by Joan Smith
“She did it on purpose so you would come after her!” Sara exclaimed, in high dudgeon.
Haldiman looked at her as if she were mad. “I? It is not I she was bamming. It is Peter. He meant to propose this evening.”
“Peter! But I was sure it was you—” She came to a confused stop. She and Haldiman exchanged a long, conscious look.
Sir Swithin cleared his throat. “I feel dreadfully drowsy. Forget I am here—but don’t feel constrained to whisper. I don’t want to miss anything.” He pulled his hat over his eyes, leaned his head back against the squabs, and listened with stretched ears.
“I cannot imagine where you got that idea,” Haldiman said stiffly.
“I should like to know how I could think anything else. You have virtually lived in her pocket. Riding every day, throwing a ball for her, trailing at her heels through the village. She told me herself to leave the library, for you wished to make her an offer.”
In this moment of frustrated excitement, Haldiman blurted out the truth. “It was she who made an offer for me.”
From beneath the brim of Idle’s hat, a muffled voice came forth. “What did she say? Sorry to interrupt, but curiosity impels me to indiscretion. I have heard of ladies offering for gentlemen. An actual example of it has never come my way.”
“How the devil should I remember?” Haldiman scowled.
Sir Swithin lifted his hat. “I should have thought anything so extraordinary would be impossible to forget. Came right out with it in so many words, did she? Haldiman—no, she would have called you Rufus. Rufus, would you do me the honor to be my husband?”
Haldiman was struck with the absurdity of the situation and said, “I am flattered, Swithin, but I have other plans.”
“Cut to the quick! I have heard that line before. And really, my dear Haldiman, can it be proper for a gentleman to boast of his offers? I think not. You have strayed into impropriety here.” He pulled his hat over his face again and resumed his rest.
Haldiman gave him an impatient look, frowned at Sara, and said, “There is someone on the road ahead waving a lantern. I daresay he is going to tell us a carriage with a runaway bride passed this way and is stopping at the nearest inn for dinner. She might have shown a little discretion at least.”
Idle removed his hat and rejoined the party. “I think you mean imagination, Haldiman. Or may I call you Rufus, considering all we have been to one another? The tale of Hansel and Gretel occurred to me. I was wondering if we ought not to be searching the road for a trail of bread crumbs. What ho, my man?” he called, as the lantern-waving person approached them.
It proved to be a farmer from a nearby house. “There’s been an accident. A gentleman and his lady ran clear off the road. I cannot think how it come about, for there’s no twists or turns in the roadway. The driver must have been bosky. My lad is just unhitching the cattle to lead them to safety. We’ll have the road free in minutes.”
Haldiman got out and went to examine the rig. A small brass plaque on the rear announced the livery stable where the carriage was hired. It was his own village. “Are the couple at your house?” he asked the farmer.
“Nay, I offered them, but as they were only a pace or two from town, they decided to go on to the inn and have a bite while I righted things up here.”
“A young lady, a gentleman, and a chaperon--was that the party?”
“Aye, an old malkin, a chattering gel, and a good-looking lad. He called the lass Betty, I think.”
“Nay, ‘twas Betsy, Pa,” the son called from the ditch.
“Thank you.” Haldiman gave him a pourboire. “Did they mention which inn they were headed to?”
“There’s only two in town. He asked which was cheaper. She cuffed him on the arm and asked which was better. I fancy you’ll find ‘em at the Rose and Thistle. ‘Twas the young lady that wore the trousers.”
“She wore the proper gear for her proposal at any rate,” Sir Swithin said. “Should we really hand poor Peter over to such a shrew? It would serve Moore well to be stuck with her.”
“We’ve obliged her to this extent. We may as well continue with the rescue,” Haldiman said, and gave his groom the order.
“Our mission of mercy, begun with such high expectations, has sunk to farce,” Idle complained. “I wish I were home in my bed and had let you come without me.”
“You are not alone in that wish, Swithin,” Haldiman said.
“Too cruel. But having borne you company thus far, I shall remain for the climax. I shall adjust my emotions from melodrama to comedy and attempt to enjoy it.”
