The Notorious Lord Havergal

by Joan Smith

  “Not in the least odd. That’s a good idea, Miss Millie. Where will the flowers go?” Lettie inquired, looking all around. “The room looks huge without chairs, but when you’ve brought the chairs in from outside and ranged them around the room, there won’t be much space for large vases of flowers.”

  “We must have flowers!”

  “How about two large vases on pedestals on either side of the musicians’ platforms?” Lettie suggested.

  “What kind of pedestals?” Miss Millie asked anxiously.

  “That set in Ned’s study that hold the busts of Milton and Shakespeare would do nicely.”

  “Oh, you mean the statue stands. Yes indeed, an excellent idea. You know the answer to everything, Miss Lettie. I’ll send for them at once to judge the effect.”

  She went into the hallway to summon a footman, and Lettie remained behind, looking around. Her imagination peopled the room with guests, music swirling through the air, and Havergal bending over her hand, asking her for a waltz. She drew a deep, luxurious sigh and turned to see Havergal gazing at her. The room was empty again, stretching all around in awful silence, broken only by her unsteady breaths and the echo of her heartbeat in her ears.

  He came forward, smiling. “So this is where you disappeared to.”

  “Oh,” she exclaimed, flustered, “were you looking for me?”

  “I wanted to apologize.”

  “For what?”

  “For dashing off the moment you arrived.”

  “Ah, the crush of your harem,” she said lightly.

  “A new gent in town usually enjoys a week’s favoritism, before the ladies realize he’s just like all the other men,” he said, shucking off his success.

  “Your time is about up then.”

  “I have been hanging on unconscionably long, but Norton really is a mine of knowledge and so excessively hospitable that I am made to feel not only at home, but like a prodigal son.”

  “I’m sure he enjoys having you, but don’t expect a fatted calf. It will be a suckling pig.”

  “I don’t know how I shall ever repay him. Of course he will come to stay with Papa and me for a while when we begin setting up the operation and stocking our pens, but Papa leads a relatively retired life. This lavish way of entertaining would be too much for him.”

  “Blame it on Norton’s enthusiasm,” she said.

  “It is not a question of blame! I hope you don’t think I am complaining. Quite the contrary. Everyone has entertained me so generously—” He came to a conscious stop as it was borne in on them both simultaneously that hospitality had been withheld in one household. “Not that I mean—” Oh, Lord, that was only making it worse.

  “I have been hoping for a moment to speak to you about that, Havergal,” she said, trying for an air of ease she was far from enjoying. “I would like you to feel free to call at Laurel Hall anytime you are in the vicinity.”

  He looked at her uncertainly. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. Let us set an actual time, for a ‘drop-in-any-time’ invitation is no invitation at all. Come for tea tomorrow, you and the Nortons. Their servants will be busy preparing for the public day, and Miss Millie will be happy to dispense with preparing tea.”

  “Thank you, Miss Lettie. I shall be delighted. Of course I must check with my hostess first.”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, I am glad that is settled,” he said with a happy smile. She could only conclude he was speaking of the invitation, as the acceptance was still in abeyance.

  “I was a little harsh that night—” she said in some confusion.

  “Indeed, you were not! You did exactly as you ought. It was unconscionable of me to—well, we both know what I did. No need to dredge up all that. I am quite a reformed character now, I promise you,”

  “I had a note from Crymont before he left. He generously took all the blame.”

  “All of it is doing it a bit brown. I should have made him send the girls back the minute I learned he had brought them. I should have written my apologies as well. Would you have read a note if I’d sent it?” he asked, and studied her face while she answered.

  “Probably not. I daresay I would have fed it to the flames. I was out of reason cross with you and the duke.” His perfectly natural way of speaking told Lettie that it was Crymont who had brought the girls, and without Havergal’s knowledge. “He sounds like quite a rakehell,” she said, shaking her head.

  “So he is, and so was I, but I have changed my circle of friends and my behavior.”

  “That must be difficult.”

