Laura Matthews (17 page)

Paul nodded and turned his gaze to John and Rollo, both now well splashed with water. “I don’t think Alvescot disapproves of anything I’ve done here, or my plans for the next few years. What he can’t seem to decide is whether I’ve diverted any of the Cutsdean resources to my own estate.”

“Oh, Paul, you mustn’t think that. I’m sure he knows better.”

“But there’s no way to prove it, Vanessa,” he said with a shrug. “Of course it would have been the easiest thing in the world to divert a few bags of seed to Buckland, or made off with a few chickens. I wonder if he thinks I tucked them under my coat.”

Vanessa was relieved to see a grin transform his face. “Or
under your hat,” she laughed. “No, Paul, I’m convinced he doesn’t have the least doubt of your honesty any more, or your ability.”

“Then why does he continue to go into the books and roam about the estate?” Paul asked, exasperated.

“It gives him an excuse to stay.” Vanessa regretted her words the moment they left her mouth. His brows shot up and she hastened to clarify her meaning. “He has taken it into his head that it’s his duty to see me rid of all my undesirable guests, you see. On the very first day he came, he assured me that Frederick would not have allowed all of them to settle here, and he considers their imposition an affront to me, or him, or the universe, I’m not sure which. Anyhow, he was behind Captain Lawrence’s leaving, and I very much fear he’s intent on staying until he clears Cutsdean of the lot of them.”

“I shouldn’t think that was his business.”

“No, it isn’t, but he won’t admit to that being his reason for staying, and I can’t very well ask him to leave. So I’m very much afraid you will have to put up with his wandering around and poking his nose into things for a while longer, Paul.”

The young man studied her rather intently for a moment, noting the color in her cheeks and the way her head was turned slightly away from him. There seemed to be more to Alvescot’s stay than she was willing to admit, but he hadn’t the right to probe further. He rose to his feet without further ado, brushing his hair back with one arm before settling his hat on his head.

“You know I’m at your service, Vanessa, and I’m perfectly willing to answer Alvescot’s questions for as long as he sees fit to ask them. I hope you’re right that he doesn’t really suspect me of any misappropriation of goods. And if he’s successful in finding new homes for your guests, all the better.”

“It’s something I should do myself, if I wish it done,” she answered, a trifle stiffly. “I don’t know that I am entirely convinced I’m not responsible for some of them.”

He gave her a mocking glance as he swung up onto his horse. “They’re such a grateful bunch . . .”

“True charity is its own reward,” she retorted, but her eyes were playful rather than serious. Vanessa watched him wave and ride off before she called to John. “We’ll have to go now if we want to be on time for luncheon, my love. Don’t forget to change into dry shoes when we get home.”

Vanessa was coming down the stairs from changing her clothes when Alvescot and Louisa entered the house. Louisa was reluctantly closing her parasol, which she had used to protect herself from the sun all the way from the stables. Alvescot had offered to leave her at the front door, but as this provided no opportunity to use the new trinket, Louisa had assured him she preferred to walk back from the stables with him.

“Look what Lord Alvescot has given me!” Louisa cried, once again unfurling the parasol. “Is it not the most charming one you’ve ever seen?”

It was, which only made it harder for Vanessa to say so. “Lovely,” she murmured, not meeting the earl’s eyes. “Imagine finding so luscious a sunshade in Basingstoke.”

“Yes, that is just what I was telling him. But it was right there on display, Vanessa. And I very nearly didn’t see it myself, except that Lord Alvescot was so taken with it.”

William Oldcastle was just beginning to round the corner of the stairs, and Louisa called up to him with great eagerness. “Oh, William, you will be so pleased for me. I have needed a parasol for the longest time. I daresay you recall that my own is quite tattered. And look what we have found in Basingstoke, of all places. Mama always says you cannot find anything of the least merit at Newsholme’s. But even in London I’ve not seen anything to equal it.”

It should be noted that Louisa did not actually say, to William, that Alvescot had bought it for her. In his present state of dejection, however, he never for a moment doubted it, and the gift loomed large in his eyes. Over the years he had given Louisa a few trinkets, to be sure, but nothing which had caught her enthusiasm in quite the same way as the parasol. Her eyes glowed with delight and her cheeks were pink with pleasure. The fine, long fingers that called forth such exquisite music from the pianoforte were now stroking the polished handle and the blue silk fabric.

