Barbara Metzger (4 page)

“What is it to you, missy? If you’ve come to beg for a new gown or some gewgaw, save your breath. Swells like those ain’t interested in vicars’ daughters. Can’t wed ’em or bed ’em, so they don’t pay ’em no nevermind, no matter how fancy they’re rigged out.”

Now her face was red anyway. She could feel the heat in her cheeks. “Of course not, sir. I never thought otherwise. But they might be attracted to a beautiful, well-dowered girl like Carinne.”

He raised his voice: “Carinne is as good as spoken for, missy. I told you both, and that’s the end of it.”

Dree put her hands behind her back so he couldn’t see her wringing them. “But the banns have not been read, there’s been no formal announcement. Why, Lord Prendergast hasn’t even made Carrie an offer.”

“That’s because the silly twit won’t come out of her room to see the man,” he shouted. “And I won’t have it, do you hear me? That gal is turning into a mealy-mouthed watering pot, just like her mother. And she said she’d feel better if you came to stay. Hah! Much good you’ve been.” He pounded his fist on the desk. “Well, I’ve about reached the end of my patience with both of you, do you hear me?”

Since the end of her uncle’s patience followed hard on the beginning of her uncle’s patience, Dree hurried on: “But, sir, nothing has been signed yet and…and two of the houseguests are bachelors.”

Mr. Martin grunted. He’d heard the news and made his own inquiries. “Podell’s here to avoid the bill collectors at his door, and Blanford’s giving advice about some horses. That’s all.”

“Oh, but that’s not what I heard, sir. Mrs. Dodd’s sister said she heard it directly from one of the maids at Briarwoods, that Lady Halbersham was happy as a grig, playing matchmaker.”

“Hmm. Podell would be wise to get himself a wife. That’s about all the basket-scrambler can do now to get out of dun territory.”

Basket-scrambler? The
on dit
,
from those who swore they’d seen the baron when he drove through the village on his way to Briarwoods, was that Lord Podell was a veritable Adonis. No one mentioned that he was a profligate. “The other gentleman is an earl,” she ventured.

“And as well to pass as t’other is below hatches. Blanford’s too proud to trade on his title besides.”

“But he hasn’t seen Carinne yet!” Audrina was sure no gentleman could resist her exquisite cousin.

“Bah, he’s seen all the beauties of London without once throwing the handkerchief. That Podell, now, just might be in the market for a carefully reared wife. No, the flat’s only a baron.”

“But he’s young, Uncle,” Audrina almost pleaded. “They both are. Either gentleman is bound to be a better husband for Carinne than Lord Prendergast. She’s afraid of him, Uncle, and he smells!” Her own patience was wearing a trifle thin, due mostly to being left standing while her uncle sat behind his desk. She raised her chin. “She’s your own daughter, sir. Surely you want her to be happy.”

“With a London fribble?” But he was thinking, Dree could tell, about how Halbersham’s friends had the entrée everywhere, right up to Carleton House. His daughter would be a fine London lady, instead of being immured in some dank castle with no one to appreciate her elevation in rank except the rats. He rubbed his chin.

“The Earl of Blanford is not such a young man. He’ll be wanting a son….”

“Stow your blather, girl. Blanford’s too downy a cove to be caught by a pretty face. But Podell…I wonder how deep in debt the gudgeon is. Baroness, eh? I just might happen to have a word with the chap at the assembly this week. Suppose they’ll be there, if he’s serious about jumping into parson’s mousetrap. Prendergast can wait.”

Dree almost collapsed with relief, and from trying to keep her knees from knocking for so long. She felt confident enough to urge her uncle not to speak to Podell. “You’ll ruin everything!”

Martin’s jaws snapped shut. “What’s that, missy?”

Audrina had just saved her cousin from an arranged marriage; she wasn’t about to see her thrown into another one, with another fortune hunter. “Why don’t you wait until they meet? After all, the earl is still unattached. He might fall in love with Carrie at first sight. Stranger things have been known to happen.”

Augustus eyed her through slitted eyes. “What’s it to you, missy, eh, pushing this earl on me? I’ve got it, you think he’s the better catch so Carinne will have more pin money to toss to you and that feckless father of yours. Or are you hoping she’ll find a place for you in his lordship’s London household?”

