Reluctant Bride (11 page)

“Last night,” he said casually, as though he had done no more than walk to the door and whistle for her.

“Did she run away from Reuben?”

“Lord no, I had to go all the . . . I drove out and picked her up.”

“Edmund! I didn’t
really
mean for you to do that.”

“I had nothing else to do,” he made a point of telling me.

“So much trouble. Thank you.” I gave him my prettiest smile in gratitude, then tried once more to retrieve my dog. She clung with her nails tenaciously to his sleeve, crouching back in the crook of his elbow.

“You shouldn’t have let her bearlead you into so much trouble,” Maisie scolded.

“What have you done to her? How did you bring her round your thumb? She does not usually take to men,” I said, still having no luck to get her into my arms.

“We have reached a mutually satisfactory arrangement. She don’t bite me, and I don’t kick her.” As he spoke, he massaged her neck with gentle strokes of the fingers. No doubt he had seen me lull her by the same means, and was quick-witted enough to have noticed it. He put her on the floor, where she capered happily about his boots, still spurning my advances.

When breakfast came, I offered her bits of bacon to try to lure her from his chair. She lifted her nose and looked disdainfully down it at me and my poor bribes. “Are you not eating this morning, Sir Edmund?” I asked him.

“We have had breakfast already, Mitzi and I, and our morning constitutional. As soon as you ladies have finished eating, we shall go to Bartlett and see what he can do for us. Will you tackle the trip, Maisie?”

“I’ll not undertake any unnecessary walking yet. I’ll sit quietly here in the parlor with the newspapers. Just pamper myself.”

“I bet you are not pampered at home,” he replied, which set her smiling at me.

“Having alienated my dog’s affections, are you now starting on my aunt’s?” I demanded.

“That's it. I figure two out of three conquests is the best I can hope for.”

When we had finished eating, we rose to go. My pug frisked at Blount’s heels, hinting to be carried. “You stay with Maisie,” I ordered.

“I don’t mind if she tags along,” Edmund offered. I was so angry with my pet that I shoved her inside the door and closed it. I received a wounded look from my companion for my trouble.

“Did you get to bed at all last night?” I asked him, for I really felt some extraordinary consideration due him for getting Mitzi back.

“Don’t start carping on
that
again, Lizzie,” he said angrily.

“What?

“All right, I confess. You caught me with a woman of pleasure in my room. You know I am a bachelor. My doings are public knowledge at Woldwood, where I live. I enjoy a good reputation. Occasionally, when I am out of town . . .”

“Sir Edmund, I didn’t mean
that!
I was only worried your going after Mitzi had kept you up most of the night. You don’t have to apologize to
me
for—for anything. It is none of my concern. I was only teasing you last night.”

He was ready to slay himself for having misunderstood and confessed. He looked remarkably like a little boy who has inadvertently admitted his sins when he was not even suspected. “I misunderstood the nature of your question. You expressed such rampant interest in the matter last night . . .”

“Not interest, only surprise. Pray, let us change the subject.
Did
you get any sleep?”

“Demmed little. The mutt woke me before six.”

I could not resist. It was utterly unworthy, but my next question was,
“Did
you complete your transaction with the lightskirt?”

“Bartlett’s shop is this way,” he said, taking my elbow and turning me round a corner. “We'll walk. It is not far. No, I didn’t, if you really care.”

I had thought he meant to ignore my question, had taken offense at it. I looked up to see him smiling down at me in the strangest way. It was an
intimate
smile. Significant, and very attractive. He could be a handsome man, if only he would let off scowling occasionally. “Mind you must keep a
very
sharp eye on me, Lizzie. I am inclined to stray when I am away from home.”

“You may not have succeeded with the woman, but you had good luck with Mitzi. How did you win her?”

“We share a common taste, beefsteak. And about the woman, it was by no means a lack of
success,
only of opportunity, when you came barging in. I have been thinking about this trip to Braden’s place, Lizzie,” he said, changing the subject. “Rusholme, is it?”

“Yes, near Fareham. What about it?”

“He will find it peculiar that you drag me along, a stranger. How is my presence to be explained?”

“I’ll tell him about the accident, that my carriage is wrecked, without mentioning the theft. Tell him you are delivering me.”

