by Mira Stables
Chapter Nine
Because she had grown up in the village, Lissa was accustomed to a greater degree of freedom than was usually permitted to a young lady. It never occurred to her to ask anyone’s permission when she wished to stroll abroad, far less to request the proper chaperonage of maid or companion on her excursions. And since she and Mary were almost inseparable and she had never chanced to go beyond the limits of the estate unaccompanied the wisdom of such behaviour had never been called in question.
On this particular Thursday afternoon, however, Mary was fully occupied with fittings for the new dresses that Miss Parminter had ordered, a proceeding which, she gloomily prophesied, was like to take up most of the afternoon, with Madame so very particular about the cut of a sleeve or the set of a skirt, and unwilling to let the dressmaker depart until her meticulous standards were satisfied.
Nanty had been confined to the house for several days with sharp attack of rheumatism, unable, for once, to fulfil her regular engagement at the Place. Knowing how much she would miss this high treat of her week, Lissa decided to run down to the village to see her while Mary was busy with Miss Kemble. There could be no danger of carrying any infection back to her delicate friend since rheumatism was not catching, and no other consideration occurred to her.
The afternoon was one of April’s loveliest and her visit was a great success. She found Nanty much recovered, smiling in the warmth of the gentle sunlight and delighted to hear all the snippets of information from the big house, from the colours of the new spring dresses to the great kindness that the Comtesse used towards her two charges and the latest news in the letter that Lissa had received from Miss Parminter. No definite date was fixed as yet for that lady’s return, though it now seemed likely that General Carnforth would recover to plague his servants for some time yet. His outspoken criticism of the conduct of the war, in particular of the pitiful inadequacy of the force that had been dispatched to the Low Countries to reinforce the Dutch in the defence of their frontiers had been triumphantly vindicated, and this had exercised a revivifying effect on his spirits. His physician, more exhausted than the patient, had hopefully suggested a course of the waters at Tunbridge Wells, or better still—since it was further from Town—at Bath, but no decision had yet been reached as to which of these salubrious spots should be so honoured.
All these details were meat and drink to Mrs. Wayburn who waved a beaming farewell from the doorway and reiterated that it would not be necessary for Lissa to visit her the following Thursday since she was sure to be well enough to resume her usual habits. Time had passed more quickly than Lissa had realised and she hastened her steps, wishing to pick a posy of the primroses that she had noticed growing in sheltered spots under the hedge on her way down the lane. Madame had expressed a liking for the delicate blossoms and these were the first that Lissa had seen. So she hurried past the Church and the parsonage, only to be checked by a cheerful voice calling her name.
“Liz! Liz Wayburn! Hey! Wait for me. What’s all the hurry?”
Only one person had ever called her Liz. She swung around in delighted greeting to a childhood friend and ally, the Vicar’s young nephew. It was more than a year since they had met and he could only just have arrived or Nanty would certainly have told her of his coming. He vaulted the garden gate and joined her in the lane, eyeing her up and down in quizzical fashion and declaring that he had scarce recognised her, so fine as she was grown, “until I saw those auburn locks,” he added, with an assumption of deep admiration that did not for a moment deceive the lady. Their friendship had dated from the day when a sturdy urchin, sent on a visit to his reverend uncle, had been bidden to play in the orchard. Climbing a tree and spying another child in the lane, his natural reaction to the sight of that vivid head had been to call out a teasing, “Coppernob!” He had been taken aback by the speed with which the damsel had climbed the orchard wall and advanced to the attack. Hampered by some dim chivalric notion that it wasn’t cricket to hit a girl, he had tried to evade the pummelling of the hard little fists until it became a case of retaliate or cry Pax. His fancy fairly caught by the child’s pluck, he had chosen the latter course. Her rage had subsided as swiftly as it had been aroused and she had made amends by lending him her handkerchief to mop a cut lip and then by admitting that she had been in the wrong to hit one who couldn’t in decency hit back. Her instant recognition of his motive in suing for peace had given him a good opinion of her understanding. When he discovered that she also shared his tastes to a degree hitherto unknown in his experience, that she could be trusted not to carry tales of his more nefarious deeds to the grownups and that she paid no more heed than he did himself to the sundry cuts and bruises that their exploits entailed, he gave it as his considered opinion that she was “a regular right ’un, game as a pebble,” and over the years of his intermittent visits had seen no cause to change his verdict.
