by Amanda Scott
At that moment and seemingly of its own accord, her memory jumped back to the interlude in the elm grove. His behavior had shaken her a good deal, but never had anyone made her feel as Philip had made her feel in those brief moments. Certainly, she could not deny her own body’s responses. Of course, she was, as he had pointed out, rather inexperienced in such matters. She cast her now silent companion a speculative glance. Perhaps he had only given way to the sort of passion men—if what one had heard was true—indulged in without really thinking it meant anything. She had certainly never thought before today that he might carry a tenderness for her. Oh, there had been a time all those many years ago when she had thought he cared for her, when she had even hoped—But it had come to nothing, and had probably been only friendship even then. No doubt she had been too strong-minded for him. But then other memories of the elm grove intruded, and stirred by a small, delicious tremor deep within herself, she was forced to consider the possibility that he might be rather strong-minded himself from time to time. And looking at his glum countenance now, she could not believe he had no strong feelings for her. Before the thought settled, however, she remembered how easily he could be ruled by his sister’s strong words, a couple of crystal vinaigrettes, and by his own wretched sense of honor. It was all disturbing, even frustrating. Moreover, it was all mere pointless speculation, unless the betrothal could be ended.
When they reached Upper Rock Gardens, Huntley rather disconcertingly bade her farewell on the doorstep, declining an invitation to step inside for a few minutes. Then, when Nell said, somewhat hesitantly for her, that they would look for him at eight to escort them to Mrs. Calvert’s drum, he clapped a hand to his head and looked at her ruefully.
“I forgot,” he said, “and I told Aurora it would be best if she remained at home this evening. Never gave a thought to the fact that I would be spoiling your pleasure, as well.”
“Merciful heavens, next you will say you sent her to bed without her supper!” Her equilibrium fully recovered now, Nell regarded him in fond exasperation. “Typically Gothic behavior, if I may say so, my lord. It will serve no useful purpose to keep her at home tonight, and it may do harm. There is, despite your assurance to the contrary, a slight possibility that one of those gentlemen with the prince might have recognized her today: She is an extraordinarily beautiful girl, after all, and has drawn a good deal of attention. If she does not put in an appearance tonight, any suspicion of that sort will be confirmed. We must go.”
He nodded. “I confess, I hadn’t thought the matter through carefully. Very well, you may tell her you cozened me into changing my mind. And, Nell …”
She looked up curiously but found only warmth and a hint of sadness in his expression. “Sir?”
“You see to it that that baggage keeps out of mischief,” he ordered. “My patience is wearing thin, and it will do her no good to turn me into a tyrant before she’s saddled with me for life.”
She grinned at him, dimples showing in both cheeks, but she vouchsafed no reply. Her mind was made up. If Huntley hadn’t enough resolution to see the betrothal ended, then she would simply have to attend to the matter herself. Bidding him farewell with the firm intention of having the matter well in hand by suppertime, she went in search of her niece.
XIV
NELL DID NOT HAVE far to search. When she pushed open the door to the yellow bedchamber, she beheld her niece curled up on the French seat in the window bay, staring out at the back garden, her arms folded along the back of the seat, her chin resting upon her hands. The gray kitten curled up in the folds of her skirt opened one eye but closed it again upon seeing Nell, and after a momentary hesitation, Rory lifted her head and looked over her shoulder. Her expression gave little away, but there was a hint of defiance in her voice when she spoke.
“I suppose you have seen Huntley.”
Nell shut the door. “Indeed I have, and such a lecture as he read me you would scarcely believe!”
“He scolded you, Aunt Nell?” Rory sat up a little straighter.
“He certainly did. I’d no notion the man possessed such a temper.” She stepped to the window seat and sat down, peering rather anxiously at her niece. “Are you all right, my dear?”
Rory grimaced, then pulled Ulysses into her lap, stroking him gently. “I expect he told you what happened,” she muttered.
“Yes, of course he did, and I must say it was foolish of you to ride so near to the men’s bathing area, but I explained that I had forgotten to warn you against it, so he has come down out of the boughs. You’ve no need to fret any further.”
