"Good gracious, no!" agreed Zoe. "Most certainly not!"
Cranford was frowning when Zoe walked into the library. He had to admit that she presented a charming picture in a blue cloak worn over a cream-coloured gown, with a blue-and-cream striped petticoat. Conducting her own appraisal, Zoe thought him quite dashing in shades of green, his cloak flung back carelessly from one shoulder, revealing a light dress sword. A tricorne was under one arm, and his hair was powdered and neatly tied back. Her gaze dropped. Aware of it, he stuck out his right leg and shook it defiantly. She suffered an odd little pang to see the short peg-leg; which was ridiculous, since she had teased him into wearing it, and had been fully prepared for such a change.
"Very good," she said matter-of-factly. "Had you supposed I might swoon at the sight?"
"I had thought you might be ashamed to come downstairs, since you took such an unconscionable time to gather your courage."
She twinkled at him. "I know. Isn't it silly? I came down twenty minutes ago, but was rushed back upstairs because 'tis expected that a lady will keep a gentleman waiting."
It was the last response he had anticipated, and his irritation vanished. "What next will you say?" he said with a broad grin. "I think I must carry you off before you commit any more indiscretions!"
He turned to the door and found that Lady Buttershaw stood there.
"Here you are, dear cousin Peregrine," she gushed, clasping his hand as though enraptured at the sight of him. "I will tell you that a parcel was delivered to me this morning. From An Admirer.' And inside was the very loveliest wig!" She giggled and tapping her fan on his knuckles said conspiratorially, "Sly rascal that you are! Well, I shall not delay you further. The weather looks a trifle uncertain this morning, but do not be anxious. We shall see no more rain today, I promise you."
She walked with them to the front doors, elaborating upon her skill at predicting the weather, which was so accurate that she would be of great assistance to a mariner. "If you are acquainted with any such persons, Cousin Peregrine," she said expansively, "you may advise them to consult with me."
She had turned to face him, her great skirts blocking the entrance so that he was unable to escape without brushing past her, which was, of course, not to be thought of.
"Alas, my acquaintanceship with mariners is extreme small, ma'am," he confessed. "I've a friend whose brother commands an East Indiaman, but—"
"Aha! Only think how he could benefit from my expertise. I shall insist upon your bringing him to call on me."
Heartily wishing that she would have done with this trite chatter, he smothered his impatience and said that he was very sure the gentleman would be delighted. "Unfortunately," he added smoothly, "his ship is at this moment somewhere between Calcutta and Bristol, so the poor fellow has lost his opportunity to consult you."
Lady Buttershaw declared that she had a fondness for nautical gentlemen, and that she would not dream of denying his friend her advice. Laughing heartily, she said that she would be "monstrous put out" was the captain not brought to see her as soon as he returned to England. "And I will tell you, sir, that 'tis considered a high honour to be invited to Yerville Hall!"
He murmured that he was very sure of it, and made a mental vow that he would have no hand in delivering Derek Furlong into the lady's clutches.
The coach standing at the kennel rocked as the team sidled impatiently, and my lady simpered that dear cousin Peregrine was an audacious flirt, but he must have a care for his horses and not stay here captivating her any longer.
Cranford hove a sigh of relief as she went back inside. Ushering Zoe into the coach, he threw a glance up at the box. Florian's face was lit by a sly grin, and Cranford winked an acknowledgment of the well-timed "touching up" of his team.
The footman slammed the door, Cranford sat beside Zoe, and the coach went bowling along towards Piccadilly. After a silent moment Zoe peeped at his scowl and said, "Lady Buttershaw seemed pleased with you for returning her wig. But I think your visits to Yerville Hall will not be frequent, sir."
He grunted. "The next time my great-uncle asks me to visit one of his relatives I shall have an ironclad excuse well-rehearsed, and if that fails I'll at once emigrate to the New World!"
"Alas, what a set-down," she said with a sigh. "And I had so counted upon your asking for my hand this morning."
He shot her a startled glance, saw the twinkle in her bright eyes, and laughed. "If ever I met such a tease! I hope you have advised her that I am a rejected suitor."
"Well, of course I have not!"
