Anne Barbour (8 page)

“Please, ma’am, allow me to introduce my humble self—but perhaps Miss Bledsoe has already made my name known to you?”

Diana smiled and acknowledged that this was so.

“Splendid! Then we are already old friends. Tell me, Miss Diana—if I may make bold of your name?’’ Taking her acquiescence for granted, he smiled roguishly. “How long do you intend to make your stay here?”

Diana, feeling herself on shaky ground, attempted a noncommittal answer.

“I really don’t know, sir—just a week or so. I shall be leaving shortly to continue my journey. That is—I must travel to Canterbury—on family business.”

“But that is absurd. Surely you cannot expect your new friends to let you go so soon. You must inform Lady Teague that you plan to stay much longer—till Christmas, at least.”

Diana was unimpressed by this display of boyish enthusiasm, but she smiled as she shook her head. “I’m afraid I have already imposed on her hospitality quite long enough.”

“But how is this?” asked his lordship. “Surely my lady can only be pleased to have the family manse graced with such loveliness.”

Sighing inwardly, Diana embarked once more on the tale of the overturned coach. When she had concluded her story, the viscount’s face took on an expression of sympathy.

“Well, well, such an adventure. So Burnleigh is at home, is he? Interesting. But tell me, if I may be so bold, when may I come to call on you at the Court?”

Diana hesitated. The prospect of a visit from the dashing Lord Stedford to herself, the supposed bit of muslin, under the outraged nose of the insufferable earl, was appealing. She sighed again and suppressed the ignoble impulse.

“I don’t think that will be possible, sir. Perhaps you have not heard, the marquess is very ill. I don’t believe the family is receiving.”

“No! That is too bad,” replied the viscount, a pout on his full lips. “I did hear that he had taken a chill, but I had no idea he was in such a bad case.’’ He brightened. “We shall just have to contrive something else. Would you care to accompany me tomorrow morning on a drive through the neighborhood? There’s no end to the sights around here. The village has a fine Norman church, and within a very few miles are some Roman ruins. Most enjoyable for you, I’m sure.”

Diana was torn between disapproval of the gentleman’s cavalier dismissal of Lord Chamford’s condition and amusement at his childish efforts to win her approval. A chuckle escaped her.

“Roman ruins are certainly an inducement, but I’ll have to ascertain any plans that Lady Teague may have.”

“Of course,” the viscount agreed smoothly. “Perhaps Lady Teague, and Lady Felicity, as well, would like to take the air. An outing would do them much good, do you not agree?’’

Feeling that circumstances were proceeding much too fast, Diana contented herself with a smile and a “Perhaps.” She then announced that she and Miss Bledsoe really must be getting back to Stonefield.

With another bow and yet another brilliant smile, Lord Stedford leapt into his phaeton. He took the reins from Mr. Churte, who now seemed completely recovered from his indisposition. As the elegant equipage drew away, Lord Stedford turned for a final wave of his hand. Miss Bledsoe murmured a faint good-bye, but it was quite evident that for the viscount, the little governess had ceased to exist some time ago.

“Well!” breathed that lady. “I believe you have made a conquest, Miss Bavister.” She looked back at the receding vehicle. “My goodness, he is still looking at you, and Mr. Churte gabbling at him a mile a minute!”

Suppressing an impulse to glance over her shoulder, Diana turned back toward Stonefield Court.

She set a brisk pace, and the two ladies soon arrived at their starting point, the manor’s great stone portico. Here they were met by the odd sight of an aged farm cart standing before the massive center doors. From the rear of this vehicle a footman, under the direction of Mallow, was removing a portmanteau, while on the front stairs Lord Burnleigh clutched a tall, young stranger in a laughing embrace. Lissa danced around the pair excitedly, and Aunt Amabelle, in the background, was fairly wringing her hands.

Indeed, from the number of persons clustered in the vicinity, it appeared that most of the household had turned out to welcome this personable youth.

As Diana and Miss Bledsoe approached, they were observed by Lissa, who hurried to meet them.

“Diana, I’m so glad you are returned! Just see who has come. Simon! My brother Simon, all the way from France. He has come for . . .”

In sudden recollection, a shadow fell on Lissa’s face. Almost in unison, the others gathered seemed to feel the same heaviness settle over the homecoming. Jared sighed, and with an arm still flung around his brother, made his way inside the house. Diana entered the hall in time to catch Simon’s words.

