurel hedging glistening grass green in the noonday sun. A small smile unclamped her compressed lips. Such a ridiculously transparent plot, too, she dismissed on a faint laugh. Between them, they really ought to have managed something slightly more plausible. But then her grandmother had let slip that the Viscount had been keener on gallivanting than studying in his youth: he was no doubt a dullard who relied on his fabled charm or his fists to get by.
In the two weeks since Ross Trelawney had dined here, all Edwina had seemed to talk of was the Viscount: his future prospects, his past heroics, his good connections. Yet to Elizabeth’s knowledge he had not paid a return visit. Had he again set foot over the threshold, she was sure the honour would have been brought to her notice…many times.
She was surprised by Edwina: her grandmother had a sharp, quite devious mind when it suited her. Now she appeared to be held in thrall by this villainous acquaintance of hers. Perhaps her grandmother’s advancing years were unhappily telling on her now. Perhaps she was beginning to lose sense and logic and was allowing herself to be manipulated.
Elizabeth managed a sour smile at the azure sky. Her own reason, however, seemed never more acute. It transpired that her thoughts on the Viscount seeking a consort of good birth to cement his aggrandisement were sound, almost prescient. Two weeks ago, she had been prepared to dismiss the notion as fanciful. Now, according to her grandmother, she was to soon receive a marriage proposal from the upstart.
Obviously Edwina had let slip her granddaughter had a pedigree and a portion, then fallen in with his mercenary plot because she was keen to see her granddaughter wed. Well, they were both about to find out that she refused to be manipulated. She had no wish to marry but, if she must, it would be preferable to wed a comfortable friend rather than a disreputable stranger. And if that meant the dowry was forfeit, so be it. With a little encouragement, Hugh would propose and they would live, hand to mouth, in that dilapidated vicarage her grandmother had scorned. Better that, than endure the ignominy of having a husband bought for her…especially a coarse ruffian with pockets to let and no interest in her other than filling those pockets with her grandmother’s money.
Ross placed his teacup down carefully and leaned back in the chair. ‘I hope that’s a joke, Edwina,’ he said softly.
‘A joke! You think I would joke about such a thing? I’ve no more liking for the way things have turned out than you. I can’t keep the man here against his will longer than to work a month’s notice. He’s accepted another position and I’ve lost m’wagers. I even made some more to try and get you your cash back. I’ve never been so out of favour at the tables. Whatever I tried…Faro, Hazard, Picquet…all duds. Unlike me, too…you know that, Stratton. I bet you’d have wagered on me turning up trumps. I’m not a pauper, but neither ha
ve I adequate funds at present. I’ve some merchandise on a trader returning from the Indies and due to dock in a few months’ time. Once that’s sold you will be welcome to the profit. It might prove a little short of ten thousand…’ She flapped an impatient hand, flounced her pudgy visage away from him. ‘Oh, you simply must wait a while, that’s all.’
‘I must do nothing of the sort,’ Ross corrected in a tone that sent a shiver down Edwina’s spine. ‘I want my money. Our contract states repayment was due yesterday. I’ve builders, bricks, timber and slates on their way to Kent and I’ve no intention of cancelling any of it.’ He watched her plump hands clasping and unclasping in her lap. He knew she had other funds. So did he…but he didn’t see why he should damn well use them. Unravelling a maze of joint business ventures held with friends and family would take time. He also was loath to present himself as some sort of gullible fool to those gentlemen when they questioned his reasons for selling out, when by right he should have adequate liquid funds pooling in his business account.
Edwina was one of the richest widows in London, if chary of advertising that status. She was certainly one of the canniest. Why she was lying was beyond him. Some instinct told him that she wasn’t intending to defraud…just delay; deceive him for her own benefit. But he felt too preoccupied with other matters to be bothered dissecting the workings of the female mind for probable motives. What he did allow himself to indulge in was utter irritation. Not only directed at her, but himself.
