Amanda Scott (33 page)

“Oh, yes, but I did not want to go there even if Marcus had not said it was too far away to be convenient for him to look after me. ’Tis in Norfolk, Gwen, practically on the coast, and as lonely as that place yonder in the painting, I daresay.”

“Gracious, you make them both sound a million miles away,” Gwenyth said, laughing. But when Pamela opened her mouth to reply, she held up a hand to silence her. “No, never mind. I do understand why you preferred to come to London. But what is your purpose in coming to me? I cannot help you evade your rightful guardian, you know. ’Twould be very wrong of me.”

“You never bothered your head much about right and wrong at Miss Fletcher’s,” Pamela pointed out with a mischievous smile.

“But, really—”

“No, don’t say it, Gwen. I don’t want you in the suds on my account, but surely you can help me teach Marcus a lesson, show him I have some protection against his wicked designs.”

Gwenyth studied her face for a long moment before she said, “Are you certain he has such designs, Pamela? I remember you were used to exaggerate quite remarkably whenever it suited you to do so, so I hope you are not making up this tale merely to obtain my sympathy.”

Pamela looked wounded. “How can you think such a thing? Have I not told you he has no money? Only imagine what it must be like for him to be forced to look after a tremendous fortune like mine and to have a huge estate to put in order, as he does, without being able to touch the first to aid the second.” She paused long enough to allow that argument to sink in, then added, “The simplest answer to his plight is clearly to marry me. Why else would he say he will not countenance my marriage to anyone just yet, and why else would he keep me shut up at school, where he knows I cannot even meet any eligible young men, if it is not so that he might one day make me Countess of Lyford?”

“Lyford?” The elusive memory took form with a snap. “Your cousin is not just Marcus Beckley but the tenth Earl of Lyford?”

“Well, I don’t know about tenth,” Pamela said defensively, “and his family name is Hawtrey, not Beckley, but he is certainly the Earl of Lyford. Why does that make you frown so? Do you know him? Oh, Gwen, you won’t take his side?” She burst into tears. “Promise me you won’t!”

“I don’t know him at all, and of course I shan’t take his side,” Gwenyth said, unmoved by her weeping. “Not without hearing it, in any event. Do try not to be such a widgeon.”

“But I am desperate,” Pamela insisted, blotting her tears with the damp handkerchief as she added with a soulful sigh, “If you won’t help me, I daresay I shall have to set out alone, and most likely I shall be taken prisoner by bandits and forced to Herculean efforts to protect my honor and fortune.”

“Stop that, Pamela. You will make me ill. Let me think.”

Obediently, and not without a glimmer of hope in her expressive eyes, Miss Beckley dropped the handkerchief distastefully onto the table and turned her attention to the bowl of fruit. Selecting a ripe red apple, she sank her white teeth into it, ignoring the knife provided for her use.

The drawing-room doors opened again just then, and a very broad-shouldered, light-brown-haired gentleman of three-and-thirty years entered, his head thrust forward, his dark brows beetling, his mouth set in stern lines.

“Gwenyth, I find that I must leave London today, at once, in fact, and—” He broke off in surprise as his gaze encountered the lovely Miss Beckley. Straightening, he appeared for a long moment to have been struck speechless.

“Pamela,” Gwenyth said, amused, “may I present my brother Tallyn. Joss, this is Miss Beckley, a friend from Miss Fletcher’s. I believe I have mentioned her name to you upon one occasion or another.”

“Never did,” Tallyn said, making his bow with more care than she was accustomed to seeing in him. “I’d remember. Do you make a long stay in London, Miss Beckley?”

Pamela had risen to her feet as she spoke and, having wiped her hands daintily upon a linen napkin, made her schoolgirl curtsy, but his question brought such a look of confusion to her face that Gwenyth took pity on her and said composedly, “Her plans are unsettled, Joss. Indeed, we were just discussing what she ought next to do.”

“Good, good,” Tallyn said, still staring appreciatively at the younger girl.

Gwenyth experienced an unfamiliar urge to prick him with a pin. “Did you wish to speak to me?” she inquired politely.

“Speak to you?” He glanced at her, then took control of himself and said more sharply, “Yes, yes, indeed, I did.”

“Oh, dear, what have I done now?”

“Not a thing,” he replied impatiently. Then, looking at her more carefully, he added, “Nothing that I know about, in any event. Is there something?”

