Elizabeth Mansfield (6 page)

"Give it to us verbatim," Jeremy added dryly.

Hickham stepped over the threshold and drew himself up importantly. "She said she will not forgive ye, you are not welcome at her house, an' you are not to com-mun-i-cate with her or her daughter ever again," he announced with loud precision.

The words seemed to echo round the room. Jeremy stared at Hickham in speechless astonishment. There was a moment of silence while the information sank in, and then Charlie laughed. "Well, Jemmy, old fellow, that sounds to me very like a reprieve."
 

"A reprieve?"

"You've been rejected, refused, repulsed. You're free!"

Jeremy blinked. "Yes, I suppose I am," he said, a smile slowly lighting his face.

"Even your mother would not expect you to persist in your suit with that kind of opposition," his friend chortled.

"Yes, it does seem that I'm unhooked after all." Jeremy wiped his brow with the back of his hand in a gesture that indicated plainly his unmistakable relief.

"Unless Lady Schofield convinces 'er sister t'change 'er mind," Hickham warned.

Jeremy's smile faded. "Confound it, that's right!" He eyed his man with one eyebrow raised, half in amusement and half in chagrin. "Thank you so much, Hickham, for reminding me. But now that you've had your say, I suggest you take yourself off."

Hickham, realizing he'd pushed informality too far, promptly removed himself from the room.

Charlie studied his friend's disappointed face. "Do you think Lady Beringer'll change her mind?" he asked sympathetically.

Jeremy shrugged. "I've no idea. I never met the woman. But I do know Lady Schofield, and
she
is nothing if not persuasive. I'm afraid our celebration of my freedom will be short-lived."

"In that case, old fellow, sit down and let us enjoy the time remaining to us. Have another helping of the lamb."

Jeremy tried, but he found that his appetite had deserted him. "Dash it all, I can't even enjoy the apple pudding," he muttered.

"But you must take a piece of this praline cake," Charlie said, licking his lips. "It's the most unbelievable—"

But before he could finish, his eyes were drawn to the doorway, where Hickham seemed miraculously to have reappeared. "M'lord," hissed Hickham, "there's—"

"I thought I told you to go," Jeremy said, annoyed.

"Yes, m'lord, but her
ladyship's
come!"
 

"What?
Who—?"
Jeremy winced in despair. "Not my
mother
again!"

"No, m'lord. It's
her!
Lady
Beringer!"

 
"Good Lord!
No!"

"I ain't foolin'! It's her, in the flesh!"

Jeremy dropped his head in his hands. "Tell her I'm not here. Say I've gone away. Far away!
Abroad!
Tell her I've... died!"

"Don't be a clunch," Charlie said. "You may as well face her. You'll have to find out sooner or later what future she has in store for you."

"Yes, I suppose I must. Take her to the library, Hickham. Tell her I'll attend her there in a moment."

Hickham withdrew, and Jeremy rose reluctantly from the table. Charlie looked up at him with heartfelt sympathy. "You'd better put on a coat, old man. You don't want to greet the lady in your shirtsleeves."

"Right. I'll dash upstairs and make myself presentable. Meanwhile, you may as well stay here and finish your dinner. Wish me luck with her."

Charlie watched him go, shaking his head in concern. It didn't look well for poor Jemmy, he thought. If the lady didn't want him to pursue her daughter, she would have sent word for him to stay away. Her presence on these premises boded ill for Jeremy's future.

With a sigh, he reached for the apple pudding. He was reaching for the cream when the door opened and a woman burst in. She was wearing a rain-spattered cloak with the hood raised, so Charlie could glimpse only the lower part of a shadowed face. He could see a softly rounded chin, lips that were pressed together tensely, and—most peculiar!—a smear of yellow paint on her left cheek. "I will not be kept waiting in the library while you finish your dinner!" she said coldly. "I told your man that I require only the briefest of interviews."

"Yes, ma'am." Charlie got awkwardly to his feet, preparing to correct her mistaken identification. "But, you see,
I
am not—"

"But me no buts, my lord," she snapped. "I have only a few words to say to you, and they are these: that Cicely and I do not forgive you, that you are not welcome in my home, and that—"

"And that you will accept no further communication," Charlie finished for her. "We've already heard that."

