Adrian, gesturing melodramatically at Emily, drew her out of earshot, and Jenny put her mind to joking Dom from his sulks while Peter Teverley returned to the inn to fetch a forgotten shawl.
“Come, a walk to the gate and back,” Jenny suggested. “No, round the other way—I had as leif avoid the horses. Splendid creatures, horses, and they make me very nervous.” Dom regarded her with astonishment. “They’re so big,” she explained apologetically as they set out around the carriage.
They were almost returned from the gate when a row made them hasten their steps. As they came round the corner of the coach they were briefly rewarded with the spectacle of Adrian Ratherscombe, his brow dark with anger, snarling at Emily, who cringed away from him, tears running down her chin. Ratherscombe held her by one slender wrist and looked as though he would drag her back into the inn.
Domenic started forward, but Jenny, with a slightly better view of the scene itself, held him back. He started to argue, then stopped. Peter Teverley, emerging from the house, was confronting Ratherscombe. Very calmly, without melodrama, he removed Emily’s hand from Adrian’s clutch, bowed over it, and sent her off to wait by the carriage. Whatever words passed between Teverley and the younger man were lost to Jenny and Domenic in the noise of Emily’s frightened weeping, but they saw Ratherscombe’s furious reply—and saw Teverley, with his customary efficiency of motion, plant Adrian Ratherscombe a facer that knocked him entirely off his pins.
“Famous!” crowed Domenic, and “Oh, dear!” sighed Emily, leaning heavily on Dom’s arm and dabbing prettily at her cheeks with a kerchief.
“Nicely done! I wish I had done it,” Miss Prydd said quietly. “Emmy, my dear, I think it really is time that we got under way. Domenic?”
The boy helped first Emily and then Jenny into the carriage, and was making his farewells when his cousin ambled up. Miss Prydd took the opportunity, while Domenic awkwardly mumbled to the preoccupied Emily, to congratulate Teverley on his handling of the situation. “Elegant and to the point. I dearly wish I might have done it myself.”
“Miss Prydd, if ever you are tempted to do so, I beg you will make me your agent.” Teverley smiled. “A trifle unusual for a female to take such delight in a display of fisticuffs, ain’t it? Was in my day.”
“I confess I’ve never been partial to it, but these circumstances were extraordinary.” Jenny’s voice rose on a note of satisfaction. “Entirely warranted and exceedingly satisfactory.”
“We agree upon that, in any case.” Teverley bowed over her hand and turned to make a brief farewell to Emily, while Dom bashfully said good-bye to Miss Prydd. He was embarrassed no end when she gave him the same quick, friendly hug she might have given her cousin William.
The steps went up, the door was closed, and the carriage rolled out of the courtyard.
Miss Prydd settled comfortably in her seat. “Well, I must say I am glad to be leaving and on the road to London at last.” She regarded Emily, who sat with a most peculiar look on her face. “My dear, don’t pine for him too much—he obviously wasn’t the man you thought him, and after all—” Feeling entirely inappropriate in the role of love counselor, Jenny would still have continued onward had not Emily favored her with a look of lofty astonishment.
“Who are you—? Adrian? Good heavens, Jenny, I’ve put him completely out of my mind. I made a childish error, but I am not,” she finished with the certainty of a seventeen-year-old, “a child any longer.”
Miss Prydd sat and digested this information in silence.
“He said he’d call on me in London,” Emily murmured drowsily after a time.
“Ratherscombe?” Jenny eyed her companion in amazement.
“Of course not. Mr. Teverley. Mr. Peter Teverley,” she added, so there would be no mistaking. “And he kissed my hand.” Resting her cheek on that hand, she settled down for a long nap.
“Oh,” Miss Prydd said, and she continued to stare out of the window at passing fields. “Ohhhh.”
Chapter Five
Lady Graybarr was not at home when Emily and Jenny arrived, and so the young ladies were installed in the house without too much ado. Admittedly, when Feabers, ushering them into the house, asked with the dignified license of a privileged retainer how Miss Pellering’s aunt Judith was, it proved almost too much for her composure. She went unbecomingly white, then red, then white again, stammered nervously, and only a series of sharp pinches from Jenny kept her from going completely to pieces. “A long journey,” Miss Prydd announced with asperity and led her friend up the stairs.
