A Sisterly Regard (20 page)

With that resolve firmly in mind, she strode from the room and
downstairs to the private parlor. She intended to demand that he first find
her a maid, and second, return her to her family.

He was sitting at the table sipping brandy. "It is about time. I
have been awaiting you this age."

When he made no motion to offer her refreshment, she planted
her fists upon her hips. "I suppose I must order my own tea?"

"If you want some." He contemplated the golden liquid in his
glass. "I have been thinking, Miss Hazelbourne, and have come to the
conclusion that we will not suit."

"Ha! As if I would even consider you as a husband."

"I cannot understand what possessed me to yield to your
importunities. I must have been drunk to consider an elopement."

"You were as eager as I. You said that you wanted to marry me
and take care of me. If this is how you do so, I pity any woman foolish
enough to become your wife."

"I did take care of you. I provided a handsome coach and ample
funds. You cannot expect me to be a nurse or doctor as well."

"A husband should care for his wife in sickness," she said. "It so
states in the marriage vows."

"You are not my wife, so I have not promised you anything of
the sort."

"You should begin as you would go on."

"There are servants for that sort of thing. Mother would never
have subjected me to such indignities." He refilled his empty glass.

"My mother would have held my head while I was being sick and
then washed my face afterward."

"Perhaps you should return to her then."

"I would, if I could. Oh, Jeremy, you neglected me so
dreadfully. How could you be so unkind?"

"I, unkind? I did not soil your clothing and practically ruin your
coach," he replied, clearly unmoved.

"I could not help myself. I get so sick when I travel."

"Well, then, why did you suggest we elope? You must have
known it is at least three days' travel to Scotland, if the roads are
dry."

"I did not think of that when I made my plans. I only wanted to
escape."

"And I was a convenient tool. What a selfish girl you are." His
eyes no longer shone with devotion, but instead showed disgust.

"I did not mean to be. I truly wanted to elope with you." She
began to weep again. "Oh, Jeremy, please do not be unkind. I am sorry I
ruined your clothing. And I do appreciate your rescuing me." She lowered
her chin and looked at him from under her thick lashes, a tactic that always
worked with her father. "Jeremy, please forgive me."

His anger was not proof against her pleading eyes and quivering
chin. He patted her hand and told her to stop crying. "Let me pour you
some brandy. You will feel much more the thing, and I could use another
glass myself. Dinner should be served soon."

Chloe sipped her brandy. She had never tasted it before, and was
not sure she liked its burning sensation on her tongue. The glow
emanating from her midriff after the third sip was pleasant, however.
Their dinner soon arrived and they set to willingly. The meal was not as
elaborate as they would have received in a better inn, but it was well
enough cooked and plentiful.

While they ate, Chloe considered what she might do to free
herself from the pickle in which she had become enmeshed. She had no
intention of marrying Jeremy. How was she to get herself back to London
without causing talk? Would he be willing to share his coach for the return
journey? She doubted it, now that he knew of her tendency to motion
sickness.

For the first time, she realized she might well and truly have
compromised herself. Her papa might demand that Jeremy make an
honest woman of her.

Oh, no, I could not abide that. Papa will understand. He
must!

The covers had been removed and she and Jeremy were sitting in
an uncomfortable silence when she became aware that the private parlor
next door was also inhabited. From the half-heard comments and loud
laughter, she decided it was occupied by a group of gentlemen making
merry. When the waiter came in to remove the covers, Lord Everingham
asked him why the inn was so full.

"It's that mill, my lord. Lawks, you was lucky to get here early.
We're plumb full, for all we're twelve miles from Turvey."

"Good God!" Everingham exclaimed. "I forgot."

"What did you forget?"

"The mill. I was going to go to it myself. Now we are in the
soup. We must get you to your bedchamber immediately, before someone
sees you." He looked fearfully about the room as if expecting his mother's
spies to be lurking in each corner.

"Why?"

"If there is a crowd of gentlemen from London in this very inn,
someone may recognize us. You would be ruined."