"Then you had best do so, my good girl, or the next time the lady tries to turn me up sweet I shall tell her to her face that I am betrothed to—" He paused, and finished quietly, "To the most beautiful lady in all England."
"Oh, pray do not! Pray do not! 'Twould place me in the most dreadful position!"
Indignation replaced sadness, and he snapped, " 'Twould place me in the most dreadful position did I allow that matchmaking dowager to believe I am trying to fix my interest with you! Egad, but now I think on it, the fact she allows me to take you out unchaperoned may well mean she already thinks—"
"No, no!" Zoe seized his arm and said agitatedly, "We have but now met! How could she possibly be so silly as to think you have formed a tendre for me? Were I a ravishing beauty, perhaps, but—well, look at me. I am scarce the type of lady to ensnare a dashing young man about Town on so brief an acquaintanceship."
"No, but Lady Buttershaw is in my opinion very silly. She has made up that adamantine mind of hers to find you a husband, and—"
"But 'tis just one of her whims! It can be nothing more. I am not related to her. She has no real interest in whether I wed a cockroach or—"
"Well! Of all the—One instant I'm a dashing young man about Town, and the next—"
"Oh, you know what I mean. I was brought here only to be companion to her sister. Why she should have taken this silly maggot into her head less than a week after I arrived, I cannot think. But she will soon forget it, I know she will. I am very sorry to inconvenience you like this, when you have so many more entertaining things to do, but… Please, Mr. Cranford! If you tell her you don't want me, she'll start flinging more of her ridiculous 'Prospects' at me again! Could you not bear with me for just a little while? I will be very good, I promise."
She was clinging tightly to his arm, and looking down into her imploring eyes, he could not but sympathize with her. "Poor mite," he said kindly. "Do not be so put about. She cannot force you to wed anyone you don't wish to."
"No, but she can send me home in disgrace, and then my step-mama will tell Papa what a hoyden I am and life will be horrid again."
"You are not a hoyden! You're young and full of—of fun and interest in everything, is all. Your step-mama is likely green with envy because you have such smiling eyes and your complexion is so clear and smooth. Why ever did your father wed such a shrew?"
Zoe sighed. "She is very pretty, and Aaron, he's our shepherd and a darling, says she's got a prime foc'sle and—"
Cranford's shout of laughter interrupted her and she beamed at him hopefully. "Is that funny? What's a foc'sle?"
"The forecastle of a ship, you little rascal! Only he was referring to her—that is to say, he meant she is—er, well endowed. Is she?"
"Rich? No, I don't think—Oh!" The light dawned, and she patted her bosom. "You mean this! Yes." She made an expansive gesture. "Vast! In fact—"
He choked back laughter this time, and threw up an arresting hand. "Never mind! 'Twas most improper in me to enquire. And do not ever let anyone hear you use such an expression, or you'll really be packed off home in disgrace!"
"I probably will at all events," said Zoe, despondent again. "For I seem always to be getting into trouble. I wish I could please Lady Buttershaw. I know she's a dragon, but she really has been good. She gave me all these lovely clothes, and I have a personal maid who is the dearest thing. And they really ask very little of me. All I do is take c
are of Lady Julia's pets, and read to her sometimes. And she likes me to tell her of my home and my family. Poor little creature, she's had such a sad life, and she is so gentle and kind."
"Then she will doubtless understand you're not used to Town ways yet. You'll soon learn." Watching her poke an errant curl under her cap, he thought, 'Which will be a pity.' The trusting eyes lifted to meet his and he added hurriedly, "Besides, I don't see how they can blame you because you chanced to witness the—er, accident. You had nought to do with it."
"No, but I wouldn't have been nearby save that I sent Gorton off with her light o'love—which they would not at all have liked. And then I wandered out onto the street by myself, which is not done, they say. Though why it should not be done I cannot think. The streets were made to be walked upon, and London is a civilized city in a civilized country, after all. 'Tis not as though we were in the hills of Spain or Italy, surrounded by wicked bandits—which reminds me of something I must tell you, for I think she would be just what you would like—and only look how I caused you to be attacked by the flower seller yesterday. And there was that awful thing last night! If they found out about that…!"
