Carola Dunn (16 page)

“Wooden shutters against winter storms blowing in off the sea are a particularly good notion,” he said. “They will add character to the exterior, too. But I draw the line at a widow’s walk on the roof. The villa is a summer retreat for the landed gentry, not a home for a sea-captain’s wife.”

“It might be bought one day by a sailor, and then what is his wife to do when his ship is overdue?” she argued with spirit. “Besides, it will make a pleasant, breezy place to stroll on hot days.”

“I’ll suggest it to the Fitzroys,” he offered.

“Fair enough.”

Miss Tibbett peered at him over her spectacles. “A roofed peristyle running the length of the frontage would provide a more convenient place to exercise,” she pointed out. Warming to her theme, she pushed the spectacles up onto her head and continued, “Since it would be shaded, one might also sit there to enjoy both air and view, and think what dignity a few Roman pillars would add to your facade.”

“It’s supposed to be a simple cottage, Aunt Tibby,” Jessica protested, laughing. “You will have it looking like a temple to Neptune.’’

“A full peristyle might be going a little too far,” Matthew agreed, “but the Neptune idea is worth exploring. How about a mosaic of a Triton blowing his horn over the front door?”

They discussed the pros and cons, with Miss Tibbett contributing learned comments on the Romans’ use of mosaics. She even produced a book with copies of a number of tessellated floors found in Britain.

“I am sure there is one of Neptune,” she said, reaching for her spectacles.

Jessica had to disentangle them from her hair before she could search the volume for the desired drawing. That was not the first time Matthew had seen the operation performed and he admired Jessica’s patience. He admired her pragmatic interest in his work, her imaginative suggestions and her sparkling eyes when she defended them, the way she tilted her head when considering an idea, the sheen of her ash-blonde tresses, her graceful movements....

Needless to say, when invited to stay for luncheon, he accepted.

He had hoped to take Jessica for a drive in his curricle that afternoon—with Hanson in attendance, of course—but it began to rain. Not wanting to outstay his welcome, he went home and did some work on the Sidmouth villa plans. He was still at the dining table some hours later, wrestling with a recalcitrant staircase, when the door knocker sounded.

“Lord Ilfracombe,” his valet announced.

Matthew rose eagerly. He had not seen his friend since the Fitzroys gave him the commission. However, the earl got his news in first.

“I’ve been to Stone Gables.”

“Have you, sir! Take a seat and tell me all, or shall we remove to the drawing room?”

“This will do very well.” Ilfracombe sat down at the table and pulled one of Matthew’s drawings towards him. “You too have been busy, I see.”

“Yes, the Fitzroys.” He nodded to his servant, who was hovering with an enquiring look near the door. “The madeira, Renfrew. It was devilish good of you, sir, to show them the work I did for you. I am to design a house for them. What happened at Stone Gables? Is Uncle Horace still incensed against me?”

“I saw Miss Stone first, and she warned me not to mention your name in your uncle’s presence.”

“He is unrelenting, then.” Though Matthew had not expected the earl’s efforts in his behalf to be effective, he could not pretend he was not disappointed. “How is Aunt Caro?”

“She has not changed in twenty years. Her beauty is from within, and time cannot alter it.” The faraway look in his lordship’s eyes faded as Renfrew entered with glasses and a decanter of Uncle Horace’s madeira. Accepting a glass of wine, he went on, “And after twenty years you still retain her affection. She is fighting for you.”

“Fighting?”

“Perhaps plotting is the word I want. At any rate, she invited your cousin Biggin to visit, and having made him his heir, Lord Stone was not in a position to object.”

Matthew frowned. “I heard Cousin Archibald was there. One of my uncle’s grooms was here overnight and he mentioned it to Hanson—my groom. Archie’s not popular with the servants, I collect, but I cannot see how that helps me.”

“How well do you know him? How often do you see him?”

“As rarely as possible,” said Matthew promptly. “His—er—brand of piety is not to my taste.”

“It’s not to the viscount’s taste, either. His preaching against strong drink is driving your uncle to the bottle, and his preaching in favour of Christian charity is enough to try even your aunt’s sweet temper.”

“Poor Aunt Caro!”

“Miss Stone feels that though it is impossible to prove to her brother that you are a paragon of virtue, it is quite possible to prove that a paragon of virtue is not what he really wants as his heir.”

