Amanda Scott (15 page)

“If you ride,” he said with a smile, “beware of gypsies.”

She made a face at him, and they walked upstairs together, completely in charity with each other again. When he left her at the door to her bedchamber, she went inside, thinking to ring for Maggie to help her change into her habit, but a moment’s reflection convinced her that with only Cleves for company, such an outing would be a dull one. Moreover, the hat she customarily wore with her favorite habit needed mending, and although Maggie had said she would find glue to repair it, she had not yet done so. A walk in the garden, where there would be small chance of encountering the dowager to regale her with Matilda’s latest offenses, would, she decided, do her just as much good.

As she made her way toward the east side of the house, she caught sight of Sydney and Ching Ho across the way, walking toward the stables. Since she had not thought Sydney could be ready to leave so soon, she was surprised to see them. She waved, but they did not see her, so she walked on to the garden, where by daylight, dressed warmly and with the sun shining on the hedged borders and gravel paths, she found it hard to believe she had been frightened the night before. She walked for a time along paths between mostly barren beds, then found a rustic seat near the end opposite the entrance and sat down.

A bird pecking at the brown earth drew her attention for a few moments, but then she allowed her thoughts to wander, barely aware of the songs of other birds in the trees and shrubbery, or the chattering of neighboring squirrels. Her thoughts moved first to the night before, then drifted idly and came to dwell at last upon Sydney.

Wondering why she had not reacted more to his warning off Lyndhurst, she remembered the night he had found her with the viscount in the hotel garden. She had not been vexed with him then either. Not until he had insisted that she trust his judgment over her own. The fact was that in most things she did trust him, and knew he would not willingly hurt her. But that did not mean his judgment of people was always better than hers. If she had misjudged one or two men, from time to time, or had let her flirtations sometimes go beyond what was wise, she had learned from her mistakes. For that was all they had been. And if now she sometimes had more confidence in herself, just knowing Sydney was close at hand, that fact certainly had nothing to do with his judgment, only with the fact that he was a very good friend who took excellent care of her.

Sitting there on the bench, idly dreaming, she imagined herself the heroine of one of her favorite books, with a strong protector, like Sydney, to look after her. Not as the hero, of course, for Sydney was no hero, although he was a singularly attractive man. She liked his slow smile, even his drawl, for his foppish affectations delighted her despite the fact that she generally held fops in contempt. It was the outside of enough, however, for him to carry his protective instincts to such lengths as he did, to have believed even for one minute that she had been serious about flirting with the Regent or Cumberland.

It might be fun, however, she mused lazily, to see if she could stir him up a bit by doing that very thing. Since she could not imagine any of the royal brothers taking her actions seriously, she thought it might be the safest way to see if an exhibition of her feminine wiles had the power to stir Sydney as childish pranks never had. Indeed, she mused, perhaps she would even flirt with Sydney himself, to try to make him see her as a woman instead of a child who needed protection. The thought was a tempting one, and she began to think the forthcoming visit to Oatlands might be more interesting even than she had imagined.

When she left the garden at last, she saw Ching Ho coming toward her from the stables and quickened her step, wanting to thank him for his morning remedy, but she was diverted by the sound of a carriage on the drive, and turned in time to see Sydney in his curricle, disappearing out the gate toward the main road. Knowing she had been in the garden for nearly an hour, Carolyn stood for a long minute, wondering what on earth had kept him so long in the stable. By the time she turned back toward the house, Ching Ho had disappeared indoors.

T
HE PARTY FROM BATHWICK HILL HOUSE
arrived at Oatlands Park soon after midday the following Tuesday, having spent Monday night at Reading. They had their first view of the park from Sydney’s luxurious traveling carriage when it reached the top of a hill from which they could also see Hampton Court Palace across the Thames. They could see only the rooftops of Oatlands, nestled in a thick growth of trees, until the carriage had passed the gate house and emerged from woodland onto the front drive. But compared with the magnificent structure seen just minutes before, the unpretentious blocklike house seemed to Carolyn to be very plain indeed, and she did not hesitate to say so.

