by Mira Stables
So that was it, thought the Earl, coming quietly into the ballroom through one of the tall windows that stood open to the terrace. Master Timothy playing off his tricks. Yet another pretty face. He shrugged and wondered idly who the chit might be, and whether his nephew would always flit lightly from flower to flower. His wife would probably have to accustom herself to his philanderings, but no doubt there were any number of girls who would not mind, and would only too gladly pick up the handkerchief if Timothy chose to drop it. He was beginning to doubt, however, if Miss Kirkley was of their number.
He stood quietly watching the dancers, as yet unnoticed save by his sister. Then, as the music died and the flood of talk and laughter began to swell again, moved across to the little dais where the musicians were established and spoke for a moment with M. d’Aubiac. The old man’s face lit up with pleasure but he spread his hands wide in a deprecating gesture and his eyes sought Lady Hester’s with a hint of rueful appeal. The Earl smiled, patted him lightly on the shoulder, and crossed to where his sister was standing wondering what in the world he was about. By this time all the eyes in the room were upon him, one or two of the older guests looking startled, even mildly affronted by this unheralded arrival of their absentee host, the younger ones obviously delighted, for to most of them he was little more than a legend, so rarely did he put in an appearance at a purely social function. The glamour of his military career still hung about him, and though he was reputed to hold very unorthodox views on the established social hierarchy, yet his wealth, his rank, and most of all his unattainability—for it must be supposed that at five and thirty he was not now likely to marry—all conspired to make him quite deliciously exciting.
“How exactly like Richard,” thought the indignant Lady Hester, “to behave in such a shockingly casual fashion.” She had apologised so carefully on his behalf, explaining that urgent estate business had made it quite impossible for him to be present this morning as he had so much wished to be. And there he was, quite unrepentant, charming them all into delighted acceptance of his tardy arrival, speaking of his great disappointment at being obliged to miss the party, when she knew very well that he had ridden out especially early on purpose to avoid it, and craving their indulgence for just one more dance. A gentle ripple of delighted assent ran round the room, and several young ladies peeped hopefully under their lashes at the Earl. But he was not quite done.
“Fortunately there is no one here to carry tales of our simple country festivities to the arbiters of London society, so this one dance is to be my favourite—a waltz.”
There was an outburst of laughter, and several people turned smilingly to Lady Hester. She shook her head and threw up her hands in mock despair, for in spite of repeated pleas from the eager dancers, she had steadfastly refused to permit them this indulgence. They were all, she had insisted, by far too young.
The Earl held up his hand once more and the amused asides were stilled. “And since I can see several hopeful gentlemen preparing to anticipate me in asking my ward to dance, let me say at once that I intend to stand on the rights of a guardian and claim that honour for myself.”
Such was the power of personal magnetism that several gentlemen who had not had the least intention of asking Miss Kirkley to dance groaned aloud, while the boy from Oxford who had indeed formed the intention shook a playful fist at one whom he admired wholeheartedly, having found him to be a first-rate fellow, a capital shot, and one who was always willing to give an aspiring youngster a few hints without being patronising. Elizabeth blushed delightfully and dropped her guardian a shy little curtsy as he crossed the floor to her side. The young ladies consoled themselves with easier, if less exciting, partners, and the one or two older people present assured each other that it had been very prettily done. Whatever his queer philosophies, the Earl’s manners, they agreed, were above reproach. Since he could only dance with one young lady, then certainly that one should be his ward, for how could he possibly single out any one of his guests for such particular attention without appearing to slight the rest?
Only Lady Hester, noting the glowing look on Elizabeth’s face, was a little doubtful. It was to be hoped that Richard would be careful. When he chose to exert that wicked charm of his he could woo the heart out of a girl’s breast, and he himself, case-hardened bachelor that he was, had none to lose. She had trusted that Elizabeth, resentful of his authority and pleasantly preoccupied with Timothy, would be immune. She turned her attention to her nephew and uttered a tiny scandalised moan. It was really too bad of him. He was actually dancing the waltz with Miss Bentley. The Earl’s vagaries might be forgiven him—and if he must choose to arrive at the last moment at his own party he had at least carried it off beautifully. She had no hope at all that Timothy’s outrageous behaviour would meet with a similar tolerance. She blamed herself for having invited Miss Bentley, but how could she have guessed that the girl would turn out to be such a honey pot? Plainly she had bewitched Timothy, driving all sense of decency from his head, and any hope of his now developing a genuine tendre for Elizabeth must be abandoned.
Once again that delicious sense of floating blissfully on a strong tide, held securely from all harm. Elizabeth surrendered wholeheartedly to the spell of the music and a perfect partner. The Earl held her firmly but quite lightly, yet she was instantly responsive to each movement of his. It was a delightful presentation of the art of the waltz, save that neither obeyed the code which prescribed airy conversation as its accompaniment. They danced in complete silence. Only when the music ended and the Earl was bowing over her hand, very much in the grand manner, did he murmur wickedly so that only she could hear, “If my ward were only so submissive and biddable as my dancing partner, what a very contented guardian I should be.” Elizabeth was snatched out of her dreamy languor to laugh and take the arm that he offered to lead her out on to the terrace.
The morning was so warm that Lady Hester had decided no harm could come of permitting the young people to stroll out of doors for a while, and tables had been set under the great cedar tree where Harrison and his minions were dispensing champagne cup and iced lemonade to the thirsty dancers. The Earl procured a glass of lemonade for Elizabeth but took no refreshment himself, declaring that one all-too-short waltz had not made him thirsty. He stood a little way apart as she sipped the cool drink, surveying his partner with that same steady measuring look that she had thought so detestable in the early days of their acquaintance. Somehow this morning she found herself accepting it quite calmly, her eyelids no longer drooping in embarrassment but lifted to return his gaze with one of amused enquiry. This evidently pleased him, for he gave her his infrequent lazy smile and said gently, “You are quite right to wear blue, Miss Kirkley. The rose and the white and the yellow—yes—they become you well enough, but it is the blue that reflects the glow in your eyes.”
The eyes in question widened at this very gallant speech, and the soft lips parted in surprise, but the Earl went on quite calmly, almost impersonally, “The gown is in excellent taste, unusual, modest and becoming. I particularly like the restrained elegance of the trimming,” and he indicated the delicate scatter of crystals that appeared to have fallen haphazard across tight-fitting bodice and sweeping skirt. “Very refreshing after the profusion of flounces, ruffles and braiding which are become so commonplace. You are in the way of becoming a fashion setter, my child. I make you my compliments.” And he sketched her a tiny bow.
“It was a very expensive gown, my lord,” she said demurely, hands meekly folded together, eyes modestly downcast. And then, with a mischievous upward gleam, “But since it has earned your lordship’s approval, I must think the money well-spent.”
“I am flattered of course. But it is really quite shocking in you to intrude such mercenary considerations upon my poetic vision of dew-drenched bluebells under spring sunshine,” he murmured soulfully, though a deep indentation at the corner of his mouth belied the solemn words.
“Is that how gentlemen of fashion
talk? I must say it sounds remarkably foolish to me. But it is kind of you to give me the experience of hearing it, my lord,” said Elizabeth cheerfully.
He laughed. “You are fast growing into an impudent brat,” he told her, “and that is what any man of sense would certainly say. But for your information, no, I do not think you will find many fashionable gentlemen indulging in quite such ridiculous flights. Perhaps the odd aesthete, seeking to make himself appear something out of the common run. Nevertheless,” he teased her, “I trust you will concede that the bluebell notion was quite well thought out. On the spur of the moment, too, since I could not know what colour you would choose to wear.” And he grinned at her like a schoolboy enjoying a successful prank.
Elizabeth simply could not resist. “Alas! It seems that some gentlemen prefer primroses to bluebells, my lord,” she said mournfully, but with lips that quivered into irrepressible laughter.