In an attempt to untangle these intriguing threads, he asked with a grin, "What happened last night? Did you drop one of the cats in the soup?"
Zoe smiled ruefully. "I was asleep, and Boadicea—she belongs to Attila, you know—well, you don't know, but there it is. Bo came and scratched on my door…" She embarked on the tale of the gentlemen who had almost discovered her in her nightrail, and was relieved when Cranford seemed more amused than shocked. "You may laugh," she finished, "but I thought they would never leave. And they were extreme vexed, and I'm sure would have been even more so if they'd found me!"
" 'Tis very well they did not. Who were they? Your unwitting 'Prospects' again?"
"No. Not those kinds of voices at all. Much more manly. Firm and strong, the way you speak. Indeed, one of them was quite—frightening. I could tell the others were afraid of him. I'd not want anyone to use that tone to me."
"Oh? It was a quarrel, then?"
"Not… exactly. I think it had to do with business, and someone who had made them very cross. And they are in the greatest impatience for a lady to arrive. Lady… Oh, I forget her name."
"So you should. You had no business listening to a private conversation."
"As if I would intentionally have done such a dishonourable thing!"
"All right, all right. Don't go flying up into the boughs again. To say truth, I'm the one being dishonourable by asking you about it. We must talk of something else."
She agreed readily and asked him about his home. They were soon in a deep discussion of the merits of country life as opposed to dwelling in Town, and pleased to find themselves in complete agreement.
Glancing out of the window, he exclaimed, "Only look, we've chattered away our time again and here's Ludgate Hill already. There's the cathedral."
"Ooh!" she squeaked, gripping her hands tightly as she peered out of the window. "How magnificent! 'Tis so much bigger than I'd imagined. But it does not look sixteen hundred years old."
"Of course it doesn't. It burned down in the Great Fire as did most of the city. They only finished rebuilding about thirty or so years ago. 'Faith, I thought everybody knew that!"
"Well, I did, but there are so very many interesting things in this world to try to remember, are there not? Little bits and pieces get tucked away in my head sometimes, and I cannot always fish them out when I need them. Oh, just look at all the people! May we go inside? Are we allowed to climb up to that little house atop the dome?"
Cranford, who was uneasily eyeing the double flight of steps to the West Front, thought, 'Heaven forfend!' and said that it would be highly improper for a lady to attempt such a climb. "Besides, you couldn't do it!"
"Indeed I could! You should only see me climb our big oak tree! My—"
An elderly lady who chanced to be passing, emitted a horrified gasp, and the stout gentleman on whose arm she leaned, puffed out his cheeks several times and sent a shocked frown at Cranford.
Inwardly bubbling with laughter, he pulled the miscreant's hand through his arm and advised her that he would never be able to show his face in the cathedral again if she did not behave with more restraint.
"Oh, I am so sorry," she whispered penitently. "I will be meek as a lamb, I promise." Her chastened state lasted for thirty seconds. She began to giggle, leaned closer and hissed, "Did you see his whiskers vibrate? 'Twas like corn in a strong wind!"
Cranford whispered, "Lady Buttershaw could make 'em fly, did she only thunder at the poor old fellow!"
That picture made Zoe giggle so much she had to hide behind her muff and pretend to be sneezing, but when they reached the vestibule and could look down the length of the nave and crossing and choir towards the distant High Altar, she was struck dumb and stood motionless, her lower lip sagging and her wide eyes drinking it all in.
Cranford had only visited the cathedral once before, and was as awed by its magnificence as was Zoe. His murmured suggestion that they move on was ignored, and he had to tug at her hand to gain her attention. "Do come along," he urged. "People are staring. They think you're one of the statues."
She smiled at him blindingly, and walking on, murmured, " 'Tis even bigger inside than outside!"
He grinned. "Silly chit. That's not possible."
"Well, it seems bigger." She gave a sudden skip, and looking at the floor, yelped, "Oh, my goodness! Are we stepping on people?"
A small group of passers-by frowned at her.
A verger came up and said sternly that voices should be kept low in the cathedral.
"The lady meant no disrespect," responded Cranford, irked.