Rory looked up through her heavy lashes. “Is that why he was angry with you, ma’am? Because I don’t think he should be.”
Nell chuckled. “Good gracious, no. I took a foolish notion into my head that you had ridden to the Downs, and so I rode up thinking to meet you. Only of course you hadn’t, and so when Huntley found me I was alone, for of course he sets no store, as you know to your own cost, by a mere groom’s escort. So he ordered poor Peter off home and gave me the devil of a trimming.”
“Oh, Aunt Nell, I’m truly sorry!”
Nell’s eyes twinkled. “Don’t refine too much upon it, my dear. I assure you, I don’t. Very likely he was annoyed at having his bathing interrupted and merely took the opportunity we offered him to ventilate his feelings.”
Rory’s slim fingers fiddled with gray fur until Ulysses uttered a faint mew of protest, whereupon she relaxed her hands and looked at her aunt. “I hope he doesn’t ventilate such feelings often, ma’am. I, for one, don’t like to be bellowed at.”
“Dear me,” Nell said, “did he bellow?” She gave it some thought. “He does have a sad habit of doing so from time to time. However, I am persuaded—” She bit off the words she had been about to utter, realizing there would be little profit to be gained from insisting that his lordship’s bark was a good deal worse than his bite. Instead, she patted the girl’s hand sympathetically. “I expect you are not accustomed to bursts of temperament from those around you. You know, my dear, the more I learn of your Lord Huntley, the less I believe him to be the man for you.”
Rory shrugged. “There is nothing to be done, however.”
“You could end the betrothal,” Nell suggested baldly. “You would scarcely be the first young woman to change her mind.”
The golden eyes widened. “Oh no, ma’am, surely you must see that I cannot. Mama and Papa would be so disappointed. Mama, in particular,” she added with a small sigh. For a brief moment she gazed wistfully out of the window, but she rallied quickly and managed a smile when she turned back to Nell. “Besides, I shall quite like being a countess and having lots of money. I daresay that will make up for the rest.”
Resolutely Nell swallowed the sharp retort that sprang to the tip of her tongue, but it was clear that ending the relationship between Rory and Lord Huntley might not be so easy as she had first thought. For one thing, she had forgotten Clarissa, who would be most unlikely to whistle a fortune the size of Huntley’s down the wind without a fight. And Rory herself was obviously more enamored of the title and the money than Nell had first supposed. If there were only someone else whose eligibility would match his lordship’s. But there was not. She dismissed Major Talcott with little more than a brief thought. Although she was perfectly certain that her niece had a strong interest in the gentleman, she had seen little indication of late that he returned that interest. And even if he did, his fortune could scarcely compare to the earl’s. She continued to consider the matter far into the afternoon and even while she prepared for the evening ahead, but she could think of no course of action that would answer the purpose.
Huntley, arriving promptly at eight, gave her a quick, searching glance, then seemed to relax when she smiled at him. A moment later Nell, knowing full well that he had somewhat mixed feelings about her mother’s fragile constitution, hid a grin at his visible attempt to conceal astonishment when Lady Agnes informed him that she meant to accompany th
em.
“Is it not courageous of her, sir?” Nell asked, quizzing him. Lips twitching, he replied that it was, indeed.
“I think it is splendid,” Rory said cheerfully as she settled herself in the carriage.
“Well, Mrs. Calvert is a particular friend of mine,” Lady Agnes explained earnestly when Huntley handed her up to sit beside her granddaughter, “and there will be a card room set up, you know, so I shan’t exert myself beyond what my constitution will bear. I hadn’t really thought I should go, but dear Nell thought it would do me good to get out, you know, and Sir Henry concurred, so here I am. It is good of you to lend us your escort, Huntley.”
“The pleasure is mine, my lady,” he assured her, indulging himself in a twinkling glance at Nell as he climbed in to take his place beside her on the forward seat. The warmth behind the twinkle sent her senses reeling again, and it didn’t help when his hand brushed inadvertently against her skirts. Plunged suddenly into her own thoughts, Nell took little notice of the conversation as the carriage moved through the streets of Brighton.
