Country Flirt (22 page)

“No, it was Howard’s getting you. But enough of that, I want to rush in and make it official, before someone else gets at you. I love you madly, darling. Will you do me the honor—oh, damme, I haven’t asked your mother for permission.”

“She says yes,” Sam assured him.

The happy couple were embracing in a way that Lady Monteith found highly improper when she spotted them on her way upstairs to listen at Howard’s door.

“Monteith!” she exclaimed loudly.

“We’ve done it, Mama. He broke the engagement.”

Lady Monteith’s eyes darted to Sam’s ringless finger, and a small smile formed. “I’ll just look in and see if he requires anything,” she said.

She found Howard with the wine bottle to his lips, smiling like a pagan. “Come sit beside me and console me, Irene,” he tempted, patting the bed.

She spotted the diamond-and-ruby ring sitting on the side table as she perched on the mattress. “The doctor said no wine, Howard dear,” she reminded him.

“Just a drop to wet my whistle. I am feeling much stronger since you have been taking such good care of me.”

“What are sisters for?” she asked archly.

One of Howard’s hands slid toward the ring on the table, the other around Irene’s waist. “I never thought of you as a sister, Irene. Lately I have come to think of you as a very desirable woman.” He reached for her left hand, from which her wedding ring had magically vanished two days ago, for Howard hadn’t said anything about overcoming his dread of widows and it seemed ill-advised to remind him of her status.

“You’re not forgetting I was married to Ernest?” she asked.

Despite her second-hand condition she looked as good as new—better. “I wager there are pages Ernie hasn’t read,” he said. Such was his notion of romance that he told her Serena’s theory of widows; such was Irene’s that she laughed heartily, even though he had told her the circumstances under which Serena had delivered her theory.

Irene wagged her finger and charged him approvingly with being a wee bit of a libertine.

“You bring out the beast in me,” he threatened. As the ring was slid onto her finger, the beast drew her into his arms for a tussle that made Irene forget all about Ernest.

After this brief lapse from propriety, Irene returned to business. “We shan’t tell the youngsters for a few days,” she said. With an unwonted dash of charity, she added, “Miss Bright will be all cut up,” to make him feel good.

Howard nodded. “She will. I mean to hint Monteith in that direction to soften the blow. Otherwise we might have to sit a month before she attached someone else. There’s no denying the young lady is a prude. I don’t know about you, Irene, but my feeling is that the sooner we get on with the wedding, the better.”

Irene considered her options and was willing to sacrifice Monteith. There was no saying how long Howard’s infatuation would last. He was getting stronger every day. If he recovered enough to jaunter off to London again, he was lost. Best to take him while she had the chance. And, really, she quite liked Sam.

“I’ll speak to Monteith. I shouldn’t be surprised if he agreed to have her.”

“He acted a little jealous the other night at the party, I thought.’’

“Where shall we live, Howard?” she asked, with an innocent face that gave no hint this decision had been made days ago.

“We’ll build ourselves a little hut on the river.”

She smiled as though suddenly struck by inspiration. “Howard, you have already purchased the Langford property—why not live there, in that lovely stone mansion? It will be big enough for us two.”

“It will do for a start, at least, and we’ll buy a grander place in London. You will want to spend the season in London, I daresay. I do like the situation of the Langford cottage, there on the water. We’ll have our little fleet of
masulahs
and the temple backing against the orchard.”

“You must teach me to sail.”

“There’s plenty I mean to teach you, my little hussy.” He grinned and pounced on her.

Epilogue

“Age before beauty,” Mrs. Bright conceded with a demure smile when the schedule of weddings was being discussed at Lambrook Hall with Lady Monteith. “By all means, you and Howard must go first, Irene. We don’t want to risk your losing out on another parti due to dragging your feet. Will you have the wedding here, or will Howard be well enough to hobble to a church?”

Nothing fazed Lady Monteith these days. She smiled gloatingly. “Howard wants to be married at St. Michael’s. As to his health, he is well enough to want to go to Paris.”

“While Shalimar is being built, you mean?”

“Shalimar be damned. We shall live in the Langford mansion. My pride doesn’t require a marble monument, but my common sense does demand a well-run estate. And there will be no fleet of silly foreign boats, either. I shall allow him one good sturdy yacht. The boys will enjoy that when they come to visit.”

“Will you allow them to view the naughty Indian temple?”

“If they care to pry open the crates, they may view anything they like. I didn’t raise a parcel of prudes. Howard feels a reproduction of a Norman chapel will suit the landscape better and is not planning to erect the temple.”

“Howard’s taste is improving under your tutelage.”

“True.” The lady smiled. “But you must not say so in front of Samantha. And when will you and Clifford tie the knot?”

“Sam and Monteith will go first. Clifford wants Sam to be our matron of honor, and till she is married, you know...”

“You mean Mrs. Tucker wants the dignity of having Lady Monteith take part in the ceremony. Dear me, how odd to think of little Sam assuming my title.”

“And you being plain Lady Howard.”

“Lady Howard will do fine for me. The demotion hasn’t stopped the Duke of Rutledge from inviting Ted and Bert to his estate for a couple of weeks. He has more daughters than he knows what to do with, and every one of them has an excellent dot.”

This bitter pill was swallowed, and Mrs. Bright proceeded to other touchy matters. “What will you wear for the wedding, Irene? Clifford wants me to wear white. Are you...”

A snort of laughter rang out. “White, at our age? We would look a pair of quizzes, and where would we ever wear a white gown again?”

“I have convinced him that pale blue is more becoming to me.”

“I’ve chosen green.”

“Do you really think, with that red hair...”

“Henna. Monty says he can get me a more natural hue in London.”

Mrs. Bright patted her own graying locks and looked uncertainly at her friend.

“It isn’t your color, Nora. I should think ash-blond might do. I have the list of colors here somewhere. I’ll ring for a servant to get it. Tea, while we’re at it, or would you prefer wine?”

The shared problem of setting on a wedding style that would please their husbands without setting the rest of the parish reeling with laughter helped return the old friends to their former good relations. Before the visit was over, plans were afoot for many shared outings.

Monteith and Sam, passing by the open door, exchanged satisfied smiles, “I told you things would sort themselves out.” Monty assured her. “Mama is up to anything.”

“We shan’t have to wait long to make our wedding plans.” Sam sighed happily.

“It’s been too long to suit me already,” Monteith said, and pulled her into his study for a kiss. It was the same room where the nabob had tried to have his way with her. The nature of the attack, too, was quite similar, but it stirred no unpleasant memories. Sam was sufficiently in love to do more than tolerate his amorous assault.

They didn’t stop, but did take a short break when the familiar “Holloa” was heard in the hall beyond. “Where’s my little woman? Irene? Ranji has arrived. You must come and meet him.”

The sound of footfalls was followed by a delighted exclamation from Irene. “Our
dubash!
How lovely! Did he get the quotations for the jewelry collection as you asked?”

The young lovers found the English language more enjoyable. “Shall we go out and join your papa?” Sam suggested.

“Yes, let’s,” Monteith said, and released her. “We can’t abandon Howard. He hasn’t a chance against Mama. The poor man needs all the help he can get.”

They went arm in arm into the marble-floored entrance hall just as Lady Monteith reached for the quotations and studied them with a contented smile. “This calls for champagne!” she exclaimed. “And a nice cup of tea for you, Howard dear. Holloa, boy!”

Copyright © 1987 by Joan Smith

Originally published by Fawcett Crest [0449214249]

Electronically published in 2011 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads

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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.