“That will incline him to think I should leave as soon as you are safely delivered, will it not? I plan to stick around. You’ll have to come up with something else.”

“I cannot call you a relative. He knows all my kin. It would not look natural to invite a casual friend either.”

“I could become your fiancé for the duration of the visit.”

“That would make a decent excuse for your presence, but should we not give you a new name? You would not want word to get about the countryside the elusive Sir Edmund Blount is engaged. A man in your position—there might be someone there who knows you.”

“No one who knows me would believe it,” he answered. “It is rather your fair name we must think of. Would the rumor be likely to run back to Westgate?”

“Not at all. The only connection Weston has there is us. Neither Maisie nor I would tell anyone, of course.”

“There we are then. Miss Braden, would you do me the honor to be my fiancée for a day or two, on the strict understanding that we are never to get married?”

“Lawdamercy, Sir Edmund! How you do sweet-talk a lady! How can I resist? I will be happy to be your unintended wife, but for an absolute maximum of forty-eight hours.”

“Agreed.”

The ensuing conversation was so foolish it is not worth committing to paper. I was shocked to find Blount capable of foolishness. The nonsense continued till we reached Mr. Bartlett’s workshop. The jeweler was a man with an oval head, fringed in white. He wore tiny glasses that rested on the tip of his nose. He was puzzled at the nature of our request—to put real diamonds into a cheap setting. He insisted he had not any of the proper size or shape. He had had doings with Sir Edmund’s family before, however, and was not loath to do what he could for him. The necklace was left with him, the understanding being that he would do his best, but he explained that the job would take longer than a few hours. No amount of urging from Sir Edmund, or bald assertions that it wouldn’t take a minute to pry out the glass and just stick in proper stones, changed his opinion.

“Come back at three,” he said. When Sir Edmund mentioned two, Bartlett changed it to three-thirty.

I got Sir Edmund out the door before the hour could be pushed any further forward.

“Let us go and see how Maisie and Mitzi get on,” I suggested.

“You are not the type of lady I usually get unengaged to,” he told me, shaking his head sadly. “Feather-headed. Are we to go to your uncle without an engagement ring?”

“It cannot be worth buying one for two days. With your philosophy, I cannot think it will have any other use.”

“It will not be a total loss. I can give it to Wilma.”

“Who is Wilma?” I asked. I immediately wished I had not, for I had a sudden feeling she was a sultry-eyed female with raven curls.

“She is poor Willie’s fiancée. Wife now. My brother was married yesterday, remember?”

“Surely Willie bought her an engagement ring himself?”

She wouldn’t mind having two, he thought.

“You are careless with your money. Let us pick up a tin one at the everything store. It won’t turn green for a few days. Uncle Weston will hardly examine it through a magnifying glass. A phony ring for a phony engagement.”

“Good thinking.”

We entered the first store of the proper sort we came to. They had a fine selection of junk jewelry. “I want to buy me fiancée an engagement ring,” Sir Edmund said, causing the proprietor to examine us closely.

“I don’t sell jewelry,” the man answered.

“Nonsense, of course you do. What are all these things here?” Blount ran his eye over an assortment of garish red glass beads, pins and tin rings.

“This is servants’ toy stuff,” the man replied, frowning at us. He checked me out thoroughly to be sure I was not a servant being conned by a dandy.

“That is exactly what we want. Here, try this one, Lizzie,” he said, lifting up a narrow band, painted with some metallic stuff that was more coppery than gold in hue.

I put out my left hand for him to slide the tin on the third finger. It spun around loosely. It was so cheap Sir Edmund bent it as he lifted it from the finger back to the man. It squeezed into an oval at the slightest exertion of the fingers. “This one is for ten minute engagements,” he told me. “Find us something that won’t lose its shape or shine for a couple of days,” he said to the clerk.

The man rooted behind the counter to produce a higher quality of junk. “These cost a shilling,” he cautioned.

“An expensive business,” Edmund repined, shaking his head dismally. He lifted one out and tried it. It fit well enough, but looked so very like the other that it would not pass even a cursory examination.

“Have you got anything embossed, maybe some leaves or something to hide the glare of the tin?” Edmund asked. “I’ll be getting into deep financial waters here,” he said aside to me. “We’re talking a crown at least.”