In her usual honesty, Dree had to admit to herself that she’d always wanted to see London, the sights, the size of it. She’d even hoped once that her uncle would relent and send Carinne there for a Season. Dree would have gone along as her abigail if they’d let her. Now all she wanted was to see her cousin settled with a man who would treat her kindly.

“Whether you believe me or not, Uncle, I only wish Carinne’s happiness.” And Dree knew Carrie would only find it if her husband wanted
her,
not her dowry. Carrie deserved a love match, not some cold business transaction. She deserved better, and better than a
down-at-heels fortune hunter. Dree vowed to herself that, having gone this far, she’d try to win the earl, the hero, the nonpareil, for Carinne. “So I can tell her there is no engagement to Prendergast?”

“Lord and Lady Halbersham are giving a ball for Valentine’s Day, eh? There’s bound to be socializing sooner than that. I can hold Prendergast off till then without losing him entirely, if you can get Podell to come up to scratch. You’ll have to get the chit to stop blubbering, and get her to show some spirit. A man wants a real woman for his wife, not some pretty doll. I’ll make sure Podell knows the size of her dot.”

Podell might know the size of Carrie’s dowry, but Dree meant to make double sure it was the Earl of Blanford who’d collect it.

Chapter Four

Lords Blanford and Podell drove to Briarwoods in one day in Max’s curricle. Max kept his hat on the entire drive.

The Halbershams came together into the foyer to greet them, with a butler and three footmen to collect their wraps. Max took a deep breath and cursed Thistlewaite to eternal damnation.

“Think of it as a dowager’s turban,” the valet had suggested. “Or a crown of state.” Max thought of it as a small prehistoric rodent that had crawled to his forehead to die, its feet stuck in the tar pits of gum arabic. “You’ll grow used to it,” Thistlewaite swore. Max never had grown used to the fleas and lice in Spain, so why this vermin should be any different, he couldn’t imagine, despite the valet’s assurances that it was human hair. A dead human? A beggar selling his filthy mop for a cup of Blue Ruin? Sweepings from a barber’s floor? Gads, it boggled the mind. And it itched. No matter, Max misdoubted he’d get used to looking like a billiard ball any time soon either. He took a deep breath and handed over his curly-brimmed beaver.

“Delighted you decided to come,” his host said, enthusiastically shaking Max’s hand. “Another male,
don’t you know. House is at sixes and sevens, what with preparations for the ball.” He slapped Max’s back to emphasize his welcome.

Blanford’s fingers twitched, to reach up for reassurance or, barring that, to plant his doltish friend a facer. Instead he turned to his hostess, who was also in a dither, explaining to Franny that there would not be many other guests until the day of the ball, with so much to do. She was staring at Podell as he unwrapped his muffler, then divested himself of his greatcoat. Franny wore a puce waistcoat under a coat of lavender superfine with buttons as big as dinner plates, and a spotted Belcher neckcloth tied loosely around his neck. His blond curls were perfectly in place, even after a day in the carriage with a hat on. Viola clapped her hands. “Oh, they’ll just adore you!”

Franny was choking on a reply when Max addressed Viola. He still didn’t trust a bow, so he took her hands and raised them to his lips.

Viola batted her eyelashes at him. “Why, Max, maybe there is hope for you after all.” Gordie was glaring, so Max told her to save the flirting for her husband, at which she turned her attention back to Franny.

Max had started to breathe again when Gordie asked, “What, parting your hair different, Max?”

They all swiveled to stare at his new thatch. “Thistlewaite got carried away, is all,” he said, vowing to see the valet carried away—in a pine box!

Viola was studying him, unsure. “Well, it’s vastly becoming,” she finally announced. “Let’s hope you don’t raise too many expectations, Max, if you don’t mean to be accommodating.”

“Let’s hope your new style doesn’t become the rage, rather,” Gordie put in, “for the sake of us stodgy old unfashionables.”