"If your lady has a question—" began the verger, with a quelling glance at Zoe.
"Oh, I am not Mr. Cranford's lady," she explained earnestly. "We have only just met."
Cranford moaned under his breath.
A large military gentleman put up his quizzing glass and subjected them to a piercing stare. The sour-looking lady he escorted snorted audibly, "Whatever next!"
Zoe said hurriedly, "But I do have a question, if you please. How was it built? I mean—did it go up one part at a time, so they would have a place for services while the rest was a'building?"
The verger elevated his nose. "Sir Christopher Wren," he divulged loftily, "had the entire foundation laid at one time."
"Jolly sensible," said Cranford. "Some wooden-headed banker was sure to have come along and started penny-pinching, otherwise."
"Just so, sir." The verger felt something heavier than a penny being slipped into his palm, whereupon he warmed to this unlikely pair and took them under his wing. "If you will step this way, sir, you will note that the dome is not as high as it appears from the outside… That is because…"
An hour later, as they walked back towards the vestibule, Cranford declared that never in his life had he heard anyone talk so much. "All that stuff about the Romans, and Inigo Jones, and that fellow Dugdale! I thought he never would stop! And you had to egg him on with all your questions!"
"But only think, Mr. Cranford. How marvellous that 'twas all built in only five and thirty years, whereas it took a century and a half to build St. Peter's! And all directed by just one man. What a wonder he must have been! And—oh, wasn't his epitaph the loveliest thing? Especially the ending—'Reader, if you seek a monument, look about you.' Which is perfect truth." Glowing, and deeply moved, she flung out an arm. "All this—"
There came a startled exclamation. Appalled by the awareness that in her enthusiasm she had struck someone, she turned quickly. "I do beg your—" She broke off. "Oh! 'Tis you!"
Cranford jerked his head round apprehensively. 'By Jove!' he thought, and stared admiringly at a darkly bewitching female countenance with a pair of great dusky eyes that seemed to dance with laughter. Her taffeta gown was of vibrant orange, and tiny orange flowers banded her dashing ruffled cap. H
er footman was restoring a dull rust velvet cloak that had slipped from one shoulder. Even as he gazed, the shapely red lips parted in a warm smile and a gloved hand was extended to Zoe.
"We meet again," she said in a husky and faintly accented voice.
"How lovely!" Clasping her hand, Zoe said, "Miss Benevento, may I present Lieutenant Cranford?" Formality deserted her and she said exuberantly, "He is not in uniform now, so I expect I should not use his military title, but I think it rather nice. This is the lady I was telling you about—Oh, but I didn't finish telling you, did I, Mr. Cranford? Well, you see, I was taking Viking for his walk this morning, when somehow—"
Cranford interposed laughingly, "Yes, and I must hear all about it, but I fear we block the way, ma'am."
Her face fell. "I should so like to talk with you, Miss Benevento. Are you leaving also? Perhaps we might walk together for a little way?"
The dark beauty said that she would be delighted to have another chat, but as they reached the portico, she looked about dubiously. "Alas, I fear 'tis coming on to rain, and the wind is chill. I am engaged to meet my old nurse at the Piazza at half past one o'clock. Perhaps another time?"
The prospect of going into the popular coffee house with Zoe Grainger on one arm and this vivacious lady on the other inspired Cranford to at once beg the honour of Miss Benevento's condescending to join them until her friends should arrive. "It wants an hour until half past one," he pointed out. "Plenty of time for us to enjoy a cup of chocolate together, while you two ladies tell me all about your meeting."
"Yes, yes," said Zoe, pressing Miss Benevento's hand. "Do say you will!"
The dark eyes turned dubiously from Zoe's eager face to Cranford's smiling one. It was an engaging smile, and her own dawned. "Very well," she said. "I expect my footman will think it quite shocking, but I accept. 'Faith, but I could not be more pleased, for I am new come to London and have few friends."
Not by the flicker of an eyelash had she betrayed any awareness of the peg-leg. She was, thought Cranford, as poised as she was beautiful, and he was quick to endorse Zoe's fervent declaration that Miss Maria Benevento had just found two new friends.
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