The Tudor Signet

by Carola Dunn

  “Yes, he left as soon as he returned from taking you home,” said Emily. “He rode instead of driving, so he must have been in a great hurry to return to the Fashionable World. I hope he tears himself away and comes to stay again soon, do not you?”

  “Yes,” she said, but she was not sure if it was true.

  He had departed without warning, without a word. He could at least have told her he was going! She had feared to mistake friendship for fondness, yet now it seemed he did not even consider her a friend.

  Chapter 13

  Pride came to Mariette’s rescue. Concealing her hurt from Emily, she suggested that they both go and talk to Miss Bolger, who sat alone now looking a trifle disconsolate.

  Emily wrinkled her nose but assented. Though Miss Bolger seemed to have got over her positive alarm at the sight of Mariette, she was a tongue-tied young lady. No doubt she rarely had a chance to squeeze a word in edgewise at home, to judge by the way her mother was rattling on to Lilian and her father holding forth to Lord Wareham and Captain Aldrich.

  In her company, Emily at once became prim and bashful. Mariette struggled to keep up an innocuous exchange on the recent storm, but she was not sorry when Mr. Bolger joined the young ladies.

  “I hear Riddlesworth won a mint t’other day,” he said to Mariette. “At that club near Peverell, wasn’t it? Dashed if I can see how he managed to become a member!”

  “A member?” she asked uncertainly.

  “Only members can play there, and you have to be invited to join. Wouldn’t have thought Riddlesworth sported enough blunt to be admitted, the lucky dog. They play deep. M’father’d throw a fit if I went within a mile of the place,” he added with a resentful scowl at Sir Nesbit’s oblivious back.

  Mariette would have liked to know more, but Emily and Miss Bolger were all agog and she was sure a gambling hell was no fit subject for their young ears. “Your father is Master of Fox Hounds, is he not?” she said. “Do you enjoy hunting?”

  Mr. Bolger brightened. For several minutes he held forth, very much like Sir Nesbit, on raspers, oxers, bullfinches, doubles, and in-and-outs he had cleared on his galloper. Mariette understood not one word in three and Emily’s blank face suggested she was no wiser.

  The Bolgers departed, followed shortly by the vicar and his wife. Lord Wareham stood up, but only to move to the fireplace where he leaned against the mantel, looking down at Lilian and Captain Aldrich.

  “I suppose you don’t hunt, Captain,” he said with a sneer, his gaze on the empty sleeve.

  “We sailors are not noted for our horsemanship,” the captain responded calmly.

  “I marvel that you are able to ride at all.”

  “You find you need two hands to control a horse, do you, my lord?”

  Mariette grabbed Emily’s hands as she raised them to applaud.

  Lilian looked most uncomfortable. Captain Aldrich leaned towards her and said something in a low voice. She smiled and nodded. He stood up, bowed over her hand, then came over to Mariette and Emily.

  “I am invited to lunch,” he said softly, “as I gather you are, too, Miss Bertrand.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Wareham will never leave as long as I’m here, so I’ll retreat to the morning room until he’s gone. It goes against the grain to let him think he has bested me, but I will not have Lady Lilian distressed.”

  “We shall help her get rid of him!” Emily whispered with glee.

  Grinning, he patted her cheek in a decidedly fatherly way. “Good girl! I rely upon you.”

  As he strode from the room, Lilian in turn rose to her feet. “Emily,” she said, “it is time for you to practise your music. I daresay Mariette will be good enough to turn the pages for you. Lord Wareham, may I beg you to excuse me? My cousin is ill abed and I must go and see that she wants for nothing.”

  Common courtesy allowed the baron no choice but to take his leave--he did, after all, claim to be a gentleman. The moment the door closed behind him and her mother, Emily clapped her hands.

  “Famous! I should have known Mama would need no help.” She started towards the door. “Let’s go and release Captain Aldrich from durance vile.”

  “Wait, Emmie, until we can be sure Lord Wareham does not linger in the hall. In fact, you had best play upon the pianoforte for a few minutes at least.”

  “Oh yes, loudly. It would be simply dreadful if he guessed he has been tricked. He is horrid enough without making him angry.”

  “I thought you wanted to flirt with him?”

