Toblethorpe Manor (24 page)

“Bravo!” he cried with a kind of artificial excitement. “You play most excellently, Fräulein. And I believe you are pretty enough for His Highness. However, I ask that you stand up that I may examine once more your figure. Prince Esterhazy prefers plump women.”

Miss Fell sat in horrified silence at the piano. Mr. Runabout’s mouth opened and closed like a fish, and no sound emerged. It was left to Mary to sweep forward, her face a study in indignation.

“My young lady bain’t that sort, I’ll thank ‘ee,” she announced. “Come on, miss. Better work in a shop ‘n for a furriner prince wi’ no morals.” She urged her mistress to her feet and hurried her out, casting a scornful glare at the speechless Umlauf as she passed him. Miss Fell was equally speechless. Mr. Runabout at last found his tongue and trotted after them, trying to apologize for his part in the affair.

Once more Miss Fell was torn between hysterical laughter and tears. Only the sight of Mr. Runabout living up to his name in his distress inclined her to the former. He looked so hurt that she quickly stifled her amusement, but they only just managed to bustle her into a hackney before she started weeping.

“Pray bring her to my house,” Mr. Runabout suggested anxiously. “I shall send out for some wine. What a terrible shock for a gently bred lady. Well, I cannot too much regret my introduction. Who would have thought it, who would have thought it!”

“Thank ‘ee kindly, sir,” said Mary grimly, “but I s’ll take her home. This business has gone farther nor it ought. There’s those as ought to know what’s a-goin’ on.”

The hackney dropped Mr. Runabout at his lodgings, and the sight of his worried and apologetic face made Miss Fell take hold of herself.

“Pray do not be distressed,” she hastened to say as he stepped down. “You must not blame yourself. How should you know that Prince Esterhazy expects more talents of his musicians than one? I must thank you for your kind efforts on my behalf.”

“Not at all, not at all, my dear. Well, well, I daresay it was all a misunderstanding. That Germanic writing, you know. Such talent to be so insulted! Will you let me know,” he added shyly, “if you find a position? Anything I can do, anything at all. Dear me, grown quite attached—well, well, well.” Fumbling for his spectacles, he disappeared up the stairs.

Seeing new signs of tears, Mary hurriedly ordered the jarvey to drive on. He and the young errand-boy had both been interested spectators of Mr. Runabout’s farewell, and she now told him sharply to keep an eye to his horses.

“For my young lady has enow troubles on her plate wi’out being overset by a rascally Lunnon cabbie!”

He grinned and obeyed.

By the time they reached Cavendish Square, Miss Fell was restored to a semblance of calm. She knew she must soon see Lady Annabel at least, but dreading a meeting before she had put her thoughts in order, she decided to go into the house by the back way.

She and Mary entered by the back door. As they passed the library, its door ajar, she heard talking ahead of her in the entrance hall. Unwilling to face even the servants, she slipped into the library, while Mary went on.

The morning had gone almost as badly for Major Charles Bowen. After a late night, he had woken early. He was all packed and completely prepared to leave for Northumberland by the time the clocks struck eight. He had breakfasted, the post chaise was waiting, and he suddenly realized that he could not possibly call on Richard Carstairs at such an unconscionably early hour, especially on such a delicate errand.

He kicked his heels for an hour and then decided he could brook no more delay. Telling the coachman to pick him up in Cavendish Square at ten o’clock, he set off on foot for the Carstairs residence, hoping thus to waste another few minutes without further exacerbating his impatience.

Bell opened the door. The butler was trying so hard to infuse his face with both approval and warning that he succeeded only in looking more wooden than ever.

The major asked for Mr. Carstairs.

“Mr. Carstairs h’is still h’above stairs, sir. Would you be wishful to ‘ave ‘im h’awoke?”.

“Damn! And Lady Annabel?”

“Not yet down, but h’I believe she is taking breakfast h’in ‘er room. H’I shall h’inform ‘er ladyship that you are ‘ere, sir. Would you be so kind h’as to step into the library?”

Bell sent James scurrying to inform her ladyship. “And not a word to Miss Lucy, nor that Molly neither. We don’t want ‘er h’upset h’unnecessary.”

Lady Annabel, sipping her chocolate and half expecting the news, sent Vane to fetch Willett.

“He must be woken,” she told the valet.

