by Jenny Hambly
Lord Brigham’s smile grew wider, but he said nothing.
“How did you come to hear of the duel, sir?”
“I know the magistrate they were brought before.”
“I should have guessed. It seems there is no one in Town you do not know.”
“It is something you should cultivate, Allerdale. I mean persons who might be of some use to you, of course, rather than those who might help you out of a brawl.”
“But I am doing so, sir,” Miles said. “I have just come from playing cricket with Cranbourne, Somerton, and Carteret. Cranbourne appears completely reformed, and as for the other two, well, I think even you must agree that you are not likely to meet two more respectable gentlemen.”
Lord Brigham sat up, planted his elbows on his desk, and steepled his fingers. “I do agree with you. I have always thought Carteret the best of your friends, and Somerton is certainly a good ally for you to have in your camp. But if you think to distract me from my purpose, Allerdale, you will not do it. You will give me a plain tale with no roundaboutation of this morning’s unfortunate encounter.”
“I do not know why you did not just ask Charles,” Miles said, a little resentfully.
“He is not my responsibility, thank God! You are. It is your actions in the affair that I am interested in rather than his.”
“Very well, sir. You shall have them.”
He told him the whole, from his ejecting Sandford from the ball and the reasons for it, to that morning’s events, and how he had come to hear of them.
Lord Brigham again sat back in his chair, his eyes narrowed as he considered all that he had heard. After a few moments, he said, “I have the highest opinion of Miss Edgcott, and on the whole, you did very well, Miles.”
Although his words held no hint of emotion, the use of his name as opposed to his title, left Miles in no doubt as to the depth of his father’s approval.
“Thank you, sir.”
Miles was not left long to bask in his father’s rare praise, however. Lord Brigham’s expression suddenly hardened.
“And now we come to the matter of the lady in the lane. I do hope, Allerdale, that you would not encourage any of your lightskirts to come within shouting distance of your mother’s residence.”
Miles’ eyes flashed. He rose to his feet, saying from between gritted teeth, “I have no idea how you come to know of that, but if you think such a thing of me, I have nothing more to say to you, sir.”
“That might be so, but I still have something to say to you. Sit down, Allerdale.”
It was not his father’s words, but the softening of his expression that made Miles obey him.
“My bed chamber gives me a tolerably good view of the far end of the lane. I saw you carry someone there, and a few minutes later, I observed you drive off with her. Judging by the way she was curled into your shoulder, and the smile on your face as you spoke to her, I assumed your acquaintance to be intimate. I must admit, I did not think you would do such a thing; you did, after all, tell me that you would not embarrass me whilst you were in Town, and I have never known you to break your word on the rare occasions you have given it. Your understanding has never been lacking, Miles, so I am sure you will see why I might have jumped to such a conclusion. Your reaction to my assumption tells me that I was wrong, however, and I am happy to offer you an apology.”
“I accept it,” Miles said, a little stiffly.
“Thank you. Now, perhaps you will unbend enough to give me an explanation.”
He did not like to lie to his father, and he did not do so, but he left out the details of the maid’s true identity, merely stating the bare facts of the case.
Lord Brigham looked fascinated. “I shall certainly allow you to live at Murton when you choose a bride,” he finally said. “It seems to have done you more good than I had dared to hope, my boy. It appears you are turning into a regular Galahad!”
Miles put up his hands. “Do not tar me with that brush, sir, it is not a mantle I have any wish to wear!”
“Sometimes, Miles,” Lord Brigham said gently, “our wishes have very little to do with it.”
As at that moment, Lady Brigham poked her head around the door, he had no chance to reflect on this comment.
“Miles!” she beamed, “I had not expected you so early. We are not due to set out for another half an hour!”
He rose, went to her, and kissed her cheek. “I had no idea that we were going anywhere, Mama, until Cranbourne enlightened me not so very many minutes ago.”