Greetings exchanged and his unexpected appearance explained—he had been forbidden to go home for the vacation lest he catch some nursery complaint that was currently afflicting his brother and sisters—he was happy to stroll up the lane with Lissa and wait while she sought out shy primroses beneath the tangle of last year’s dead grasses, eagerly recounting the while the various pranks with which he had relieved the tedium of study, and even suggesting helpfully that she should take off her bonnet to put the primroses in, since she had no basket with her. The advice seemed good to Lissa who still preferred to go bareheaded when she could escape authority’s eye, and the collection in the discarded bonnet grew steadily, augmented by a few early violets and some wind flowers.
Presently she judged that she had sufficient and straightened up, the bonnet slung over her arm by its ribbons, the little breeze ruffling her glowing locks, already disordered by sundry treacherous twigs and brambles, as she arranged the flowers in a tight little posy and bound the stems with a wisp of grass. “Hold that for me, Ned, while I put my hat on,” she demanded, handing the posy to him. He took it from her and sketched a bow, making pretence of clasping the flowers to his heart and rolling his eyes in a soulful fashion which made her giggle.
His antics evoked quite a different response from Lord Stapleford who had just tooled his curricle round the bend in the lane. Setting aside its impropriety, the sight of a handsome young man paying ardent court to a lady who, far from repulsing his advances, was laughing up into his face in a most friendly and confiding fashion, inflicted a severe shock. The introduction and explanation that followed as soon as Lissa became aware of his presence did little to soothe his unease. He found young Mr. Hetherston, with his athletic build and open engaging manner, too dangerously attractive to be an acceptable friend for Lissa. If his dress indicated a leaning towards the dandy set it was still in excellent taste and just the style of thing to appeal to a very young lady, thought his lordship jealously, noting the excellent relationship that flourished between the two. When Lissa, oddly self-conscious of late if she chanced to find herself alone with him, hesitated over accepting a seat in the curricle, he ascribed her reluctance to quite the wrong motives and found difficulty in listening courteously to the young man’s enthusiastic appraisal of the splendid pair of chestnuts that he had in hand. Damn the fellow, was his inner comment, why the devil did he have to turn up just now? As if the position was not already tricky enough. He favoured Mr. Hetherston with quite a curt nod, said that no doubt they would meet again if he was making a prolonged stay in the neighbourhood and set the chestnuts in motion abruptly, leaving his new acquaintance with the notion that the much vaunted Lord Stapleford, whom his aunt and uncle had praised so high, was a proud sort of fellow who obviously considered a mere stripling as being quite beneath his touch. He made his way back to the parsonage rather disconsolately, his pleasure in his holiday sadly dashed.
The pair in the curricle were also unusually silent as the short distance to the Place was swiftly covered, Lissa submerged in the paralysing dumbness that afflicted her at times since that fare
well conversation with Miss Parminter, his lordship unsure of his ground and meditating the best way of tackling an uncommonly nasty task. Of the two, Lissa was the happier, content to feast her eyes on the lean powerful fingers that controlled the horses so easily, to glimpse, between shielding lashes, the firm hawk-like profile, set today in lines of unaccustomed severity. Fleetingly she wondered what had occurred to make him look so stern and would have been horrified had she guessed that his thoughts were concerned with her insignificant self.
A watchful groom being on the alert to take the chestnuts, his lordship sprang down and held out a hand to help Lissa alight. He did not at once release her, looking down at her gravely as he said, “There is something I wish to discuss with you. Will you join me in the library in, let us say, half an hour?”
