Amanda Scott (8 page)

Lady Annis gaped at her for a full five seconds before turning her attention strictly to her plate. Margaret choked on her broccoli, but Jordan turned a deaf ear to the exchange. Perfectly satisfied and still smiling angelically, Lady Celeste signed to Moffatt to serve her a helping of breaded fish.

The following morning, attended by the chambermaid Melanie, Sir Timothy went off to the vicarage for his first lessons. There were more callers in the days that followed, but with the first days of April came more temperate weather, and everyone seemed to relax into the new routine. Despite her household responsibilities, Margaret was often able to enjoy a morning ride on Dancer and even managed to find a private moment or two during the day or early evening in which to indulge her love for music at the pianoforte in the little parlor adjoining the blue-and-white drawing room.

She had arranged for a seamstress from Royston to call at the manor the day after Abberley’s departure, and she and Lady Celeste had quickly been provided with mourning gowns to wear when they received their visitors. A complete wardrobe would take longer, but Lady Celeste had managed to convince her that since more than three months had now passed since Michael’s death, they could avoid full mourning for their daily attire and make do in private with more somber colors than they would otherwise wear. Thus, Margaret had selected materials of gray, soft lavender, and dark blue, all of which were more becoming to her than the uncompromising blacks she had earlier determined to wear.

By the following Tuesday a full week had passed since Abberley’s departure, but Margaret scarcely had a chance to consider that fact, for no sooner had she finished her breakfast that morning than a guilt-ridden Melanie burst into the breakfast parlor. Their first day notwithstanding, they had quickly discovered that Lady Annis rarely came down to breakfast and that Jordan didn’t come down until long after everyone else had left the table, so Margaret and Lady Celeste were alone, indulging in second cups of chocolate. Both turned, startled by the maidservant’s uncharacteristically precipitous entrance.

“Good gracious, Melanie, what are you about, girl?” demanded Lady Celeste. “Is the house afire?”

“Oh, no, m’lady. Beg pardon, m’lady. Oh, Miss Margaret, he’s done gone!”

“Who’s gone?”

“Master … I mean, Sir Timothy, miss! He’s done a bolt, ’e ’as, an’ wi’out ’is breakfast, as well!”

Lady Celeste merely raised her eyebrows, but Margaret had to force herself to speak quietly. “Calm yourself, Melanie. Sir Timothy has not run away, you may be sure of that. He is merely up to his old tricks, I daresay, and the last thing we must do is to panic. Tell me exactly what happened, if you please.”

“Nothing ’appened, Miss Margaret, and that’s a fact. He don’t like me t’ ’elp ’im dress. Says ’e’s a big lad, ’n all, and that ’e kin do it ’imself, so I don’t do more than take ’im a tray at sunup like a gennulmun, with chocolate. Then I goes back at nine o’clock to take ’im a proper breakfast in the nursery afore we walk to the vicarage. Only when I went back this morning, ’e was gone. I searched ’igh ’n low, miss, thinking ’e was only playin’ least in sight, but ’e’s gone.” Melanie ended on a near wail and began to twist her cambric apron between her hands. “Oh, Lord, ’er ladyship and Mr. Caldecourt’ll want me turned orf, sartain, miss.”

Lady Celeste said coldly, “Since neither her ladyship nor Mr. Caldecourt has anything to say to anything
yet
, their wants need not concern you, Melanie. Pray, take control of your emotions. Such behavior is most unhelpful.”

Melanie stared at the old lady, but the tone was sufficient to steady her. “Yes, m’lady. Beg pardon, m’lady.”

Lady Celeste’s tone also had its effect on Margaret. She turned to Melanie with a smile. “We have both allowed ourselves to worry unnecessarily,” she said. “Simply because Timothy has behaved well for two or three days is no reason for us to think he has mended his ways so quickly. I am quite certain he has determined to disappear for the day in his old fashion.”

When the matter was put to her in that way, Melanie relaxed noticeably. “Do you know, miss, ‘e’s been such a lamb, I’d plumb forgot. It’s remarkable, that is. I’m blessed if that young limb o’ Satan ain’t jest took to ’is old ways again. Do we just let be, miss?”

