The Hermit's Daughter (18 page)

“I cannot order you about yet, Missie, but after the wedding, we shall see who has his way.”
He smiled fondly. “By the living jingo, we have forgotten the most important thing! The wedding ring. Pick out a nice one.”

A few other customers looked at the unlikely couple and shook their heads. Among them was Monstuart’s friend Lord Alton. He remained in the background but kept his ears cocked.

Sally looked over the tray of rings. Aware that Sir Darrow’s choice was for large gems, she suggested an emerald-cut diamond of ten carats.

“Put it on your finger. Let us see how it looks ‘on,’
as you ladies say.”

She slid the ring on her finger and held it out. Blue and orange and green fire danced in its depths. “It’s beautiful, Sir Darrow.”

“Keep it on your finger. It’s the safest place for it. Sure I can’t tempt you with a bracelet?”

“Hold on to your blunt. You will find us an expensive tribe.”

“Ho, ho. I can’t say I wasn’t warned. Mabel said the same thing, but you are worth every penny of it. Money was made to be spent.”

Sir Darrow and Miss Hermitage became a familiar sight in London. Tongues were soon wagging. It was inevitable that when Lord Monstuart returned, he heard whispers of what was going forth. Even before he entered his own mansion, he was stopped by a friend of Alton’s.

“You have led us all up the garden path, Monty,”
his friend joked. “We thought you were saving Miss Hermitage for yourself. If I’d known she’d marry just anyone, I would have offered for her.”

Monstuart’s black eyebrow rose to an alarming height. “Miss Hermitage is engaged? May I know who the man is?”

“Old Willowby, a friend of her papa.”

“Sir Darrow Willowby?”

“That’s the gent. He’s well to grass, of course, but really! An ankle-biter—he doesn’t come past her shoulder, and he must be all of sixty. They look like an Amazon and Father Time on the strut together. She hangs on his arm, delighted with her catch.”

“You’re mistaken,”
Monstuart said coldly. “He’s Mrs. Hermitage’s beau.”

“Devil a bit of it. The mother was only a cover-up. They’ve dispensed with her now. Alton saw the pair of them picking out the ring. A very large one,
ça
va sans dire.
A case of cream-pot love, obviously. Their major outings are to the shops.”

Monstuart’s nostrils quivered in distaste. “Very interesting,”
he said in the most bored tone he could muster.

His instinct was to pelt directly to Cavendish Square, but discretion urged him to get his temper under control first. He went home and was given Lord Derwent’s letter. After much discussion with his wife, Derwent had written, “Dear Monstuart: Due to circumstances beyond my control, I find I have need of fifteen thousand pounds of my own money. Lady Derwent and I wish to go to Gravenhurst, for London is very dear. As the fifteen thousand is owed to Lady Derwent’s mother, I am sure you will see that I must have it immediately. I won’t ask for any more except my allowance until I reach my maturity. Sincerely, your nephew, Derwent.”

Monstuart’s jaws clenched in disgust. He squashed the note into a ball and threw it into the grate. He soon retrieved it and read it again, looking for the fine hand of Miss Hermitage between the lines. It was lurking there, in every word. The ladies had lent Derwent their money, spent it, and were now demanding it back. They had lured Derwent into their velvet trap while his own back was turned. Derwent was Miss Hermitage’s ticket to London. Dissatisfied with the aging Heppleworth’s provincial charms, she had schemed her way to London to nab a larger fortune.

Now that Derwent had served his purpose, he was being dispatched home, but if she thought to recover her mother’s money into the bargain, she was mistaken. Not one sou would he give Derwent. Mrs. Hermitage must make her abode with either Derwent or the Willowbys. These cogitations did not have the desired effect of diluting Monstuart’s temper. Quite the contrary, the longer he thought, the higher his anger mounted. When he called for his curricle and leaped into the driver’s seat, his face was an alarming hue.

It did not lighten when he saw Sir Darrow coming jauntily out of the door of the house on Cavendish Square, and Sally there, waving him good-bye.

“Monstuart, so you are back!”
Sir Darrow smiled. “Miss Hermitage will be happy to see you. She was hoping to invite you to the wedding.”