He rose to pace the length of the chamber. "You must go to
your bedchamber immediately, and remain there until everyone has left
the inn tomorrow morning."

"I will not. It small and cold, and the chimney smokes. I wish to
remain here. Why can you not go to
your
chamber?"

Everingham pulled himself to his full height, but somehow failed
to look either imposing or commanding. "Go at once, Chloe."

"You may not give me orders. We are not married, nor will we
be. I will not be dictated to. I shall remain here as long as you do."

"You are a spoiled brat, Miss Hazelbourne!"

"And you are a mama's boy with no hint of a spine."

"Well, you have the temper of a shrew and I am sick of
it."

"As I am of your cowardice. I will stay in this room and I will
not go to bed. If you try to force me to do so, I shall scream."

"Scream away, my dear," he said. "It will not be my reputation
destroyed."

"It will too, for you will be as ruined as your wife."

"My mother would never forgive me if I made you my
wife."

She was suddenly afraid. "She might not, but I will be your wife,
if I am compromised." The possibility seemed somewhat more desirable
than it had a few minutes ago.

"My mother told me you were a scheming female. Would that I
had listened to her."

"Your mother!" Chloe shrieked. "Your mother may rot for all I
care. I thought you were a man. You are nothing but a little boy still tied
to his mother's apron strings!"

"I am a gentleman and a peer of the realm," he shouted back,
"and I do not have to listen to vilification from a common chit."

"How do you propose to escape it, my lord?" she yelled. "You
brought me here unaccompanied and I will tell everyone that you did so
for immoral purposes. You will marry me, my lord, or I will destroy your
reputation."

"And your own in the process. Cry quits, Miss Hazelbourne. My
consequence is so much greater than yours that you will not be believed.
Besides, my mother will come to my assistance, and her influence is
considerable."

His mention of his mother was too much for Chloe. She seized
the glass of brandy from the table and flung it, glass and all, at his face. His
yowl of rage and pain, as the strong liquor stung his eyes and the heavy
glass struck his forehead, followed her as she dashed into the
corridor.

Chloe's headlong rush through the corridor was halted when a
tall, dark man stepped from the door of the adjacent parlor.

"Oh, please sir, let me pass. I must escape," she cried.

"If you are being pursued, perhaps you could use some
assistance," he replied.

Just then Everingham, still half blinded from the brandy,
blundered after her.

"Ah, Everingham, I presume. Why are you pursuing this young
lady?"

Everingham stopped short. "Wilderlake? Is that you,
Wilderlake?" he said in a faint voice.

"Wilderlake?" Chloe whispered. "Oh, no!" She crowded past
him and ran up the stairs.

Wilderlake and his companions had watched their favorite go
down to defeat. The Plymouth Pug had proved no match for his bigger,
faster opponent. After paying off their bets, they repaired to the inn where
they had earlier reserved a private parlor. Despite their disappointment at
the fight's outcome, they settled in for a convivial evening. Wine
consumed with dinner and port afterward increased their jollity, so that all
four were in high spirits when a woman's angry voice came from the
parlor next to theirs.

At first he ignored the altercation, but as it continued,
Wilderlake became concerned. He could not hear the words, but he could
tell that the woman from whom they issued was in great distress. He
decided to fetch the innkeeper, to suggest that he investigate. As he
stepped into the corridor, a young woman in garments that spoke of her
gentility flew from the next room and ran full into him. She immediately
pulled back and asked to be let by, never once showing her face. As he
moved aside, he saw a young man rush from the room in pursuit. His face
and hair were wet. Wilderlake recognized him in the light shining through
the open doorway.

"Ah, Everingham, I presume. Why are you pursuing this lady?"
He was intrigued to discover the unimpressive young lord in such an inn
with a woman. His impression of Everingham was poor, for the fellow
seemed overly attached to his mother. Along with many bachelors of the
ton
, Wilderlake thought him a fussy, effeminate fellow.

