The Indomitable Miss Harris (3 page)

Gillian had managed to regain control of her emotions by this time, so, removing her hat and gloves, she accepted the drenched handkerchief and assured the round, gray-haired woman that she would do nicely, thank you. Then, waiting only until Mrs. Trueworthy had closed the door behind her, she replaced the scent-laden handkerchief on the dressing table and moved to find a towel, determined to put herself properly to rights. After pouring water from the jug into the matching blue-flowered china basin, she soaked a corner of the towel and applied it to her face until she could feel the warmth in her cheeks abating. A bit more refreshed, she decided not to lie down, knowing that if she fell asleep, her eyes would be redder than ever when she awoke. Instead, she moved to the cushioned French seat in the window bay and settled herself, tucking her feet up and leaning back to gaze out on the activity in the street below.

There was very little of it. Only a few pedestrians were abroad. A fop with his spyglass ogled a girl of her own age walking with her abigail. Two elderly gentlemen strolled arm in arm through the small garden in the center of the square, and occasionally she would see a Corinthian or buck driving his high-perch phaeton or tilbury, or a heavy barouche would lumber past the house. But despite bright sunshine, the day seemed dreary, insipid; and boredom had begun to enfold her after fifteen minutes of this occupation when suddenly she recognized a familiar figure driving a spanking team toward Landover House. She watched with a twinge of conscience while Lord Darrow, looking precise to a pin in a dark blue jacket and cherry-striped waistcoat, with crisp blond curls neatly cropped and combed, pulled his team up at the front stoop. His tiger leaped to hold the leaders, whereupon his lordship jumped agilely to the flagway and, taking the steps two at a time, approached the front door.

Gillian waited impatiently, wondering what was taking place in the study between her escort of the previous evening and her temperamental trustee. She knew that Lord Darrow must have been as amazed as she had been to receive the summons from Landover, for she had been quite sincere when she had insisted that the marquis would not bother his head about anything she did. By dint of that insistence and the fact that she had teased him unmercifully, not to mention having ventured to doubt his courage, Gillian realized that she had practically forced his lordship to serve as her escort to Vauxhall Gardens. Reflection upon her experiences soon led her to the shame-ridden belief that her behavior had been prodigiously shocking, if not downright scandalous. She had flirted outrageously and had actually invited the attentions of the odious rogue whom Darrow had knocked so expeditiously to the floor. A fleeting vision of her parents brought tears to her eyes. They would have been disgusted by her conduct.

Hard upon that thought came another. Avery! What would he say to Landover’s decree? That he would be furious with her was inevitable. He had refused to escort her to Vauxhall himself, partly because he preferred gaming to dancing, but also because he had disapproved of the idea, and she had purposely neglected to inform him when Darrow agreed to take her. Sir Avery had gone out early in the afternoon and did not even know she had made plans for the evening. Not that he had actually forbidden her to go, but she was certain he would not remember it that way, since he had no doubt assumed that by withholding his escort, he had effectively put a stop to it. Mrs. Periwinkle generally retired at an early hour on evenings when she and her charge were not engaged to attend some social function or other, and Gillian had not bothered to inform her that she did not intend to follow her example. A premonition entered her mind that someone might have something to say about that particular oversight before the affair was allowed to take its proper place in oblivion.

Lord Darrow emerged once more from the house. He looked shaken and spoke sharply to his tiger when he jumped into his phaeton. Gillian wondered again what Landover had said to him. But her thoughts were immediately turned in a new direction, for a second visitor hove into view from Charles Street. Clearly, her brother had received the marquis’s message, and he looked as darkly fierce as a thundercloud storming toward the house.

Someone scratched on the door of her room, and at her command, a young housemaid entered, bobbing a curtsy. “If y’ please, miss, I be Bet, and Mrs. Trueworthy said t’ inform you a light nuncheon’ll be served in ten minutes or so. Will you come now?”

Gillian’s thoughts whirled. She had no wish to face her brother in his present mood, but she could see no way to avoid an encounter. Avery would simply come looking for her if she didn’t go down. Mentally shaking herself, she forced a smile for the maid’s benefit. “If you will provide me with a hairbrush, Bet, I shall be ready in a twinkling.” The maid soon produced the required article, and Gillian forced her curls into order.

