Lord Clayborne's Fancy (8 page)

“Yes, thank you. I think the storm is beginning to pass,” she replied. He bowed to the two of them and departed.

Meg pulled up a chair and chatted soothingly to her sister until the storm died away.

Though Clayborne went outside to survey the damage, his mind kept returning to his wife. How many storms had she suffered through alone in her room while he had been away from Gray Oaks? How many times had she sat shivering with no one to comfort her? God, what a mess he was making of being a husband! He was overwhelmed by the now familiar feelings of sadness and despair, anger and hurt.

Chapter Six

That evening when the party was assembled in the large, trussed dining hall, Clayborne announced, “I have business in London which will take a few days.”

“How splendid!” Meg exclaimed, assuming without hesitation that he intended to take the whole party. “And I have just been wishing that I might purchase a bonnet to match my new pink cambric lace gown. I am sure Chichester has very admirable shops, Rebecca, but Mama has taken me to the most marvelous shop in London and I am sure you will simply dote on Madame Piscaud’s hats. The lavender one I have with the wide brim and small puffed crown we purchased there, and it is quite the thing, is it not? You have not been to town for some time, have you? I’ll show you the steps of the quadrille, which Lady Jersey has introduced from France, in case we should go to a party. Would you like to go to London, Becka?”

“I have not been for a while,” she replied cautiously with a questioning glance at her husband. When he nodded she continued more enthusiastically, “I should like it of all things.”

“And you, Miss Turnpeck? Would such an expedition suit you?” Clayborne asked.

Miss Turnpeck was pink with delight. “It is many years, sir, since I have visited the metropolis. I wonder if we would have time to visit some of the sights? And I have a sister there who is a seamstress. I have not seen her these past ten years or so, but of course we write to one another regularly. I would be so pleased to see her again.”

“Then it is settled,” Clayborne pronounced. “Town may be light of company with so many gone to Brighton, but I daresay you will find enough to amuse yourselves. If you can be ready by the day after tomorrow, I shall send warning of our arrival to Clayborne House.”

When Meg and Miss Turnpeck had headed for bed, Rebecca stayed behind for a moment to speak with her husband. She stood awkwardly at the door and could not meet his eyes. “I’m sorry if Meg forced your hand, Jason. She doesn’t understand that you do not take me... that you usually travel alone,” she concluded, flushed with embarrassment.

Clayborne crossed the room to her and took her hands firmly. “There is no need to apologize, Rebecca. I had intended to ask all of you. You do wish to go, don’t you?”

Rebecca raised her eyes to his uncertainly. “Very much,” she admitted, “but I had not intended that Meg’s visit should prove a burden to you. There was no need for you to include us.”

“I wanted to. You have not stayed yet at Clayborne House and you are mistress of it.” He dropped her hands, too conscious of their contact. His voice became more formal. “Shall I see you to your room?”

As she regarded his now withdrawn countenance, Rebecca sighed. “No, thank you, Jason. Good-night.” She slipped silently from the room as he gazed after her, aware of the empty hands at his sides.

* * * *

So it was that two days later the ladies found themselves shivering in the cold morning air as they ascended into the traveling carriage, having spent a day in between happily learning the quadrille’s intricate steps, planning expeditions to Bond Street (and Westminster Abbey), to the theatre (and the Tower of London), and perhaps to Vauxhall Gardens (and St. Paul’s, of course). Their comfort had been provided for with hot bricks and warm traveling rugs lined with fur, and each expressed her excitement in her own way.

Since Miss Turnpeck’s particular means was a rambling discourse on her chosen sights, the sisters felt no qualms at solicitously urging her to nap during the stage of their journey which followed a light luncheon. With a pillow at her head and resting easily against the comfortable squabs of the carriage, Miss Turnpeck was soon slumbering and snoring lightly.

“I’m sure I understand now how you felt on your journey from Farthington Hall,” Rebecca remarked. “I feel certain it will be unnecessary for us to go to Westminster Abbey. We could not possibly learn more about the Cloisters or the Chapel of the Pyx, to say nothing of the Confessor’s Chapel. How do you suppose she remembers all those dates?”

