by Joan Smith
“What if I am? What’s wrong with that?”
“He’s twice your age!”
“I repeat, what’s wrong with that? You’re thirty-five. If you chose a deb of seventeen or eighteen, the world would smile in approval. I’m twenty-six—Howard can’t be much more than fifty-two.”
“He’s fifty-five, more than a quarter of a century older than you. That’s a good deal more than seventeen or eighteen years.”
“It doesn’t seem too much to me. The quarter of a century passed so far hasn’t put many opportunities in my way. The next quarter could be much more interesting. Why shouldn’t I have a taste of London society like everyone else? Balls and theaters and routs ...”
“And the burra sahib accompanying you—when he’s able.”
“He’s full of life. I never saw such an energetic man.”
“You wouldn’t say so if you’d seen him before he had his lemon water this morning. He looked green.”
“He has amazing recuperative powers, then. He was all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed when he came calling on me.”
Monteith scowled. Quite aside from seeing his uncle’s fortune go out of the family, it was distasteful to think of his marrying a young girl like Sam. “What of his character?”
“I believe his assassinations will stop now that he’s back in England.”
“I was referring to his womanizing. Have you become so sophisticated you would countenance Howard’s dangling after Mrs. Armstrong while courting you?”
She considered it a moment and answered with every appearance of seriousness, “No, if I decided to have him, I would insist he not visit Mrs. Armstrong. I would take up reading the leaves myself, if necessary.”
“You’ll have to take up more than reading the leaves. That was a pretext for him to get a look at her. The next visit will entail more ... intimate doings.”
“I believe it was just a morning’s amusement, no more.”
“You deceive yourself. The thing to do is keep Uncle occupied,” Monteith said, thinking aloud.
Samantha saw that already he had recovered from that first spurt of anger that Howard was interested in her. He didn’t believe her—that was the fact of the matter. He didn’t think she was pretty enough to have engaged his uncle’s interest. She decided on the spot that she would not discourage Lord Howard’s advances. She liked him; perhaps liking might grow into loving. And she’d show Monty that she was more than a simple country rustic, that other men appreciated her, even if he didn’t.
“Perhaps I can help entertain him,” she suggested, with a mischievous smile.
Monteith scowled and whipped up the horses. He turned the carriage around at the next corner and returned Miss Bright to her home, where she stormed in, wearing a heavy frown.
“What happened? Did you get the cat?” her mother asked eagerly.
“No, she’s given it away. Monty and Lord Howard arrived and had their leaves read.”
“Was Lord Howard very angry?”
“He doesn’t know—about the cat, I mean.”
“Then what has got you in a pelter?”
“Mrs. Armstrong is throwing her bonnet at Lord Howard.”
“But what is that to you, Sam? Surely you aren’t truly interested in him? He’s older than your father!”
“Why shouldn’t I be interested in a million pounds? Everyone else is!”
“Oh, Sam! Don’t be ridiculous. He’s not your type.”
“There are many would jump at him. What is my type, Mama? Have I had a better suitor? No, I have had Mr. Russel’s assistant, and I have walked out twice with Mr. Pearson when he was visiting Clifford Sutton two years ago.”
“I always hoped you and Ted—”
“Ted doesn’t seem to share your hopes. Since his graduation, we’ve hardly seen a sign of him. He’s still a boy. Howard is a man. His wife will have a fascinating life, the sort of life you and I can hardly imagine. I would like to marry and have children, a home....”A wistful sigh escaped Samantha’s lips.
Her mother looked and nodded in understanding if not agreement. “You’ve had a narrow sort of a life,” she said pensively.
“Narrow as a straw. Now the whole wheat field is opening before me, and all anyone can do is scold because I show some interest. I like Howard very much, Mama,” she said mulishly, then ran upstairs before she should reveal what was really bothering her; that Monty had laughed out loud. That he didn’t believe anyone was interested in her. She’d show him.