"Have you indeed? Hickham, I take it, has confided what he was specifically asked not to reveal. I might have expected it."

"Well, you see, ma'am—"

"You needn't apologize, Lord Inglesby. I'm glad your man told you. It makes my purpose easier to accomplish."
 

"Your purpose?"

"Yes, to counteract any suggestion from my sister or your mother to the effect that my daughter would consider any sort of reconciliation."

"But, ma'am, if you'll be good enough to let me explain—" Charlie said, stepping forward and holding out a hand in his second attempt to identify himself.

Lady Beringer took a step backward, repulsed by what she thought was an attempt to take her hand. "You needn't explain anything to me, Lord Inglesby. I don't hold you responsible for the machinations of your mother and my sister in their attempt to encourage you to renew your pursuit of my daughter. But I do blame you for pursuing her in the first place. A man of your years should have known better than to try to attach a girl half your age."

Charlie, who had spent the past decade pursuing women far younger than himself, became instantly resentful, not only for his friend but for himself. "Attachment between the sexes, madam," he declared frostily, "is not a game of numbers. One does not ask for birthdates when one falls in love."

"I did not come here to debate ideas of love with you, my lord," she retorted, "though I quite expected that sort of defense from you. In fact"—she paused for a moment to observe him, her head slightly tilted—"you even
look
as I expected."

"Do I?" Charlie couldn't help asking the question, his curiosity being stronger than his sense of duty—duty to inform her of his true identity. "In what way do I look as you expected?"

"In your air of... of self-indulgence," she said.

He could feel her eyes peering at him critically. "Self-indulgence?" he echoed, offended.

"Yes, I think that an apt word. I grant you have a face and form that may appear attractive to young innocents, but the more mature eye sees deeper."

"Self-indulgence, eh?" Charlie looked down at his slightly protruding stomach ruefully. "I suppose one could describe me that way. I do overindulge in food and drink."

"And who knows what else," Lady Beringer muttered in an undervoice. "But I did not come here to discuss your appearance or your character. I only wish to warn you not to believe my sister when she comes here to urge you to arrange an elopement. My daughter will never elope. Do you understand me, my lord? You will
never
run off with her, not while there's a breath left in my body!"

"That's all very well," Charlie said, "but I think you should know that—" Here he paused, for it suddenly occurred to him that there was no good reason to inform the lady of his true identity. She was ordering the breaking off of all ties between her household and Jeremy's. Therefore, leaving matters just the way they now were was the best solution.

"What is it I should know?" she was asking.

"Nothing, ma'am." He grinned mischievously. "Nothing at all."

She looked at him suspiciously, but then gave an indifferent shrug. "Then I shall bid you good night." And with that, she swung round to go.

Her turn had been abrupt, and it caused her hood to fall back, revealing a head of long, fair hair that had been carelessly plaited in one thick braid. It flipped against her back as she marched firmly toward the door. At that moment, however, the door flew open and she came face-to-face with Jeremy.

He'd just looked up from the coat he'd been buttoning, and the sight and proximity of the woman startled him. "Oh!" he gasped, staring. The woman before him took his breath away. She had a delicately featured oval face, a rounded chin, a full mouth and a pair of magnificently dark eyes that stood out in the pale luminosity of her skin and hair. Something about that face made his chest clench.

Lady Beringer, too, was startled. The man standing before her, taller and leaner than his friend, was remarkably good-looking despite a too-large nose and a strong chin. But what was most startling to her was the expression in his face; the man had a gentleness about the mouth... and the kindest eyes. He seemed a strange sort of friend for the dissipated Lord Inglesby to have. On the other hand, the fellow was peering at her in a most disconcerting way that she could not like. "You are staring at me, sir," she said haughtily.

"Yes," Jeremy said, a slight smile lighting his eyes. "It's your cheek. There's a smudge of yellow paint on it."

"Oh!" Her hand flew to her cheek, which was already reddening in embarrassment. "I left my home hastily, you see. I was... painting lemons."

"Painting lemons?" Jeremy asked, enchanted.