Mrs. Calvert had cleared her drawing room for dancing and had turned her first-floor saloon into a card room. Greeting them upon their arrival, she announced in her placid manner that a late supper would be served at eleven in the dining room. “Agnes, my dear, we are delighted to see you. We had quite decided you would be unable to afford us the pleasure of your company.”
“What ‘us’?” Huntley inquired in a low voice as he escorted the ladies toward the drawing room. “She invests the word with nearly regal overtones.”
Only Nell heard him, and she turned laughing eyes to his. “There is a Mr. Calvert, my lord,” she told him, her voice catching a little when she realized how closely they stood together. “Rather a quiet, somewhat elderly man. I believe we would find him in the card room if we were to look. Oh, Mama,” she added, speaking slightly louder, “there is Sir Henry. I didn’t know he meant to be here this evening. We should have invited him to make one of our party.”
“Oh, he thought he might just look in, you know,” Lady Agnes replied vaguely, signaling Sir Henry, however, with her silk fan even as she spoke.
A few moments later Sir Henry had taken Lady Agnes off to the card room, and Rory’s hand had been solicited for the first dance, so Nell found herself alone once more with Huntley. His nearness was still disturbing, and she searched her mind rapidly for a safe topic of conversation. “Have you seen the prince, sir?” she asked at last. “Was he annoyed with you for leaving his bathing party?”
There was a brief pause as his eyes met hers, but then, seeming to shake himself, he smiled. “Prinny is in high gig,” he said, taking a seat beside her. “You know old Smoaker, of course.”
“Certainly,” she replied gamely, “though I have never met him. He is as much a legend as Martha Gunn. He’s been the prince’s dipper for years.”
“Well, he’s a crusty fellow and has a reputation for being very strict with his charges,” Huntley said, “but today he outdid himself. According to Prinny, when he went into the water this afternoon, he ventured out a bit farther than he usually does. Next thing he knew, old Smoaker was squawking at him to come back. Prinny ignored him, of course, so what does the old fellow do but dash in after him and drag him out by the ear!”
Laughter came easily, and she said, “It sounds precisely the sort of thing he would do to any other gentleman, but it is scarcely the sort of treatment the prince is accustomed to.”
“Oh, Prinny was highly diverted,” Huntley assured her. “Marlborough said at dinner that Smoaker explained himself by grumbling that he warn’t going to let the king hang him for letting the Prince of Wales drown hisself, not to please nobody!”
“You must have been sorry to miss such a scene,” Nell said, still chuckling. Then a note of contrition touched her voice. “I hope it has not made you more displeased that we should have.”
“What’s done is done and no use talking about,” he said brusquely. “Will you dance?”
Though Huntley’s mind, like her own, seemed to be elsewhere a good deal of the time, the evening passed agreeably enough. Nell, keeping a close watch over her, thought Rory seemed distracted, too. She smiled and even flirted, but her heart didn’t seem to be much in it. She seemed to have her eye on the entrance, and when she casually mentioned that Huntley might take her down to supper if he’d a mind to, since no one else had asked her, Nell’s suspicions were aroused. She said nothing, however, and the three of them went down to supper together. Afterward Huntley volunteered to see that all was well with Lady Agnes, and Rory and Nell walked back to the drawing room.
“I do hope Grandmama is not overdoing things,” Rory said. They had neared the doorway, and she raised her voice slightly in order to make herself heard over the sound of the musicians tuning their instruments.
“She is no doubt enjoying every moment,” Nell replied, smiling.
“Well, I must confess I’ve noticed she rarely lets her health interfere with anything she tru—” Rory’s voice seemed to catch in her throat. Nell, noting the way her eyes lit up and following the direction of her gaze, saw Major Talcott coming toward them from the main entryway. “Good evening, sir,” Rory said with a brilliant smile. “We had nearly given you up.”
