Marchington Scandal (21 page)

“Tom, really.” The countess sounded both annoyed and a bit amused. “It is nothing like that. I did not want to hurt you, but the truth is that I have simply wearied of your company. I'm sorry, but it happens.”

“Does it? And I suppose Stonenden had nothing to do with this change?”

“You flatter me, Marchington,” said the other man. “Do you want to add to the gossip with which you have surrounded the Countess Standen? Do try to behave like a gentleman.”

“Of course he had nothing to do with it,” added Elise, sounding much struck by Stonenden's remark. “Now, Tom—”

“I don't believe you,” shouted Marchington. There was a scuffling sound; then he added, “You do love me. I know it!”

“Tom, let me go. You are tearing my gown. Let me go!”

“Here, now,” said Stonenden. “None of that.”

There was another scuffle. Katharine, unable to resist, pushed back the edge of the curtain very slightly. She could see them all. The countess was disheveled and looked outraged; Tom, very red, was panting and clenching and unclenching his fists before her; and Lord Stonenden stood a little back, surveying the others with what appeared to be sardonic amusement.

“You bumpkin!” cried the countess then. “You clumsy countrified lout! How dare you assault me? Get out of my sight. You were never more than mildly amusing, and now you are not even that. Get out!”

“But…” Tom looked stunned.

“Do you think I ever cared for you for a moment?” the woman continued, her temper out of control. “What vanity! I was amused to have a young man among my admirers, and I was doubly entertained by the antics of your
so
outraged
family. But that is all. Now, go away and leave me alone.”

Tom stared at her. Stonenden watched him curiously. “You…you slut,” sputtered the former.

“Get out,” repeated Elise.

“Oh, I mean to. A bumpkin, am I? A lout? Well, I should far rather be either of those than what you are. How could I have thought I loved you? You are cruel and contemptible.”

“Your opinion is of no interest to me,” replied the countess icily.

“That's lucky,” said Tom with a short laugh, “because if anyone should ask me, I shall give it them. What a fool I have been.” And with one final glare at both the others, he turned and stalked out.

There was a pause. Then Elise took a breath and turned meltingly to Lord Stonenden. “There, I have done as you asked.”

“You certainly have,” he said dryly, “with a vengeance.”

“He made me angry.”

“I could see that.”

“I can't bear to be mauled about.”

“I believe I can promise never to do so.”

“Oliver, you are so cold. I have done what you wanted.”

Before Stonenden could reply, another couple came into the parlor, followed by several more young people looking for a set of loo counters. Katharine thought Lord Stonenden looked disproportionately annoyed by these intrusions, but she herself was very relieved. She could not have endured watching a tender scene between those two.

After a while, when the others did not leave at once, the countess urged Stonenden away. He went with patent reluctance. And Katharine, choosing a moment when everyone's back was turned, was able to slip out of the writing room and back to the party. She did not encounter Stonenden there, for which she was grateful, and she paused only to gather Mary before leaving the house for home.

She would have gone with a very different attitude could she have witnessed the conclusion of the scene in the parlor, which was just then being played out in Lady Burnham's breakfast room. Countess Standen had coaxed Stonenden there and thrown herself into his arms. But he, far from welcoming her advances, pushed her away again.

“Oliver,” she exclaimed. “No one will interrupt us here.”

“It isn't that, Elise.”

“What, then?”

He shrugged. “I fear you have taken certain things for granted which are not, in fact, the case.”

She stepped back and stared up at him, magnificent in white lace over a petticoat of dark green satin. “What do you mean?”

“My interest in this…ah, affair, was only to remove Tom Marchington from your influence.”

The countess's eyes narrowed. She looked at him carefully, then hissed, “You rotten…”

“I never said anything else, if you will recall. I promised nothing.”

“But you suggested a great deal,” she retorted. “You know you did.”

“I used your own methods against you, yes. I don't apologize for that. If you had kept to your own sphere, to men who know and understand the rules of your games, I would not have interfered. But young Marchington did not.”

“Don't prate of games to me! It had nothing to do with Tom, that's obvious. It's the girl, isn't it? I suspected it when you had that ridiculous portrait done. This whole charade was for her.”

Stonenden turned a little away. “I have nothing more to say. You have gotten no more than you deserved.”

