The Notorious Lord Havergal (18 page)

“If you continue on this new path, your hunting lodge in the Cotswolds may see its new coat of paint yet.”

He turned a luminous smile on her. “Anything seems possible.” He gazed a long time into her eyes and repeated, “Anything,” in a low, deep voice that sent a quiver up her spine. Surely his glowing eyes suggested the most impossible “anything” of all, that he loved her. “What will you do when Violet leaves you, Lettie?” he asked.

Her heart plunged. “A match is by no means certain. We have not discussed that possibility at all.”

“They smell of April and May to me. If it comes to a match—you will not want to stay on here alone.”

“No, I don’t think I would like that. I’ll have to invite someone to accompany me.”

He rubbed his chin pensively. “You won’t be doing anything immediately, I take it?”

“Not unless and until Violet accepts an offer from Norton.”

He nodded, satisfied with her answer. He wondered why his father had visited Miss Beddoes, and why he hadn’t mentioned it. He would not make an offer without discussing it with Papa, especially when he had just regained his father’s confidence. He felt that more time was required to ingratiate the lady as well. A kiss did not loom so large in his mind as in Lettie’s. First help Tom to a good position; that would soften her up. Continuing to see her posed a problem, however. He could not hang on at Norton Knoll forever, and to invite her to Willow Hall was tantamount to an offer. London occurred to him as a possibility.

“Did you ever think of taking up residence with Tom in London?” he mentioned.

“No, someone must be here to look after things.”

“A visit to London, to see Tom settled in, then?”

“I am not at all imaginative, Havergal.” He gave her a look, not angry, but not happy either. “That never occurred to me. Tom is grown now. He can arrange his own accommodations.”

“I think you would enjoy London. There is so much to do—balls and concerts and plays.”

“All those delights that led you astray,” she teased.

“You are made of stronger stuff,” he said approvingly. “Virtue should be rewarded. I still enjoy balls and plays—and your excellent sherry.” He held his glass out in a toast. “I have not turned into a Methodist, Lettie. Nor have I turned into Jacob,” he reminded her. Was that why he had given that strange look? She had inadvertently called him Havergal, as she was in the habit of doing. “What I require is a coat of many colors, to remind you who I am.”

Her lips moved unsteadily. “I believe that was Joseph, Havergal.”

He grimaced. “That was an unnecessary display of ignorance on my part.”

“Jacob, if memory serves, was the clever gent who bought his brother Esau’s birthright for a mess of pottage.”

“I wonder Papa didn’t christen me Esau; that sounds more in my improvident style.”

“Your
old
style, that is.”

“Quite so. You have changed me beyond all recognition. At the risk of boring you, I shall repeat, I never dared to hope you and I would be so comfortable together, sitting by the fireside like Darby and Joan, discussing the
Bible
."

A smile quivered across her lips. “That seems a strange and modest thing to hope for, Jacob.”

He reached out and touched her cheek, “There, that wasn’t so hard to say, was it, Lettie?” His finger lingered, falling in a slow caress as he gazed at her.

No, she wasn’t imagining it. If Havergal had indeed reformed, he would not flirt so outrageously with a respectable lady. He was working up to an offer.

“I have no problem with Jacob,” she allowed in a strained voice. “It is the Ezekiel’s and Zedekiah and Mahalaheel’s that confuse me.”

“Good. I wouldn’t want you to be confused about me.”

The talk turned to less emotionally charged subjects: the public day, the ball, and the local society. After half an hour they rejoined Ned and Violet.

They were met with no firm announcement, but after the gentlemen left, Violet said, “Are you quite sure you have no interest in Ned, Lettie?”

“I have a keen interest in him, for he would make you a charming husband. I hope you will invite me to your wedding.”

“He hasn’t asked me yet. I mean he hasn’t asked me,” she said, and held
Castle Rackrent
to her heart, as though it were made of gold.

Such an odd book to be forever enshrined in Violet’s mind with romance, Lettie thought. Yes indeed, anything seemed possible, since Havergal’s coming to town.