Lissa, startled and a little dismayed by this unwontedly serious manner, agreed to this and ran off to give Madame her primroses and then to study her appearance in the mirror as she tidied her hair and set herself to rights before descending to the library with a calm demeanour and an unruly heart.
His lordship’s attention to the toilet of the chestnuts was quite shockingly perfunctory. So preoccupied was he with the problem before him that he would scarcely have noticed if Gellibrand had washed the mud from their legs. His situation was certainly awkward. To be warning a girl against dalliance with an eligible young man was in no case a congenial task. When he was in love with the girl himself it held a dog-in-the-manger savour that was downright distasteful. Yet warned she must be. He shuddered to think of the scandal if that little scene in the lane had been witnessed by one of the neighbourhood’s tabbies—or, indeed, by any matron of good repute. For a moment he toyed with the thought of getting Madame to undertake the task, but swiftly shrugged temptation aside. He was already too much obliged to the lady, and, truth to tell, he shrank from disclosing Lissa’s indiscretion even to Madame.
When Lissa came quietly into the room he had still not found words in which to couch his warning so that it was the girl who broke the awkward little silence, saying shyly, “You wished to see me, my lord?”
He looked down at her, feeling the customary lift of his heart just because she was close to him and her gaze was lifted to meet his with confident trust. Then his lips twisted into a rueful grimace. “Yes. Tell me, Lissa, has Miss Parminter never spoken to you of the need for a chaperone when you wish to walk abroad?”
The tone was gentle, carrying no hint of reproof, but Lissa blushed scarlet, as though she had indeed been guilty of some impropriety, and it was a very penitent voice that replied, “Yes, my lord. She has. But I did not think—it was only as far as the village to see Nanty.”
He shook his head at her. “I’m sorry, child. It seems a pity to curb your freedom. But there are always plenty of people ready to cry scandal at the first opportunity. On their lips, your innocent encounter with your childhood friend would be described as a clandestine assignation. It is very easy indeed for a young lady to suffer the stigma of being described as ‘rather fast’ or ‘not quite the thing.’ And believe me, any such hint is enough to ruin your chances of being received by the ton.”
Lissa looked more puzzled than distressed. “Indeed, my lord, I am sorry for the fault and I will do my best to remember in future. But I cannot see that it matters so much in my case. Surely a governess or companion is not so carefully hedged about as is a young lady of rank? The arbiters of society are scarcely likely to concern themselves with my small misdemeanours.”
This was true of course, but his lordship would have none of it. “You are too young and too attractive to walk alone,” he said firmly. “You might be subjected to some indignity from strangers who did not understand your position, and since you have no parents to guide you in these matters you must submit to my wishes.”
At the intimation that his lordship thought her attractive, Lissa rather lost the thread of his further remarks. In any case she found the thought of submitting to his will oddly pleasing and only wished that he would command her to some real sacrifice in his behalf. But he was already off on another track.
“It occurs to me, while on this head, that you must be turned seventeen. Did you not tell me once that you keep your birthday in May—the month in which you were brought to Stapleford? We must bestir ourselves to celebrate the day as befits so important an occasion.” Seventeen was marriageable, he was thinking, but his darling was such an innocent. Why, a society damsel of two years younger would be more awake to the time of day than was his precious waif. No thought of marriage clouded the wide gaze, but, at his words, a look of deep trouble was born, so that he said urgently, “What is it? What have I said to distress you?”
She summoned a stiff little smile. “Nothing, my lord. You have only reminded me that I cannot stay here for ever. And I have been so happy here that the thought of leaving is painful. I wish that I need not grow up so quickly. I don’t want to be seventeen,” and she smiled at him, inviting him to laugh at her foolishness. But the smile was a mistake. Her self-command was not quite adequate to its maintenance and the soft lips quivered pathetically.