  “The most difficult thing was convincing Crymont I meant it. I tried to get him to give up that life of dissipation, but when he refused, I could do nothing. I have no authority over him. Ned tells me he is still racing pigs, and my own more intimate knowledge tells me he is doing a deal worse than that. Pity.”

  Lettie just smiled her approval, for she could suddenly think of no words to say. Some clogging of her throat would have made speech difficult in any case.

  Seeing her mood, Havergal reached for her hand and began to lead her toward the doorway. Before they had gone two steps, he realized privacy was more likely in the ballroom and began touring it instead. “I think you know what has caused me to change the direction of my life?” he asked, peering down at her.

  His glittering eyes suggested a very personal reason, one having to do with herself. Naturally, she feigned ignorance of his meaning. She said, “Was it the crush of debts, Havergal?”

  “No, it was the lecture those debts precipitated in a certain quarter.”

  “It was not your trying to cadge money from the trust that precipitated my lecture, sir!” she reminded him, but playfully.

  “Indirectly it was. I would not have been at Laurel Hall otherwise. If I had not needed the money so desperately, I would not have made such a barnacle of myself, when you obviously wished me at Jericho! The lack of warmth in that invitation to dinner!”

  “It was wash day. We were planning to dine on cold ham and bread pudding. Not a meal to ask a man to, as Doctor Johnson would say,”

  “Strangely I have no recollection at all of what we actually ate,” he said, frowning at this oddity.

  “Not even the overdone potatoes that were discussed to death?” she laughed. It seemed incredible that that evening could now elicit amusement.

  “Ah, the potatoes. And Miss Beddoes prohibiting us from further discussion of them, but not suggesting any alternative subject! I was beginning to feel we were at a cloistered monastery where speaking was not permitted. And then when Crymont landed in and later lured me to the inn—” He shook his head ruefully. “I decided that scrambling out of windows and lying to my hostess was conduct unworthy of a Cauleigh. I have been wanting to explain it to you for a long time. Now I find that the explanation shows me in a wretched light as well, for the second evening I knew the girls were there.”

  “You mean you paid two visits to the inn!” she exclaimed.

  “The first evening I didn’t know the girls were there. I thought it was only for dinner and wine. Now your dinner is coming back to me!” he laughed. “At least I remember it was inadequate, for I was looking forward with pleasure to that baron of beef Crymont mentioned. As soon as I learned of the women, I left. I didn’t even see them that night.”

  “Was it curiosity that drew you back the second evening, then?”

  “I cannot claim that excuse. We met them in the village, if you recall. The less said of that contretemps, the better. And I, like a ninnyhammer, pulled the reins instead of bolting past. No, it was threats that drew me back the second evening. Cherry Devereau has the devil’s own temper. Crymont convinced me she would create havoc if I didn’t go. So she would, too,” he said with no air of rancor. “But at least I did not give your servants the wine. Crymont left it in the stable. On his behalf I should explain that he never thought it would all be consumed in one night.”

  “It is just as well you broke of
f with Crymont” is all she said. Havergal’s past was obviously scarlet, but a scarlet past will often cast a rosy glow on those who have had the fortitude to abandon it. She sensed an air of glamour, almost of the hero, about Havergal. His war had been not with the French or even a neighbor, but with his own character, and he had triumphed. He had left behind that life of dissolution, and he imagined that she had something to do with his victory.

  “There is one thing that surprised me, Miss Lettie,” he said with a quizzing smile. “Why did you agree to continue administering my trust? I made sure I had lost all contact with you when Papa told me of your decision to abandon it,”

  “Your father asked me to reconsider. He called at Laurel Hall to do so. I did it to please him, really.” She listened with curiosity to hear what he had to say of that visit.

  “Now there is a facer for me. I had some hope that you had learned of my new and improved character. The journals have quite given up on me. I haven’t been done since I sold my hunters to pay off that thousand pounds. I was shown with tears in my eyes on that occasion, crying while Alvanley led Thor and Zeus away. I did feel close to tears, too.”

