Lovely Lying Lips

by Valerie Sherwood

  “Very well, let’s do that,” said Chesney enthusiastically, throwing his arms about her. “We will lock the door now!” Constance, who had been about to add “Eventually the Squire will break the door down but by then you will be far from here—” paused with her mouth open and at that moment Chesney’s eager mouth closed down over hers in an enthusiastic if not very expert kiss. She felt his lips, his eager tongue, as she tried to push him away.

  “I will have no dowry!” she flung at him, thinking to rid herself of him that way.

  “No dowry?” He drew back. “But I thought Cart said—”

  “No matter what Cart said, I will not accept a dowry from—” in her excitement she had almost said “my uncle” —“from the Squire under these circumstances!”

  Chesney’s head bobbed in agreement—it was a head much used to bobbing in agreement. He had been agreeing with his mother ever since he was born. Perhaps she will change her mind, he thought. Cart had said Constance would have a dowry almost as large as Pamela’s. A girl would not be such a fool as to turn that down! Not when she’d had time to think about it. In any event, his mother had lots of money.

  “You are a fool!” cried Constance desperately.

  “Not such a fool,” corrected Chesney with indisputable logic. “For have I not just won you?”

  Those simple words set her blinking. And suddenly she realized this was the easy way—to become betrothed to Chesney.

  It would buy her time. Time to make her plans. Time to run.

  Part Two

  The Strange Wedding

  He's relatively sure that she’s relatively pure

  (At least he hopes so in his nervous heart!)

  And he never even dreams that she isn't what she seems

  And is marrying him to leave here, for a start!

  The Twelfth Night Ball,

  Axeleigh Hall, Somerset,

  January 6, 1685

  Chapter 26

  Professing a calm he did not feel, the Squire led the pair of them—a beaming Chesney with his boots restored to him, and a Constance who was at least pale and steady and whose ripped gown had been hastily pinned together—into the center of the floor of his festive drawing room. Questions, explanations, could be satisfied afterward, the important thing was to make it all official!

  The musicians were taking a break and everyone turned around to watch as the Squire cleared his throat portentously.

  “I would announce to this company the betrothal of my ward, Constance,” he told them in a clear ringing voice, “to a gentleman from Dorset whom you’ve all met—Chesney Pell.”

  His announcement had the effect of breaking up the party. Although most guests flocked around, offering their surprised congratulations, some did not:

  Across the room Ned Warburton turned ashen. He glared at Constance, who lifted her chin defiantly and looked away from him. With a muttered curse he flung out and they could hear him crash into the front door as he attempted to barge through it.

  Tony Warburton’s thunderstruck gaze swung from the Squire to Constance. For a bitter moment he held his ground, then strode after his brother. Constance, feeling she was dreaming all this rather than living it, could see through the window Ned’s figure racing across the drive in the moonlight with Tony in hot pursuit, headed for the stables.

  Margie Hamilton, who had had her eye on Ned from the first, found her father and gave his arm a tug. “I have a terrible headache,” she complained. “I think I’m coming down with something. Couldn’t we go home?” If they hurried, she was thinking, they might even catch up with the Warburton brothers on the road, walking their horses and talking it over. And they could ask them in for a hot drink, for the Hamiltons’ residence was next door to Warwood. (Margie could have walked to Warwood, had she chosen, rather than go there by sleigh the other day.) And over a hot drink, who knew what a young man on the rebound might do?

  The Hamiltons soon departed.

  “Oh, Tom, go after them,” urged Pamela under her breath, as soon as she could break away from the well-wishers and find him. “I’m sure Constance would rather marry Ned than that—that inane Chesney Pell!”

  Tom was equally certain. He departed, shaking his head.

  But whatever passed between the Warburton brothers—and Tom did not catch up with them and neither did the Hamiltons—Ned was back at Axeleigh the next day.

  A very determined Ned who insisted upon seeing Mistress Constance even though she sent down word that she was indisposed.

  “Tell her I’ll break down her door if I have to,” he warned Pamela.

