Amanda Scott (28 page)

She had avoided looking at Abberley, but when Jordan passed her on the stair on the way to visit Lady Annis, she had no choice, for to ignore him when there was no one else in the room would be churlish. Feeling self-conscious, she said stiffly, “Would you care for refreshment, sir?”

“I wouldn’t say no to a glass of Madeira in the drawing room after I’ve paid my respects to my ward,” he said affably. “Is he in the schoolroom?”

“Yes,” she replied, feeling slightly deflated. Abberley seemed not to be affected in the least by the happenings of the previous night. In fact, she thought, as he too passed her—with a cheerful grin, no less—that he had entirely forgotten all that had passed between them on that occasion. She turned on the step to stare after him in dismay.

T
HE FOLLOWING MORNING DAWNED
in much the same blaze of brilliant sunshine as its predecessor had displayed, but when Margaret awakened, she was not granted the same blissful few moments of forgetfulness. She had not slept well, for one thing, and when she had slept, her dreams had disturbed her more even than her waking thoughts had done. Worst of all, she remembered the dreams. It seemed as though they had followed, one upon the other, all night long, and that she had wakened after each with the memory of it lingering all too clearly. Each dream had been of Abberley, with each more disturbing than the last. Not that the dreams had been particularly frightening, merely disturbing. From more than one she had awakened moaning, but the moans had not been moans of pain. Not by a long chalk. Remembering certain portions of these dreams now, she blushed scarlet.

There was another reason she failed to welcome the sunlight with the same sense of well-being that she had welcomed it with the previous day. Today there would be no time in which to gallop the fidgets out of herself on horseback. Her services had been bespoken for another task, one not nearly so pleasing to her tastes. She was to escort Lady Annis into Royston and to help her hire a post chaise and four to carry her to Pytchham.

Surprisingly, her ladyship had not cut up stiff over the prospect of her banishment to Lincolnshire. On the contrary, Margaret had thought her rather flattered by Abberley’s decision to send her to his manor house there.

“Why, how kind of his lordship to invite me,” she had said the previous afternoon when Margaret, finding her in the drawing room with Lady Celeste after parting with Abberley on the stairway, had thought to inform her of the earl’s suggestion. “He must know it will be just the thing for me after all this upset. My nerves would never recover here, you know,” she had added complacently. From all appearances, her ladyship was exactly as she had always been. Her reference to upset was made in a tone of slight distaste, much as though someone other than herself had been responsible for causing her distress.

When Margaret opened her mouth to point out to her that she had no one else to blame for her present circumstances, Lady Celeste intervened, saying mildly, “I am persuaded Abberley thought you would enjoy a space of peace and tranquility, Annis, and Lincolnshire, you know, is particularly lovely in the springtime—and quiet, too, now that the hunting season is done.” When Margaret moved to pull the bell, Lady Celeste asked if Abberley had arrived, and upon being answered in the affirmative, went on, “Then, he will be able to tell us just what arrangements he has made for your comfort, Annis. I know you will want to depart as soon as may be.”

“Indeed,” agreed Lady Annis, “although I could not contemplate traveling into Lincolnshire unescorted, you know. I am persuaded there must be any number of highwaymen and footpads along the way. And, of course, now that Archer seems to have disappeared so oddly, there will be no one to make arrangements for me along the way—meals and so forth. The journey is too long to be made comfortably in one day. Oh, I am certain it would be entirely too difficult without a proper escort.” Her hand went to her breast, and her agitation was visible. Margaret felt strangely sorry for her.

“Indeed, Annis, I doubt Abberley would consider for a moment the thought of sending you alone. He will have made all the proper arrangements. You will see.”

And so it seemed he had done, for when he entered the drawing room after spending some ten minutes with his ward, he informed them that it was his intention to send Lady Annis to Pytchham by post chaise.

“Oh, no,” she had protested, “you cannot have considered, sir. ’Tis monstrous expensive, you know. I couldn’t think of such a thing for a moment.”

“Nonsense, ma’am,” he had replied earnestly. “
I
wouldn’t think of sending you by any other mode of transportation. It will be my pleasure to do this for you, so you must not be fretting over the expense.”