“Forgive me, my lady,” he said smoothly, grinning at her and then bowing to Nell. “I was unavoidably detained.”
“Invasion, sir?” Rory’s eyes twinkled, and dimples appeared in her cheeks.
The expression on Talcott’s face and the warmth in his eyes when he responded to this sally made Nell regard him with a good deal of speculation. His attention was fully engaged, however, and he did not notice her searching look.
“Only smugglers,” he said. “The Land Guard has asked our help in searching out a particularly stubborn lot of them. Seems their activities have been on the increase in this neighborhood since the prince and his friends came to town.”
Rory smoothed the lace on her sleeve somewhat guiltily. “Is that really so dreadful? I think the duties are loathsome.”
“So do most of my men, I’m afraid.” Talcott had not missed her gesture, but he said nothing about it, for Huntley approached them from the card room just then. “Good evening, my lord.”
“Major Talcott has just been telling us he has been looking for smugglers, Huntley,” Rory informed him. “Is that not thrilling?”
“Indeed,” Huntley replied, shaking hands with the major. “Locals?”
Talcott nodded. “We think so. The Land Guard has asked merely that we send out the occasional night patrol, hoping to deter their more outrageous activities. It’s good practice for my men, although so far I’m afraid their interest in actually capturing any smugglers is slight at best.”
“Huntley does not approve of smuggling,” Rory said with an oblique, pouting look.
“I should think not,” replied the major, to her evident dismay. Nell hid a smile, her sense of the absurd suddenly tickled by the memory of her niece’s oft expressed wish to meet a smuggler and the thought of what the major’s opinion of such a desire would no doubt be. He was still talking, his tone firm but gentle. “I know you and most of the other ladies think it’s exciting to purchase smuggled goods, particularly laces and other fine materials for your gowns”—he smiled pointedly at Rory—“but a good deal of the money from the smuggling operations goes to support the French war effort, you know. And it’s not only gold, but information as well that gets out of this country by way of the smugglers.”
“Surely, the gentlemen would not do anything to betray England,” Rory said to him. Then, when his eyes narrowed a bit, she added on an airy note, “They prefer to be called gentlemen, you know. Either that or free-traders. And so long as the high duties on tobacco, salt, laces, and particularly brandy continue—”
“I should like to know how you come to know so much about it, miss,” Huntley put in repressively, “but I daresay the major has better things to do than to discuss the issue
with you.”
“Because I am a mere female, sir?” she challenged.
“Because this is neither the time nor the place for it,” he countered. “The musicians have begun to play again. Do you wish to dance?”
“Yes, but I have already accepted Major Talcott’s offer, thank you,” Rory replied without a blink. “Will you excuse us?”
Huntley scarcely waited until they were beyond hearing before he let out an exasperated sigh. “Where on earth does she come by her absurd notions?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, sir,” Nell said, unable to resist teasing him. “She has grown up in Kent, after all, where free-trading has been a way of life for years. I daresay Crossways hasn’t a barrel of brandy on his estate that hasn’t come into this country duty-free. Do you mean to tell me you pay more for yours at Huntley Green?” She thought guiltily of the cellars in Upper Rock Gardens.
Huntley grimaced. “I doubt that a penny’s worth of duty was laid out for the brandy in my cellars,” he admitted, “though it was not my doing, but my brother’s and my father’s before him. Damn it, Nell, I am not a prig, and I know perfectly well that many of the ‘gentlemen’ make a much better living by free-trading than they could make otherwise. However, it is against the law, and there are better means of fighting the import duties than by encouraging the smugglers. Talcott is right about the damage they do.”
“Well, I daresay our local lads have little to do with that side of the business,” she returned pacifically.
“That has nothing to do with the matter. Perhaps,” he added, regarding her sternly, “you might tell me just how it is that Aurora is aware of their preference for the term gentlemen. I can accept the fact that she might have heard reference in Kent to free-trading, although it is unlikely that such a topic would be bandied about Crossways’ drawing room or schoolroom, but she talks as if she is more intimately acquainted with the business than that.”