  Emily shuddered. “Not any more. Uncle Malcolm was right, flirting with someone one dislikes would be horrid.”

  But flirting with someone one loved must be delightful, Mariette thought, especially if he loved one, too. She was not likely ever to have a chance to find out. Sighing, she helped Emily open the pianoforte.

  * * * *

  The second time Mariette rode over to Corycombe, she wore her new riding habit. It was a splendid garment, far finer than she would have purchased had Uncle George not gone with her to Plymouth. Emerging from the spectacle-maker’s shop with a pair of steel-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, he had joined her at the draper’s. The drab cloth she was examining had not met with his approval.

  She did not dare guess what he had paid the dressmaker to make up the habit in half a day.

  So she was decked out in burgundy velvet trimmed with black braid, and on her head a new hat, black with burgundy ribbons--”Fine as fi’pence,” as Jim said, and no Lord Malcolm to see her.

  As she and Jim rode up to the front door, around the corner from the stables came Lord Wareham’s dogcart. Driven at a trot by a tall, skinny groom with surly, lantern-jawed face, it pulled up nose to nose with Sparrow in a flurry of gravel. Firmly suppressing the gelding’s attempt to rear, Mariette called to Ragamuffin who was barking his head off at the unmannerly vehicle.

  Lord Wareham ran down the steps. “Keep your dog away from my cattle,” he said curtly, “if you know what’s good for him.”

  Emboldened by her dashing habit, Mariette gave him a haughty stare without deigning to answer. He responded with his usual sneer. Jumping into the dogcart, he slashed at Ragamuffin with his whip, missing as the dog dodged, then whipped up his pair and swerved around the two riders in another flurry of gravel.

  Jim Groom stared after him. “Blacker nor thunder over the moor,” he said. “I’d give a groat to know what’s put yon fine gentleman in a passion.”

  “I hate to think,” said Mariette, sliding down onto the mounting block and giving him Sparrow’s reins. Her train over her arm, she hurried up the steps.

  The door opened as she reached it. “Come in, miss, come in,” the footman invited her urgently. “Her ladyship’ll be that glad to see you.”

  “What has happened, Charles?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know, miss, but I was told to make sure his lordship went off right and proper, and Mr. Blount’s pouring Madeira for her ladyship, who don’t never touch a drop. In the morning room, miss.”

  Decorous pace forgotten, Mariette sped to the morning room. The butler came out as she arrived. His shaken expression lightened at the sight of her. He stood aside and held the door for her.

  Miss Thorne’s censorious voice came from the room beyond. “Really, Lilian, that was no way to treat a gentleman.”

  “Gentleman!” Lilian exclaimed, her tone near the edge of hysteria.

  “You were splendid, Mama,” said Emily as Mariette went in. On her knees beside the sofa where Lilian reclined, she looked round and scrambled to her feet. “Mariette, I am so glad you are come! Lord Wareham has been most shockingly rude to poor Mama.”

  “His language was a trifle intemperate,” Miss Thorne allowed, “but you have sorely tried his patience, Lilian. Why, from your conduct towards them, no one would guess Lord Wareham to be a peer and Captain Aldrich to be a penniless cripple.”

  “Enough!” said Lilian sharply. “I believe you are not quite recovered from your in
disposition, Cousin Tabitha. Perhaps you ought to lie down upon your bed for a while.”

  “Humph! I can see where I am not wanted.” With a sniff as she passed Mariette, Miss Thorne marched out, every rigid inch vibrating with affronted dignity.

  Emily sped to shut the door behind her. Mariette went to Lilian and without a word pressed her hands. Despite her firmness to Miss Thorne, they quivered pitiably.

  Noticing the disregarded glass of Madeira wine on the table at the end of the sofa, Mariette picked it up. “Here, do take a drink of this, my dear,” she said soothingly. “Boult seems to think it will fortify you, and I daresay he knows best.”

  Lilian ventured a shaky smile. “I suspect butlers always know best,” she said, and sipped the wine. “You must be wondering what on earth happened.”

  Mariette managed to restrain her burning curiosity. “Do you want to tell me? I saw Lord Wareham drive off in a prodigious miff.”

  “He accused me of playing coy with him and of...of coquetting with Captain Aldrich to make him jealous.”