All this caused William a real pang of regret. He alone was supposed to provide Louisa with such treasures. To him the gift was a symbol of something more—a sign that Alvescot was decidedly courting “his” intended. The fact that he had never once, over the twelve years, actually brought himself to offer for her was entirely beside the point. It was
understood
that they would be married, and here was Louisa accepting gifts from a perfect stranger. The very thought made William’s choler rise, and he snapped, “I’ve seen dozens exactly like it in London. It’s probably an imitation, though, if you’ve bought it here in Basingstoke. They do that sort of thing, you know,” he added, with a decided air of knowledge.

Louisa was stung by his callousness. How could he try to take the pleasure out of the one treat she had had in the last year? Tears welled up in her vague blue eyes and threatened to spill over onto suddenly pale cheeks. Clutching the parasol tightly to her, she stumbled blindly away from the group in the Entrance Hall and ran awkwardly up the stairs. The sound of a heart-wrenching sob drifted down to the others.

“I say,” William protested, guiltily pulling at his neckcloth to ease it about his neck.

“Gudgeon,” Alvescot muttered, stomping past Oldcastle and giving only a brief nod to Vanessa before he, too, ascended the staircase.

Neither of the two left, Vanessa or William, was sure whether the earl intended to go to his room or to follow Louisa. It seemed unlikely he would do the latter. In fact, it seemed unlikely (to Vanessa) that in her current state Louisa would even be able to find her own room. Vanessa hesitated at the foot of the stairs, uncertain whether to follow, but decided against it. What could she say?

Though William and Louisa frequently bickered, she had never seen Louisa so overset before. Arguing was one of the ways William and Louisa communicated, and though it was not a method to be recommended for everyone, it often suited their purposes well, since William did not like to be contradicted, and Louisa was not willing to submit to his ideas without expressing her own. In Vanessa’s considered opinion, neither of them had any convictions worth fighting for, but she did like to see Louisa stand up for her notions, especially when William’s were particularly idiotic.

Vanessa was exasperated with William. If the man didn’t intend to marry Louisa, why in heaven’s name was he so obstinately refusing to uproot himself from Cutsdean? And if he did intend to marry her, why didn’t he act like it? She turned to him now with a frown. “I’m surprised you’d be so unkind as to dash Louisa’s pleasure that way, William.”

“She shouldn’t have accepted a gift from him,” William retorted, sulky. “It’s not proper. She hardly knows the man.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask, “How long do you have to know a man? Twelve years?” but she refrained, saying mildly, “They're related, William. They were both cousins of Frederick’s. If Lord Alvescot wished to indulge her with such a small gift, I’m sure he had every right to do so, and she to accept. No one else indulges Louisa. She never has a pence of pocket money with Edward so expensive as he is.”

“Oh, yes, Edward,” the man said scornfully. “He would suck a turnip dry. I have every reason to believe he was extorting money from Captain Lawrence, you know, and I doubt the old gentleman will return here after his visit in Somerset.”

Vanessa was staring at him in astonishment. “If you thought there was something amiss, why didn’t you do anything about it?”

“I tried to talk to the old fellow,” William protested, aggrieved at this new attack. “He wouldn’t admit a thing, said I was talking nonsense, as I always did. Well, what was I supposed to say to that, I ask you? It’s a great pity Louisa has such a rascal for a brother,” he added darkly. “Perhaps Lord Alvescot will like to keep an eye on him, and be constantly pestered for money. The fellow’s pockets are always to let and it’s his own dissipated ways that account for it. No one else is to blame.”

With an abrupt bow to her, William stalked off in the direction of the Saloon. Though it was almost time to assemble for luncheon, Vanessa didn’t follow him. Instead, she made her way to the Morning Room where she could have a few minutes’ peace in which to reflect on what he’d said, because it seemed very important to her. Here, in a few thrown-away sentences, said in annoyance and probably regretted afterward, William Oldcastle had laid forth a spectacularly valid reason for never allying himself with Louisa in the course of twelve years.