The young woman, who had paused after passing Wilderlake,
shrieked, then ran up the stairs. Everingham attempted to follow her, but
Wilderlake barred his way.

"I do not believe the young lady cares for your company" he
said.

"Stand aside, Wilderlake," Everingham said, trying to dodge
him. "This is none of your concern."

"No, it is not, yet she has the look of quality. I wish to know
why she was so bent upon escaping you."

"I will kill her!" Everingham cried.

"I could not permit that," Wilderlake told him. "Come,
Everingham, do calm yourself."

One of the others snickered "She probably attempted to seduce
him and he is insulted."

"Or she turned him down, and he is enraged," another
suggested.

"Here, Everingham, come into your parlor and tell me what this
is about. You three, return to your port." He pushed the younger man
through the open door and closed it on him. Turning to his friends, he
said, "Everingham has probably embroiled himself in something that he has
not the wit to handle. Let me see what I can discover."

"Good God, Herne," one of his friends said, "are you mad? The
girl is obviously no better than she should be, else she would not be here
with that young fool. Instead of helping him, we should be knocking on
her door. Perhaps she could ease our loneliness this evening, and we could
have a bit of sport."

"You always was a puritan," another added.

The third started toward the stairs. "I'll go and see what's amiss
with the girl. She looked a choice bit, even in this dim light."

Wilderlake stopped the bantering and his friend's progress down
the corridor with a stern, "That's enough. Get you back into our parlor. I
can handle this without help from you three idiots. If the girl is truly a
maiden in distress we must come to her aid."

"Aw, Herne, you just want her for yourself," the one who had
attempted pursuit complained.

Wilderlake shoved his friends back, saying, "You're drunk. All
three of you. Go back to your wine. I won't be long." He closed them into
their parlor and returned to Everingham, whom he found sitting at a table
with his hands covering his face.

"Now then, what is all this? Is the girl a lightskirt? Or is she the
lady she appeared?"

"I do not associate with lightskirts!"

"Of course you do not. I daresay your mother would not allow
it."

"My mother has nothing to say--" Everingham sat erect in the
chair and let his head fall back. A deep sigh shook his slight frame. "I wish I
had never embarked on this insane adventure. She is a terrible girl. Look
at me, Wilderlake. My garments are ruined. The second time today! She
threw brandy in my face. Nearly blinded me." His voice held a hint of
tears.

"Perhaps you had better tell me the whole tale from the
beginning." Wilderlake poured a glass of brandy. "Here, drink this, and
then tell me all about it."

Lord Everingham did so, with many false starts and parenthetical
animadversions on the girl's character and temper and manners. When he
described her sickness in the coach, Wilderlake was hard put to refrain
from a snicker. As the tragicomic tale wound to its close, he still did not
know the identity of the young woman who had led Everingham astray.
Although all but overcome with curiosity, he bit back his questions.

"When I told her I did not wish to elope with her after all, she
threatened to tell everyone I had abducted her," Everingham said, still
sounding terribly put upon. "I assured her that my mother would assist me
in shifting all the blame to her, should she do so. And then, Wilderlake,
she threw brandy into my eyes!"

Wilderlake kept a close rein on his amusement. "What do you
intend to do now? Will you return her to her family?"

"I shall visit a friend in the neighborhood, as I had planned to do
before...before she led me astray. Alone. I do not care what becomes of
Miss Hazelbourne."

"Miss Hazelbourne?" Wilderlake half rose and loomed over
Everingham. "Do you mean to tell me the young lady you eloped with is
Miss Hazelbourne?"

"Why yes, did I not say so? She convinced me that her parents
and her sister were in league against her to prevent her achieving a success
of her Season. Having had a taste of her tongue, I believe them well
justified."

Before he could speak another word, Wilderlake seized his shirt
in both hands and shook him like a wayward pup. "You brought that
innocent girl out here, mistreated her, shouted at her, threatened her, and
now you intend to abandon her. You cad! I should call you out."