Gayle Buck (15 page)

Michele was relieved to be spared the effort of making polite conversation. She had attempted to talk to Lydia before coming downstairs, only to be informed by her cousin’s maid that “miss is not wishing to see anyone at the moment.” Despite the unencouraging message, Michele had hoped that Lydia would at least make an appearance at dinner. She felt horribly responsible for the entire matter, and her conscience would have been somewhat eased if Lydia had chosen to come down.

The first course was served, but neither of the ladies seemed to favor the soup, nor were they roused to enthusiasm by the vegetables. The roast beef was brought to the table accompanied by the butler’s hopeful comment that Cook had gone to lengths to make certain it was done to taste, but Lady Basinberry spurned the meat course, partaking only of small amounts of the potatoes and gravy, peas in cream sauce, and bread. Michele thought that she had never had less appetite as she toyed with a small meat pie.

The subdued atmosphere was unabated through the meal, both ladies merely picking at their plates. Lady Basinberry preserved her silence, only occasionally breaking it to exclaim under her breath, “That idiot!” Her scornful mutterings did nothing to assuage Michele’s increasing unhappiness with her own role in Lydia’s disgrace. When the desserts were offered, Michele waved the selection aside and requested a cup of hot sweet tea. She cast a glance in her companion’s direction. Lady Basinberry had accepted a dish of bread pudding. Michele well knew that bread pudding was a favorite with Lady Basinberry, but after a mouthful or two, her aunt pushed it away.

When the covers were removed and the ladies rose from the table, Lady Basinberry roused herself out of her black reverie to thank Michele for her forbearance. “I am bad company this evening, my dear, and I know it. I would as lief snap off your nose as not,” she said with a wintry smile.

Michele was touched by Lady Basinberry’s apology. “It is just as well that we are engaged for only a musical soiree this evening. Perhaps you will find the selections soothing,” she said.

“I am not a colicky infant that I need soothing,” said Lady Basinberry sharply. At her niece’s startled expression, she sighed. “I am sorry, my dear. Indeed, the music will be quite nice.” She allowed the footman to drape her cloak about her shoulders, and after assuring herself that Michele was also ready, she swept out of the front door to be handed up into the carriage at the curb.

The ladies arrived at their destination and said all that was expected of them to their hostess, explaining that Lydia’s absence was owing to the headache. Then they took their seats and assumed composed expressions of interest for the several languid airs that were performed on harp and pianoforte. But later neither Michele nor Lady Basinberry could have said what the selections had been.

At last the soiree drew to an end and the ladies exchanged compliments with their hostess, hiding their thankfulness that the long evening was done. They returned to the town house in silence, and their good-nights to one another were brief.

Before retiring, Michele thought again of knocking at Lydia’s door, but she decided against it. Perhaps a night’s lonely reflection would make Lydia more amenable to company.

Michele slipped into bed. Her maid blew out the candles before softly closing the door as she went out. Michele stared into the blurred white of the canopy overhead. Lydia could not mean to remain in her bedroom. Michele hoped she would be at breakfast in the morning.

Chapter Fourteen

At breakfast there was no sign of Lydia. Michele was disappointed, but not really surprised. It was otherwise with Mr. Davenport. He watched the door with a frown, more than once drawing out his pocket watch to glance at it. “Where the devil is the girl?” he asked finally.

Lady Basinberry had been watching her brother silently for several minutes and she now took the opportunity to show her disdain. She curled her upper lip in derision. “Surely you do not expect Lydia to bounce in to breakfast as though nothing has happened.”

Mr. Davenport threw his sister a glance of dislike. “I expect my daughter to know better than to indulge in a fit of the sulks, Beatrice.”

“The sulks! Is that how you view it, Edwin?” Lady Basinberry’s eyes snapped with an angry light. “You have turned her life upside down. How did you expect a young girl to react to such ridiculous dicta?” she inquired scornfully.

Mr. Davenport threw down his napkin, a harassed expression on his plump face. He got to his feet and with heavy dignity said, “I am going to my club.”

“You were always a craven,” Lady Basinberry shot at his retreating back.

For reply, Mr. Davenport crashed the door shut. There was a short silence. Michele broke it with a hesitant question. “My lady, what has happened? Lydia refuses to see me or, for that matter, anyone else but her maid. And what you have just said to my uncle—what is it about?”

