by Joan Smith
Mr. Gerard mentally rubbed his hands in glee. “I’ll keep an eye on that property for you, Lord Howard.” He smiled, and went trotting off after his patron.
Samantha, with her head spinning, went into the Langford house. It was roughly five times the size of her own home, and five times as elegant. A crystal chandelier graced the front hall. Marble floors stretched like a black-and-white-checkered sea before her. In the distance, an elegant horseshoe stairway curved upwards. She looked back toward the open doorway, where Monteith stood watching her. She sensed his indecision, and to encourage him to join her, she spoke.
“Can he possibly be serious about all these plans?” she asked. Her voice echoed in the empty hall. “It begins to sound almost like madness.”
With this slim encouragement, Monteith stepped in. “He’s serious. When the madman is a millionaire, we call it eccentricity. Do you dislike his ideas?”
She shook her head in bewilderment, and they began strolling around the downstairs. “It’s like asking me if I’d like to be the queen. It sounds too farfetched to be taken seriously.”
“You must have noticed the courting is stepping up in pace. Last night he told me you were number one. It seems he’s decided—one of these days he’ll remember to pop the question. You must do battle with your conscience and decide what you’ll say.”
“It will take years to do all the work he speaks of,” she parried. “There’s no hurry.”
“I sense a note of reluctance to come to grips with the issue.”
“It’s not reluctance. It’s incredulity. To think, just a few days ago I was bored!”
“That’s not surprising. Just last night I was bored to flinders at your house.”
She gave him a pert look. “Thank you, Monteith. Naturally we simple country folk can’t expect to amuse a London rattle when he decides to make a sojourn.”
“I was bored with his infernal ranting about tulwars and banditti, not with you.”
“It is unlike you to be so gauche,” she said, hoping to lure him into more personal conversation.
He ignored this taunt. “The long evenings of Indian tales go with the territory, remember!”
“Is this why you invited yourself along on the excursion, to warn me?”
“Uncle didn’t say you were coming with him till after we had left the house.”
Samantha was disappointed to hear it. “What a lovely saloon,” she said, looking around at the embossed ceiling and matching fireplaces of white marble.
“It seems a shame to desecrate it with weapons and other Indian paraphernalia.”
“You forget, if I am the chosen one, this is to be my own personal playhouse. I can do as I please with it. I shall spend a good deal of time here, and I shan’t allow a tulwar or scimitar anywhere near it.”
“What pleases you is to avoid any reminder of your husband, I see.”
“I didn’t say that!”
Monteith raised a finger and shook it playfully. “You did, you know. There was also an intimation that you’d get away from him as much as possible. A strange way for an infatuated fiancée to speak.”
“I am not infatuated, and I’m not a fiancée either.”
“It would be kind to disillusion him now, if you don’t plan to accept.”
She regarded him suspiciously. “You’re in a great hurry for me to turn him off. He’ll only go haring off after someone equally ineligible, you know.”
“I can’t undertake to guard the entire female population of Kent. It is only you I have sworn to protect.”
“It’s the family fortune you’re protecting, not me.”
She cast a bold, questioning stare at Monteith and was confused by what she saw. It wasn’t love shining in his eyes, yet not dislike, either. It was frustration. Monteith didn’t know his own feelings, but he knew that, for whatever reason, he wasn’t going to let Sam marry his lecherous old uncle, not if he had to offer for her himself.
“The two are not mutually exclusive,” he parried. “I am protecting you from the insidious lure of fabulous wealth, and the money from you.”
“Not necessarily in that order.”
“In either order. My old nanny used to say money married is hard earned.”
“No doubt that’s where the famous Monteith tradition of marrying for love came from.”
“No, it’s older than that. My papa, you know, followed it, and he had a different nanny from me. Tradition isn’t built in one generation.”
They left the saloon and went into the library, where empty shelves reached to the ceiling. From the French doors they looked out on a cobbled garden, bordered with yews. “How lovely!” Samantha exclaimed. “A secret garden! Let’s go out, Monty. They’ve left the stone benches and table.”