For all his limited insight and his discouraging lack of tact, William was intelligent enough not to be deceived in Louisa’s brother. Edward had probably approached William countless times for loans, had possibly even tried to extort money from him over the years. It was one thing to be a suitor; quite another to be a husband. If William married Louisa, he would be taking on the responsibility of Edward permanently.

Vanessa could imagine how large this aspect loomed in William’s mind. Edward was likely, given time, to disgrace himself, and bring disgrace on any family with whom he was connected. William was proud of his lineage, too proud to wish to see his name in any way besmirched by the likes of Edward Curtiss. And say what you would, if his wife’s brother was a rat, sooner or later it was going to reflect on Louisa and consequently on her husband.

To say nothing of the financial drain. If Louisa married William, her mother would go with her to Suffolk. And aside from Mabel’s other annoying propensities, her adoration of her only son was almost an obsession. There was every possibility she would divert every pound on which she could get her hands to her son, whether he followed them to Suffolk or set up on his own somewhere. (Vanessa didn’t like to even consider the possibility that he would try to stay at Cutsdean.) So William would find himself in the position of supporting a very expensive, and a very unethical, Edward Curtiss. The prospect was not tempting.

Everyone was assembled for the meal when Vanessa joined them. William stood at the windows looking out; Louisa sat on a sofa with downcast eyes and pale cheeks. Alvescot was impatiently listening to Mabel’s sly hints as to the import of his gift to her daughter. Edward was quarreling with Hortense about the cut of his coat. A perfectly ordinary family gathering, Vanessa decided ruefully. Alvescot had once told her he thought perhaps this unpleasant time might be smoothed over by having a few dishes of fruit or nuts placed at their disposal to ward off the hunger they exhibited, but that was before he realized they always reacted this way to one another’s company—hungry or full.

At the table she was aware of Alvescot’s eyes frequently on her during the meal. His face, though, was unreadable. Even the expressive eyebrows were immobile. Vanessa had begun to distinguish several of his moods by those brows. Raised, lowered, drawn in, askew, they gave information more accurate than his lips, which were as often as not a simple, straight, uncompromising line. Vanessa didn’t think the earl was aware of how much the eyebrows gave away, and she had no intention of telling him. But the one thing she wanted to know most was totally inexpressible by the twin fringes. His eyes, the more likely repository of this information, were invariably guarded.

But he sought her after the meal, saying, “I wonder if I might have a word with you. It won’t take long; I don’t want to keep you from the children.”

She led him to the Morning Room, though this time she seated herself in one of the rose damask-covered chairs instead of the sofa. The chair opposite reminded Alvescot forcefully of the one that had collapsed under him in his room that first day and he regarded it with grave suspicion. The sofa had been such a comfortable place to sit, when they had talked there before.

“I hope you won’t mind, but I don’t trust your chairs,” he said apologetically, heading for the sofa. “They’re a little fragile for my taste. Won’t you sit with me here?”

“Mrs. Howden told me one of the chairs from your room had mysteriously turned up broken in a storage room, Lord Alvescot,” Vanessa replied, moving easily over to the sofa to seat herself. “Ah, the scratch on your face that first day. My, it was quite an introduction to Cutsdean, wasn’t it?”

“James,” he reminded her. “Yes, I cannot say it was one of the most pleasant days I’ve spent. I didn’t know Bibury had put it in a storage room, though I didn’t instruct him to do otherwise. I should have had it repaired for you.”

Vanessa waved a dismissing hand. “It’s of no importance. What was it you wished to discuss with me?”

Alvescot noted that she had her hands clasped rather firmly in her lap, so he leaned back at his ease against the sofa, casually extending one arm across its back, where it just barely touched her hair. She made no effort to move away from him and he began to speak almost immediately.

“I wanted to let you know what I've done today, so you won’t think I’m acting high-handedly again. On our drive into town, Louisa mentioned she doesn’t believe her father is dead. She can give no other reason than the ‘feeling’ she gets, a psychic sort of thing, I gather, that lets her know someone is dead. Now, I for one am not prone to rely on that kind of evidence, but it seems to me there’s a fair chance that the man
isn’t
dead, since no body was ever found. So I’ve written to my solicitor in London asking him to look into the matter. He’s a thorough man; if he finds anything suspicious to follow up, he’ll do so.”