The Heiress Companion (5 page)

“But it wouldn’t fadge in the least,” Lady Bradwell objected
firmly.

“Don’t you mind her, Auntie Anne. She wants me for Lord
Bradwell,” Miss Cherwood teased. “But she is right. I like Lully too well to
marry him.”

“O, I gave up
that
dream
some time ago; I think it was when you pushed Lully into the punch bowl at the
Christmas party such a long time ago. I surmised in an instant that Lully
simply wasn’t up to your weight. O drat!”

Lady Bradwell and Miss Cherwood turned in surprise to see
what had made Mrs. Ambercot exclaim with such vehemence.

“I do beg your pardon, my dears. It is only that dreadful
Eliza of mine. I can’t allow Lully to speak ill of her, but for myself, I will
allow that this nonsense of hers has almost brought me to my wit’s end. Look at
her, languishing on Jack’s arm! What a dreadful child it is.” Indeed, Miss
Eliza Ambercot could be seen hanging on the arm of a rather rattled-looking
Lord Bradwell.

“Quite unlike Ulysses and Jane,” Lady Bradwell agreed,
straining to locate Miss Ambercot in the crowd. “Lord, I loathe these
abominable things!” she announced, removing her detested spectacles from her
nose, despite Rowena’s admonitory cluckings. “Where is Jane? I haven’t seen her
since you arrived.”

“I fancy she’s talking with one of Squire Polwyn’s boys now,
about the hunt last year. Consider me, Louisa,” Mrs. Ambercot said mournfully
to Lady Bradwell. “A fribble for a son, one daughter more at home at the hunt
than in the drawing room, and one who is determined that she will marry a duke —
a royal duke for preference, an she can find one not too corpulent.”

“Are any of them left unmarried?” Rowena asked with
interest, and was rewarded with a comical look of dislike from Lady Bradwell
and Mrs. Ambercot.

“I have often wondered, Rowena —” Lady Bradwell began
repressively, but broke off as Jane Ambercot joined them. Miss Ambercot was a
neat, stocky woman with a squarish sort of face, and square, short-fingered
hands; her manner was forthright and rather engaging. Just now her pleasant,
freckled countenance was alight with smiles as she offered her hand to Miss
Cherwood.

“Good evening, Lady Bradwell. Hullo, Mama, are you bemoaning
your children again? Rowena?” This last as said with a touch of shyness.

“Hello, Jane,” Miss Cherwood returned, and gave her old
friend a quick kiss. “How pretty you look.”

“O certainly,” Miss Ambercot agreed wryly. “Quite like a
plow horse dressed in muslin.
You
look
pretty. Do you know, Lady Bradwell, that when I was eleven, and Miss Cherwood
fourteen, I wanted nothing more in the world than to look just like her —”

“Jane, you must be funning. At fourteen I was a complete
bean pole —”

“With masses of beautiful hair, and so tall and slender! And
here I am, defeated by my freckles and my resemblance to poor Papa.” She made a
rueful movement with her hands. “Somehow I always expect to find pockets, and
they’re never there.”

“You’re not in riding dress, Jane,” Mrs. Ambercot reproved.

Lady Bradwell, charmed with these insights about her
companion, nevertheless was bound to do her duty as a hostess. “Children, it is
time we sent you back into the party and continued our gossiping.”

“Shall we return to find ourselves married off, and
everything tidy?” Rowena teased.

“Why certainly,” Lady Bradwell agreed.

“In that case, I shan’t stay about to hear my fate.” Rowena
took Jane’s elbow and the two left the older women to their talk.

“Have you met my cousin Margaret?” Rowena asked.

“Renna, I haven’t seen you in I don’t know how many years. I’d
no idea you
had
a Cousin Margaret. Is she here?”

“Yes, I left her talking with Lady Bradwell’s prodigal son —
damnation, will I never learn to guard my tongue? Pray forget that you heard me
say that. Meg arrived a few days ago, chased from her home, if you can believe
anything so gothic, by her Mamma, who wanted her to marry a man twice her age.”

“Does romance simply run in your family, Renna?” Jane
grinned. “At least you always had your Mamma and Papa to play chaperone on your
adventures.”