She seemed to be gratified by this indication of his regard for her and fairly preened herself as she began to make plans for a departure at some vague point in the future.

“You will depart tomorrow, ma’am,” Abberley said in a tone of one bestowing a treat upon a child. “You will hire a post chaise at Royston.”

“I will? But I quite thought you would be going with me.” She regarded him wide-eyed, her hand once more clutching at her breast.

“No, unfortunately I have business that will require my being elsewhere tomorrow, but I shall send my own carriage for you and Margaret before noon.” Without so much as looking at Margaret, he went on blandly, “I am persuaded she will want to accompany you as far as Royston if only to assure herself that I have left nothing to chance where your comfort is concerned.”

Margaret had opened her mouth midway through his words to deny any such intention, but as usual, by the time he had finished he had left her with nothing to say that would not sound impolite. And when Lady Annis turned to thank her profusely for her concern, she had merely smiled weakly and said it would be her pleasure. Abberley had looked at her then and grinned in such a way as to give her a deep desire to smack him, but she had taken pains to conceal these feelings and he soon took his leave of them. Later she had tried to convince Lady Celeste to accompany them on the journey into Royston, but that lady had stoutly refused her invitation.

“One of us would have to sit with her back to the horses, alongside that bracket-faced woman of hers, for one thing, and neither of us enjoys riding that way. Moreover, I’ve promised to visit some of the tenants tomorrow, and I’d as lief not put it off when I’ve told them I’ll come.”

“But you will have no footman to attend you, ma’am,” Margaret pointed out, snatching at the only straw she could bring to mind.

“Pooh, I am not such a weak sister that I must have a man up behind me when I drive out. I have naught to fear among the tenants here or at Abberley, and John Coachman will protect me from anything else well enough.” She raised her eyebrows haughtily. “Or were you thinking my consequence can be sustained only by parading a liveried footman about?”

“No, of course not,” Margaret had replied, chuckling. “I thought only of your comfort, ma’am. Come to think of it, we shall not have a footman to attend us either. And Annis
will
complain of the lack.”

But Lady Annis had no cause for complaint. When Abberley’s barouche rolled up the drive shortly before noon, there were two staggeringly tall footmen perched up behind. The earl had not accompanied the carriage, Margaret noted with displeasure from the drawing-room window, but he had sent an emissary in the form of Lord John Kingsted, who rode just ahead of the barouche astride a handsome bay mare. He entered the drawing room some moments later in Moffatt’s wake.

“You behold in me your courier, Miss Caldecourt,” he said cheerfully after the amenities had been seen to. “Abberley thought you would not disdain to accept my company as far as Royston. In point of fact,” he added, glancing around at the company in general—which, since Jordan had ridden out early that morning with the promised letter from vicar, included only Ladies Annis and Celeste, besides herself—”I am to ride as far as Baldock with Lady Annis. Then, as she will travel north along the Great North Road and I will travel south, we shall part company there—if no one objects to the scheme, that is.”

“Of course we do not object, sir,” Margaret told him, “but I did not know you had formed the intention of leaving us today.”

“Hadn’t,” he told her, still grinning. “Formed it two nights ago, if you must know, but first I had to discuss certain matters with the vicar, who was so dashed disobliging yesterday as first to spend the afternoon composing young Caldecourt’s letter to the archbishop and then to be called away to some feller’s deathbed. He didn’t return to the vicarage until Miss Maitland had ordered the tea tray.”

“The vicar! What on earth had you to discuss with him, I wonder?” demanded Lady Celeste, fixing the young man with a speculative stare.

“Just so,” he told her. “Daresay you’ve found me out, ma’am, but I’d as lief you don’t open the budget till I’ve had time to tell the parents.”

“Tell your parents,” Margaret repeated, tilting her head to one side. Then, when he continued to grin at her, the truth of the matter warmed her with a glow of astonished happiness. “You don’t mean to say you’ve offered for Pamela, sir?”

“Do mean to say that very thing,” he said, his eyes twinkling madly. “Just what I mean to tell the parents, in point of fact.”

“Oh, how very glad I am for you both,” Margaret said, “but I hadn’t the slightest notion. Indeed, I thought she had—” She broke off, blushing when she realized that it was not at all the thing to say the words perched on the tip of her tongue.