He was swift to catch the reference. “Is that indeed her name?” he demanded, and at Elizabeth’s nod went on, “I have always been against the practice of bestowing fanciful names on helpless infants. We had a poor devil of a subaltern in the Regiment whose romantic Mama had cursed him with the name of Galahad. You may imagine how we roasted him! I daresay his experiences on the battlefield seemed comparatively pleasant after the sufferings he had endured from his friends. But in this case the child’s parents seem to have been positively prophetic. She really does look like a primrose.”
Since this remark seemed to be well received, Elizabeth venturing the opinion that Miss Bentley was quite the loveliest girl she had ever seen, he risked a further question. “Timothy seems to be quite épris,” he suggested.
Elizabeth looked faintly troubled. “Yes, indeed. And I am sure one cannot wonder at it. But I fear he is doing her no service in making her quite so conspicuous. She is probably too young to have thought of appearances, but he—” She broke off.
“How many times has he danced with her?” asked the Earl.
“Three or four,” admitted Elizabeth, knowing perfectly well that it was four. “And you perceive that he has not left her side since the waltz ended. But I expect he feels that your presence relieves him of any further responsibilities as host,” she added excusingly.
“Stupid young idiot,” said the Earl dispassionately. “But it would be pointless for me to interfere at this stage. That would only serve to focus attention on a regrettable situation. Who is the child, by the way?”
But though Elizabeth was able to tell him her name he could not immediately place her, and dismissed the matter from his thoughts. His nephew’s social career had been frequently marred by similar solecisms, and this one did not seem to be of any particular importance. He was more concerned to assure himself that Mr Elsford’s defection was not distressing his ward. It would seem that the attachment between them had not gone near so deep as he had believed. Nevertheless it was ridiculous for him to feel so absurdly lighthearted about it. He had promised Charles to do his best to arrange a suitable match for his daughter, and failing Timothy the task was all to do again. Nor could he readily think of a suitable candidate. His requirements in a possible husband for his ward were growing more and more particular. Even Timothy he had always regarded as rather too much of a lightweight—gay and amiable enough when all went smoothly but unpredictable in a crisis, his chief recommendation being that he could offer his wife a position of the first consequence. And the Earl was gradually coming to believe that his ward cared as little for consequence as he did himself. Certainly his own exalted rank had never seemed to overawe her in the least. His mouth twitched in an involuntary grin, remembering some of the choicer epithets that she had hurled at him on the day when she had stumbled on the scene of the deer slaughter.
Elizabeth had been standing quietly sipping her lemonade, content in what seemed to her a companionable silence. She would have liked to know what thought had made him smile so suddenly, but did not like to intrude upon his reverie. Now, however, she felt that she really must draw his attention to a figure which seemed oddly out of place among the elegant company assembled on the lawns. The groom, Hanson, who had been away for several weeks on some errand for his master, was standing on the edge of the terrace looking about him anxiously. Even as Elizabeth touched the Earl’s sleeve to draw his attention to the man, Hanson caught sight of the two of them in the deep shadow of the cedar, and began to weave his way through the gay, gossipping throng towards them.
“This means trouble, if I mistake not,” said the Earl regretfully. “Miss Kirkley, I must beg you to excuse me. Much as it grieves me to cut short this delightful interlude, I must see what John wants. He would not be seeking me out in this mêlée if it were not urgent. Shall I take you back to my sister?”
“No, indeed, my lord. You will not be wanting to waste time if John’s errand is so important. I will go—why, no! This gentleman will escort me back to the house.” and she smiled at the boy from Oxford who had been hovering hopefully in the vicinity on the chance of a few more words with this charming and sensible female.
The Earl swung round to see whom she meant. That one errant eyebrow shot up, and he gave a soft crack of laughter. Once again he favoured his ward with a slight teasing bow. “May I congratulate you once more on your good taste, Miss Kirkley? I shall be well content to leave you with Ecclesfield.” He lingered only for a word with Elizabeth’s chosen escort, then strolled off to meet John. The young man, grinning responsively to his host’s teasing quip, came at once to Elizabeth’s side.