“You may well ask! My brother has finally and irrevocably proved his idiocy. In his words, since Lydia has seen fit to whistle down such an eligible offer as Lord Randol’s, then she may end her days a spinster. Edwin has forbidden Lydia to attend social functions for the remainder of the Season or to receive callers. If any inquire after her, she is to have the influenza, if you please,” Lady Basinberry said bitterly.

Michele exclaimed in horror. “This I cannot believe! Why, Lydia is a prisoner,
en effet!
How can my uncle do this thing when he is, before all else, a
bon âme?”

Lady Basinberry sighed, suddenly tired in her demeanor. “Edwin is indeed a genial man. But like most mild-mannered sorts, he simmers and stews and sometimes boils over when one least expects it. Unfortunately for Lydia, as it happens,” she said. Lady Basinberry stared at the remainder of her breakfast with almost a look of revulsion on her face. She pushed aside her plate. “I cannot swallow another mouthful. Edwin’s stupidity has positively curdled my stomach.”

Michele stared into her teacup, swirling the hot dark liquid. “I hold myself utterly responsible for Lydia’s disgrace.”

Lady Basinberry was startled. “Nonsense! How could you be responsible? Michele, I warn you. If you mean to turn maudlin on me, I shall not be held accountable for my actions. My temper is frayed almost beyond endurance as it is.”

Michele looked up. Her gaze was straightforward but unhappy. “But it was I who advised Lydia to make known to Lord Randol her true feelings regarding his suit. It never occurred to me that she would do so in such a way.”

Lady Basinberry regarded her with suddenly narrowed eyes. Her voice was soft, controlled, yet nevertheless acid. “You must have been very persuasive, to be sure. Lydia is such a biddable, good-natured girl, not at all given to freakish starts.”

Michele was astonished by the patent hostility in her aunt’s voice. She hastily sought to reassure Lady Basinberry. “On the contrary, it was but a passing comment. Lydia had again complained of her anxiety regarding the match. I merely pointed out to her the consequences of continuing to allow Lord Randol to assume that his suit was entirely agreeable to her.”

Lady Basinberry’s eyes glittered. “Pray tell me, my dear, do you intend to have Lord Randol for yourself?”

For a frozen second Michele stared at the elder lady. Lady Basinberry’s caustic shot had hit uncomfortably close to the fabric of her fantasy. She said quietly, answering Lady Basinberry as well as her own inner questionings, “I could not have his lordship even if I meant to undercut my cousin, my lady. Lord Randol despises me.”

Lady Basinberry put up her brows in exaggerated surprise. “Indeed! I find it passing strange that a gentleman with whom you are scarcely acquainted could have developed such a strong distaste for your company, my dear niece. Surely you exaggerate.”

“I was acquainted with Lord Randol in Brussels. Our friendship did not survive his return to England,” said Michele shortly, not wishing to go any deeper into her former relationship with the gentleman in question.

“It becomes better and better. Your friendship with Lord Randol must have been a strange one to result in such animosity upon the part of his lordship. Tell me, did your dear mother and Francois know of this . . . friendship?” Lady Basinberry asked.

Michele stiffened. Her eyes flashed. “I beg your pardon, my lady! Perhaps you will speak more plainly.”

Lady Basinberry smiled, but the coldness of her eyes did not lighten. “I warn you, my dear. Take a care that you do not meddle further in Lydia’s affairs, or you shall have me to contend with. And I can be an extremely formidable enemy.”

For a heartbeat Michele stared into Lady Basinberry’s hard eyes. Then she placed her napkin carefully on the table. Her eyes had darkened almost to black with the insult that she felt. Rising to her fall height, she said coldly, “Excuse me, Lady Basinberry. I have some errands that I must attend to this morning.” She swept out of the breakfast room.

Michele went directly upstairs and rang for her maid, who came running at the unusually urgent summons. The maid saw at once that her mistress was in a rare temper, and she inquired with concern what was required. “I am going driving. Get me my habit. . . . No, give it to me. I wish you to go downstairs and tell the footman that I want my carriage,” Michele said tersely. The maid dropped a curtsy and left on her errand. Michele scrambled into her habit. Twenty minutes after leaving Lady Basinberry in the drawing room, she was rolling away from the town house to the park. Inside the gates she saw Sir Lionel Corbett in the distance on the green, and that he was raising an arm in greeting. But she pretended not to see him and drove on at a spanking pace. She knew that Sir Lionel’s heavy gallantries would set her teeth on edge. There were other acquaintances of hers in the park, but Michele stopped for none of them, instead inclining her head and flourishing her whip as she passed. Her smart progress was noted and commented upon with admiration by those who knew something of driving.