They went out into the sunlight. An arch through the yew hedge led them to a parapet overlooking the sea. “I love this house just as it is,” Samantha said softly. Why couldn’t she be here with some other suitor than Lord Howard? “It would be a crime to turn it into some pseudo-Indian temple. I wonder what sort of architecture Howard has in mind.”
“Ask him,” Monteith said. “He’s coming back now.”
Samantha was aware of a stab of disappointment. She looked over her shoulder and saw Lord Howard eagerly climbing the hill toward her, with Mr. Gerard puffing up after him. As she looked, the two men turned aside and stopped. She and Monteith exchanged a questioning look and began descending the hill to see what had caught Howard’s interest.
They saw Mrs. Armstrong’s carriage pulling up the drive. She had become tired of waiting and taken the matter into her own capable hands. Anyone might stop to have a look at a property that was posted for sale. Who was to deny that she was interested in buying it herself?
Samantha and Monteith joined Howard and Gerard, and they all went forward to greet Mrs. Armstrong, who smiled in well-rehearsed surprise.
“Good afternoon,” she said. “Don’t tell me I have competition. I made sure no one else was interested in this property. It has stood vacant for months. I decided to have a look around and see if it would suit me.”
Lord Howard sprinted forward and held the carriage door for her. “I’m afraid I’ve beat you to it, Serena. I have as well as signed on the dotted line. I didn’t know you had any intention of moving.”
“One feels cooped up in town. I like to see open ground around me and the sea beyond.” As she spoke, she looked all around with a deep sigh. “Odd that we both felt drawn to this spot, Howard,” she said in a soft aside.
They joined the others, and though Mrs. Armstrong had no real interest in buying the house, she wanted to see it inside. “May I have a little peep around?” she asked Mr. Gerard.
“There can be no harm in it,” he agreed. “Why don’t we all go?”
Lord Howard wasn’t eager to make the trip with his two flirts, and said, “Sam has already looked around. Monteith will entertain her.”
Monteith lifted a satirical eyebrow at Sam. She smiled demurely and said, “I should love to see the playhouse again, Howard. I’ll go with you.” She turned to Mrs. Armstrong and said, “Lord Howard planned to raze the house, but I convinced him to save it. He is going to raise this squat little hill a few thousand feet and build a castle on top.”
Monteith didn’t plan to miss this tour, and joined himself to the party, to walk again through the downstairs rooms. Mrs. Armstrong appeared quite calm in the face of all Lord Howard’s grandiose schemes, and even added to them.
“Of course you will want a gazebo, Howard. Perhaps atop a second little mountain at the side of the main house. Something in the nature of the Prince of Wales’s Brighton Pavilion—but in miniature, of course. Your guests will enjoy to see your fleet of ships setting out to sea. I envisage crimson and purple sails.”
“And saffron!” Samantha threw in, “for your own catamaran, Howard.”
“I am not into such lively colors myself, but if it would please the ladies, why not?”
“Of
course you will have a knot garden,” Mrs. Armstrong urged.
“And your own herb garden to grow curry and Indian spices,” Samantha added.
“The spices will do better in my conservatory, I fancy,” Lord Howard suggested.
“Ah, yes, along with the palmyras and coconuts,” Samantha said.
In the clear light of day, the nabob soon discerned the trace of the crow’s foot around Serena’s eyes. This less-flowing robe betrayed a certain breadth of figure that went beyond the desired fulsomeness, too. Mutton dressed as lamb was the phrase in his mind. Her constant squeezing of his arm, though pleasant, was recognized as unladylike. As the tour progressed, it was to Samantha that he turned the greater part of his attention. He noticed the warming up of her interest and was inclined to settle the matter as soon as possible.
Serena saw which way the wind was blowing and decided to try the efficacy of jealousy in bringing Howard to heel. She turned to Monteith and said, “Shall you and I step outside and stroll through the orchard? It is a shame to waste such a day indoors.”
He was too polite to refuse, but she realized Lord Monteith was not happy to leave. His mood had the tinge of jealousy, but perhaps he was only miffed to see his uncle setting up a flirtation with Miss Bright. Naturally he would prefer to see Howard and his fortune remain single.
Howard watched them leave and turned a playful eye on his partner. “We are rid of them at last,” he said, and patted her fingers. “It is only natural Serena should prefer a noble young buck like Monteith, I expect. But that is nothing to me. I am not about to set up a light-o’-love when I have marriage on my mind, eh, Sammie?”
Her smile faded and she looked listlessly around at the library. “Perhaps we should be returning to town,” she said.
“It is Mrs. Armstrong’s arrival that has put you out of sorts, but I didn’t arrange the meeting. She is not the sort of female you ought to be with. She snatched up a ruby ring as quick as winking this morning, and that, you know, shows pretty well what she is.”
“It also betrays a streak in yourself that I cannot approve, Lord Howard.”
“Now you are piqued with me, and I had hoped we might have an intimate coze—about marriage, lass. What do you say I speak to your mama and set myself up as a regular suitor? I am not one to shilly-shally around when I have made up my mind.”
“No, really—”
He regarded her closely. “Don’t be shy to say what you think. I am not a lady, to be sinking into a decline at a refusal. I must know the truth. At my age, I haven’t a moment to waste. I realize some ladies prefer those niffy-naffy lads like Monteith. He’ll not show you a better time under the covers than I, if that is what worries you. My hair may be gray, but my passion is red-hot, I promise you.”
Samantha blinked and turned bright pink. “Really, Lord Howard!”
Again he studied her. “Then there is something between yourself and Monteith? I don’t mean to tell tales out of school, but on the other hand, I ought to mention—he told me flat out he was not courting you.”
Anger was added to her sense of outrage, and she strode swiftly from the room, to meet Lord Monteith and Mrs. Armstrong coming in. Monteith took one look at her pink face, her flashing eyes, and clenched jaw and went pacing forward.
Lord Howard came, laughing, to join them. “I’ve trod on the young lady’s sensitivities,” he said, and laughed. “But what I said about my gray hair is true, all the same,” he said waggishly to Samantha.
“What is true?” Monteith demanded stiffly.
“You don’t want to know, Monteith,” Samantha replied tartly. “Comparisons are odious. May we leave now?”
Conversation was noticeably stilted as the horses drew them back to Lambrook.
“I’ll just let you down and walk you to the door. I cannot go in, as I want to go to the inn and put a rocket under them about clearing out the place for me,” Lord Howard said.
“I can find the door by myself, thank you,” Samantha said. With a curt nod, she hopped out and ran to the front door.
Chapter 12
Reverend Russel and his wife were just rising to leave when Samantha entered the Willows. She made a few polite comments to her mother’s guests before going upstairs to put off her bonnet and pelisse. She was in such a temper she wanted to be alone for a while. Monteith had been right all along—she was not dashing enough for the nabob. For Howard to speak openly to her about the muslin company and his own red-hot passion—really, the man had no more notion of propriety than a heathen. Her flesh crawled to remember the lascivious light in his eyes during that brief talk. Obviously she couldn’t go on pretending to be flattered at the attentions of such a creature.
She came up short on the unspoken word “pretending.” Was that all it had been? Were her gay smiles at the Langford house only to show Monteith she could outdo Mrs. Armstrong? She couldn’t care less if Lord Howard had a dozen mistresses. What rankled was the bald assertion that Monteith had no interest in her. He had actually told Howard so.
Downstairs, Mrs. Bright frowned at Mr. Sutton and said, “I wonder what that wretched nabob did to put Samantha in such a snit. I can’t for the life of me imagine what she sees in the old pelter. If Howard were younger and refined—like yourself, Clifford—I’m sure I could understand it. Of course, she is very pretty—there is no mystery in what he sees in Samantha.”
Mr. Sutton stroked his chin and smiled. “We know who Lord Howard had in his eye first, Nora, till he learned you were a widow. I remember the first words he uttered after saying good evening to us at the Hall. He turned to you and asked if you were married.”
Mrs. Bright blushed. “I’m sure that was not his meaning. No gentleman has looked at me in a decade.”
“You’re wrong there, my dear. Many a gentleman casts covetous glances in your direction.” His softly beaming eyes suggested that he himself was not entirely innocent. She felt a fluttering in her breast and a strange buzzing in her ears. Such sensations hadn’t afflicted her since her courting days with the colonel.
She had always found Clifford extremely attractive. As he was Irene’s beau, however, she had never allowed these feelings to take root. Nor had Clifford shown any more than a friendly interest. What had caused him to speak now? He was miffed at the way Irene was treating him, of course.
“I never pretended to match Irene for looks,’1 she said. “She is a very attractive lady.”
“She is, but since Lord Howard’s coming—well, one ought not to speak ill of the absent, but I cannot like the underhanded way she is managing things. Foisting me off on you,” he said. “I shan’t pester you again, Nora. It was ill done of me to go along with it.”
“I’m sure we all go along with what Irene says. And I enjoy your visits, Clifford. Truly, it is no imposition.”
“Kind of you to say so. I enjoy them, too.”
“Irene might go into one of her huffs if you object.”
“Let her!” he said. “A man has to make his own decisions. I either go to her at the Hall or I don’t see her at all. Truth to tell,” he added daringly, “I shan’t mind so much if she gives me my congé.”
Nora felt a warmth rise up in her body and began speaking vigorously about the weather. Clifford had mentioned leaving with the Russels, but he passed his cup and settled in for more tea and conversation.
The Brights were dining with the Russels that evening, and when the reverend hinted he could use some help in mending the hymn books, they both volunteered. Neither one wanted to be at home to receive a call from a gentleman, nor did either particularly wish to make the other her confidante. Mrs. Bright sternly told herself Clifford hadn’t meant a thing by his little compliments. He was always such a good-natured, obliging gentleman—it would be foolish to make too much of it. Enjoying the luxury of having an intrigue all to herself, she failed to notice her daughter’s mood.
When Lord Howard came thumping on the door at ten-thirty the next morning, Samantha ran upstairs to her bedro
om, claiming a sick headache. The nabob came in with his usual gruff good cheer.
“I’m sorry to hear Sammie has the megrim, but it gives me a chance to speak to you alone, Mrs. Bright. I fancy you have a pretty good idea why I’m here?”
“Well—”
“You’re right. She’s the little lass for me. I have come like a proper young suitor to ask permission to court her. Thank you kindly,” he rattled on, before the poor lady had time to draw breath. “I knew you would be all for it, but I mean to dot all the i’s and cross the t’s. You have only to name your dowry.”
“I’m afraid Samantha has only five thou—”
“Ho, ho, ho,” he bellowed, slapping his knee. “That was not my meaning, dear lady—Mama,” he added roguishly. “I wouldn’t dream of robbing you of any part of your pittance. What price are you asking for her is what I meant. Don’t be bashful. I’m willing to go as high as fifty thousand.”
“Fifty thou—”
“All right then, sixty. I don’t haggle when I want something.”
“Indeed, that was not my meaning!” Mrs. Bright gasped. “How very generous. I—I shall tell Samantha,” she said.
“I gave the little lady a hint of my intentions the other afternoon. It won’t come as a complete shock to her. Her taking such an interest in Shalimar encouraged me to suspect I would not be rejected.”
“Shalimar, you say? I didn’t hear Samantha mention—1’
“That is what I’ll call the place. It is a famous garden in Kashmir. I mean to duplicate something of the sort at my place. We’ll be happy to throw up a little dower house for yourself as well, missie, if you care to join us. I daresay Sam would have no objection to your living in her dollhouse. She plans to keep the Langford place for her own amusement,” he explained when Mrs. Bright frowned at this peculiar offer.