The Notorious Lord Havergal (17 page)

“So here you are, laddie! All the ladies are pawing the ground with eagerness to get at you. Best foot it quickly. They are threatening to set up a revolution outside.” He took hold of Havergal’s elbow to lead him out.

“Before you go, Ned,” his sister said, “are we free for tea at Laurel Hal! tomorrow? Miss Lettie has invited us.”

“I fear not. There are a hundred things to do to get the public day set up. Why don’t you and Vi join us here, Lettie? More hands, less work. You ladies can wrap up the prizes and oversee the servants.”

This left no possibility of repaying hospitable debts, but it ensured being with Havergal, and Lettie accepted. “Another time, then. Perhaps dinner on Sunday. Are you free then?” she asked.

“Check the schedule, Miss Millie,” Norton said, and finally led his guest away.

“Sunday is fine,” Miss Millie said, and it was settled.

In the park, Havergal found himself being jostled mercilessly by the ladies. Such a lack of pride in their fawning over him, actually grabbing at his coat sleeve and thrusting their faces into his, like demanding puppies. He thought of Lettie’s calm behavior and felt its attraction more keenly. She was looking lovely today. She seemed younger, prettier, every time he met her. In fact, she seemed the sort of lady who grew more desirable on a longer acquaintance. He must watch his step, or he’d go tumbling into love with her.

When the ladies returned to Laurel Hall, Lettie found she had only the vaguest memories of the remainder of that afternoon. It was as though her spool of memory stopped in the ballroom, when Havergal looked deeply into her eyes and said, “I think you know what has caused me to change the direction of my life?”

She felt, in some disturbing way, that that moment had changed the direction of hers.

It was half a relief to awaken in the morning to leaden skies and a mist of rain. Lettie was not optimistic enough to expect three days of sun in a row, and today’s rain held out some hope for sunny skies for Norton’s public day on Saturday. She and Violet spent the morning planning their Sunday dinner, with particular care to the guest list.

Cook was called to the saloon to discuss a menu. To outdo Norton’s opulent hospitality was impossible, but Lettie intended to atone for that bread pudding and ordered the best meal Mrs. Siddons could handle. As Havergal had casually mentioned looking forward to a baron of beef at the Royal Oak, Lettie insisted on a roast of beef. With more pork than she knew what to do with in her larder, she also asked for a platter of cutlets, as a change from roast meat. They discussed fish, fowl, vegetables, and dessert for an hour,

“I’d best get busy then” was Mrs. Siddons comment when they were finished, “for it will take two days to cook up all this mess of pottage.”

“We shall be out for tea, and an omelet will do for our dinner,” Lettie said, to cajole her.

“Omelet, is it, and me with a ten-pound pork joint already roasted.”

“Cold pork for sandwiches then,” Lettie decided.

The rain had still not let up by lunch, but it had not worsened either. “It is one of those
horrid
days when it is going to drizzle from dawn to dusk,” Violet said. “We shall have to spend the entire day inside.”

Lettie refused to be downcast. “Where else would we wrap presents?” The inclement weather made it more likely that Havergal would be confined within doors as well.

He was, for all the good it did her. He was kept busy in Norton’s study, drawing up a model pig barn to be run upon scientific lines. Until teatime he might as well not have been in the house at all, but at four o’clock Norton released him and brought him to the table.

The talk was all of pig business, and while Lettie did not particularly enjoy or even understand it, she was aware of a new sense of purpose about Havergal. He spoke knowledgeably about the business. She was content with such crumbs as fell her way. Long glances while Norton talked, fleeting smiles when he managed to overhear some remark she made to Miss Millie, and a general air of what she could only call consciousness. She felt in her bones that he was acutely conscious of her close presence, as she was conscious of his.

After tea, he suggested escorting her to the ballroom to see the final disposition of the flowers. The ruse was spoiled by Miss Millie’s accompanying them, but Lettie appreciated the effort. A tray of dance cards stood ready at the entrance. Norton succumbed to extravagance and had them edged in gilt, with gold satin tassels. As they were leaving, they let Miss Millie go on ahead of them. Havergal selected a card, wrote his name in for the first dance, and handed it to Lettie, peering to see if she approved.

