Lovers' Vows (6 page)

It would have been nice to stand up with a lord, particularly a tall, elegant, eligible lord, but she had not really expected it. Especially it would have been flattering as he chose the prettier ladies for his partners, but to be foisted onto him as a duty—she would a thousand times rather not have stood up with anyone at all. Suddenly he looked down at her and smiled, and all her disappointment faded. That lean, aristocratic, supercilious mask came to life when he smiled. It was the eyes that did it.

“I have not had an opportunity to thank you for saving my face earlier this evening, ma’am,” he said, pitching his voice low so that it sounded intimate. "Thank you.”

Theirarrival at the dance was several hours ago; she could not recall what he referred to. The waltz began, and he gathered her up in his arms. Waltzing had but recently arrived in Harknell from the city. It was still considered a trifle dashing, new enough to cause a flush on a young lady’s cheeks, to feel a man’s arms around her, and in front of the whole village too. The only man Holly had waltzed with before was Mr. Prendergast and, really, when one’s partner is engaged to another lady the recklessness of it is greatly diminished. It seemed much more exciting to be waltzing with Lord Dewar.

“I am referring to my regrettable accident in forgetting your aunt is now entitled to be called Lady Proctor. I thought for a minute there she was going to brain me with her fan, till you so adroitly brought my error to my attention. Neat, Miss McCormack.”

“You deserve congratulations on your recovery as well, sir.”

“That was rather well done, was it not? I have gained a certain expertise in disentangling folks, not least myself, from tight corners. If you have met my cousin, Rex Homberly,
you
will understand my meaning.”

“Is he the little short, fat ... the not very tall ... that is….”

“He is the tall, handsome midget who has been dogging Miss Proctor’s steps all evening. As I have just been boasting a little of my skill, it is the least I can do to rescue you from that verbal morass you are sinking in. If you have not had much chance to become acquainted with Rex, you soon will. I have a presentiment he will become a fixture in your aunt’s saloon. He has coerced me into delivering him there tomorrow morning, in any case. He has taken the unaccountable notion the mama don’t care for him, and he would be more welcome if he went under my auspices. I do hope it is not true—that Lady Proctor has taken him in dislike, I mean.”

“Oh no!” Holly said, her mind foreseeing all manner of unpleasantness when the truth of the much-looked-forward-to visit was revealed.

“You are wearing a very woe-is-meish face all of a sudden, ma’am,” he said, whirling around in time to the music, making the waltz seem a whole new experience from the two times she had marched it with Mr. Prendergast. “Never mind. You will soon love Rex. He has an insinuating way about him, like a puppy. Odd how we come to love those who cause us the most trouble.”

“I have never noticed that.”

“Think about it,” he suggested. Then they were silent for a few moments. After a while, he said, “I did not mean necessarily to devote your mind to a study of it at this moment. Please feel free to think of anything you like, and even to mention it.”

She took this, as indeed it was intended, as a hint to talk to him. “A pity the weather has been so bad for the hunting,” she said.

This platitude may as well have remained unspoken. He did not acknowledge it at all, but said, “I hope you too will be home when we call tomorrow morning. There is a matter we would like to discuss with you. I think you are the more likely one than your cousin to discuss it with.”

“What matter is that?” she asked, curious.

“It’s a long story. We shan’t go into it tonight, but that voice of yours is superb.”

This cryptic statement left her wondering what on earth he could have in mind. He went right on to another subject before she could gain any idea what he meant and, too soon, the waltz was over.

Lady Proctor’s spirits were so high on the way home that Holly did not wish to depress them with a recital of the truth. It would be learned soon enough and, meanwhile, she could hug the memory of the evening to herself, and cosset her little mystery and her few rags of compliments.

It really does not do to worry a trivial conversation too much, she discovered. Dewar spoke of not having had an opportunity to thank her, but he had taken no step to make the opportunity. He had not intended dancing with her till Aunt Elsa forced the issue.

She soon came to think it was ill-done of him to leave her wondering for hours what he wished to discuss on the morrow. He might have given a hint. It was inconsiderate to leave a person wondering all night. What on earth could it be?

