Amanda Scott (50 page)

Pamela flushed, unable to meet her steady gaze. “His words do not bear repeating,” she muttered.

“You behaved badly,” Gwenyth said gently. “He had every right to express his displeasure, you know.”

Pamela’s chin went up. “I had a right to express my feelings too, Gwen, and if he thinks he can force me to marry him after treating me in such a gothic manner, he had better think again.”

“I don’t think he wishes to marry you at all.”

Pamela stared at her in astonishment. “I don’t know why you say that. Why would he
not
wish to marry me?”

Deciding that it would not be precisely tactful to tell her the earl didn’t even seem particularly to like her, Gwenyth was silent for a moment, trying to think how to put her answer into acceptable terms. Finally she said, “He is a good deal older than you are, my dear.”

“Pooh, nonsense,” Pamela snapped. “What has his age to do with it. You are only two years older than I am, and you like him well enough. Moreover, in my opinion, a man ought to be a good deal older than his wife.”

“Good heavens,” Gwenyth said, dismayed by the new thought Pamela’s words put into her head. “You aren’t looking in Sir Spenser’s direction, I hope. The countess said you had been making sheep’s eyes at him, but I’d not credited such a notion. Now here you are saying you want an older husband.”

Pamela heaved a sigh of exasperation and looked directly at her at last. “Don’t be daft, Gwen. That man, dear and sweet though he may be, is old enough to be my grandfather.”

“But you do spend a great deal of time talking to him. He comes here, I thought, to pay polite attention to the countess, but he spends most of his time in conversation with you.”

“Only because she is always surrounded by decrepit old men who bore him. He told me. If you want my opinion, I believe he’s always been in love with her and has never married because he has been keeping himself for her.”

“Pamela, you talk nonsense,” Gwenyth said, laughing.

“Well, call it what you like, but I like to talk to him. He tells me things I like to hear about. He is a little like Papa, you know, and I like him very much, but I don’t flirt with him.”

“You flirt with every man you meet,” Gwenyth said, laughing. “No, no, you goose, don’t flash your eyes at me. I’ll admit you don’t treat him to the same nonsense that you practice on Davy and Mr. Webster.”

“Oh, them,” Pamela said, a note of scorn in her voice.

“I thought you liked them!”

“Well, of course I do, but they are just boys.”

Gwenyth gave up that tangent and turned back to the primary issue, saying, “I think you had better wait until Lyford allows you to go to London before you look for a husband. He will, you know, because you are wrong about him. He doesn’t wish to marry you, and he does want you safely married and off his hands.”

Grimacing, Pamela said, “I do not know why you persist in thinking that he does not wish to marry me. He needs my money for this place, and every man I have ever met wishes to marry me. Why would he be any different?”

The conversation having come full circle with no good point having been made, Gwenyth suggested that they go down to the breakfast room. Pamela agreed at once, with undisguised relief, but just as Gwenyth was beginning to wonder what had ever possessed her to befriend the girl, Pamela turned impulsively on the stair landing and hugged her.

“You are so kind to me, Gwen. I don’t know how I’d get on without you. I’m so glad you came with me.”

Returning the hug, Gwenyth said, “I’m glad too, my dear.” And she realized that the sentiment was a sincere one, although her reasons were mixed and certainly did not all have to do with Pamela. They descended the stairs and entered the morning room to discover the countess and Lady Cadogan in tense discussion.

“You are merely being contrary, Almeria, and that’s the long and short of it,” Lady Cadogan said tartly as they entered.

“Good gracious, Wynnefreda,” retorted the countess, “but you are making a piece of work about nothing.”

Gwenyth, having no doubt of the cause of their dissension, spoke over her shoulder as she moved to examine the dishes on the sideboard. “Then you do truly intend to go to town, ma’am?”

“Of course, did I not say so?”

Pamela caught her breath audibly. “You are going to leave us, ma’am?”

The countess glared at her. “Leave you? No, of course not, goose. I mean for us all to go. Doubt you’d stay here on your own anyway, and can’t expect Wynnefreda to stay on if I go.”

Gwenyth looked in dismay from her aunt to the countess and then to Pamela, whose face was aglow with delight.