The small first-floor dining parlor to which Bet guided her was empty except for a footman who was laying a third place at the table. The maid seemed surprised. “Oh! I quite thought his lordship would be here, miss.”

The footman answered her. “Mr. MacElroy says as how we’re to hold service till the master rings.”

“Perhaps you had rather wait in the green saloon, Miss Harris,” suggested Bet.

“No, thank you,” Gillian answered quietly. There was no point in delaying the meeting with her brother. “I’ll wait here for the gentlemen.” The maid bobbed again and slipped out of the room, followed by the footman. Gillian had not been left more than ten minutes with her own thoughts, however, before she heard masculine voices in the corridor. She was carefully examining some knickknacks on a wall-hung étagère when they entered. Avoiding her brother’s eye, she swept the marquis a graceful, if silent, curtsy.

They sat down, but only Landover made any pretense of enjoying his meal. He made polite conversation in a lazy drawl and seemed amused rather than irritated by their lack of response. During a lull while the marquis requested a bowl of fresh fruit, Gillian glanced surreptitiously at Sir Avery, who was scowling at the half-empty plate in front of him. Despite the fierceness of that scowl, no one would deny that he was an extraordinarily handsome young man.

He had the same dark hair and blue eyes as his sister, but where her features were finely and delicately etched, his were sharp as though drawn with firm, bold strokes by a master hand. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and slim-hipped, and today he had dressed conservatively in buff pantaloons and a well-fitting chocolate coat. Even his neckcloth was neatly rather than extravagantly tied. Briefly, she wondered if he had affected the conservative look in hopes of mitigating Landover’s displeasure, but the notion was quickly rejected. Avery was still experimenting. She had seen him in every outlandish fad that fashion permitted, but he had seemed lately to be favoring the mode and manners dictated by the famous Mr. Brummell. According to the Beau, whose word on the subject amounted to law, a gentleman was well dressed only when his clothes did not draw attention to themselves. Halfway through the last thought, Sir Avery glanced up, and Gillian suddenly found her gaze locked with his. There could be no doubt of his anger, and feeling guilty warmth flood her cheeks, she looked hastily down at her plate.

For the next few moments she concentrated upon pushing food around with her fork, making no attempt to attend to Landover’s remarks when he returned to polite conversation. Sir Avery replied in monosyllables, each one seeming to Gillian to underscore his displeasure with her. The strain was beginning to tell, and she was certain her nerves would be at screaming pitch in no time, but the moment she had dreaded came soon enough. When the footman began to pour a second glass of wine for the two gentlemen, her brother stopped him with a gesture and turned to Landover.

“May I be excused, sir? I should like to have a word in private with my sister.” His voice was carefully controlled, but when Gillian glanced up at him, the hard glint of intent in his blue eyes caused her to pray fervently that Landover would deny his request.

“By all means, Sir Avery. Jeremy here,” indicating the footman, “will show you to the green saloon, where you may be as private as you like.” Gillian shot him a look of helpless accusation, to which he returned nothing more than a slight shrug.

“Thank you, my lord. Gillian, if you please?” Sir Avery waited impatiently while she took her time rising from her chair, then allowed her to precede him through the door. She hesitated on the gallery, waiting for Jeremy, who guided them to a front room several doors from the dining parlor. When the footman had pulled the doors to, she stood rigidly, her back to Sir Avery, waiting for the explosion. It was delayed only long enough for him to stride forward, grasp her by the shoulder, and whisk her around to face him. He gave her a rough shake. “How could you, Gillian!” he blazed, shaking her with increasing passion as he growled through his teeth, “Did I not warn you? Did I not say that Landover would not continue to turn a blind eye to your conduct? Did I not beg you to behave?” His voice rose considerably as he continued, “I should have taken a strap to you to force you to better conduct! By God, Gillian, you may take
that
and
that,
with my compliments, damn you!”

She reeled backward and fell in a heap against the settee behind her. Raising both hands to stinging cheeks and ringing ears, she burst into uncontrollable sobs.