“He may dislike Archie’s preaching, but he has always been a strong upholder of the Church of England. He has three livings in his gift, and he’s always been at great pains to find devout and deserving incumbents, even if he sleeps through their sermons once they are appointed. To turn against Cousin Archibald because of his piety would make him look foolish, if not hypocritical, and Uncle Horace cannot abide being made to look a fool.”

“He’ll look a worse fool if he’s forced to ban his heir from his house to get a bit of peace. I tell you, after half an hour in your cousin’s company I was ready to slaughter the fellow out of hand.”

“I know what you mean,” said Matthew, grinning.

“It is therefore with extreme misgiving that I shall drive over again next week to reassess the situation. I trust you are duly grateful.”

“Indeed I am, and I shall stand character witness when you are tried for murder. I suppose it’s possible that Uncle Horace might be driven by desperation to disinherit him. The trouble is, that doesn’t mean I should be reinstated. Archie and I are his closest relatives, being his sisters’ sons, but there are dozens of cousins of varying degree. Since there’s no question of an entail, he’d probably pick one of them, or divide his worldly wealth among the lot.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“Nothing ever seems to change,” said Jessica gloomily, abandoning a letter to one of her real aunts and staring out of the window at the rain dimpling a puddle in the street.

“It has been raining for days,” Miss Tibbett concurred.

“It’s not just the rain. Nathan came back from London a fortnight since but he’s no nearer to offering for Lucy. He treats her just as he did before he left.”

“Miss Pearson appears to find his conduct acceptable.”

“His presence is better than his absence, I suppose, though I don’t doubt the poor girl would find a little more ardour to her liking.”

“Not without a declaration to follow.” Miss Tibbett set down her book and eyed her “niece” severely over her spectacles.

“Naturally. And Mr. Walsingham pursues me as ardently as ever, yet he, too, seems no nearer to a declaration. Nor, in the circumstances, am I sure what I should say if he did offer.” She sighed.

“And Lord Ilfracombe? An eminently eligible gentleman.”

“I doubt he’ll come up to scratch. If he did—I don’t know. I like him, and marrying him would solve all our problems, but even were he not so much older than I, I fear his attempts to shelter me would stifle me. He was truly shocked that we had no gentleman to protect us while Nathan was in London.’’

“A very proper sentiment, though scarcely calculated to find favour in your eyes. I sometimes wonder if your father was correct in refusing to let me curb your independent spirit.”

“Oh, Tibby, as if you could have when you are just as independent-minded.” With quick, light steps Jessica crossed the room and hugged her mentor, then sat down beside her on the green brocade sofa. “I don’t know what I should have done without you. But if we lose Langdale, we shan’t be able to pay your salary any longer.”

“My dear, you must not worry about me. My friends are going to spend the winter in Italy, now that Bonaparte is gone and travel is possible again, and they have invited me to go with them.”

“Your clergyman and his wife? That’s wonderful! You will see Rome at last.”

“I must confess that I am anticipating the visit with extraordinary enthusiasm.” Miss Tibbett’s eyes gleamed above her spectacles. “When I return I shall seek another post or, if it proves possible, I shall come to you. Owing to your father’s generosity, I have saved nearly every penny of my salary these fifteen years and I shall be able to contribute to your household rather than being a drain on its resources.”

Tears in her eyes, Jessica hugged her again, to the imminent peril of the spectacles. “I’m so glad. I could not bear to lose you. But there’s no knowing what sort of household it will be, or if there will be a household at all, unless something changes in the next two or three weeks. We cannot stay in Bath much longer.”

“Did you not reckon that the proceeds from the sale of your diamonds were sufficient to last until Michaelmas?”

“We have enough money, barely, but when I proposed to stay here until the end of September I had not considered all there is to be done if we have to leave Langdale. The sheep will have to be sold, as well as all the furniture we shan’t need in our new home—and we must find a new home. The servants must be given notice, and pensions arranged for those too old to seek posts elsewhere.”

“Of course. A month will scarcely be time enough to settle everything.”

“I expect we ought also to give Mr. Scunthwaite a month’s notice so that he can find another tenant.”

“I do not consider that you owe that man any particular courtesy,” said Miss Tibbett with unwonted indignation, “since he is doing his best to drive you from your home and reduce you to living in a cottage!”