They continued to the Rose and Thistle. It was an ancient inn, all plaster and timber, with leaded windows, and situated close to the road.
“It lacks only a thatched roof to be positively Elizabethan,” Idle commented. “Miss Harvey will have no use for anything so Shakespearean. One feels a log cabin would have appealed more strongly to her colonial tastes.”
The group proceeded into the lobby and the proprietor greeted them. “I am looking for the party whose carriage went off the road near here,” Haldiman said. He noticed that a servant listened to his question with ardent curiosity, then darted down the hall. The servant ran to a private parlor, opened the door, and called, “They’re here.”
Miss Harvey and Mr. Moore sat at a table playing a dull game of cards. The chaperon had been sent to a bedroom to be available should a show of propriety seem appropriate. Miss Harvey whisked the cards into a pile and hid them under a cushion. She began to unbutton the top of her gown.
“Damn, Betsy, you’re not going to make me look like a rake,” Moore scolded. “Do up those buttons. We are eloping; you are not being abducted.”
“Take off your jacket at least, and fill our wine glasses.”
Moore peeled off his jacket and went to sit by her on the sofa, as planned. When the proprietor tapped discreetly and opened the door, the couple were locked in an embrace. Betsy jumped up, simulating great distress. She examined the faces examining her. She peered over shoulders for a sign of Peter. Not finding him, she was furious, and said, “Well, Haldiman. So you have found us.”
“We managed to decipher all your arcane clues,” Sir Swithin said, smiling cynically.
Moore looked a question at Betsy. He had been rehearsed as to what line he should take vis-à-vis Lord Peter. Indeed, he had been paid handsomely for his part in the melodrama. He had not expected to confront the elder brother, however, and was at a loss for words. This was an affliction that never troubled Miss Harvey for long.
“Don’t think you can haul me back like a child. I am free and over twenty-one. I have accepted an offer of marriage from Mr. Moore,” she informed Haldiman, with a defiant tilt to her chin.
Sir Swithin pulled pensively at his ear. “She’s right, you know. You have done all that civility demands in following and seeing that she left willingly, Rufus. If it is indeed marriage they have in mind ...”
Betsy shot him a killing look. “No one asked your opinion, you silly little shrimp.”
He looked at the angry sparks shooting from her eyes. Her color was heightened by frustration to a pretty sunset-rose shade. “Thauthy wench,” he lisped in delight. “You are making a poor choice, you know. Not that I mean to denigrate your lack of fortune, Moore,” he added aside to her abductor, “but you are a man of the world, and understand our concern. And by the by, I have been meaning to compliment you on your cravats.”
Mr. Moore swallowed convulsively and said, “Thank you,” in a witless manner.
Haldiman raked a hand through his hair and said, “If you want to marry Moore, I can do nothing to prevent it, but it was demmed badly done of you to run off without telling us. Mama is very concerned.”
“It’s news to me that her ladyship knows the time of day, let alone whether I am in my bed or dead in the road.”
Confronted with this home truth, Haldiman changed his attack to Moore. “And you, Moore, ought to have known better if the lady did not.”<
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“My woman is upstairs, so you need not insult me by calling me ignorant,” Betsy flashed back.
“But my pet, you are downstairs—alone with Moore,” Idle pointed out.
“You know perfectly well it was a horrid thing to do, Miss Harvey,” Sara said. “Marry Moore if you will, but come back to Haldiman Hall and have it done properly.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Betsy sniped. “At least I shall marry someone. You lost Peter, and you’ll lose Idle and Haldiman, too, the lollygag way you go on. You haven’t the gumption to say boo to a goose.”
“It is not my behavior that is under question,” Sara shot back.
“Haven’t I just told you all my woman is with us? I am not compromised, so you need not tighten your prim little lips at me, miss.”
“This is pointless,” Sara said, her cheeks flaming. “Are you returning with us, or not?”
“I’ll not run back with my tail between my legs.”
“Then pick it up and put it in your pocket, my dear,” Sir Swithin said blandly. “But pray come, so that we may get a few hours’ sleep this night.” He made the error of advancing and taking her by the arm. Miss Harvey lifted her hand and flung it with all her force against his cheek. A loud smack echoed in the stunned silence.