“Go to hell,”
Monstuart growled, and bounded up the stairs two at a time. Sir Darrow shook his head in confusion and went on his way. Queer nabs, young Monstuart, but he need not fear he would frighten Sal. She had the heart of a lion, like her papa.

Sally’s heart pounded when she saw her caller’s foul mood. She felt a strong desire to slam the door and bolt it, but before she could accomplish this, Monstuart was in, towering above her like Wrath incarnate. His forbidding aspect set her hackles up. “I would say come in, but that would be redundant,”
she snapped, and marched stiffly into the Gold Saloon. She sat down, but Monstuart remained on his feet, the better to intimidate her.

“I understand congratulations are in order, Miss Hermitage.”

“You refer to Sir Darrow?”

“Precisely.”

“I shall relay your congratulations.”

“Save your breath. The congratulations are for you, not the gullible old fool.”

“I must object to that, sir! He is eminently sensible, and not all that old either.”

“He’s old enough to be your grandfather.”

“No, no. Only my father. He was a good friend of Papa.”

“He’s ancient!”

It was rapidly apparent to Sally that Monstuart’s temper would not be so violent at her mother marrying an ancient. He thought
she
was Sir Darrow’s bride, and his anger revealed a rampant interest in the fact. Why should he care whom she married, unless ... The situation appealed strongly to her sense of humor. “That is hardly any concern of yours,”
she replied with a careless toss of her curls.

“I have no concern whatsoever whom you ensnare in your toils, except when it comes to my nephew.”

“Derwent?”
she asked in perplexity.

“Don’t try to deny you convinced that innocent idiot to marry your sister to provide you with a respectable house from which to make your bows. You succeeded, due to my negligence, but I’ll be damned if you’ll now get your money back.”

Sally’s amusement was swiftly congealing to angry confusion. There was a flavor of truth in his first accusation, enough to make her uncomfortable, but as to demanding money back, she was at a loss. “I have made no attempt to do so.”

“Have you not? The boy doesn’t draw a breath without your approval. If you think to shame me into repaying his debts, incurred to amuse
you
and further
your
financial ends of marrying money, you are out in your reckoning.”

His tirade was largely ignored while she tried to make sense of it. “Has he dunned you for money?”
she asked blandly.

“Only fifteen thousand pounds, a sum that is familiar to you, I think. He finds London unaccountably dear.”
His dark eyes toured the lavish room before settling on Sally’s expensive gown.

“So that’s why he has decided to go to Gravenhurst!”

“Derwent has had the scales removed from his eyes at last. He wishes to escape. I would like to know how even you, with your lavish spending, have managed to squander fifteen thousand pounds in less than a month.”

Her eyes snapped. Anger with Derwent was included in her emotions. He should still have six thousand pounds! What was the wretched boy keeping from her? Gambling seemed the culprit, and gambling immediately brought forth the name Peacock. She naturally had no wish to let Monstuart know it. “You credit me with too much ingenuity in spending, milord. You are forgetting the matter of an extremely ugly sapphire tiara. At least my acquisitions are pretty and will be used occasionally.”

“Used to trap an old man into financing you. I think you might have done better for yourself, with a little patience,”

Sally leveled a dark look at him. “If I have a vice, I agree it is impatience. For some reason, which we shall not go into, the gentlemen seemed a little hesitant about coming forward this season. Don’t think I was conned by your stunt. I know perfectly well why you tried to keep them away, and when that ploy did not fadge, why, you suddenly began dangling after me yourself. You were afraid I’d make a good match. It was all spite.”

Monstuart’s brows drew together in confusion. “I am not so devious as that!”

“Are you not?”

“With a little more patience, you would have learned that was not my plan. And I thank God for your impatience. To think I might have made the inalterable mistake of offering to marry you.”

In the heat of anger, she paid little heed to his admission and thought only of a set-down. “I am less prone to mistakes of that sort. I would not have accepted any such offer, I promise you.”

“Then you have obviously failed to determine from Derwent the exact total of my assets. I cannot believe your fondness for gray hair would have deterred you from accepting my offer when you knew what I am worth.”

“I wouldn’t marry you if you owned—a—a mint!”

“Don’t let your sensitivities be perturbed by any fear of receiving an offer from me. I’ll leave you to Sir Darrow. Will you
really
be able to stomach having that white-haired old man in your bed?”

