Araminta (Regency Belles Series Book 2) (13 page)

Trelowen flicked his whip and the phaeton lurched forward. Araminta whooped with delight and clung onto his arm.

Sitting rigidly upright, Wilhelmina said, ‘Lord Frederick, please be good enough to follow them.’

‘Yes, ma’am. Have no fear. Be assured I shall keep them in view at all times.’ Frederick kicked his heels into his horse’s sides and set off in pursuit.

Hands clasped tightly in her lap, Wilhelmina told a gawping Pilton to drive on.

Chapter Sixteen

T
he house in St James Square was in uproar. The youngest footman had been sent – in a hackney no less – to summon Mr Neave from his office in the City. The maids had been instructed to pack Miss Orksville’s clothes, shoes, books, brushes and anything else of hers currently in her bedroom or about the house. Treading ponderously across the hall to the small parlour, Nesbit discovered the cook and one of the maids hovering outside the door.

‘What do you think you’re about, Mrs Fowley?’ he hissed. ‘Be off downstairs.’

The cook shot him a glare from under the frill of the mob cap perched on her bundled hair. ‘We’ve just as much right as you to know what the fuss is about, Mr Nesbit,’ she hissed. ‘I wanna know if I’m keeping my position.’

The maid peeped round the cook’s plump body, tears on her cheeks. ‘Oo, Mr Nesbit, sir. D’you think we’ll be turned off? Ma’s only got me wages to live on since Pa was lost at Trafalgar and I’ve three sisters younger’n me.’

Nesbit pulled a noisy breath in through his nose. ‘Don’t be so silly, Matty. And don’t be loitering around here. Be off.’

Wrapping her crumpled apron round her hands Matty scampered across the hall to the door behind the stairs. It banged shut behind her.

The cook looked at the closed door. ‘You’re unreasoning harsh on her,’ she said. ‘Her ma’s a sick woman. She’s right to fret herself about her.’

The butler ran a hand through his hair. ‘Truth to tell, I dunno what’s going on. That Orksville woman has a face on her that’ud sour milk and the young miss is up in the salon flouncing about like she’s ants in her slippers.’

The front door flew open. Archibald Neave stood on the threshold. ‘What’s all this fuss about, Nesbit? Is ’Minta hurt?’

Mrs Fowley bobbed a curtsey and hurried away. The servants’ door banged shut again.

‘No, sir,’ Nesbit said. ‘I believe Miss Orksville is anxious to speak to you.’

‘Speak to me? Speak to me? Is that all?’ Archibald scowled. ‘Whatever it is, I doubt it needed me here so quick. I’ve had to leave –’ He broke off. ‘Where is she?’

Nesbit indicated the parlour. ‘In there, sir.’

‘Right. Well, be away now.’ Archibald flapped a plump hand at him and waddled towards the parlour. ‘I’ll ring if you’re needed.’

He opened the door. Miss Wilhelmina Orksville rose from her place on the settee.

‘Well, ma’am. What’s all this fuss about?’

Wilhelmina folded her hands at her dark gown’s high waist. ‘I regret that I can no longer undertake the task you require, Mr Neave. I shall be leaving as soon as we have finished talking.’

Archibald’s mouth dropped open, compressing his chins into a series of folds. ‘What?’

‘I regret –’

‘Yes, yes I heard that. But what’s it mean?’

‘You must permit me to say, sir, that your daughter is the most headstrong, ungovernable, thoughtless and selfish young women I have ever had the misfortune to encounter.’

‘What?’

‘She is totally beyond hope. Her behaviour . . .’ Her hands parted in a gesture that combined despair, confusion and annoyance.

A resigned expression swept onto Archibald’s features. ‘What’s ’Minta done now? Something high-spirited, no doubt.’

‘High spirited? High spirited? Certainly not.’ Miss Orksville paced the floor, hands twisting together. ‘She has ruined herself in the eyes of everyone of note.’ Wilhelmina spun on her heel and marched towards the tall fireplace. She stopped, turned and glared. ‘After all my efforts as well. Not to mention the promise from Sir Arthur Wellesley no less to speak to Sally Jersey about her.’

Archibald slumped onto the fragile settee. Its legs creaked under his substantial weight. He propped his palms atop his knees. His head drooped. A heavy sigh escaped him. He stared at the floral patterns on the Aubusson rug under his feet.

Wilhelmina’s face softened. She seated herself opposite him. ‘I am truly sorry. I thought we were making good progress but it appears not.’

A pair of slightly poached-looking eyes was raised to her face. ‘What did she do?’

