by Dorothy Mack
She nodded and led the way to the older wing without another word, going ahead of him to check each corridor before beckoning him forward.
“Remind me to tell you sometime what a remarkable woman you are, Miss Latham,” Jason said cheerfully as she brushed past him into Philip’s bedchamber. He waited until she closed the door and came to assist him in laying the unconscious youth on the bed. “You make a perfect conspirator.” The smile he gave her was full of warmth and very intimate.
Cleone produced a somewhat shaky smile in return before she looked down at her cousin. “Where is he hurt?”
“A bullet went through his side, undoubtedly cracking at least one rib.” At her little gasp, he added, “Painful but not serious.” He came forward to help as she struggled to remove Philip’s coat. “The problem is how to keep the family from learning of his injury.”
She raised her head and stared at him. “But how can we? This will not heal overnight. Can we not simply say he had a spill from his horse this evening? That would not be difficult to believe, reckless as he always is on horseback.”
“I am of the opinion that it would be best if Henley were not known to be injured,” he replied, and his eyes conveyed more than the terse words. “There is still the question of repayment to Carberry too. Obviously, he will not be in any condition to undertake a meeting in the next few days.”
“But how can he repay him? You are not telling me the robbery was successful, are you?” she cried, looking alarmed for the first time.
“No, no. I simply meant that I’ll take care of the repayment,” Lord Altern said soothingly.
“But you cannot. We could not allow such a thing!”
“Of course you cannot pay my debts.” Philip’s weak voice drew two pairs of dark eyes back to his person.
“Of course I can, and will,” Lord Altern said, then addressing Miss Latham again, “If you will fetch whatever medical supplies you deem necessary to patching him up, I’ll endeavour to have the patient all ready for your return.” He read the indecision in her troubled face and added, “We may not have too much time before someone discovers us here, and then the fat will be in the fire.”
Cleone disappeared on the instant. Turning back to the youth on the bed, Lord Altern said briskly, “I’m going to draw off your boots now. Hang on.”
By the time he had Philip down to his small clothes, the viscount was covered with sweat and biting his lip, but he had made no outcry. Now he said again, “You cannot pay my debts.”
“I need scarcely say it will be a loan only. My position as a … friend of the family surely gives me that right.”
The significance of this suddenly dawned on Lord Henley. “Oh, I forgot about your marrying my sister,” he admitted, his voice still weak. “I suppose if you are going to become a member of the family, that makes a difference.”
Jason wiped the viscount’s face with his own handkerchief. “Yes, I intend to become a member of your family,” he allowed coolly just as Cleone reappeared carrying a basin in her hands and a bundle under her arm.
He outlined his plan while Cleone cleaned the wound, applied basilicum ointment, and rebandaged it, strapping the ribs tightly. “You,” he said, addressing Philip, “will accompany me to Brighton when I leave tomorrow. You will be in agony with the toothache, which will account for any stiffness and pain. I will offer to take you into Brighton to have it drawn. That will satisfy things at this end and will serve to account for a quiet stay in town too. We’ll consider how best to go about settling the other matter once we’re safely in Brighton.”
Cleone had not said one word during her swift and efficient medical procedures. Now, as she helped Philip into a clean nightshirt, she looked at him with infinite sadness. “How could you do it, Philip? How could you stoop to dishonesty — to stealing to get out of your difficulties?”
Philip flushed a dark red and protested, “It wasn’t! I didn’t — that is, I did of course, but I was going to make it right later.” He was in dead earnest, gripping his cousin’s hand as she pulled up the sheet over him.
“How could you ever make it right if you had paid the man with his own money?”
“But I was going to pay it back to him later without his ever knowing — about the robbery, I mean. All I needed was a bit more time to raise the money from friends, but I had to get the ring back right away.” As his audience looked at him in disbelief, he went on, “Don’t you see, I planned to play cards with him again in a few weeks and pay it back that way.”
