Anne Barbour (7 page)

Regretfully, this was only a small luncheon. Cook, familiar with the eating habits of the females of the establishment, had provided a scanty selection of cold meat, salad, and fruit. To this, Diana addressed herself with enthusiasm, under the mildly astonished eyes of the others.

The talk was of Lord Chamford and his illness.

“I am simply saying, Amabelle,” intoned Mrs. Sample, with the air of one who had been simply saying this for some days, “that if his lordship had taken my advice when he first came in from his day out in the wet fields, he would not now be in this sad state. Goose grease. Hot goose grease and flannel. It never fails.”

“Yes, Lydia,” replied Aunt Amabelle, a touch of impatience in her voice. “That’s very true, no doubt, but you know how it is with Papa. At the merest suggestion of interference in his affairs—particularly from a female—he flies up in the boughs. I don’t know how many times I have endeavored to guide him in matters of his health and well-being, only to be rebuffed in the most unseemly terms.”

“As well I know, my dear,” Mrs. Sample interposed with a sigh. “I recall the occasion upon which you recommended a series of galvanizing treatments for his gout. I myself would not have suggested a regimen so sadly out of date, but there was really no excuse for the tongue-lashing he gave you.”

“And just a few weeks ago,” continued Lady Amabelle tearfully, “when I mentioned that if he persisted in consuming such quantities of port after dinner he should balance the effect with a dose of Dr. James’s Powders, I thought he would go off in a fit of apoplexy right on the spot.”

“Well, I’m sure it’s no wonder!” interjected Lissa, her black eyes snapping. “Galvanizing! Goose grease! I never heard such fustian as your everlasting quacking. Aunt. Between you and Cousin Lydia, it’s enough to try the patience of a saint. Which,” she added fair-mindedly, “Grandpapa is a long way from being.”

At the commencement of this short diatribe. Miss Bledsoe had begun an ineffectual twitter of protest, which was reinforced by a gasp of indignation from Lady Teague.

“Lissa, that will do! Will you never learn to mind your tongue?”

Miss Bledsoe continued twittering, and Mrs. Sample rumbled.

“Indeed, Lissa, most unbecoming,” the latter said, “A young lady. ...”

Lissa, her eyes flashing, opened her mouth, but was interrupted in her spirited rejoinder by the entrance of Mallow, who bore the intelligence that the doctor had come and gone, and Lord Chamford was at last requesting Lissa’s presence.

The girl sprang to her feet, and, contenting herself with a darkling glance at her preceptresses, hurried from the room.

Lady Teague was the first to speak.

“I really don’t know what we’re going to do about that girl. She gets more and more unmanageable every day.” She cast a look of reproach at Miss Bledsoe, who squeaked even more agitatedly, and plaited the fringe of her shawl with trembling fingers.

“One must be fair, Amabelle,” said Mrs. Sample judiciously. “Lissa has been a rare handful since the day she was born, and with the cosseting she has received from Lord Chamford, to say nothing of the indulgences heaped on her by her two older brothers, it’s simply not to be expected that she can be controlled by a governess or anyone else short of one of those Greek women.”

“Greek women?” came the surprised query, in unison, from the others at the table.

“Well, I think they were Greek. Big, strapping wenches—used to hunt and shoot, and they poked at people with spears.”

At this, Diana choked on a bit of cold chicken.

“I believe they were called Amazons, Mrs. Sample,” she said when she had recovered. “They weren’t real. That is, they are from classical mythology.”

“You don’t say,” said Aunt Amabelle, obviously much impressed with Diana’s erudition. “Just as well, no doubt. They do not seem at all the sort of female one would want running tame in one’s household.”

“No, indeed, ma’am,” agreed Diana, with barely a quiver in her voice.

“At any rate,” continued her ladyship, “something must be done about Lissa.”

“She is certainly one of the loveliest young girls I have ever seen,” said Diana, “and I do think—” Here she broke off, embarrassed that her instincts as a schoolmistress had overridden her social sense. “I beg your pardon, ma’am. I have no business offering an opinion of a member of your family.”

“Nothing of the sort, my dear.”

“Good heavens,” added Mrs. Sample. “I’m sure the opinion of a well-bred young woman such as yourself could not help but be welcome.”

Now it was Aunt Amabelle’s turn to choke. Red-faced and spluttering, she turned away offers of assistance from Mrs. Sample. Fortifying herself with a sip of water, she motioned Diana to continue.

“Thank you, ma’am. You’re very kind. Well—I do think her liveliness of manner springs from an overabundance of sensibility rather than from an ungenerous spirit. She is at present very concerned, as are all of you, with her grandfather’s health, which must naturally lead to a certain agitation of nerves. She seems to be most generous in nature.”

“Oh, yes,” Miss Bledsoe interjected unexpectedly, “she really is a lovely girl—so kind—and vivacious. And very quick in her lessons as well.”

Aunt Amabelle sighed.

“Yes, that’s true. When she is in spirits, there is no one more affable and kindhearted. The thing is, she has all the Talent wildness and stubbornness, which is difficult enough in the sons of the family. In a female, it simply won’t do.”

On this note. Lady Teague rose, signifying that the meal was at an end. Diana hoped the others would not notice that she had emptied every serving dish on the table.

As the ladies left the dining parlor, her ladyship announced her intention of returning to her father’s bedchamber.

“Although,” she admitted with a disconsolate sniff, “my presence does nothing toward his improvement.”

She turned toward the stairs, only to halt abruptly as she absorbed for the first time the full impact of Diana’s gown.

“Good heavens, child! That cannot be one of the gowns made up by my woman.” At Diana’s affirmative nod, she gasped in horror. “But it’s absolutely dreadful. I can’t think how this came about. My dear, I shall see to it at once. You know, we have several wardrobes full of clothes left behind by Charlotte—Jared’s older sister— when she married. You and she are nearly of a size—just the merest alteration is needed—and a few touches to bring the gowns up to style. I promise, you will have something suitable to wear to dinner.’’

Then, after suggesting several means by which Diana could occupy herself for the remainder of the afternoon, she hurried away, with Mrs. Sample treading sedately in her wake. Since Diana did not desire to take a nap, or improve herself with a religious tract, of which Lady Teague evidently possessed an extensive collection, she accepted Miss Bledsoe’s offer to accompany her on a walk toward the neighboring village.

Shortly thereafter Diana, bearing a borrowed parasol, found herself strolling along a charming country lane, the estimable Miss Bledsoe at her side. This lady, away from the environs of the Court, became much more cheerful, and she regaled Diana with all the information at her disposal on the Talent family.

Her recital did not take long, since Miss Bledsoe had arrived less than a month ago to take up her position. Apparently, this constituted a fairly long tenure for one of the willful Lady Lissa’s governesses.

“She really is a sweet girl—underneath,” Miss Bledsoe concluded. “It’s just that when she gets her back up, which I’m afraid happens all too often, there’s no doing anything with her.’’

Miss Bledsoe sighed.

“I have endeavored to give satisfaction, but it is so very difficult to instruct a young girl in the art of needlework, and the pianoforte, and all the other accomplishments so necessary to a lady of quality, when the lady in question says, ‘What stuff!’ The next one sees of her, she is racing along the downs on horseback with her hat hanging down her back.

“And the family is so kind. As you saw, I have been invited to take my meals with them, and Lady Teague is in everything most agreeable.”

“And Lord Burnleigh?” Diana assured herself that she had no real interest in the wretched earl, but it would be useful to learn as much about her adversary as possible.

Regrettably, Miss Bledsoe proved to be a bent reed on the subject of his lordship.

“No, indeed, Miss Bavister. This is only the second time I have had the pleasure of seeing him. He spends most of his time in London.’’ She simpered, and an unbecoming blush spread over her thin cheeks. “Perhaps that is just as well. From what one hears of him, no lady of virtue would wish to be very long in his company.”

Encountering Diana’s look of cool inquiry, Miss Bledsoe colored even more deeply, and she continued in some haste.

“That is to say, I have never heard him say anything beyond the most proper, but—well, everyone knows of his carryings on in Town. My dear, he is a Corinthian!”

The word meant nothing to Diana, and her brows rose. Miss Bledsoe smiled, as one in the know imparting wisdom to the uninitiated.

“No doubt, living in seclusion as you do, Miss Bavister, you are unaccustomed to the wild ways of our young blades, if you will excuse the vulgarity. ‘Corinthian’ is the epithet applied to the very wildest. This set is addicted to every form of sport, and they associate with all manner of the lower orders, sometimes speaking in the most appalling cant. To be a Corinthian, one must be a top-of-the-trees, a prime go, if you please. As for female companionship—well, that is better left unsaid,” she finished repressively.

Overcoming her scruples, however, she plunged on with what could only be described as a certain degree of relish.

“I have seen those women—bold as brass in their expensive carriages, taking the air in Hyde Park—to the manner born, indeed!”

Her voice dropped to a whisper.

“I have heard Lady Teague on the subject of Lord Burnleigh and his ‘Paphians,’ as she calls them. The amount of money he squanders on them is rather a sore point. When her ladyship, quite tactfully of course, once brought up the subject to his lordship, he only said, ever so gently, ‘But Aunt, it is my blunt, after all.’ Did you ever hear the like?”

Diana agreed that she had never heard the like. By now, her better self had surfaced, and she was experiencing a strong distaste for the intimate nature of Miss Bledsoe’s gleanings. She turned the conversation, admiring the beauty of the Kent countryside.

“It is lovely, isn’t it?” The governess smiled. “Now that spring is here, all the orchards are coming into bloom. Such a charming panorama. See how the golden daffodils beckon to us with their nodding.”

Quite caught up in her flight of poesy, she hastened toward a grassy bank to pluck one of the graceful flowers, but was stayed by the sight of an approaching phaeton and pair.

“Why, it is Lord Stedford!” She explained hurriedly, “The Viscount Stedford, that is. His Christian name is Ninian, I believe. His estate, Silverwell, marches with Stonefield. He is such a gentleman. Miss Bavister! So handsome, with such an air. That is his man, Augustus Churte, with him.”

She hurried forward. “Good afternoon, Lord Stedford. Such a perfect afternoon for a drive in the countryside, is it not?”

The phaeton drew abreast of the ladies, and Diana lifted her head to gaze into eyes of a clear and startling blue.

Chapter 7

Ninian, the Viscount Stedford, glanced indifferently at the plainly dressed females standing by the road. He slowed his phaeton, and bestowed upon them the nod of condescension he reserved for persons of the lower orders.

Then Diana straightened. A stray breeze swept the round gown against her inviting curves, and caused tendrils of silken hair to play about her cheeks. The viscount reined in abruptly, causing the rather bulky gentleman seated beside him to skew sideways in his seat.

“What a happy surprise, my lord,” said Miss Bledsoe in a breathless quaver. “Are you and Mr. Churte out to take the air?”

Lord Stedford slid his brilliant blue gaze to Miss Bledsoe’s unprepossessing countenance and smiled.

“It is indeed a very fine spring day, Miss Bledsoe.”

He turned to face Diana once again, his eyes traveling over her form in a familiar manner. Diana felt the blood rise to her cheeks, and lifting her chin, she returned his stare with affronted dignity.

Miss Bledsoe tittered uncertainly.

“My lord, you must allow me to present Miss Diana Bavister. Miss Bavister is a guest at the Court—all the way from Wales. She is the daughter of an old friend of the family.”

His lordship’s manner underwent a marked transformation. His smile broadened, and he doffed his curly-crowned beaver hat, revealing a fair head of pomaded curls. If he considered it odd in a guest of the Court to be jauntering about the countryside with no other companion than a governess, dressed in a gown a scullery maid would scorn, no sign of this showed in his expression.

He sprang from the phaeton, thus exposing the full magnificence of his raiment. His coat of dove-gray superfine was cut in a mode that might be considered somewhat showy for the country, but no fault could be found in the elegance with which it fitted his slender form. His cravat was carefully arranged in a cascade of precise folds, and his collar was starched into stiletto points. Several fobs dangled from a waistcoat of embroidered Turkish silk, and yellow pantaloons clung to his well-formed limbs.

“But what an auspicious encounter!” he cried with engaging ebullience. “Churte, be a good fellow and walk the grays while I make the acquaintance of this fair visitor to our neighborhood. Churte! What ails you, man?”

Indeed, Lord Stedford’s man looked unwell. He still sat askew on his perch, and his eyes were fixed on Diana in an unfocused stare. As the viscount called his name again, he passed a shaking hand over his forehead, then seemed to come to himself. With a murmur of apology, he straightened and tipped his hat to the ladies.

Casting a brief, puzzled glance after his manservant, Lord Stedford bent his attention to Diana.