A man’s first idea of heaven is implanted early in his youth. For Mr. Norton, the idea had not changed much since the forty or so years ago when he had first heard of it at his mother’s knee. He still envisaged it as rather a dull place, with saints and angels sitting on clouds, playing harps. On that Saturday in May when his public day was held, he was struck with the original thought that everyone’s heaven could be different. It could be an infinite continuation of the best day of one’s life, and for Mr. Norton it would unquestionably be one endless public day, with himself the host, and the entire neighborhood, not only the commoners but the gentry, bowing, smiling, and congratulating him.

The shouting and squealing of kiddies running and dogs barking, and both destroying his parkland, sent quivers of joy through his body. “Mr. Norton” seemed to hang on every lip. At the end of each contest, there was a prize to be meted out by himself, followed by a round of applause. When he tired of this, he could stand behind the main refreshment table in his new cinnamon jacket, personally distributing glasses of wine, lemonade, ratafia, or orgeat to the ladies. Particular friends received a knowing nod and wink, and a whispered word, “You won’t want to bother with this slop, Miss Pincombe. There is champagne in the tent.” There was a burly footman in a new suit of livery guarding the tent entrance, to see that commoners did not sneak in and enjoy this privileged treat.

He smiled benignly on Miss FitzSimmons, who accompanied him on his rounds, praising everything and smoothing the course of conversation with the more elevated guests. He kept Lord Havergal in his eye and noticed that he was often with Lettie. It would remove the last block from his path if he could convince the lad to offer for Lettie. It seemed a shabby trick to dump her for Vi, but if she could nab another fellow, he need have no scruples about offering for her companion.

Busy as his eyes and mind were kept with all this, he often spared a glance toward the road, to see if a certain carriage with strawberry leaves on the door appeared. Crymont had not replied to his invitation, which looked as if he had not received it. On the other hand, the duke might pop in at the last minute to add the coup de grace to this exquisite day. He knew from Havergal that the two lads had had a falling out. What pleasure it would give him to bring about a reconciliation under his roof. Duke and viscount, one day to be an earl, both sitting at his table. The only possible addition to his glory would be to see the duke offer for Miss Millie, but even his optimism did not soar to such heights as this. Even heaven must have some limitation.

Lettie enjoyed the afternoon, too, and would have enjoyed it even more if there had been no one there but herself and Havergal. His duties as vice-host kept him from her at times, but he returned often and co-opted her help in his duties, too. Together they bound up the children’s ankles for the three-legged race, handed out eggs and spoons for the egg race, and put bags over children’s heads for the blindman’s race. Havergal was helpful in keeping the dogs from joining the races and comforting the losers, Lettie watched, pleased to see him making himself useful—doing it all with no air of condescension, but truly taking pleasure from such humble pursuits.

“I think you have done this sort of thing before, Jacob,” she smiled.

“I am an old hand at public days. I must be getting home for our own. Papa holds it in June. Have you given any thought to going to London, to visit Tom?”

“No,” she said, gazing across the field to where Violet and Norton were holding court. “But if Violet accepts an offer, I daresay she will want to go to London to prepare her trousseau, and I would go with her.”

“Drop me a line at Willow Hall when you are going, and I’ll make a point to be there. And before you object to writing to a bachelor, let me remind you, you are also my guardian.”

“The visit is by no means certain,” she pointed out, and waited to hear what else he might suggest.

He just smiled confidently. “I’ll put a bee in Ned’s bonnet, and you do the same with Miss Vi. Between us, we’ll get them to the altar—and you to London.”

Havergal was called away to judge the singing contest, and Lettie went to sit in the audience and ponder his harping on London. Was it eagerness to see her again that prompted it? She didn’t know how else they should meet, unless he invited her to Willow Hall—and that would be as good as an offer. Did he think Lord Cauleigh would not approve? Was that why Jacob had not come to the sticking point? Papa liked her well enough as a guardian, but no doubt he was looking higher for the future Lady Havergal. If there was opposition in that quarter, clandestine meetings in London would hardly assist the case. Surely Havergal was aware of that. There was really no point in meeting him in London at all. He either cared for her, or he didn’t. If he did, then he must confront his father with the fact and invite her home. And if he had nothing in mind but a flirtation, then he may go to the devil.