“I have no great opinion of the Duke of York,” Lady Skipton said unnecessarily, “but I give credit where it is due. When that elegant old Palladian manor house they first moved into burned down—fifteen years ago, that must be now—he might have let the whole place go, but knowing how Frederica loved it, he built her a new house at once. And, as you will soon see, my dear, though the facade is plain, the interior is perfectly splendid. Indeed, I believe Frederica might be altogether content if York could but try to behave himself. But he never will learn. The Regent ought never to have reinstated him as commander of the army. ’Tis that sort of misguided forbearance which encourages York to misbehave.”

Sydney, who had been dozing beside Miss Pucklington in the forward seat until Carolyn had spoken, regarded his parent sleepily from beneath drooping eyelids. “Really, Mama, one can scarcely blame Prinny for his brothers’ misdeeds, and you must admit that of the lot, York is the best. Only contrast him with the wicked Cumberland, if you will. Moreover, York and his duchess were not on speaking terms for months before the Clarke scandal. At least now they appear to be friendly.”

“I don’t know that York is the best of them,” Carolyn said provocatively. “The Duke of Cambridge must surely be thought unexceptionable. And while Clarence’s language is a trifle unbecoming, and Kent is thought to be rather severe, I have heard that both Cambridge and Sussex are pleasant gentlemen.”

“One must be extremely tolerant, however,” Sydney said, “to dismiss a score of mistresses—and in Sussex’s case even wives—”

“Not a score of wives, surely,” she murmured.

He was given no chance to reply, for the dowager, intent as always upon her own train of thought, declared positively, “I believe Frederica must have always been willing to speak to York, you know. That she remained at his side throughout that awful business—in London, too, when she don’t like the place—is a conspicuous manifestation of her strong sense of duty to him. As for the scandal itself, I do not pretend to understand how Mrs. Clarke was able to sell Army commissions, but she is a scandal in herself and has been so these many years past. However, here we are, and so we will say no more about it.”

The carriage drew to a halt, the door was opened, the steps let down, and when no one emerged from the house to greet them, the dowager accepted Sydney’s assistance to descend to the drive. Carolyn followed, glad to escape the confines of the carriage at last, and drew a long breath of the crisp, damp air while she waited for the others to emerge. The second carriage, containing the dowager’s lofty dresser as well as Ching Ho, Maggie, and most of the baggage, drew up behind them, but still no servant appeared from the house to attend to them.

Leaving their minions to deal with the baggage, they passed up the wide stone steps, beneath a high semi-circular portico supported on marble columns, through wide open double oak doors, into the lofty hall, where the royal porter condescended to greet them and beckon forth a footman to escort them to their rooms.

Carolyn found herself at last in a spacious pink-and-gray bedchamber overlooking extensive gardens north of the house. The room was lavishly decorated with satin hangings, a massive crystal-and-gilt chandelier, and heavily carved cherry furniture resting on a thick Axminster carpet. The only detail of which she disapproved was the large, dirty gray mongrel curled up on the counterpane.

The dog lifted its head to regard her curiously when she entered the room, then laid it to rest again upon its forepaws without making any more overt attempt to greet her. She turned in dismay to the footman who had escorted her.

He grinned, looking at once younger and much less stately. “I’ll take him away, miss. Like as not he won’t be the last to visit you, howsomever, being as her highness’s pets have no manners and go where they please. Just you ring for a maid if you find any more where it don’t suit you to find them, and I’ll have that counterpane changed at once. You won’t want to be smelling that fellow all through the night.”

“Thank you,” Carolyn said faintly, watching as he strode across the carpet and snapped his fingers at the dog. Without so much as lifting its head, it looked up at him with indifference.

“Come along now,” the footman said sternly. “You ain’t wanted here, lad.”

When the dog continued to ignore him, the young man finally lifted him bodily and turned to carry him out. The dog made no protest, but Carolyn exclaimed, “It is too bad to make you do this! You will have dog hairs all over your livery.”

The footman, shifting the dog’s weight, grinned at her again and said, “Lord love you, miss, but we all of us have dog hairs all over us, as does most of the furniture and all of the rugs in the place. ’Tis more than the maids can do to keep the carpets brushed from day to day, but if they did not keep a-trying, we’d soon be buried in the stuff.”

