The Notorious Lord Havergal

by Joan Smith

  “Worse, dear heart. As the beau of the ball, my card is full. That is to say, I have been signed up for all the other dances.”

  “But the dance cards haven’t even been issued yet!”

  “What a slow top you are, Lettie!” he teased. “All the dashers sneaked a card this afternoon and have been circulating them clandestinely. Miss Pincombe has suborned me for the second set, Miss Seton for the third, and some girl in a yellow gown has got me for the fourth. Unless we can arrange to break someone’s leg, we are not going to have our dance till the end of the evening. Are you as disappointed as I am?”

  “I shall be graceful in defeat and say it doesn’t matter in the least.”

  “I don’t call that graceful! I am devastated. You might at least allow you are disappointed.”

  “Very well then, I am disappointed.”

  “There is always supper,” he said, to console her. “I lied and told all my harem, as you call them, that I already had a partner for that. Presumptuous of me. Perhaps you have made other plans?”

  “No, I am not so perspicacious as the other ladies, it seems. I neither filled my card nor arranged a supper partner before the ball even began. I am such a laggard, I don’t put on my bonnet till I am ready to go out.”

  “I daresay you wouldn’t say yes till a gentleman asked you either,” he said with a daring smile.

  “Perhaps not even then. I might say no instead, depending on the gentleman and, of course, the question.”

  His brows rose in surprise. “One assumes that the question is of a purely legitimate nature. I cannot imagine anyone brave enough to confront Miss Beddoes with any other sort.”

  “Assuming the question is unexceptionable, there remains only the matter of the gentleman’s identity.”

  He took her fan and examined it. Then he peered up and said, “I think we both know what gentleman we are speaking of.”

  Lettie felt a heat invade her body. Her throat was dry, and she said, feeling foolish, “You know my method now, Havergal.”

  “Jacob!”

  “Jacob. When I hear a question, then I shall give an answer.”

  He gazed into her eyes a long moment, while the world seemed to hold its breath. “I give you fair warning, Lettie, that will be very soon. Prepare your reply.”

  She was fully prepared to give it that very moment. Before more was said, however, there was a commotion amidst the chairs beside them, and Mr. Norton stood up. “I hear the squawk of the fiddles coming from the ballroom. Are you and Miss Millie set to stand up and jig it, laddie?”

  “Ready and waiting,” Havergal replied, and rose to offer Miss Millie his arm. He said aside to Lettie as he left, “Better hop to it and get a new name on that card, or you’ll be propping up the wall for the next half hour.”

  In fact, Lettie had no difficulty filling her card. There were men enough to go around, and as she had no interest in whether or not the gentlemen were married, eligible, handsome, or ugly as sin, she accepted the first ones who offered. It was all just filling time till supper, and after that it would be more waiting for the last dance. She enjoyed comparing the ladies’ toilettes, watching Violet and Ned getting on so well, and in general seeing her friends. It was a grand version of the local assemblies, only better, because she caught an occasional glimpse of Havergal through the throng and knew that he loved her. At least it seemed wonderfully like love.

  Chapter Fifteen

  At last midnight came, and the crowd began leaving the ballroom for the supper parlor. She saw Havergal looking all around with an eager face. When he spotted her, his smile beamed, and he hurried forward. The party was to be seated at a series of small tables, with Norton and his group of twelve, which included the ladies from Laurel Hall, at the head of the room. Havergal tucked Lettie’s hand under his arm, and they went toward the parlor.

  Norton was at the doorway, a smile splitting his happy face. “I have a surprise for you, laddie,” he said archly. “You will never guess who has landed in on us. He is waiting at the table. I had to squeeze him in between you and Lettie, but you shan’t mind when you see who it is. Mind you, it is not only you he has come to see. It is my swinery that is half the attraction, I fancy. That is what has lured him hither.”

  “Ah, I wrote him about the swinery. So he has come to see it for himself. I am delighted!” Havergal replied.