Mrs. Bright sat down to do serious battle with her conscience. Had she the right to try to dissuade Sam? Her daughter was eight years older than she was when she had married. Sam was grown up, and she was sensible. It would be fine to see her so well settled. Mrs. Bright’s thoughts were so serious and sober that she didn’t even think how the match would infuriate Irene. She decided that if Sam was sincerely attached to Lord Howard, she would do nothing to cast a rub in her way. But it would seem strange to have a son-in-law older than herself.
Chapter 7
Monteith kept his eyes and ears open when he joined his uncle later, to learn what, if anything, was said of Miss Bright. The first subject that arose was not Samantha, but Mrs. Armstrong.
“Would you know if the lady has a patron?” Lord Howard asked bluntly.
“I’m not aware that she has,” Monty replied. “On the other hand, Uncle, you will hardly wish to take her under your protection at this time if you have in mind a more proper alliance. You mentioned marriage.”
“One thing hasn’t much to do with the other. My wife will be busy raising sons and running my house. A man requires his little diversions. You may be sure I would employ every discretion. Armstrong’s location—just across the street from Brights’—is awkward. I daresay she has a back door.”
The anger that clutched Monteith’s heart was untinged with any monetary consideration. “Samantha’s young enough to be your daughter,” he said gruffly.
“A man don’t marry a relict when he means to fill a nursery. Miss Bright has a good sturdy hip on her; she’ll be a fine breeder. I look forward to it,” he said, his eyes glowing lustfully.
Monteith’s knuckles turned white. He dared not speak. It was all he could do to keep his hands from flying to Howard’s nose. All unaware, his uncle rattled on, “I want a wife young enough to tend to the kiddies after I am gone. There’s no saying I’ll see my lads fledged. I might very well stick my fork in the wall before they finish university. My intention, Monteith, is to make you my sons’ guardian. I meant to mention it to you. You have no objection?”
“I have every objection!”
Lord Howard considered this a moment and put his own construction on it. “You will be pretty busy in the House, I daresay. It might be best to hire a brace of lawyers for the job.”
From concern for his unborn sons, Lord Howard immediately reverted to his mistress-to-be. “About Mrs. Armstrong—I gather she is new in the village?”
“So I understand.”
“I was wondering whether she is a real widow or a grass widow. I don’t care much for getting tied up with the latter. You never know when their husbands will come pouncing home, spoiling for a fight. I have had some difficulty with husbands in the past. Now that I am home, I mean to keep my nose clean. I shall find out from her this evening.”
“You’re going to Armstrong’s tonight?” Monty asked in alarm.
Lord Howard gave a knowing smile and said, “For a more thorough reading of the leaves. She suggested it herself. I wish I had thought to mention using the back door.”
After a moment’s pause, Monteith replied in very good spirits, “I doubt Miss Bright will be spying from her window. What time is your assignation?”
“Nine o’clock.”
They continued on their way home. The afternoon passed with no major contretemps. Lord Howard was punctual for his reading that evening, and Mrs. Armstrong was more than punctual. She was ready and waiting half an hour before his arrival. Having h
ad considerable experience with gentlemen of Lord Howard’s kidney, she knew precisely what he was about, and was determined to turn the direction of his interest to more proper channels.
When he was shown in, she had arranged herself on the chaise longue in a romantically flowing garment that concealed all of her body except her head and arms. Her hair hung loose over her shoulders in black waves, and the lamps were low. The pose she had in mind was a sort of Delphic oracle of austere mystery and subtle refinement—a lady several feet above a gentleman’s touch. The unattainable was what men liked.
To suggest she represented the divine rather than the profane, she had the table decked out as an altar, with votive candles and flowers. The wine decanter and glasses were on another table, to avoid jarring. As she had no notion of Lord Howard’s aversion to marrying a widow, she meant to drop vague laments about her dear late husband, and possibly a tantalizing hint that she had foresworn any further romantic entanglements for the rest of her life. That should present him a tempting challenge.
When Lord Howard was shown in, he peered around the dark corners for his hostess till he espied the white form on the chaise longue. “Ah, there you are, Mrs. Armstrong. I hope I’m not barging in on a headache.”