‘She left the carriage and climbed into Lord Trelowen’s phaeton –’

‘Oh.’ Archibald’s chest rose and sank with a massive sigh. ‘Is that all?’

‘All? I wish it were. We might recover from that. No, not content with an immodest ascent into the vehicle, she permitted Lucius Renford to drive her off in it.’ The previous scowl reappeared. ‘Alone. I was compelled to beg Lord Frederick to chase after them on his horse.’ Her hands gripped in her lap. ‘And if that’s not enough, Mr Blythburgh was with us too.’

Confusion replaced despair on Archibald’s face. ‘Trelowen? Ain’t he a lord? Who’s this Lucius? And Blythburgh?’

It was Wilhelmina’s turn to despair. ‘Mr Blythburgh is a noted opinion on the suitability of debutantes. Lucius Renford is the fifth Viscount Trelowen.’

‘Viscount?’ Archibald’s posture and expression changed. ‘That’s good. Not as good as a duke or an earl, but still good.’

Wilhelmina gripped her palms together and fairly ground her teeth. ‘I don’t think you have quite grasped the problem.’ Her hands clenched. ‘Not even unmarried girls of good family would ride off alone with a man to whom they were not related. An unknown girl would ruin herself. Has ruined herself.’

‘But if this Trelowen fellow favours her does it matter?’

‘Of course it matters. I doubt it would bother him if the rich wife he had contracted was ostracized by society but
I
could never let any girl of any reputation ally herself with him.’

‘Why? What’s amiss with the fellow?’

The faintest of blushes rose intro Wilhelmina’s thin cheeks. ‘There are rumours of certain . . . certain regrettable behaviours.’

‘But that’s the same for many men these days. Gambling. Womanising. Clubs. All manner of things. It don’t seem to me it makes much difference.’

‘Yes but . . .’ Wilhelmina sighed. ‘Rank alone is insufficient a recommendation for a young girl’s
parti
. Other things must be considered.’

‘Well, if you think he would make her unhappy . . . is that what you think?’ Archibald shot her a questioning glance. ‘Why?’

Further colour rose into her face. ‘I really cannot say any more.’

‘Hmmph.’ Archibald’s mouth clamped shut. It bent down at the corners. There must be more to this. He decided to have Wixhill make enquiries. Not that it addressed his current train of thought. He rose. Hands clasped behind his ample rear, he took a turn about the room. Moments passed in silence. He stopped in front of the tall marble firepiece. ‘Then it’s a great shame. We’ll have to look elsewhere. I had hoped to see her settled so I could sail for the east in the New Year when my Penelope is ready.’

‘Penelope?’ Miss Orksville had visions of another wayward daughter, hitherto unmentioned.

A flash of pleasure lightened Archibald’s expression for a moment. He seated himself opposite Wilhelmina. ‘My newest ship. Magnificent she is. And so fast. Why she can make the trip there and –’

Wilhelmina dragged him back to the present. She slapped her hands together. ‘Mr Neave, your ships, and indeed Lord Trelowen’s suitability is not the issue at hand. It is Araminta’s behaviour.’ She rose. ‘I am sorry, Mr Neave. I can see no way to recover the situation.’ Her sharp chin lifted. ‘I regret to say I have no option but to resign from my post and leave.’

‘Oh no.’ Archibald bounced up from the settee, his plump arms in their tight tailoring outstretched. His chins also bounced up and then flopped onto his cravat. ‘Please don’t do that. I don’t know what we’d do without you. Your advice . . . well, it’s been beyond price.’ He clasped his fat fingers together. ‘Not only for ’Minta. Look how much you helped with my emporiums. The tea room . . . the silks –’

‘Emporia,’ Wilhelmina corrected.

‘Yes, well, whatever you say.’ He pulled a deep breath into his lungs. ‘I must admit . . .’ He paused. He peered closely at Wilhelmina. He looked away. He walked away. He turned. He spread his fingers and jabbed them repeatedly together like opposing prongs of a fork. He cleared his throat noisily. Twice.

‘Miss Orksville.’ He cleared his throat again. ‘I must own to an idea . . . a hope, I should say . . . that I have had for some time.’ Something obstructed his throat again. It was necessary to clear it. He stretched his chins away from his cravat. ‘I had decided that I . . . that my business . . . could only benefit from your further advice.’

‘Your emporia are open. What little help and advice I can offer is no longer necessary.’

‘Yes . . . no . . . I mean . . .’ Archibald’s face reddened by several hues.

Wilhelmina sat down again. ‘Mr Neave, if you have a point will you please come to it.’