  He gave an expectant smile. Papa! he thought. Excellent. It will give him an opportunity to know Lettie a little better. We can sweep her up and take her home with us. He hurried forward, taking Lettie with him. Lettie read his pleasure and excitement, but had no idea who the unexpected guest could be.

  Havergal looked to the table and saw Crymont. The duke was outfitted in a ridiculous jacket of white satin, heavily embroidered in gold threads. He held a quizzing glass aloft, scanning the throng for pretty girls. Havergal’s heart sank like a stone in water. Good God! What was he doing here? He looked to Norton, who still smiled benignly. “What do you think of this, eh?”

  The man thought he was bestowing a marvelous treat, but Havergal would rather have seen the devil himself than Crymont. The awful idea darted into his head that there were more lightskirts at the inn, ready to cause havoc. He’d have to get Crymont alone and question him. God only knew what trouble Norton had gone to to arrange this visit, and he must simulate some sign of pleasure.

  “What a delightful surprise,” he said weakly, and went forward, smiling, to shake Crymont’s hand. They stood a little off from the table. In his perturbed state, Havergal didn’t notice that Lettie had withdrawn her hand and fallen behind.

  She went reluctantly to her chair between the gentlemen, looking about for someone to change seats with, but the ladies were all beginning to sit down at their allotted spots. Impossible to ask Violet to change seats with her. She would want to sit by Norton. Perhaps Miss Millie ... She hastened to her side and said, “As the hostess, you should sit beside the duke, Miss Millie.”

  “Should I? Oh dear! How shall we arrange it? The table is so odd, with an extra chair squeezed in.”

  “Change seats with me,” Lettie said, and it was done. She took up Miss Millie’s seat beside the vicar, listening as Havergal greeted his old friend.

  “I am surprised to see you here, Crymont.”

  “I caved in to repeated urgings, dear boy. It was not the hope of buying a good racing pig that convinced me, but a desire to see you again. I cannot like to see you turning into a country bumpkin. I have come to rescue you.”

  “Come and make your bows to the ladies,” Havergal said, to detour this line of talk.

  Crymont came strolling forward and made an exquisite bow to the table before taking his seat. Lettie nodded coolly and immediately lifted her wineglass to obviate any further greeting.

  Havergal noticed her removal and was grateful for it. There was no saying what might come out of Crymont’s mouth, as he had been drinking more than a little. Havergal recognized the signs: a certain flush in the cheeks, an exaggeration in the drawling speech, and a heaviness about the eyelids.

  The table was buzzing with conversation. Lettie pecked at her food and tried to hear, above or below the general roar, what was passing between Crymont and Havergal. She caught only discrete phrases, but as she tried to put them into some meaning, she disliked what she was hearing. Crymont congratulated Havergal for having “got five thousand out of the old man. That will more than replenish your team.” That would be the five thousand ostensibly invested in the new printing press. She noticed Havergal replied in low, inaudible tones, discerned his nervous mood, and suspected the worst. She noticed, too, that he frequently cast guilty glances in her direction.

  “A marvelous party,” Crymont said later. “Iona was asking for you. I told her ...” Norton’s hearty laughter boomed out, covering the rest of it. She saw Havergal incline his head to Crymont in eager speech.

  “For God’s sake, don’t mention that woman’s name here,” Havergal cautioned. “I trust you a
re traveling alone this time. No surprises waiting for me at the inn.”

  “Just one little surprise—and no happy one, I fear. I am in the suds, Havergal. Can’t pay my reckoning at the inn. I was wiped out at the Southampton races. Bingo Compton is with me, waiting for his blunt. Can you let me have two hundred?”

  “I don’t have that much cash on me. I can give you ten.”

  “That won’t begin to cover it. I owe Bingo one fifty, and shall need some money to get to London.”

  “Write the innkeeper a check.”

  “He refused to cash a check for me. If you’re caught short yourself, come along and vouch for me. I expect they know you at the inn by now. I do have the money in the bank. It is not as though I planned to rob the knave.”