“You’ll take me?” Pamela’s voice squeaked.

“Didn’t I just say so? What a fuss you make!”

Gwenyth said sharply, “What about Lyford?”

The countess shrugged. “You sound just like Wynnefreda. Lyford is not here, so he can have nothing to say.”

“But Pamela is his responsibility, ma’am.”

“Fiddle faddle. If I hadn’t been in mourning, he would have saddled me with her quick enough. I am no longer in mourning, so there you are.”

Lady Cadogan shook her head and said to Gwenyth, “It is no use. I have been arguing with her for the past half-hour, to no avail whatever. She means to go, and I can think of no way to prevent her. Either we remain here without her, or we go.”

“Then we shall remain,” Gwenyth said flatly.

“We go,” said Pamela at the same moment.

The discussion continued for some time, but there was little that either Gwenyth or Lady Cadogan could do in the face of the others’ determination. Once it was pointed out that neither of them had the least authority over Pamela, Gwenyth knew they had lost. She appealed to the younger girl’s reason and to what little fear she had of the earl. Neither accomplished a thing.

“He is not here,” Pamela said flatly, “and if need be, we can be back again before he returns from Bristol. He ought to have taken me to London himself, but since he did not, I am very willing to go with her ladyship.”

Harping on the point of her ladyship’s state of mourning began to sound ridiculous even in Gwenyth’s ears. To quibble over what amounted to a period of no more than two or three weeks was the sort of thing that only the stuffiest patroness of Almack’s Assembly Rooms would do. That they would be running contrary to Lyford’s wishes bothered Gwenyth a good deal more, but it bothered neither Pamela nor the countess one whit.

They spent the next few days in preparation for the journey, the countess sending Frythorpe and a number of servants ahead to prepare the London house for occupation. She was in high croak. The only blight on her enthusiasm, since she liked a gentleman companion when she traveled, was that Jared could not be convinced to accompany them.

Apologizing profusely, he explained that he had business of his own to attend to, and though he did not say so, Gwenyth at least believed that he felt guilty that it was Lyford and not himself who had traveled to Bristol. Laughing, she asked him if he really meant to attend to business for once.

His smile lacked its usual gaiety. “I confess that although I do have some things to discuss with Powell, I also want to give Pamela a chance to miss my winning charm.”

She had no wish to encourage him in such a plan, for she knew Lyford would not change his mind about a match between his cousins, but she said nothing more, turning her attention instead to her packing. Though she thought more than once about the earl, the countess had no patience for delay, and in the flurry of activity surrounding her there was no much time for any of them to miss the gentlemen.

When Sir Spenser paid them a visit on Tuesday afternoon, Lady Lyford informed him with a placidity that belied all the bustle that she was off to town for a short spell.

He raised his quizzing glass and peered at her through it. “Are you, indeed, Almeria? How very brave of you. I quite admire your decision.”

“I thought you would disapprove,” she said bluntly.

“On the contrary,” he assured her, lowering his glass. “I have every respect for your good sense and I am sure the decision to cast off your mourning in time for the king’s celebration is the correct one. The royal family, though sticklers themselves, must be grateful to have in attendance a lady of your stature.”

Gwenyth, an interested observer of their conversation, was certain that if Lady Lyford had had a fan she would have fluttered it at him.

“You will make me blush,” the countess said, “and I am far too old to indulge in such girlish stuff.”

Sir Spenser shook his head. “When a lady ceases to blush,” he said, “she has lost the most powerful charm of her beauty, which is something that you will never do, Almeria.”

“Fiddle faddle,” replied the countess, but her tone lacked its usual snap. “’Tis naught but a sign of foolish sensibility, and I’ve no patience with it.”

“Such sensibility as blushing indicates may be a weakness and encumbrance in
our
sex,” Sir Spenser said grandly, “but in yours I believe it to be peculiarly engaging. Pedants, who think themselves philosophers, may ask why a woman should blush if she is conscious of no crime, but I believe it is a sufficient answer that nature has made you blush and has forced us to love you because you do.”

Gwenyth, suddenly recalling important matters to attend to and wishing Lyford might have heard the exchange, managed to stifle her amusement until she had reached her bedchamber.

