“This quite naturally leaves Lady Selinda Harroweby and her sister, Lady Lucy Harroweby, without a legal guardian. Most distressing! Goes against the natural order of things! I have begun procedures to make them wards of the crown— which I think it wise they remain until each is twenty-five years of age. And so I have requested in my petition, my lord. We should have that matter completed within a fortnight. Then such guardians as the crown deems fit shall be appointed. In the meantime, I have arranged for a genteel lady of advanced years, Miss Hortensia Walleye, to serve as their companion and chaperon. She began her journey this morning and awaits you at Darrowdean,” he said with a perfunctory nod to the girls.
At this announcement, Lucy and Selinda exchanged worried glances. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Noon,” Selinda began. “My sister and I are most appreciative of your kind attention, you may be sure, but we have been sufficient company to one another for many years now.”
“Yes,” the gentleman returned dryly, “and we now see how effective that arrangement has been.”
“Really, Noon,” Lord Waverly protested, “is all this necessary?”
Mr. Noon paused a moment and twitched his whiskers before continuing in ironic tones, “I beg your Lordship will grant my superior, er, experience in matters of correctness. I have not yet met Miss Walleye, but I have been assured that she is all that is correct.”
Lady Sybil, who had been pacing about in frustration, now froze in her tracks and shuddered. She could not recall when she had heard a more distressing pronouncement on a woman.
“Now, as to Darrowdean,” Mr. Noon continued, pointedly oblivious to the consternation to which his arrangements had given rise, “all is much better than we had imagined. When I arrived, it appeared that the house had been entirely stripped of its contents, but most of these were found to be crated up in several of the outbuildings awaiting shipment to various auction houses. Miss Walleye will see to their unpacking and the reappointing of rooms.”
“I see you have been very busy indeed. Noon,” Lord Waverly smiled grimly.
Mr. Noon bowed. As he did so, he spotted the golden pomander hanging around Lucy’s neck. “That, surely, is a family piece. Pray tell, just how did you come by it, Missy?”
Lucy gave him a highly abbreviated version of the adventure in the coach, not mentioning, of course, the role Lady Sybil had played.
“Well, I see that it is quite damaged,” Mr. Noon pronounced, pursing his lips into a thin, condescending smile. “Children are not ideal trustees of heirlooms, you will all agree. Now, give it here, child, and I shall see that it is repaired and deposited in my vault for the present.”
At this, Lady Sybil cried out in extreme agitation. “You cannot allow it, Lucy! I vow, I shall not spend eternity in this man’s wretched offices!”
This urgent complaint reminded Lucy rather forcibly of the gravity of Mr. Noon’s suggestion, and she backed away from his outstretched hand, her face set in a threatening frown. “Come, come,” Mr. Noon admonished as he approached her. “Recalcitrance is not attractive in a child. Miss Walleye will be shocked to see it in you. Now, then, give it here.”
Lucy answered by retreating farther into a corner. “Come, Lucy,” Lord Waverly intervened. “I shall take it and claim the honor of having it repaired for you. What’s more,” he continued in a low whisper, “I shall send it back direct to you when I have the chance.”
Lucy glanced over at Lady Sybil. She was looking at Lord Waverly appraisingly. “It’s all right, Lucy,” she said after a moment. “I think Lord Waverly and I shall rub along famously.”
As Lucy slowly handed the pomander to Lord Waverly, Mr. Noon broke in, “Very well, then, we must be on our way. I have a coach awaiting us outside, so we should arrive at Darrowdean before nightfall. I have bespoken rooms for you at The Golden Hour, my lord, unless you wish to return to London at once. That course I would strongly suggest, for you will allow that the propriety of this arrangement is questionable at best.”
Lord Waverly did not, however, agree. A shadow of distress had shown itself in Selinda’s eyes, he felt sure, at the mention of his leaving. It was a slim hope, but hope nonetheless.
Lucy, still on the lookout for Lady Sybil’s best interests, cried out, “Oh, Lord Waverly, pray do not leave us so quickly. Please understand, Mr. Noon, we are all alone in the world. Do not give us over to complete strangers so quickly.”
