Anne Barbour (6 page)

“No. I merely meant—if you will pardon my saying so, my lord, you seem to have not the slightest notion of how to deal with a young girl’s—er, aspirations.”

“No, I do not. In fact, I find the whole subject of young girls a closed book.”

“I suppose that is understandable,” replied Hester placatingly, “but—ah, Larkie,” she finished with some relief as that lady entered the room.

“Why, Lord Bythorne.” Miss Larkin extended her hand as Thorne rose. “How very nice to see you again. Your foot is healed?”

“Good as new.” Thorne extended the appendage in question and waggled it to prove its soundness.

“Lord Bythorne is looking for his ward—again,” said Hester as all three settled once more about the tea table. In a few words she apprised her companion of Miss Venable’s latest start.

“Oh, my gracious!” exclaimed Miss Larkin. “The little imp. Though perhaps, I should not—” she added, conscious-stricken.

“Never mind. Miss Larkin,” replied Thorne with a bark of mirthless laughter. “That is one of the kinder descriptions that occurs to me.”

“You know,” said Hester, who had remained silent during this interchange, “Chloe mentioned a name to me while she was here. A dear friend, she said—one who entered into her feelings on the inadvisability of marrying Mr. Wery, is it not?”

“Yes. But who was she?”

Hester stared into space, searching her memory, which unfortunately remained uncommunicative.

“Oh dear, I’m afraid I’m drawing a blank.”

Thorne drew in a quick breath of irritation.

“Damnation! That is—I do apologize, ladies, but perhaps, Miss Blayne, if you were to think a little harder.. .”

Hester assumed a reflective expression, but found herself unable to think beyond the desire that the earl would remove his intent gaze from her. After a few moments, she shook her head apologetically.

Thorne frowned. “Well, let’s see. Chloe’s acquaintanceship among girls of her age outside London is limited—at least, those she has met since coming to us from India. Living in the neighborhood of my estate are Susan Shaw, and Lady Charlotte Wellbeloved. I believe Chloe was also friends with Sarah Wendover, as well, and there was—

‘That’s it!” cried Hester. “Sarah Wendover. Miss Venable said the girl was recently forced into becoming betrothed to a gentleman to whom she had formed a strong aversion. I wonder if—”

But Thorne had already leaped to his feet. “I don’t know, but it’s worth a try.” He moved to Hester and grasped both of her hands in his. “Thank you. Miss Blayne, I am indeed indebted to you. And now, if you will excuse me, I had better be on my way.”

He strode to the doorway, but halted with his hand on the latch, causing Hester, who had risen to see him out, to bump into him from behind. Turning, Thorne steadied her.

“Excuse me,” he said awkwardly. “Something just occurred to me.”

To Hester’s surprise, Thorne returned to his seat and sat down. Having accomplished this, he seemed at a loss.

“Ah,” he said at last, and Hester and Larkie gazed at him expectantly. “I was wondering. That is—last time—with Chloe—as I mentioned, you and she seemed to get along so swimmingly. You were able to convince her, with astonishingly little effort, to return home. I was wondering . . .”

Hester exchanged a quick glance with Larkie and stared warily at the earl.

“I was wondering,” he finished in a rush, “if you would accompany me to Miss Wendover’s home.”

“I beg your pardon?” gasped Hester.

“Sarah Wendover lives near Bythorne Park, so she is no more than fifteen miles from here. You—and Miss Larkin, of course—could come with me and still be home by this evening. Please,” he added, in the face of Hester’s expression of blank disbelief. “If she has fled to Miss Wendover, it’s going to be next to impossible for me to winkle her away, at least without tying her up like a Christmas goose and flinging her over my shoulder. But if you were to talk to her . . .”

He left his sentence unfinished, but bent on her the most charming smile at his disposal, one that he knew from experience was unvaryingly effective. On this occasion, however, he could sense that it had failed in its purpose.

“No,” she said uncompromisingly.

“But—but why?”

“Lord Bythorne,” returned Hester patiently, “I sympathize with your, er, difficulties with your ward, but you can hardly expect me to disrupt my life in order to come to your rescue. In fact, I find myself extremely reluctant to try to persuade her to acquiesce in what I can only consider your unreasonable desire that she return home to marry a man whom she holds in repugnance.”

Thorne rose and advanced on her, experiencing an irrational urge to grasp Miss Hester Blayne by the shoulders and shake her until that tidy little bun on the top of her head tumbled down her back.

