Maggie MacKeever (10 page)

“Has she not?” Gracefully dramatic, Nikki arose from her bed. “She has sought to estrange us, has she not? She has made it necessary that to speak with me you must enact the cracksman—how
did
you secure entry, by the bye?”

Mesmerized, Lord Sweetbriar watched his stepmama approach. “I secured a key from the agent who hired you this house. Told him you lost yours.”

“What a clever notion! And one for which I suspect we have Lady Regina to thank. I don’t know why it matters if I esteem her or not, Rolf; you think enough of her for the both of us!” Nikki came to a halt before him, her hands on her slender hips. “You’ve made a rare mull of it, haven’t you, my lad? At least no one may call you a pudding-heart.”

“Regina don’t know I’m here!” protested Rolf. He suspected, moreover, that there would be the devil to pay if his beloved found out. “You said yourself she don’t want me to have anything to do with you—not that I’m saying she
did
say such a thing, mind! But if she
had
said it, she’d hardly approve me being in your bedchamber. I mean—Nikki, what the devil are you doing on my lap?”

“Hush!” Aborting her stepson’s attempts to dislodge her by wrapping her arms around his neck, Lady Sweetbriar settled herself comfortably. “You don’t want to wake the servants, do you? This way we need not
shout
at each other to be heard. Besides, if you are contemplating matrimony, you should get used to such things.”

At the notion of his beloved Lady Regina thusly snuggling, Lord Sweetbriar’s imagination boggled. However, he had to concede his stepmama’s point. It was not at all unpleasant to have a female cuddled on his lap. Perhaps there might be some solution to his problems whereby his plaguesome stepmama might not be made unhappy. “How would you like to live in the country, Nikki?”

“I would not.” Lady Sweetbriar straightened the collar of her stepson’s greatcoat. “I grew up in the country, and I do not like it one bit. And I do not believe you came here at this odious hour with the intention of persuading me to rusticate. You
were
after the jewels, confess! You wish to give them to that starched-up female. I will not have it, I tell you.” Her voice grew thoughtful. “Now if it were Clytie you wished to have them, I might change my mind.”

“Clytie?” By this abrupt introduction of Miss Clough into the conversation, Lord Sweetbriar was nonplussed. “What the deuce has Clytie to do with anything?”

Nikki drew back sufficiently to look arch. “Clytie is to be my stepdaughter, silly. And you are my stepson. The two of you have so much in common. Clytie’s opinion of you is
very
high, Rolf.”

This convoluted line of reasoning, Lord Sweetbriar did not even try to comprehend. “It’s late, Nikki!” he lamented. “I don’t want to talk about Clytie. I want to talk about Uncle Duke.”

“Duke?” Lady Sweetbriar abruptly sat up, thereby earning from the rosewood chair another protesting squeak. “What about Duke, pray?”

That question, Rolf could not fairly answer himself; he had only Regina’s assurance that the ploy would work. “Don’t it strike you as queer that after all these years Uncle Duke should decide to come home now
^?
After Papa stuck his spoon in the wall?”

Nikki considered this suggestion. “No,” she said. “You’d have acted similarly. So should I. In fact, anyone who knew Reuben wouldn’t have deliberately set out to encounter him again, unless—” She contemplated her stepson. “Are you referring to the succession? Were something to happen to you, would Duke inherit? The devil, Rolf! Surely you can’t think—”

At last Lord Sweetbriar could answer honestly. “Don’t know what to think.”

“I suppose it is just possible.” Nikki knitted her brows. “Duke always was a scoundrel. But I can’t imagine that he would do you harm.”

Nor could Rolf imagine such a thing. “Queer goings-on in Russia,” he hinted, all the same. “A man can change.”

“So he can.” Looking worried, Lady Sweetbriar nibbled at her knuckles. “I cannot like this, Rolf.”

Lord Sweetbriar was no fonder of the situation, but his course of action had been clearly spelled out. If he was to win the maiden of his choice, his stepmama must be got out of the way. “Uncle Duke likes you, Nikki,” he suggested. “Maybe if you was to make a push, you could discover what he’s about!”