She was quite scarlet with confusion and scarcely knew how to phrase her apologies to the young Marquis for not having remembered who he was. He only chuckled, and said with good-humoured scorn, “Oh! That fusty old stuff! Time enough to stand upon my rank when I’ve done something to show I’m fit to hold it. I was hoping to have the chance of another word with you. Do you think Anderley would bring you over to my place some time? The thing is, I’ve got the sweetest pure-bred mare you ever saw, but my sister says she’s a mite too spirited for a lady. I’d value your opinion, for Anderley says you’re a capital horsewoman.”
He was full of eager talk of his horses, and of a litter of hound puppies whose dam had unfortunately died and who were being reared by his favourite pointer bitch, and since this was just the kind of familiar countrified talk that Elizabeth could understand and enjoy, the pair of them were soon so engrossed that they were quite unaware of the covert interest with which most of the guests, especially the feminine ones, were watching their sauntering progress towards the house. One or two indignant damsels were wondering what was the peculiar charm about the attractive but by no means dazzling Miss Kirkley which had held the Earl of Anderley chained to her side for a good twenty minutes to the exclusion of all other females, and which, apparently, operated equally powerfully upon the shy and hitherto unapproachable Marquis. They could only conclude that her fortune must be enormous. Indeed, the only pair who were entirely unaware of Miss Kirkley’s incredible triumph were Mr Elsford and Miss Bentley, who were entirely absorbed in each other.
Since the Marquis stayed close to Elizabeth’s side during the serving of the cold collation, himself attending to all her wants, and then persuaded her to walk with him to the stables so that she might see the team of matched chestnuts that he had elected to drive that day, it was quite a question as to whether she or Miss Bentley provided the homeward-going guests with the most food for talk and speculation.
Chapter Eleven
“You’re sure it was the smallpox?”
“Well, Sir, I’ve no medical knowledge, but as sure as a man may be who’s seen as much as you and me have of that foul sickness.”
“He never regained his senses? Could you not tell who he was, or where he came from?”
Hanson shook his head. “He was anear gone when we picked him up. All I know for sure is that he was a pedlar, and on the road ’twixt Anderley and Coldstone, though whether coming or going there was no telling, save that
nobody in Coldstone seemed to have seen him passing through. There was the usual women’s gear in his pack, needles and ribbons and such, but there were toys as well—wooden puppets and monkeys to set dancing on strings. If he’s passed through the village selling his wares, God knows what might come of it. I reckoned I’d best bring the news right away, Sir, and bring it myself.”
The Earl nodded agreement. “To be sending messages of such import might well start a panic. I’ll cause enquiries to be made discreetly as to whether any such person has been seen in the neighbourhood. Now—tell me—how does Garrett go on at Coldstone?”
John shook his head. “I’m worried about him, too, Sir,” he confessed, shamefaced at having to unload such a burden of troubles on to his master’s shoulders. “He was well enough at first, and eager about all the fresh birds and beasts he’d seen. Then he took to wandering up to the quarry. I was fearful he might be thinking to do himself an injury, for he was sullen and broody-like. But he never went near the face. Just hung about and watched the men at work. They’re a rough crowd up there, but I will say they were good to him after I’d explained how he came to be the way he was. Shared their bait with him many a time. And the fellow that runs the quarry was in the army himself—Engineer Corps—said he was harmless enough and to let him alone. Times, when he’s in a good mood, he’ll lend them a hand. And you know his strength, Sir. Why, I’ve seen him lift rocks with no trouble at all that three men could scarce shift. So you might say he seemed happy enough. And yet somehow I don’t like the feel of it. He’s gone quiet on me. Never talks about the wild creatures like he used to do, and there’s a look in his eye now and now, sort of calculating, that I’ve not seen before. I can’t help thinking he’s up to mischief, though what it might be is more than I can guess.”