But Lord John was not offended. “Thought she had taken a strong dislike to me,” he said wisely. “Thought so myself until she began ripping up at me the other evening. Too much a lady, Pamela is, to behave like a shrew to one she don’t care a fig for. Knew then I could pop the question without having my head handed to me in a basket. Never had such a peal rung over me as what I suffered on the way back to the vicarage. Word of a Kingsted,” he asserted.

Margaret laughed heartily. “And that convinced you to ask for her hand?”

He shook his head. “Convinced I ought to do it long before that,” he said soberly. “Never met a sweeter female, nor one less conscious of being a beauty.” Margaret stared at him, for it was the first time she had ever heard anyone describe Pamela Maitland as a beauty, but Kingsted went blithely on, unaware of her astonishment. “Never met one who treated me like I wasn’t someone entirely different from the rest of the world, for that matter. But Pamela don’t. Hasn’t from the outset. She’s as natural with me as she is with her cook. I like it. And she can talk like a sensible person. Chits I’ve met before only want to tell me what an intelligent fellow I am. She don’t even always agree with me,” he added in tones of astonishment.

“She certainly didn’t approve of you the other evening,” Margaret said with another chuckle.

“No.” He grinned. “She was wonderful. Knew then I had to marry her.”

“I cannot approve,” said Lady Annis, speaking for the first time since her greeting to him. “’Tis worse than dearest Jordan insisting he means to wed that dreadful innkeeper’s daughter, for Pamela is too far removed from your high station in life, Kingsted. You must not forget that you might be a marquess one day.”

“Heaven forbid,” he replied. “My father’s good for many a day longer, and I trust that my brother won’t stick his spoon in the wall before then, but we Kingsteds are a healthy lot, so I don’t anticipate the eventuality. If it should come to pass, however,” he added in sterner tones than Margaret had yet heard from him, “I am convinced that no one would make a finer marchioness than my Pamela.”

“Very true, no one better,” said Lady Celeste.

Kingsted rewarded her with a grin, and Lady Annis, defeated, retired from the lists.

Some moments later she declared herself ready to depart, and less than a half hour after that, her trunk was strapped to the baggage shelf under the coachman’s high seat, the top had been raised at her ladyship’s request so that the sun would not damage her complexion, and the ladies themselves had been handed into the carriage. Miss Wilson, my lady’s bracket-faced attendant, occupied the forward seat, and since the folding top only covered the rear seat, she received little protection from the brilliant rays of the sun, now riding high overhead.

When Margaret commented on the fact, saying that she was afraid Miss Wilson would be uncomfortable, the woman informed her stiffly that she had a parasol by her and could put it up if she did indeed become too warm. She did not sound as though she contemplated the necessity with any great distress, but Margaret received the distinct impression that Lady Annis’s maid was not looking forward to a prolonged sojourn in the wilds of Lincolnshire. She hoped for Lady Annis’s sake that Miss Wilson would not desert her. Lady Annis would surely think herself ill-used if such a thing should come to pass.

The journey into Royston was uneventful, although Miss Wilson did have recourse to her parasol before the barouche had passed into the town, where she was shaded by the tall buildings lining the narrow streets. At last the carriage drew into the yard of the Stag’s Leap, a posting house located at the crossing of Ermine Street and the Icknield Way, the latter here taking the name of Baldock Street from the town ahead on most waybills. Kingsted jumped down from his horse even as the footmen moved to assist the ladies from the barouche, so that they might refresh themselves.

“Abberley sent ahead to order the chaise,” he said a few moments later in the taproom, where he had ordered tea for the ladies and a mug of half-and-half for himself, “so there ought to be one awaiting you.” When Lady Annis murmured distractedly about highwaymen, he hastened to reassure her. “Doubt the postilions will be armed unless it’s the policy of the inn to arm them,” he told her, “but I know for a fact that your footmen are prepared for anything, m’lady. Can’t ride up behind a chaise, of course, but they’re to have horses and will ride escort. Abberley was persuaded that Pytchham would be understaffed without them, so they are to stay with you. One of them comes from that neck of the woods, any gate, and the other said he’d as lief be in Lincolnshire as anywhere, so they’ll serve you well enough.”