  “Very well, but it will have to wait till after the ball."

  “But of course! I plan to dance till dawn. I see Mr. Beddoes, the Turk, is glowering at you, as usual.”

  Havergal looked along the board and saw the same thing. He felt a helpless sense of frustration, but he lifted his glass in a salute and drank. Lettie acknowledged it with a nod, but she didn’t raise her glass or even smile.

  Crymont observed the pass and gave Havergal a jeering look. “It must be demmed awkward, having to meet her socially, after the way she treated you last time. The woman is a yahoo.”

  “I happen to value Miss Beddoes’s good opinion.”

  “In that case, I shall do my poor best to conciliate her.”

  “I would prefer that you not do that, Crymont.”

  “Don’t be a bore, Havergal. She is turning you into a prig. Next you’ll be prating of ethics. Do come back to London with me. Iona would be happy, and so would I.”

  The dinner was finally over, and the crowd returned to the ballroom. Lettie was much of a mind to leave, but as Violet was determined to stay till the end, she capitulated and contented herself with being cool to Crymont and Havergal. They did not speak to her, for the very good reason that Havergal took pains to keep them apart, finding other partners to keep the duke occupied. Much depended on the last dance.

  Eventually the moment arrived, and Havergal was bowing before her, all his charm intact, and doing much to soften her ire. “I didn’t know he was coming” were the first words he said. “I had no idea. He tells me Norton wrote to him, believing it was a special treat for me. That is why I had to pretend I was pleased.”

  “Is the duke traveling alone?” she inquired.

  “With a friend—a gentleman,” he said with a look that both acknowledged and answered her real question. “They will be proceeding directly to London.”

  “Traveling on Sunday. What more could one expect?” she sniffed.

  Havergal looked at her, surprised. “The ban on unnecessary Sunday traveling is falling into limbo. It is only provincials and religious fanatics who cling to it,” he said. The words were out before he realized he had caused offense.

  “When in the provinces, one ought to do as the provincials do,” she retorted.

  They were saved by the scraping of the bow and went to join a set. The ball closed with a rowdy country dance that gave no privacy and very little pleasure. As he led Lettie from the floor, Havergal said, “May I call on you tomorrow? I plan to leave on Monday. No desecrating the Sabbath for me,” he added, to show there were no hard feelings on that score.

  “You are to come to dinner tomorrow, Havergal. Have you forgotten? You cannot be looking forward to it with as much pleasure as I.”

  “I remembered! But the house will be full of guests. We will have no privacy. As I shall be leaving so soon, could I not come in the afternoon as well?”

  Lettie was planning a more elaborate dinner than she had ever undertaken before and wanted to be free to oversee the details. She was happy with his eagerness, but said, “You must content yourself with a few words after church, sir. Dinners don’t put themselves on the table, you know.”

  He was a little hurt that she should put the preparation of a party before enjoying his company. “Isn’t that what servants are for?” he replied.

  “Yes, and if I had as many servants as you, I could leave the whole to them. Unfortunately I don’t. I shall do the centerpiece myself.” She didn’t add that she would have to do a deal more besides, such as check the laying of the table and arrange a grande toilette for herself.

  “I am quite a dab at arranging flowers,” he tempted.

  “Some gentlemen don’t know how to take no for an answer,” she said, to finish the subject.

  “And I, Miss Beddoes, am one of that objectionable sort. Forewarned is forearmed.”

  On this charming piece of flirtation, they parted. Lettie went to the morning parlor, where Miss Millie had decided to have the bonnets and pelisses stored. Havergal loitered in the hallway beyond, waiting to see the guests off and hopefully to have a last word with Lettie. Crymont approached him before taking his leave.

  “Old Norton seems to think I shall be visiting his swinery tomorrow, Havergal. I have told him twice I shan’t, but the man seems to be deaf in one ear. Pray make my apologies if the subject comes up.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  “I don’t know how you can stand it, rusticating here at the height of the Season. Why don’t you come back to London with me?”

