by Archer, Kate
The carriages had been loaded with remarkable alacrity. They set off.
Henry watched them disappear down the drive.
She was gone, out of his reach. The next time he saw her, she’d be married.
It was all up with him.
*
Penny had been grateful that they’d not got home until after three and had not had time for more than a few hours nap before it was time to set off. She had not slept at all and did not wish to speak at all. Fortunately, Kitty and Mrs. Wellburton were exhausted and dozed on and off so the coach went on quiet.
She’d almost said yes. Then, she had declined. Had she made a mistake? It was all such a muddle!
She could not forget that he’d said he loved her. She loved him, too. There was no point in denying that. For a while, she’d fooled herself that she loved only the idea she’d had of him, and did not love the man he really was.
Had that been true, he would not have affected her when he came to stay in her father’s house. She certainly would not have ridden his horse. A lady does not put herself in peril for a man she used to love.
What did it matter, though? She had refused him. He would not ask again.
She supposed she had been right to refuse him. She really could not imagine what life would be like, married to a gentleman who was by turns charming and cruel.
At least she knew what she wanted, even if it was not to be particularly exciting. She would marry somebody safe. Somebody who never said a cross word. She might not end deliriously happy, but she could go forward without fear of being bruised.
She might consider Mr. Wallington. He’d always paid her marked attention. As marked, anyway, as he dared to. He was exceedingly retiring and spoke of the quiet comfort of his country library and his collection of dead butterflies. He’d had nothing at all to do with the war. Nobody was certain why, though there might be no end of reasons—he had a limp, was said to be a pacifist, and rumored to bruise easily. He would not enthrall her, but he would be no danger to her.
She must just set her mind to it. She must only dismiss thoughts of any other gentleman.
Penny paused. Poor Mr. Wallington was so retiring that she suspected she might have to propose to herself. And then, there was her father. How was the slight and near-silent Mr. Wallington to approach her father? She supposed she’d have to do that, too. Of course, she had never seen the gentleman on horseback. He would be one of those who only rode in carriages. As a result, his calves would be horribly thin.
She must stop thinking of gentlemen’s legs! Or a particular gentleman’s legs!
Penny heaved a sigh.
Or eyes that crinkled at the corners. Or pleasing height and broad shoulders. Or lovely chestnut hair. Or a particular timbre of voice.
After all, could she not entertain herself with children? Could she not make her children her life’s work?
Penny grimaced as she thought of the means of actually getting children from Mr. Wallington.
“Oh bother!” she said to herself.
*
Jarvis was not certain what to do with his master. The day was not half over and so far none of it was as it should be.
For one thing, much to his surprise, the carriage Montrose had mentioned the evening before had actually arrived at six. He’d been certain it had been some low taunt to himself, but he’d watched from a hall window as the ladies of the house departed.
He’d not been the least sorry to see Dora and her bold talk leave his vicinity, though he was somewhat muddled over the idea that he’d been wrong about the carriage coming at all. He’d since gathered that the ladies set off for Lord Mendbridge’s estate in Devon.
Then, there was his master to consider. The night before, he’d refused to be undressed and Jarvis heard him moving around the room until well after seven that morning. They had been supposed to set off for the races at nine, and Mendbridge had left in good time. However, when Jarvis had entered his lord’s room to dress him, he’d found him asleep in his clothes. After Lord Cabot opened his eyes, he’d practically thrown Jarvis from the room and said, “The races can go to the devil.”
What did it all mean? He might think, under usual circumstances, that his lord suffered in the head from too jolly a time the night before. But to send the races to the devil? That was unheard of.
No matter, it was past eleven and he could hear his lord had risen. He hurried in with the basin of water that he’d been reheating all morning.
One of the first things Jarvis had ever learned about being a valet was to pretend that nothing at all was amiss, even if everything was amiss. That knowledge, he thought, would come in handy just now.
“My lord,” he said, just as he said it every morning.
His lord sat on the side of the bed. “That’s it, Jarvis. It’s all up.”
Jarvis momentarily froze. That kind of talk could only mean one thing. His lord had lost heavily at the races. So heavily that they were entirely out of funds.
But how could it be? His horse had won! Good Lord, he must have bet on another race and lost spectacularly.
Jarvis collected himself and said, “Your father is sure to step into the breach, my lord.”
“My father?” Lord Cabot asked. “How is my father to convince a lady who has declined me to change her mind?”
Jarvis set the basin of water down, more lost than ever. “A lady?” he asked.
“Miss Darlington. She’s declined. Oh, come on, you know all about it. I insulted her, remember? Well, as it turns out, she has no intention of ever forgetting about it.”
“I am surprised, my lord,” Jarvis said, the last evening’s conversation racing through his mind with incredible speed.
“So was I,” Lord Cabot said.
Jarvis had not known his master intended on securing Miss Darlington. Of course, he’d realized Lord Cabot liked the lady and was put out about not being forgiven over some ill-chosen words. But this new development put the conversation in the servant’s hall in an entirely new light.
The valet staggered ever so slightly and gripped the bedpost to steady himself. If the announcement of the coach that was to come at six had never been about himself, then had anything they’d said been about himself? My God. When he’d left them, he heard one of them say, “Why does the rube think we’re talking about him?”
What if it had not been about him at all? What if they had been speaking about Lord Cabot and Miss Darlington? It was Miss Darlington who was to leave at six. Therefore, what if it had not been Dora who had been mortally offended by himself, but it had been Miss Darlington offended by Lord Cabot.
What had Dora said exactly? A lady that has seen the true temperament of a gentleman…once that terrible temperament is known, it’s known.
She spoke of temperament. Of permanence. Not ill-chosen words, not a verbal scuffle, not a transient disagreement, not a silly argument. Temperament. That’s what she said.
“Oh dear,” he said softly.
Lord Cabot looked up, annoyed. “What are you oh-dearing about, Jarvis?”
“I believe, my lord, that the words you spoke to Miss Darlington, the ones you regret, might have been taken to be less an aberration and more a revelation of your temperament. If I am right, Miss Darlington believes that those words you spoke showed her who you are. Who you really are. At least, that is what I can gather from the servants’ talk.”
Lord Cabot stared at his valet for a long and uncomfortable minute. Just as Jarvis was beginning to think that he’d taken too much of a liberty, that one ought to let the lords and ladies sort things out for themselves, his master threw himself prone on the bed.
Lord Cabot stared at the ceiling and said, “My God! She thinks she’s glimpsed the real man! She thinks me cruel at heart and only wearing a polite veneer for society’s sake. She thinks I wore a mask and let it slip for a moment! No wonder she prefers Burke.”
“But she could be made to see otherwise?” Jarvis said hopefully.
&n
bsp; Before Lord Cabot could answer, there was a soft knock at the door. Jarvis hurried to answer it, and to send away whoever it was. No doubt it was the diabolical Peg insisting she must tidy the room.
A footman stood at the door holding out a letter. “Just arrived and marked urgent,” he said as he handed it over.
*
After a long day of ruminating, Penny was relieved to see that they had arrived to Bishop’s Stortford. As Lord Mendbridge was a frequent visitor of the George, they were assured they would be afforded the best rooms available. In truth, Penny was not so certain the rooms had been available. They had been led into a dining room and served tea and it was nearly an hour before they were shown up. Maids were hurrying out as they came in and Penny saw one carrying a large portmanteau down the corridor.
She would have felt very sorry for whoever they had displaced, if she had the strength for it. As it was, all she wished to do was sleep. Whether or not sleep would find her, she did not know. But, she must at least pretend that it did. Mrs. Wellburton and Kitty had both expressed their concern that they did not think she’d slept a wink since yesterday.
They were right. She had not. Her thoughts and feelings had veered every which way, and they had left behind a dark heaviness she could not seem to lift from her shoulders.
It was as if the world had grayed and color had fled. Perhaps that was what happened when one became an adult. Truly an adult, not the silly girl that she had been, dreaming of romance.
The grown-up world was not as colorful, but perhaps it would be better for its clearer outlines.
“Do rest, Penny,” Kitty said. “Your aunt and I will take in a walk to stretch our legs, but you must rest. You are awfully pale. Dora will stay by you and get you anything you need.”
Penny had nodded, not at all sorry that those two pairs of astute eyes would cease to examine her. She laid herself down and closed her eyes, listening to their chatter about which direction to go and what sort of shawl would be best, and where that shawl might be located amongst their trunks.
Finally, Penny heard the door close behind them.
“Oh Dora,” she said quietly, “I hope and pray I have not made a mistake.”
“A mistake, miss? Have you changed your mind over what you fancy to wear on the morrow? Don’t fret over it, I can root through the other trunks easily enough.”
“Not with clothes,” Penny said. “With my life.”
As Dora was not a deep nor philosophical individual, Penny did not expect an answer to that particular statement. Nor did she get one.
*
Henry grabbed the letter from his valet’s hands. At the mention of it marked urgent, he’d had one thought. Had Miss Darlington’s carriage overturned or had she encountered some other trouble on the road?
As soon as he thought it, his logical mind pointed out that such news would be sent to Lord Mendbridge, not to the houseguest who had recently been declined. When he saw the handwriting, he felt even more foolish.
He handed the letter unopened back to Jarvis. “It is from my grandmother,” he said, lying back down on the bed and closing his eyes. “She thinks everything she says is urgent.”
Jarvis had taken the letter. He said, “I suspect word of your accident has reached her and she is worried over your health.”
Henry nearly smiled over the idea. “Jarvis, the dowager does not fret. It is far more likely that she has written that she orders me to stay alive, as she would find my death inconvenient.”
As his valet remained standing with the letter in hand, Henry said, “Open it and read it to me.”
Jarvis nodded and unfolded the paper. He cleared his throat.
“Cabot, take this letter as a direct order to recover from your foolish riding accident. I have been told the cause was a fox. It has long been a tradition in England to kill foxes, not be killed by them. If you have any sense at all, you are already on your feet so we’ll say no more about it.”
“Told you,” Henry said.
“There’s more, my lord,” Jarvis said.
Henry waved for his valet to continue.
