by Dorothy Mack
“Enjoy your visit at Meadowlands, Miss Seymour,” he said pleasantly as she prepared to follow Drucilla.
“Thank you, I am persuaded I shall, Mr. Massingham.”
“Hugh is a good chap, sober, reliable, a solid citizen. No one could disapprove of him.”
“I feel sure you are quite correct, sir.” Vicky looked back over her shoulder, her expression surpassing his in guilelessness.
“And his manners are particularly pleasing, are they not?”
“They are indeed. Why, Drucilla was saying the very same to me just these few minutes past.” With that young lady halfway down the stairs and out of hearing by now, Vicky felt safe to offer the bold lie and was rewarded by a swift gathering of the invalid’s formidable brows.
“You look a trifle off colour, Mr. Massingham. We must have tried you. Try to rest while we are away,” she urged with sweet solicitude as she closed the door gently behind her.
The drive to Meadowlands was short, taking no more than twenty-five minutes, and was enlivened by chatty observations from Drucilla. There was one awkward moment when Vicky gently requested her young guest to refrain from making any reference to Mr. Massingham as her fiancé, or indeed to any prior acquaintance with that gentleman while in Sir Hugh’s home. Innocent dark eyes were turned questioningly to her, but she nipped Drucilla’s instinctive protests in the bud by explaining that, apart from keeping Drucilla herself totally unencumbered during her visit, silence on this subject would spare Mr. Massingham a degree of embarrassment amongst his hosts, “because it is not at all the thing, you know, my dear, to persuade a minor into an elopement.”
“But Sir Hugh already knows,” blurted out the girl.
“Yes, but I would wager my mother’s pearls that he will agree with the wisdom of this course, and it would be advisable to have his mama regard us simply as two ladies who were rescued by Mr. Massingham. It is fortunate the Tollivers don’t employ any outside servants who might gossip, for nothing ensures the spread of rumour faster than having the servants get wind of it!”
Though she could not quite like the necessity of denying Drew’s importance to her, Drucilla saw the wisdom in keeping silent. Vicky made a mental note to acquaint Sir Hugh with this decision, assuming that he had not already revealed the true situation to his parent.
Their first glimpse of Meadowlands provoked unreserved admiration from the ladies. It wasn’t a particularly imposing structure, being neither of great size nor impressive antiquity, but featured a graceful balanced facade in the style that had become popular during the reign of the first George. The house stood three stories high, of rosy brick, and was graced by large white-painted sash windows that gave it a cheerful open look. It was attractively surrounded by well-maintained green lawns and formal shrubbery with large shade trees at a small distance.
“Oh, it’s lovely!” breathed Drucilla, her eyes taking in every detail of the scene before her.
“Yes, very neat and pretty,” agreed Vicky.
The carriage had scarcely stopped in front of the central entrance portico when the door opened and their host strolled out to meet them. After cordial greetings were exchanged, he escorted them to the ground-floor drawing room, where two ladies awaited the callers. Looking at the elder, who had come forward to meet them, Vicky found her description “neat and pretty” as applicable to Lady Lanscomb as to her residence. Sir Hugh’s mother was an attractive, well-preserved woman of neat appearance, whose smile contained just the correct degree of welcome for acquaintances of her son’s. Her waistline may have thickened somewhat with the inexorable passage of time, but she was still a fine figure of a woman, small and trim, with only the slightest sprinkling of grey amongst the soft nut-brown tresses showing beneath a dainty lace cap. Her smooth skin displayed a fresh colour and she welcomed her guests in a soft pretty voice that was consistent with the image she projected of youthfulness retained far into middle age.
“And this is my mother’s ward, Miss Elaine Fairchild.”
Sir Hugh beckoned to the other person in the room, who came forward a trifle hesitantly to be presented. Vicky, who was used to consider herself fairly tall for a woman, was obliged to look sharply upward to meet the blue eyes of Miss Fairchild, who easily topped her own five and a half feet by another four or five inches. The girl, for she appeared to be no more than nineteen or twenty, was built along queenly lines also, but her statuesque figure was perfectly proportioned and she carried herself well. She had unremarkable though regular features in an oval face framed by lovely golden-brown hair. In any other company than that of the massive Sir Hugh she would be bound to stand out, and Vicky made a shrewd guess during the next half-hour that self-consciousness about her size might account in large measure for Miss Fairchild’s extreme shyness. When spoken to directly, the girl answered intelligently, but she volunteered no opinions and uttered no unsolicited remarks. Lady Lanscomb treated her like a daughter and was unsparing in her attempts to draw her into the conversation. Miss Fairchild called her guardian Aunt Hattie and obviously returned her affection.
The situation with Sir Hugh was not quite so clear-cut, Vicky decided after a bit more observation. He seemed to regard his mother’s ward in the light of a young sister, addressing her by her first name with the familiarity of an indulgent brother, but though she called him Hugh, Miss Fairchild did not match his ease of manner. Watching the two young girls engaged in somewhat stilted conversation, Vicky couldn’t help contrasting Drucilla’s chatty vivacity with Elaine’s innate reserve. She was thinking that the older girl was doomed to suffer agonies of embarrassment when she made her come-out next spring (as Lady Lanscomb had announced) if she was this ill-at-ease with the gentleman she knew best, when Miss Fairchild turned her glance on Sir Hugh as he spoke to Drucilla.