“Miles, do you not read your post? Frances wrote all the invitations last evening and they were sent out first thing this morning. Apparently, she was inspired by the sylvan scenes in the play; she said they reminded her of the glades to be found in Richmond Park. I must say, I think it will be a perfectly lovely way to spend Charles’ last day with us, don’t you?”
“Undoubtedly,” her dutiful son agreed, allowing her to lead him from the room.
Lord Brigham waited until their footsteps became indiscernible, before saying, “You may stop listening at keyholes now, Frances.”
A deep chuckle sounded, and the door behind Lord Brigham that had been very slightly ajar was pushed wide open.
“You’ve always had eyes in the back of your head!” Lady Bassington said, unabashed.
“And you have always had a prying disposition. I had thought that aspect of your nature had lessened the stouter and lazier you became.”
“Then you were mistaken,” she said, not in the least offended. “It is just that there is so rarely anything worth discovering these days, at least not at home.”
She came around the desk and sat down. “How did you know?”
“The draught,” Lord Brigham said dryly, standing and closing the door. “I had thought that dark, little parlour was never used, and that door always kept locked.”
Lady Bassington held up a key in front of her.
“So it is,” she said. “Papa always insisted upon it too, but I knew even then which key unlocked it.”
“I suppose I should not be surprised,” Lord Brigham said, taking it from her and locking it again. “You always did seem remarkably well informed. Would you be so good as to explain to me why you thought there might be something worth discovering this morning?”
“A mother’s instinct,” she said promptly.
Lord Brigham raised a sceptical brow and regarded her steadily. His sister merely laughed.
“That look might put Julia or Miles in a quake, Brigham, but it doesn’t worry me in the least. If you must have it, I heard that butler of yours ringing a peal over poor Michael.”
“The footman?”
“Yes. I was awake ridiculously early this morning, and try as I might, I could not fall back to sleep. I came down to the drawing room to find a book I thought I might have left there. That is when I heard the poor boy being told that if he ever failed to check if a letter was marked urgent again, he would be given his marching orders and that he was very fortunate Lord Allerdale had not boxed his ears.”
“And what did you deduce from this information?”
“That the letter must have been delivered late last night, for it was not on the table when we returned from the theatre, and that it was of some importance. I could only think that perhaps a friend of his might be in need of his help, or perhaps it was from a lady.”
“Well, now you know you that you were right on both counts, that should please you, although I do not think Miss Edgcott is the kind of lady you had in mind.”
“I can hardly be blamed for that assumption, Brigham. In the normal course of events no respectable lady would be writing to him, certainly not at that hour of the night.”
“I hope, Frances, that you have not mentioned any of this to Julia?”
“Don’t be such a gudgeon, Brigham. Apart from anything else, she would have fagged me to death with dozens of wildly improbable explanations.”
“Such as a duel?”
Lady
Bassington laughed. “Yes, such as a duel. I must admit it never crossed my mind. How silly of Charles.”
“Silly? It was downright foolhardy. I might have expected even you to be a little more shocked by the news.”
“Why?” she said. “I saw him safe and well only half an hour ago so what was there for me to be alarmed about? I am only surprised he has never found himself in such a position before, or perhaps he has, I don’t suppose I would know if he had. I liked Miss Edgcott on sight, you know, and am in her debt.”
“Yes, we all are, I am sure.”
Lady Bassington smoothed a crease in her dress. “I find this business about the maid, quite intriguing.”
Lord Brigham was not deceived by her casual tone. “Why?”
“You have always been extremely acute, Brigham,” Lady Bassington said with a small smile. “And your eyesight is excellent. If you thought it looked like this person knew Miles, then she probably did. And then one must wonder why a maid would wear so heavy a veil that she could hardly see where she was going.”
“Perhaps she was in mourning,” Lord Brigham suggested.
“Again, I say, why wear one so thick? It seems far more likely to me that this person did not wish to be recognised. And if she had been so injured that Miles felt the need to carry her, why leave her alone in the alley whilst he fetched his curricle?”
