The Sergeant Major's Daughter (4 page)

Nor was Mrs. Lipscombe a fool. She was well aware that she was being roasted; her nostrils quivered slightly as she said, with a tinkling laugh, “My dear Miss Vale, such fare may satisfy the ordinary ranks, but I cannot think it would content my kinsman, the Duke of Wellington. I am sure I cannot count the number of times I have heard him express a partiality for good food.”

Such a set-down would have silenced a more socially conscious protagonist, but Felicity had no such inhibitions; she persisted wickedly, “That may be the case at home, ma’am, but it is a different story when he is with his troops, I assure you. Many’s a time his grace has sampled my broth—and even complimented me upon it.” There were more stifled chuckles. Mrs. Lipscombe flushed and turned away, making no further attempt at conversation. Felicity knew she would be made to suffer for her impertinence, but she remained unrepentant.

When the ladies retired to the drawing room, the outraged matron swept past her as though she were not there, the feathers of her turban threshing with the force of her displeasure. Felicity would have preferred to withdraw, having complied with the letter, if not the spirit of his lordship’s commands, but now pride—that sin of which he had already accused her—dictated that she must remain.

She collected some needlework and took a quiet back seat. Amaryllis whispered crossly that she had better not cause any more trouble.

Presently the gentlemen rejoined the party. To Felicity’s surprise, the Earl placed himself next to Lucinda Lipscombe, and when she was entreated to play upon the pianoforte, it was Stayne who turned the pages of her music for her.

Well, well! Who would have thought it!

For herself, Felicity was to be plagued yet again by the odious Mr. Dytton, who, in all the splendor of a bright green coat, spotted cravat, and striped satin waistcoat, fastened on her like a leech and would not be shifted. Under cover of the music he dropped into her ear several remarks which brought an angry flush to her cheeks and caused her to jab at her needlework with unnecessary ferocity.

During a lull in the entertainment he leaned forward to lisp fatuously, “Miss Vale—you must have something to offer us—a ditty or two you will have picked up on your twavels. Come now, you must not be bashful
...
did I not see you cawwying a guitar on the day you awwived?”

“A guitar...!” The word echoed around the room.

The Earl offered neither help nor entreaty as Felicity stumblingly disclaimed any talent.

“Songs a bit saucy, are they?” Mr. Dytton persisted with a smirk. “Campfire ditties, I daresay ... what? No matter. You will find us vewy bwoadminded, I give you my word!”

Felicity felt a sudden, overpowering need for air. Very much aware of her burning cheeks, she laid aside the needlework and, excusing herself a trifle incoherently, crossed to the open windows. As she passed out onto the terrace, she heard Mrs. Lipscombe exclaim triumphantly, “Farouche!”

But Felicity’s ordeal was not ended; before she could reach the steps to the garden, her tormentor was beside her, a restraining arm encircling her waist. Here his lack of inches proved advantageous, enabling his lips to brush her cheek without lowering his head, and thus risking
i
mpalement on the ridiculously high starched points of his collar.

The suggestions which accompanied his clumsy attempt at gallantry so incensed Felicity that she instantly seized upon the nearest object to hand, which proved to be a potted geranium. It was delivered with all the force which her limited aim could muster. Mr. Dytton swore and drew back—and as she turned to run down the steps, she saw the figure of the Earl clearly outlined against the open window. He called to her, but she would not stay to endure his censure.

It was some time later, as she tiptoed across the Long Gallery in the hope of regaining her room unnoticed, that her name was again called.

Felicity turned with a sigh. His lordship stood, arms folded, at the door of a lighted room. Above his head hung a portrait of the 4th Earl; and, placed so, the two profiles presented an uncanny similarity.

“I have been waiting for some time, Miss Vale. I knew you must come eventually.” His voice was, for him, almost bland. “Tell me, has this retreat been strategically planned—or are you in disordered flight?”

His perception drew from her a brief, rueful grin. “I fear it is the latter, sir.”

“Ah, so I thought. Well, Miss Vale, I must tell you, Mr. Dytton is not pleased with you. His pretty coat is quite ruined!”

“Oh dear.” Felicity bit her lip. “Well, I am sorry—and if I must, I will apologize
.
..
”

“That will not be necessary,” the Earl cut in. “Mr. Dytton has a most urgent appointment in Town; it will entail his leaving at first light. He will not be returning.”

“Oh,
but...”
Now she was disconcerted. “Sir—in part the fault was mine. I lost my temper
...
” One eyebrow rose in mock disbelief. She sighed. “Yes, I am well aware of it, but you must allow some provocation. Until now, you see, I have always been used with respect by even the toughest of soldiers. I realize, of course, that in my altered circumstances I must accustom myself to endure the detestable civilities of men like Mr. Dytton,
but...”

“But not while you are beneath my roof,” the Earl finished crisply.

“Amaryllis will be furious.”

Stayne’s tone became even crisper. “I do not run my establishments in order to accommodate my sister-in-law, madam—though it may often appear otherwise.”

“No.” There seemed little else to say. “Well then, my lord, I can only thank you, and bid you good night.”

“One moment more, if you please.” He regarded her pensively. “You will oblige me in future by not pitching my guests Banbury tales.”

Felicity’s cheeks were tinged with embarrassment and guilt.

“Quite so,” he said. “Raw rabbit, indeed! And if Wellington has ever seen the inside of your ‘broth pot,’ I shall own myself very much surprised.”

“Then I must surprise you, sir—for I once prepared him a broiled chicken in herbs which he complimented most highly!”

