Jane Feather - [V Series] (38 page)

“When we get upstairs,” he said calmly, placing a steadying hand on her upturned rear, but other than that ignoring her gyrations.

“But the servants.” Judith gasped. “You can’t possibly carry me through the house in this mortifying fashion.”

“Can I not?” Laughter quivered in his voice. “You’ve had every opportunity to be cooperative, lynx.”

Judith subsided with a groan, closed her eyes tightly and prayed that everyone had gone to bed … everyone, that is, except for Millie and Cheveley. She reared up against his shoulder at the thought. “Oh, God. Marcus, you have to let me walk into my room.”

“Do I?”

“Please!”

He stopped, halfway up the stairs. “If you tell me straightway what I want to know, I’ll allow you to enter your room on your own two feet.”

“Oh, God,” Judith muttered again. But inspiration came to her in the same instant. It must have something to do with all that blood rushing to her head. It wouldn’t be a lie, either, just half the truth.

When she didn’t immediately reply to his ultimatum, Marcus resumed climbing the stairs, carrying his burden seemingly with the greatest of ease.

“Please!” she yelped as they reached the head of the stairs. “Put me down and I’ll tell you as soon as we’re in my room. I will, I promise.”

Marcus made no reply, merely continued down the corridor to Judith’s chamber. At the door, however, mercifully, he stopped. “Word of a lynx?”

“Word of a Davenport,” she said with a gasp. “I
couldn’t bear to be carried in there like a sack of potatoes.”

Laughing, he lowered her to the floor, holding her waist as her feet touched ground. “I did tell you I had various methods of persuasion to hand.”

Judith brushed her hair out of her eyes and tried to smooth her much-abused gown. She glared up at him, her face pink with indignation and the results of her upside-down journey. “How could you?”

“Very easily.” He opened the door for her, gesturing she should precede him, offering a gently mocking bow.

“Lawks-a-mercy, my lady!” Millie squawked, jumping up from her chair. “Look at your dress.” She stared with some disbelief at Judith’s rumpled gown and wildly tumbled ringlets.

“I feel as if I’ve been dragged through a hedge backward,” Judith declared, shooting her husband a fulminating glare.

Marcus grinned. “You may have fifteen minutes to prepare yourself for bed, ma’am. Then you will fulfill your side of the bargain.”

“Some bargain,” Judith muttered as the connecting door closed on his departure. “Help me undress, Millie. Fifteen minutes is no great time.”

“No, my lady. But whatever’s happened?”

“It’s his lordship’s idea of a joke,” Judith told her, peering at her image in the cheval glass. “What a mess!”

Millie helped Judith into her nightgown and brushed her hair, returning order to the copper cloud. “If that’ll be all, I’ll take this for sponging and pressing, m’lady.” She picked up the much-abused gown on her way to the door.

“Yes, thank you, Millie. Good night.”

Judith blew out all but one candle and hopped swiftly into bed, propping the pillows behind her head,
pulling the sheet up to her chin, offering her husband a demure bedtime image when he came in to hear her explanation. Her guilty panic had vanished under the spur of action, and now she knew how to handle the situation, she was as calm as if she were playing for high stakes on Pickering Street.

“Well, madam wife?” Marcus closed the door behind him and trod to the darkened bed. “You may look as if butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth, but I know better. Out with it!” He snapped his fingers.

Judith frowned and sat up straight against the pillows. “I told you it was silly and I was making a mountain out of a molehill, but since you insist, then I’ll tell you. It’s Agnes Barret.” She sat back again, with the air of one who has discharged a difficult but possibly pointless duty.

“Agnes Barret?” Marcus sat on the end of the bed. “Explain.”

“I don’t know how to,” she said, and the ring of truth was in the admission. “She upsets me dreadfully. I feel as if we’re fighting some war to the death, but I don’t know what the issue is or what the weapon is. Whenever I’m obliged to talk to her, I feel as if an entire regiment is tramping over my grave.”

“Good God!” Marcus lifted the candle, holding it high so that her face was thrown into relief. He could read the truth in her eyes. “So what happened tonight?”