It was unthinkable that anyone leave the house when Lord Dewar had promised to call. Even when morning grew into afternoon, and still he did not come, there was no mention by Lady Proctor of doing anything but sitting in the saloon in her second-best gown, waiting for him. Jane, deeply into a novel, had little objection to this. Holly, with her mind half on the orphans’ shirts awaiting her needle, resented the waste of time for, of course, it was impossible to be caught sewing by such prestigious callers.

Long before luncheon, she had deserted the saloon and gone to her own room, to sew and wonder and, finally, to resent such thoughtless treatment. It was not long after luncheon when she was called down; but the visitor was not Dewar. It was only Mr. Johnson, ostensibly come to check on the progress of the shirts but, in fact, to gossip over the assembly, like any old maid.

“Quite an addition to our little society, Lord Dewar's party. The girls are all twittering this morning. I expected to see you in Harknell on a Saturday morning, ladies,” he said, lifting his coattails to take a seat.

“We were waiting for Lord Dewar to call. Holly thought he said he would come in the morning, but it seems she was mistaken, for he did not come,” Lady Proctor told him.

“Very likely,” Johnson answered, but Holly knew she was not mistaken. “He was so very busy this morning in the village that I had not a chance to talk to him about the money for the orphanage. I hoped when I saw him in the village that he would call on me, return my call, that is, but he didn’t get round to it.”

“What was he doing?” Lady Proctor asked, with shameless curiosity.

“He was at the post office and in the shops.”

“He would be tending to business for his mama,” she decided. “He called on Mr. Raymond, her solicitor, I warrant.”

“No, he did not. I happened to be speaking to Mr. Raymond, and he had some hopes Dewar would drop in, for there are some papers requiring his signature, but he didn’t get round to it. He was too busy. He was in the drapery shop chatting to the Cockburne girls, and he took his visitors to have a look at the church. Unfortunately, I was not around at the time. He didn’t call at the manse, but my housekeeper tells me he was outside the church, pointing out the gargoyles and features of interest to his visitors. He will likely call on me this afternoon. Or, if not, I’ll try if I can pin him after service on Sunday. I expect I may be asked to the Abbey for luncheon, to meet his guests. I often dine with the countess on a Sunday.”

Mr. Johnson was not invited to remain and discuss his business with Dewar when he called, nor was he obtuse enough to suggest it when he saw Jane sitting in her good blue gown, with every curl in place. Turning to Holly, he continued speaking. “I am happy to see Dewar plans to remain a while at the Abbey. There are several matters requiring his attention.”

“A pity he wouldn’t attend to them, instead of gossiping in the village,” she answered tartly, becoming a little tired of everyone’s making excuses for him.

“You may be sure he will. That is why he is come, certainly: to see to the running of the family orphanage, and to replacing the schoolmaster—all the details that need his personal decision. I shall speak to him about having a specialist look at young McAuley’s leg while he is here. I am very happy he has come at last. The roof of the church could do with a few new slates as well.”

They continued talking for half an hour, at which time Johnson took his leave, peering down the road hopefully as he turned his mount homeward, to see if there was any choice of buttonholing Dewar. But the only person in sight was Mr. Raymond, returning from the Abbey, where he had been to get Dewar’s signature on the required document.

“He was sorry he hadn’t known when he was in the village this morning,” Mr. Raymond said. “If he had known, he would have stopped at my office and spared me the trip. Odd he didn’t know, as I left a message yesterday, but he didn’t get it. He was very obliging.”

“Oh yes, he is always very obliging,” Johnson agreed. It was the opinion generally stated of Dewar, that he was very obliging.

He finally obliged Lady Proctor at five o’clock, coming just as she had abandoned hope of seeing him, and had removed her uncomfortable lace collar (that scratched the neck due to an excess of sugar used to stiffen it). Jane’s careful toilette had suffered as well. With her muscles cramped from sitting up straight for hours, she finally pulled her feet up beneath her on the sofa and lounged against the pillows, creasing her gown beyond elegance. When Holly joined them at four-thirty, Lady Proctor ordered tea to help pass the vigil. The empty cups sat on the tray when Dewar and Homberly were finally shown in.