Emily’s reunion with her family proceeded in a similar fashion—more peaceably than she would have imagined, but still with scoldings to be endured. First Lord Graybarr intercepted them in the hallway to Emily’s room and, with all the blunt, familiar joviality of a country squire, welcomed Miss Prydd to his house for her own sake and for Emily’s. He scolded his daughter affectionately, told her she was a naughty puss, lucky beyond her deserts to have such good friends as Jenny, and then told her that, this once, he would forgive her antics. Jenny shrewdly suspected that Emily had been confident of the outcome of this skirmish from the start, and watched while her friend charmed her father into a good temper. Amid Emily’s pretty babblings, boastings, and recountings, Lord Graybarr managed to announce his imminent departure for White’s, and bade the young ladies good night.
Jenny’s introduction to Lady Graybarr took place the next morning, in that lady’s highly ornamented boudoir. Emily’s mother spent the first few minutes of her reunion with her Errant Child in an extravagance of noisy gratitude to Jenny, whom she pronounced the Savior of Our Honor. After embarrassing Miss Prydd in this fashion for some five minutes, Lady Graybarr turned with sudden and startling venom on her daughter, and in a moment’s furious invective reduced the girl to white-faced, shaking tears. When Emily was distressed enough to suit her mother, Lady Graybarr relented, in an equally ferocious torrent of sweet forgiveness. By the time the interview was concluded, both girls shared a strong gratification at their release with only the most trifling of punishments: a list of errands to be accomplished that afternoon.
Jenny had determined to call immediately upon Lady Bevan, to make some provision for her own future in London. Emily outlined a program of accomplishment for that afternoon which made Jenny raise a skeptical eyebrow. “Honestly, my dear, I must see Maria today! Good Lord, her sister must be wed already, and here I was supposed to support her.”
“You were a support to me instead, and I doubt that Lady Bevan’s need was half so great as mine!” Emily hugged her friend briefly and began to pull on her gloves.
Despite Jenny’s doubts, after the visits to the subscription library, to Lady Graybarr’s parfumeur in New Bond Street, and to Emily’s very favorite hatmaker—an ancient dame who hid herself in a dim, musty shop, and smelled ominously of Denmark Lotion—the coach was directed to the Bevan house in Grosvenor Square.
Admitted to Lady Bevan’s presence by a very superior footman, Emily watched an interesting transformation. Not only did Lady Bevan—tiny, frail, pretty, and elegantly blooming in her delicate condition, abandon the dignity due her as a hopeful matron and member of the haut ton, but Jenny, whom Emily had regarded as calm, dignified, sensible, and, secretly, the supreme antidote, was reduced to the giggling idiocy of a schoolroom chit. The two women cooed, giggled, clutched and squealed, and, when their first frenzy was spent, recalled their dignities, tidied their collars, and sat down for rational conversation. First, of course, they discussed their friends from school, past and present, each one tumbling over the other to impart some ridiculous tidbit of gossip. When they were sure they knew all the news, Lady Bevan began to critically appraise her sister’s wedding, a subject that held little interest for Miss Prydd and none at all for Emily. At last, Lady Bevan demanded to know the full of their sojourn at the inn. Jenny, noting Emily’s restlessness, thought that this would be a topic that would involve her as well, and made some comment that demanded a reply
from Emily.
“Oh, no, Jenny, I do not think we could have been more than—” she began gratefully, when Lady Bevan cried out, “Jenny? Are you called Jenny now, my love? And here I’ve been rattling on with that everlasting Genia, which I never could like, and if only one of us girls had been smart enough to suggest Jenny instead—for it suits you, you know, far better than Genia. Don’t you think so, Miss Pellering? Was it you who suggested it? Oh, I’m sure it must have been you.”