Mr. Noon wiggled his whiskers somewhat irritably by way of comment, but Lord Waverly knelt down beside the child and took her hand. “I shall send my landau back to London and ride alongside yours. I shall not desert you, my dear.” He looked up at Selinda then and for an instant caught what must have been a very warm expression. If only it had rested in her eyes longer before she withdrew behind her accustomed mask, he might have known for certain.
“We thank you very kindly for your escort, Lord Waverly,” Selinda told him with downcast eyes.
“Come, come,” Mr. Noon fussed. “We must make haste here. Miss Walleye awaits our arrival.”
Mrs. Bunche hardly had time to summon herself to tears before her small guest climbed aboard Mr. Noon’s carriage, but Lucy, sensitive to the woman’s generous, tender nature, very kindly kissed her on the cheek and assured her that she would make The Laughing Lion a regular stop on her way to London whenever she passed that way.
“And when might that be?” the good woman asked, wiping away her tears.
Before Lucy could answer, Mr. Noon announced repressively that since the child would not make her London come-out for at least another eight years—children doing best, after all, in the country—he sincerely hoped Mrs. Bunche would continue in good health.
Mr. Noon climbed into the coach along with Selinda and Lucy. “I own I feel much relieved that our journey is underway at last,” he told them as he consulted his timepiece. Considering that it had taken him no longer than fifteen minutes to dispatch his business at the inn, the sisters exchanged significant glances. Intercepting these darted looks, he frowned in deep disapproval and, after a moment, turned to Lucy and said, “Cover your ears, child. I would speak confidentially to your sister.” Casting a sidelong glance at Selinda, Lucy complied with this command.
In spite of this precaution, Mr. Noon leaned forward and commenced to whisper. “Lord Waverly is my client and has been for years, and I would not for anything speak ill of him. But this is the very sort of scrape I have feared. He has a kind heart, as you have reason to know, and is said to be brilliant in such unprofitable studies as literature and philosophy. However, I must acknowledge he has not the least idea of the importance of conventions society has established for its security. Had he not alerted me to your distress, I am afraid he would have compromised you so thoroughly that you would have been forced to wed and that is a connection we could on no account wish.”
“I cannot think,” Selinda began angrily, “that it is your business to meddle in the private life—”
“Tut, child, you cannot know your peril! You must realize that only Lord Waverly’s fortune and family connections keep him from being cut entirely by the ton. I am sorry to say I long ago despaired of a proper connection for him. Although there is nothing precisely objectionable about your lines, my dear, I am afraid the precipitate actions you have taken in the last day or so bespeak a very intemperate and unschooled disposition. A very bad mix of blood, I am sorry to say. I cannot begin to think that the issue of such a union would bring anything but disgrace to both your names. Now do not frown so. Aside from my considerations for the House of Waverly, my integrity forces me to protect ‘the orphan child’ from the pitfalls that lie before her.” He smiled briefly at what he fondly believed to be a witticism. “For you, my dear, Lord Waverly represents a pitfall from which your status in society would not recover. I do not think you can begin to imagine.”
“Surely you are too nice, Mr. Noon,” Selinda exclaimed hotly, deeply resenting his interference. “I cannot see that Lord Waverly’s propensities, whatever
they may be, can be as sinister as you represent them.”
“Nothing sinister, my child, but everything singular. Do you know his country estate crawls with animals he has ‘rescued,’ as he calls it, from London and elsewhere? That he publicly cut a lady of unequaled reputation and standing merely because she had the good sense to disown her daughter who had found herself in, shall we say, an interesting condition? I do not think you can imagine how foolish the gentleman is.”
“This sees to me like very good sense,” Selinda said vehemently.
“I shudder to think of the education you have had if that is your opinion! I can see,” he told her flatly, “that Miss Walleye’s attentions will be essential.”
Lucy, who had in fact heard every word with growing anger (for she had not covered her ears so very tightly), now felt obliged to save her sister from further distress. The coach was now passing through the village, and she called out for them to observe Prudence and Rupert being led away from the pillory. The guards, to all appearances, were having a difficult time of it. Now that Prudence’s hands were free, she continued to make an attack on her son in spite of the efforts of the three or four burly keepers.