“Goodness,” Carolyn said, awed.

From what she had seen, she doubted any other servant would come, but the footman proved as good as his word, and the cover was changed before Maggie arrived with her baggage. A short time later, having changed her traveling dress for an afternoon frock of jonquil silk, Carolyn was trying to decide whether she should go in search of the dowager or simply remain where she was until someone sent for her, when Sydney rapped at her door, offering to accompany her downstairs to meet their hostess. Delighted to see him, she told him instantly about her canine visitor.

Sydney leveled his quizzing glass at her, looking her up and down before affecting his foppish drawl to say, “That dress becomes you, my dear. Makes me glad I chose this waistcoat instead of the first one Ching had out. Bustled with crimson songbirds, don’t you know, and wouldn’t have looked near as well with your gown as this white-and-gold thing does.”

“Sydney, did you hear what I said to you? There was a dog—and one that would be hard-pressed to name his ancestors, I can tell you—sleeping on my bed. It was utterly filthy!”

“It’s gone now, isn’t it? You oughtn’t to let such stuff distress you if you mean to enjoy yourself here, Caro, for the duchess’s dogs are bound to be all over the place. I daresay you’ll find more than one underfoot even when we dine. I don’t mind telling you, it makes me damned glad you managed to convince Mama to leave her wretched Hercules behind.”

“But doesn’t she ever wash them?”

“Mama? Certainly not. The servants—”

“You know I meant the duchess, Sydney,” she retorted, her voice taking on a dangerous edge.

“Can’t imagine her highness washing a dog, either.”

Choking back a sudden, irrepressible gurgle of laughter, Carolyn shook her head at him. “You are altogether abominable, sir, and I shan’t talk to you anymore. It must be the effect of this house. No doubt the inhabitants are all as crazy as loons and the affliction is a contagious one.”

He gave her a direct look then and said without the drawl, “Don’t offer that suggestion to anyone else, Caro. It makes no odds what you say to me, but there are men hereabouts who would take offense at such words, and some of them are dangerous.”

“Goodness, you sound grim,” she said, “but you needn’t fret, you know. I should certainly never say any such thing to the duke or the duchess.”

His expression relaxed. “I doubt if either one would take offense. York is too amiable, and the duchess holds by that old Scottish proverb, ‘Live and let live.’ But others, whom it would no doubt behoove you to avoid altogether, are not so tolerant. If you cannot avoid them, Caro, at least set a guard on that impertinent tongue of yours.”

She had forgotten her determination to use her wiles to teach him a lesson, but she remembered it just in time to avoid telling him sharply that she would thank him to keep his advice to himself. Instead, lowering her lashes and looking up at him from beneath them, she said, “I shall certainly try to keep that in mind, sir, for I have no wish to displease you.”

Sydney gave her a long, suspicious look, and when she met it limpidly, he said at last in a sardonic tone, “I mentioned the matter only because I should not like you to displease anyone else, Caro—Cumberland, for example.”

“I have never actually met the Duke of Cumberland,” she observed demurely, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle from her skirt.

“Now, that’s precisely the sort of thing I mean,” he informed her sharply. “Don’t go making a cake of yourself. You’d do much better to play least in sight with him.”

“But you told me that most of what is said about him is only rumors,” she, fluttering her lashes. “I am persuaded that he cannot have done the half of what he has been accused of doing.”

“Less than half would be enough,” Sydney retorted as they turned a corner and found themselves in an elegantly appointed anteroom. She thought he sounded a bit exasperated, but before she could press the matter further, a footman got up from an armchair near the opposite door and Sydney told him their names.

Nodding, the man said, “Follow me, sir. Her highness is receiving in the drawing room.”

There was time for no more private conversation after that, since they were taken directly to the duchess, whom they found in an enormous, high-ceilinged room, surrounded by laughing and chattering members of the
beau monde
, as well as a number of dogs with noticeably less distinguished pedigrees. Frederica, Duchess of York, was seated in an armchair, receiving her guests with a tiny, bright-eyed, red-capped monkey in her lap.