She shrugged. “We just had words … or, at least, not even that, but I prevented her from driving Harriet home and she was furious. We exchanged looks, I think you could say. For some reason, she’s cultivating Harriet.” She plucked at the coverlet. “I believe Agnes and Gracemere are lovers.”

Marcus frowned. “It’s not inconceivable, I suppose. I
gather they’ve known each other from childhood. Why should it concern you?”

“It makes things awkward,” she said, catching a loose thread on the sheet and twisting it restlessly around her finger. “That’s why I didn’t want to talk about this. I think Gracemere is trying to court Harriet—only she won’t have anything to do with him—and Agnes is constantly trying to throw them together.”

“I see.” It was a flat statement. Harriet wouldn’t be the first heiress to receive Gracemere’s attentions, Marcus mused. But if she was holding him at arm’s length, she was no Martha. Presumably Sebastian was a more potent counterweight to Gracemere’s courting than he had been.

“You’re scowling,” Judith said. “And I haven’t said anything yet to annoy you.”

He banished the scowl with the memories and smiled. “Oh, dear, lynx, are you about to?”

“I don’t know whether it will or not,” she said judiciously, still twisting the thread.

“Out with it!”

“Well, whenever I’m with Harriet and she’s with Agnes, Gracemere is usually not too far away.” She looked up at him, her dark eyebrows in a quizzical arch. “I didn’t want to bring up a potentially contentious subject.”

“My dear, Gracemere is not a contentious subject so long as you don’t encourage him. You can’t help but be in his company on occasion, and I won’t shrivel and die at the mention of his name,” he commented with a wry smile.

“I didn’t want to run any risks,” she said with perfect truth.

Marcus leaned over to catch a ringlet, twisting it
around his finger. “So that’s what’s been bothering you this evening?”

“Yes,” she agreed. “But now that you’ve made me confess it, I feel as if I’m being fanciful about Agnes, so now I feel particularly silly.”

Marcus laughed and threw off his brocade dressing gown. “Well, I’d better restore your self-esteem. Move over.”

Judith obligingly did so, reflecting that she had pulled the chestnuts out of that particular fire without singeing herself too severely. She wondered how long her luck would hold.

“I
can’t understand how you can be so nonchalant about Gracemere’s attentions to Harriet.” Judith clasped her gloved hands tightly within her swansdown muff. It was a bitterly cold afternoon, not a comfortable one for walking at the fashionable hour in the park. However, Society’s dictates always won out over comfort, and there were almost as many promenaders today as on the most clement afternoon.

Sebastian swished at the bare hedgerow with his cane. “Harriet detests him, you said as much yourself,” he replied. “And she loves me,” he added with a touch of complacence. “Why should I concern myself with Gracemere? If it were anyone else, I might even pity him on such a fruitless quest.”

“Agnes Barret is his accomplice.”

“Oh, Ju, don’t be so melodramatic. Accomplice, indeed. What kind of conspiracy are you imagining?”

Judith shook her head. She didn’t know, she just knew she sensed that Agnes and Bernard were pure evil. “They’re lovers,” she said.

Sebastian shrugged. “Maybe so. So what?”

Judith gave up and abruptly changed the subject. “You will come to Carrington Manor for Christmas?”

“Where else would I go?” He laughed down at her.

“You might prefer to spend it with Lord and Lady Moreton,” Judith declared loftily. “I’m sure they’ll make an exception for Christmas and put something other than gruel and weak tea on their table.”

“Stuff!” her brother responded amiably, well aware that Judith intended to invite Harriet to Carrington Manor, while delicately excluding the parents.

Judith waved at a passing laundelet in response to the vigorous greetings of its passengers. “There’s Isobel and Cornelia.” The laundelet drew up beside the path.

“Judith, that is the most divine hat,” Isobel said. “Good afternoon, Sebastian … I saw a hat just like that in Bridge’s, Judith, but it didn’t look like anything at all. I didn’t even try it on. I thought it might make me look bald or something.”

Sebastian noticed the hat in question for the first time: a tight helmet that completely enclosed his sister’s head, hiding her hair, leaving the lines and planes of her face to look upon the world unadorned. It wouldn’t suit everyone, he decided.