“No, sir. Do come to the point. People seem most anxious today to
say
they wish to speak to me, but then they waste an unconscionable amount of time before they actually do so.”

“Well, if you would pause long enough in your own speech-making to let a fellow get a word in,” he retorted unfairly, “I would tell you I am off to Plas Tallyn for a fortnight, maybe longer. A letter from my steward by this morning’s post informed me of matters there requiring my presence. Nothing serious, but I have not set foot on the place since February, so a trip is certainly in order. I cannot leave you here alone, of course.”

“Don’t be nonsensical, Joss. I am twenty years old, and I have Marwyn and the other servants to look after me, not to mention my own Annie Gray, all stuck in London just as we are.”

“We could have gone home.”

“And left poor Meriel? What if something had happened, and us a million miles away in the north of Wales?”

“Poor Meriel is at Maidenhead with her children, her house, and her husband to occupy her,” Tallyn said, “and that makes her a most unsuitable chaperon for you now, my dear, particularly in her present delicate condition with Antony away on one of his many little journeys. If he were home … But since he is not, I think I must insist upon your accompanying me to Wales.”

Knowing from experience that to argue with him would produce no result other than a loss of his temper and her own, and not wishing to present the spectacle of a Traherne family squabble to her guest, Gwenyth collected her thoughts rapidly while Tallyn pulled at his lower lip and gazed at her. Then, just as it looked as though his mind were made up and he really was going to insist, she said calmly, “I believe you are right, Joss. For me either to stay with Meriel or to require her chaperonage just now would be too great an imposition. Perhaps you would not object, however, if I were to pay a visit to our aunt in Berkshire.”

“Berkshire? What the devil is Auntie Wynne doing in Berkshire?”

“Now, Joss, she was there from the first of October, after the old earl died, till late January, as you must remember very well, and after she left us to visit Meriel, she went back to stay with the ancient dowager.” She glanced at Pamela as Tallyn chuckled, just as she had hoped he would.

“Forgot about that,” he said. “Wrong of her to call her the old countess so, of course, but one can certainly understand the provocation. Auntie Wynne can’t much enjoy being cooped up in Berkshire with that old harridan.”

“She believed it was her duty.” She smiled at Pamela. “As I told you before, my aunt, the Viscountess Cadogan, is bearing company to her mama-in-law, who was widowed last September. It will be just the thing for us.” She watched Pamela closely this time to see if the date or her aunt’s name drew any sign of recognition. They did not.

“Wait now, Gwen,” Tallyn said, shaking his head. “I aim to take ship from Portsmouth and sail up the coast, so I don’t travel by your route, and it ain’t fittin’ for you to go there alone, even if you take your woman with you.”

“I shall take Miss Beckley with me,” Gwenyth said casually. “She was telling me just before you came in that she has been feeling the heat of the city, and we were seeking a way for her to find relief. A visit to Berkshire will be the very thing.”

“But she’s only a child.” Tallyn beamed at Pamela, who lifted her chin and rewarded him with a sunny, demure smile. “A very pretty child,” he added, “but one who needs protection as much as you do, my girl. Still, I suppose if you take her maid as well as your own …”

“No doubt we will take our nuncheon at Davies Manor,” Gwen said, not wishing to encourage discussion of Pamela’s nonexistent maid, “so I daresay I can ask Meriel to lend me her pistol if that will make you more comfortable.”

He glared. “Less of that, my girl, or it’s Wales for you.”

At the same time, Pamela, who was staring at her in astonishment, said, “your sister has a pistol?”

Gwenyth chuckled. “When you meet her, you must ask her to tell you about her adventures when she went into France six years ago. ’Tis a rare tale, right enough.”

“’Tis a tale best left untold,” said Tallyn grimly. “Don’t bid farewell to me, Gwenyth, thinking I shall turn a blind eye to any such activities on your part. If Miss Beckley’s family does allow her to accompany you, I do not wish to be regaled upon my return with complaints about your lack of care for her.”

“Oh, that would never happen,” said Pamela ingenuously. “You see, my family—”

“Her family,” said Gwenyth, cutting in swiftly, “knows perfectly well that I would never allow harm to come to Pamela.”

“Very well, then,” he said, “but mind, Gwen, your coachman is to take one of the grooms along, armed with a blunderbuss. I don’t want the pair of you attacked by footpads or worse.”

“We will be very careful, Joss, I promise. Do tell everyone at home that we think of them often.”