. “Yes, I was lucky. I set out as soon as I received your letter, and made excellent connections. At least until I debarked from the stage at the Pig and Whistle, in the village. There wasn’t a vehicle or animal to be had there for hire. Fortunately, I spotted old Suggs on his way home from market, and caught a ride with him.”

He glanced at the faces surrounding him, and his own grew serious. “Am—am I in time, Jared?”

“You’ve come in good time, Simon. We must get you up to see him right away. I have just come from his rooms, and he is awake, but very weak. It will do him good just to know you have come.”

With a tired smile, he began to lead Simon toward the central staircase, but on catching sight of Diana, standing diffidently aside, he paused.

“Oh, but wait, Simon. You must meet our guest.” He drew Simon toward her. “Allow me to present Miss Diana Bavister. She is an unexpected visitor, but a welcome one, nonetheless.”

In the brief moment she was given to study this additional member of the Talent family, Diana’s impression was of an open, even-featured face, with eyes of a clear and inquiring brown. Simon kissed her hand with an air of natural gallantry, but his manner was distracted as he murmured the usual courtesies. Diana responded briefly in kind, and Jared whisked his younger brother away.

Lady Teague, in a nervous flutter, hurried off in the company of Mrs. Sample to see to the readying of Simon’s bedchamber.

“Thank goodness the linens have been kept aired, but we must get the dust covers removed—and, of course, flowers ...” were the last words Diana heard as Aunt Amabelle bustled out of sight.

Diana turned to the stairs, declaring her intention of retiring to her bedchamber for a rest before dinner. She was not fatigued, but felt the urgent need for a period of reflection. The day was barely half over, but Diana felt as though she had lived through a lifetime of misadventure in a few short hours.

Declining an escort, she reached her chambers after only a few wrong turnings. There she found resting upon the satinwood dressing table a fat little packet, upon which her name (or, rather, that of the nonexistent Diana Bavister) had been written in a bold scrawl. It contained a roll of notes, which she counted with care. Yes, it was all there. Five hundred guineas. She sank into one of the pretty little chairs set by the fireplace, and gave herself up to thought.

She had the money with which to make her way to Aylesford and, after she met with Marcus, back to Paris. When her bargain with the odious Lord Burnleigh had been fulfilled, she could look forward to a comfortable journey, provided with all the accoutrements of genteel travel.

She meditated on the earl, and became prey to wildly mixed emotions. On one hand, she was filled with indignation at his ruthless treatment of her. On the other, she wished that she had met him under different circumstances. But again, in what other circumstances would she be likely to encounter someone of his elevated standing?

“And—” a small voice made itself heard—”even if you were to meet under different circumstances, what possible interest could the Earl of Burnleigh be expected to take in a virtual nonentity from a ladies’ seminary?”

Diana had no difficulty in recognizing the voice. It belonged to the Schoolmistress, of course, that prim and radical personage who emerged from the recesses of her mind every now and then to deliver instructive lectures when Diana’s thoughts were in danger of taking a frivolous turn.

“None at all,” was her instant retort. “Nor have I any interest in him beyond a desire to leave his influence at the earliest opportunity. After all, I am not an empty-headed widgeon, falling into a swoon over deep-set eyes and a pair of broad shoulders.”

“Quite,” sniffed the Schoolmistress repressively.

* * * *

In a distant wing of the Court, in Simon’s chambers, Jared was deep in conversation with his brother. The two had just come from the marquess’s chambers, and were in a somber mood. Jared briefly scrutinized the younger man. At their first meeting, in the hall below, Simon had appeared relatively unchanged from the hey-go-mad youth who had ridden off some three years ago to go adventuring in the Army. Brown hair waved just as luxuriantly over a broad brow, above eyes that were still clear and laughter-lit. But war had marked him in subtle ways—a slight harshening of regular, almost classic features, and the hardening of an already determined jaw-line.

“I can’t believe how he has changed,” Simon was saying. “He seems to have aged ten years since I’ve been gone. And he is so thin! God, Jared, he’s really dying, isn’t he?”

“So say his doctors,” agreed his brother with a grimace. “I’m glad you were able to be here for him.”

“I’ll only be able to stay for a few days,” said Simon. “The news that Boney has slipped his leash didn’t get out until I was already on my way home, or I might not have been granted leave at all. But what’s this about your betrothal? Grandfather was very full of your news. Are you actually about to become leg-shackled? To a nobody from the depths of Wales? Not your style, I would have thought, though she is a rare beauty. That, of course, is very much your style.”