A choking sound from Lord Altern broke the silence that followed this remarkable explanation.
“You mean,” said Cleone, slower to grasp his intent, “that you planned to lose the same amount to Lord Carberry a second time to square things with your conscience?” Her shocked eyes flew from Lord Altern’s, alight with laughter, to Philip, looking up at her expectantly. “I shall never understand men,” she muttered.
“We are not all alike,” Lord Altern put in dryly. “Now that we have dealt with the morality of the issue, I suggest you try to get some rest,” he told Philip. “You have another long drive ahead of you tomorrow.”
Cleone had been preparing a glass while he spoke, and now she presented it to her cousin. “It’s laudanum. It will help you sleep.”
He protested but was overruled by the two strong-willed individuals standing over his bed.
“I will dispose of the water and the bloodstained clothing,” Lord Altern said, taking Cleone by the hand and leading her over to the door. “You go to bed now.”
“I don’t know how we shall ever be able to thank you for what you have done tonight.” She was a trifle shaky now that the crisis had passed. She smiled at the earl, but the brown pansy eyes were misted.
The temptation proved too much for Jason. “Shall I show you?” he offered, swooping forward to catch her chin with gentle fingers while his lips captured hers in a light kiss that changed character in the middle.
Cleone had been shocked into immobility at first, but as Jason pressed his luck and began to move his lips coaxingly over hers, he felt the tremor that rippled through her before she pushed strongly against his chest in protest. Reluctantly he let her go, enjoying the sparks of indignation that flashed from her eyes and the spots of colour in her cheeks as she sought to recover her tongue.
“I take leave to tell you, sir, that I do not indulge in flirtations.”
“You may always tell me anything you wish, Miss Latham, but first I wish you will tell me why you disapprove of flirtation?”
“Why, why,” she sputtered in her eagerness to express herself, “because it is a misleading and deceptive activity that can often lead to misunderstanding.”
“How prim you sound, my dear Miss Latham. May I tell you that you have not misunderstood me? Take that thought to bed with you and we shall resume the subject at the earliest opportunity.”
“We shall do no such thing,” retorted Cleone, but before she could expand on her subject, she found herself outside in the corridor. She heard his whispered goodnight as the door clicked shut behind her.
Cleone had taken no more than three paces when Emerald, attired in a vastly becoming dressing gown of peach-coloured silk, came around the corner toward her. She had no more than a second to compose her features before her cousin accosted her.
“What are you doing here at this hour of the night?”
“I might ask you the same question,” Cleone hedged.
Emerald’s chin went up. “Mama asked me to see if Philip had returned yet. She wishes to see him. I am waiting for your explanation,” she prompted, frowning at the fully dressed young woman hesitating before her.
“I’m afraid Philip won’t be able to go to his mother tonight,” Cleone said slowly. “I have just taken him some laudanum. He came home with a raging toothache, poor boy.” She raised limpid eyes to her cousin’s suspicious ones. “He may be asleep by now.”
“Thank you, I’ll see about that myself, if you don’t mi
nd.” Emerald snapped, brushing past Cleone, who stood still and watched her progress.
Cleone did not release an easy breath until Emerald had returned within a few seconds of entering Philip’s room. “He’s asleep,” she conceded grudgingly.
As the two girls walked in silent and constrained association toward their own rooms, Cleone gave profound thanks that their raised voices had enabled Lord Altern to dispose of the medical evidence and conceal his person before Emerald had entered her brother’s room. All in all, it had been quite a day. Not to wonder that her steps were dragging and she felt thoroughly depleted.
CHAPTER 13
In the next week, the residents of Bramble Hall found themselves leading the quiet existence that had been the norm before their recent spate of social activity. With the continued absence of Philip, staying with Lord Altern in Brighton, theirs had degenerated into an almost strictly female society, for Lord Brestwick could not be said to take an active part in family concerns.
