Lord Clayborne's Fancy (17 page)

Clayborne made his bow and studied the young man carefully while Meg engaged him in conversation. Burns was shorter than he but very well formed; his clothes fit him to perfection, and he had a charming manner. His eyes were perpetually laughing, and his black hair kept escaping down his brow, to be brushed negligently back into place. He was relaying to the two ladies the local news in which they would be interested, particularly his encounter with Meg’s Will a few days before. Meg hung on his words, and smiled and blushed alternately until Rebecca entered the room.

“Lady Clayborne, a pleasure,” Burns greeted her with a bow, taking her hand and pressing it. “You are looking well.” And indeed she was, as her color was still high from her confrontation with Clayborne.

“And you, Thomas. How are your wife and child?”

“Both very well. Sybil is regaining her strength very quickly and the little fellow is healthy, though he looks a bit red and wrinkled to me.”

“I think they all do, you know. I’m pleased you came to call. What brings you to London?” she asked, and they drifted apart from the others while he again explained his commission. When they could not be overheard Rebecca asked, “And how is Rags?”

He chuckled. “Just the same as ever, always into mischief. Are you sorry you gave him to me? Do you wish to have him back?”

“Oh, no. He was always more interested in you than in me, ungrateful dog,” she admitted. “I thought they were supposed to attach themselves to the one who fed them.”

“Well, in that case it should have been your cook, not you. He is a frisky little fellow and I look forward to the day he and my Ned will be the best of companions,” prophesied the proud father.

“You sound happy, Thomas, and I am so glad for you.”

“Sybil is the dearest of women, Rebecca. Had I known her better before I married her, I should never have been such a gudgeon as to talk of her as I did. I hope you will forgive me.”

“There is no need. I hoped only that you would make her happy,” she replied simply.

“I believe I do,” he confessed self-consciously. “And she is a treasure to me. You must see little Ned, too, for he is going to be a strapping fellow.”

“Perhaps I will visit Farthington Hall in the next few months and then we could all call on you.”

“Are you happy, Rebecca?” he asked kindly.

Rebecca was saved the necessity of answering this question, as Mary erupted into the room and burst immediately into speech. “Oh, Thomas, it’s good to see you. I’ve been learning to drive a pair, and Jason says I shall make an excellent whip. Do you have your pair in town? May I drive them?”

“Hold on, young lady. So you have nagged someone into letting you drive at last,” he said and threw Clayborne a look of commiseration. “I shall not be surprised next to see you perform at Astley’s!”

“Now don’t give the child any ideas,” Clayborne remarked wryly. “She is by far too wild as is, forever getting into mischief.” He fixed Mary with a stern eye and she realized at once that he knew of her Vauxhall adventure. She turned quickly to Rebecca, at whose slight nod she pulled a face.

With a shrug Mary turned back to Burns and soon had him immersed in a conversation on horses, which Clayborne eventually broke up to make the conversation more general. As Burns made his farewells, Mary began to edge toward the door, and just as she was about to slip out unchecked, Clayborne approached her and asked for a word with her in the study. Rebecca laughed at her comical look of dismay and joined the pair to say, “If it is concerning last night, Jason, I should like to be there, too.”

Clayborne acquiesced with a gesture and followed the sisters, who went arm in arm. Before they reached the study, however, Miss Turnpeck had caught them up and she asked Clayborne with a puzzled frown, “I made sure you were acquainted with Mr. Burns, Lord Clayborne. Did we not speak of him one day at Gray Oaks?”

Looking mildly disconcerted, he replied, “I believe we did,” before urging the sisters into the study, where he closed the door firmly against Miss Turnpeck’s curious gaze. Rebecca could well imagine the import of this exchange, but she made no comment. Instead she turned to her sister to explain the present situation.

“I am sorry, Mary, that I have had to tell Jason the whole,” Rebecca apologized, ignoring her husband’s presence.

“The whole?” Mary asked incredulously.

“Yes, for he would have it. He happened to catch me drawing a cartoon of Lady Hillston and pressed me until the entire story was out.”

“A cartoon? Oh, I must see it, for your cartoons are famous, Becka,” Mary exclaimed enthusiastically.

