by Archer, Kate
He was certain nobody would ever be in charge of Lady Sybil Hayworth.
But then, if he were to be ruled, what a charming ruler she would be. Would he really mind being bossed this way and that by that darling girl?
He rather thought he would not mind much at all.
It was settled then. Lord Blanding’s dislike of him must be defeated. At all costs.
*
After Betty left the room, Sybil pulled back the curtains and gazed over the Yorkshire countryside. The moon had risen full and cloaked the landscape with a deep and captivating blue. A dog barked in the distance, no doubt belonging to a farmer and valiantly keeping the chicken coop safe from a hungry fox.
As much as the scene was pleasant and she wished to think of nothing that was not happy, her thoughts insisted on drifting to Lord Lockwood. He was in the house somewhere, though she did not allow herself to speculate where, or what he wore when he was alone. At least, she scolded herself and thought of church whenever her mind drifted in that direction.
How unfair that he must be who he was. How interesting it might be if he had come as Lord Hugh’s friend and been wholly unknown before he arrived. Yet, that was not who he was, and she was forevermore required to only admire his powerful arms from a distance.
If he had come unknown, what might her feelings be? She could not rightly say. If he was not the sort of gentleman who would cause damage to her friend and then wager on the temperament of her own father, how might she receive him? She did not know. If he had not been thoroughly conquered by Poppy Mapleton, which of course he must be though he hid it so cleverly, what might his attitude toward her be? Might it have stayed the same as it had been before she apprised him of her father’s feelings toward him? That, she would never know.
Of course, none of it mattered. It should not weigh upon her in the slightest. Yet, it did. She knew she should be looking forward to her second season and encountering the man she would eventually marry, but who would he be? She found the idea rather depressing and unwelcome.
She did allow herself to admit, at least, that she would miss her various encounters with Lord Lockwood. Before the scheme against Cassandra had become known, what fun they’d had at various balls and routs. She would arrive, certain that he would be there as he always did ask what entertainments she would attend. She would pretend she did not see him, or look for him, until the moment he was before her. She would pretend she had not even noticed that he once again took the dance before supper, though she would feel a thrill over it.
Then, his strong arms would lead her through the steps. She could not have helped noticing them, or noticing how other gentlemen felt weak and thin in comparison.
Thinking of his arms, as she far too often did, made her despair that she would find another gentleman who would make her feel as secure. Her friend Cassandra might prefer the tall and lean Lord Hampton, but she could not like it. It did not seem manly enough. In any case, while Lord Hampton had no doubt served creditably in the war, nobody spoke of his exploits. Nobody wondered how he’d got out alive after so many daring escapades.
Sybil closed the curtains and hopped into her bed. She blew out the last candle and said softly, “That is all there is to it, then. I must only meet a man with powerful arms and a bold nature who my father does not despise and then Lord Lockwood will be entirely replaced in my thoughts.”
*
The next days were filled with wagers of every sort. Lord Lockwood would insist on following her father from place to place and Lord Blanding would insist on finding wagers everywhere he looked.
This day, the rain came down and Sybil’s father had bet the lord to choose a raindrop and whoever’s drop reached the bottom of the windowpane first won five pounds.
Lord Lockwood was the victor, though Sybil could not say if he would have thrown it had he the ability to direct a rain drop to slow its journey.
Few noticed the wager of the raindrops, as it was also the day of Poppy and Sir John’s departure. Sir John was in a near frenzy over the weather. Would not Miss Mapleton catch a chill in the damp? Would one brazier be enough—perhaps another would assist in drying out the air inside the carriage?
“Heavens, Sir John,” Lady Hugh said, “I am far less worried for Poppy’s health than I am for your own. It is you who will be exposed to the elements, riding alongside the carriage. Perhaps you might wish to rethink your plan, as you have no dire need to travel. We can just as easily send a footman.”
This appeared to strike Sir John as an outrage. “Lady Hugh,” he said, in the most determined tone, “I appreciate your concern for my person, but I will not be turned from my purpose. Though, I would advise the cook to make Miss Mapleton’s tea very hot and dispense with the idea of lemonade altogether.”
If Sybil had to conjecture, she might think Sir John was rather besotted by Poppy. It was a shame—a local baron of middling looks could not expect to win the lady renowned to be the beauty of the north. Poppy was born for greater things. She would go to town for her season and she would rule it as a queen. She would have her pick of gentlemen. Poor Sir John could only watch her carriage depart Yorkshire for London and dream of her as she drifted ever further from him. Lord Lockwood would be on the scene in London, dangling his dukedom before her. Sir John would be on his estate, working on his plans for his house and pining over what he could never hope to have.
Poppy, herself, came into the drawing room in high spirits. The rain had not seemed to dampen her enthusiasm for the journey by one jot.
Sir John rushed to her side. “Miss Mapleton,” he said, “I have given direction to make the tea very hot and insisted there are braziers put in the coach. Two braziers. I specifically requested two.”
“I am sure I should be well cared for,” Poppy said kindly. “In any case, there is a certain charm in a journey that is not entirely comfortable. One appreciates coming indoors at the end of it to dry off in front of a fire. Though, you may enjoy that change of state more than I, considering you will be a deal more wet.”
