Lady Sherry and the Highwayman (12 page)

Lord Viccars eyed his hostess. He had seen these little temper tantrums before. It was best to let them run their course. “Perhaps Sherry doesn’t want anyone to read what she has written until she is satisfied with it,” he suggested diplomatically.

Lavinia was not persuaded. Previously, Sherris had not been so reticent—had even admitted that she profited from Lavinia’s criticism and advice. Perhaps she was writing something of which her family would not approve. Perhaps the highwayman was only a pretext and the wretch was in fact penning an expose of her family and friends
à la
Caro Lamb.

Lavinia would not tolerate it. As long as she had breath in her body, there would be no vile scandal attached to this family, this house. “No doubt Sherris is in her book room even now. I’m sure she’ll wish to see
you,
Andrew. Indeed, I’ll fetch her to you myself!” Even as she spoke, Lavinia hurried from the room. She had always deplored her sister-in-law’s lack of proper manners, but now she realized that her character was as gravely flawed.

She would make certain that Sherris did not refuse to see Lord Viccars, thereby lending her assistance to romance. Thereby also availing herself of the opportunity to peruse the pages of Sherry’s current manuscript while Sherry was safely belowstairs.

After Lavinia left the drawing room, Lord Viccars sank back into his chair. He lapsed again into thought, not of his fiancée but of the highwayman who had captured the imagination of so many Londoners. Where the deuce could the scoundrel have gotten to? Andrew would find out or know the reason why. This investigation offered him a challenge the like of which he had not enjoyed for some time.

Sir Christopher walked into the room then. “You are just the person I wished to see, Chris.”

“Of course you did, you lucky fellow!” Sir Christopher clapped Lord Viccars on the back. “So I am among the first to wish you happy, eh?”

Wish him happy? Still caught up in thoughts of Captain Toby and a certain red-haired doxy, Andrew was very confused. Then Sir Christopher made mention of bride clothes and St. George’s, Hanover Square. A suspicion blossomed in Lord Viccars’s mind, causing him to feel as though the ground had shifted suddenly beneath his feet. “Lady Sherry!” he murmured.

Sir Christopher recalled his own overwrought emotional state when he had at last gathered the courage to pop the question and his Livvy had said yes. “Don’t fret! You have my blessing!” he said reassuringly as he clapped his prospective brother-in-law again on the back, then bore him off to the library for a frank discussion of dowries and portions and other matters pertaining to the marital estate.

Chapter Twelve

Purposefully, Lavinia tapped on the book room door, again and then again. She heard the murmur of voices and was therefore not deceived that no one was within.

Closer application of her ear to the door did not enable her to make out specific words. An attempt to peer through the keyhole availed her only a glimpse of some dark cloth. Lavinia rose from her knees and tapped once more, peremptorily. “Sherris! Open this door at once!”

The door did open then, to Lavinia’s surprise, just as she had decided to give it a good kick. Sherry stood in the doorway, an annoyed expression on her face. “For heaven’s sake, have you run mad, Lavinia? Whatever is this fuss about?”

Run mad, had she? Ha! Lavinia was no bedlamite, though she was not certain there was not one in this house. She peered over Sherry’s shoulder into the book room, where Daffodil and Aunt Tulliver were putting together a map of Europe on the old counting table while Prinny dozed on the settee. “You are responsible for that beast’s atrocious manners. I won’t tolerate him making messes on my
furniture. Nor will I tolerate
you
making messes, either, Sherris, or our dirty laundry aired in public, or our names bandied vulgarly about on every tongue!’’

Since Lady Sherry had no notion that Lavinia had decided she was writing an
exposé
, she looked in some bewilderment at the hand that clutched her arm. “I wish you would tell me what has sent you into the boughs.”

“I am not in the boughs!” Lavinia snapped, with a great deal less veracity than might be expected from the daughter of a duke. With, in truth, very much the shrill tones of a fishwife.

Those shrill tones awakened Prinny from his nap. Even when it was raised in anger—especially raised in anger—he knew his mama’s voice. Eager that she should not think him guilty of neglecting her, he lumbered down from the settee and across the room. Since Lady Sherry blocked the doorway, he contented himself with gazing soulfully at Lavinia and wagging his tail.