Perhaps the whole sorry state of affairs had come about because she was getting senile and he was getting soft. His attitude to money had always been too cavalier…as had his attitude to women. Now he was reaping the cost of that double folly and at a time when he was least able to afford it. A few weeks an aristocrat and he was already done with noblesse oblige.
‘We’ve been friends a good amount of years, Edwina. I’d hate this to end badly between us.’ A charming smile accompanied the remark but it failed to soften the glitter in his golden eyes or the hard line of his lips.
‘There’s only one tidy amount of Sampson money going begging,’ Edwina quickly spluttered. Her mouth felt dry, her tongue clumsy, her complexion fiery beneath his astute observation. She and this man had never before crossed swords, other than in banter. She knew he had a savage, ruthless side, of course, but was certain it was directed only at deserving foe. She had never anticipated experiencing it personally.
Her needling fears subsided. Pettifer was absolutely correct. Stratton had every right to give vent to the frustrated anger she could sense seething below his suave exterior. Yet he was ever the perfectly mannered gentleman. He was, she realised with a burgeoning serenity, exactly right for provocative, proud Lizzie. As she slanted a sly look at his handsome, rugged features, for the first time it occurred to her just how wonderfully well they would complement each other: Elizabeth with her fragile, pale femininity and Ross with his dark, virile strength. But looks apart, their temperaments and characters would mesh too. She was growing impatient to get them in the same room. Sparks might fly…in fact, she would wager on it. But the blaze they ignited might just warm them through a lifetime.
‘The cash is tied to terms and conditions, Stratton,’ Edwina snapped, defensively brusque on realising she had been quietly brooding too long.
Ross elevated dark brows, wordlessly demanding to know what they were.
Edwina fiddled with her salt and pepper ringlets. ‘There’s a trust fund for m’granddaughter that was set up some years ago: fifteen thousand lump sum and ten thousand a year to be paid each January for her lifetime.’
‘Why didn’t you say so at once?’ Ross sighed, peeved at the circuitous route they had taken to achieve a settlement. ‘Surely you didn’t think taking some chit’s inheritance might trouble my conscience? I’m confident you’ll replenish her fund…when your ship comes in,’ he reminded her ironically. Pushing up abruptly out of the chair, he straightened his cuffs. Sauntering to a large gilt mirror, he adjusted his cravat. ‘I’ll take the money, thank you, Edwina.’ He was speaking and frowning at his own reflection rather than hers. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m journeying to Kent this afternoon and want to arrive before dusk.’ He was halfway to the door when he asked, ‘How soon can I collect a banker’s draft?’
‘As soon as you produce the marriage lines,’ Edwina shot back, on a wickedly triumphant grin.
Pettifer approached the chamber door, silently turned the key in the lock, then knocked.
Elizabeth threw down her knitting, rolled to the edge of the bed and scampered to the door. ‘Grandmama?’ she hissed angrily, not bothering to try the handle.
‘It’s Pettifer, Lady Elizabeth. Your grandmother would like to speak to you in the parlour.’
Elizabeth yanked at the door, stumbling backwards as it unexpectedly opened. She glared at Pettifer, who looked back kindly, she thought. Looked almost as though he might say something soothing. Should she upbraid him for leaving? Beg him to stay? No. It wasn’t his fault her grandmother was a fool. Besides, the wagers were already done and won. What use in that? Restoking her anger at her grandmother, she gripped her skirts, streaked past Pettifer and rushed down the stairs.
She found Edwina sitting sipping Madeira by the fire. With a deep, steadying breath, Elizabeth carefully closed the parlour door. ‘I am not going to argue any more, Grandmama,’ she stated in a tone that was quietly adamant. ‘But I should like to know why you locked me in my room in such an unnecessary and puerile fashion. Did you anticipate I might flee like a frightened rabbit after listening to that daft tale? Why…it is just a laughable fiction. Now I have had time to reflect on it, it is so transparently false that I am amazed you and the Viscount bothered concocting it at all.’ She gave a scornful little laugh, paused and awaited her grandmother’s comment.
