Maggie MacKeever (4 page)

More than he realized, Lord Sweetbriar had spoken truth when he thoughtlessly compared his beloved to his stepmama. Lady Regina, too, was on the dangle for the Sweetbriar fortune, even as Nikki once had been—which was precisely why Regina disliked to hear the merest mention of Nikki’s name. She, Lady Regina Foliot, was following in the footsteps of a common actress. That Lady Regina’s background was unimpeachable made her ignoble motives all the worse.

Lord Sweetbriar realized that his beloved continued to look incensed. “You’ll like Nikki, once you learn to know her. Even my father did. Which ain’t to say he forgave her for having pulled the wool over his eyes.” Rolf recalled his current dissatisfaction with his stepmama. “No, and it ain’t to say either that Nikki ain’t cursed disobliging sometimes! Just look at her jewels!”

“Jewels?” So intrigued was Lady Regina by this reference that she glanced around her before recalling Almack’s was among those select establishments to which Lady Sweetbriar would never have the entrée. “What jewels are these?”

Unaware that Lady Regina was even more fascinated by jewels than by her own mirrored reflection, Lord Sweetbriar was gratified by her sudden revival of animation. “Why, Nikki’s jewels! The ones my father gave her, which she won’t give back to me,”

“Ah.” Lady Regina erased the frown that had for several moments marred the perfection of her marble brow. “That is indeed disobliging of her. Tell me all about it, Rolf.”

Vastly flattered by his beloved’s use of his given name, Lord Sweetbriar obeyed. The story was not brief in the telling, involving his stepmama’s various follies and indiscretions, and his papa’s nasty temper, in final demonstration of which he had left Rolf Nikki’s jewels. “But every time I try to claim them, Nikki makes me feel so guilty that I allow her to keep the baubles a while longer. Yes, and she could keep them altogether if it was up to me.” He looked uneasy as he realized what he had said. “But it
ain’t
up to me! I must honor my father’s last wishes. Maybe Uncle Duke will help me sort out the business.”

“What kind of ‘baubles’ are these?” inquired Lady Regina, very casually, as she deftly maneuvered Lord Sweetbriar into a perambulation around the room’s perimeters, and away from the gentleman to whom she was promised for the set of country dances just then forming. “And who is this ‘Uncle Duke’?”

“Oh, diamonds and emeralds, rubies and sapphires—you know the sort of thing!” Himself immune to the allure of such trinkets, Lord Sweetbriar failed to note the covetous manner in which his beloved suddenly wetted her lips. “As for Uncle Duke, he’s my father’s younger brother, who’s been living in Russia for years and years. He’s only come home now because there’s a rumor that the French plan an invasion.” Thoughtfully, Rolf paused. “I wonder if that is supposed to be a secret. Mum’s the word, Lady Regina, just in case. But anyway, a fellow who’s lived with the Russians all these years—you know how emotional they are!—should be able to persuade Nikki to give back the jewels.”

“How old a man is your uncle?” Lady Regina had not the slightest interest in Russia and its citizens just then. “Is he married? Comfortably circumstanced?”

The interest evidenced by his beloved in the family tree upon which she would soon become a twig inspired Lord Sweetbriar’s gratitude. “I haven’t a notion. He didn’t mention a family when we met in Oxford Street. Uncle Duke must be about five-and-thirty years of age. As for his circumstances—” Rolf shrugged. “I doubt he plans to become my dependent. It ain’t the sort of thing one ordinarily asks.”

So it was not. Unappreciatively Lady Regina thought of the proprieties which circumscribed polite behavior. She would have dealt far more effectively, could she have inquired outright who was and who was not well-heeled. Recalling an adage about the relative desirability of birds perched in bush and on hand, she cast Lord Sweetbriar her most alluring glance. “We have strayed from the topic,” she hinted gently.

“We have?” For Lord Sweetbriar’s confusion, his beloved’s languishing green gaze was only partially to blame. “What was that? Ah, yes! Lady Regina, pray say you will marry me.”

How best to play her cards? mused Lady Regina, among whose ignoble motives was an intention to claim Lady Sweetbriar’s jewels for herself, thereby in a very circuitous manner vanquishing her foe. She issued a small sigh. “Would that I could—because I would like to, I confess. But it is not to be, alas. There are insurmountable difficulties between us, Sweetbriar. In a word—”

But Lord Sweetbriar had caught the gist of Lady Regina’s little speech, and it had rendered him extremely indignant.
“Not?”
he echoed, in loud disbelief. “After I have been dancing attendance on you all these months? You can’t mean that!”