  Pamela, sparkling-eyed, laughed. “I don’t think it will come to that,” she said. “Here she comes now.”

  And Ned looked up to see a very composed Constance descending the stairs. His hot gaze took in every inch of her, the soft slither of her wine velvet skirts as she moved toward him, the glorious dark cloud of her hair, the enticing feminine aura of her, the drifting scent of violets. The cold eyes that considered him.

  “I guessed you would not take no for an answer,” she told Ned quietly, for she had overheard his last comment to Pamela.

  “I’ll leave you two alone to talk it out,” said Pamela hastily. “Chesney is sleeping late,” she added. This was to inform Ned that Chesney was here but would not be interrupting whatever he had to say to Constance. For after the ball the Squire had firmly escorted Chesney to a spare bedchamber and informed him that he would occupy it until the banns were cried and he and Constance were safely wed.

  He had done more than that, had the Squire, but Pamela did not know it. He had told Tabitha she was to sleep on a cot in Constance’s room—and to guard her well. He had told her that if Constance ran away or if she told Pamela what he had said, he would dismiss her.

  “No need for you to leave, Pamela,” said Constance briskly. “I think Ned here is about to ask me why I chose Chesney over him. Is that not so?”

  Ned, who had not expected this frontal attack, reddened. “That is so indeed,” he muttered. “I would hear it from your own lips.”

  “Very well, I wish to marry Chesney and live in Lyme Regis. Is that enough for you?”

  “No, it is not,” cried Ned, thrusting out his jaw. “What is this attraction Pell has for you? Is it Lyme Regis? Is that it? Do you wish to go away from here so much that you would even marry to leave?”

  Constance paled for his chance thrust had struck home, and Pamela, who had turned about, looked bewildered.

  “It is the Squire’s desire that I marry,” she told Ned in as calm a voice as she could manage just then. “I have made my choice. Can you not accept it?”

  Ned’s baffled look said that he could not. “I’ll call Pell out,” he muttered. “I’ll rid the world of him!”

  “If you do that,” Constance’s voice rang out contemptuously, “I will publicly declare you a coward and a bully for calling out a man you know you can best—and never speak to you again as long as you live!”

  For a long moment they stared at each other and Pamela watched, fascinated, this battle of wills.

  Then, “Good day to you, Ned,” said Constance composedly. “I see no reason to prolong this conversation.” She started up the stairs and turned halfway up. “I think you might stop by the Hamiltons on your way back to Warwood,” she called down. “Margie Hamilton would be glad to see you!”

  Grinding his teeth, Ned flung out. He almost crashed into Pamela with the force of his departure.

  Pamela fled up the stairs after Constance. “You wouldn’t talk to me last night,” she cried. “Although I was dying to know! Whatever made you decide to marry Chesney? I couldn’t believe it when Father made the announcement!” Having caught up with Constance, she ran along beside her. “Oh, do tell me,” she pleaded. “Or I shall surely die of curiosity!”

  Constance turned on her. “Your father will tell you that I have been to bed with Chesney and that that is a good reason for marriage!”

  That brought Pamela to a
full stop. “And have you?” she gasped.

  Constance sighed. “No. But your father will have me marry him anyway.” She threw open the door to her bedchamber and beckoned Pamela inside. She was about to tell her the truth, but looking into that avid pink and white face, those fascinated crystal blue eyes, she knew she could not. Exuberant Pamela would never be able to keep it to herself! “For reasons that I cannot tell you,” she said, “I am not a virgin as Ned—indeed as all the world—thought me to be.”

  Thrilled, Pamela waited for further revelations.

  “And your father is determined that I shall wed someone.

  He got it into his head that it was Chesney who had seduced me—”

  “And it was not?”

  “No, it was not.”

  “Who was it?” breathed Pamela. “Captain Warburton?”

  Constance’s body gave a great jerk. “What makes you ask that?” she cried wildly.