In the urgent desire to bring comfort to her distress his lordship forgot alike the many difficulties that beset his path and his intention to woo his love with delicate restraint. He caught her hands in his. “What nonsense is this?” he demanded brusquely. “Let me hear no more of it. This is your home. You belong here as much as I do myself.”
He would have drawn her close and poured out the tale of his love and his need, but in that critical instant there came an excited knocking at the door and close upon the knock it was flung open to admit his sister, quite breathless with the haste that she had made upon her startling errand.
“Jervase! It’s Grandpapa! I was looking out for your return and I have just seen him come down from the chaise. And a great heap of luggage, so it looks as if he means to stay. You were not expecting him, were you?”
Her brother loosed his grip on Lissa’s hands. “No, indeed,” he said thoughtfully. “Nor is it in character for him to come down on us unaware in this fashion. He is used to herald his visits with ample warning so that due care may be taken for his reception. Now what can have stirred him to such unusual activity?”
He set his hands on Mary’s shoulders, spun her round and pushed her gently in the direction of the schoolroom quarters. “One thing is sure. He will expect to be received with all proper ceremony, however unexpected his coming. Hunt out your prettiest gowns, girls, and warn Madame. I’ll have Mrs. Graham put dinner back an hour, so you’ll have ample time for your prinking and Jacques will have time to contrive one or two side dishes worthy of our guest’s attention.”
And I, he thought soberly, may have the chance to pick up a hint as to what rumour has brought him down upon us in such a fashion, and went off to greet the Marquis.
Chapter Ten
The Marquis of Wrelf’s sudden arrival had indeed been prompted by a queer tale that had reached his ears. He had been spending a convivial evening at his club, beguiling the time pleasantly enough with three of his friends over the whist table and hearing all the news of the Town between the rubbers. He was finding life a trifle dull at present and wished that his grandson would make haste to tear himself away from his rustic preoccupations. That the boy should take an interest in the management of the estate was an excellent thing, though no more than was to be expected, brought up as he had been, the Marquis preened himself. But he was beginning to feel that even virtue could be carried too far. To be sure it was yet early in the Season, but he had been expecting to hear word of the young rascal’s intention to return to Town ever since they left Wrelf. He had made it perfectly plain that the sinner’s exile was now over and that he might consider himself forgiven. Truth to tell, London, without the boy’s ridiculous starts to add savour and amusement to the social round, was something of a bore. He fell briefly into a reverie, recalling the occasions when Jervase had made his scalp prickle with apprehension—or
his ribs ache with laughter. There had been the time when the lad had decked out his coat with gay knots of ribbon on breast and sleeves and challenged his friends to win themselves a guerdon at sword point while he himself defended his trophies with a buttoned foil. A dangerous play that one, and might easily have ended in a bloodletting despite its friendly nature. But Jervase had a cool head on his shoulders, a good eye and a strong wrist. He had emerged unscathed with his colours intact. Only then had his interested grandsire discovered that the ribbons were tiny French tricolours, the acknowledged badge of Millicent Girling’s admirers, and had promptly fallen into a rage so profound that his friends had feared an apoplexy. That memory quite spoilt his pleasure in the boy’s dexterity. He shook his head to dismiss it and remembered with a grin the prank that had followed. Jervase had been visiting an old school friend who lived near Folkestone. The precious pair had purloined a couple of army mules and, attired in bonnets and hooped skirts, had raced them, side-saddle, across the Leas, to the consternation of respectable citizens who were strolling peacefully in the Sabbath calm.
His opponent’s portentous cough recalled his attention to the cards. He scowled. Dilatory old fool! If he were not so damned slow in his discards one’s attention would not have time to stray.
The quartet broke up at the end of the rubber, Dernstone pleading another engagement and bearing his cousin off with him. The other two sat peaceably drinking their wine until suddenly Colonel Hammond said, “I hear that youngster of yours is by way of getting legshackled at last. When’s it to be announced?”