“As you are staying in Mendbridge’s house, I will presume you have groveled your way back into his daughter’s good graces. If you have not, I advise some soul searching to discover why. A man’s character is revealed in a day, but in steady actions and consistent discourse.”
Jarvis paused, then he said, “She signs it, ‘your vaguely unhappy grandmother.’”
Henry sat up. For once, his grandmother had said something useful. A man’s character was not shown in a day! It was shown in a hundred days or a thousand days.
He slumped. Why did Miss Darlington not see that? She had known him for so many days and it had only been one day that he’d not conducted himself as he should.
Why could she not dismiss that one day?
Because she thought she’d glimpsed his temperament and she was frightened. How did he not realize that before? A lady put herself and her future, the quality of her life, her comfort, her very happiness, into her husband’s hands. An unhappy man might stay at his club and take a mistress. An unhappy man might arrange things so he hardly noticed he inhabited an unhappy marriage. A woman could not do so.
His intemperance in that moment, at that blasted Tudor ball, had the effect of showing Miss Darlington what she could expect for her future. Of course she was not willing to put herself in his hands.
She was not right in her assessment, he knew that. But he did not see any way to repair the situation.
They were meant for each other, but it would never be. All for one day.
Chapter Seventeen
In between Mrs. Payne’s fussing and bringing plates in and taking them back out again, Doom and Rupert had talked over the situation backwards and forwards.
It was like moving round pieces of a puzzle. If they were to tell Lord Cabot that Mr. Farthingale had attempted to poison his horse, did that not lead to the fact that Bella had been poisoned instead? Did that not then lead to the idea that Miss Darlington must have some knowledge of what had occurred? Though if they were not to tell him of it, then the lord would still think he owed whatever he’d borrowed from the scoundrel. Lord Cabot would end up paying the man who’d tried to kill his horse.
If they were to mention that Rupert had been drugged, that then led to the question of who had ridden Lord Cabot’s horse? Miss Darlington had, they both knew it. Did Lord Cabot already know it?
After all, she was in love with the lord, so the lord must be in love with the lady. At least, that was their reasoning.
But then, Doom had pointed out that Dora had said Miss Darlington had once admired the lord, but did no longer. They’d had a falling out.
They’d been going round in circles when Jarvis came into the room. As neither Doom nor Rupert were on the friendliest terms with the lord’s valet, they looked at him skeptically.
“And what brings you out of your fine surroundings to this low end of the property?” Rupert asked.
“Never mind your insults, Rupert,” Jarvis said. “Lord Cabot will be here in less than a quarter hour to inquire after your health. I came ahead to ensure that you do not make yourself ornery. As it is your natural stance, I thought you might make some effort to overcome it.”
“Why should he be anything other than what he is?” Doom asked. His defiance on behalf of his friend was well-received by Rupert, as evidenced by his vigorous nodding.
The valet appeared incensed and came closer to the bed. In a low voice, he said, “Your master has not had a very good twenty-four hours. His hopes on a particular matter have been dashed and that is all you need to know about it.”
“He won at the races,” Rupert pointed out.
“And we happen to know he don’t owe Farthingale a farthing.” Doom leaned back against the pillow, unsure if he was amused by the similarity of Farthingale and farthing, or alarmed that he’d brought up the idea at all.
Jarvis sniffed. “Naturally, low
born persons can only imagine that money must be the most important thing in the world. Cultured individuals perceive that there are other things of higher value. Love and honor, being examples for you to consider.”
Doom looked at Rupert. Rupert looked at Doom.
“Miss Darlington,” Doom said softly.
Jarvis went an interesting shade of pale. “Say no more! I’ll have no more talk of…how could you even know…that’s enough!”
Doom crossed his arms. “That is enough, I’d say.”
From outside the doors, Doom heard Mrs. Payne say, “Lord Cabot! Goodness, here you are. Yes, come in, love. I’ll take you to him.”
The three men inside the room stared at one another. Jarvis put his finger to his lips. Doom shook his head.
Lord Cabot was in the room in a moment.
The lord seemed surprised to see his valet there, but Jarvis mumbled something about checking on the invalids and hurried out.
Doom prepared to tell the lord the most remarkable story he’d ever hear.
Doom had finished his tale and Lord Cabot had stood silent for some moments. Glancing at Rupert, Doom wondered if he’d committed some kind of effrontery. He’d told the truth, but that didn’t mean a lord wouldn’t be affronted by it. They were a prickly species, as far as he could figure.
Lord Cabot began to laugh. Then, he abruptly stopped. “Wait,” he said. “I must be certain. Rupert, do you believe what this fellow has just said?”
Rupert nodded. “Aye, I do. And if you’re thinkin’ of kickin’ up a fuss about me missin’ the race, you might want to consider all the scrapes I done rescued you from since you were knee high.”
Lord Cabot blinked at his groom. “A fuss? Are you joking, man? Miss Darlington rode my horse!”
“We know it,” Rupert said gravely.
“Don’t you see?” Lord Cabot asked. “She loves me. She must do.”
“We know that too,” Doom said.
“My God, that brave, brave girl…” Cabot said, wonderment in his voice.
“Question is,” Doom said boldly, “what you gonna do about it?”