They left for London on Friday morning, and although the countess refused to consider making the journey in a single day, it was not thought wise to burden Meriel with their party, so they passed the night at the Crown in High Wycombe instead, arriving in London on Saturday afternoon to find the town oppressively hot. Gwenyth sent word of their arrival at once to Davy at Tallyn London House, and he and Mr. Webster joined them for dinner that evening. No sooner had the two young gentlemen, dressed in nearly identical buff-colored breeches and long-waisted dark blue coats, entered the drawing room than the countess demanded to know if Davy had purchased her tickets.

He produced them at once from the pocket of his waistcoat, a stunning confection of red-and-white silk-striped quilting. “Got you a box in the third tier, ma’am. Most desirable location.”

Mr. Webster, to everyone’s surprise, since he rarely offered his opinion, muttered under his breath, “Mistake to go.” When he realized that they had all heard him, he blushed.

The countess turned her piercing glare upon him, much to his increased discomfiture. “What’s that you say? Speak up, young man, speak up!”

Since Mr. Webster only grew more tongue-tied than ever, Davy said, “He don’t think you ought to go, ma’am. Daresay you don’t know what’s been going on, since you don’t take the town papers and won’t have heard recent gossip, but there’s bound to be trouble when the new theater opens.”

“Trouble?” Lady Cadogan, her knitting in hand as usual at this time of day, cocked her head a little as she looked from one young man to the other. “What sort of trouble, Davy?”

“The theater management has raised the prices,” he said. “Those box tickets were all of seven shillings, but of course it ain’t the private boxes causing all the riot and rumpus. The common folk want the old prices. Can’t blame them, I suppose.”

Pamela smoothed the skirt of her white muslin dinner frock with an artful touch and tossed her head. “Surely if they have had to build a new theater, they have reason to raise the prices a trifle. I cannot see why people should fuss.”

“Perhaps,” Gwenyth pointed out gently, “because they cannot now afford the price of a ticket.”

Shrugging again, Pamela said, “The people who matter will not mind. What night do we go, and what shall we see?”

Davy grinned at her. “You aren’t afraid?”

“No, why should I be?”

“Because I just told you there will likely be a bother of one sort or another, that’s why.”

“Well, if the people who are objecting cannot afford a ticket, they cannot get inside, which is where we shall be, and I have never seen a London play.”

He looked at the countess. “And you, ma’am?”

She made a dismissive gesture. “I cannot believe there will be a problem, particularly inasmuch as we do not intend to go to the opening. These tickets are for Wednesday night. Surely all the fuss will have died away by men.
Richard III
is one of my favorite plays.”

“Oh,” Pamela said, her enthusiasm slightly dimmed, “Shakespeare, and not a comedy.”

“But a very educational play, my gel, and one that will make you glad to be living in modern times.”

“I am already glad to be living in them,” Pamela said. “Miss Fletcher told us people were used not to have glass in their windows or chimneys for their fires, which sounds very unpleasant to me. But I do not know why we cannot see a comedy.”

Gwenyth said, “Hush, Pamela. You ought to be grateful that the countess means to take you at all. Perhaps the farce will be amusing.”

Davy chuckled. “I don’t know. ’Tis something called ‘The Poor Soldier,’ which don’t sound promising. Web and I are going again on Thursday to see ‘The Widow’s Choice,’ which promises to be rather something. Opening night will be
Hamlet
, of course, but though I ain’t partial to Shakespeare and nor is Web, we don’t want to miss all the fun and gig there promises to be.”

As the ladies quickly discovered, the two young gentlemen were not the only ones expecting fireworks. The newspapers were full of the debate over the new prices, with a record number of letters to their editors, and promises of disruptions if the management of the new theater did not change its ways. Since the management stubbornly insisted that it had no choice in the matter, feelings were running high by opening night, and the following morning the
Times
reported gleefully that the promised disruptions had taken place.

“People can be very rude,” was the countess’s only comment when Gwenyth, who had been reading aloud to the others, paused to express her dismay.

“But, ma’am, it says here that the mob outside were hissing and shouting.”

“That was outside. Not much happened inside,” the countess replied calmly.