Lord Randol had taken up a friend beside him in his own phaeton and they were engaged in a discussion on horseflesh when Michele’s distinctive yellow-accented carriage swept past. Lord Randol watched the paces of the team and the expert handling of ribbons with a detached interest.

His friend was not so forbearing. “A damn fine sight, is she not? The whole town talks of her driving, you know. I should like to make her acquaintance one day,” he said, ogling the disappearing mademoiselle through his fob.

Lord Randol glanced at his friend in some surprise. “Ferdy, I had no notion that you were in the petticoat line.”

The Honorable Ferdinand Huxtable-Taylor flushed and dropped his fob. “No such thing. In any event, that is hardly a proper way to speak of a lady.”

Lord Randol merely smiled, declining to air his thoughts about Mademoiselle du Bois. But he did stare thoughtfully after the easily recognized phaeton with its matched blacks. He had had a fleeting impression of the driver’s lovely face and he had gathered in that instant that something had upset her. He did not know why he should care, and it rather annoyed him that he did. He flicked his whip, and the tip nipped his leader’s ear. The team’s paces quickened in instant response.

“By Jove, you have the deadliest eye that I have ever seen,” Ferdy said appreciatively. He glanced at Lord Randol. “You were luckier than most, Anthony. You were always at home using either hand, while some poor bastards ended unable to even feed themselves properly.”

“I am fortunate, indeed. My wounds deprived me of very little of moment.” Lord Randol’s voice was controlled, but there was a queer twist to his lips. His instinctive sympathy for the unhappiness that he had glimpsed in Michele’s face evaporated as though it had never been.

Michele spent the better part of an hour tooling her carriage, and the familiar exercise served to cool her anger. She made up her mind that she would remain civil toward Lady Basinberry, but she intended first to make quite clear that she would not put up with such insult as her ladyship had given her that morning.

Michele heard herself hailed and she turned her head. Recognizing Mr. Hedgeworth and Elizabeth in their carriage, she pulled up her horses. She greeted them with a smile. “How do you do? It is a fine morning for driving, is it not?”

“Quite. Oh, I say, mademoiselle, that is a spanking team,” said Mr. Hedgeworth, admiring the blacks.

“Thank you, sir. Perhaps one day you shall try their paces.”

Mr. Hedgeworth flushed, speechless with gratification. His sister laughed at him and tweaked his sleeve. “You have quite bowled Clarence over, mademoiselle. His most passionate wish is to own just such a showy team. Grandmama’s horses are a bit plodding for his taste, you see,” Elizabeth said.

Mr. Hedgeworth was embarrassed by his sister’s confidences and he made haste to turn the subject. “We were wondering whether you and Lydia should like to set a day for an expedition to Astley’s Circus. It would be jolly good fun.”

“I am sure of it. I have no objection myself, but I fear that Lydia is indisposed, so perhaps we may put off the treat for a while,” Michele said.

Miss Hedgeworth thoughtfully regarded her. “It has to do with that ghastly scene, doesn’t it?” When Michele hesitated to reply, she leaned forward and said earnestly, “Mademoiselle, pray do tell me the truth. I am Lydia’s staunchest friend and I should like to know.”

Michele sighed. “Very well. I cannot hide the matter from you, since you were present during that unfortunate announcement of Lydia’s. As you are aware, Mr. Davenport was very angry with my cousin. I learned this morning that he has forbidden her to leave the house or to receive callers.”

“How incredibly gothic,” said Elizabeth, indignation in her gentle voice. Soft pink flew to her cheeks, and an unusual spark of anger lit her eyes.

“I must say, that is coming it rather too harsh on poor Lydia,” said Mr. Hedgeworth. Upon meeting Michele’s eyes, he coughed deferentially. “I beg your pardon, mademoiselle. I meant no disrespect toward your uncle.”

“I have not taken offense,” Michele said, smiling. “However, I am certain that my uncle must relent. One cannot put it about that one’s daughter has the influenza for the remainder of her natural life, can one?”