In the next instant she was staring down again at the hands in her lap, but the look had lasted long enough for Vicky to read the hopeless yearning in large blue eyes and to understand the root of Miss Fairchild’s constraint. Involuntarily, her own eyes searched Sir Hugh’s benign countenance for some sign that he was aware that his mother’s ward was in love with him, but if he was conscious of the fact, he concealed it perfectly during the tea party. He continued to treat Miss Fairchild with a brotherliness that must have been torture to a sensitive girl who longed for his love.
Glancing toward his mother from time to time, Vicky became convinced that her hostess did not share her son’s blindness, and she began to make some sense of little nuances that had struck her as odd earlier. The comprehensive scrutiny from hazel eyes like her son’s when he had made the introductions no longer seemed a trifle out of character with Lady Lanscomb’s overall softness. Vicky had not been at all disconcerted by the slightly probing nature of her hostess’ questions, since in her experience the major concern of middle-aged ladies was generally the personal affairs of all those who entered their orbit, however temporarily. There had been one or two moments, though, when she had wondered if she detected the faintest hint of antagonism in Lady Lanscomb’s attitude toward the visitors. The next moment, she had chided herself for indulging an excess of sensibility.
No one could have charged Sir Hugh’s mother with being remiss in any attentions to her son’s new acquaintances; she performed her duties as hostess with graciousness and charm. Puzzling this out while she watched Lady Lanscomb refill Drucilla’s cup and present it to her with a smile, Vicky could only conclude that, whether intentional or not, the impression had been left that their hostess had performed her duty conscientiously but entertained no personal desire to pursue the acquaintance.
Sir Hugh, on the other hand, had let it be seen that he had every intention of doing just that. Though his manners were too good to permit him to ignore the claims on his attention of the other ladies present, he had, in his quiet way, clearly conveyed his admiration and interest in herself. Miss Fairchild’s downcast eyes and Lady Lanscomb’s frozen smile might be indications that they too had discerned this preference.<
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At one point, Vicky expressed the sense of her obligation to her hostess for her kindness in offering shelter to Mr. Massingham during his recuperation.
“Not that Miss Seymour wouldn’t have seen to his every comfort at the Oaks, ma’am,” Drucilla had interpolated loyally. “Her servants have been wonderful to him at the Green Feather, but it will be delightful for Dr… Mr. Massingham to enjoy a visit with an old friend.”
“My dear Miss Hedgeley,” her hostess replied with amused condescension, “there could be, of course, no question of Mr. Massingham’s convalescing at Miss Seymour’s home. As I am sure she would explain to you, her status as an unmarried woman would always preclude such an arrangement.” She smiled kindly at the young girl, who had been thrown into acute confusion by this sweetly uttered set-down; then she tactfully changed the subject to draw attention away from Drucilla’s flushed countenance. Vicky, who certainly had reached the same conclusion herself, firmly suppressed a sudden impulse to challenge her hostess’ complacence by announcing that she would have housed the invalid had not Sir Hugh come forward when he did.
He came forward now, saying with his slow smile, “I am persuaded, Mama, that Miss Seymour would have found an unexceptionable way to supervise Major Massingham’s convalescence had I not appeared on the scene. She is a young lady of great resourcefulness, and I am aware that she feels deeply indebted to him for his rescue efforts during the holdup.”
This led to a lively recounting of the robbery for the benefit of the Meadowlands ladies by Drucilla, who confessed that she would never live down the shame of having fainted at the crucial moment.
“Well, I for one cannot take you at fault, my dear child,” declared Lady Lanscomb with a shudder. “Such a terrifying experience would be sufficient to overset the nerves of any female of sensibility. I do not at all wonder at your reaction.”
Perhaps she herself should beg pardon for having remained conscious, Vicky was thinking when Drucilla leaped to an animated defence of her friend’s courage and presence of mind in standing up to the highwayman.
“That will do, my dear,” Vicky intervened, and shifted slightly in her chair to face her hostess directly. “The simple truth is that I have never been so frightened in my life, ma’am, and in the end it was really my coachman who saved the day, not I.”
“But you actually shot the thief, did you not, Miss Seymour?” asked Miss Fairchild in her first unprompted remark of the afternoon.
Vicky smiled at the quiet-faced girl. “Yes, Miss Fairchild, but I must confess it was rather desperation than courage that squeezed the trigger, and —” she pulled a rueful face — “the only result was to enrage the highwayman, who would surely have done me great injury had not Amos, my coachman, come to his senses in time to drive him off with his whip.”
“I still hold that it required great resolution and courage to take a stand,” Miss Fairchild said quietly.