The eyebrow lifted again. “I am impressed, Miss Vale.”

“Yes, well it
was
the only time,” she conceded. “But I have often helped Mrs. Patterson to entertain
...
the Colonel’s brother officers for the most part. What we were able to provide depended largely upon where we happened to be quartered, whether we could barter with the local peasants, and whether the Colonel had been able to indulge his passion for hunting or hare-coursing.”
The imp and mischief were back. “But of course it was never in any way such
superior fare
as your lordship is wont to provide.”

To her surprise, he put back his head and laughed. “I see you mean to remain impenitent to the end, Miss Vale.”

“I fear so, my lord. But I
w
ill try to be
more ...
conciliating in the future.” She smiled philosophically.

“Then I wish you good night, ma’am.”

Felicity turned to go; a faint look of embarrassment crossed her face. “About Mr. Dytton, sir...” She saw him frown and rushed on, “I must apologize for
...
appropriating your potted geranium. I fear it was quite ruined.”

The Earl’s frown had grown quizzical. “Is that what it was? Do not, I beg you, give it another thought. I believe I have never seen a pot plant used to better effect. Good night, Miss Vale.”

It was by far the most agreeable note on which they had yet parted company. In the days which followed, Stayne seemed to go out of his way to foster better relations.

Amaryllis, on the other hand, was determined to place the whole of the blame for Mr. Dytton’s departure at her door.

“I
cannot see why you must needs have caused a scene,” she complained. “You are not usually missish. I believe you deliberately sought to encourage Tristram’s attentions!”

“Then you are touched, cousin!” retorted Felicity sharply.

Rather than face eternal arguments, Felicity took to spending a great deal of time with Jamie out of doors. The weather had settled gloriously after the storms—and they passed many happy hours at the lakeside, building tree houses and fishing for tiddlers. Mrs. Hudson was cajoled into providing a large picnic basket so that they were not obliged to return to the house for a meal, and in the evening they stole back by a circuitous route to avoid being seen in their disheveled state.

Felicity’s
stratagems
were occasionally doomed to failure, however, as when the Earl strode from the bushes, a shotgun cradled across his arm. He halted to view the guilty pair—the child streaked with dirt, a jagged tear in his nanekin trousers—and Felicity in similar state, unable to conceal the damp patches in her dress.

She waited in resignation for the expected reprimand, but instead, he peered into the murky depths of Jamie’s glass jar and commented with a faint smile, “If you aspire to fish, we must try you with rod and line.” And he passed on his way with a brief nod.

Greatly encouraged, Felicity determined to extend their sporting activities. The next venture was cricket. Digby, the gardener’s lad, fashioned a bat of sorts for Jamie and instructed them in the rudimentary skills. They took to playing on a little-frequented patch of green beyond the kitchen gardens and soon became quite adept, though Jamie was inclined to throw himself into the game with more enthusiasm than accuracy.

The day came, however, when he connected with commendable force.

“Oh, well played!” cried Felicity, as the ball disappeared over the high yew hedge.

There was a thud and a muttered ejaculation—and the ball reappeared a moment later in the competent hands of his uncle.

A guilty look flashed between the sporting pair. Under cover of tucking away a wayward strand of hair which had worked loose in the course of her exertions, Felicity tried somewhat nervously to judge the Earl’s mood—but the hawklike features gave nothing away.

She endured the silent interrogation of his black stare for fully half a minute, while he tossed the ball from hand to hand.

Finally, he observed with extreme dryness, “You appear to dispense a singular brand of education, Miss Vale. No doubt it has a purpose?”

“It has, my lord,” she retorted, charging in with all guns blazing. “It affords Jamie plenty of fresh air, and exercise—and a basic interest in some of the pastimes a boy should pursue. We do a full hour of lessons morning and evening, which is sufficient for his mind to absorb at present.”

“Uncle Max!” cried Jamie, emboldened to tug at his uncle’s sleeve. “Wasn’t that a capital hit?”

The Earl removed the small fingers from his silver-gray superfine.

“Capital,” he agreed. “And if your aim continues so glaringly abroad you will continue to be caught out as you were just now.”

Jamie, undeterred by this censure, eyed his uncle with an awe bordering on reverence. “Can you play cricket, sir?”

“Where do you imagine I got this scar, child? Your father hit me with a cricket ball when he was not much above your age.
His
aim wasn’t much better than yours, as I recollect!”

These hitherto unimagined reminiscences had Jamie’s eyes popping. “I say!
Can you bowl overarm, sir? Digby says it has been forbidden at Mr. Lord’s cricket ground.”

Stayne frowned. “Who, pray, is Digby?”

Jamie’s tone reproved him for his ignorance. “Digby is the gardener’s boy. Can you, sir? ”

The Earl transferred his gaze from the eager young face of his nephew to a highly entertained Felicity. Without a word he divested himself of his elegant coat and handed it to her. He walked some way off and came loping in to fling the ball down with astonishing speed. It was doubtful if Jamie even saw the ball, but he crowed with delight and went charging off into the bushes after it.

The Earl reclaimed his coat and queried softly, “Well, Miss Vale?”

In spite of the iron-gray hair curling fashionably about his ears, there was an air of boyish bravado in the challenge.

Felicity grinned broadly. “Very competent, my lord. Was it meant to prove something to me?”

“Only that I am heeding your strictures, madam—and am taking more interest in my nephew’s doings.” Stayne shrugged his way back into his coat. “I have requested Amaryllis to have riding clothes made ready for him. It is high time he learned to sit a horse. We begin next week.”