“If you will pardon the interruption, ladies,” Clayborne suggested impatiently, “I would be most appreciative if you both would sit down and attend to me. That’s better. Now, Mary, I have spoken with Rebecca concerning last night’s disgraceful episode and…”

At this point Mary burst into whoops, considerably startling her sister and irritating Clayborne to an intolerable point. “I fail to see anything amusing about it,” he stormed.

“You wouldn’t,” she gasped out, and Rebecca, too, started to laugh.

“Neither of you have two serious thoughts to rub together!” he exclaimed in exasperation. “There is an unbecoming levity in both of you which I fail to appreciate.”

“Too true,” Rebecca retorted. “Were you a little less self-consequential and top-lofty you might find some pleasure in life.”

“That is quite enough, Rebecca,” he said coldly, his icy brown eyes striking her like a physical blow. “You are dismissed.”

Mary gaped at this interchange between them, and shivered slightly as her sister rose, curtsied, and left the room, her face pale and set. Clayborne sat clenching a pen until it cracked, unaware of Mary’s still presence for some minutes. When finally he turned to her she saw that his face too was drained and drawn, and that his eyes were neither angry nor cold any longer, but troubled and sad.

“I... I... am sorry if I was impertinent, Jason,” Mary whispered. “You have been kind to me, much more so than I deserve.”

“You remind me of my sister,” he replied abstractedly, toying with the broken pen.

Mary would have liked to pursue this line, but did not think that Clayborne was in the mood for distractions. “I know we were wrong to go to Vauxhall and that I should not have dressed as a man,” she hurried on. “I did not wish to upset you, but it was important to Rebecca,” she explained artlessly. “And I admit that I urged her to allow me to accompany her, for it seemed a grand adventure. As indeed it was. I shall not blame you if you send me home to Farthington Hall,” she offered handsomely.

Clayborne managed the ghost of a smile and said, “We leave for Gray Oaks the day after tomorrow. My nephew will accompany us. You shall return to Farthington Hall when Meg does. For your own sake, Mary,” he said tiredly, rubbing his brow with a weary motion, “try to find your pleasure at activities which will not ruin your reputation or endanger your safety. You may go now.”

Stifling an impulse to comfort him as he sat dejectedly in the large ornate chair, Mary thanked him, and she, too, curtsied. After she had agreed to inform the servants that be would not be in for dinner, she left him alone and immediately sought out Rebecca, who was in her room staring vacantly out the window.

“He is very upset, Becka, but he did not come the ugly with me.” And then with one of her unexpected youthful insights she asked, “It is not just Lady Hillston, is it?”

“No, Mary. It is not just Lady Hillston. We have a problem of our own which I cannot explain to you, but which seems to be unsolvable,” Rebecca said sadly.

“He is such a good man, Becka. I am sure he would not mean to hurt you.”

“No, he doesn’t, but he is very proud. It is all a misunderstanding but it seems to have no remedy. Let us forget it. Did he speak to you about being in the stables?”

“No, not a word. He knows I go there?”

“Yes, he told me to keep you away from them, but I think it was only because he was angry with me. You shall have to decide for yourself whether you dare go there tomorrow, for the next day we return to Gray Oaks.”

“He told me. I didn’t know he had a nephew,” Mary said curiously, and they drifted into a discussion of Clayborne’s dead sister and the child who would visit them. “I shall help teach him to ride,” Mary offered.

“That’s kind of you, Mary. I’m sure Jason will appreciate your help.”

Timidly Mary asked, “Could I see the cartoon of Lady Hillston, Becka?”

Her sister smiled and said, “You are incorrigible, Mary. I have put it away. Just a moment.” She withdrew her drawing folder from the writing desk and submitted to Mary’s request to see all the cartoons. Mary was delighted with them, as she did not share her sister Meg’s disapproval of the irreverent nature of some of the drawings of Clayborne. “You’ve caught him at his worst and at his best, you know, Becka. Has he seen these?”

“Dear me, no,” her sister sighed. “I fear I irritate him more than enough without that.”

There was a tap at the door, and Meg entered to advise them that the captains were below requesting the pleasure of their company for a drive in the park.

“Captain Hardcastle says he can take Becka and me with his groom driving, and Mary may go with Captain Gray. He has offered to let you practice your driving, Mary, as the park will not be crowded as yet.” She awaited their assent and then hurried off to get a shawl.