“The rain means nothing to me,” Sir John said courageously.
Lady Hugh, seeming to have a wish to pause Sir John in his heroics regarding the rain, said, “I would have advised you both to delay your departure by an hour or two if there seemed to be the slightest chance the rain would let up. As it is, I believe we will find things in this state all the day long. The roads will only deteriorate as time goes on and so you might as well go and not worry your father by arriving late.”
Poppy nodded. “Just as I see it.” She kissed both Lord and Lady Hugh on the cheek and curtsied to Lord and Lady Blanding and Lord Lockwood. She grasped Sybil’s hands and said, “My friend, I shall look forward to seeing you again in three days’ time.”
With that, Poppy Mapleton was escorted out to her carriage under what seemed to be every umbrella in the house. Sybil suspected Sir John had some prior conference with the footmen regarding the operation.
Sir John, already dripping, mounted Caesar and Poppy’s carriage set off. Sybil stole a look at Lord Lockwood. He did not even glance out the window!
Whatever his feelings were at knowing Miss Mapleton was departing his sphere for three days, the lord was a master at keeping them hidden.
As Poppy’s carriage made its way carefully toward her father’s estate, they were overtaken by four men on good horses, galloping as if they had no care for mud. The men clattered by and disappeared into the fog. Though Poppy had peered out the window at them, she did not make out that they were four well-heeled gentlemen headed toward the Montague estate.
*
Lady Montague had not found it convenient that it insisted on raining all day. The four gentlemen had arrived, which she did find convenient, but there had been the matter of what to do with her husband. Had the sun been out, she might have chased him from the house on some errand or other. However, rain meant he would wish to stay indoors with a book.
Lord Montague could not be a party to her plan
. She had realized long ago that he was not of a very practical turn of mind. Nor bold, for that matter. He was forever advising her to leave well enough alone. As if anybody ever got anywhere by leaving things alone!
Lord Montague had greeted Lords Dalton, Ashworth, Cabot and Grayson civilly enough and his wife had no doubt he’d do what he considered was his duty as a host. That was just what she did not want.
After the waterlogged gentlemen had been led upstairs to dry off and change into whatever they had managed to pack into their panniers, Lady Montague had come upon a rather brilliant idea.
“My love,” she’d said to her husband, “while I am admiring of how determined you are to host these gentlemen, I find I cannot ask it of you. It is too much.”
“What shall you do, then,” Lord Montague said drily, “throw them from the house as soon as they’ve got themselves into it?”
“Do not be absurd, it is a far easier problem to solve. I’ll say you were called away on an emergency, you are the magistrate after all, and then you can go to the dower house. You often go there since it has lain empty, I know you do. Think how peaceful it would be to take some books and I’ll send over some good dinners and bottles of claret and there is that snug little library with the oversized fireplace. Richards can attend you there. It would be far more pleasant for you and I cannot bear to think of you unhappy.”
Lord Montague, of course, found the idea alluring. He did go to the dower house on a regular basis and had long ago had it fitted out for his convenience. “I won’t say I’m against the idea,” he’d said. Then he had paused and looked at his wife quizzically. “As long as there is not to be any scheming. I know how much you wish to return to London, but there must not be scheming.”
Lady Montague had laughed at the notion. “Really, Montague,” she’d said. “Four young gentlemen highly placed are to come here and enter into some scheme with me? Does that sound altogether likely?”
The lord had muttered that he supposed not and then happily made his way to the dower house.
As she congratulated herself on her cleverness, her guests descended to the drawing room. Tea had already been brought in, and Lord Dalton stared at the tray as if he looked for something that was not there. For that matter, they all did. Was there some new accoutrement to tea that she was not aware of? Some latest London fashion to which she had been cruelly left behind on?
“Lady Montague,” Lord Ashworth said, “may we trouble you for some brandy?”
“Of course,” Lady Montague said, wondering how she had not thought of it. “It is only natural after a journey in this weather. James, do bring it in from the library.”
The footman hurried off. Lord Dalton said, “I presume we need not spend an hour discussing the weather or any other vague subject. You know our purpose.”
“Indeed,” Lady Montague said.
James came in with the brandy and glasses on a silver tray. He was nearly at a jog and his mistress imagined he was impressed at finding so many highly placed gentlemen in the house. He poured glasses with a shaking hand and Lady Montague said, “Leave the decanter and close the door behind you, James.”
After the door had shut, Lord Cabot said, “I must inquire, does your husband approve of our purpose here?”
This elicited a laugh from Lady Montague. “Good Lord, he knows nothing of your purpose, nor would he favor it. Fortunately, he is not fond of houseguests. I’ve packed him off to the dower house, you will not see him.”
The men nodded, as if they approved of the lady’s practical thinking.
“We came here precipitously,” Lord Ashworth said, “in the hopes that you might have an idea on how we are to rescue our friend.”
“You were right to do so,” Lady Montague said. “Whatever the world may think of me, I am never without a plan. It all begins with this letter.”