“Now, wait just a moment, Miss Blayne. First of all, as I thought I had explained, I am not the villainous uncle from some third-rate melodrama. Chloe is my ward and my responsibility. I consider finding an acceptable match for her the most important of those responsibilities. The husband I have chosen for her is a fine young man. I have investigated his family. The fact that Chloe has dug in her heels against the idea only goes to prove how woefully inadequate she is to determine her own future. Second, I did not ask you to disrupt your life, I merely asked you to spare me an afternoon from your busy schedule.” He drew a deep breath and stepped away from her abruptly. “However, you may consider that request null and void. I regret having disturbed you. Thank you for telling me of Chloe’s reference to Miss Wendover. And now, if you will excuse me . . .”

He turned on his heel and rigid with anger made once again for the front door.

“Wait.” To her own amazement, Hester heard herself speak the word. She put out her hand. “I apologize, my lord. I’m afraid I have been conditioned to attributing the worst motive to any male plan for a female’s well-being.”

“Indeed, Hester,” interposed Miss Larkin, tendrils of gray hair flying about her face. “Lord Bythorne’s request is not unreasonable. You told me yourself just this morning that you are ahead of schedule on your book, and we have no social engagements pending—at least, not until Tuesday next when we have been invited to Squire Maltby’s.”

Hester smiled reluctantly at Thorne. “Very well. We shall be pleased to accompany you—if you still wish us to do so.”

Thorne’s grin of relief told her her apology had been accepted. “Absolutely,” he said. “My curricle, unfortunately, will not accommodate all of us, so I’ll have to hire a vehicle at—the White Stag, is it?” he asked, naming the posting inn on the outskirts of the village.

“Yes,” replied Hester. “That would probably be best, since I’m afraid our only vehicle is a rather smallish gig.”

Thorne nodded and hurried from the house with a marked air of relief, returning less than an hour later with a commodious coach and four with attendant postboy.

Scarcely more than another hour elapsed before they arrived at The Willows, home of Mr. Jonathan Wendover, Esquire. Present to greet them were the squire himself and his lady, as well as his oldest son Miles and oldest daughter Melissa. The little family seemed somewhat flustered at finding themselves unexpectedly invaded by the august presence of the Earl of Bythorne, but ushered him and his guests into their drawing room with alacrity.

“But we did not expect you so soon, my lord!” exclaimed Mrs. Wendover, whereupon the earl turned upon her with a suddenness that nearly overset the lady.

“So soon?” he echoed sharply. “Is Chloe here, then?”

“Well, of course—that is, she is not precisely here. She and Sarah took the pony cart into the village, but they should return momentarily. However, we had thought dear Chloe’s visit would not be so brief. From what she said, we assumed she would be with us the greater part of what is left of the summer.”

“Indeed,” said Thorne, drawing a long breath. He turned to Larkie and Hester. “May I introduce my, er, cousin, Miss Blayne and her companion, Miss Larkin.”

Hester glanced at him, startled. Well, yes, she concluded after a moment’s reflection, it would look more than a little odd for the earl to be tooling about the country in the company of an unrelated spinster and her elderly companion. She put out a hand to Mrs. Wendover and the squire, professing herself delighted to make their acquaintance.

The little group settled down to tea and conversation, and it was only a few minutes later when a commotion in the entry hall and the sound of girlish voices indicated the arrival of the youngest daughter of the house and her guest. A few moments later, the young ladies burst into the drawing room, curls and ribbons flying.

“Mama!” cried Miss Wendover. “You will not believe what I found—

She was interrupted by a strangled gasp from Chloe, who had followed her into the room. The color fled from the girl’s cheeks, and her eyes grew wide with horror.

“Uncle Thorne!” she cried before crumpling to the floor in a faint.

Chapter Five

Not surprisingly, it was some time before order was restored to Squire Wendover’s household. Chloe revived within a few moments of her dramatic collapse, but for many moments the air was rent with her piteous cries for deliverance from her horrid circumstances, to which Miss Wendover added her own supplication.

At last, the squire and his lady, having been assured by the earl that he placed no blame on them for the defection of his ward, ordered Sarah to her room to cool her heels and her heated sensibilities. They then paraded from the room with their remaining offspring, leaving Chloe to Lord Bythorne’s tender mercies.