Sir Hugh smiled warmly at his mother’s ward. “I am persuaded we are all in agreement on that point, Elaine. Miss Seymour is far too modest, but we must not embarrass her further.” He rose to his feet and extended a hand to Vicky. “I propose to change the subject by taking her into the study for a moment to show her a book that her father very kindly sent me a half-dozen years ago.”
“Why do you not ask Ferris to fetch the book, Hugh?” Lady Lanscomb was quick to suggest. “No doubt we should all enjoy seeing it.”
Her son chuckled at that. “What? A book on horse breeding, Mama?” he teased. “You have always held that it was not a fit subject for a lady’s drawing room. Miss Seymour happened to mention that she shares her father’s interest in breeding thoroughbreds, so I hoped she would be pleased to see it.”
His mother’s thin smile was a mere formality, but she made no further attempt to prevent the tête-à-tête, and Sir Hugh escorted his guest down the hall to a pleasant book-lined room facing the back gardens.
While her host searched for the book in question, Vicky looked around her, admiring the handsomely panelled walls between sections of shelves and the view of the shrubbery glimpsed from the long windows. She wandered over to the fireplace to study a portrait of a large man in hunting dress, with Sir Hugh’s cast of countenance but iron-grey hair. “Your father?” she asked as he approached carrying a thin volume. “You are very like him except for having your mother’s eyes.”
He chuckled again. “Mama is wont to say that if it were not for the fortuitous passing on of her hazel eyes, no one would ever believe she had produced such a hulking specimen as myself.”
“You are certainly a large man,” Vicky agreed. “Miss Fairchild, too, is taller than most females, though she is so attractive and beautifully proportioned, one is put forcibly in mind of the heroic statues of ancient times.”
“I wish Elaine could take such a sanguine view of the matter. The poor child is convinced that her size will quite destroy her chances of forming an eligible connection, which is nonsense, of course. I try to joke her about it and have promised to comb the town for suitors who can look me in the eye, but she persists in believing herself destined for spinsterhood.” He shook his head, marvelling at the irrationality of females, while Vicky privately railed at the inability of some men to see what was under their noses.
“She will soon lose these fears, once she gets caught up in the gaiety of the Season,” she predicted lightly.
“That is what I have assured her repeatedly. And it isn’t as if she were portionless, after all. She is very well dowered.”
Vicky bit her lip to keep from asking if he had repeatedly assured Elaine of this advantage also. Really, men were abysmally obtuse! “May I see the book?” she asked instead, with a glittering smile that concealed her impatience. She recognised it as a copy of one in her father’s collection on the subject, and they spent a moment or two discussing the views put forth by the author.
“That is how I became acquainted with your father,” Sir Hugh volunteered. “We happened to sit down together at a horse sale, and one thing led to another. He was so kind as to send me this after our meeting, but before our friendship could proceed further, my regiment was ordered to Spain, and I never saw him again. I regard it as a great pity.”
Vicky smiled at him through eyes suddenly gone misty. “My father was a marvellous companion; I still miss him dreadfully.” She stared fixedly out of the window for a moment, striving to get her emotions under control, and only half-heard Sir Hugh’s hasty remark that he had had another reason for bringing her to the study.
She raised her golden-brown eyes to his. “Yes?”
“After giving the matter some thought,” Sir Hugh began in his serious way, “I decided to tell my mother and Elaine only the bare facts behind your presence at the Green Feather. As far as they are concerned, Major Massingham was a stranger whom chance led to the scene of the robbery. It seemed to me — and I hoped you would concur — that the simpler the tale, the better, under the circumstances.” He looked a question, and Vicky nodded slowly. “This way, Drew can simply be my old friend, and there need be no embarrassment in future intercourse between the two households. For a moment in the drawing room, I feared Miss Hedgeley might betray a prior acquaintance that would have led to awkward explanations.”
“I warned her not to,” Vicky put in quickly, “but Mr. Massingham has served notice on me that he still intends to pursue an elopement if he can secure Drucilla’s consent, which he has little doubt of obtaining, though I do hope that by writing to her uncle I may have succeeded in putting a spoke in his wheel.”
Sir Hugh was looking grave. “I must confess that I cannot regard an elopement with anything but the strongest disapprobation — the clandestine nature of the act itself, plus Miss Hedgeley’s extreme youth, must cause their well-wishers and her family the severest misgivings — in short, I have determined to impress upon Major Massingham that while he is under my roof, Miss Hedgeley is to be regarded in exactly the same light as any other young woman of his acquain
tance … yourself or Elaine, for example.”
Miss Seymour tempered the exultant nature of her satisfaction at this development into a careful expression of considered agreement with Sir Hugh’s conclusions. Then, taking a shallow breath, she experimented with a look of fluttering appeal. “Sir Hugh, may I be frank with you?”
“I hope that you will realise in time that I shall always welcome your confidence, Miss Seymour.”
“Thank you.” She swept her long lashes up and down again in pretty gratitude, then appeared to hesitate before plunging. “Sir Hugh, though it grieves me deeply to entertain suspicions about a friend of yours, and indeed one who has rendered me a signal service, I … that is, the nature of this elopement must necessarily give rise to some conjectures. I have no knowledge of Mr. