Calamity Claresta

by Irene Estep

  "You never know what you can get until you ask!" An amber twinkle, very much an imitation of her own, appeared in his eyes.

  "And did you talk to the agent aboard the Black Eagle about the chamomile?"

  "Yes, and he purchased the entire stock."

  "Market price?"

  "Just below." Edwin shook his head gravely and quoted the exact amount.

  "Well don’t fret so about it, Edwin. You did manage to rid us of the entire lot and since we paid far below market, we still made a nice profit." She knew Edwin expected every deal to yield large gains, and he took his failures to bring about such to heart. She’d experienced similar pangs when she first took over the business. "Never know what you can get until you ask, indeed," Claresta mocked, for it was a motto she’d repeated quite often during Edwin’s earlier apprenticeship. "How very resourceful of you to throw my words back at me, my boy."

  "Speaking of resourceful, how did you fare on your early morning commission?" Edwin’s humor returned quickly once he knew Claresta wasn’t disappointed in him.

  "Quite well, I believe. The gentleman professes to be the Earl of Norwood, but methinks he’s pulling a sham." Her brow furrowed as she contemplated the uncertainty of his background. Drake Lockwood, or whatever his name was, appeared to conduct himself like a gentleman, but then a scapegrace was supposed to be convincing. "He’s an American. And I believe he came to London hoping to better his circumstance. I should know more after I speak with him at dinner."

  "You invited a perfect stranger to dine with you? A barbarian from the Colonies? Alone? I must say, I don’t like that above half, Claresta."

  "Well, I dare say, he is quite refined for a Colonial. Anyway, we won’t be alone. Mr. Thurmond will be present to explain the details of the proposed arrangement."

  "Your solicitor is hardly a creditable chaperone," Edwin said with disapproval.

  Claresta almost laughed at her cousin’s protective streak. Besides Nan, he was the only person she allowed to remonstrate with her over her lax decorum. "Then, my friend, I shall rely upon your presence to put things to rights. I’m certain Mr. Thurmond can use a witness to validate the agreement, should the gentleman not be opposed to the idea."

  "And if he is?" Edwin arched one tawny brow.

  "Then I shall have to convince him otherwise. Everyone has a price, my innocent. I just have to find Drake Lockwood’s."

  * * *

  Though sufficiently awed by Shipley’s expertise at turning a rustic into a Gentleman of Fashion, Drake was unused to anyone dressing him. Neither was he accustomed to wearing his waistcoats quite so snug nor a collar that stood with such high stiffness. Miss Huntington had gone a bit far by sending her butler to serve as his valet. Had the poor devil not looked so out of frame when Drake tried to refuse his services, Drake would not have relented and let him stay.

  Acquiring a valet may have been first on his stepmother’s

  list, but Drake had already mentally crossed off the item as an unnecessary expense. But, it was of no consequence to allow the man to attend him, since the old fellow seemed to have his heart set on doing so.

  A tailor was not top among his own priorities either, but Shipley had coerced him into attending one that afternoon for clothing more suitable to "his new station in life." Since Drake did not want a repeat of the gawks and gapes of those he met yesterday, he relented to his valet’s better judgment. Several articles of clothing to tide Drake over until his new wardrobe would be ready were also selected. The merchant assured him that payment at a later date was standard procedure among the nobles. Drake had never owed anyone before and felt uneasy at the prospect, but under the circumstances, credit was a necessity, he supposed, to survive the forthcoming week until Captain Mercer sailed back to London Harbour.

  "The lady will stare, my lord."

  Drake tried to cast a discreet look at himself in the mirror. He didn’t want to hurt the old gent’s feelings, but if people were going to stare . . . Blast it all! He had to turn his entire body every time he wanted to look in another direction. He twisted at the snow-white cravat tied with a knot any hangman would be proud of.

  Shipley cleared his throat and shook his head.

  "Well," Drake said, dropping his hand and taking another stiff-neck, objective view in the cheval mirror, "I suppose Druscilla would be happy if she could see me dressed, uh . . .to the nines."

  "You look very smart, my lord."

  Drake eyed the man acting as his valet suspiciously. Unlike the man’s mistress, the butler didn’t seem to have any doubt of Drake’s heritage.

  He stepped back when Shipley came towards him with a flashy sapphire stickpin. "That isn’t mine," he protested.

  "Of course ‘tisn’t. Miss Huntington sent ‘round her father’s jewelry case for you to partake of as you so desire."

  "Well I don’t desire, so please return it." Drake tugged at the cravat until he could breathe easier. He appreciated the lady’s generous spirit--he may have wound up in the gaol without her help--but confound it if he was going to become a charity case for her.

  If his stepmother had held true to form, he’d not be standing upon the generosity of Miss Huntington now. Thankfully, he would not have to remain obliged to the lady for more than a fortnight. He’d also need to write a message to his man of business in America and give it to Mercer so another set of verification papers and a letter of introduction could be dispatched posthaste. He was anxious to begin overseeing his new country estate, and if the Norwood estates were as depleted as Denton had said, he may have to withdraw more funds than anticipated to put things in order.

  "Very well, my lord." Shipley saw no point in arguing. If his lordship would quit rearranging his attire, he’d cut quite a figure without any adornments. He ignored the gentleman’s pointed glare as he brushed imaginary lint off his new master’s shoulders, then slid his hands down to straighten the cravat to a nicety, he hoped, for the last time. A tap came at the door and Shipley went to answer it.

  He returned momentarily to the dressing room and informed his lordship that Miss Huntington’s coachman had arrived to take him to Gilbert House.

  Drake caught himself just in time to keep his hand from twisting at the cravat again, and Shipley emitted an audible sigh of relief. He wondered if Miss Huntington would be as impressed with his appearance as her butler seemed to be.

  Shipley said, "Your cape, my lord. It’s rather chilly in London in the evenings."

  Drake allowed the valet to drape the garment over his shoulders. He was reminded of the discomfort he felt the first time Druscilla insisted on bundling him up before he went out in the snow. She’d knitted him a fine scarf, but he never told her he liked it. Instead, he’d ranted at her to stop trying to act his mother. He’d realized how much he must have sounded like his disagreeable father, but he’d been eight years without the touch of a loving hand. Thankfully, it wasn’t long before she had Mitchell to fuss over, and Drake had escaped the brunt of her molly-coddling ways.

  "Perhaps, Shipley," Drake said, turning stiffly, "I should take along the jewelry case and return it to Miss Huntington myself."

  Shipley almost smiled, at least, Drake thought the eyes cloaked mostly by the squint turned a more vibrant hue.

  The valet was quite pleased with his lordship’s decision. In spite of the gentleman’s reduced state of affairs, he fought to do the right thing. If Lord Norwood did not allow his pride to rule his head, he would be a perfect match for Miss Huntington. Shipley handed over the jewelry case and said, "To be sure, ‘tis an ethical gesture. But, considering your circumstances, sir, I pray you shall give other settlements the lady offers more practical consideration."

  "Settlements?"

  The coachman, waiting to escort Drake to his conveyance, cleared his throat. Shipley bowed and turned back into the suite, leaving Drake to wonder if all English valets were such eccentric prattle-boxes. Nothing the man had said made the least bit of sense.

  CHAPTER FOUR
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  "I believe you will find him quite acceptable," Claresta said, responding to her solicitor’s bracing lecture on "social misfits from the Colonies." She had told him about the American and that she intended to offer him the previously discussed marriage contract.

  When she mentioned the document again, patches of feathery gray spikes surrounding Thurmond’s bald pate waved as his head moved back and forth. For one never at a loss for words, he made an unusually lengthy display of hemming and hawing, and clearing his throat before he finally said, "I say, my gel, I thought you jested when you asked for such an, er, unconventional certificate."

  "Mr. Thurmond," she said tightly, "are you saying you did not prepare the settlement agreement as I asked you?"

  "Now, now, don’t get out of humor with me, young lady. ‘Tis better to work out the details with your intended first, what? Leastwise, saves a deuced amount of time in the long run."

  "I suppose," Claresta conceded. Thurmond’s biggest problem was his inability to take her seriously. However, her grandfather’s old friend would have to learn that she was mature and serious-minded and not the mischievous youngster who used to enjoy spoofing him at every turn. "I never make light of business decisions, Mr. Thurmond. Do I, Edwin?"

  "Never," Edwin agreed. "Glass of sherry, Cousin?" Without waiting for a reply he filled two glasses and handed her one. Thurmond still clutched the brandy Nan had poured him when he first arrived.

  "Never?" Thurmond uttered distractedly as he came to stand before her. He abruptly stopped his pacing, and his gaze strayed to her décolletage. Claresta barely resisted an urge to tug at the neckline of her pale yellow gown. Nan had made such a fuss over the cut of the gown earlier, Claresta was glad her housekeeper had taken herself off to check on the progress of dinner and not witnessed Mr. Thurmond’s odd behavior.

  It wasn’t like her grandfather’s old friend to leer, but having lifted his quizzing glass over his right eye, he lingered overlong upon that bare expanse of flesh above her neckline.

  "Never," Claresta reiterated and leaned forward to place the glass of sherry she didn’t want upon the sofa table.

  "Egad!" Thurmond’s face turned a molten shade, and his quizzing glass dropped to his side as he straightened and promptly sat down upon the gold damask sofa opposite her. It was the first interval of silence since he’d walked into the room.

  There was no reason to feel self-conscious, Claresta assured herself, about her decision to marry a stranger or the garment she’d selected to dazzle the unsuspecting American. She had witnessed numerous ladies dressed in much more daring gowns strolling through the gardens at Vauxhall last week.

  Edwin, sitting on the sofa beside the solicitor, grinned and winked at her. Of course, her cousin had no way of knowing about the knots that gripped her stomach or he would not be teasing her so. She’d been suffering second thoughts all day about meeting with the prospective husband again. She’d encouraged several suitors these last few months, but before she’d had the opportunity to follow through with a proposal something disastrous always happened. She glanced at the mantel clock and wondered what could be delaying Mr. Lockwood.

  "A Colonial!" Thurmond gulped the brandy he’d been nursing.

  "I’m sure when you meet the American, you will find him quite likable." Claresta realized her fingers would make shreds of her lace handkerchief if she didn’t stop twisting it. She stuffed the article back in her sleeve and clasped her hands together, resting them on her lap. Why she was being so fidgety, she did not know. She hadn’t committed to anything as yet, a fact her solicitor had pointed out several times during his long, reproving lectures on the subject.

  "It isn’t important whether I like him or not, what Huntington?" Without giving Edwin a chance to reply, Mr. Thurmond continued, having obviously overcome his moment’s repose. "By gads! Picked him up in a tavern, did you now?"

  Edwin covered his lips and converted his laughter to a cough when Claresta gave him an arctic glare. She should never have invited Edwin, knowing it wasn’t unusual for him to enjoy a great deal of entertainment at her expense. But, were the situations reversed, she knew she would be equally amused. It was always tit-for-tat for the two of them, and she would gain retribution at some later date. She said to Mr. Thurmond, "I pray you will hold judgment until you meet him, sir. Indeed, he appears to have fallen on hard times, but I assure you he conducts himself as a perfect gentleman."

  "Military, perhaps?" Edwin quizzed just to egg the solicitor on. Thurmond was a veteran of the Colonial war. He wearied Claresta sometimes with his endless pontificating on the subject.

  "Military? Egad, man, I certainly think not. An American with manners, you say? No blasted Colonial soldier ever got a dab of gentleman’s training that I know of. Fought like dragons in the rebellion. Claresta’s grandfather could a told you it was so, God rest his soul. Washington’s traitorous bunch crossed the ice-clogged Delaware and marched nine miles through a sleet storm just so they could take the Hessian mercenaries by surprise, they did. Intractable and fierce, the whole lot of ‘em."

  "And brave," Claresta inserted, for she’d heard the story many times from her grandfather, and he had spoken of harboring a degree of respect for the Colonials’ brazen behavior.

  "Brave? Too dumb to know when it was time to go in out of the freeze, more like. Bloody cold that day. Enough to make one’s teeth chatter, it was. Barefoot, bleeding, clothes tattered and torn, the poor devils were either knocked-in-the-cradle or had a severe case of brain fever to keep going like they did."

  Claresta pointed out as tactfully as possible to the blunt speaking gentleman, "Mr. Thurmond, I must ask you to remember it is an American who will be my guest this evening. I’d rather you refrain from discussing your views on his countrymen during dinner."

  "Ah, ha. That would be rather ill mannered, what Huntington?" he asked, as if remembering Edwin was the one who brought the subject up.

  "Quite. But I see no reason we can’t talk about whatever we like before he arrives," Edwin said coyly and cut a wicked grin when Claresta made a slight groan. "Claresta’s grandfather was something wasn’t he, Mr. Thurmond?"

  Edwin wasn’t trying to punish his cousin, but war was a subject he never tired of hearing about. As a second son he would have gone to the Napoleonic battles had his father left enough blunt to pay for a commission. There were times he could understand his brother’s feelings of being cheated out of his inheritance. But Edwin wasn’t one to blame others for his problems as Reginald often did. And until Claresta gave him the position with the company, he’d spent most of his days dreaming about having the sort of adventures that others lived out in reality. "Tell us again how Captain Gilbert saved you from the rebels after you were wounded and cut off from your unit."

  "Right oh, in ‘81, I believe. Captain Gilbert was a good deal older than most of the commissioned officers. Wiser too. Took me under his wing, he did. Treated me like the son he never had. If his daughter had been more patient, might of been so, too. Mary went and married Clifton Huntington that same year, without waiting for her father to approve her choice. Course, Huntington was the right sort, you know, upstanding and from a good family so there was no reason for her to doubt the captain would be pleased. But you know all that, what? Being a Huntington yourself, his loving nephew and all."

  Thurmond’s voice held an edge to it Claresta had never heard before. She listened intently as he continued, "Eventually we became good friends. Captain Gilbert was a bit put out, though. Never did take to his son-in-law much, but there you go. Not much he could do about it then, now was there? A bit disappointed, the old boy was, that he didn’t at least get a grandson out of the union." He glanced sheepishly at Claresta, and added, "Not to say he wasn’t right proud when his darling little granddaughter was born, even if he did have to wait nigh on ten years after the nuptials for the happy event."

  Claresta nearly toppled out of the chair, she’d leaned so far forward in her attentiveness. She’d never h
eard Thurmond go into such detail about this part of the story before, and she hadn’t wanted to miss a word. "I didn’t realize you and Mother were betrothed, sir."

  "Betrothed? Well, uh hmmm, hadn’t the chance to put my suit to the lady, what? Off to war so long and all that. But Captain Gilbert said he wanted me to marry his daughter and go into the business with him, he did. Promised me a partnership of sorts. But, I say, I’m getting off the subject. ‘Tis the rescue you wanted to hear about, Huntington. Happened at Yorktown. Cornwallis had been ordered by General Clinton to take up a defensive position . . ."

  Unlike her cousin, Claresta didn’t enjoy listening to war stories that she’d heard numerous times in the past. She was saved from enduring a repeat of this one when Douglas, the clumsy footman who’d taken over Shipley’s butler duties, stumbled into the room. In a heavy Scottish burr, he announced her guest of honor.

  "Dur-rake Luke-woood, Eeeaarl of Nurr-wood, is ‘ere, lass, er, miss."

  Claresta stood with the others to greet the gentleman, but for a moment she could do nothing more than gawk. Drake Lockwood no longer looked the part of a derelict. Her gaze raked him from head to toe. A neatly tied white cravat, decently starched linen, dark blue superfine coat, buff-colored waistcoat with just a hint of stripes, and a pair of pale fawn pantaloons did wonders for his appearance. She also noted his Hessians were polished to a brilliant shine and the slate blue coat fit snugly across erect, broad shoulders that a day ago had seemed narrow and slouchy.

  Lockwood’s coat brought out the same lighter blue shades sparkling in his eyes as they settled upon Claresta. He bowed over her hand, and she self-consciously raised the other one to rest on the unclothed area over her heart.

  "You look very lovely this evening, Miss Huntington."

  "Thank you, sir. You look . . ." mesmerized by his steady gaze, she started to tell him he looked lovely too, but that would never do. Claresta wasn’t used to complimenting a gentleman, but she had started to speak and now must make the best of it. "You quite make me stare, sir."