“I think they will do very well in the gaol for present,” Mr. Noon told the girls. “I shall have to think whether it is best to petition their transportation or hanging.”
Without hesitation, Lucy and Selinda cried out in horror, “Transportation!” and Mr. Noon’s visage took on an appearance of severe affliction at this outburst.
Meanwhile, Lady Sybil rode along perched on Lord Waverly’s accommodating knee. She could not help but note the air of despondency which had settled over him since he embarked along the road. His silence was punctuated with an occasional sigh, and she could only wish that soliloquies were as common in life as they were on the stage. She, too, had taken note of Selinda’s wistful glances in his direction and now she was certain that his heart was engaged as well. What sort of idiotic blindness could be afflicting the pair? she wondered.
It was well, she decided, that the pomander had fallen to his care rather than Lucy’s, for, after all, it was the man who must speak. That must be it. The most common of all male idiocies! They always forgot to mention that they were in love! Well, tonight she would give him a dream which would make him act, or she was not Lady Sybil Harroweby.
Chapter Twenty-one
When at last the carriage arrived at Darrowdean, it was well past dark. The high walls stood silhouetted against a cloudless moonlit night, and Lucy and Selinda knew that they were home at last. They were met at the familiar doors by Miss Hortensia Walleye who, thanks to Mr. Noon’s glowing testimonials, had achieved legendary status. A few moments acquaintance, however, proved to Lucy that names are always significant. The woman clutched a branch of candles in one hand; the other held in their direction an enormous ear trumpet. Slowly, silently, she fixed the party with a baleful gaze, her pale, protruding eyes resolutely examining them one by one. “Good evening,” she shouted finally. “Good evening, Miss Walleye—” Mr. Noon began.
“Eh?” she cried, swiveling the ear trumpet in his direction, barely missing him in the process.
“I said, ‘good evening,’“ he told her in a slightly louder voice.
“Mouth full of mush,” the lady pronounced in what she must have assumed was an undertone.
“My name is Noon,” he shouted. “Ezekiel Noon!”
“Aye,” she bellowed back, “there’s a full moon. What of it?”
“Noon!” he stormed, twitching furiously.
Lord Waverly and Lady Selinda each glanced in the direction of the flabbergasted Mr. Noon and, encountering each other’s eyes, exchanged an amused look which threatened momentarily to bubble over into laughter. It was clearly the first time in many years that the man’s painstaking plans had resulted in less than perfection. Now that he had caught Selinda’s attention, Lord Waverly attempted to convey to her in his countenance the feelings he had been unable to put into words. She felt the warmth of his blazing eyes and remembered the way his lips had felt in her dream. Blushing suddenly, she looked away.
“Too late for gentlemen to call,” Miss Walleye’s voice blared. “Afternoon is for calls! Man as old as you should know that Mr. Noon!”
This pronouncement having been made, she took Selinda and Lucy by the shoulders and steered them uncompromisingly through the door. Mr. Noon, atwitch indeed, backed out of the door onto the walk, taking Waverly with him. The door closed resoundingly on the pair without further ceremony.
“Men!” Miss Walleye roared. “No more sense than monkeys. A good deal less. To bed now. We’ll have some talk in the morning.”
The lady turned then without further ado and led Selinda and Lucy up the wide central staircase. They had been looking about at the hall ever since their entry, noting uneasily the changes since their last visit. Furniture had been set about and paintings hung on every wall, but nothing was where it ought to be. In spite of the amusement offered by their deaf companion, it was, all in all, a cold, dispiriting homecoming. It had been a long day, however, and both of them looked forward to the comfort of their chambers, perhaps a few moments of conversation (which Mr. Noon’s presence in the coach constrained), and the bliss of sleep.
“I am much afraid,” Miss Walleye told them loudly, “that such servants as I could engage on so short notice have only readied the one chamber, for we expected only Lady Lucy. You two must share for tonight and tomorrow we shall do better.