"A still life," she murmured, her blush deepening. "But never mind. It's not important."

Charlie, sending indecipherable hand signals to Jeremy from behind her back, spoke up at this moment. "Lady Beringer, I'd like you to meet my friend,
Charles Percy, Lord Lucas!"

Jeremy threw his friend a perplexed look, but his mind was too preoccupied with the woman in front of him to take notice of the misnomer. "Good God!" he exclaimed in astonished realization of who she was. "You cannot be Cicely's
mother!"

"Yes, that's exactly who I am, as your friend Lord Inglesby can tell you."

Jeremy blinked down at her in utter confusion. "My friend Lord
Inglesby!"

Charlie hurried round to him. "Yes,
Charlie,
old man," he said, pressing his friend's shoulder warningly. "I,
your friend Lord Inglesby,
am also surprised at Lady Beringer's youthful appearance."

"Nevertheless, gentlemen," Lady Beringer said, lifting her hood and going to the door, "since I've delivered my message, I shall bid you both good evening." And before Jeremy could think of a way to delay her, she was gone.

He stared at the door through which she'd disappeared. "What on earth did I miss?" he mumbled in contusion.

"Don't fret, old fellow," Charlie said, laughing. "Everything's gone very well. She and her daughter want nothing to do with you. You really
are
free."

"Oh, I see. She came only to tell me that, did she? But why did she call you Inglesby?"

"She stormed in here in a taking, mistook me for you, and before I could disabuse her, she informed me in unequivocal terms that she would not countenance a renewal of 'my' suit. In fact, she said quite firmly that a man of my years should have had better sense than to pursue a girl half my age."

"She did, did she?" Jeremy rubbed his chin ruefully. "But why did you feel it necessary to introduce me as you?"

"Once she became fixed in her error, I didn't want to spoil anything. What she'd said made it clear that she was freeing you of your entanglement, so what good would it have done to correct her misapprehension about our identities? She'd only have been embarrassed."

"Nevertheless, Charlie, I don't like lies. I'd have preferred to deal with her myself."

Charlie shrugged. "Well, it's too late now. Everything's set-tied, and all for the best, if you ask me. So let us forget all about the interruption and sit down to finish this delectable pudding."

Jeremy, suppressing an uncomfortable feeling—an emotion not unlike the discomfort one feels at suspecting one's been cheated at cards but can't prove it—sighed helplessly and sat down opposite his friend. "I wish ..." he mumbled.

"What?" Charlie asked, reaching for the cream.

"I wish she'd stayed a bit longer."

"Good God, why?"

"I don't know, exactly," Jeremy said softly. "Except that... well, did you notice her hair?"

"That unkempt braid? What about it?"

"I thought it quite charming. Don't you find it fascinating to see a woman pay a call with her hair undressed and her cheek smudged with paint?"

Charlie eyed his friend with disgust. "I don't find it at all fascinating. I find it eccentric."

Jeremy gazed at the door where he'd last glimpsed the woman, his lips curved in a reminiscent smile. "Eccentric, perhaps, but also very lovely, in an unaffected way."

"Lovely?
She's Cicely's
mother,
for heaven's sake!"

"Yes, I'm aware of that." He peered at his friend with a pitying look, but after a moment he shook his head. "Never mind. There's no point in my trying to make you see what I saw. As you said, it's too late now."

Chapter 7

Hickham, who was finding his master's attempt to escape matrimony vastly entertaining, had been hanging about in the corridor to eavesdrop on what passed in the morning room. From time to time, when the voices fell, he actually put his ear to the door. Thus, when Lady Beringer threw the door open and emerged, he had to jump back out of the way. "I... er... beg pardon, ma'am," he mumbled guiltily.

But her ladyship seemed not to notice him as she swept by on her way to the front door. After taking a moment to regain his composure, Hickham shook himself into action and hurried after her down the corridor. Lady Beringer, hearing his footsteps, glanced back over her shoulder. "Don't bother to see me out, Hickham," she said. "I can find my way." And before he could object, she pushed open the front door and stepped out over the threshold.

"Wait, m'lady," Hickham begged. "Le' me get an umbrella an' see ye to yer carriage."