And for the sake of free-ranging rodents everywhere, Max amended. Then the moment was blessedly past. Viola took Franny’s arm to lead him down the hall. Max
and Gordie followed, grinning at the conversation. “Now, dearest,” she was saying, as if she weren’t ten years Franny’s junior, “you must realize I couldn’t invite only the heiresses, of course. I couldn’t slight the squire or the other local families. But I have made a list of those females whose acquaintance you should particularly pursue. I mean, it wouldn’t do for you to fall top over tree for some pretty chit, now that you’ve decided to take the plunge, if she cannot relieve your, ah, financial difficulties.”

Max could see the perspiration dripping down Franny’s neck, the poor sacrificial lamb. No way was Max going to let Lady Vi get a hint of his own intentions, but he just might peruse that list of the vicinity’s wellborn females.

At dinner that evening the gentlemen were introduced to the rest of the small house party. Viola’s younger brother Warden was there by mischance, having been sent down from school. The lad fancied himself a poet, and wore his hair in long, flowing locks to his shoulders. Max hated him on sight.

There were also two youngish females, bosom bows of Viola’s, invited to even out the numbers. The Peckham sisters were a few years past their come-outs, if you counted years in dogs’ ages, and they were everything Max didn’t want in a wife. Oh, they were pretty enough and well mannered, dressed in the height of London fashion, albeit too gaudy for a simple country dinner. But they also giggled and simpered and lisped, and they fluttered their eyelashes at him so hard, Max feared for his toupee, caught in the cross-wind. Their only interests seemed to be in gowns and gossip, with no willingness to be pleased with the usual country pastimes like walking or riding. They did not want to visit the local church or the nearby village, and were bored after one day at Briarwoods, to Viola’s chagrin. If they thought Max was going to stay indoors all day entertaining them, they were more corkbrained than
they seemed. And if they thought to attach his interest with pouting and striking poses, they were outright attics-to-let. He might offer for a female like that—when hell froze over.

“The pond might be frozen soon. Perhaps we can get up a skating party,” Viola offered with a hint of desperation. Then she brightened. “And there is the assembly at Upper Throckton tomorrow night. You’ll get to meet my neighbors.”

*

Which was worse, trying to ensnare a gentleman with a lady’s looks or with her father’s pocketbook? Dree refused to acknowledge that prickling of guilt over what she was doing. She was
not
hoping to snabble an unsuspecting, unwilling
parti
for Carinne; she just wanted to bring her cousin to the attention of the eligibles. Then they could discover Carrie’s inner goodness for themselves.

“Perhaps a dab of rouge, Meg?” she asked her cousin’s maid, biting her lip.

“Miss Audrina, and you a vicar’s daughter! Face paint, indeed!”

“Yes, but my cousin looks as pale as her bedclothes. Carrie, can’t you stop fidgeting?”

“How can I when…when…”

“When your whole life depends on tonight’s assembly? Because of that, peagoose!” Meg was reaching for the hare’s-foot brush. “And there is nothing to worry about. You look exquisite, as always.” Dree twitched at the tiny puff sleeves of Carrie’s pale pink gown, with its overdress of white net strewn with silk roses that matched the flowers woven through Carrie’s golden hair. “Like a fairy princess.”

“I wish you had a new gown, too, Dree. I could have—”

“No, you do enough. And I couldn’t have used my allowance for such frippery, when Papa gives so much of his salary to the needy. What’s new finery compared
to enough firewood at the vicarage? My ivory gown is good enough.”

Carrie looked doubtful and Meg clucked her tongue. The old satin gown hadn’t been good enough for the year and a half Dree had been wearing it. It was once Audrina’s mother’s, and was once white. She’d dyed it with tea, but it was still out of style, ill fitting, and well known at the local assemblies. Audrina fingered the new blue ribbons she’d spent precious pennies on. Sometimes she wished things were different, too, but she wasn’t one to lament over what couldn’t be changed, so she flashed her cousin her best smile. “What good would a new gown do me anyway, silly, when everyone will be looking at you? You have enough beauty for the family. And no new frock is going to fix this”—she fussed with an errant orangy red curl, already escaping its matching blue ribbon—“or give me your elegant inches so much in style. Or a bosom.”

“Dree!”

“Well, it’s true, and made you laugh. See, you
can
enjoy yourself. Just think, you’re not engaged to old frog-face. That should be enough to celebrate. And if none of the men there tonight pleases you, well, we’ll think of something else.”