“Indeed? Well, it is not that easy to cast me off,
my
lord
. You will be sorry for this piece of meddling. More than sorry!” He shrugged and started to walk out of the room. “You don't believe me?”

“I have no time for your threats, Elise. I thought to apologize, but your behavior makes that impossible. Good-bye.”

“Blackguard!” she called after him, but he did not turn again. He walked deliberately down the corridor and back to the drawing room as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

In the doorway, Eliza Burnham met him, asking eagerly, “Did it work? Katharine and Mary have gone. I did not get to speak to them again.”

Stonenden shook his head. “We were interrupted too soon.”

“Oh, no. I
tried
to keep people away.”

He shrugged. “It was too public a place. I shall have to explain it all to her face-to-face. She will believe me. She must.”

“Of course she will. Shall I go to her first? I could—”

“No. I have been too indirect as it is. I shall call tomorrow and make her see me.”

Lady Burnham gazed up at him, a spark of admiration in her eyes. “Yes. Yes, I think that might be best.”

Katharine and Mary's breakfast-table conversation was a trifle odd the next morning. They had hardly spoken on the short drive home, and Katharine had hurried directly up to bed upon their return. So this was the first real exchange since the party. Mary was bright and eager, full of questions about the evening, while Katharine was heavy-eyed and silent. She had spent a very restless night and felt miserable. Indeed, she could not understand, and could barely tolerate, Mary's cheerfulness.

“It was an enjoyable evening, was it not?” said Mary when her cousin appeared.

Katharine nodded and slid into her chair.

“Andrew was looking so well. And of course there were a great many
interesting
people present.”

Katharine poured a cup of tea and drank it, surveying the food on the table with revulsion.

Mary began to be puzzled. “Did you not think so?” she added. “I heard several fascinating conversations. Did you?”

Startled, she met her cousin's eager eyes. Could Mary have discovered her inadvertent eavesdropping? But how? No, her remark must be merely a coincidence. “It was a pleasant enough party,” she answered. “A bit tedious, as
ton
parties often are, even Eliza's.”

Mary frowned. “But did you not…that is…” She was prevented from completing this sentence by the entrance of one of the maids. “Pardon me, miss,” said the servant, “but a man brought this note from Mrs. Marchington. He says it's very important, and he insisted on waiting for an answer.”

“What can be amiss now?” said Katharine, tearing open the envelope. As she read, she sighed. “Sir Lionel and Lady Agnes have arrived. Elinor sounds near hysterics. She begs me to go to her, and I suppose I must.”

“Oh, dear. Shall I go instead?”

“No, she asks for me particularly. She was most impressed with the way I spoke to Lady Agnes on her last visit. Of course, it is easy for me to be courageous. She is not my mother-in-law.” She rose. “I shall go at once.”

“Very well. But you've hardly eaten anything.”

“I'm not hungry.” Katharine went out, leaving her cousin frowning after her.

At the Marchington town house, Katharine found utter confusion. The maid who let her in was carrying a huge armful of linen, and in the drawing room a number of people seemed to be shouting at once.

These voices gradually resolved themselves into three as she approached the doorway. She recognized Lady Agnes's piercing tenor and Tom Marchington's sulky tone; the third, a bellowing bass, she took to be Sir Lionel.

She was correct. Tom's father stood on the hearth rug, his legs spread well apart, his hands clasped under his coattails. He was a tall, beefy man, with a shock of white hair and an alarmingly high-colored complexion, and just now he was shouting, “You will come home with us at once. At once, do you hear me?”

“That is what I mean to do,” answered Tom. He looked strained, as well he might.

“Disgraceful!” continued Sir Lionel. “I would not have believed it of you. But it shall stop. I'll have no argument on that head. You are coming home.”

“Tom has said he will, Lionel,” put in Lady Agnes.

“What? What's that? He will?” Sir Lionel's expression was comical; he looked like a bulldog who has just discovered that squirrels can climb trees.

His wife nodded grimly. “I don't know why he has changed his mind, but he says he has.”

At this point, Elinor noticed Katharine and came hurrying from the corner to greet her. “I am so glad you came,” she gasped. “Sir Lionel and Lady Agnes arrived only an hour ago. I thought there would be a terrible row, but Tom seems ready to do as his father asks. We should have written him at first, I suppose.” She looked doubtful. “Though he does shout so.”

Katharine refrained from telling her the true reason for Tom's change of heart. She couldn't bear to speak of it. “Everything is all right, then?”