Archibald bounced on his toes. He stepped forward and lowered himself, with difficulty and far too abruptly, onto one knee beside the settee. ‘Miss Orksville, I would esteem it an honour if you would become my partner.’

‘Partner?’ She blinked at him in amazement as he balanced unevenly on one knee. ‘What sort of a partner?’

Archibald gawped. ‘Well my wife of course. How else could you travel to my suppliers with me?’

For the first time in her adult life, Wilhelmina’s mouth drooped open. She stared at Archibald. Archibald stared back.

‘Well,’ she said at last. ‘Well I never.’

Archibald wobbled down onto a knee.

‘For goodness sake, Mr Neave, stand up from that ridiculous position before you do yourself an injury.’

Archibald placed on hand on the settee and elevated himself with considerable effort. His face assumed an expression of disappointment. ‘That means no then.’

The thin eyebrows above Wilhelmina’s amber eyes rose. ‘No.’

‘Then –’

She held up a hand. ‘Nor does it mean yes.’ She sniffed. ‘This is a great surprise. I must give your offer some thought.’

‘What’s to think about? I’m a plain man with a plain offer. It’s not as if I’m making out we’re that Italian couple. The ones with the window.’

Wilhelmina struggled somewhat but eventually lit upon the comment as being a reference to Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. ‘Certainly not.’

‘Well then. We’d rub along together just fine. You’ve struck me as an intelligent woman. Not the sort to moan and wilt at the first touch of a bit of a swell at sea. ’Minta never did.’

Wilhelmina had never before discussed the possibility of sea-sickness with anyone, let alone someone intent on persuading her to wed.

‘And,’ Archibald rushed on, oblivious to the stunned expression on the face of his intended. ‘I always travel comfortable. You’ve wanted to travel, haven’t you? I’ve heard you say to ’Minta how lucky she was.’

True, travel had always been one of her dreams, her ambitions. Equally true, it was impossible for a female to accomplish it alone. She stared at her suitor. He was a decent man. No pretence about him. Trade of course, which would stagger her family and friends. Not a new experience for any of them. Her persistent refusal of all offers made in her youth when her dreams were fresh and full of hope had led them down that path before. Life would, as he said, be comfortable and exciting. She was in her forties now, the dreams she had held were becoming increasingly unlikely to occur. Her positive thinking screeched to a halt. Neave was a man of business. She had heard such people were just as set on a dynasty as the aristocracy. Colour mounted in her cheeks.

‘Mr Neave, you must realise . . .’ She wished it were dark and that candlelight would hide her features. Her throat dried and her cheeks burned, something that had not happened since her green years.

‘What troubles you, lass?’

Wilhelmina drew a deep breath. The words came out in a rush. ‘I am not a young woman. There can be no possibility of an heir.’ Her remaining breath exhaled in a gust.

Archibald laughed. He dismissed the problem with a flick of one fat hand. ‘Don’t fret about that. I’m not minded to have a house of wailing infants. Araminta’s enough for me. She’ll be as good as a son to take over any day.’

The fiery colour in Wilhelmina’s cheeks subsided. She regained her composure. Her dreams won out. ‘Very well, Mr Neave,’ she said, her voice and spine as controlled as ever. ‘I accept your offer. In the meantime I will remove to a friend in Carlton Street.’

‘Why?’

A heavy sigh. ‘Because now you have offered and I have accepted, I can’t stay here unchaperoned.’

Puzzlement painted Archibald’s face. ‘At your age?’

Something approaching a cross between a growl and a snort issued from the lady. ‘At any age, Mr Neave.’ She scanned him from balding head to legs rammed into over-tight boots. ‘I suggest you spend some time explaining to your daughter the foolishness of her act.’ She walked to the door. ‘We will keep our engagement between ourselves for the time being.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I wish it. Now I am going to supervise the packing of my belongings.’

Left alone and staring at the closing door, Archibald Neave hovered between delight, confusion, disappointment and anger. Anger surged to the forefront. His mouth puckered grimly. There was nothing for it. He had indulged Araminta far too much. Her behaviour had wrecked all his plans for her. Well he would certainly make her see sense now. Bring her to realise what was proper. Her nonsense had to stop. And stop this very minute however harsh it would be. A frown pleated his forehead. Where had Nesbit said she was? The salon, that was it.

With a heart that was alternately descending to the depths and threatening to burst with anger he went into the hall and climbed the stairs to the next floor. He opened the door to the elegant room that occupied the whole width of the house’s frontage.

Araminta turned from the window and faced him, smiling and eager.