“That is to ensure that you come early,” he said.

“You wish to get your duty over and done with, that you might enjoy the remainder of the evening,” she answered coquettishly.

His gaze lingered on that flirtatious smile. “On the contrary.” He took the card back and wrote again. When he handed it back, she saw he had also filled in the last dance. “That ensures that you remain till the end—and that I have something to look forward to.”

“Two dances! That will occasion gossip, sir!”

“I have no doubt your redoubtable reputation can withstand it. Mine, of course, is more fragile.”

“My advanced years must be my protection.”

“Not for a decade, Lettie. You wear them too lightly. You will do the right thing by me and marry me if I become an object of censure, I trust?”

She read laughter in his bottomless eyes, but it was shared laughter. She was thrilled at the suggestion of a betrothal, even in this frivolous way. And as they stood together, the laughter faded, and she watched, entranced, as his expression changed to a more sober sort of anticipation. “Lettie!” He grabbed her hands and looked around, to be sure they were alone.

“It would be improper for a guardian to marry her charge, would it not?” she parried. Her voice came out light and strained.

“Highly improper and just what you might expect of the horrid Lord Havergal,” he said. His voice was an intimate whisper. He pulled her closer to him. His arms went around her, his face drew closer till his handsome features were a blur, then his lips touched hers lightly, in an exploratory way. They felt cool, perhaps because her own were fevered. Lettie felt the room begin to spin. She closed her eyes and became aware of the scent of flowers and the spice aroma from the orange and lemon trees. It all seemed unreal, especially his arms crushing her against the hard wall of his chest. It was surely a dream.

As suddenly as he had kissed her, he released her. “You’ll have to attack Papa again about being rid of that trust,” he said. How could he find breath to speak after that kiss? Lettie just gazed, unhearing.

They continued back to the tearoom. Lettie felt she was floating on clouds.

Norton glanced out the window and said, “I hope you won’t take the idea I am trying to be rid of you, but you might be wise to seize this minute of letup in the drizzle to get home, Vi.”

Lettie felt something jarring in his speech. She soon figured out what it was. That remark ought to have ended in Miss Lettie or, under the new regime, Lettie. But it was at Violet that he was smiling in his open, approving manner. When had this happened? Violet was simpering in a way that hinted at dalliance while the others were out of the room.

Lettie was deeply disturbed by her own dalliance, but she pushed it to the back of her mind for reliving in private later and teased her friend on the journey home. “You are quite usurping my place in Ned’s affections, Violet.”

Violet blushed up to the roots of her hair and said, “What nonsense! I’m sure he would have you if you so much as nodded at the man. I cannot imagine why you do not, Lettie. Really he is so good-humored and not at all bad-looking.”

“And rich,” Lettie added. “This match has my blessing.”

“It is not a match! How can you say so!”

The more she denied it, the redder she blushed, and the more likely it seemed that a match was brewing. Lettie’s mind was preoccupied with her own musings, and Violet seemed content to continue the drive in silence.

When they met for dinner, Lettie said, “Did Ned happen to mention where they are exhibiting Havergal this evening?”

“You make him sound like a wild beast! They are dining at Pincombes’. A small party, consisting of only themselves, to give Miss Pincombe unhampered access to Havergal. So obvious! She is chasing him as hard as she can. Miss Millie said they shan’t stay late, for she has her hands full at this time.”

It annoyed Lettie that Havergal would be spending the evening with Miss Pincombe. She was a pretty girl, well dowered, but in local opinion considered too forthcoming. A touch of brass would not bother Havergal. On her dresser there sat no dance card with his name inscribed for the first and last dances. He had not kissed her. That was her consolation. He
hadn’t
kissed Miss Pincombe, had he?

Lettie planned an early evening to brace herself for the strenuous day and evening awaiting them on the morrow. At nine o’clock she said, “I’m going upstairs now, Violet. I’m going to do my hair up in papers. Make sure Siddons locks up.”

“You cannot go yet!” Violet exclaimed in agitation. Lettie looked a question, and she continued. “Ned mentioned he might drop in after dinner. Miss Millie has to dash home, but Havergal was to take his own carriage, and he can deliver her home. Ned is going to drop off a book for me.”