“Bone structure,” Cornelia commented. “You’ve got to have bones in your face.” Her nose was reddened with the cold and she dabbed at it with her handkerchief. “I do wish I hadn’t let you persuade me into this, Isobel. It’s freezing and I’d much rather be beside my fire with a book.”

“Oh, it’s good for you to get some fresh air,” Isobel said. “You can’t spend all day buried in some Latin text, can she, Judith? Sebastian, what’s your opinion?”

Sebastian regarded the red-nosed and distinctly disconsolate Cornelia. “I think there’s much to be said for firesides and books … although I can’t say I’m a great one for the classics.”

Cornelia sniffed and blew her nose. “As it happens, I wasn’t reading Latin, I was reading
Guy Mannering.
Have you come across it, Judith?”

Judith nodded. “I have a copy, but I haven’t yet read it. It’s said to be by Walter Scott, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it has the same touch as
Waverley
 … although he won’t admit to having written that either.”

A gust of wind set the plume in Isobel’s hat quivering, and the coachman coughed pointedly as the horses stamped on the roadway.

“Your horses are getting cold, Isobel,” Sebastian said, stepping back onto the path. “It’s no weather for standing around.”

“It’s no weather for walking either,” Judith declared, huddling into her pelisse.

After waving the laundelet on its way, she turned back to her brother. “Sebastian, I think it’s time to step up the play for Gracemere. We should aim to have the business over by Christmas.”

Sebastian nodded. “We’ve got him exactly where we want him. I’ll begin taking increasingly heavy losses to whet his appetite for the last night.”

“I trust we still have the funds we need?”

He nodded. “Enough.”

“Has he cheated again?”

“Twice. I lost carelessly, of course. He has no idea I know why I lost.”

“The Duchess of Devonshire’s ball is in three
weeks,” Judith said thoughtfully. “A week before Christmas. It would be the perfect occasion for exposure—everyone will be there.”

Sebastian thought for a minute, then nodded briskly. “I’ll play mostly piquet with him from now on. Winning a little, losing a lot. The night before the ball, I’ll lose so heavily he’s bound to think I’m on the verge of ruin. On the night, he’ll move in for the coup de grace.”

“And on that night …” Judith shivered, but not with cold. On that night, together, they would destroy Bernard Melville, Earl of Gracemere.

With a resumption of briskness, she continued. “I’ll become involved in the ‘duel’ you and he are engaged in—a playful thing, you understand. He’ll think I’m wonderfully naive, to be seeing it as a game, not realizing that my brother is a fat pigeon that he’s going to pluck clean.”

“You’ll have to make sure Marcus is somewhere else that night,” Sebastian said matter-of-factly.

“Yes,” Judith agreed. Then she said in a rush, “I don’t know how much longer I can keep up this deceit, Sebastian. I feel such a traitor, so disloyal.”

“Three more weeks,” Sebastian said quietly. “That’s all. I can’t wait much longer either, Ju.”

“No, I know that.” She caught his hand, crushing his fingers in a convulsive grip. A minute later she spoke cheerfully, diminishing the intensity of the last few minutes. “Have you thought how you’re going to manage Letitia?”

Sebastian groaned. “I’m hoping Yorkshire will prove too far for frequent visitations.”

“Is Harriet able to stand up to her mother?”

Sebastian considered. “Yes, with support,” he said finally. “She hasn’t done so yet, of course, but I think,
when we’re married, she’ll prefer to upset her mama than me.”

Judith went into a peal of laughter. “Such a sweet, accommodating creature she is, Sebastian. It’s fortunate she’s fallen in love with someone who’ll never injure her.” That graveyard shiver ran across her scalp again and her laughter died as the twinned images of Agnes and Gracemere thrust themselves forward.

“I must go home,” she said as they reached the Apsley gate. “Lord Castlereagh, Lord Liverpool, and the Duke of Wellington are dining with us.”

“Such exalted circles you move in,” Sebastian declared with a chuckle. “The prime minister and the foreign secretary no less.”