It would be a mistake to equate quietness with serenity or contentment, however. Emerald, bilked of her prey — for Lord Altern had departed with many charming expressions of pleasure and gratitude but no matrimonial declaration — was at her most difficult, short with them all and as near to uncivil to Cleone as she dared be in the presence of her mother and grandfather. Fortunately for her victim, the disappointed beauty never sought out her company; in fact, Emerald had taken to avoiding all familial society, wandering off on long solo rambles about the countryside on pleasant days and closeting herself in the music room for hours of vocal practice whenever the weather was inclement.
Lady Henley, who had not had a chance to recover from the fatigues of a London season before taking on the additional responsibility for a houseguest, thankfully curtailed her activities to a minimum so that she might rest and recruit her strength. The one really bright soul among the residents these days was Cecily, who had undergone a transformation in the past sennight from a diffident bud into a lovely specimen blossom not unworthy of featured status in any bouquet. Cleone attributed her cousin’s new poise and confidence to the beneficial effects of frequent doses of Mr. Bernard Ludlow’s company.
Scarcely a day passed that did not see Mr. Ludlow at their door, most of the time with his compliant sister in tow. Initially, Mr. Chalmers accompanied the callers from the Grange. His visits ceased after he cornered Emerald in the shrubbery during a tour of the gardens and, in an excess of zeal, pressed his suit upon her. The cool decisiveness with which he was refused was such as to render any subsequent calls totally ineligible.
Emerald’s penchant for seeing herself as the centre of all family activity had temporarily blinded her to the growing attachment between Cecily and Mr. Ludlow. It was after this situation at last penetrated her self-absorption that she began her solitary wanderings to avoid being polite to the callers. With Lady Henley mostly denying herself to visitors these days, Cleone was pressed into performing her duties as hostess and thus had ample opportunity to observe the squire’s son at close range. She liked what she knew of him so far, having already gleaned his breeding and good-tempered kindness from previous encounters. Now she learned that he had been educated at Winchester and that, while he denied any claims to being bookish, he was certainly well-informed on current political issues facing the nation and spoke always as a sensible man. She judged his understanding to be superior, though his interests were admittedly more allied to the land and country living than the world of literature and art. He lacked the polish and wit of a man of the world like Lord Altern, but Cleone didn’t deem him any less worthy for that. He was quite young yet, about her own age, but fully adult for all that. She would not hesitate to entrust Cecily’s security and happiness to him today, although this was getting way ahead of the story. The girl was far too young to be contemplating marriage.
When Cleone actually thought back over recent events, she was astounded at the difference one short week had made in all their lives. This time last week, Emerald had appeared to be on the point of contracting a brilliant match and Philip was plunged into debt and on the brink of a venture that could have ended in disgrace or worse. Cecily was a mere child whose time had not come. Now Philip’s troubles had been eased by the man who was to have married his sister, but the family beauty was without immediate marital prospects, while her younger sister, not even out yet, was being seriously courted by an eminently eligible young man. Except for Emerald’s problem, which was no more than a temporary setback for one destined to achieve a high position in society, life was looking brighter for the Hardwickes — surely a cause for general rejoicing.
This being the case, it was doubly difficult to account for the alien restlessness that gripped Cleone during the quiet uneventful days that followed the removal of Philip and Lord Altern to Brighton. She had been wishing Lord Altern gone from about midway into his visit when it became clear to her that he had decided not to offer for Emerald, and Philip was better off out of his grandfather’s sight until his “toothache” improved and his ring was back on his finger. By the end of the week, he had written to her to ease her mind on both scores. She could not quite like it that the Hardwickes should be indebted to a comparative stranger, but accepted that it was not really her affair. Which did not mean that she would abstain from questioning Philip on the subject when he returned. Lord Altern had been the soul of generosity in his dealings with them, but she could at least see to it that he got a portion of his money returned quickly.