  She was surprised that he paid so little heed to hearing that his father had called on her. Havergal assumed his papa had been in the neighborhood and paid a courtesy call, mentioning the trust in passing.

  A commotion at the doorway proved to be Miss Millie, leading two stout footmen, each carrying a pedestal. The private moment was over, but Lettie took advantage of the interruption to ask Millie to bring Havergal to Laurel Hall for tea the next afternoon. Miss Millie said she must check with Ned, and meanwhile would Lettie and Havergal just advise her on the disposition of the pedestals. As this job was going forth, Mr. Norton joined them.

  “So here you are, laddie! All the ladies are pawing the ground with eagerness to get at you. Best foot it quickly. They are threatening to set up a revolution outside.” He took hold of Havergal’s elbow to lead him out.

  “Before you go, Ned,” his sister said, “are we free for tea at Laurel Hal! tomorrow? Miss Lettie has invited us.”

  “I fear not. There are a hundred things to do to get the public day set up. Why don’t you and Vi join us here, Lettie? More hands, less work. You ladies can wrap up the prizes and oversee the servants.”

  This left no possibility of repaying hospitable debts, but it ensured being with Havergal, and Lettie accepted. “Another time, then. Perhaps dinner on Sunday. Are you free then?” she asked.

  “Check the schedule, Miss Millie,” Norton said, and finally led his guest away.

  “Sunday is fine,” Miss Millie said, and it was settled.

  In the park, Havergal found himself being jostled mercilessly by the ladies. Such a lack of pride in their fawning over him, actually grabbing at his coat sleeve and thrusting their faces into his, like demanding puppies. He thought of Lettie’s calm behavior and felt its attraction more keenly. She was looking lovely today. She seemed younger, prettier, every time he met her. In fact, she seemed the sort of lady who grew more desirable on a longer acquaintance. He must watch his step, or he’d go tumbling into love with her.

  When the ladies returned to Laurel Hall, Lettie found she had only the vaguest memories of the remainder of that afternoon. It was as though her spool of memory stopped in the ballroom, when Havergal looked deeply into her eyes and said, “I think you know what has caused me to change the direction of my life?”

  She felt, in some disturbing way, that that moment had changed the direction of hers.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was half a relief to awaken in the morning to leaden skies and a mist of rain. Lettie was not optimistic enough to expect three days of sun in a row, and today’s rain held out some hope for sunny skies for Norton’s public day on Saturday. She and Violet spent the morning planning their Sunday dinner, with particular care to the guest list.

  Cook was called to the saloon to discuss a menu. To outdo Norton’s opulent hospitality was impossible, but Lettie intended to atone for that bread pudding and ordered the best meal Mrs. Siddons could handle. As Havergal had casually mentioned looking forward to a baron of beef at the Royal Oak, Lettie insisted on a roast of beef. With more pork than she knew what to do with in her larder, she also asked for a platter of cutlets, as a change from roast meat. They discussed fish, fowl, vegetables, and dessert for an hour,

  “I’d best get busy then” was Mrs. Siddons comment when they were finished, “for it will take two days to cook up all this mess of pottage.”

  “We shall be out for tea, and an omelet will do for our dinner,” Lettie said, to cajole her.

  “Omelet, is it, and me with a ten-pound pork joint already roasted.”

  “Cold pork for sandwiches then,” Lettie decided.

  The rain had still not let up by lunch, but it had not worsened either. “It is one of those horrid days when it is going to drizzle from dawn to dusk,” Violet said. “We shall have to spend the entire day inside.”

  Lettie refused to be downcast. “Where else would we wrap presents?” The inclement weather made it more likely that Havergal would be confined within doors as well.

  He was, for all the good it did her. He was kept busy in Norton’s study, drawing up a model pig barn to be run upon scientific lines. Until teatime he might as well not have been in the house at all, but at four o’clock Norton released him and brought him to the table.