“I very much fear, my lady, that Mr. Richard will have something of a head,” objected Willett primly.

“In his cups? I feared it. But do not tell me that Mr. Christopher’s Plimton did not pass on a certain secret recipe to you. He did? Try it.”

“Yes, my lady. I shall inform Major Bowen that Mr. Richard will be with him shortly.”

For the third time in a month, Richard awoke with a hangover. This was the worst of the three, and so devilish did he feel that he dared not even attempt to remember why, abandoning his usual sober habits, he had overindulged.

Willett handed him a glass containing a revolting-looking concoction and looked at him so disapprovingly that he drank it down. It tasted as frightful as it had looked, but miraculously his head seemed to be joined to his body again, though he still winced when Willett spoke.

“There is a gentleman to see you, sir, and her ladyship insists that you go down.”

Richard decided that the sound of his own voice would be even more painful, so he did not ask who the devil wanted to see him at such a devilish hour and why the devil his mother cared.

By the time he had limply thrust his arms into the coat held for him by the valet, James had appeared with a pot of coffee. Willett poured a cup.

“Drink this, sir,” he ordered, and Richard meekly obeyed. To his surprise it did not fight with the mess already in his stomach, but cleared his head still further. By the time he had staggered downstairs, he was able to straighten his cravat and brace his shoulders without more than a barely perceptible shudder.

He walked into the library and saw Charles.

“You!” he exclaimed in a voice of utter loathing.
“You
got me up at this ungodly hour! You had better have an exceptionally good reason, Major Bowen, or…or…”

“I have,” answered the major quietly but firmly. “I must leave today for my estate in Northumberland, and before I go I wish to ask for your sister’s hand in marriage.”

“I thought I had nipped that affair in the bud. Lucy promised to obey me!”

“Oh, she did,” the major said dryly. He explained just how Lucy had evaded her brother’s prohibitions.

“I assure you that I discovered this only yesterday, or I should have done something about it.”

“It is none of your business to enforce my orders!” Richard shouted. His own voice hurt his head so much that he listened almost with relief to the major’s quiet response.

“I hope to make it my business.” He paused. Richard said nothing, so he continued, “I shall lay my circumstances before you and hope that you may reconsider your animosity toward me. I cannot feel that I have done anything to deserve it. My intentions have never been anything other than honourable, and I love Lucy very much.”

The sincerity in his voice silenced Richard once more, so he went on to give details of his estate and his income.

“I can support Miss Carstairs in elegance if not in luxury. I shall make any settlement on her that you may suggest,” he finished.

“And what of your family?” Richard demanded dangerously. “What of your birth? What of your grandfather?”

“You know of my grandfather, or you would not ask,” said the major, his voice so low that Miss Fell, coming in by the back passage, heard nothing. “He was an honourable man, a fine, hardworking man. I am not ashamed of him. Allow me a moment to collect my thoughts, and I will tell you about my family.”

He turned to the fireplace and leaned against the mantel for a minute, deep in thought. Richard stood watching him grimly, his back to the door. At that moment, Miss Fell pushed it open and entered the room.

She saw Richard at once and started back. “I beg your pardon. I did not know anyone was here,” she murmured.

Richard and Major Bowen both turned toward her. For the first time she noticed the man by the fireplace. She gazed at him, then took a faltering step toward him,
holding out both hands.

“Charlie!” she cried, and fainted.

Chapter 15

Richard caught Miss Fell as she swooned. “Clara!” he cried.

“Rosalind!” cried the major, rushing forward.

They glared at each other.

“What,” inquired Major Bowen icily, “is my cousin doing in your house?”

“Believe me,” riposted Richard, “you cannot wonder more than I!”

At this point in the hostilities Mary darted in, having heard Miss Fell cry out, and found the two gentlemen eyeing each other furiously over the unconscious body in Richard’s arms, “just like two dogs wi’
but one bone,” as she later described it.

“And what have you done to the poor dear now, Mr. Richard?” she stormed.

“Done to her?” caught up the major. “I’d like to know just what he has done up to now!”

“Don’t ‘ee be a fool, too,” Mary advised him. She pushed Richard toward a sofa. “Tha’s plannin’ on holdin’ her all day? Set her down, set her down, my poor young lady, such troubles as she’s had.”