Lady Proctor was determined to be a ladylike and affable, but it took all her self-control to do it. When she looked at the untidy tray, and at her lace collar hanging over the arm of the chair, a frown pleated her brow. And when she observed that Mr. Homberly was of the party her eyes snapped angrily. “Lord Dewar, we were beginning to think you had forgotten all about us,” she said, her tone tinged with annoyance.

“Not for one moment, I promise you,” he replied, with an appreciative smile at Jane that calmed the mother’s ruffled feathers in a wonderful hurry. “I have been trying to get here all day, but something always interrupts me. It is the fact of so many details awaiting my attention that delays me.”

“I am sure you are very busy,” Lady Proctor said, sliding the lace collar in behind a pillow, and ringing the bell for a fresh tea tray. “Mr. Johnson was mentioning only this morning that he was expecting a call from you.”

“Mr. Johnson?” he asked, frowning, and quite obviously not familiar with the name of his own minister.

“Feller we ducked out the side door to miss t’other day,” Rex reminded him helpfully. “Minister, I think your butler said he is. Ain’t that right, ma’am?”

“Yes, the minister of St. Alton’s,” the astonished dame replied.

“That was the day I had to spend with my steward,” Dewar explained, in an effort to gloss it over. “Roots becomes very vexed with me if I interrupt our business chats.”

“Day we saw Miss Jane in the village,” Rex added, with a fond smile at the girl.

There was an uncomfortable moment’s silence while the two elder ladies regarded him in a measuring fashion. Into the silence, Rex spoke up. “See you’re reading, Miss Proctor.” He used the comment as an excuse to join her on the sofa, reaching out to see the title of her book.
Necromancer of the Black Forest,
he read. “Sounds pretty heavy stuff for a young lady. Daresay you’re blue. Wearing blue anyway.”

“Oh no, it is only a novel,” she assured him, dismayed at the charge of being an intellectual.

“That so? A new one on me. Like reading myself. Read
The Castle of Otranto
once. You read
The Castle of Otranto,
Miss Proctor?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t recall the title.”

“Like me,” he told her, nodding his head sagely. “Have no mind for what I’ve read, except for
Otranto.
Dewar—he could tell you what I’ve read. I always borrow my books from him.”

“It would take me all of a minute if you are interested in the list,” Dewar said, with a satirical smile.

Neither Miss Proctor nor anyone else displayed the least interest in either the list or the ill-natured remark. Lady Proctor enquired for Lady Dewar’s health, after which Dewar conveyed his mother’s imaginary compliments to his hostess. These civilities taken care of, he turned to Miss McCormack, who was regarding him with scanty approval. She had not been mistaken to think him unkind in his remarks the preceding evening. He was nasty to Homberly, heedless of his duties and, she suspected, not quite truthful in trying to hide his faults.

“You have not forgotten, I hope, that you and I have something to discuss today, Miss McCormack,” he said.

“I have not forgotten. I am curious as to what it can be,” she answered.

“What is this? You did not tell me of this, Holly,” her aunt said, leaning forward, her eyes bright with interest.

“I did not know what matter Lord Dewar had in mind,” she explained, looking to him for enlightenment.

“Putting on a play,” Rex told them. “Something to do to get in the days till we go back to London, you know.”

This was not the manner in which Dewar had planned to broach the subject but, as he considered it very much a treat for the ladies, he was not much dismayed. He looked to the three for the expected approval. He saw Jane blinking her eyes in astonishment, Lady Proctor glancing to the doorway for signs of the tea tray, and Miss McCormack regarding him in stony disapproval. The thought struck him that the household might be Methodist, though he had not heard anyone say so. “A classical drama—something to bring a little culture to Harknell,” he explained hastily.

Holly’s expression softened into interest at this. “How nice,” she said. “The school put on
The Search after Happiness
a few years ago, a pastoral play by Hanna More, you know,” she said, nodding her approval at this high aim. “What play is it you plan to bring to the village, sir? The travelling troupes seldom stop here, as we are a small community, and cannot scrape together sufficient audience to make it worth their while.” It seemed a suitable charity venture to her that Dewar should finance this scheme.