“In the morning,” she went on, “I shall begin to work with you, Lady Selinda. From what Noon has written me, I imagine you were most shockingly unready for your London come-out. I have dispatched an advertisement for a governess for Lady Lucy, but it is my hope that my cousin, Miss Mehitabelle Walleye, will be able to undertake that position. She is a trifle advanced in years and only has one good eye, but she formed the pattern for my early years and I do not think that one could ask for more.” With these resonant words still echoing in the passage, she bid them good night and made her lumbering way to a chamber just across the hall.
Some good angel, Lucy decided, had prompted Miss Walleye to select their old chamber for them, for she and Selinda had always shared a room. The furnishings were different, but the proper draperies and counterpane had been chosen, so the room looked quite its old self, and this was comforting. A fire blazed on the grate, and its glow cast a rosy, welcoming light. In spite of appearances and pronouncements, they could not be insensible to the fact that Miss Walleye’s management was a good deal less distressing than the oppressive economies of their supposed Aunt Prudence.
Selinda threw herself down on the bed and sighed. The image of Lord Waverly’s expression when last she encountered it was etched in her memory. She could swear he loved her, but still, he had never spoken. Were all men so provoking, she wondered? In the books she read, gentlemen had made their pronouncements of love in spite of worse opposition than she and Lord Waverly faced. Surely, she told herself, Lord Waverly was not so much in the thrall of Mr. Noon that he could not love where he wished. Oh! Nothing made sense. If love were this painful, she wanted nothing of it.
Lucy crawled up beside her on the bed and sighed, too. “Enough adventures for you, Selinda?”
“Yes,” Selinda frowned, “and all of the wrong kind. Life does not seem to have much in common with our lovely novels, Lucy. That much I have learned. I begin to fear I must learn to keep a rational head on my shoulders and mind what Miss Walleye says, however tedious it seems.”
“You cannot mean it, Selinda!” Lucy cried in distress. “It is too dreadful.”
“So is disappointment, Lucy,” she said with a catch in her throat.
* * * *
The Golden Hour was every bit as comfortable an establishment as The Laughing Lion, Lord Waverly was glad to discover, for he felt that, even if a warm fire and a bottle of brandy might not solve his dilemma, they might go a fair distance to dull his distress. He had wondered the whole lengt
h of the journey whether he was setting himself a fool’s errand by pursuing Lady Selinda’s heart. Sometimes he would stake his whole fortune that her heart was engaged. Then he would be just as certain he had imagined it. It was true, he told himself, that circumstances had contrived to make his courtship the most botched-up thing imaginable. He knew quite well that the usual flowers and verses would not do for Lady Selinda, yet stolen kisses in church combined with a precipitous cross-country flight hardly seemed the thing either.
He poured a second glass of brandy and stared into the fire, wondering what to do. On the way to the inn, Mr. Noon had informed him of the regimen he had mapped out for Lady Selinda. It was clear from the man’s repressive tone that he did not think it suitable for his Lordship to pay the lady any further attention. In fact, the stern old man had all but read Waverly a lecture on propriety. If he knew anything about Mr. Noon, and Lord Waverly fancied he did, access to Selinda would be the main obstacle to the advancement of his courtship. He toyed briefly with the notion of merely dismissing the man, but Mr. Noon and his father before him had managed the affairs of the House of Waverly and it simply would not do. He knew he had to act quickly to engage the lady’s heart, but how? He must find a way to circumvent Noon’s interference. If only life were as simple as in books, he mused as his eyes grew heavy.
Lady Sybil had been watching Lord Waverly meditatively for some minutes. As usual, she waited until she was quite sure he was deeply asleep—half an hour was usually sufficient— before she allowed herself to enter his dream. When she did, she smiled broadly and wondered if her attentions were necessary after all. But, still, what harm could there be to add a few details?
* * * *
It was a warm, starry night in Lord Waverly’s dream. Fragrant roses twined up a picturesque balcony. Leaning over the edge, a fair maiden with eloquent green eyes and soft brown ringlets was sighing into the darkness. By the light of an enormous moon, Lord Waverly could see a tear tracing its way down her cheek. He moved closer. Her lips trembled as she spoke one word, “Waverly.” His heart pounded.
High Spirits at Harroweby Page 18