By the time Lady Annabel and Lucy, hearing the commotion, came running down, Mary had the gentlemen organized. Richard had been ordered to send James with a note to Dr. Knighton. Charles had been set to chafing Miss Fell’s hands.

“Since,” as Mary said skeptically, “tha says as she’m thy cousin.”

Neither gentleman was permitted to take time to discuss the situation. In fact, once they realized that they were quarreling while “Miss Fell” suffered, they hurried to obey the little maid’s instructions.

Lady Annabel, Lucy and Richard, who had rapidly dispatched James, all entered the library at once.

“Charles!”
exclaimed Lucy. “Whatever has happened?”

Lady Annabel, Richard and Mary all looked at him expectantly.

“It seems that your Miss Fell is my Cousin Rosalind,” he said soberly. “How she came here, I cannot guess. Surely you can enlighten me?”

“I told you, Charles, how Richard and Tony found her on the moors, and she had lost her memory.”

“If, as I gather, she recognized you, major, then she may have recovered and be able to tell us what happened,” Lady Annabel pointed out.

Richard had displaced Charles at Rosalind’s side and was gently bathing her brow with lavender water procured by Mary. Now her eyelids fluttered open. Her green eyes regarded him with puzzled distress, and moved to the others.

“Charlie,” she whispered, “I found you. My head hurts so. What has happened?”

“To bed,” pronounced Lady Annabel firmly. “Major Bowen, would you be so good as to carry her up to her chamber?”

Richard looked as if he would have liked to dispute her choice, but held his tongue. Miss Fell…no, Rosalind had not appeared to recognize him. She had appealed to her cousin, not to him. And she was in pain. He would not add to it with an argument. Suddenly he realized that his own headache had vanished, and he blessed Willett silently.

Lady Annabel instructed Lucy and Richard to remain in the library.

“Miss Fell cannot be questioned now,” she said. “I shall give her a sleeping draft, I think, to calm her; and then we shall all meet here and pool our information, if the major agrees.”

Major Bowen nodded, and she led him upstairs with his cousin in his arms. Richard watched, frowning. Then he turned with a sigh to Lucy, who was bubbling with questions.

“Yes, Major Bowen came to offer for you, and no, I did not have time enough to turn him down, though I intended to. Miss Fell…no, what the devil should I call her now? Your major would not thank me for addressing her as Rosalind, I suppose.”

“I think her name is Stuart, Richard. Charles has often spoken of her.  They were brought up as brother and sister. Had he only described her appearance I might have guessed the truth. How silly men are! And what do you mean, you were going to turn Charles down?”

“Just that, Lucy. However, I suppose I must reconsider. I should find it difficult to forbid you to marry the cousin of the woman whose hand I have sought in marriage.”

“You have, Richard? Oh, that is famous! Then Rosalind will be my sister as well as my cousin.”

“You are too precipitate. She refused me,” he admitted wryly. “Nor do I intend simply to give you permission to marry Bowen. You are young yet, Lucy. I should not be doing my duty were I to allow you to join yourself for life to the first man with whom you fancy yourself in love.”

“I do not ‘fancy’ myself in love,’” objected Lucy indignantly. “If you will not forbid us nor yet give us permission, then what are you going to do?”

“I shall ask you to wait, and promise that if you are both of the same mind in six months, then I shall withdraw my objections.”

“Six months! As well say forever!”

“You are only demonstrating your youth, Lucy. You may see him, correspond with him freely. Do you fear you cannot hold his love so long? If so, better to find out before the wedding.”

“Charles and I trust each other absolutely. Very well, if you are determined to be disagreeable, I suppose we shall have to submit to your unjust decrees.”

“Lucy, I do not wish to be disagreeable! I want what is best for you.” There was pain in his voice that melted Lucy’s stiff hauteur. She remembered that he was not as happy as she in his love. She hugged him.

“I know, Richard. I am sorry I spoke so. I will wait and be good, and I am sure Clara—Rosalind—-will marry you in the end.”

“She would not tell me why she refused me,” he muttered hoarsely, his head buried in his sister’s hair.
My face,
he was thinking, what woman would want a husband who looks like a Red Indian?

“I daresay, dearest,” said Lucy wisely, sounding very like her mother, “that it was some reason that a gentleman would consider nonsensical. Only think, everything is changed now, so you may start all over again and woo her properly this time.”