As result of her stepson’s intrusion upon her slumber, and his subsequent revelations, Lady Sweetbriar had no more sleep that night. At length she abandoned her courtship of Morpheus altogether, and occupied herself pouring over a design book—George Smith’s
Collection of Designs for Household Furnishings and Interior Decoration,
with 158 plates adapted from the best antique examples of the Egyptian, Greek, and Roman styles—until she could decently arise. After breakfasting, Nikki adorned herself in a carriage dress of white India muslin with a dashing deep flounce, earrings and necklace of garnets, and a butterfly brooch set with pearls and pinheads of enameled gold. On her dark curls she set a straw bonnet trimmed with feathers, and around her shoulders a cloth pelisse made up in Roman flame.

Satisfied with her appearance, Nikki departed her house in Fitzroy Square. Lady Regina Foliot would doubtless have found cause for adverse comment in even this simple act; ladies of good breeding did not pull on their gloves in public. Since Lady Regina was not present to see Lady Sweetbriar commit this indelicacy, however, Nikki’s shocking lapse from propriety went unremarked.

Her arrival at the British Museum was not similarly free of incident; this day was not a Monday, Wednesday, or Friday, nor the hour between ten and four. The porter knew perfectly well who Lady Sweetbriar was, of course. Had he not heard the Keeper of the Department of Natural History and the Keeper of Prints in a heated discussion of whether or not trustees of the establishment should be permitted to engage in public dalliance? In point of fact, the porter would not have been amiss to dallying with Lady Sweetbriar himself. Since he dared not suggest such a thing, he instead put forth to her a nostalgic lament concerning the days when entry to the Museum was by application only. Prospective visitors then had to be approved by the Principal Librarian, a process which involved three different visits to the Museum, and several days. Finally, the porter could think of no further excuses to detain her, and Nikki was allowed to pass.

She found her fiancé in the South Sea Room, where underlings were repositioning the first kangaroo ever to be seen in Europe, brought back by Captain James Cook. Perhaps it need not be explained that this specimen was stuffed. Other mementoes of Cook’s voyages were exhibited in the chamber—numerous animals preserved in spirits, specimens of Polynesian art, a collection of natural and artificial curiosities. If the reaction of the workmen was a fair example, Lady Sweetbriar was the greatest curiosity of them all. Gratified, she winked.

Alerted by the unanimously gawking expressions displayed by his underlings, Sir Avery turned. His aristocratic features expressed neither pleasure nor surprise. “Eek!” squealed Lady Sweetbriar, and promptly turned her ankle. “Minx!” responded Sir Avery, and caught her before she fell. Prudently he dismissed the workmen, then seated Nikki in what she decided must be the South Sea Islanders’ version of a throne.

Before he could elude her, Lady Sweetbriar flung her arms around her fiancé’s shoulders. “Oh, this wretched ankle! But I cannot censure it
too
severely, for if I did not have it, we would never have met.”

“What a melancholy thought.” Sir Avery sought to disengage himself. “Still, I daresay you would have devised some other means to put yourself in my way, had your ankle not served you, my dear.”

Lady Sweetbriar took offense neither at her fiancé’s reading of her character, which if unflattering was correct; nor at his attempts to free himself. Instead of reading him a scold, she nuzzled his cheek. “'Tis almost like when we first met!” she whispered. “Except that
I
am seated and
you
are on your feet! Now if you would only—”

“You may save your breath: I shan’t!” Sir Avery, who was not nearly so unworldly as his daughter thought him, gently but firmly removed himself from Lady Sweetbriar’s clutch. “Not until after the knot is tied. You are a conniving wench, Nikki. No, I do not mind it. So long as you do not try and bamboozle
me.”

Perhaps it was her prickly conscience that caused Lady Sweetbriar to wince, perhaps the bruised ankle upon which she put her weight in an attempt to prevent Sir Avery from moving away. Temporarily defeated, she sank back down on her throne. “I fear I
have
bamboozled you just a teeny bit, Avery. Pray do not interrupt; I must speak of it. I do not wish to, precisely; indeed, I would not, did not I think some old cat might recall— Well! You know already that I like prizefights, and that I have trod the boards—but I fear my past is—er, not quite the thing.”

“Now
you
are being a pea-goose. Why should I care for your past, Nikki?” Having achieved a safe distance, Sir Avery folded his arms across his chest and looked saturnine. “What has brought you to me today? China rugs, or bric-a-brac?”

Lady Sweetbriar bade her conscience cease tormenting her; she had
tried
to make a clean breast of her misdemeanors, and had been told to let the subject drop. “If I am keeping you from your work, you need only say so, Avery.” Charmingly, she smiled. “Since you ask, I am on my way to Morgan and Sanders of Catherine Street, off the Strand—you know, Trafalgar House! Or so they style themselves, because they supplied furniture to Nelson—and I thought that since I have not seen you for several days, I should seek you out.”