Jared uttered a long drawn-out sound, half sigh and half groan.

“Sit down, Simon. It’s a long story, and at the end of it, you may be ready to have me committed to Bedlam.’’

The tale was not so long in the telling, after all, but when Jared had finished, his brother indeed looked as though he believed him to have taken leave of his senses.

“That regal creature? A lightskirt? And she was able to fool Grandfather? This is—incredible, Jared. And Aunt Amabelle is part of the scheme? I begin to believe you’re both candidates for the loony bin!”

Jared flung up a hand.

“Peccavi, brother. Enough. I know the plan is dangerous. All right, foolhardy, if you will. But, Simon, if you had seen him, worrying and fretting. ... I would have done anything to bring him peace. And let us have a little less of the moral outrage, my lad. This little project is a drive in the park compared to some of the crack-brained schemes I’ve seen you through over the years.”

Simon had the grace to blush. “But—”

Jared continued, ignoring the interruption. “Besides, the thing is working. So far, at least. As you saw, Grandfather is happy. To give the adventuress her due, she is a consummate actress, and has convinced not only the old gentleman, but Aunt Amabelle and the entire household, of her gentility.’’

“All but you, that is.”

“Indeed. I wish you could have heard her story, Simon. Well, perhaps it is better you did not. Her tears are most effective, and her voice, soft as summer rain. Of course, it’s a tale guaranteed to touch the hardest of hearts.”

“But not yours, I take it.”

Jared laughed shortly.

“I think you know better than that. It’s been a good many years since I allowed my purse to be lightened by a sad story and a pair of appealing eyes.”

“Ah, yes, the lovely Cleanthe. Jared, are you still smarting over that? Good God, that was over ten years ago! I was just a sprout at the time, but I can still remember you glumping about the place as though you meant to put a period to your existence at any moment.”

“Was I that bad?” Jared’s mouth curved in a rueful smile. “No, little brother, I am not smarting over it. I’ve enjoyed as many enjoyable connections since then as the next man, I should imagine. I am, of course, always willing to pay handsomely for services rendered, but I have become a little harder to fool than the next man.”

“Yes, and just a bit more reluctant to fall in love.”

“Nonsense. I just told you—”

“I don’t mean agreeable connections, Jared. I mean love—as in marriage and children.”

“Good God,” exclaimed the earl, “who looks for love in marriage? And who in their right mind would wish for that wretched condition of petty jealousies and whining recriminations? But to answer your question, yes, I shall marry. Having been brought to the realization of my dereliction, I have promised myself to make an offer within the next few weeks.”

“Ah. Who is the lucky candidate? Anyone I know?”

“Don’t be an ass. I don’t know. Sally Westerby, perhaps.”

“She squints, don’t she?”

“Well, Eleanor Forbes-Lacey, then.”

“Oh, yes—the Incomparable. Has her temper improved any?”

A touch of impatience crept into Jared’s voice.

“All right, what about Catherine Ponsonby, or what’s-her-name, Framlingham’s youngest daughter? The point I am trying to make is that there are any number of ‘candidates,’ all well-bred, dutiful, and noticeably anxious to wed the heir to a noble fortune.”

“And you really don’t care which of them you marry?” asked Simon curiously.

“No. Not since the days when I burned with passion for the exquisite Cleanthe, and had visions of installing her as Countess of Burnleigh, have I considered marriage anything more than an extended tour of duty. Lord, what callow dreams those were!”

“What ...” Simon hesitated. “What did happen, Jared. with Cleanthe?”

“Did I never tell you? No, I suppose not; you were just a stripling then.” Jared sighed again. “I, of course, was a sophisticate of nineteen. I thought she was my soul mate, and I lost my heart in the beguiling depths of those pansy-blue eyes. I loved her to distraction, and was fairly dazzled when she swore that she loved only me. I showered her with bad verses and expensive trinkets.” Jared’s lips curved in a tight smile. “And then—I can still remember the night she came to me, her pink little mouth trembling in despair. She needed, she explained, oh, ever so much money. Her brother, you see, had gambled unluckily, and was about to plunge headlong into the River Tick. Father would disown him, family dishonored. ‘Oh, Jared, what am I to
do?’