“No doubt she has been studying ever since Clayborne suggested the trip,” Meg replied. “I saw her sneaking out of the library,” she added, laughing, “and I do not doubt that she has it all written on her cuffs, and that is why she keeps shifting about so!”

Then she giggled and said, “No, I have it. When she was a very young girl she was kidnapped by a band of bluestockings and forced to reside in a gloomy haunted castle until she could recite the whole of English history without a mistake.”

“And a knight in armor restored her to her rightful position as a governess when he fell under the spell of her snoring,” Rebecca contributed.

“For her stepmother, you must know, was very wicked and would not tolerate having Turnip within her sight, reminding her, you see, of Sunday dinner.”

The sister’ giggles left Miss Turnpeck undisturbed, and just when they had begun to further embellish their tale, they were surprised to feel the carriage coming to a halt. Rebecca looked out the window to find they were on the open road, with no sign of a cottage, let alone a village. Much to her amazement, there was no sign of Clayborne, either.

“Why are we stopping here, Frantley?” she called to the coachman.

“My lord desired that the carriage await his return, my lady,” he responded.

Rebecca cast her eves heavenward in mock despair. “So much for our escort.”

Puzzled, Meg frowned out at the deserted countryside. “We seem to be nowhere near any village, Becka. What do you suppose has happened?”

“I have not the faintest idea,” Rebecca answered, “and his lordship does not seem to have found it necessary to explain his departure to us. Let’s descend and stretch our legs. Turnip will doubtless continue her nap,” she laughed, glancing at the dozing governess cradled happily in a corner, from which soft snores still emanated.

When the coachman had let the steps down and the sisters had tumbled into the warm sunshine, Rebecca once again questioned him. “In which direction did Lord Clayborne ride, Frantley?”

“His lordship took the path yonder,” he said indicating a narrow, overgrown trail to the right rear of the coach.

“Well, Meg, shall we explore it?” Rebecca asked with a twinkle, ignoring the coachman’ s reproving look.

Meg was easily led by her elder sister and her answering smile was suppressed. She replied demurely, “I cannot think Turnip would like it. I am sure she would exhort us on the dangers of a strange countryside and unknown country people, to say nothing of the wild animals which must obviously lurk in that wood yonder. Certainly we shall go.”

“Now, miss,” Rebecca informed her sister sternly as they set off, “you must remember that you are accompanied by a married woman and that every propriety must be observed, else you shall be left to your governess in future.”

Blithely ignoring this homily, her sister asked, “Do you suppose Jason has some acquaintance in the neighborhood? I am sure I don’t even know where we are.”

“Nor I. But look, there are some people hurrying there, beyond the wood. I think,” she said happily, “that we are about to have an adventure. How Mary would envy us.”

“I have written Mary that we are to be in London,” Meg replied, still rankling from Mary’s roasting her about Will Travers. “I am sure she would rather be in London than Bath, but she was so sure that her holiday would be more entertaining than mine,” she sniffed.

“Frankly, I can only imagine Mary getting into trouble in either place,” Rebecca admitted, “for she is wild enough in the country.”

“Yes, but do you know that Mama has the highest hopes for Mary’s season next year? She seems to be entirely overlooking our sister’s hoydenish nature, and sees only her beauty, which is considerable, I will admit,” Meg allowed handsomely.

“I certainly do not envy Mama the chaperoning of her.”

As they emerged from the wood they joined an odd assortment of dogs, children, a few chickens and perhaps twenty country people milling about, gazing in wrapt wonder at the most astonishing sight Rebecca had ever seen. There was an enormous red and yellow striped balloon, gently listing to one side, while the ropes holding the gondola were hopelessly entangled in a tree. Three men in the gondola were tossing ropes over the sides to the men on the ground below. The balloon, loudly emblazoned with the name The Carberry, was tilted at a perilous angle, and appeared ready to topple at any moment and eject its passengers to the ground below. Clayborne apparently had taken charge of the rescue operation and Rebecca murmured in tones of exasperation, “Just fancy his excluding us from such an exciting event.”

“I saw a balloon ascent in London in the spring, but it was so crowded that I did not get so close as this,” Meg said. “And Will was with me, so I did not pay perhaps quite the attention it deserved. Do you think they can get the men out without overturning the boat?”