“You’re a shrewd judge of value,” the clerk praised him, rummaging for a piece yet more elaborate than the last.

“This is more like it! What more could a girl ask?” I exclaimed when my ring was handed to me. “From a yard away, it would fool the most suspicious. What do you think, Edmund?”

“Plenty good enough for you. Stick it on,” he answered.

With the embossed circle of tin on my finger, we left the shop, while the man within shook his head in confusion at the way of gentry folk.

Sir Edmund’s manner of revealing our plan to Maisie that he pose as my fiancé was to say baldly to her, as soon as we entered her room, “You must congratulate us, Maisie. We are engaged. Show her your ring, Lizzie.”

I can only assume my aunt was suffering some mental disorder after her accident the day before. She believed him! Worse, she let out a whoop of delight at my conquest. She started up from her chair and came limping forward, wearing a smile as wide as her face. “I knew it!” she shrieked, laughing inanely. “I could tell from the way you were carrying on last night, Lizzie, that you loved him! Why else would you have been so upset about that . . .” She was too nice to continue. “Oh Edmund, I couldn’t be happier! What a wonderful match for my niece.”

“Thank you, Maisie. We have your approval then?” he asked, sliding his demmed dark eyes over to laugh at me.

“Have you taken leave of your senses, Maisie?” I asked sharply. “Sir Edmund is joking. We have decided to tell Weston we are engaged, to give Edmund an excuse to accompany us.”

“But the ring!” she exclaimed, staring at it.

“Tin, to add an air of authenticity to the masquerade,” I told her.

She laughed then as though it were a marvelous joke. “I
did
think it sudden, to be sure. Only twenty-four hours. It usually takes a little longer than that.”

“How long does it
usually
take her?” he asked.

“Ha, she is slow as molasses in January. She never had but the one offer from old Beattie, and
that
took twenty-five years.”

“I have so had offers! Both the ministers . . . Oh, never mind.”

“That’s right. I forgot Reverend Cox and Doctor Leiterman, but clerics, you know. They would not suit Lizzie. She is too lively for that.”

“She’ll have me worn to a thread before our two-day engagement is over. Bartlett will have the necklace ready by three.”

“Three-thirty,” I corrected.

“I'll go over and start pestering him an hour before that. Well, ladies, we have a couple of hours before luncheon. What would you like to do? Why don’t I take you out for a drive, Maisie? You must be bored to fidgets, sitting here watching that mutt all day long.” The mutt, meanwhile, was pawing at his trousers, hinting to be taken up.

“It sounds good,” she answered at once. “Where shall we go?”

“In Winchester, one does one’s duty and goes to the cathedral,” he informed her, “unless, of course, one has the excellent excuse of a sprained ankle, in which case she and her escort are excused.”

We were deprived of a visit to the famous cathedral, which I would very well like to have seen, and so would Maisie, though she is shy of putting her wishes forward. Blount hired a team at a stable to keep the borrowed grays fresh for the dash to Fareham. Some friend of his had a dairy farm north of Winchester. That was our outing—to go and look at very much the sort of thing we have to see every day. With Maisie’s bad ankle, she sat on the verandah with the farmer’s wife, Mrs. Langton, while I was dragged through barns and pastures, being told by Edmund that what I was seeing was extremely interesting to me, as I too was in the business. I did not trouble to tell him we left all that work in Berrigan’s hands.

The Langtons gave us luncheon. As I found the roast beef quite delicious, I should imagine Edmund gagged on every bite, but he was too polite to say so when he was not paying for his meal, as he did at an inn. We had to hasten through our meal to get back to Winchester in time to visit Bartlett an hour before the necklace was ready. The only one of us outside of Blount who enjoyed the morning was Mitzi. She was well amused pestering Langton’s cattle. She was through with me entirely. Blount was her new master. She seldom left his heels.

Shortly after three-thirty we were back with the necklace. It did not look exactly like my own, but it looked better than it had. Some of the stones were of the wrong size and shape, but they were at least diamonds, and diamonds of an old cut. Nestled in its proper box with the Elizabethan plaque, it would have fooled any but an expert, which Uncle Weston, unfortunately, was.