by Dorothy Mack
“Well, I don’t suppose we’ll ever know now. They’ll not dare show their faces in this neighbourhood again once word gets around,” pronounced Lord Brestwick.
“Did you get a good look at them?” Lord Henley spoke for the first time.
“No, they wore masks, of course, but they were both of average size and quite young, I believe, dressed almost as gentlemen except for wearing coachmen’s broad-brimmed hats — an attempt at a disguise, I should say. I cannot be certain, but I may have wounded one of them in the arm or shoulder.”
“Heavens, you might have been hurt yourself!”
Jason smiled into Miss Hardwicke’s wide green eyes, enjoying the rush of delicate colour that surged to her cheeks. “No one took any harm, with the possible exception of one would-be thief.” He offered a compliment on the state of preservation of the marvellous old hall where they were sitting, and the others followed his lead in abandoning the subject of the holdup.
The conversation became general, thanks to Lady Henley’s fine sense of social usage, which would not permit her daughters to monopolize the guest’s attention. She was ably abetted by Lord Altern, and for once, Lord Brestwick demonstrated some interest in his family gathering. Sometime during the next half-hour, Miss Latham unobtrusively changed to a chair near her male cousin. Neither contributed much to the talk, but Miss Latham at least appeared mildly attentive whenever Lord Altern’s gaze happened to fall upon her. Young Henley, after a brief show of interest, sank into a state of abstraction that wasn’t pierced until Oliphant re-entered the room pushing a wheeled trolley containing refreshments shortly after Miss Latham had pulled the bell cord.
“It looks as if you were wrong, Cleo.” Miss Hardwicke’s triumphant comment brought her cousin’s questioning eyes to hers when they were all served. This bright remark fell into one of those unplanned silences that often occur when a new element has been added. She turned to an interested Lord Altern and explained, “At dinnertime, Cleone had the kitchen hold back that spice cake you just refused. You’ve disproved her theory that all men like a hearty cake.”
“I am persuaded the inner workings of the kitchens can hold little interest for any gentleman,” Lady Henley said to squelch her daughter.
“In the interest of accuracy, I fear it is my sad duty to take exception to all statements just made,” Lord Altern demurred with a twinkle. “My refusal of that delectable-looking cake was no refutation of Miss Latham’s theory but due solely to a large meal lately eaten. On the other hand, it should be the simplest thing in the world to disprove such a sweeping generalization. One has only to locate a single exception, after all, which brings us to Lady Henley’s equally sweeping generalization. Having come fairly recently to the responsibility of a large establishment, I am still fascinated by the myriad complexities that go into its smooth functioning, including the workings of the kitchens, so I must enter a caveat, ma’am.”
“Hah! They lost a diplomat when you returned to the land, Altern,” snorted Lord Brestwick in amusement. “How to disagree with everybody and offend nobody!”
“A valuable accomplishment, you will agree, sir?”
“One you wouldn’t dare to claim if you value your neck,” the other rebutted.
Lord Altern’s grin was for his host, but he had been aware during the light repartee that Miss Latham’s glance had travelled from her pouting cousin to the uncertainty on Lady Henley’s features before returning to her sewing. He suspected she was firmly disciplining a quiver at the corner of her mouth and thought fleetingly that it would be pleasant to share her enjoyment, but she avoided his eyes.
“To claim it would be to lose it, sir?”
“Exactly!” Lord Brestwick grunted as his limbs creaked in protest when he got out of his chair. “I’m for my bed. At my age one doesn’t keep late hours, but don’t let me drive you all away.” He said a brief general goodnight, then paused at the door to add, “Glad to have you here, Altern. Perhaps you’ll indulge me with a game of chess one evening. Cleone here gives me a fair battle, but she’s predictable, like the rest of her sex.”
“I’d be honoured, sir.” When the old gentleman left, Lord Altern re-seated himself, chuckling inwardly at the rueful little grimace that crossed Miss Latham’s calm features momentarily.