“To inquire if I still wish to marry you?” Sir Avery had moved to inspect the results of the workmen’s efforts. He gave the kangaroo one last nudge then stopped back. “Should I change my mind, I will inform you of it, Nikki. Since I am not prone to vacillation, I think you may act your mind at rest.”

Fervently, Lady Sweetbriar wished she could do just that. “I have not the most distant guess why you wish to marry me!” she confessed. “But I have decided that you
must.
Otherwise you would not, I think, no matter how hard I tried to persuade you.” She cocked her head to one side. “Perhaps I may persuade you to cease fussing with that kangaroo if I tell you I surprised a stranger in my bedchamber last night.”

“A stranger?” Sir Avery moved to the fireplace. “I trust, my dear—”

“—that I shall not carry on in such wise after we are wed?” Lady Sweetbriar was indignant. “I should think you wouldn’t want me to do so
before!
Not that I did, or would even dream of such a thing, unless—” She looked hopeful. Sir Avery shook his head. “It is no wonder I am in the dismals,” Nikki muttered. “I do not scruple to tell you, Avery, that sometimes a mild display of passion would not come amiss.”

“And I am cruel to deny you? My dear, I have already been subjected by my colleagues to some very pointed remarks upon dalliance enacted within these hallowed walls.” Sir Avery ceased his inspection of the kava bowls which hung with various implements of war above the fireplace. “Moreover, it sounds to me like you are suffering little lack of ardor. Who was it invaded your bedchamber?”

“La! You sound positively dog-in-the-mangerish.” Vague though may have been Sir Avery’s hint of jealousy, by it Lady Sweetbriar’s spirits were revived. “You need not fret; it was only Rolf. You look astounded. And so you should! I wondered if he was a trifle bosky myself. It is just like Rolf to have bungled the thing so completely, moreover—but you are no more astounded than Rolf was when I told him if he advanced an atom further I would have his life. He very nearly swooned from the shock.”

Lady Sweetbriar had gained Sir Avery’s full attention. “I trust you did
not,
ah, have the whelp’s life.”

“Of course I did not!” Nikki giggled. “Though I very well might have, had I not realized who he was in time. You will be wondering what he was doing there, as did I. Rolf tried to put me off with a Banbury story about wishing to speak with me, but I suspect he was trying to bamboozle me instead, and I do wish he would not! It is very disheartening when one’s own stepson tries to make one out a flat.” Speculatively she eyed her fiancé. “I just thought of something! When we are married, will Rolf be your stepson also?”

“Not if I don’t wish it.” Sir Avery inspected the mantelpiece, and discovered dust. “And from what you have told me, I do not.”

“Oh.” Lady Sweetbriar was disappointed by her fiancé’s uncooperative attitude; especially as concerned the Sweetbriar jewels, she had hoped Avery would take Rolf in hand. “It is Lady Regina Foliot who is behind this outrage, I’ll warrant; Rolf has never done such a crack-brained thing before. I cannot think the Foliot chit is a good influence on him. I am fond of Rolf, and do not want to see him dwell under the hen’s foot. No, and I do not want to stand on bad terms with him either, even if he is a clunch! Rolf must be persuaded that he and Lady Regina will not suit.” Nikki looked coy. “Which brings to mind something I have wished to discuss with you, Avery: your daughter. You have been remiss in not arranging a match.”

“And you will happily repair that omission, Nikki? Were Sweetbriar and Clytie to make a match of it, you would no longer need worry about your jewels.” Sir Avery’s knowledgeable glance flicked over those specimens which currently adorned Lady Sweetbriar’s delicious person. “Clytie must marry where she wishes, but Sweetbriar sounds like a commoner. Petticoat fever, has he? You, Clytie, Lady Regina Foliot—whomever
she
may be.”

Nikki’s expression was vague, her thoughts preoccupied with how to prevent Sir Avery demanding outright that she return the Sweetbriar jewels. That would be a pretty dilemma, she realized; were such an order issued, she could neither obey it nor refuse. “Petticoat fever? No, that’s Marmaduke! Or do I mistake your meaning? I assure you that I have your daughter’s best interests at heart.”

“My daughter is capable of looking after her own best interests,” Sir Avery responded cryptically. “You need not try and persuade me of your benevolent nature, my dear; I’m not marrying you for that.”