“Gillian!” Sir Avery was on his knees beside her in a trice. “Gill, I’m sorry! Good God, did I hurt you so much as that? Let me see.” He tried to pull her hands away from her face. “Gillian! Let me see, I say!” He succeeded in bringing her hands away and scanned her face anxiously, but aside from heightened color and a red mark on either cheek, there was nothing to see that might warrant so much commotion. With narrowing eyes, he rocked back on his heels and said in a voice of chilling calm, “You are merely suffering from a fit of the vapors, Gillian, which can serve no useful purpose. If you do not cease that ridiculous noise immediately, I shall box your ears again.”

Knowing from experience that he would not hesitate to make good the threat, she attempted to stifle her sobs and took a deep, steadying breath. It was no wonder her reaction had startled him. It had caught her by surprise, too. She did not generally lose control so completely when he raged at her. And it was not as though he had never boxed her ears before. He had done so since they were children. She looked up at him through tear-dampened lashes.

“I didn’t mean to fall apart,” she muttered gruffly. “I knew you would be angry, and I deserve that you should be, but I certainly never thought he would—”

“You just never thought at all,” he interrupted sternly. “Landover is acquainted with the Regent, for pity’s sake, not to mention he calls friends with Brummell, Devonshire, Brougham, the de Lievens, and anyone else of influence you might care to name. He may have a reputation for being lackadaisical, but they also say he’s as shrewd as can hold together—he’s rich as Croesus, after all—and he’s known to have a solid streak of ruthlessness as well. He could scarcely continue to turn a deaf ear whilst you made yourself the talk of the
ton.
Here.” He extended a hand and helped her to her feet, extracting a large linen handkerchief from his pocket and proceeding to mop her face with it while she stood meekly before him.

“I’m truly sorry, Avery,” she said when he had finished. “What are we going to do?”

“Whatever he says we must do,” was the unbending response. “I can tell you I don’t relish the thought of another confrontation with him.”

Gillian had forgotten for the moment that he, too, had had to face Landover’s wrath. She blinked at him. “What did he say to you?”

He grimaced. “I’d as lief not go into the details, if you don’t mind. Suffice it to say that he made himself quite clear. Either I retrench or I rusticate.”

“Rusticate? You mean he would send you back to Sussex?”

“That’s what he said.”

“But he can’t do that! He has no authority over you.”

“Hasn’t he?” There was a wealth of bitterness in the two words. “If our respected father had seen his way clear to leaving me my fortune without so dashed many strings attached to it, that might well be the case. But since Landover holds the purse until I turn twenty-five, he exercises a good deal of authority. I daresay I could defy him if he ordered me back to Sussex, but I’d find it deuced awkward to live in London with my allowance cut off.”

“He couldn’t do such a shabby thing! What would people think of him?”

“I doubt he cares a straw for that. Or for what they think of me, come to that. He has said I must sell my new curricle and pair and cancel any orders with my creditors that have not already been filled. And I am not to show my face at White’s or any other gaming establishment until after quarter day, when he says I shall be able to afford such debts again.” He allowed himself a wry smile. “When I dared to ask him how he expected me to pass the time until then, since I was not to be allowed to amuse myself, he said I should shoulder my responsibility as your guardian and strive to keep you out of mischief.”

Gillian sighed. “I foresee that I shall be ‘cabined, cribbed, and confined.’”

“
Macbeth,
act three,” he chuckled, relaxing his stern air at last. “You begin to sound like Cousin Amelia and will be taken for a bluestocking if you aren’t careful.” He paused, then, taking her chin in his hand, tilted it up to gaze directly into her eyes. “I don’t deny, puss, that I for one would just as soon lock you up, but I’ve a strong suspicion it won’t be as easy as that. I shall be expected, instead, to dance attendance whilst you flit from ball to rout and back again. To think I swore that I would never set foot in Almack’s. Knee breeches!”

She smiled ruefully at him. “You look very handsome in knee breeches. And Almack’s is not so bad. The food is quite stale and unimaginative, of course, but the dancing is fun, and everyone who matters attends the assemblies. I wonder what Cousin Amelia will have to say to all this.”

“She will smile and quote a line or two from the Bard, but I daresay she will not be much upset by the move,” Avery replied wisely. “Her thoughts are centered much more firmly upon her social activities and obligations than upon her residence, so long as that residence is an appropriate one. Landover House will more than meet her requirements.”