Her cheeks flamed at his broad talk. “All cats are gray in the dark, folks say.”

“You would even sink to that, giving yourself to a wizened old lecher for money. By God, I thought there was a grain of pride in you, but I was mistaken.”

Sally jumped to her feet. “I have pride enough that I won’t listen to these insults in my own house.”

Monstuart rounded on her, eyes blazing. “You’ll listen to what I choose to say, madam, in my
nephew’s
house, if your mother ever hopes to recover a penny of her money. A very good case can be made that Derwent was defrauded.”

“Unlike you, Derwent has some scruples. He would not drag his wife’s family into court.”

“You have discussed the possibility with your solicitor-groom, no doubt.”

“That was unnecessary. It is only common sense. You have uttered your futile threat, milord. Withhold Derwent’s money, Darrow will be happy to indulge the expensive taste of my family while you are the butt of the town’s laughter, taking out your revenge on me by sending your own nephew to the cent percenters to be skinned alive.”

“He hasn’t an inch of skin left on his body since you got hold of him.”

The iniquity of this charge robbed Sally of rational thought. To see Monstuart’s snarling at her with unveiled hatred while he insulted her in every way imaginable was the last straw. She hardly realized what she was doing when her hand rose and struck at his arrogant face. A loud whack echoed in the room. She stared with horror as his face froze in shock. In that white face, a pair of furious eyes blazed like fire. His hands clenched to fists with the effort of controlling himself.

Her chest rose and fell in agitation, and her complexion was blanched bone white. “Get out of this house,”
she said in a voice trembling with fury.

“I will never willingly darken your door again. A gentleman must choose his friends with
some
discretion.”

On this uncompromising speech, Monstuart turned and strode from the room. Sally heard the front door rattle on its hinges, and saw through the curtain Monstuart’s retreating back. In his state of upheaval, he forgot his curricle was waiting and walked down the street.

Before she had time to recover, Melanie and Derwent came down the stairs and joined her. “Was that Monty’s voice I heard?”
Derwent asked.

Sally rounded on him. “Why did you ask him for fifteen thousand pounds?”
she demanded.

“You know we are going to Gravenhurst. I wanted to repay your mama before leaving.”

“We haven’t spent the whole lot.”

Derwent looked at his bride, and Melanie flew to his defense. “He never would have played cards with Peacock if
you
hadn’t introduced him to us. He is a Johnnie Sharp.”

“That’s Captain Sharp, Mellie”
was Derwent’s contribution.

“He fleeced Derwent of every penny. And what Peacock didn’t get out of him, his friend Hendry did. We had to ask Monty for money.”

Sally turned her anger on Derwent. “I told you not to play with that creature. I warned you a dozen times. How much did he get?”

“All of it,”
Derwent said. “Er, what was Monty’s answer?”

“His answer was no,”
Sally informed them.

As the full ramifications of her discussion with Monstuart rolled over her, she felt the unaccustomed prickle of tears stinging her eyes. Pride forbade shedding them in front of anyone, so she turned and whisked upstairs.

Melanie’s lower lip began trembling. It never occurred to her that tears were to be hidden. She turned her moist eyes to her husband. “What are we going to do now, Ronald?”

“Go home with our pockets to let. Rusticate. Repay your mama gradually, a bit at a time.”

“It’s not fair. It’s your money. I think you should speak to Monstuart yourself.”

“From the way the front door was shaking, he was in a foul temper,”
Derwent pointed out.

“Give him an hour to cool down. His rages are soon dissipated. Mama wants her money. If she doesn’t get it, she’ll come to cuffs with Sally, and Sally will end up coming with us.”

Derwent considered which was the worst of these eventualities and, after the hour was up, decided to tackle Monstuart. He went to his uncle’s house and was shown into his private office, where Monstuart sat with a bottle of wine at his elbow and a small blue velvet box, brought back from Berkshire, on the desk in front of him. He was reviling himself for that romantic dash home to get the engagement ring and prepare the nest for a bride. He was not by any means disguised, but there was a whiff of the fox about his condition.

Monstuart looked up, wearing his most satirical face, and said, “So, Cawker. She has sent you to add her appeals, has she? The answer is no.”

“I wish you will listen to reason, Uncle.”