She lifted an arm in greeting. “In the evenings, I prefer the half light. It is more amenable to my mood.”
Encouraged, he paced forward and grabbed her hand. He raised it to his lips and kissed it. Once this was done, however, he began to wonder just where he was to sit, as Mrs. Armstrong occupied the entire chaise.
“I shall ring for your tea,” she said in a rather languorous voice.
“We’ll skip the tea this evening, shall we?”
The expression she wore was one of innocent bafflement. “But I thought you came for a complete reading? Is it the palm you wish read?” she asked.
As this would at least get him onto the sofa, he said, “That’s it. I’ll just slide in here beside you on the love-seat.”
Mrs. Armstrong lowered her legs and patted the end of the chaise. She took Lord Howard’s hand in both of hers and turned it palm-upward. She studied it a long moment, then closed her eyes and examined it with the tips of her fingers, slowly, seductively. The gentle, warm, insinuating pressure of her fingers fired Howard to such a state it was all he could do not to grab her into his arms.
When at last her eyes fluttered open, she gave a little surprised shudder. “Did you feel it, the emanation?” she asked.
“That I did, my dear. It shook me to the core.”
“I have never felt such a strong emanation before. I believe our spirits are in tune. I shall begin the reading now.”
She drew her index finger along the first line of his palm. “Ah, look at the length of the life line. You will live to ninety, Lord Howard.” She continued with many portents of success and good fortune. “I have never seen such a large mount of the Sun! Success, intelligence, audacity.”
“I can’t deny the success at any rate. As to the audacity—” He laughed and tried to slip his arm around her waist.
Without a word or even a glance of rebuke, she removed the offending arm and proceeded with her reading. The mounts of Jupiter and Saturn and Mercury were all positive, but the mount that Lord Howard was interested in was unmentioned.
“What of my love life?” he asked archly. “The mount of Venus—you have not mentioned it.”
“That, too, is satisfactory. I see love there, charity.” Yet these virtues caused her lips to droop sadly. “Alas”— she sighed—”I also see much evidence of libertinage.”
“It shows, does it?” he asked coyly, and decided it was time to get down to business.
He withdrew one of his many Indian jewels from his pocket and held in the palm of his hand a fine ruby ring. He slid it onto her finger and studied it a moment. “Plenty more where this one came from,” he said, and tried once more to get his arm around her waist.
Mrs. Armstrong rose gracefully. “May I offer you a glass of wine, Lord Howard?”
“That would be dandy.”
She poured wine, and when Lord Howard reached the bottom of his glass, he found the ruby ring there. “What’s this?”
Mrs. Armstrong took a seat, not on the chaise longue but on a chair a few feet removed from it. “You are foolishly generous, Lord Howard,” she chided gently.
“Damme, I wish you will call me Howard.”
“Then you must call me Serena,” she smiled, though her name was Nancy. “I don’t accept payment for my readings. It is a gift I share with a few friends.”
“I had hoped I might share another gift,” he said, pinning her with an impatient eye.
Mrs. Armstrong just smiled sadly. “I shan’t pretend to misunderstand your meaning. I am through with all that.”
“Why, you’re still in the prime of life! You can’t be more than thirty-five.”
“A little younger actually. Since my husband’s death five years ago, I have forsaken the pleasures of the flesh, Howard. I leave that for more worldly creatures.”
“Sure I couldn’t tempt you?” he said, polishing the ruby ring.
“You could. That is why I must not see you again. Please, respect my wishes in this matter.”
Her tactic worked splendidly. Lord Howard was quite smitten by her noble mien and that tantalizing weakness on her part. The lamplight flickering on her shapely arms and long, dark eyes imbued her with every allurement.
“I have been looking forward to this evening all day,” he said, peering from the corner of his eye to read her reaction.
She reached across the intervening space and patted his hand. “I confess, I, too, have been tempted. But it would not do. I made a vow. . . .”
