Anne Barbour (16 page)

Startled, Diana exchanged glances with Aunt Amabelle.

“Why, Papa,” quavered her ladyship, “don’t you remember? We decided that, since once the news is put about we shall be inundated with visitors, we should wait until you are stronger before issuing any announcements.”

“And do you remember that I told you that’s all a lot of balderdash? As you pointed out, Amy, I am recovering by leaps and bounds. And I don’t see why I need to be concerned about visitors, anyway. God knows I don’t want to see the parcel of gabblemongers that’ll be parading by. So let ‘em come—I’ll just send down that I’m not to be disturbed. Hah!” he added, as though deriving no little degree of pleasure in this plan of action.

“Now, about the wedding itself. We must decide where it is to be held. I think the village church, rather than the Court chapel. All our people will want to see what’s going—eh, what?” This to the distracted Aunt Amabelle, who was feebly trying to interrupt.

“Papa, I’m sure we must consult—that is, Diana may wish to be married near her own home.”

Aunt Amabelle turned an agonized gaze on Diana.

Thus applied to, Diana frantically searched her mind for something to say to stay the marquess in his plans.

“Indeed, sir,” she improvised, “I have not been in communication with my mother about this. As you may recall, her health is not precisely stout at the moment, and I hesitate to . . .”

The marquess heaved a sigh of exasperation.

“You mean you have not notified your own mother that you plan to marry? I would have thought Jared had asked her for your hand before he committed himself to you. But you young people do things in such a skimble-skamble manner these days.”

Diana felt perspiration breaking out on her forehead.

“Well, you see, my lord,” she began carefully, but the old gentleman cut her off with a brusque gesture.

“Never mind,” he said roughly. “Forgive my outburst, Diana, but I hope I may be forgiven a certain amount of impatience. Now that Jared has finally brought himself to the mark, I don’t want anything to go awry. I want you two bound right and tight as soon as possible.”

Diana breathed yet another prayer to Providence as she launched into a speech of placation, and sighed with relief the next moment when Providence, in the form of Fishperk, came through once again. With impeccable propriety, the valet reminded Lady Teague that it was time to dress for dinner.

In the corridor Aunt Amabelle turned to Diana, her soft, brown eyes filled with tears of anger.

“I swear to you, Diana, I could just strangle that boy!

“If you mean Lord Burnleigh,” returned Diana, rigid with indignation, “I will gladly help you do it at your earliest convenience. How like him to concoct this abominable scheme, and then just leave someone else to carry it through! Where is he, anyway?” she asked as an afterthought. “It’s been hours since he left for Silverwell with Mr. Brandon.”

“Oh, he returned some time ago. Immediately he came into the house, he was intercepted by Simon, and the last I saw of them, they were tramping out toward the Home Wood with their guns in their hands.”

“You mean,” said Diana with awful calm, “that he returned from an interview, in the company of a magistrate, with two witnesses to a terrifying attack on me, and he did not have the courtesy to inform me if any progress was made in the matter?”

Aunt Amabelle, evidently feeling that nothing she might say in answer would serve to placate the seething young woman before her, wisely made no reply.

“Well!” was Diana’s comment.

“Yes, I think so, too,” said Aunt Amabelle. The two ladies spent several more minutes reducing the earl’s character to well-gnawed scraps before turning away, marvelously refreshed, each to her own chambers.

Chapter 14

Three floors below, Jared and Simon entered the house via a side door in the kitchen wing. Both wore top boots, leather breeches, and nankeen shooting jackets, all liberally daubed with mud, and each carried a brace of wood pigeons, which they deposited into the arms of a flustered kitchen maid.

They made their way to the upper floors, comparing the difficulty of the various shots they had made over the course of the afternoon, and congratulating each other on their marksmanship.

“I still say,” Jared remarked, “you could have had that hare, if you’d aimed a little to the left. Next time we’ll take the hedgerows. I daresay we should be able to pull some grouse out of them, although it’s a little early.”

“I shouldn’t wonder,” agreed Simon. “But tell me, speaking of hedge-birds, how did your visit to Silverwell go this morning? Anything of interest to report?”

“No, neither my lord Stedford nor his man saw anything that could possibly be construed as helpful.”

“What a chawbacon the fellow is!”

Jared uttered a crack of laughter.

“But, no—how can you speak of a veritable pink of the
ton?
Lord, you should have seen him! He wore a yellow coat with silver buttons the size of coach wheels, a puce corded waistcoat, and striped gaiters. The compleat country gentleman!”

“I hear he’s making some rather startling renovations at Silverwell.”

Jared snorted.

“You should see what he’s done there. The Green Saloon has been gutted. No outdated Queen Anne or Louis Quatorze for my lord. Oh, no! The room now contains the worst clutter of imitation relics of the Ancient World that you’re liable to find this side of an Arabian
souk.
Etruscan vases on the mantel, settees with crocodile feet, pier tables covered with Sphinxes, and a wine cooler in the shape of a Grecian um.”

“I heard,” added Simon, “that he’s putting up a Chinese pagoda on the south lawn. Pink of the
ton
or no, the fellow is making himself a laughing stock. What a crackbrain!”

“You know, though,” mused Jared, “he may be a court card, but he doesn’t strike me as being particularly stupid. That’s why it seems strange that, arriving on the scene of Diana’s attack as soon as he did, neither he nor his man was able to catch the fellow, or even to see what he looked like.”

“That fellow Churte is pretty stout,” replied Simon. “He probably couldn’t catch Aunt Amabelle at a dead run. And as for our precious Ninian, I’d wager he was more concerned with keeping his ringlets in place than with tackling nasty big ruffians in homespuns.”

Jared was still following his own line of puzzled thought.

“Does it strike you that there’s something dashed smoky about that pair?”

In answer to Simon’s look of startled inquiry, Jared’s mouth curved in an embarrassed smile.

“To be sure, I may be imagining things, but he was not at all pleased to find the magistrate on his doorstep this morning. Oh, he was cordial enough, but he certainly did not give the appearance of one welcoming the law with open arms. When Brandon asked to speak to Churte, Stedford at first professed not to know where he could find the fellow—Churte having decided to go off on holiday, or some such. However, when Brandon said he would be glad to return another time, my lord managed to dredge him up quickly enough. And as for Churte! When he finally did make an appearance, he was nervous as a cat on hot bricks. You’d have thought he was in the dock, with the verdict just gone against him.”

“Now, wait a minute,” interrupted Simon. “Are you saying the two of them are into something not quite legal? Had you ever met Stedford before he came into the title?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. One did not, of course, run into him in the highest of social circles—or even the middle level, for that matter. One was, however, liable to encounter him at the race course, or in the shadier gaming establishments, where the legs lie in wait for greenlings with money—those new to Town and ripe for fleecing. I can’t help believing there’s something more than a little havey-cavey about him and his man. Stedford is never seen but what Churte is nigh him, as though they were sewn together.”

“I’ll agree with you there,” said Simon. “What I think is, Stedford’s precious henchman has been on the wrong end of a good many official investigations in his time. I mean, just look at the fellow. It’s Lombard Street to a China orange he’s spent his share of time in Number Nine.”

Jared laughed again.

“Newgate? That seems a little harsh, but you may be right. Perhaps Stedford was in the habit of employing him from time to time for a bit of dirty work—card fuzzing, perhaps, or fixing a wager. Our Ninian strikes me as being the type that is not too nice in his dealings.”

The two continued on their way through the twisting corridors, where servants were lighting candles against the deepening twilight.

“It’s a shame what he’s doing to Silverwell, though,” reflected Jared. “Stedford gave me a tour of the place after he and Churte talked to Brandon. Do you remember the days we spent there as children, tumbling about the place with Tad and Philip and little Susan? Lord, it’s hard to believe they’re gone. When I came to the gallery, I couldn’t help but remember the foot races we all ran there.”

“I suppose he’s transformed that into a temple to Isis.”

“No, he’s left it pretty much as it was, lined with family portraits. There’s one missing, though.”

“Really, who? Don’t tell me he feels one of his ancestors ain’t up to snuff in his fashionable new palace.”

“I couldn’t tell you,” replied Jared. “I only realized it was gone because it left an obvious empty space. When I asked Stedford about it, he said one of the servants damaged the frame recently while cleaning it, and it’s out for repairs. He had no idea who it was, either. I hope the day never comes when Stonefield is taken over by an outsider who doesn’t even know the names of his own ancestors.”

Simon shot him a sidelong glance.

“We know how to prevent that, don’t we?”

“I told you,” Jared replied coldly, “I am taking steps to—”

“Yes, I know—steps to acquire a bride. But how is it you are still here? Shouldn’t you be out beating the bushes, so to speak? Or do you plan to woo your chosen damsel by post?”

Jared stiffened.

“I cannot very well leave until Grandfather is completely out of danger.”

“Really? I thought perhaps your unwillingness to depart the family manse had more to do with a certain golden-haired guest.’’

Jared eyed his brother coldly.

“I hardly think this is the time for dalliance.”

Simon lifted his brows.

“I hardly think her the type for dalliance. And I thought you had come to believe that she really is a schoolmistress, and was a victim of some sort of abduction.”

Jared shrugged.

“Mmm. Let’s just say I’m willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. On the other hand, she is undoubtedly no different from any other female.”

“Oh? And how’s that?”

“She’s very clever at putting her beauty to work for her own ends. I’m sure teaching school is only a temporary measure until she can snare a rich husband or a protector.”

Simon gaped at him.

“Good God, Jared! Are you still spouting that bacon-brained nonsense? From what I have seen, she has shown herself to be a lady, in every sense of the word.”

Jared made no response beyond a frigid stare. Simon eyed his brother, and at last said slowly, “I think I begin to see. As long as you can convince yourself that she’s some sort of slut, you stand in no danger of entertaining any warmer feelings for her. Is that it?”

Jared still made no answer, but his face tightened, and he raised his hand in an unconsciously defensive gesture.

Simon laughed softly.

“I shan’t plague you anymore, brother. But I’ll warrant you’re having the devil’s own time maintaining that little fiction. Take care you don’t find yourself in the basket over this—one way or another.’’

With an ironic salute, he turned away and went in the direction of his chambers. Jared said nothing, but stared after him for a long minute before moving off toward his own rooms.

At dinner, Jared pursued the subject of the Viscount Stedford and his doings. He held Aunt Amabelle’s complete attention when he spoke of the changes wrought by the new owner of Silverwell.

“A Chinese pagoda!” she exclaimed. “You don’t mean it.”

“ ‘Pon my honor, Aunt. And one does not dare sit down in any of his wretched armchairs without expecting some sort of exotic animal to begin gnawing at one’s ankles.”

“That settles it,” interposed Lissa. “We must pay a visit as soon as possible. It sounds marvelous! I only wish that we could have something like it here at the Court. The latest mode of fashion we have is the Italian garden, and that was put in before I was even born.”

“Oh, indeed,” remarked Simon. “We are sadly behind the times. I’ll tell you what, Lissa, you must hasten to Grandfather and demand that we replace the Kent furniture in the library with crocodile feet and Chinese tassels. And be sure you tell me when you are going to do it so that I may come and watch, for it will be a rare show, to be sure.”

“Well, of course, I shan’t do anything of the kind,” said Lissa with great dignity. “But it seems too shabby to live with the same old humdrum set of things forever and ever when right next door the whole place is being done over in what I just know will be all the crack!”

“Not the whole place, Lissa,” put in Jared. “So far the blight has only extended to several of the main state rooms. His library sports no tassels as yet, and the gallery is much as it used to be when Simon and I played there as children.”

Aunt Amabelle breathed a nostalgic sigh.

“My, we did have some splendid times there. When I was a girl, I used to play frequently with Phyllida; that would be Lord and Lady Stedford’s third daughter. We both had the same dancing master, and took our lessons at Silverwell. Lady Stedford would play for us. Such a lovely woman she was, with—” She stopped short, and swung to face Diana. “My goodness—that’s it!” she cried in pleased recollection. “She had the most beautiful golden hair, and it was just like yours, Diana. Oh, I am glad to have that cleared up. You know how it is when you are reminded of something, and you just can’t place it.”

She beamed at the entire group.

“Don’t you agree, Lydia? You remember her, don’t you?”