Of course Lady Regina did not mean it; although in the moment when his loud tones penetrated the hearing of those around them, and various heads turned, she was strongly tempted to bid him to Hades. “I must—and do!—count myself honored,” she said quickly. “Under other circumstances, my answer might be different. But I do not wish a stepmama-in-law who will forever be putting me to the blush. I know you cannot agree with me, Sweetbriar, and I do not blame you for it. That detestable female obviously holds you in thrall.”

“She does?” Rolf stared.

“Poor boy! You don’t even realize.” Though. Lady Regina had not a sympathetic bone in her graceful body, she still contrived to look sad. “Or perhaps I am mistaken? If so, you must prove me wrong. Did you but convince me you do
not
favor your stepmama over me, Sweetbriar, I would have no reason to refuse to become your bride.”

During those very moments when Lady Regina Foliot sought to convince Lord Sweetbriar that the family skeleton should be denuded of her jewels and locked away in some dark closet forevermore, the object of her malice was enjoying a comfortable prose with Miss Clough. The setting for their conversation was the drawing room of Clough House.

“We have a choice, dear Clytie!” Lady Sweetbriar wandered through the empty chamber, with a knowledgeable eye inspecting the plaster frieze and ceiling, the oak-paneled walls, the columns and pilasters which flanked doors and windows and chimneypiece. “We may have polychrome chintz with a naturalistic floral design, or painted silks imported from China, executed in body color on a white satin ground.
I
incline toward the latter. And with it I would like to see an Axminster carpet of Chinese inspiration, with a pattern of pairs of confronting dragons, and various other symbols, in gold on a blue ground.” She moved to the window. “Chinese paper in addition would be too much, I fancy, though I have seen some excellent examples—each roll is printed with a portion of a large design, which requires several panels to complete—trees and flowers, or landscapes and figure subjects, after the manner of tapestry. But it is very expensive, I believe.”

At this somewhat tardy concern for expense, Clytie smiled; Clough House had been already turned on its ear in a frenzy of refurbishing and redecorating. Permission to do so had been Sir Avery’s gift to his affianced bride, and at the conclusion of the renovations the wedding would take place. If the renovations
were
completed, amended Clytie, who had been living amid chaos for several months. Fortunately, the creator of that disorder had excellent taste. Aloud, Miss Clough said: “You have never counted the cost of anything, Nikki.”

“Have I not?” Having reached a decision, Lady Sweetbriar deserted the window, crossed to Clytie, and with that damsel linked arms. “The China paper, I think, and the Axminster rug! You would be surprised at what I have counted. I do not blame you for your lack of understanding, mind! You were not married to Reuben. But I was, dear Clytie, and I promise you there was a vast difference between the way things really were with us and the face we presented to the world.”

During the past year, Miss Clough had spent considerable time in company with her prospective stepmama, especially in those last few months when Clough House was being turned upside-down and inside-out. Consequently Clytie had learned to decipher Lady Sweetbriar’s most cryptic utterances. “Why did you stay with Sweetbriar?” she inquired, as they exited the drawing room. “If he was unkind?”

“He was not unkind, precisely,” explained Nikki, with a connoisseur’s glance at the hallway. “No, and he wasn’t kind either, nor did he let loose for an instant of the purse strings! My dear Clytie, I could tell you— But I must not. You would not thank me for making you embarrassing revelations. Reuben didn’t divorce me because to do so would be tantamount to making a public admission that he had been duped—not that I deliberately
tried
to make him think I was something I was not!
I
cannot be blamed, surely, if he leaped to the wrong conclusion? At least I
shouldn’t
be, but Reuben
did
blame me, and made it his object to make me miserable.” Looking glum, she toyed with her jewels, diadem and necklace and earrings of emeralds set in diamonds and hung with the immense pear pearls. “And he succeeded very well! I am
still
miserable, and Reuben is dead.”

“How sad.” Miss Clough’s tone was heavily ironic. “Papa must make it up to you.”

“Oh, it is not your papa who has made me miserable!” Aghast at this misunderstanding, Lady Sweetbriar abruptly halted, thus necessitating that Miss Clough halt also, since their arms were still linked. “In point of fact, I am not
truly
miserable, except when I think that Rolf is to have my jewels, and I try very hard
not
to think of it above ten times a day!” Her fine eyes narrowed, her voice became grim. “To you I will confess I do not mean to ever give back my jewels. Even my jewels are scant consolation for having been given only the tiniest portion of the Sweetbriar fortune, because if anyone ever deserved a fortune, I do. But I have not abandoned all hope yet!”

“You haven’t?” Miss Clough successfully urged Lady Sweetbriar to resume movement and shepherded her toward the morning room, the one chamber which had thus far escaped the renovative chaos which reigned over the rest of the house. “But you will soon have Papa’s fortune—already he has placed a considerable sum at your disposal. Isn’t that enough?”

“Dear Clytie, had you ever been impoverished, you would know that there is no such thing as
enough!”
Lady Sweetbriar’s dark eyes flashed. “Besides, it is the principle of the thing. One does not like to feel that one has failed to achieve one’s object. Oh, I do not want to cheat Rolf out of his inheritance—he deserves it, poor boy! Simply, I do not wish Reuben to have the last word. Not that it will make any difference to him now.” In a manner very reminiscent of her stepson, she glanced over her shoulder. “At least I hope it will not.”

The late Lord Sweetbriar must have possessed a truly diabolical disposition to inspire so habitually nervous a remembrance in his survivors, Clytie thought. Yet Nikki managed to dress herself superbly on the ‘mere pittance’ she had allegedly been left, this evening in a gown of colored crepe with square low neck, short Spanish shoulder sleeves, and a skirt with a demi-train; as well as to maintain a hired house. Miss Clough suspected her stepmama-to-be had a tendency to exaggerate.

With that suspicion, though Clytie could not know it, she did Lady Sweetbriar a grave disservice: Nikki had greatly understated the case regarding her dealings with her late spouse. To maintain her little house, and present an unimpoverished appearance, she had to mightily contrive. This evening’s gown, for instance, was in one of its many incarnations—and not for Clytie’s benefit had its current resurrection been undertaken. Lady Sweetbriar was bound for a musical party, and had stopped by Clough House only to reassure herself that soon all need for contrivance would end. Or
almost
all need for contrivance. Nikki was not of the philosophy that husband and wife should confide everything.

It then occurred to Nikki that the recent exchange with her prospective stepdaughter had been somewhat indelicate. “Dear Clytie!” she cried, and grasped that damsel’s hands, which very nearly resulted in an accident, because Miss Clough had been rearranging some flowers in a vase. “I hope you do not
mind
that I am marrying your papa for his money—not that it is any secret! But he is fond of me, I think, and I shall be very good to him, you’ll see.”

“I don’t doubt that.” Nor did Clytie doubt that any gentleman alive must feel some degree of fondness for Nikki. “You needn’t explain further. If Papa doesn’t mind, I see no reason why
I
should.”

“Such a sensible girl! If only I could be similarly practical—but I fear I am a creature of impulse.” Miss Clough was gifted with Lady Sweetbriar’s roguish smile. “You won’t mind having a stepmama who was once an actress? I thought not. What an excellent child you are! I would have felt very badly, had you disapproved of the match—not that it would stop me from marrying your father, you understand.” Having settled these matters to her satisfaction, Nikki released Miss Clough and turned her attention to the morning room. Though she itched to redecorate it also, this chamber was sacrosanct, having been the refuge of the previous lady of the house. As well as of several other Clough ladies, Nikki suspected. She doubted the room had been so much as redecorated since it was built in the seventeenth century.

Strips of tapestry hung upon the paneled walls, with silver sconces set between them; the wide oak floorboards were covered only by a small central island of carpet. The furnishings included a commode inlaid with ivory and various woods, a table supported on luxuriously carved legs, a few chairs with high arched backs, and a Japan cabinet which sat against one wall. It all appeared very unexciting, in Nikki’s sight. If only she might introduce some modem pieces, or at least camouflage the plain casement windows with hangings in the elaborate French style.

Association with Lady Sweetbriar during the past several trying months had rendered Miss Clough cognizant of the implications of the gleam currently existent in her ladyship’s dark eye. Therefore Clytie deemed a change of topic advisable. “I encountered Rolf today in Oxford Street. Did you know he plans to wed?”