Idle shook his head. A fierce blue light gleamed in his eyes. Sara hardly knew what to expect. He looked as if he might strike her back. She turned to Haldiman. “Rufus!” she said, clutching at his arm.
It was Moore who stepped forward. “I say, Betsy, that’s doing it a bit brown.”
Sir Swithin turned on him in rage. “Unhand her, you unworthy cretin.” He reached out and seized Betsy’s hand, while still speaking to Moore. “I never want to see your vile presence in the neighborhood again. I will have you know you are speaking to the lady I love.”
Betsy stared down at him. “Eh?”
“You have heard me, my lovely Sauvage. Thuch thpirit. Thuch fortitude. I must possess you.”
“Get your hands off me, you wretch.” She pushed him aside as easily as if he were a flea. Idle returned to the attack, inflamed to passion by her every angry effort to be rid of him.
The arrival of Lord Peter and Mary was hardly heard over the uproar in the parlor. Deverel was tending to the carriages outside. Lord Peter stopped a moment at the doorway, looked at the scene before him, and stalked forward to rescue his statuesque bride from the clinging pest. He raised his fist and struck Idle a tap on the chin. Idle crumpled in an elegant heap of gold curls, violet jacket, and primrose-sprigged waistcoat. A low, crooning moan of satisfaction emanated from his lips.
Sara hastened forward to help him. He looked up at her with vague eyes. “Tonight I have lived, Sara,” he smiled. “I have loved, lost, and been involved in physical violence. I wish I could die this instant. But as it seems I have only a broken jaw to contend with, perhaps a glass of wine ...”
Betsy turned her wrath on Lord Peter. “It took you long enough to get here. And what is she doing with you?” she demanded, shooting a sharp, spiteful look at Mary.
“We have been to Gretna Green,” Mary told her.
“Aaaagh!” Betsy turned on Peter in a fury. “So this is why you could not bother to come to my rescue! Gretna Green, with that homely child! Robbing the cradle. I’ll have you know you have cut off your nose to spite your face, sir. Even with her aunt’s portion—if she ever gets it—she will only have fifteen thousand.”
Lord Peter gave her a sharp shake. “Stop it, Betsy. We have had enough of Indian manners for one night. We went to Gretna Green looking for you, goose.”
Betsy’s face turned tense with thought, then softened. “But I told them at the stable it was London we were heading for,” she said in a girlish voice.
“I thought you was bamming me. Took me awhile to figure it out. Slyboots, I might have known you would pull off some stunt.” Peter spoke in a low, lovemaking tone.
“One of us had to make a move.”
“One of us is, this instant. Will you marry me, Betsy?”
Betsy beamed a victorious smile at the listening room. “I’ve a good mind to say no, but with half the county on the catch for you, I’ll say yes and have you while the having is good.”
Peter placed a light kiss on her cheek. “That’s that then,” he announced, and tucked his fingers around her elbow. “We can all go home and forget this wretched night ever happened.”
“Not if I live to be a hundred,” Sir Swithin sighed, and smiled a wan smile at the Sauvage. His dainty white fingers stroked his pink cheek, that still tingled from her attack. There was an ode in there somewhere. Perhaps even a drama.
Deverel arrived after the reconciliation had taken place. “Just in time for the denouement, my friend,” Idle told him. “We are about to head for home. I shall have a word with the forgotten man. I refer to Moore, whom, it occurs to me, has been treated rather abominably in all of this.”
“Not that abominably,” Betsy assured him, but in a low voice. “I gave him ten pounds and am covering all the expenses of carriage and inn. And by the by, Swithin, would you be a dear and take my woman in your carriage? We do not want her big ears in ours.”
“That would be Haldiman’s carriage. I fear even my dainty rosebud ears will be de trop there. But naturally I can refuse you nothing, my marvelous Sauvage. Your wish is my command. How damnably trite, but true nonetheless.”
The party regrouped and headed home in a caravan. Haldiman managed to get the seat beside Sara on the banquette, but no dalliance was possible with such a lively audience. Miss Harvey’s woman regaled them with the tale of the runaway match, assuring Haldiman that there was no harm in it. There wasn’t a jot or tittle of vice in Miss Harvey, for all she had the devil’s own temper and a mind of her own. When Lord Peter took to dragging his feet in the matter of an offer, naturally the poor girl had to do something.