The weather continued unusually lovely and seasonable. There was ample time these days for painting, and Cleone did in fact make a good beginning on her portrait of Louisa. The little girl was no more interested in sitting still than any other child of her age, but Cleone had cleverly decided to pose her on the swing Philip had set up for the younger children under an elm tree. Louisa loved the swing, which represented the height of adventure and daring to her. When she grew tired of sitting still, she would swing for a time and, more often than not, be content to pose for a few more minutes while the artist worked swiftly to get the essentials down on canvas. It required patience to paint the mercurial little creature, but where Louisa was concerned, no effort was too much for Cleone, who loved this child she had known from infancy. She made good progress on the portrait that week. When she was occupied in painting, she was content with her world.
By the end of the first week without the presence of the men, Cleone had stopped trying to deny that nothing had changed in her life. She was forced to acknowledge that the everyday activities that had made up her world for several years were no longer completely satisfying. Having realized after her mother’s death that the opportunity to marry was unlikely to arise in her circumstances, she had managed to convince herself that her life of service was an excellent substitute. And it was, she admitted ruefully. That hadn’t changed. What had changed was her own acceptance of a life that was no more than second best for a woman.
The first personable bachelor in four years had crossed her path, and she was stupid enough to allow the fact to affect her hard-won contentment. Her annoyance at herself for still cherishing the remnants of romantic girlish fancies was very real. Almost she could wish she had never met Lord Altern, but none of this was his fault. He had merely been a catalyst that had worked on hopes she had thought long buried. There was nothing personal in her reaction. She was not languishing for love of him — good heavens, she had only known the man for a sennight — but his presence had served to point up what was lacking in her life.
Well, now that she had recognized and analysed this unsuspected weakness in her character, it was up to her to stamp it out before she turned into one of those complaining creatures who cast a blight on all whose lives they touch. The first step was obvious. She would not go into Brighton with the others for this thank-you luncheon of Lord Altern’s. If charming attentive men and social functions roused demons of restlessness and discontent in her breast, then it behoved her to avoid them. She refused t
o dwell on the memory of Lord Altern warning her not to allow other commitments to deprive him of the pleasure of her presence at the luncheon. No doubt he had meant the kind words at the time, she knew he enjoyed her company, but among so many, one would not be missed.
Quite satisfied with her version of the situation, which had not included any rationalization of the kiss Lord Altern had stolen for the simple reason that she refused to dignify such a momentary aberration by spending a thought on it, Cleone went about her daily schedule with a determined cheerfulness that would have struck a false chord in persons less self-engrossed than her family. Indeed, her great-uncle had eyed her askance once or twice at table, and in his study had demanded to know what she had to be grinning about so vacantly while he was giving her a list of his tenant farmers’ complaints to check into. Cleone had hastened to apologize and rearrange her features into an expression more suited to the subject, but she was conscious of her aged relative’s occasional eagle-eyed study in the next few days. Lord Brestwick on the trail of some intelligence was a force to be reckoned with, as Cleone well knew. It was most unnerving to be under his scrutiny, and she was strongly desirous of avoiding any active interest in her emotions.
None of this uneasiness was allowed to show, however, and it is conceivable that she would have carried out her cerebral decision to eschew further contact with Lord Altern had not a petty fate in the person of her difficult cousin intervened.
Lady Henley announced at lunch on Monday that she had received a letter from Lord Altern in which he expressed the hope that Wednesday would be convenient for the planned luncheon in Brighton. Cleone happened to be looking at Emerald, who had just pushed aside her fricassee of chicken with the comment that the quality of the meals had declined rapidly of late. Perhaps with the intention of turning away their cousin’s probable irritation, Isabella had spoken before Cleone had the opportunity to address Emerald’s complaint. With her attention already fixed on Emerald, Cleone could not miss the narrowing of the clear green eyes or the satisfaction in the girl’s voice as she said, “Too bad, Cleo. That’s your day for doing Grandfather’s correspondence. Wednesday is convenient for you, is it not, Mama?”