Her mood was uncertain as she prepared for the ball that evening. Excitement and anticipation were paramount, but at the bottom of her heart there rested a corner of doubt. Havergal seemed a different man from the one who had first come storming into her saloon, demanding to see Mr. Beddoes, but in reality, only a month had passed. Was it possible for a man to change so much in so short a time?

She studied him during dinner at Norton Knoll, a grand meal with twenty-four at the table. He sat across from her and looked so handsome, she felt a pang of jealousy every time he spoke to his partners. An exuberant bouquet of flowers impeded her vision. Only the top half of his face was visible above a cluster of roses, but by inclining rather far to the right, she could see his whole face.

Dinner was a splendid affair, with enough courses and removes to rival the banquets at the prince’s Brighton Pavilion. When the ladies retired to the saloon to allow the gentlemen leisure for port and blowing a cloud, Miss Millie came tripping over to Lettie and Violet.

“I have never seen Norton happier,” she said, and sat down with a sigh of relief that her chief duties were over for the evening.

“What a banquet!” Violet exclaimed. “I don’t know how I am to lose any weight with such feasting as this, Miss Millie.”

“Why, you will dance it all off before the night is over. Norton tells me Lord Havergal and I are to lead off, as he is the guest of honor and I am the hostess. I will be the envy of all the young ladies. Quite a star in my crown.”

Lettie stared in consternation. “I thought Norton and Violet would lead off!” she exclaimed.

“Oh no. Norton wishes Havergal to start the dancing, because of the title, you know. The highest title is given that honor, or so Norton says. He has his heart quite set on it. We would not want to end up the evening in an odd way.”

“Of course,” Lettie said, trying to quell her disappointment. She would have the second dance with Havergal—and the last. But she had been looking forward to that first one.

The gentlemen did not tarry long over their port. Norton was eager to see his full party rejoined, and Havergal did nothing to delay the proceedings. As they left the room, Norton said, “I trust you have your dancing slippers oiled, laddie. Miss Millie has spoken of nothing but the honor of opening the ball with you.”

“But I—of course, Ned. I am looking forward to it.”

He made a beeline for Lettie as soon as he entered the saloon, Norton was close behind him, and soon the host’s raucous company had the other ladies occupied.

Havergal said quietly to Lettie, “Something has come up, Lettie. About our first dance—”

“I know,” she said, making a moue. “I have been relegated to second place behind Miss Millie.”

Havergal smiled at that moue, so attractive, and so unlike the Miss Beddoes he had first known. Lettie had blossomed into a flirt before his very eyes. The smile faded as he considered what he had to tell her. He tried to make a joke of it, but in truth he was unhappy and frustrated.

“Worse, dear heart. As the beau of the ball, my card is full. That is to say, I have been signed up for all the other dances.”

“But the dance cards haven’t even been issued yet!”

“What a slow top you are, Lettie!” he teased. “All the dashers sneaked a card this afternoon and have been circulating them clandestinely. Miss Pincombe has suborned me for the second set, Miss Seton for the third, and some girl in a yellow gown has got me for the fourth. Unless we can arrange to break someone’s leg, we are not going to have our dance till the end of the evening. Are you as disappointed as I am?”

“I shall be graceful in defeat and say it doesn’t matter in the least.”

“I don’t call that graceful! I am devastated. You might at least allow you are disappointed.”

“Very well then, I am disappointed.”

“There is always supper,” he said, to console her. “I lied and told all my harem, as you call them, that I already had a partner for that. Presumptuous of me. Perhaps you have made other plans?”

“No, I am not so perspicacious as the other ladies, it seems. I neither filled my card nor arranged a supper partner before the ball even began. I am such a laggard, I don’t put on my bonnet till I am ready to go out.”

“I daresay you wouldn’t say yes till a gentleman asked you either,” he said with a daring smile.

“Perhaps not even then. I might say no instead, depending on the gentleman and, of course, the question.”

His brows rose in surprise. “One assumes that the question is of a purely legitimate nature. I cannot imagine anyone brave enough to confront Miss Beddoes with any other sort.”