  “No!” Mariette burst into peals of laughter. “I am sorry,” she gasped, seeing Lilian’s and Emily’s bewildered faces, “but how can he have so mistaken you? Now, if you had coquetted with him to make the captain jealous it might be understandable, but you have no need, have you?”

  A delicate colour suffused Lilian’s face and she smiled. “Do you think not?”

  “I am sure not.”

  “If only he does not let false modesty deter him,” Lilian said wistfully. “How I wish he had been here this morning! He is a match for Lord Wareham.”

  “You were splendid, Mama,” Emily insisted. “She said only a coward insults helpless females, Mariette, and then she rang the bell and told him he was no longer welcome at Corycombe, and Blount came to show him out.”

  “He went without demur, but I confess I was quite frightened for a moment. I have never seen him in a passion before. In fact, I always thought him a very cool and collected man. I wish Malcolm had not gone away!”

  “Are you sure he did not say in his letter when he will come to stay again, Mama? I shall write and tell him we need him.”

  “No, don’t do that, Emmie dear. Your uncle has his own life to lead. I received a letter yesterday, Mariette. Malcolm desires to be remembered to you.” She hesitated. “He asks me to convey his apologies for leaving without a word of farewell. He was called urgently away and I would not let him write to you, so you may hold me to blame. Perhaps I have not told you before that a private correspondence between a young man and an unrelated young woman is not at all comme il faut.”

  Mariette’s hurt was assuaged, though her heartache remained. At least he had not forgotten her but he was still far away, with no suggestion of returning soon to Corycombe.

  She missed him! She wanted to tell him about Uncle George’s new spectacles and his dismay at his own unrealized shabbiness; how he had gone to a tailor, only to recoil in horror on being offered trousers instead of breeches. With Lord Malcolm, Unmentionables were perfectly mentionable--she did not have to try to impress him with her ladylike manners.

  But she would have liked a chance to impress him with her new habit.

  At that moment both Lilian and Emily noticed her finery. As compliments flew, Boult and Charles came in with a tea-tray, Mrs. Wittering and Cook having agreed that a nice cup of tea would set her ladyship up much quicker than any amount of wine.

  Lilian’s composure restored, the rest of Mariette’s visit passed pleasantly, uninterrupted by any further callers. She had lots of questions on etiquette for Lilian, questions which had not crossed her mind while immersed in the busyness of her stay at Corycombe. For the most part, learning kept her distracted from the fact that every little thing her gaze alighted on reminded her of Lord Malcolm. She simply had the wrong temperament to let blighted love send her into a decline like the heroine of many a novel, she decided, half regretfully.

  For the next two days, a gale accompanied by torrential rain kept her at home. Ralph was irritable. He had already lost most of his winnings and he was anxious to be in Plymouth recovering his fortunes, but the weather was bad enough to coop him up. Mariette did her best to entertain him with endless games of backgammon, draughts, and cribbage.

  Nonetheless she found time to make considerable progress on the new dresses she was sewing. Uncle George had insisted on her purchasing several lengths of pretty materials, though she had held firm against the expense of a seamstress for anything but the habit.

  On the third day the wind calmed and the rain ceased. In spite of heavy clouds hanging over Bell Tor, Mariette and Jim set out for Corycombe.

  In the drive, they caught up with a hired chaise. Mariette was astonished and alarmed to see Captain Aldrich within, fearing some injury or illness had prevented his riding from Devonport. However, when he stepped down at the front door he looked perfectly well, though a trifle flushed when he turned to smile at Mariette.

  “I daresay, Miss Bertrand, you wonder at my hiring a carriage,” he said self-consciously, offering his hand to help her down.

  “Yes, sir,” she agreed, though she had guessed as soon as she saw him, “but I feel sure Lilian would say that is a personal question I ought not to pose.”

  Instead of his usual riding clothes, he wore dress uniform: white breeches, stockings, and waistcoat, blue coat with gold braid and epaulets, cocked hat, and his dress sword at his side. “I wanted to arrive in parade order,” he confided as they ascended the steps.

  “You look very smart, Captain.”

  He failed to return the compliment, but Mariette willingly forgave him. Under the circumstances he could not be expected to notice her elegant habit--she was sure he intended to try his luck with his beloved.

  She would not for the world embarrass him by wishing him luck. Besides, he did not need it.

  He rapped twice with the gleaming brass lion’s-head doorknocker. They heard raised voices, then running footsteps. Charles flung open the door.

  “Thanks be you’re come, sir!” he cried. “Mr. Blount, ‘tis the captain!”

  “Thank heaven, thank heaven!” quavered the aged butler, hurrying forward as Captain Aldrich strode into the hall, Mariette at his heels.

  “What’s to do?” he demanded.

  Emily reached him first and seized his arm. “Sir, sir, you will help Mama, will you not? Miss Thorne says they are not to be disturbed and Blount doesn’t know what to do and Charles dare not interfere without an order and Miss Thorne says I am only a child and not fit to give orders against--”

  “Hush, Emmie.” Mariette put her arm about the weeping girl. “Hush, my dear, and let Blount explain to the captain.”

  “Captain Aldrich has nothing to say in the matter!” Miss Thorne stood in the middle of the hall, arms akimbo, her sharp face pale with anger. “Blount, I forbid you to discuss her ladyship’s affairs with a stranger.”

  The butler threw her a look of deep dislike. “It’s this way, sir. Lord Wareham must have come in the back way for the first we knew of it was Charles here heard him in my lady’s private room. Shouting something dreadful he was, but it’s true as madam says we’ve instructions not to go in there ‘less her ladyship rings....”

  His last words were spoken to the captain’s back as he headed for the passage to Lilian’s room.

  Miss Thorne called shrilly after him, “If you will meddle, I wash my hands of the whole business.”

  “Good!” said Emily, speeding after him.

  “Emily, come back!” Mariette’s cry was ignored. Recalling Lord Wareham’s attack on Ragamuffin, she was horribly conscious of his propensity for violence--and of Captain Aldrich’s infirmity. “Blount,” she ordered, “fetch the grooms at once. Charles, come with me.”

  “At once, miss!” The butler scurried off.

  “I’m right wi’ you, miss.”

  Running, Mariette and the footman reached Lilian’s room as Captain Aldrich, having paused for a moment to li
sten, threw open the door.

  “Unhand her, villain!”

  Just like all the best Gothic romances. Mariette felt a giggle rise in her throat though she had never felt less like laughing. She grabbed Emily.

  Trapped in Lord Wareham’s arms, Lilian beat on his chest with impotent fists. The captain’s irruption into the room wiped the smug smirk from the baron’s face but he did not let her go.

  “Get out,” he snarled, “or I’ll see you cashiered. With the greatest pleasure.”

  Lilian turned her white face towards the door and ceased to fight. “Desmond!” Her voice cracked on his name.

  With a sweeping gesture, he drew his sword. “Let her go,” he repeated through his teeth.

  Lord Wareham’s hands dropped to his sides and Lilian stepped back to lean weakly against the wall. Mariette pulled Emily aside, speechless with fright, so that Charles could go to the captain’s aid if necessary.

  “It’s easy to draw on an unarmed man,” taunted Lord Wareham.

  “It’s easy to persecute a defenceless woman,” Captain Aldrich retorted. “I’m ready to meet you any time, anywhere. Name your seconds, my lord.”

  “You cannot suppose I’d fight a duel with a one-armed nobody!”

  The captain laughed. “So you need two hands to wield a sword, too, do you?”

  His face livid with fury, the baron started forward. Captain Aldrich stepped aside and, bowing slightly, with his sword gestured him onward to the doorway. Charles slipped through and stood opposite the captain, his back to the open door as if seeing out any departing guest. His rigid pose was properly footmanly, his eyes fixed on the middle distance, but his large fists were clenched.

  Lord Wareham hesitated.

  From the front hall came a thunder of heavy boots in a hurry. Mariette looked back to see Benson, the head groom, and three stableboys galloping along the passage, followed at a creaky trot by Jim and Blount.

  “Goodbye, my lord,” said Captain Aldrich coolly. “I trust you will remember in future that Lady Lilian is not a defenceless woman.”

  “Rest assured I shall forget nothing, Captain,” Lord Wareham hissed. “You have not heard the last of this!” He strode out.