“Living in a cottage will not be so bad, will it? I hope to be able to keep Sukey and Tad with us. Only I cannot imagine Nathan being content with nothing to do. I daresay he will rejoin the army, in which case I suppose I shall have no choice but to go to live with relatives. What a horrid fate! Perhaps I shall accept Lord Ilfracombe after all, if he offers in time.”

* * * *

However, far from being on the brink of a proposal, Lord Ilfracombe seemed less and less determined in his pursuit of Jessica. In fact he was positively elusive, absenting himself from Bath several times a week. He mentioned once or twice that he had driven out to Stone Gables to visit Lord Stone. Matthew had not gone with him, confirming, in Jessica’s opinion, the breach between uncle and nephew.

Precious time was passing, and nothing changed except the weather.

It stopped raining at last. Instead of scurrying under umbrellas, Jessica and Nathan enjoyed the stroll to the Pump Room to see their friends.

On the second fine morning, Kitty Barlow told Jessica that they were expecting the arrival that evening of the Marchioness of Leighton. She seemed undismayed at the prospect of facing her beloved’s haughty mama, but Lord Peter was decidedly apprehensive. Standing nearby, Matthew and Nathan were doing their best to distract him.

Then Matthew turned to the ladies and announced, “Glossop agrees with me that we must take advantage of the fair weather while we may and go boating on the canal this afternoon.”

Lord Peter looked surprised but obligingly muttered, “Cambridge.. .punt...” and cast a pleading glance at Kitty.

“An excellent notion,” she assured him, and he relaxed. Nathan seconded her, and set about persuading Lucy to go, a task he accomplished without much difficulty. They went off to obtain Mrs. Woodcock’s permission. Kitty took Lord Peter in search of her mother, leaving Jessica with Matthew.

She was feeling annoyed that her participation seemed to be taken for granted, when he said anxiously, “I hope this afternoon is convenient for you, Miss Franklin? Otherwise I shall have to run after them and change the date. You did promise to go with me one day.”

“I am not otherwise engaged,” she admitted. “But I shall have to see if Aunt Tibby is willing to chaperon us. I cannot imagine Mrs. Woodcock or Mrs. Barlow in a punt, can you?”

“Lord, no!” He grinned at her, the boyish grin that had first attracted her when he was a stranger driving by. “Miss Tibbett is equal to anything, though.”

And so it proved. At the Sydney Wharf a few hours later Miss Tibbett, discoursing knowledgeably on Roman shipping, allowed Mr. Barlow to assist her into a hired skiff. Jessica joined her, and Bob Barlow and Matthew took up the oars while the other four members of the party embarked in a punt.

While Nathan was occupied in making sure Kitty and Lucy were comfortable. Lord Peter pushed off with the punt pole. The rain-washed air sparkled in the sunshine and the still, greenish waters of the canal swirled and gurgled as the boats began to move between the steep banks. For a few moments Jessica watched Matthew with unacknowledged anxiety, but rowing did not seem to cause him any discomfort.

She caught his eye.

“Waiting for me to catch a crab, Miss Franklin?” he teased. “I rowed at Eton, you know.”

“Catch a crab?” she asked uncertainly. “I doubt there are any in the canal.”

Matthew laughed.

“It means to dig too deep with an oar,” Bob Barlow explained, “thus spoiling the stroke and usually soaking everyone in the boat.”

Jessica looked down at her new India muslin. “Perhaps I should have embarked in the punt,” she said, glancing across at the other vessel.

Lord Peter, near as long and thin as his pole, was propelling the punt along with stylish ease, while Nathan watched enviously.

“I see how to do it. Let me take a turn.”

“Tunnel,” said Lord Peter. “After that.”

The black mouth of the tunnel loomed ahead. Lucy looked at it nervously, giving Nathan an excuse to take her hand for reassurance, though the far end was already visible as they floated under the arch.

“Hoo!” called Bob Barlow.

“Hoo, hoo, hoo,” returned the echo, and within moments they were all shouting so loud the echo had no chance to reply.

“Disgraceful, children,” said Miss Tibbett with a smile as the boats emerged into sunshine dappled with wavering tree-shadows.

The trees grew high above them atop the stone walls of the Sydney Gardens cutting, sheer on one side with just enough level ground on the other for the towpath. On the two ornamental bridges ladies and gentlemen leaned against the iron railings, looking down at the boaters. Kitty recognized an acquaintance and waved vigorously.