  “Well, anyone could see from the way you look at each other—anyone except Ned, who has eyes only for you,” she added hastily. “I mean—well, when the announcement was made last night I was looking right into Captain Warburton’s face and for a moment 1 thought he might walk over and strike Father down! And then he took off after Ned—”

  Constance turned away. When she spoke she had got control of herself. “No, it was not Captain Warburton. Nor anyone you know.”

  That was a great disappointment to Pamela, who had been hoping for Captain Warburton.

  “You aren’t going to tell me who it was,” she accused in a complaining voice.

  “No, I am not.” Sharply. “And do not ask. I have already confided in you more than I should.”

  “Well, I certainly wouldn’t tell anybody.” Pamela bridled resentfully.

  “Not even Tom?” Constance shot at her. “For he is sure to ask you—on Ned’s behalf!”

  Pamela caught her breath and her eyes widened. Constance studied her for a long moment. Then abruptly she flung her arms around her and began to cry. “Oh, Pam,” she wept, “I am in such a terrible mess and no one—no one can get me out of it!” She dabbed at her eyes. “Your father has Tabitha guarding me,” she said shakily. “I’m being watched lest I escape!”

  “Of course you’re not being watched!” cried Pamela warmly. “Tabby only moved in with you because your room is warmer and her bones have been hurting her these last days.”

  “Ask her to move into your room and sleep by the hearth and see what happens,” cried Constance scornfully.

  Pamela did. Tabitha declined, insisting Constance’s room was much the warmer.

  That made Pamela very thoughtful. She wished Constance had confided in her who it was who had seduced her. It might have helped, she thought.

  It might indeed, but in no way that she was likely to guess.

  The morning had brought Ned but the afternoon brought a more formidable visitor from Warwood—Captain Warburton. A very determined Captain Warburton indeed, who tossed his reins to a groom and strode inside without being announced.

  From the window of Constance’s bedchamber Pamela saw him arrive and turned to report excitedly, “Captain Warburton just rode up.”

  “I have been expecting him,” said Constance grimly. And waited for Tabitha or Stebbins to knock on the door and announce that the Captain was here to see her.

  “Well,” said Pamela in some surprise as the moments dragged on. “It would seem the Captain is not here to see you.”

  “Then he will be interviewing the Squire,” said Constance wearily.

  That interview was not going well. Tony Warburton had swept in unannounced and caught the Squire seated at his desk in the library at work on his estate accounts. The Squire looked up as he entered.

  “I’ve been expecting you, Tony,” he said.

  “I little doubt it.” The Captain’s lean visage looked exceedingly grim. He was peeling off his gauntleted riding gloves as he spoke and now he tossed them onto the desk. “I feel you owe me an explanation, Clifford. You promised the girl to Ned. We shook hands on it. You said you would announce it at the ball. Yet when you made the announcement it was to betroth her to someone else. Ned is sore aggrieved over it, for he feels there’s something strange going on. He cannot believe that Constance is attracted to this fellow from Lyme—nor can I!”

  “Have a drink, Tony,” sighed the Squire, reaching for a pair of goblets and a bottle of Canary. “You’re going to need it.”

  Calmly his guest sat down and took the proffered goblet. The Squire had time to think that Tony Warburton had always had a very steady pair of eyes—never steadier than today when they looked across the desk with a cold uncompromising gleam.

  Clifford Archer came directly to the point. “I told Constance that I was betrothing her to Ned,” he said bluntly. “And she objected. She told me that she was already secretly betrothed and had gone too far with the fellow.”

  Captain Warburton was looking at him in some amazement. “Surely not Pell?” he murmured.

  The Squire nodded vigorously. “She said she feared she was pregnant by him.” His next words were got out with difficulty. “I know I gave you my word, Tony, and ’tis God’s truth I meant to honor it. But I couldn’t cheat Ned by giving him damaged goods.”

  Across from him the lean Captain’s gaze had gone thoughtful. He twirled his goblet, looking into the brilliant wine without seeing it. What he had just heard seemed to him incredible. Constance, he knew instinctively, was a woman of tinder—but that she should submit to Chesney Pell? Never! He knew his woman better than that.