“No, we don’t,” Margaret said with quiet determination, pushing back her chair and getting swiftly to her feet. “I warned him that his haughtiness would no longer be overlooked out of pity for his bereavement. You must go to the vicarage, Melanie. There is a slight chance he has decided merely to dispense with your escort, but if, as I expect, they have not seen him, you must explain to the vicar that he will not be burdened with Timothy today. It would not be fair to leave him wondering what time the boy will arrive. Then you must come back and help search for him.”

“He usually goes into the woods some’eres, miss.”

“I believe you’re right, and I will search the woods between here and the hall. When you return, you must get Archer and the maidservants to help you search the manor. Wherever he is, I want him found, and quickly. This must stop now.”

“I’ll attend to the indoor servants,” Lady Celeste said quietly.

Margaret shot her a grateful look, then hurried up to her bedchamber to ring for her tirewoman to help her change into her riding habit. She had not thought to have a new one made up and realized as she dragged the dashing, green, military-styled habit from her wardrobe that she would have to do so. Her dresser, a gawky, gray-haired woman who had served her in that capacity since the days of her come-out and who had accompanied her to Vienna without fuss as though that were a commonplace enough thing to do, thus earning Margaret’s eternal gratitude, entered to find her struggling to pull her morning dress over her head.

“That dress is easier got out of if you step out, Miss Margaret,” she said grimly, coming to the rescue, “and if you’d said you was meaning to ride this morning, I would have put out that habit in the first place.”

“Oh, Sadie, I wasn’t meaning to ride, as you know perfectly well,” Margaret said, emerging at last from the gray folds of the morning gown and reaching for her boots, “but that wretched child has disappeared again, and I mean to find him.”

“Well, I daresay you know what you’re about, missie, but if you want a spot of advice, you’ll warm that lad’s backside for him when you do lay hands upon him. A proper varmint, by all I hear.”

“Indeed, he can be,” Margaret acknowledged, allowing Sadie to assist her into her silk shirt and then into the woolen skirt of the habit, “but I think he can be managed well enough without resorting to violence if we but put our minds to it. He has been allowed to go his own road too long, is all.”

Sadie’s sniff said more than the words that, privileged though she might be, she could not bring herself to utter. When Margaret only grinned at her, she grimaced and shook her head. A few moments later, having helped her mistress into the elegant spencer with its gold frogs and epaulets, she handed her a gilt-handled riding whip with a wry twist of her lips. “Don’t forget this, Miss Margaret. I’m thinking you could put it to good use, if only you would.”

But Margaret laughed at her and hurried to the stables, where Dancer awaited her. Trimby helped her into the saddle, then swung up into his own. “Where be we headed, miss?”

“Toward the hall, Trimby. We are searching for Sir Timothy, however, so I do not want you to ride beside me, for we can search more territory quickly if we separate. If I need you, I’ll shout.”

“As you wish, miss,” he said, nodding. “The woods be the most likely place, I’m thinking.”

“My thoughts, exactly.”

The sun was shining brightly, and although the day was crisp, it was born of spring, not winter, for the seasons had turned in a matter of days. Shoots of new grass showed green in the meadow between the stables and the woods, and new leaves decked the trees and shrubbery. Crocuses and tiny lilies that looked too fragile to survive in the chilly air pushed their heads up through the manor’s lawns. Margaret smiled. This was her favorite time of year in Hertfordshire.

Trimby took the lead until they had entered the woods, but then he turned to the right, guiding his horse among the thick-growing oaks and beech trees. Margaret kept to the path a while longer, then turned off to the left, intending to ride back and forth to the edge of the woods, where the ground began to move up across the downs and into the chalk hills. There were patches of thick, impenetrable shrubbery in some places, but since much of it was dotted with nasty thorns, she didn’t think it necessary to investigate such places too thoroughly. The few lingering, slow-melting snowdrifts showed no sign of a boy having crossed them, so these too she passed without a second thought. She had been crisscrossing her patch of woods for nearly an hour when, upon nearing the path again, she heard hoofbeats. Thinking it must be Trimby coming to find her, she urged Dancer to a more rapid pace, intending to cut him off, but even before she emerged onto the path, her keen ears informed her that the hoofbeats were coming from the wrong direction.

Swinging toward the sound, she heard the sharp, screaming whinny of an indignant horse before the hoofbeats ceased abruptly. What seemed to be a full moment’s silence was followed by an equine snort and a scrabble of movement on the path. When Margaret’s eyes finally focused upon a flurry of activity in the shadows just beyond a brightly lit clearing ahead, she realized that the quickly moving horse had been wrenched to a halt and that his rider had dismounted. Setting a heel to Dancer’s flank, she rode forward in an attempt to see more clearly and recognized Abberley just as he bent forward and yanked a disheveled young Timothy from beneath an alder bush.

“Here! Lemme go!”

Margaret opened her mouth to call to them, then snapped it shut again in astonishment when Abberley pulled the struggling boy close enough to deal him one sharp smack on his backside before setting him back on his feet. Timothy yelped but went silent immediately when Abberley demanded sternly to know if he wanted something to make him yell properly.

“Well,” repeated his lordship implacably, “do you?”

“No, sir.”

“Then don’t let me catch you playing such a trick ever again.”

“No, sir.”

“Abberley,” said Margaret, close enough now to look down at the pair of them, “whatever are you about?”

His lordship, looking a deal healthier and rather handsome in buckskins and a sleek brown leather coat, glanced up at her without surprise, indicating that he had been aware of her approach. “Whatever are
you
about, Miss Caldecourt, to allow this child to run loose like this, popping up under horses’ feet and nearly getting himself killed?”

Margaret was aware of a sudden knot in her midsection and a dizziness that convinced her that all the blood must have rushed from her head. “Killed?” Her voice had little of its usual strength. “Surely, you exaggerate, sir.”

“I am not in the habit of exaggerating,” he assured her grimly. “If it were not for Apollo’s aversion to trampling on living creatures, young Timothy here would be mincemeat. He dashed out of the shrubbery directly in front of me, then froze long enough to have been killed. As it was, he startled Apollo and I was nearly thrown.” He paused, glaring at her. “This is scarcely a safe place to play hide-and-seek.”

Margaret saw the boy swallow carefully and knew he was expecting more trouble. She met Abberley’s glare, saying only, “We were not playing, sir.” Then, before he could ask for an explanation, she added, “And you have no right to be smacking him.”

The earl’s eyes glinted. “I have the right of any man startled out of his wits by an idiotish act,” he said, turning to the tall, bay horse and steadying it with gentle movements of his hand along its graceful neck. Margaret turned her eye upon Timothy, thinking he meant to do another bolt, and nearly missed his lordship’s next words. “But I also have more right than you know.”

She turned back as he swung into the saddle. “What do you mean by that, Adam?”

He smiled at her, then leaned down to the boy. “Up you come, young fellow. No need for you to walk back.”

Timothy hesitated for only a moment before allowing himself to be hoisted up before Abberley. As they turned back toward the manor, Margaret took a good look at the earl. Though he did indeed look better than he had the last time she had seen him, he still looked tired. They had ridden beside each other for some moments before she realized he had not yet answered her question.

“What right have you, Adam?” she repeated. In the flurry of the near accident, she had forgotten his quest. “What did you discover in London, sir?”

Turning slightly, he smiled at her again, this time ruefully. “I fear your brother’s wits had gone begging, Marget. He managed to delude himself into thinking that I would make a proper guardian for young Timothy here.”

“T
HEN YOU FOUND THE
will!” Margaret’s eyes lit with triumph. “I knew Michael would never be so daft as to chance letting Caldecourt fall into Jordan’s hands.”

“There was a will at the manor, too, I suspect,” said Abberley, “but I think it would be more diplomatic not to inquire too closely into what must have become of it, don’t you agree?”

Margaret grimaced. “My inclination is to tell them both what I think of their machinations, but I shall be guided by your decision, sir. I hope you mean to tell me exactly what you discovered in London.”

“I do, certainly, but not, I believe at the present moment,” he said with a meaningful glance at the boy seated on his saddlebow. “Do you understand, young man, what I have just told your aunt?”

“No, sir,” said Timothy meekly, keeping his eyes on the shady trail ahead, where Trimby appeared just then, having ridden out from beneath a particularly large beech tree some twenty yards beyond.

Abberley paid no heed to him, speaking to the boy. “It means that I stand in the place of your father now.”

“You are not my father,” Timothy said grimly.

“No, I am not,” Abberley agreed, unoffended, “but by law I stand in his stead, which means I am responsible for seeing that you grow up to be a gentleman. Because of that, it is my duty to stop you from doing foolish and dangerous things.” He paused. “I would like to know what you were doing back there just now when you frightened my horse.”