“I fear not,” Rebecca answered anxiously. But even as they watched, Clayborne was directing the men below to haul the ropes carefully on the right and the gondola slowly achieved a more level aspect. When this had been accomplished, the ropes were all held tightly and the gondola lodged firmly in the trees. The balloonists then gingerly, one at a time, descended, clinging to the ropes and dropping to the ground. When the last man, hampered by a useless left arm, had reached safety, a great cheer went up and there was much back-slapping and congratulations all about.

Rebecca urged Meg around the crowd as far away from Clayborne as possible, and the sisters made their way toward the two younger men, as the older one was speaking with Clayborne in a booming voice. “I am Josiah Carberry, owner of this magnificent balloon. Twenty-two trips I have made in it with nary a disaster.” The crowd tittered at this, observing the lodged gondola and the shriveling balloon. “We have had the misfortune of encountering some unexpected air currents, aggravated by a faulty valve, but the damage is negligible, I assure you,” he proclaimed.

One of the balloonists, a tall, blond young man in the uniform of the 8th Light Dragoons grimaced ludicrously and commented, “No, indeed. For what is a broken arm in the interests of air travel?”

“You, young man, have nothing of which to complain. I forewarned you that ballooning is not an exact science. But you would have your way and join us for the ride.” He forbore to mention that the captain had paid handsomely for the privilege, and turned to Clayborne to discuss the further liberation of his aircraft.

The young man grinned and, seeing Rebecca and Meg coming toward him, admitted to them, “I’m sure I shall never regret it, though my colonel may.” He tried to shrug, but the movement gave such pain that he gasped.

“Here, I can make a sling for you with my shawl,” Rebecca offered.

“Most kind of you, ma’am, but I could not allow you to dispose of such a delightful object,” he protested gallantly.

“Not in the least, sir. You shall send it back when you’re finished with it. Can you hold your arm just so? Does it ease the pain?” She was already fashioning a sling and proceeded to tie it securely at his shoulder.

“My thanks, ma’am. May I introduce myself? Captain Hardcastle, 8th Light Dragoons, your most obedient servant.”

“Captain Hardcastle? Why, I have heard Captain Gray speak of you. He said,” she grinned, “that you are the most shocking loose-screw.”

“Did he though? He’s one to talk.”

“I am Lady Clayborne. My husband, Lord Clayborne, is over there speaking with your Mr. Carberry. And this is my sister, Miss Farthington,” she added as Meg and a plump, rosy-faced woman finished attending to the other young man’s wound. After making his bows to them, Captain Hardcastle introduced Mr. Carberry’s assistant.

Clayborne, who had just noticed the sisters and abruptly excused himself to Mr. Carberry, was making his way determinedly through the crowd toward them. Rebecca forestalled any comment he might have made by introducing him to the two young men, and motioned Meg away as the balloon travelers sought to thank him for his assistance in their rescue.

Tugging at her sister’s sleeve, Rebecca whispered, “I think Jason is not best pleased with our arrival here. We might do well to head back to the carriage before he can break away.”

Meg, who had observed the frown on Clayborne’s face as he approached their group, and who was accustomed to see him only as a suave and pleasant man, agreed with alacrity. They hurried off without a word to anyone and cast furtive glances behind them until they were out of sight, at which point they breathed sighs of relief and continued down the path toward the carriage, chatting excitedly about the balloon and its occupants. Clayborne, however, caught them up and dismounted before they reached their destination.

“I have made arrangements to send help from Guildford for the balloonists,” he informed them. “Where is Miss Turnpeck?”

“She is, no doubt, still snoring in the carriage, as we left her,” his wife answered, her chin defiantly lifted.

“Meg, please join her and see that she is not alarmed. Rebecca, I would have a word with you.”

With a sympathetic glance at her sister, Meg scurried off. When she was out of earshot, Clayborne said exasperatedly, “I wish you had stayed with the carriage.”

“We were cramped from the ride and curious where you had gone. Frantley told us which path you had taken, though it pained him, I could tell.”

“I am sure he did not approve of your wandering off by yourselves.”

“True, but then I did not ask him for his approval, nor did I require it,” she said stiffly.