In spite of the hot sun, a cooling breeze made the drive refreshing, and it was only marred by the sight of Lady Hillston, once again dressed in a very revealing mourning outfit and smiling coquettishly at a man old enough to be her father. The gentleman, stuffed into a fashionable coat with fobs and rings abounding on his person, gazed bemusedly at Lady Hillston and patted her hand proprietarily.

Mary turned to wink at Rebecca, and in doing so lost control of the pair she was driving. Before Captain Gray could get the animals under control their confusion caused Lady Hillston’s mare to bolt, leaving the old gentleman staring in bewilderment after her. Lady Hillston, hat askew and rumpled, was eventually rescued by a young Pink of the
ton
, to Mary’s cries of “Bravo!” The widow, considerably disgruntled, ignored Mary and her party and rode off, with what dignity she could muster, her smiling groom in attendance.

Later Rebecca accused Mary jokingly, “I believe you did that on purpose, Mary.”

“Well, no, but I would have if I could,” she admitted frankly.

Clayborne was absent that evening, and the ladies spent a quiet time at home. Meg’s friend Althea and her mother joined them for a few hours of music and conversation. When Rebecca mentioned that her nephew joined them the next day, Lady Stonebridge reminisced about his mother.

“Clayborne’s sister, Caroline, was a beautiful girl. Totally uninterested in the
ton
and its entertainments, she seemed destined to be an old maid. Then she accompanied her brother on a trip to his Yorkshire estate and met Gregory Mott, who shared her taste for the country life, and they fell head over ears in love. They married at his estate in Yorkshire and I don’t believe they ever came to London at all. So sad she should have died. I understand the poor fellow did not take it well at all. Clayborne spent most of the first year afterwards with him, until he began to cope again. How old is the boy now?”

“I believe he is four, and I look forward to meeting him,” Rebecca replied.

Lady Stonebridge eyed her speculatively, started to say something, and then merely said, “I don’t imagine he has ever been to London before. His father brings him, you say?”

“Yes, and we plan to go down to Gray Oaks when he comes. I’m sure he’ll find a deal more to do there than in town.”

* * * *

And indeed she was glad, the next morning when she met young George Mott, that they were going to the country. He had brown curly locks and the most impish eyes she had ever seen. After exploring the house like a puppy, he begged Clayborne to take him to the stables. Clayborne, casting a meaningful look at Mary, informed his nephew that he wished to talk to his father for a while, but that Miss Mary would no doubt be glad to take him. Mary quickly replied that she would be pleased to oblige her brother-in-law and took George by his pudgy hand to escape joyfully from the house.

Rebecca was interested in her husband’s brother-in-law. Mr. Mott was quiet and had polished manners, but he evinced a strong curiosity about her. His son bore an incredible likeness to him, but whereas the boy’s eyes were gay, the father’s were sad.

“I was sorry you could not accompany Jason when he visited us last fall, Lady Clayborne. We had thought to attend the wedding, but Jason said he would be bringing you with him to Yorkshire soon after, and so we excused ourselves. I’m afraid we don’t go about much,” he said apologetically.

Clayborne looked uncomfortable, but Rebecca paid no heed to him. She tried to draw Mr. Mott out about his estate and the life he and George led there. He explained that he had business to attend to for his mother which should not take above a week, two at the most, and he would come to Gray Oaks to take George back with him.

“Plan to stay with us a while,” Rebecca urged. “I’m sure Mrs. Lambert will not gladly give up little George once she has him about, and I would welcome the chance to get to know you better.”

Mott agreed to consider it and soon went off with Clayborne to discuss some matters privately in the study. Clayborne returned alone a half hour later, excusing his brother-in-law, who had left, and handed Rebecca a letter. “Bridge sent this along from Gray Oaks for you. We shall leave early tomorrow, so be sure your sisters and Miss Turnpeck are ready.”

He walked over to the window and stood there for some time. When he did not say anything more, Rebecca took the opportunity to read her letter.

“My friend Constance Exton is writing me from Brighton, Jason. How her mother hounds that poor dear! May I invite her to stay at Gray Oaks for a while?”

“Certainly. Your friends are always welcome. It is your home, too,” he said stiffly, not turning from the window.

“Then I shall write to her immediately and urge her to come as soon as she may. Will you frank it and have it posted today?”