“What sort of vow?”
“When my husband was interred, I vowed on his grave that I would never remarry. Don’t tempt me, Howard, I beg of you. I am only a weak woman, and you are strong. You might convince me to break my vow.”
The word remarry set him back a peg. He had obviously misunderstood the lady’s background. Pretty as she was, a lifelong commitment to a widow was still anathema to him. He put the ring in his pocket. Mrs. Armstrong lowered her long lashes and stared at her fingers. She made a very pretty picture, there in the flickering lamplight. By staring fixedly at the floor, she managed to raise a film of moisture that closely resembled unshed tears. Then she raised her eyes and smiled very sadly.
“Good-bye, dear Howard,” she said. Her voice was uneven.
Lord Howard’s fingers curled over the ruby in his pocket. It wasn’t miserliness that kept the ring in his pocket, but respect. He didn’t want to offend the poor lady.
“I’ll be running along, then,” he said.
At the doorway he stopped again and looked at Serena. Her head drooped on her shoulder like a wilted flower. She didn’t mar her pose by looking up again. Lord Howard took away the proper vision of a chaste but troubled lady, cleaving to her vow—by no means sure she could go on cleaving if he persisted.
At Mrs. Armstrong’s door, Howard looked carefully up and down the street before leaving. He glanced with particular interest to the lit windows of the Bright house. No head shadowed the clear rectangles of light, but he thought the door was opening and waved for his curricle. Had he looked as closely when he entered, he would have seen not one head but two.
Lord Monteith left Lambrook Hall half an hour before his uncle to pay an unexpected visit to the Brights. He and his mama were planning a round of social events to occupy Howard’s time and divert his thoughts from marriage. An invitation to luncheon the next day was Monteith’s excuse for calling, though not his reason. He also had another excuse.
“I’ve brought you a note from Mama,” he said to Mrs. Bright as he handed her a letter.
Mrs. Bright read it and frowned. “Oh, dear, I’m not sure I want to be involved in this sort of havey-cavey going on.”
“What is it, Mama?” Samantha asked.
“Irene wants to use our house to mee
t Clifford clandestinely. It seems Lord Howard has expressed himself with generous strength on the subject of widows’ remarrying. She is afraid of offending him. I don’t see that it is any of Lord Howard’s business. He’s only a brother-in-law.”
“A very rich brother-in-law,” Samantha added, with a challenging look to Monteith.
“The one who pays the piper calls the tune,” Monty pointed out. “Mama cherishes the hope that he’ll leave his fortune to Teddie and Ben.”
Mrs. Bright shook her head. “Nothing ever comes of trying to butter up rich relatives, Monteith. My late husband curried favor with an old maiden aunt for years. He was always visiting her and sending her little gifts, and in the end she left everything to a second cousin who had the wisdom to ignore her entirely till the last few months, when he moved in and ingratiated himself. And he didn’t need the money as badly as we, either.”
“I agree with you,” Monteith said. “Unfortunately, Mama doesn’t agree with me. Of course I would be happy to see Teddie and Ben so well provided for. If you don’t wish Mama to use your house, you have only to tell me so, and I’ll give her the message.”
“I don’t like to refuse her,” Mrs. Bright said. “Irene has never asked anything of me before. Why doesn’t she arrange her meetings at Clifford’s sisters’ houses?”
“They live in the country, Mama,” Samantha pointed out. “Lady Monteith often comes to the village—our house is more convenient for her. Closer to Clifford’s home, too.”
“Then it is not the principle that deters you?” Monteith asked Mrs. Bright. “You don’t actually object to her meeting Clifford without Uncle’s knowledge?”
“She’s not beholden to him. She may meet Clifford any time or anywhere she wants. Well, I suppose there’s no harm in it. She’s not a young deb after all. I’ll write up an answer, Monteith, for you to take home. I shall also tell her I think she wastes her time catering to Lord Howard.”
She went to the desk in the corner and began composing her reply. Monteith gave Samantha the invitation to luncheon the next afternoon.