“On the contrary, I played
their
chaperone. Mamma could be relied upon to be arguing with Portuguese
housekeepers who spoke no English, and Papa might be found trading stories with
the soldiers. Any soldiers, at that! He would as readily have spoken with
Bonaparte’s fellows as with our own. And probably did, too, which is why he was
such a famous diplomat.” She smiled reminiscently for a moment. “But look,
there’s my cousin. Margaret, dear” — she hailed Meg, who was obviously in
search of her. “Meg, this is Mr. Ambercot’s sister Jane, who was my playmate
when Mamma and Papa and I lived in Cambridgeshire.”

“Miss Cherwood, I hope we shall be friends, for if you are
not my friend, then I suppose my sister will try to make you hers, and I wouldn’t
wish such a fate on you.” Miss Ambercot extended her hand and smiled in a
friendly manner. “And there’s Lully again. I have the most lowering suspicion
—” Jane began.

“Yes?” Rowena prodded.

“Nothing. Impolitic. Do you like Devon, Miss Margaret?” Miss
Ambercot asked hastily.

“Of course she does,” Ulysses Ambercot answered. “Miss
Cherwood” — this was obviously addressed to Margaret — “might I beg your company
for a turn around the room? I shall explain, if you wish, exactly what about
Devonshire it is that you like.”

“Mayn’t I form my own opinions, sir?” Margaret asked
breathlessly.

“All the better, of course,” he agreed solemnly, and led her
off.

“I have a suspicion that Lully is going to be smitten by
your cousin,” Jane said.

“I have very much the same suspicion,” Rowena agreed. “Well,
you shall talk with her another time, then. Is that you or me your mamma is
beckoning to?”

“Me, I fear. Either my flounces are torn or my hair is
coming down, or perhaps she just wants me to fetch her some claret cup. Shall I
see you later?”

“I hope so.” Miss Ambercot began to pick her way through the
groups of people, toward the fireplace. Rowena settled herself in a chair
nearby, content for a few minutes to watch the product of her hard work: the
party’s smooth process.

“I collect that you know the Ambercots
very
well,” a voice behind her commented drily.

“I beg your pardon?” She turned to face Lyndon Bradwell.

“What was that ridiculous thing you called Mr. Ambercot?”

“Lully? Short for Ulysses, which Eliza could not pronounce
as a baby. He and Jane and I were playmates as children. He used,” she continued
reminiscently, “to tie me up with the sash of my own gown, and I would escape
and come after him in some dreadful retribution....”

“What sort of retribution?” Bradwell asked, piqued.

“O very ungentlemanly sorts, I assure you, since I hadn’t
the strength to thrash him as I would have liked to do. I recall inquiring in a
very loud voice in Auntie Anne’s drawing room one afternoon whatever Lully had
done with the monstrous fine snake he had brought to the house.
That
put the household into some uproar, I can
promise you. I should rather have tied him up in turn, you know, but as I had
little hope of that, I was forced upon my wits.”

“I imagine,” Mr. Bradwell agreed, evidently much amused by
the pictures his mother’s companion painted for him. Rowena wondered privately
when she had so far recovered from her dislike of the man as to have been able
to recount this absurd story, and found herself baffled by the question.

“Can you tell me,” she continued rather hurriedly, “if that
lady with your brother can possibly be Eliza Ambercot?”

“Frankly I cannot, since the acquaintance between their
family and mine dates from about the time I left for Spain. I did meet Miss
Jane and her brother at Jack’s betrothal party, of course, but Miss Eliza was
still in the nursery at the time. I suspect it may be she; she rather resembles
your Lully.”

“Hardly
mine
. And the
last time I saw Lizzie Ambercot, she was five years old, throwing a tantrum
over a sweetmeat.”

“I can well imagine it,” he agreed, observing the girl more
closely. “Well, if Jack likes to have her hand on him — although I know well
that he does not, and cannot sufficiently convey this to her — he is welcome to
her. Far better him than I.”

“Poor Eliza,” Miss Cherwood said, with little sympathy.

“Poor Eliza indeed. I wish you could imbue her with a little
of your own reluctance to move about in the company, Miss Cherwood. I haven’t a
doubt it would become her better.”

“Are you bamming me, sir?” Rowena regarded her companion
suspiciously.

“Not in the least, ma’am. Why should you think so?”

“When you make a silly statement such as that, for all the
world as if I were entirely given over to old lace, dowager’s cap, and lavender
ribbons! Just because I am sensible of my responsibilities....”

“Highly sensible,” he said, with the curl to his lips that
had so infuriated her when they met. Rowena rose as if to leave. “No, ma’am, I
am sorry. Don’t let me drive you from your seat. I was only referring to the words
that I heard you speak to Miss Margaret earlier. I assure you, my mother
considers you with as much — more, in fact — pleasure and friendliness than she
does my sisters.”