“Because she was not injured, and he was protecting her identity,” Lord Brigham said slowly. “Perhaps because she was not a maid.”
“Very good. And as we have established that this mysterious person was not a woman of questionable morals and reputation, she must be a lady. I must say, it was very chivalrous of Miles to come to her rescue in such a fashion.”
“Out with it, Frances!” Lord Brigham. “What notion have you got in that head of yours.”
“I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but I have never found Miles to be innately chivalrous,” she said gently. “And I can think of only one lady towards whom he might be feeling particularly generous towards on this particular day.”
She had the satisfaction of seeing her brother look surprised.
“Miss Edgcott? But why on earth would she be traipsing about alone, dressed as a maid of all things.”
“Apparently, Brigham, she was shopping.” Lady Bassington sounded a little disappointed. “I must admit, it was not a very exciting reason to go about incognito.”
“But I would hazard a guess that it became far more exciting than Miss Edgcott would have liked,” her brother said dryly. “Let us hope she has learned her lesson!”
Chapter 14
When Eleanor accompanied Diana down to breakfast, she was relieved to discover that Frederick had not yet put in an appearance, feeling that she needed a little time to regain her usual equilibrium.
She picked up the letter that had been placed beside her plate and opened it.
“Would you like coffee or chocolate, ma’am?”
“Chocolate, please,” she said absently.
“Coffee for me, Stanley,” Diana said. “Well, Eleanor? Is it an invitation?”
“Yes,” she said. “It is from Lady Bassington. She has invited us to go with her party to Richmond Park. She has also invited Georgianna and Marianne.”
Eleanor had already accepted an invitation to go there with Lord Allerdale, but now the prospect of spending so long alone in his company did not seem quite so attractive. It was not so much his words that had upset her but the horribly cutting tone in which he had uttered them. How dared he speak to her in such a way? This was a much better scheme, and although she thought it highly likely that he would be one of the party, it should be easy enough to ensure that he had no opportunity to cut at her again.
“When does she intend to go?” Diana asked.
“Today. She says she will call for us at twelve o’clock unless she hears otherwise.”
“Who will call for you?” Lord Haverham said, coming into the room.
“Lady Bassington,” Diana said. “She has invited us to go to Richmond Park with her. Would you like to accompany us?”
“Why not?” Lord Haverham said. “I can think of nothing I would rather do than stroll with my wife through the park. We might even catch sight of the deer; you would like that, Diana. But I shall take you myself, in the barouche, you are looking a little pale, my dear, and the fresh air will do you good.”
“Thank you,” she said softly, reaching for her coffee.
Eleanor pushed her chair back. “I had better go and write a note to Lady Bassington informing her that we have no need of her escort, and I will need to have a word with Mrs Finley as she has asked us to bring a basket of something. Apparently, we are to enjoy an al fresco luncheon.”
“There is time enough, Eleanor,” Lord Haverham said. “Eat your breakfast first; there is little enough of you as it is.”
Eleanor had half risen, but she sat again and obediently nibbled at a piece of bread and butter. Diana put down her cup and suddenly slumped forwards, resting her elbows on the table and dropping her head into her hands.
“Diana?” Lord Haverham said, looking a little alarmed. “You do not look well.”
She did not answer him, but sat drawing in long, slow breaths, apparently unable to speak.
“Are you feeling sick again?” Eleanor asked.
“Yes,” Diana whispered. “I think it was the coffee.”
This pronouncement seemed to act powerfully upon Lord Haverham. He rose so swiftly to his feet that his chair went toppling backwards, but he no longer looked alarmed, on the contrary, his eyes gleamed with a mixture of hope and excitement.
“My dear,” he said, “my love, dare I to hope… could it be… what I mean to say is that the only time I have ever known coffee to make you feel ill is when you are in a delicate condition.”
Diana roused herself enough to raise her head.