Lady Montague picked up a folded piece of paper and read it to the gentlemen of the pact.
After she’d finished, Lady Montague said, “You see, Her Grace cannot even be bothered to put pen to paper, it is always a secretary who writes. The first time I received a communication such as this, I was deeply offended. But, as it turns out, that is how she writes to everybody, including her own sons. It will be very convenient for our purposes. We will send Lord Lockwood off to York.”
“I see,” Dalton said. “Lure him away with a forged note purporting to be from his mother. Then, we can grab him while he is out of view of Lord Hugh.”
Lady Montague sighed. However lofty these gentlemen might be, their thinking lacked a certain finesse. “Grab him? May I point out that you have already tried that gambit? Gentlemen, it is not Lockwood we must work on, it is Lady Sybil while he is off the premises. Do not you see? Attempting to manhandle him away is only a temporary solution. We must convince Lady Sybil she will not have him. It is the difference between merely pushing an enemy over a hill and then waiting for them to come back again, or permanently pulling up a drawbridge and locking it forevermore against them.”
“I understand your reasoning, but how is Lady Sybil to be convinced?” Lord Dalton asked. “I do not know the lady well, other than she has always seemed prickly, but why would she not seize hold of the chance of becoming a duchess?”
“Dear Lord Dalton,” Lady Montague said condescendingly, “you do not understand that family at all.”
After Lady Montague had outlined her plan, Dalton drained his brandy and looked at his friends. Down to a man, the gentlemen were at once admiring and terrified of Lady Montague’s cunning.
Chapter Eleven
Richard stared in wonder at the letter Kingston had just brought into his bedchamber. Of all the people who might have written to him in Yorkshire, his mother was the very last he would have expected. How on earth did she even know he was here?
Dalton, probably. The man had likely told all and sundry that his friend had made a ridiculous run to the north—conveniently leaving out that he’d had to break out of Dalton’s house to do it. Then, some wag told some other wag, then it entered the realms of letter writing, made its way here and there and finally ended up on Her Grace’s desk.
Richard tore the letter open. As usual, some secretary or other had written it for her. He could almost picture her at once dictating the letter and talking to her parakeets, Ding and Dong. Her private drawing room was half taken up by a massive aviary for the two birds and nothing spared for their care, including a man whose sole job was to see to their health. There had been occasions, most particularly when he’d been at school, that the birds had even sent him a message—generally along the lines of: Ding and Dong pray you are diligent in your studies.
From the desk of Amelia Smythe.
Your mother wishes you to know that she arrives in York on the 21st for a particular engagement there. Lady Gravesley understands you are nearby and requests your presence at the Queen Anne on the 22nd and to remain in attendance until the 24th. She notes that your failure to appear will not assist whatever sympathetic feelings she may have for your current difficulties with your father. Further, whatever monies she may have jangling in her reticule while she stays in York will leave with her if she does not see you.
Richard laid down the letter. It was a typical sort of letter from his mother. Short, written by a secretary, getting straight to what she wanted, and not even signed. What on earth did she do in York?
He was ordered to appear on the morrow. It was dashed bad timing! He really felt he was making progress with Lord Blanding. Oh, the old soldier was still cool as ice, but had there not been the slightest of thaws? The slight crackling that foretells of spring?
On the other hand, whatever thaws had been accomplished had cost him over a hundred and twenty pounds. So far. While he had glibly talked of winning some of the money back at the regatta, he also feared that he’d end that particular day owing Lord Blanding over two hundred pounds.
Of course, should he win over Lord Blanding and overcome his ridiculous direction to his
daughter to have nothing to do with him, and then win over Lady Sybil, the terms of the pact would be satisfied and he’d have plenty of money. But how long would that take? He’d wish to accomplish the thing quickly, but Lord Blanding was proving to be a rather recalcitrant sort of fellow. Richard might have to go into next season still working on the man. How was he to eat?
Richard did not know his mother’s purpose for summoning him, but he knew his purpose in going—he’d need to wheedle some money from her, more than what she had jangling around in her reticule. She would not like it, but when he explained that he was to either fail to pay a wager or starve, she would probably give him something. Lady Gravesley was not, perhaps, the most affectionate mother, but she did have a sense of honor regarding bets and she would take it as a personal affront if one of her children were to starve to death.
In any case, it was only for a few days. There would be time when he returned to continue his work on Lord Blanding and ready himself for that confounded regatta.
“Kingston,” he said, “pack my bags for a two days’ journey, we go to York.”
“York!” Charlie said. “Now there’s a town I’d like to see. I’ll wager the theater is top notch.”
“Who says you are to go at all,” Kingston said, “and if you did go, do not imagine yourself lounging around at the theater.”
“We’d better take him along,” Richard said. “I’d not like to think of him here, left to his own devices. We go to the Queen Anne.”
“A hotel!” Charlie said. “They say the chops are first rate at hotels. Your mum ought to get a proper thankee for thinkin’ of it.”
Kingston promptly cuffed Charlie on the head. “You will not see her, you little reprobate!”
“Kingston is right about that,” Richard said, laughing. “My mother would have you hauled off as soon as you opened your mouth.”