The rest of the company chatted on for another few minutes until Lady Henley gave the signal for the ladies to retire. The gentlemen rose and accompanied them to the door, where they all said their goodnights. Lord Altern responded to the dazzling smile bestowed upon him by Miss Hardwicke, moved by admiration of her captivating beauty. Conscious of the butler hovering nearby to escort him to his room, he spoke quietly as the women headed up the staircase.
“A moment, Miss Latham, please.”
A startled flash appeared in the deep-brown eyes that met his as she turned, one hand on the smooth oak railing.
“It is my honour to be the bearer of a message to you.”
“A message for me?” repeated the mystified girl.
“Yes. My aunt, Lady Pendleston, was most anxious that I convey her fondest love to you at the earliest opportunity.”
“Lady Pendleston is your aunt? Dear Godmama! Thank you so much, Lord Altern. Goodnight again.”
Jason’s appreciative eyes registered each tiny movement as Miss Latham’s composed expression was replaced first by astonishment, then delighted comprehension, but he was unprepared for the radiance that her first real smile in his presence brought to her oval face. The warmth of it took him completely by surprise, and he could only stare like a looby until she disappeared from view.
In his bemused state he was unaware that Lord Henley had melted away in the meantime or that Miss Hardwicke, who had been watching the scene from a position farther along the railing on the first floor, was now hurrying after her mother and sister with a thoughtful frown marring her beautiful face.
CHAPTER 4
Cleone came slowly awake to the sounds of rhythmic tapping. She smiled to herself at this evidence that the industrious woodpecker that inhabited the tree outside her window was going about his morning chores on schedule. Her eyelids lifted and her gaze, unfocused at first, drifted to the small Chinese rug in front of her desk. Ah, the stray sunbeam she sought was illuminating the soft greens and golds in the design; it was going to be a lovely day. Her lips curved again as she snuggled deeper into the bedcovers, revelling in the luxury of a few peaceful moments before preparing herself for the day’s activities.
It wasn’t that she resented the extra work that fell to her lot when the entire family was in residence, or mourned the concomitant lessening of time that she could give to her painting — soon enough would the fateful day arrive when she was no longer needed at Bramble Hall and would find herself alone with more hours to fill than she cared to contemplate. She recognized without conceit that her presence here as a buffer was invaluable to the physical and emotional comfort of her great-uncle and his hapless family. This was well worth the sacrifice of her privacy, it went without saying, but it made those rare moments of perfect privacy all the more valuable.
Elbows outflung on her pillows, fingers loosely linked beneath her head, Cleone lay on her back, eyes roving over the brightly coloured design of exotic flowers and birds on a white background that lined the canopy over her bed as she made a mental list of the day’s chores. She must remember to make out a revised menu for today’s dinner to bring with her to the breakfast parlour. After that reserved ham appeared in all its glory tonight, the remains would come in handy for tomorrow’s breakfast. Lord Altern was a big man and no doubt possessed a hearty appetite.
Cleone’s eyes stopped tracing the outlines of the fantastic birds above her head as she conjured up an image of their surprising houseguest. Now why should that particular adjective have popped into her mind, she wondered, in preference to more obvious descriptions such as compellingly attractive, charming, or intelligent, all of which attributes were readily apparent on first meeting Lord Altern? It
must be because he was not what she had been expecting, though until the moment he was actually presented to her, she had not been aware that she had formulated a mental picture of Emerald’s suitor. And Lord Altern did not fit the picture.
She closed her eyes, trying to recall her initial impression. It had been the sheer size and vitality of the man striding into the great hall that had registered first, followed almost instantly by an unbidden conviction that he was too old for Emerald. For the next few moments, her mind had run on two tracks: one attending to the conversation going on around her, the other sternly reminding her that it wasn’t her notions of suitability that signified — if Emerald found him to her liking and her mother and grandfather considered him a desirable parti, that was all that mattered. Much older men than Lord Altern had succumbed to the potent appeal of youth and beauty; it was a common enough occurrence. Had she not concluded that her cousin needed a strong husband? There was no doubting that Lord Altern filled that requirement. It must be that she had expected more outward signs of his passion in a man whose eagerness to pursue a courtship had caused him to follow the object of his affection straightaway into the country. Not that anyone but a mooncalf would wear his heart on his sleeve for all to see, but surely there should be some distinguishing show of attention toward the beloved object? She had not been able to discern that Lord Altern allotted Emerald one jot more of his courtesy than any other person in the room; his charm had been indiscriminately bestowed.