“Oh, no. They are all very angry still. But they haven't yet hit upon a subject to dispute. They will find one.”

Katharine glanced at her cousin with amused surprise, but Elinor seemed unconscious of any humorous element in her words.

In the next moment, Sir Lionel appeared to gain his second wind. “How do you explain yourself, eh?” he said to Tom. “You've been a proper jackanapes. We did not educate you to play the fool over the first lightskirt you encountered.”

“Lionel!” exclaimed Lady Agnes, gesturing toward the girls.

Sir Lionel peered in their direction, obviously mystified by Katharine's presence, and added, “Sorry. I'm a plain man. I speak the truth without wrapping it in clean linen. Tom has been an idiot.”

“Very well!” shouted Tom, goaded. “So I
have
been an idiot. I admit it! But men have made mistakes before this. Must we go on talking about it forever? I am ready to go home and turn over a new leaf. Is that not enough?”

Sir Lionel looked thwarted, his wife offended, and Elinor sympathetically doubtful. Katharine struggled not to laugh.

“I have done all I can,” he went on. “Why can't you leave me alone?”

There was a pause; Sir Lionel's jaw worked. Katharine was suddenly moved to ask, “Have you apologized to Elinor?”

All four of them turned to stare at her.

“Who the blazes are you?” snapped Sir Lionel.

“I am Katharine Daltry, Elinor's cousin. And it seems to me that none of you have had a proper concern for Elinor's feelings in this matter.”

The elder Marchingtons shifted their eyes to Elinor, who shrank back with a piteous look of reproach at Katharine.

“You're right,” responded Tom Marchington unexpectedly. “I've treated Elinor abominably these last weeks. In fact, she has a great deal more to complain of than you, Papa, Mama. But she is too gentle and kind to do so.” He walked over and took Elinor's hand. “I am sorry, Elinor. I think I must have been mad. Can you forgive me?”

“Oh, Tom—”

“Don't answer him!” interrupted Lady Agnes. “He has no right to expect forgiveness just yet.”

Her son glared at her, and Elinor, clinging to his hand, stoutly added, “Of course I forgive you.”

Lady Agnes threw up her hands and turned away. “Young people today,” Sir Lionel told her. “No backbone.”

His wife nodded grimly. “We must pack your things immediately. We go home today.”

“But we cannot be ready so soon,” exclaimed Elinor.

“Nonsense. I shall speak to the servants.”

Lady Agnes sailed out of the room, and Sir Lionel growled, “Tom, I want to speak to you privately.”

It seemed for a moment that Tom would resist, but then he bowed his head and answered, “Come into the study, sir.”

“That was not so very bad,” said Katharine to her cousin when they were gone.

Elinor heaved a great sigh. “No, but it will get worse, and go on and on. How I wish that we need not go home just now. If only we might travel, or even go to Bath for a little while.”

“I daresay this whole affair will be forgotten in two or three weeks' time,” replied Katharine encouragingly.

“You do not know the Marchingtons. And my mother is taken up with the younger children.” Elinor drooped, and then appeared to be struck by a new idea. “Katharine, would you come home with us, for a visit? I can bear anything if you are there to support me.”

Appalled, Katharine shook her head. “Oh, no. I…I cannot. And besides, you and Tom will not want visitors just now. You will wish to be alone together.”

“But that is just what we won't be. The dower house, where we are to live, isn't ready. There were a great many repairs to be made. We shall have to stay with Lady Agnes and Sir Lionel for weeks! Katharine, please come.”

The idea of staying with the elder Marchingtons made the request even less palatable. Katharine shook her head again. “I cannot, Elinor. I am sorry. I have tried to help you, but—”

“Of course. You have done so much, I have no right to ask anything more. I'm sorry.”

At her woebegone expression, Katharine nearly gave in. Could she make a short visit? But a vision of Lady Agnes rose before her eyes, and she shuddered. “I'm sorry,” she repeated. There was a short silence; then Katharine added that she should return home. “Call upon me if I can help with your departure,” she said, feeling as if she were condemning a friend to prison.

Elinor nodded, and she took her leave.

Mary met her cousin at the door when she reached home, eager for news. When Katharine had told her what had occurred, she clucked her tongue. “They do not sound particularly suited to managing a lively young man.”