“I beg your pardon if I seem too sensitive, Mr. Bradwell,
but you see, I am still a little unused to this business of being in a
position
, and sometimes I do not know just what
to make of it.”

“Don’t fret yourself with it too much, Miss Cherwood.
Consider yourself one of our family, as Mamma and Jack already do.”

“And you?”

“When I know you better, I assume I shall do as well,” he
said easily. It was not a very satisfying answer. “Damnation. Jack’s cast Eliza
Ambercot off at last and she’s directed herself here. I hate to be uncivil,
Miss Cherwood, but I think I find myself in need of a stiff brandy. At once.”

“Certainly, Mr. Bradwell. I’ll make your apologies,” Rowena
countered. He shot her a puzzled look, then smiled and took his leave. Miss
Cherwood, left alone again, smoothed her skirt and prepared herself for the
onslaught of Miss Eliza Ambercot and her dainty manner.

Regrettably, Eliza Ambercot fully justified her brother’s
unkindly aspersions. After claiming Miss Cherwood as a cherished acquaintance,
with many ill-pronounced phrases in French to back this claim, she proceeded to
give Rowena a complete
histoire
of the
family since their last meeting. As the tale was mostly comprised of a listing
of every beau with whom Eliza had danced at the Bath assemblies, with
animadversions upon “Poor Jane’s misfortunate engagement,” and “Lully’s
shocking luck at cards,” it is not wonderful that Miss Cherwood shortly was
overwhelmed with a desire to escape. Eliza was finishing her monologue with a
flowery prayer that Miss Cherwood would be as desirous as she of regaining
their former intimacy, when she espied Lyndon Bradwell across the room and rather
hurriedly took her leave. As this saved Rowena from making the admission that
the only intimacy
she
could recall was when
she had helped Ulysses to lock Eliza in the milking shed one afternoon, she was
more than happy to let the girl go.

Ulysses, deprived of Margaret’s smiles for a moment,
returned to Rowena’s side, murmuring an adjuration that she was not to take
anything his sister said too seriously.

“Good God, Lully, but how could I? O, that poor little
thing, has she
no
idea of what a guy she
makes of herself?”

“None,” Mr. Ambercot assured her.

“And I ought not to say such things to you, I collect.”

“Nonsense, Renna, when you’ve known Lizzie since she was in
leading strings! And I’m the first to admit that the chit’s an aggravation to
man and child alike. What all did she tell you?”

“It was mostly a compendium of Captain Shaw and Mr. Treaton
and Lieutenant Beale, and the gowns she wore to the Bath assemblies. O dear, I
see” — Rowena bit her tongue but Ulysses had caught her drift immediately.

“Cornered Bradwell, hasn’t she. Well, he put up a gallant
fight, I’ll say that for him. And she’s talked the ears off everyone else at
the party, I don’t see why he oughtn’t to do his job.”

A little uncomfortable in this line of conversation, Rowena
stumbled upon another topic, equally unacceptable but of far greater interest
to her: “What is this Eliza told me of Jane’s engagement?”

Mr. Ambercot had the grace to assume a more sober mien. “It
was awkward enough, I can tell you. Jane was engaged to Jack Bradwell three
years ago; I should have thought they’d suit each other down to the ground,
too, but not three weeks before the ceremony, Jane cried off. Seems Jack was
flirting with some female or other at one of Mamma’s parties in Town; rather a
warm
little thing, too; Mamma should have known
better! — and Jane reproached him for it, and
he
told her not to be such a fool, and well, there it was. Mamma was sending in a ‘regretfully
announce’ to the
Gazette
. I am of the
opinion,” he added pontifically, “that they are both about in their heads, and
will never find anyone they can like as well as each other.”

“I never fail to be amazed at the ways in which people
contrive to be miserable,” Rowena agreed wryly. She might, indeed, have
continued, but Ulysses noticed that Margaret was talking with his mother now,
and felt a sudden filial urge overpower him. Rowena graciously accepted his
awkward apology and watched him thread through the crowd toward her cousin. She
wondered, as she watched, whether Margaret might not solve her own problem by
marrying Lully — if not so old or mean-tempered a suitor as the unlamented Lord
Slyppe, Mr. Ambercot was very nearly as wealthy, which was certain to assure
his eligibility in the eyes of Margaret’s mother.