  “I shall be going to London soon. Business at the House. I am on a tariffs committee.”

  “Good God! Next you’ll be telling me you are going to marry and settle down. The last infirmity of noble minds, milord.”

  “Not for a while,” Havergal smiled, hoping to get Crymont out the door before Lettie came out.

  “You won’t forget, you’re to join me at the inn later. I quite depend on you.”

  “I’ll be there, never fear.”

  He looked up and saw Lettie staring at him. She had heard their last remarks and was pale with emotion. She walked stiffly forward. “Good evening, gentlemen. It was nice to see you again, Crymont.” She gave a barely perceptible nod in Havergal’s direction, and got hold of Violet to leave before she lost control completely.

  If her eyes were moist, the darkness of the carriage concealed it. Violet was so enthusiastic in her praise of the ball that she noticed nothing amiss.

  “I am very tired. I’m going directly to bed,” Lettie said as soon as they were home.

  “I told Siddons to lock up before I left, so that he would not have to stay up till two o’clock. I’ll just check the doors to see he did it. Good night, Lettie.”

  In her room, Lettie lit one lamp and fell onto her bed, exhausted. So he was going to meet Crymont at the inn. He had no thought of marrying “for a while.” He had not changed in the least, except to add deceit to his bag of tricks. At least he used to be frank about his wretched character. All this dissimulation! What was the point of it? He had been happy to see Crymont arrive, whatever he might say about having broken with his set.

  Very likely he had arranged it himself. Oh, Norton would be eager to abet him, of course, but Crymont had no opinion of Norton. It was Havergal he came to see. To meet at the inn, certainly with the lightskirts in tow again. The name Iona had surfaced more than once during supper, through the babble of other voices. Why else would Havergal go there at such an hour of the night, and after a particularly strenuous day, too?

  Why had he feigned displeasure at Crymont’s visit? Did he have some deep plan for getting his money out of her? Was that it? Paint himself as a reformed character, flirt a little, and she would hand it over, all of it? His father had apparently been taken in by the ruse. Five thousand he had got, and she could not believe it was safely invested. More likely he had bought a bunch of showy horseflesh, as Crymont mentioned.

  Treachery and deceit at every turn. He had never cared for her at all. And tomorrow she was having an elaborate dinner party in honor of this deceiver. At least it would be a going-away party. He left on Monday, and that saddened her, too.

  It was some hours later that she remembered she had told Tom t
o be sure to call on Havergal in London. She must write and counter that order. Tom would think she had run mad, changing her mind so often. Speak to Crymont but not Havergal. Speak to Havergal but not Crymont. And now, don’t have anything to do with either of them. She would follow the advice she gave to Tom. Have nothing to do with either of them. Forget them and just go on with her life.

  What a wretched life it would be, with Violet gone, and Tom settled permanently in London. That thought called up memories, too, of Havergal’s strange insistence that she go to London. Not home to meet his family, but to London for a tawdry flirtation. Of course! The firm handling the trust was in London! How convenient to arrange the handing over of the monies. Her heart hardened to consider his treachery.

  And to think, she had to endure dinner with him tomorrow without telling him exactly what she thought of him. She would never be able to do it. She would just have to send a note to Norton Knoll canceling the dinner. She couldn’t face the ordeal.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Lettie did not have to pretend to be ill the next morning. Her cheeks were fevered, and when she lifted her head from the pillow, the dull ache between her temples throbbed like a drum.

  “We shall cancel our dinner party,” Violet decided when she rushed into Lettie’s room to see what kept her abed on such an important day and saw her friend’s pale face. “You are ill, dear. How very vexing for you.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Lettie said, and tried to smile.

  “Back into bed with you, miss. I am in charge now, and I say we cancel the party,” Violet repeated, straightening the coverlet around Lettie’s shoulders.

  “I am sorry, Violet. Really I don’t feel well enough—”

  “I should say you don’t. You’re as white as paper. I’m calling for the doctor this instant.”