“You are a master of understatement, Cousin,” laughed Katharine. “I predict another shouting match before the day is out. But there is nothing further I can do. Elinor asked me to come home with her, but I could not.”

“Oh, no. She and Tom must solve this for themselves.”

“As they would, I think, if they were not forced to live in the same house as Tom's parents.”

“Are they? Oh, dear.”

“Only for a while, fortunately. I daresay things will be better when they have their own establishment. But I can do nothing in the meantime.”

“No,” repeated Mary. Then, looking a bit self-conscious, she added, “Lord Stonenden called while you were out. He was very disappointed not to find you. He said he would return late this afternoon.”

Katharine had frozen at the mention of Stonenden's name. Now she looked at the floor. “What did he want?”

Mary assumed a rather unconvincing innocent expression. “I don't know, dear.”

But Katharine was not looking at her cousin. “Perhaps he wishes to pay me what he owes for the portrait,” she replied. With a bitter laugh, she started up the stairs. “It's time he did, too.”

Mary looked after her, shook her head, and turned toward the back of the house. Midmorning was the time she always consulted with the cook about the next day's meals, and she could not see that varying her routine would help matters today.

When she had taken off her bonnet, Katharine settled in the drawing room. She was too restless to think of painting. In fact, she soon found that she was too restless to do anything at all. She tried to read, but her book seemed wholly without interest this morning, and she finally gave it up and sat staring blindly at the opposite wall.

She was still in this position when she heard the bell ring below and the front door open. At once she was on her feet. Could this be Stonenden again, already? She could not see him! Hoping to escape unobserved, Katharine crept to the drawing-room door and out onto the landing, but before she could get across it and away, she heard footsteps on the stairs and a female voice saying, “Miss Daltry. How fortunate. I hoped to find you in.”

Turning, Katharine was astonished and dismayed to see the Countess Standen following one of the maids up the staircase.

“I must talk to you for a moment,” the countess went on. “It is rather urgent.”

Unable to reply, Katharine gestured toward the drawing room and led the visitor there. The maid bobbed a curtsy and left them alone.

“I must first apologize for the way I spoke when we last met,” began the countess. She made a charming helpless gesture. “What you must think of me, coming here after that, I don't know. But you see, I was so upset. Now, things have changed, and I am sincerely sorry.”

“Pray think nothing more about it,” replied Katharine frigidly.

“You are kind. I really was dreadful. But all is well now.”

What did she mean? Katharine wondered. What had changed? She shrugged.

“Thank you.” Elise Standen settled herself gracefully on the sofa. “I wanted to talk to you today about Oliver's portrait. It is really quite good, you know.” She looked up, seeming to expect an answer, but got none. “He was pleased with it. I know, because we were talking about it only the other day. In fact, he suggested that I have a companion picture done.” The countess smiled charmingly. “For the future, you know, so that they will match.”

Katharine opened her mouth, but no words came out. The other woman's implication was unmistakable. The only reason to request a companion portrait was if the two were to hang together. And if this was the case, Lord Stonenden must have offered for the countess. “I…I am not doing any more portraits,” she finally managed to croak.

“Not…?” Her caller was all bland surprise. “But why? And surely you could make an exception in this case? You would not want an inferior painting hung with yours.”

For a brief instant Katharine allowed herself to imagine painting the countess. It would be glorious to trace every little line, every cruel twist in her superficially lovely face. She could do a portrait that would reveal to the world the sort of woman Elise Standen really was. But she suppressed the impulse. It was impossible. And in any case, such a picture would never be seen. “I'm sorry,” she answered, more in control of herself now.

“I, too.” The countess smiled again. “But I will not give up so easily. Perhaps if I brought Oliver to add his pleading to mine?”

This made Katharine wince. “It would do no good. I…I am going out of town shortly, and I am not certain when I shall return.”

Countess Standen's green eyes lit. “Indeed? Where do you go?”

“To visit friends. It doesn't matter. But I cannot paint a portrait.”

“Yes, I see. Well, it is too vexing. Perhaps when you return?”

“I may be away for quite some time.”

“Ah. And we should like it as soon as possible. Well, I am very disappointed, Miss Daltry.”

Katharine looked at the floor.

“You won't change your mind?”

The younger girl shook her head.

“Perhaps you are still angry with me, and that is why you refuse my request.”

“My feelings are irrelevant. And now, if you will excuse me, I am rather busy today.”