  The talk was all of pig business, and while Lettie did not particularly enjoy or even understand it, she was aware of a new sense of purpose about Havergal. He spoke knowledgeably about the business. She was content with such crumbs as fell her way. Long glances while Norton talked, fleeting smiles when he managed to overhear some remark she made to Miss Millie, and a general air of what she could only call consciousness. She felt in her bones that he was acutely conscious of her close presence, as she was conscious of his.

  After tea, he suggested escorting her to the ballroom to see the final disposition of the flowers. The ruse was spoiled by Miss Millie’s accompanying them, but Lettie appreciated the effort. A tray of dance cards stood ready at the entrance. Norton succumbed to extravagance and had them edged in gilt, with gold satin tassels. As they were leaving, they let Miss Millie go on ahead of them. Havergal selected a card, wrote his name in for the first dance, and handed it to Lettie, peering to see if she approved.

  “That is to ensure that you come early,” he said.

  “You wish to get your duty over and done with, that you might enjoy the remainder of the evening,” she answered coquettishly.

  His gaze lingered on that flirtatious smile. “On the contrary.” He took the card back and wrote again. When he handed it back, she saw he had also filled in the last dance. “That ensures that you remain till the end—and that I have something to look forward to.”

  “Two dances! That will occasion gossip, sir!”

  “I have no doubt your redoubtable reputation can withstand it. Mine, of course, is more fragile.”

  “My advanced years must be my protection.”

  “Not for a decade, Lettie. You wear them too lightly. You will do the right thing by me and marry me if I become an object of censure, I trust?”

  She read laughter in his bottomless eyes, but it was shared laughter. She was thrilled at the suggestion of a betrothal, even in this frivolous way. And as they stood together, the laughter faded, and she watched, entranced, as his expression changed to a more sober sort of anticipation. “Lettie!” He grabbed her hands and looked around, to be sure they were alone.

  “It would be improper for a guardian to marry her charge, would it not?” she parried. Her voice came out light and strained.

  “Highly improper and just what you might expect of the horrid Lord Havergal,” he said. His voice was an intimate whisper. He pulled her closer to him. His arms went around her, his face drew closer till his handsome features were a blur, then his lips touched hers lightly, in an exploratory way. They felt cool, perhaps
because her own were fevered. Lettie felt the room begin to spin. She closed her eyes and became aware of the scent of flowers and the spice aroma from the orange and lemon trees. It all seemed unreal, especially his arms crushing her against the hard wall of his chest. It was surely a dream.

  As suddenly as he had kissed her, he released her. “You’ll have to attack Papa again about being rid of that trust,” he said. How could he find breath to speak after that kiss? Lettie just gazed, unhearing.

  They continued back to the tearoom. Lettie felt she was floating on clouds.

  Norton glanced out the window and said, “I hope you won’t take the idea I am trying to be rid of you, but you might be wise to seize this minute of letup in the drizzle to get home, Vi.”

  Lettie felt something jarring in his speech. She soon figured out what it was. That remark ought to have ended in Miss Lettie or, under the new regime, Lettie. But it was at Violet that he was smiling in his open, approving manner. When had this happened? Violet was simpering in a way that hinted at dalliance while the others were out of the room.

  Lettie was deeply disturbed by her own dalliance, but she pushed it to the back of her mind for reliving in private later and teased her friend on the journey home. “You are quite usurping my place in Ned’s affections, Violet.”

  Violet blushed up to the roots of her hair and said, “What nonsense! I’m sure he would have you if you so much as nodded at the man. I cannot imagine why you do not, Lettie. Really he is so good-humored and not at all bad-looking.”

  “And rich,” Lettie added. “This match has my blessing.”

  “It is not a match! How can you say so!”

  The more she denied it, the redder she blushed, and the more likely it seemed that a match was brewing. Lettie’s mind was preoccupied with her own musings, and Violet seemed content to continue the drive in silence.

  When they met for dinner, Lettie said, “Did Ned happen to mention where they are exhibiting Havergal this evening?”