Lettie gave her a sapient smile. “I didn’t know he had one. What is this important book?”

“There is no need to be satirical, Lettie. Ned often reads. It happens to be a copy of Miss Edgeworth’s
Castle Rackrent.”

“I see. Then in that case, I must remain belowstairs to play propriety. Shall I play it from the study, or will you two require closer guardianship?”

“You must stay in the saloon, Lettie. It is a social call, no more.”

It occurred to Lettie that there was no impropriety in Miss Millie being taken home by the groom, leaving Havergal free to join Norton in the delivery of the book. With this in mind she dashed upstairs and attended to her toilette. She was nonchalantly thumbing through a fashion magazine, with her new shawl protecting her shoulders and a fresh ribbon in her curls, when the awaited knock came. She looked eagerly to the doorway and felt her heart bound with joy. He had come!

Norton had soon ensconced himself on the sofa by the fire with Violet, narrating in detail the story of the drunken Sir Patrick and his cohorts in adventure. “A dandy story, though I was a little disappointed that Sir Condy Rackrent upped and died in the end, without marrying his Judy. It was the drink did him in. Here, I’ll just read you the ending of it. Have your hankie at the ready, Vi, for it will bring forth a tear from such a softhearted lady as yourself.”

After hearing a prolonged relating of the gist of the book, it seemed hard to now have to hear it read. “Would you mind if I visit your library, Miss Lettie?” Havergal asked. “Hearing that excellent recital makes me hungry for more of Miss Edgeworth.

“I have a copy of
Belinda
somewhere,” she replied, and jumped up with alacrity to accompany him.

The library was in darkness, and Havergal helped her light lamps all around. “Miss Violet is magnanimous, not to beat him over the head with the book when he told her the ending,” he mentioned. She watched as the candle flame caught and played over his face. The moving light flickered on his clean-cut jaw, the handsome nose, and well-carved lips. His lips opened, and a flash of white teeth showed in a disturbing smile.

“I believe the book was only a ruse,” she said.

“Is there a match brewing between them?”

“It begins to look that way.”

Without so much as glancing at the bookshelves, they sat in front of the cold grate and began talking. “That will leave you alone here. What word is there of Tom? You have not forgotten you are to send him to me when he goes to London?”

“He has graduated. He will be in London next week, but as you will be at Willow Hall ...” She waited on nettles to hear what he might say. A gentleman did not kiss a lady unless he planned to propose very shortly.

“I am back and forth frequently. I am on the committee to study grain tariffs, and am often in the House. Actually, my new activities put me in closer touch with gentlemen who can assist him. An unlooked-for perk in my new life of rectitude.”

“I shall write him this very evening,” she said, pleased at the offer and blushing to think of past missives, telling Tom that he was in no circumstance to have anything to do with Havergal, though the Duke of Crymont’s help was still allowed. She must inform Tom otherwise when she wrote.

A moment later it had been tacitly established that they would wait out the entire visit in the library. “That cold grate is inhospitable,” Lettie said. “Let us have it lit and call for wine.”

“The fire is already laid. No need to wait for a servant to light it, I’ll do it while you send for the wine.”

While he busied himself with the tinderbox, Lettie asked for wine and biscuits. Soon they were enjoying a friendly blaze and a glass of sherry.

“Perhaps you would have preferred claret,” she said.

“It is not the wine that matters to me, but the company. I little thought we would ever become so friendly, Lettie. May I drop the ‘miss’ now that we are friends?” She nodded her acquiescence. “My name is Jacob,” he said. “The family calls me so. I would be happy if you would, too.”

This set her quite apart from Miss Pincombe, and she felt great pleasure in his request. “I noticed your father called you that.”

“Odd that Papa called on you.”

“Yes, I was surprised.”

“I expect he was in the neighborhood. I hope he didn’t give you a wretched reading of my character. He is vastly impressed with my transformation. In fact, he has turned five thousand pounds over to me without my even asking, to invest in that new printing press I discussed with you on a former occasion. I was greatly touched, more at the show of trust than the money, though I do think it an excellent investment,”