He nodded, favoring her with a long look, which she met steadily, and then, with another bow, he took himself off, leaving Gwenyth to breathe a sigh of relief.

“He is very handsome for an older gentleman,” Pamela said thoughtfully into the silence that followed his departure.

Gwenyth grinned at her. “Doddering old man that he is.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean that,” Pamela assured her. “He thought I was beautiful, didn’t he? I can tell, you know. He looked at me much the way our last drawing master did before Miss Fletcher dismissed him. He had a wart on his cheek, though.”

Gwenyth ignored this tangent, saying, “You nearly let the cat out of the bag, Pamela. We are fortunate that Joss is in a hurry and did not ask more about your parents or maid. Had you told him you were here on your own, he would have put an end to any plans of ours and sent you straight back to Miss Fletcher.”

“Oh, he would not be so unkind!”

“I assure you, he would. His sense of duty is strong, and he can be very strict. I know to my cost, believe me.”

Pamela looked at her. “Then I suppose it is as well that we did not tell him. Do you really mean to take me to your aunt?”

“Yes, indeed, but there is one thing you ought to know before I do, my dear. You did hear us say that her mama-in-law is a dowager countess, did you not? Widowed within the year?”

Pamela nodded, bewildered.

“I was a ninnyhammer not to have seen the connection at once, of course,” Gwenyth said. “Do you not think the coincidence of two earls dying within the same span of time might have occasioned rather extraordinary remark within the
beau monde
?”

“Why, I suppose it would, but what is that to the purpose?”

“Only that my aunt’s mama-in-law is the Countess of Lyford.”

“Oh!” Pamela stared at her in dismay. “Then we must not think of going there. Why, Marcus—”

“You must face him sooner or later,” Gwenyth pointed out, “and at Molesford Abbey you will have my support, my aunt’s, and no doubt Lady Lyford’s too. According to Auntie Wynne, the dowager says little in favor of the new earl. Moreover, you said your cousin had gone elsewhere on business, did you not?”

“But he will return,” Pamela exclaimed, wringing her hands together, “and when he does—”

“When he does, we will simply explain the situation to him,” Gwenyth said matter-of-factly.

Pamela let out a long breath. “Are you certain that your aunt will be willing to help us?”

“Of course she will. She will have any number of good ideas as to what must be done to foil your wicked cousin.”

“Well, he is wicked,” Pamela said, relaxing again and picking up her apple. “He has no business to be telling me what to do and saying that I cannot do what dear Papa promised, merely because it is inconvenient to him. We must show him that I can manage perfectly well on my own. Do you think perhaps your aunt might be induced to sponsor me, Gwen? Just for the Little Season, of course, for I should not expect her to present me, and Almack’s will not be open, will it?”

“No, the subscription balls are held only in the spring, though I daresay we might attend concerts and lectures there.”

“Oh, well, concerts are well enough, but I have had enough fusty lectures at school to last a lifetime, I promise you.”

Chuckling, Gwenyth told her to drink up her tea. Then, a moment later, when another thought occurred to her, she said, “I say, did you bring any of your belongings with you?”

Learning that Pamela had managed to carry away no more than a nightdress and a few sundries in a small satchel, Gwenyth rang the bell and ordered her coach to take them to Leicester Square. “For you will never fit into my clothes, and you must have several gowns, at least. My dressmaker will accommodate us at once, even if it means altering something she has already finished for someone else, and while she is attending to that, we will shop for other necessities. As we go, you may tell me all about the new Earl of Lyford. If we are to fight him, I must know as much about him as you can reveal to me.”

But, as she discovered in the coach, other than that Cousin Marcus was a harsh and unfeeling man who wanted her money, Pamela could divulge little more. “He went to school here in England, I believe, but I know he has lived somewhere out of the country too, for he was away when Papa died. In fact, he did not return until just before Christmas, which was nearly a year afterward.”

“Goodness, perhaps he lived in the American colonies for a time like my brother Tallyn did. How old is he?”

“Oh, as old as your brother, I daresay, though he seems older since he’s always so stern and crotchety. But I do not think it was America,” she said doubtfully. “Did your brother truly live there?” When Gwenyth nodded, Pamela said, “He looks as though he could do almost anything, but Marcus would no doubt have got scalped by one of their wild Indians through trying to tell him how to manage his affairs.” Giving a dramatic shudder, she added, “He may very well scalp me when he sees me.”