  “So I take it ye spoke to Pell about it?” His gaze upon his friend was bland.

  “Aye, I caught them together and he admitted it! He’s staying with us now,” he added grimly. “And will be until the banns are cried and they are safely wed.”

  “Ye—caught them together?” The Captain’s look was keener now.

  “Aye. I was trying to shake the truth out of her and Pell came up and interfered. I pursued him to the attics and when I caught up with him he was in her bedchamber his boots off"

  He had probably tugged them off to flee without a clatter, thought the Captain sardonically.

  “And what did he say then?”

  “The fellow admitted it! Damme if he didn’t!” The surprise he still felt was mirrored in the crystal blue gaze Axeleigh’s squire turned on the Captain.

  Surprise was mirrored too in the gray eyes that met his—and disbelief.

  “And what did Mistress Constance have to say?” he wondered.

  “Oh, I listened not to the wench. She was tugging at one or t’other of us at the time, I believe. But I told him he would marry her—and he seemed pleased.”

  “Which is not too surprising,” murmured the Captain. “He’s been dangling after Constance ever since he got here.”

  “Aye, he had asked me if he could court her,” agreed the Squire wearily. “But then so many others have asked that I’m deadened to it by now.”

  Across from him Tony Warburton nodded sympathetically.

  “I can see your problem, Clifford.”

  “Ye can see that I had no choice, Tony?” demanded the Squire eagerly. “The fellow admitted he’d debauched her and they were already secretly betrothed without my knowledge. That was the way of it, Tony. Ye’ll not hold it against me? For we’ve been friends a long time. I could have sent Pell packing and forced it the other way—but ’twould have been a shabby trick on Ned.”

  Captain Warburton nodded. To his friend’s mystification he was looking almost happy. He was thinking. This clears the way for me with Constance. Ned is out of it now—and not by my doing. He’ll not hold it against me now if I take her for myself! In fact, hadn’t Ned said vengefully this morning at breakfast that he was going to squire Margie Hamilton everywhere, right under Constance’s fickle nose? As for Pell, he’d simply brush him aside! He rose. “I thank you, Clifford, for being so frank. I’ll be going now—but I think I’ll just offer Mistress Cons
tance my felicitations first.”

  In puzzlement the Squire rose also. “It’s very decent of you, Tony, to take this attitude. You’d have been within your rights to have called me out!”

  Tony Warburton laughed. It was a lighthearted laugh—as lighthearted as a boy’s. “Oh, I’m a civilized man, Clifford. I’d not be calling ye out for making a decision any man of honor would have made.” His big hand clapped the Squire warmly on the shoulder. “Well, good luck to ye, Clifford—whoever your ward’s husband turns out to be.”

  He left the Squire puzzling over that remark and went off in search of Constance.

  And found her just descending the stairs. She paled at sight of him.

  “I thought you’d gone,” she said.

  “Or else you wouldn’t have come down,” he said ironically, and swept her a mocking bow.

  “That’s right.” She was nettled by his tone. “I suppose the Squire has told you all about it?”

  “He has.”

  “Well, then?” Those purple velvet eyes challenged him. What do you want of me? they asked. That soft voice, like the whisper of the wind through the rushes, raked raw across his alert senses—that voice that seemed to him an echo from the past. Why do you stay? it seemed to be saying.

  “I came of course on Ned’s behalf,” he said carelessly, watching her.

  She tossed her dark head. “Ned is no longer to be considered. I am betrothed to another now.”

  “So I have been told. And the circumstances.”

  She flushed. “I will bid you good day. Captain Warburton.” “Constance—” he hesitated. “Are you sure you have not something to tell me?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Well,” he said humorously, “it seems a bit soon to decide yourself pregnant by someone you have known scarce a fortnight!”

  Constance draw herself up to her full height. “That is not your affair, Captain Warburton. I have known him long enough!”

  “Granted.” He smiled down at her speculatively. “But you could have known him for years and I’d never believe that you’d go to bed with him.”