Lavinia looked at that pink, damp lolling tongue and shuddered. She took a deep breath, left off shaking Sherry’s arm, and sought to compose herself. “I have a right to know what you are writing, Sherris. This
is
my
house. You would not have this room at all if not for me. Therefore I think it only fair that—”

“If not for you?” Sherry interrupted, growing annoyed in her turn. She stepped aside, allowing Prinny to push past her, then followed the dog into the hallway as Lavinia hastily backed away from him and attempted to fend off her pet. “Am I mistaken, Lavinia? I thought it was Christopher who provided me with this chamber for my own use. Over your objections, as I recall. Has my brother changed his mind? Am I now to be denied my privacy? Perhaps it is a matter that he and I should discuss.”

This suggestion filled Lavinia with such panic that she failed to sidestep Prinny, who took advantage of his mama’s abstraction to press close to her side. Lavinia knew Sir Christopher would be angry with her for badgering his sister, for so her actions must appear. Not that Lavinia had been doing anything of the sort, but she had no doubt that sly Sherris took advantage of every opportunity to present Lavinia in a bad light.

“You mistake my meaning,” Lavinia said stiffly, having counted to a hundred under her breath, thus enabling her to speak in a voice that was almost normal, albeit strained, in pitch. “I only wished to tell you that Lord Viccars has called to speak with you. He awaits you in the drawing room. But since you are determined to interpret my concern as a desire to
trespass
, I shall wash my hands of the affair!”

Sherry did not take advantage of this opportunity to apologize for her rudeness, but instead folded her arms and looked stern. Lavinia would be given no opportunity to peruse Sherry’s manuscript this day.

Other days remained. Or nights, after the household was asleep. If only she could gain possession of a key.

Lest Sherris guess her purpose, Lavinia must feign disinterest now. She turned, head held high, to make a dignified retreat. Unfortunately for Lavinia’s intentions, Prinny had placed a great paw on the delicate flounce of her pretty gown. As must happen when irresistible force meets immoveable object, something had to give way. In this instance, it was Lavinia’s flounce, which parted from her gown with a loud tear.

Lavinia stared at her tattered hem. This additional frustration was more than she could bear. “Oh, you wretched beast! You brute, you oaf!” she wailed. Prinny took refuge behind Lady Sherry barely in time to escape the humiliation of having his mama box his furry ears. Lavinia gathered up the remnants of her dignity, and her favorite morning dress, and proceeded angrily down the stairs.

Sherry contemplated Prinny. He gazed woefully back at her. She could hardly praise the beast for having routed Lavinia, but the truth was that Sherry was feeling very much in charity with him. Much as she tried not to stand on bad terms with her brother’s wife, the sad truth was that Lavinia could drive a saint to try to swear the devil out of hell. And what bee had Lavinia gotten in her bonnet now to come pounding on the door like that, startling them all very nearly out of their wits and necessitating that their house-guest should be shoved willy-nilly into a closet? Lavinia was suspicious, it seemed—but of what, and why?

Yes, and Lavinia was very likely to return for another skirmish if Sherry failed to make an appearance in the drawing room. Too, Sherry could hardly refuse to see Andrew now that she had encouraged her family to think that they would soon wed.

Indeed, Andrew must be informed of this happy development. It was not an interview to which she looked forward much. Much as Lavinia might deplore her manners, Sherry had been sufficiently well brought up that she knew better than to do what she had done. And what she was about to do. But she could think of no other reasonable resolution to the imbroglio in which she now found herself.

Sherry looked down at Prinny, who sprawled dejectedly at her feet. “You had better come along with me,” she said. The dog would prove a diversion in the drawing room, which might be a very good thing.

Prinny greeted this invitation with enthusiasm and a great damp lick of Sherry’s hand. Already regretting her generous impulse, she descended the stair.

Andrew was not in the drawing room. Perhaps he had grown tired of waiting and had taken his leave. Perhaps he had grown weary of her altogether and had been relieved when her failure to put in an appearance had given him a reprieve.

He
had
taken her in disgust, Sherry thought gloomily. And he would make it so obvious that she would have to withdraw her request for bride clothes. At which point they would all go to prison, because Ned would overturn the apple cart, as he was threatening to do daily, because Sir Christopher was taking his sweet time in handing over the money and Ned was made very cross by the delay.

Perhaps she should simply ask her fiancé to lend her the money. Sherry paced around the perimeters of the drawing room. Hadn’t Lavinia said repeatedly that Andrew was blessed with an income of ten thousand pounds a year? But any prospective bridegroom would want to know why his intended needed five hundred pounds, and she could not explain.