Edwina simply frowned as though weighing up what she’d heard, before moving the glass to occupy her mouth.
‘So,’ Elizabeth blurted, a trifle disconcerted at the lengthening silence, ‘I shall apologise for shouting at you earlier and take it that you have either been under the influence of too much alcohol or too much of that savage heathen’s company.’
Uncharacteristically, Edwina, again, had nothing to contribute. Elizabeth eyed her grandmother anxiously as she sipped her Madeira. Tentatively she asked, ‘Have you over-imbibed, Grandmama? Or has that scheming rogue intimidated you? You need not be frightened of him! I have every intention of writing this very afternoon and letting him know exactly what I think of his ridiculous attempt to embezzle us. As if you would ask him to loan you a penny! You have money enough to buy and sell half the ton! Has he forced you to sign some document? Coerced you? Be assured I shall write and…’
‘There’s no need for that, Lizzie,’ Edwina interrupted, placing down her empty glass and savouring the sweet stickiness on her lips. ‘You can reprimand the Viscount in person. He’s in the drawing room.’
‘I hope that’s a joke!’ Elizabeth whispered, her eyes huge violet pools in her alabaster face.
‘He used exactly the same phrase, no more than twenty minutes ago,’ Edwina said with some satisfaction. ‘You think alike, Lizzie. That’s a good sign. Perhaps on meeting him, you might no longer want to tell him off.’
Elizabeth glared at her. ‘He is here? Now? And without you even allowing me notice of his arrival?’
‘You would have refused to see him, Lizzie, you know that. Actually, he has kindly loaned me money and repayment is overdue.’
‘This is the outside of enough! I’ll listen to no more of your Banbury tales! I know you have no need of a loan from anyone. You have stock bonds and investment documents spilling from your bureau. You must be insane if you think I shall be taken in by woeful tales of some imaginary poverty we are soon to endure.’ Elizabeth flung her hands in the air in hopeless despair. ‘To broker a marriage with a gentleman would be bad enough. To bribe a rogue to take me….’
‘Gentleman rogue,’ Edwina interceded with
a nod of her head. ‘And handsome too…’
‘Enough! I’ll listen to no more!’ Elizabeth gritted through teeth so firmly set she was in danger of taking the pearly edge off them.
‘Come, Lizzie,’ Edwina wheedled. ‘The Viscount is here…in the drawing room…and he is prepared to defer his travel to give you a brief audience.’
Lady Elizabeth Rowe pivoted back very slowly to meet her grandmother’s innocent expression. ‘He is prepared to give me an audience,’ she faintly echoed, her face rigid, bloodless from furious indignation. Once more in her mind’s eye she could see those mocking dark eyes catching her peeking at him ten years previously. She could sense his ennui, his laughter at her inexperience as confident, voluptuous women vied for his attention.
Edwina studied her granddaughter’s proudly tilted little chin and began relaxing into the chair. Suddenly, she felt more content than she had all day. ‘He is a busy man, Lizzie,’ she sighed. ‘He bade me impress upon you that he cannot tarry long. But he has agreed to spare you a few minutes of his time, before he is away to his Kent estates.’
Lady Elizabeth Rowe’s full, soft mouth tightened into a hard little knot. ‘Has he? How exceedingly good of him,’ she murmured in a voice a-quiver with rage.
‘Your gown is a little crumpled, your hair a bit wispy…’ Struggling from her chair, Edwina bustled over, circled Elizabeth, tutting as she began winding silky soft blonde tendrils back into their pins with one hand while fussing at rose-pink crepe with the other. Two angry high spots of matching cerise now adorned Elizabeth’s otherwise flawless ivory complexion.
‘Ross is used to keeping company with beautiful, stylish women. He is not seeing you to best advantage. Most days, you could easily compete with any of them…even the youngest. But I suppose today you look…well enough. The years hardly show…’