Jenny, seeking to distract Emily from what appeared to be imminent sulks, spoke the magic name Teverley. This worked beautifully for a moment: Emily’s eyes lit, her chin dropped, and her mouth softened very quickly. Until Lady Bevan had the unfortunate curiosity to ask Jenny, with an arch look, if this mysterious Mr. Teverley was a new beau of hers. Inwardly cursing Maria Bevan, Jenny proceeded to characterize Peter Teverley as the only man with whom she had ever almost come to blows. This provocative statement only encouraged Lady Bevan to beg again for the full story of their time at the inn. Jenny had by now abandoned all hope of reconciling Emily to sitting still another fifteen minutes, and skillfully changed the subject, explaining that they were tired from their journey, and that she would return another time to tell that story. With remarkable dispatch Jenny settled it that she would stay for a while with the Graybarrs as Emily’s mother had begged that morning. At some later date, however, she would spend some time with her dearest Mary as well. On which note she ushered Emily out and the two were installed in their carriage.
It became clear on the ride homeward that Emily intended to sulk. Jenny endured this in silence, wondering just how to assuage her friend’s ruined sensibilities—damaged by Lady Bevan’s disinterest and piqued by the mention of Peter Teverley (and that name, of all the absurd things in the universe, tangled with her own!). Having experienced Emily’s sulks on rare occasions at the inn, Jenny was sure that this episode would not persist beyond the dressing bell, and set herself to find a way to cheer her friend before that arbitrary limit was reached. By the time she had come up with an amusing scheme the carriage had delivered them at Graybarr House, and they were in the process of giving over bonnets and pelisses to Feabers. Jenny, intent upon turning Emily up sweet, had opened her mouth to speak, only to be forestalled by a shriek of mingled dismay and delight.
“He called! They called, and we weren’t here! Only look, Jenny. He left his card! Feabers, did the man say anything? Oh, drat! What if he never does call again? Oh, Jenny—” She turned her questioning gaze on the older woman. “You don’t think that he’d never call back, do you?”
“I’m sure the gentleman will call again, my love,” Miss Prydd said imperturbably. “But do you tell me exactly of whom it is I speak,” she urged. “I am entirely at sea.”
Emily gurgled with delight. “Mr. Teverley! Mr. Peter Teverley,” she emphasized. Jenny nodded sagely and kept silent. At least it was not Ratherscombe. After a moment Jenny became aware that Feabers still stood beside them, waiting to answer Emily’s question.
“Your bonnet, Emmy,” she suggested helpfully, as that artifact was still swinging erratically from one of Emily’s ears. “Yes, Feabers?”
“I believe, miss,” Feabers said imperturbably, when Emily had disengaged her bonnet and handed it to him, “that the gentleman did ask me to tell you something.” Emily gasped theatrically, and Jenny glanced with amusement at the butler, whom she suspected was greatly enjoying his position as a deliverer of great news, and was feeling too important to share the joke with a mere country miss. “Said he was desolated to find you out, miss, and that he’d try again tomorrow.” He bowed slightly toward each of them and stalked out.
“Only think, Jenny! Desolated to find me out! Again tomorrow! Oh, I think I shall die!”
“Rather go upstairs and change for dinner, my love.”
Without ceremony Miss Prydd swept the young lady, still chattering, up the stairs. By the time they descended the stairs for dinner Jenny awaited the promised visit with as much spirit as her friend, though with far different motive. She was convinced that nothing but his presence would silence Emily on the subject of Peter Teverley.
By four o’clock the next afternoon Emily had changed her dress no less than four times. When she showed signs of wishing to change again, this time from the ivory muslin with blue sprigs, Jenny threatened mayhem—worse, she threatened that if Emily continued in this fashion she would very likely miss Teverley’s call. Obediently, or relatively so, Emily settled herself to her tambour frame with an air of saintly patience, and proceeded to ruin a good portion of the pattern by stabbing the needle aimlessly through the paper. When Feabers finally announced the Messrs. Teverley, it was, to Miss Prydd at least, almost an anticlimax.
“Miss Prydd. Miss Pellering.” Peter Teverley smiled his arresting smile from the doorway, then advanced to make his bow to each lady. Behind him his cousin, remarkably turned out in a spanking-new coat and absurd waistcoat, bowed with cheery awkwardness to Jenny, then went to say hello to Emily, who dismissed him airily and returned her luminous gaze to Peter Teverley.
“I shouldn’t mind her too much, Dom.” Miss Prydd confided when he settled himself next to her.
“Just now she’s—”
“Oh, I know, she’s got a tendre for Peter because he planted that rum-gudgeon Ratherscombe a facer and kissed her hand.” At Jenny’s raised eyebrow he merely said, “I’d have done it myself, had I been nearer. It’s what I’d been aching to do all the time we were at the inn.”