Nor could she hope to repay the loan within a reasonable time. Bride clothes it must be. At least the money she was attempting to wheedle from Sir Christopher was her own.

Sherry had just decided to return to her book room when Lord Viccars walked into the drawing room. She was to have no escape. Escape? Odd to think of Andrew in that manner. Odd and unfair. “Prinny! Pray get down. Lord Viccars does not wish dog hairs all over his nice coat.”

Lord Viccars wanted no dog hairs not only on his nice blue coat but on his fashionable yellow breeches and buff waistcoat as well. Nor did he wish his gleaming top boots to be scuffed and drooled upon. With exasperation, he fended off the hound and watched unappreciatively as Prinny stretched out with a great sigh on the sofa where his mama had so recently lounged. Then he glanced again at Sherry. “My dear, I hope you don’t mean to introduce hounds into
our
drawing room!” he said, and smiled.

“Our—” Sherry blushed. “You have spoken with Christopher.’’

“I have,” Andrew murmured as he took her hand. The conversation with Sir Christopher had left him strangely out-of-curl.

Of course he wished to marry Sherry. Had he not been waiting impatiently these past several months for her to set their wedding date? Why, then, this sudden wish that he had discovered Captain Toby’s hiding place so that he, too, could now go to ground?

Sherry was made uncomfortable by her fiancé’s silence, his intent gaze. She withdrew her hand from his. “You are angry with me. I’m sorry. I had thought— You had said— But if you have changed your mind and no longer wish to marry me, you must say so at once.”

“How absurd you are.” Andrew firmly banished his doubts along with a nostalgic memory of the fair Marguerite. “I was never more pleased with anything in all my life. It’s just that this is all so sudden. You took me by surprise.”

Sherry smiled. “I think that’s supposed to be my sentiment, Lord Viccars, as I am succumb to maidenly confusion and the like. I’ve made a rare muddle of this business, haven’t I? Since I have never before decided that I wished to be married, I am sadly ignorant of how to go on.”

She was sadly ignorant of many things. Unlike another red-haired female of his acquaintance. But one did not seek similar virtues in wife and ladybird.

Sherry would learn what he liked and wished. For now, he must take care not to frighten her. “I don’t think I care to be addressed as ‘Lord Viccars’ across the breakfast cups, my love. My Christian name is Andrew, as you know very well.”

Across the breakfast cups? At the image thus conjured—specifically, intimacies leading up to seeing his lordship across the breakfast cups—Sherry’s cheeks flamed. “I thought you had left. When I came into the room and found you were not here. It was good of you to call. We have not seen you for some days.”

No, Sherry had not seen him. She, too, had been subject to his neglect even though it had been caused by his efforts on her behalf. Not for diversion had Andrew visited such locations as Petticoat Lane on the boundary of the City, where one might buy anything from shoe buckles to coffins; and the British Museum, where one could admire all manner of displays, from Egyptian mummies to Aztec turquoise mosaic work to enameled Chinese cocks. Nor had he derived any great entertainment from sitting for hours in the coffeehouse across from the Bow Street police headquarters or from rubbing shoulders with such strangely named individuals as Tinker Tom and African Sal and Billingsgate Moll. However, he
had
gleaned information of interest about which he had wished to speak with Sir Christopher, and it was for that reason he’d come today to this house. But no sooner had he stepped across the threshold than things had gotten hopelessly muddled, and the capture of a certain notorious highwayman—even his desire to help Lady Sherry overcome her creative difficulties—now seemed of only secondary importance.

Even now Andrew could not believe his good fortune. He gazed ruefully at his bride-to-be. “My dear, how fine you look today,” he murmured, and it was true. Sherry’s morning dress had puffed sleeves and pretty frills at neck and wrist. It was even unusually free of ink stains, as Sherry was herself.

Lord Viccars concluded that she had taken especial pains with her appearance today on his behalf. This effort boded well, he thought as he drew his fiancée with him toward the settee, forcibly evicted Prinny, then with equal masterfulness ensured that she seated herself by his side. “I had a most interesting conversation with your brother. It may be very strange in me, but I rather wish you’d broken the happy intelligence of our forthcoming nuptials to me first instead of to him. Therefore let us make believe that you have not yet spoken with Chris. You are going to speak with him after you have spoken with me first. Now, what have you to say to me?”