Chloe displayed no surprise on finding Hester in the earl’s company. Instead, on finding herself under a threat of impending retribution, she flew across the room and flung herself on Hester’s bosom.

“Oh, Miss Blayne!” she exclaimed tearfully. “Please do not let him take me.”

“Now, see here, Chloe—” thundered the earl, whereupon Hester shot him a minatory glance. Her voice, when she spoke, however, was mild.

“Perhaps, my lord, if you and Larkie were to take a turn on the terrace and give Miss Venable a chance to recover herself. ..”

She frowned meaningfully, and after an instant’s hesitation Thorne nodded shortly. Turning stiffly, he offered his arm to Miss Larkin and the two proceeded through the French doors that opened from the drawing room to a pleasantly landscaped terrace.

“Now then, Chloe.” Hester led the weeping girl to a settee and lowering her gently, seated herself beside her. Fishing a handkerchief from her reticule, she applied it to Chloe’s swollen eyes and smiled comfortingly. “Let us see what we can do to remedy your situation.”

‘There is nothing that can be done to remedy my situation.” Chloe sniffed, taking the handkerchief from Hester’s fingers to continue the mopping-up process. “You have seen how he is. He is determined to inflict his will on mine.”

“Well—yes—” Hester’s lips curved upward. “He is somewhat, er, dictatorial, but you must realize, that like most men—particularly men in his position—he has been used to being obeyed without question for nearly all his life.”

“Well,” muttered Chloe, “he’d best get used to being disobeyed, because I have no intention—

“I applaud your spirit, my dear,” interposed Hester gently, “but it is never wise to mount an insurrection from a position of weakness. Do you remember what we discussed on the occasion of our first meeting at my home?”

Chloe stared at her blankly.

“I think we agreed at that time that your best plan of attack at the moment was to show your guardian that you are quite grown up and capable of making your own decisions about your future.”

Chloe’s gaze fell to the handkerchief, now twisted in a damp knot. “Y-yes, I remember.” She lifted her eyes. “I—I suppose you think that running away—again—was not a very good way of demonstrating my—my maturity.”

“It does not matter what I think. It is your view of your actions that is important. And, of course, that of Lord Bythorne. Try, if you can, Chloe, to put yourself in your guardian’s place.” She lifted her hand as a protest formed visibly on Chloe’s soft pink lips. “No, I have found this to be very useful in my own skirmishes with the male animal. I think we can agree that his lordship is not a genuinely bad man.”

“N-no, I suppose not,” admitted Chloe grudgingly.

“Therefore his transgressions spring merely from his misguided attempts to do what he thinks is right.” Hester sighed gustily. “Such well-meaning ineptitude on the part of the male animal is the cause of many of our problems. So often what is right in their estimations is at direct odds with what is really the best for us. But I digress. Tell me, Chloe, just what do you think is best for you?”

Again, she was rewarded by a blank stare.

“That is, what are your goals?”

“Oh.” Chloe fumbled with the handkerchief. “Why—I suppose—Oh, Miss—Hester—I want to be just like you!”

Now it was Hester’s turn to gape. “I beg your pardon?” she asked vacantly.

“Yes,” replied Chloe, this time with more assurance. “I wish to spread the spirit of feminism in writings and speeches. I think I should like very well to make speeches. I would be willing to suffer persecution for the cause, and I would never, ever let a man tell me what to do—and I would rather die than marry!” By now, Chloe had become quite flown with her own oratory and her cheeks flushed with passion. Hester placed a hand on her sleeve.

“That is all very well, and I wish you the best, if this is truly the course of action you wish to pursue, but—”

“If?” cried Chloe. “Why, there can be no doubt. You, and Mary Wollstonecraft before you, have pointed the way for the others of us who wish to throw off the shackles of female bondage, and I—

“Yes,” interposed Hester gently, “but have you ever actually written anything? I mean, have you tried yet to put your thoughts on paper? It is not as easy as you might think. And as for shackles—I have never spoken against marriage. In fact, as an institution, I am highly in favor of it.”

“You are?” Chloe’s eyes grew round.

“Yes, for I feel that the family unit is important in a child’s development, and that unit should include both a mother and a father. I merely feel that women—and men— should be left to make their own choices in their mates. Certainly, they should listen to their parents’ wishes, for our elders speak from a wealth of experience that we would be foolish to ignore, but the decision should be left ultimately to those who will be living with one another for the rest of their lives.”