“Yes, dear, I know.”
“I only hope she don’t make Peter too uncomfortable while she makes a cake of herself over him. My sister Clara did the same when she met him: ahhed and oohed and begged him to tell her all about tigers and rajahs.”
“Tigers and rajahs?” Jenny echoed weakly.
“Yes, ma’am. Peter was an India merchant. Earlier he’d spent some time with the Army until he was discharged—a ball in his shoulder.”
And that, Jenny reflected, was where that hard-eyed look of command came from. “How did you cure your sister of it?”
“Oh, some nodcock offered for her, and she was so busy planning the wedding and such that she forgot all about Peter. I say, you don’t suppose—” He turned to Jenny in time to see her smile and shake her head. “Well, I didn’t really think so. It ain’t,” he hastened to add, “that I begrudge him the admiration—what else has a fellow got at his age?” Domenic gestured at his cousin, who did not look, to Jenny’s eye, very much above five and thirty. “It just makes it so hard on the rest of us. She thinks of me only as a boy, d’you see? And I’m years older than she is.”
Jenny reflected wordlessly that those years numbered two, hardly an impressive number to a lady of romantic temperament who had so recently attempted an elopement with a “man of the world.” “I’m afraid that all you can do is wait for her to regain her senses, my dear. You know that she is truly sensible of all your kindnesses at the inn.”
Domenic appeared unimpressed by this comfort, and watched dourly as Emily chattered animatedly under Teverley’s amused eye. “She don’t give a fig for me, ma’am. She’s like a flower: You may look all you like, but it don’t look back. Not” —Dom shook his head vehemently— “that it would serve, did she return my interest. Either her folks wouldn’t like it or mine wouldn’t. Come to think of it, there’s nothing to object to in me,” Dom said judicially. “But my parents! They’d be sure to ruin it. Father’s all right enough, but Mamma is against anything I want, and Father keeps insisting that she has the raising of us ….”
After listening to Dom’s airy assessment of his worth on the marriage market, Jenny felt obliged to ask what objection—barring the incidents at the inn—Dom’s mother could have to Emily.
“She wouldn’t care what she is, Mamma would only see that I wanted her and presto, she’s against it. She’d complain about the title, and carry on about Amaryllis Gorbuttleigh and the title to Hansom Terrace, and if she hasn’t promised me to La
dy Gorbuttleigh she’d just as soon see me wed to my cousin Barbara, and she’s nothing but a toadying rabbit-faced lummox ma’am! Honestly!” Domenic dropped disgustedly into his chair, chin buried deep in collar points and cravat.
With some difficulty Iphegenia extracted enough intelligence from him to make some sense of that confusing narrative. “Your mamma considers you promised to Miss Gorbuttleigh in order to reattach Hansom Terrace to your estate?”
“And failing that, she’d as soon marry me off to cousin Babs. She’s not a bad sort for an ape-leader, ma’am, but when a man’s seen Emily—”
“I suggest that, having talked yourself, I am sure, from Miss Prydd’s graces, you go pursue your surveillance of Miss Pellering from closer quarters.” Peter Teverley gazed blandly down at his cousin’s startled face. “Move, gudgeon!” He added. Dom stood up, returned Teverley’s look with one of cheeky gratitude, and disappeared.
“I hope, ma’am,” said Teverley, settling himself in the chair Dom had vacated, “that you will gratify me with ten minutes of rational conversation? The nursery can safely be left to itself, and even at the risk of being scourged by another of your set-downs, I would greatly like to hear a word of sense.”
“Why, I have never given anyone a set-down in my life!” Jenny denied vigorously.
“On the contrary, you have delivered at least two to me since we met.”
Her eyes flew up to meet his. “I should not have thought it possible,” she said quickly.
“Your pardon: three set-downs,” he announced, unperturbed. And watched a slow, deep blush rise over Jenny’s face.
“Indeed, I don’t know what makes me say such things. I never used to—it’s as if you brought it out in me. I beg your pardon. I shall try to keep a better guard on my tongue in your company.”
“Nonsense. I probably deserved each one.”
My Dear Jenny Page 5