As Cleone stared fixedly up at the canopy lining, she berated herself for still possessing silly romantical notions at the advanced age of three-and-twenty. It was early days yet, and the lovers’ reunion had taken place in a crowd of interested spectators. As one of those interested spectators, she should be grateful to be spared the embarrassment attendant on knowing oneself always to be de trop in the company of lovers. Lord Altern’s breeding was such that he managed to convey pleasure in everyone’s company. He and Emerald would find ample opportunity to explore each other’s personalities during the upcoming week.
Having reached this conclusion, the young woman on the bed threw back the covers and swung a pair of long shapely legs over the side of the bed, stretching mightily, cat-fashion. She pattered barefoot over to the window to verify the weather, searching among the branches of the oak for a glimpse of her woodpecker. After a minute or two, she gave up looking for his red head and sat at her satinwood desk to prepare the revised menu for Mrs. Willet. She was still engaged in this task when Tilly entered with warm water. Questioned, the housemaid assured her mistress that all early-morning activities were proceeding on schedule, that Lord Altern’s man seemed a very superior sort of individual, quite pleasant and condescending to the resident servants. He had thanked them very civilly for his master’s shaving water and praised the comfort of his own quarters.
“I trust his master was equally comfortable?” murmured Cleone, more or less to herself.
“Oh, yes, Miss Cleone,” Tilly responded eagerly. “Gregson said as how Lord Altern found the mattress just to his liking and he desired Gregson to find out what time breakfast was served.”
“Thank you, Tilly, that will be all.” Cleone smiled dismissal at the little maid in her crisp white apron. It seemed Lord Altern was disposed to be a considerate guest, which would be a big help in the days to come.
Cleone’s own toilette was slightly delayed and she was just tying the white sash at the waist of her cool pink muslin gown when Emerald entered after a perfunctory knock. She concealed her surprise at this unexpected happening — Emerald rarely sought out her company — behind a welcoming smile.
“I fear I am a bit behind schedule this morning,” she remarked apologetically, reaching for her hairbrush.
Her cousin eyed the golden-brown fall of hair that reached almost to Cleone’s waist with something akin to distaste in her green eyes. “Why do you not cut that mane of yours? Surely it would be easier to handle if it were shorter.”
“Actually, no,” Cleone responded pacifically. “I did cut it considerably shorter some years ago and found that it was not so easy to anchor in its knot. The ends escaped, it was forever needing to be redone, and that, you know, is a deplorable waste of one’s time.” Deftly she seized the mass at the back of her head and began twisting it up.
“Then get it cropped. Long hair has been out of fashion for ages.”
“And have the bother of nightly curl papers and hairdressers every month or so? No, I thank you. This suits me very well.” She began to anchor the knot with pins as she spoke, aware that Emerald was still watching her critically.
“That dress is a pretty colour, but do you not think it too young for you?” she offered with a casual air.
Cleone’s hands stilled and she stepped back to take another look at her nicely curved but slender-waisted figure in the softly gathered dress. “Oh dear, do you really think so? Perhaps I should change. No —” with a glance at the French clock on the mantel — “it is getting late, and to be coming down late for breakfast is just what would put me in your grandfather’s black books. We want to keep him calm and agreeable during Lord Altern’s visit.” She resumed her pinning, but her eyes in the mirror followed her cousin’s aimless actions as she wandered about the sunny bedchamber, occasionally picking up and examining an ornament in a desultory manner. Something was on Emerald’s mind. She had not come here to critique her cousin’s hairstyle and wardrobe. Cleone continued to add pins, but she was on the alert for some indication of the younger girl’s real purpose.
Emerald returned from her tour of the bedchamber to stand behind her cousin. “Why did Lord Altern speak privately to you after the rest of us had gone up to bed last night?” she asked bluntly. There was a little smile on her lips, but she did not quite achieve the air of nonchalance for which she strove, and Cleone, meeting narrowed green eyes in the mirror, was at last enlightened. It would be ludicrous to employ the word “jealousy” in the circumstances, but Emerald was obviously intent on protecting her interests.
Cleone hid her amusement and replied matter-of-factly, “It seems my godmother, Lady Pendleston, is Lord Altern’s aunt, and she particularly desired him to carry a message to me. There!” Her fingers pushed one final pin into the shining knot, and she turned to the wardrobe to extract a handkerchief, which she placed in the pocket of her gown. “Shall we go downstairs?”
Miss Hardwicke did not return her cousin’s smile. “And you were unaware of this circumstance?” she probed. “You said nothing about any connection with Lord Altern earlier.”
“I expect Lady Pendleston must be related on his mother’s side,” Cleone offered cheerfully. She opened the door and stood back, waiting for her cousin to move. “His name meant nothing to me.”
Emerald’s gaze had lost nothing of its sharpness as she sought to assess her cousin’s veracity. Cleone looked back at her limpidly, and at last, with almost discernible reluctance, the younger girl preceded her cousin through the doorway.
Wending their way along corridors toward the back staircase, Cleone chatted brightly about the beautiful weather they were having, seemingly unaware of the silence of her companion. She was mischievously debating whether to offer a suggestion or two for Lord Altern’s entertainment when Emerald asked abruptly, “What was the message?”
“I beg your pardon?”
They were halfway down the stairs now, within view of the breakfast parlour doors.
When Cleone turned her head in puzzlement, her cousin laid a detaining hand on her arm. “The message Lord Altern delivered from your godmother. What was it?”
“Why, what should it be except that she desired him to convey her affectionate greetings to me?”
“Why could he not have passed on the message when we were all in the hall? Surely there was nothing so very private about it.”
“I am persuaded Lord Altern is far too socially adept to single out one individual in a group to whom to address remarks that could be of interest to no one else.”
Cleone’s tones were dulcet, and she gently detached her arm from her cousin’s grip. “Shall we proceed?” She gestured toward the breakfast parlour with her head and continued on down the stairs.
Miss Hardwicke barely had time to remove the scowl from her brow before her cousin stepped through the doors opened for them by a footman. The inhabitants of the pleasant easterly-facing room with its painted yellow walls and lovely oriel windows looked up and saluted the newcomers, who were the last of the family to arrive.
“Good morning, everyone; so sorry to be late.” Cleone smiled a general greeting and slipped into a chair between her uncle and Cecily while Emerald took her place between her brother and Lord Altern, ignoring the former to smile ravishingly at the latter.
“Well, I must say you girls look fresh and summery this morning,” declared Lady Henley, “in your pretty pink and yellow gowns.”
An imp of mischief nearly prompted Cleone to ask Isabella if she didn’t think the pink dress rather too young for her, but she gave herself a stern lecture on the virtue of turning the other cheek and merely smiled her thanks for her share of the compliment.
“Thank you, Mama,” said Emerald, dimpling. “Isn’t it a lovely day? What would you like to do this morning?” This last was directed to Lord Altern, who returned her smile with interest.
“I must just have a word with my coachman after breakfast, and then I shall be completely at your disposal.”
Philip immediately suggested that they conduct their guest around the estate on horseback, but his sister countered with a plan to show him the grounds and gardens on foot before venturing farther afield. Cecily voted in favour of the rose garden, which was at its showy best at present, and the three squabbled good-naturedly while Lord Altern looked on with amusement.
Meanwhile, Cleone, who had a healthy appetite, was making a very good meal of bacon, eggs, and apple spice muffins, the recipe for which Mrs. Willet guarded jealously. When their guest reached for his third one, she made a mental note to tell the cook how well-received were her special offerings.