“You are right, Freddy,” she murmured, her eyes widening. “Do you mind?”
“Mind?” he said, “Mind? My darling, my angel, I could not be more pleased.”
He went to her and scooped her up. “I shall take you to your maid immediately. She will know what is best for you.”
Diana wilted against him. “Yes, but hurry, dearest, I am afraid I am about to be dreadfully ill.”
“Out of the way, Stanley,” he snapped.
The footman sprang back from the chair he had just picked up and flattened himself against the wall. Eleanor offered him a sympathetic smile as Lord Haverham strode hastily from the room, and then considered the half-eaten slice of bread and butter upon her plate. After a moment she pushed it away. My love, my angel, Freddy! If that was what falling in love reduced one to, she hoped very much that she would not become a victim to its clutches. Whilst she was pleased that Frederick and Diana seemed to be enjoying a second honeymoon, she found these exchanges rather cloying.
She did not write to Lady Bassington, assuming that neither Diana nor Frederick would be accompanying her anywhere but instead penned a few lines to Miss Crabtree, sure that she would be on tenterhooks until she knew the results her letter had produced. She then went to the kitchen and desired Mrs Finley to pack whatever she thought would be appropriate for an al fresco luncheon.
It was not Lady Bassington who came to collect her, however, but Georgianna and Marianne, their carriage flanked by Lord Somerton and Lord Cranbourne on horseback.
“Lady Bassington asked us to bring you, after all,” Georgianna said, once the door was closed behind her. “She had also invited Lady Selena Sheringham but seems not to have considered that five people would be rather too many in one carriage. Is Lady Haverham not coming?”
“She is not well,” Eleanor said. “It appears that Diana is also expecting a happy event, but she is not as fortunate as you, Georgianna; she is suffering from all those horrid symptoms you described to me.”
“Poor Diana!” Marianne said. “But perhaps it is all for the best, Eleanor, for I am afraid that both Georgianna and I
are leaving Town the day after tomorrow, and so we will not be able to help keep Lord Sandford away from Lady Haverham. We will have much to do tomorrow as we will be leaving early the following morning.”
“This is a little sudden,” Eleanor said.
“I know, and I do apologise. My very good friend and neighbour, Lady Charlotte Bamber, has given birth to a little boy, and whilst he is perfectly healthy, her mama-in-law hinted in the letter she sent me that Charlotte is not quite herself. I feel I must go to her, for I am always able to lift her spirits and bolster her confidence, which is what I suspect she needs most.”
“Yes, of course. And are you also to go, Georgianna?”
“No, although I shall certainly pay her a visit when I can; we all shared a room at Miss Wolfraston’s Seminary. Besides, I wish to discover exactly what to expect when my time comes.”
“I hope that it is not bad news that has called you away?” Eleanor said.
“No, although Somerton has received a letter from his father.” An amused smile lit her eyes. “The duke is sadly out of curl. He said that he hoped we were enjoying gadding about Town and that we were not to spare him a thought for he was quite used to rattling around Rushwick Park on his own, after all.”
“Oh dear,” Eleanor said. “He is feeling sorry for himself.”
“Precisely. Somerton said I should not be taken in by his humdudgeon, that he was a manipulative, overbearing old scoundrel who would manage very well without us for a few more weeks.” Georgianna smiled. “He is all of those things, as I have often told him, but he is a dear underneath his gruffness, at least to me, and I am aware how selfish I am being in keeping my condition from him when I know he will be cast into transports by the news.”
“I shall be sorry to see you both go,” Eleanor admitted. “But only because I shall miss your friendship. I suspect that Haverham will send Diana back to Standon at any moment, and even if he doesn’t, Lord Sandford is no longer a problem.”
“Why not?”
Marianne and Georgianna had spoken as one, and Eleanor laughed. She did not hesitate to tell them of her morning’s adventures. Marianne found no fault with her plan and fully entered into her indignation at the way Lord Allerdale had spoken to her.