“Yes indeed,” Sara said wearily. But unfortunately she lacked Miss Harvey’s steel nerves, and when Haldiman escorted her to the door, she said only, “Thank you, Haldiman. It has been an interesting evening.”
“One I would not like to repeat too soon.”
“I should not think it at all likely. Mary and I are more conventional in our chasing of men.”
“I shall call tomorrow, if I may?”
“Yes, certainly. I expect Betsy and Lord Peter will call as well to discuss wedding plans.”
Haldiman smiled blandly. “Quite. It was wedding plans I had in mind when I mentioned calling.” He lifted her hand and placed a short, discreet kiss in her palm.
Observing him from the window, Idle was not at all impressed by such a lukewarm performance. Haldiman ought to have yanked her into his arms and performed a punishing kiss. But then Haldiman had not had his blood heated to scalding by the Sauvage.
Chapter Sixteen
At Whitehern the ladies did not retire till four o’clock the next morning. Their mother waited up for their return and was told all the exciting doings. “You never mean she slapped Idle!” Mrs. Wood exclaimed, thrilled to death with such scandalous behavior.
“He loved it!” Mary laughed, but her attention was more than half on the heavy signet ring on her finger and what it promised.
“It is a mercy Haldiman did not have her. What a mistress she would have made for the Hall,” Mrs. Wood said, shaking her head in wonder.
“Nearly as bad as the present incumbent,” Sara said.
“Really, Sara! Idle’s manners are beginning to rub off on you. Well, as you have lost out on Lord Peter, you must get your slapping arm in trim to wring an offer out of Idle.”
“I am much too nice for him. He prefers hurly-burly girls.”
“Mary will have you to visit her after she is wed, and find a match for you. I do regret it could not have been Idle or Lord Peter—so convenient to home. I dislike to lose both my daughters.”
“Rubbish,” Mary said. “I shall not be moving that far away. We’ll be home often, and you will
come to us. And you’ll always have Sara,” she added thoughtlessly.
That was the speech Sara took to bed with her. Mama would “always have Sara.” What was to be done about this impossible situation? How did a lady manage to snare a husband without making a cake of herself? She could not think Haldiman would appreciate a hard slap across the face. At the very least, that required a good and sufficient reason. She could foresee no possible contingency that would warrant it. She should have done it when he told her Lord Peter was home and wanted to marry her. Of course, Peter had not wanted to in the least. Haldiman made him offer. That in itself showed very clearly how little he regarded her as a possible bride for himself.
It was nearly five before she closed her eyes and hardly four hours later when she opened them again to see a heavy gray sky beyond her window. The interval had been interrupted by the crowing of the cock, the sound of men working in the fields beyond, and even a shot, which did not portend murder but the farmhands shooting into the fields to ward off the depredations of Mr. Crow.
Her eyelids were heavy as she sat at her toilette arranging her hair. She looked white and drawn, and felt like a limp rag. Bright-eyed Mary darted to the door and said, “Come down at once, Sara. Richard is here. All the party from the Hall are with him.” The transformation to the face in the mirror was a minor miracle. At once her pale cheeks were suffused with color. The dull eyes sparkled to life, and Sara’s hand clutched at her heart that had begun to pummel her ribs quite painfully.
“I shall be down directly,” she called after Mary’s fleeing form. She used the minute to compose herself, add a pretty blue ribbon to her curls, remove it, and reinsert it.
A babble of excited voices rose up the staircase as Sara descended it. Miss Harvey’s voice trumpeted above the rest.
“This eager man wants the thing done at once. ‘Lud, give me a month to acquire a trousseau,’ I told him. Not that the things I brought from Canada are contemptible, I promise you. I have seen nothing I like better in England. You shall be my bridesmaid, Mary. Pray pay no heed to whatever may have popped out of my mouth last night in the heat of the moment. I made sure you had nabbed Peter out from under my nose, and you are plenty pretty enough to have done it, too. Richard would have had something to say about that, eh, Dickie?”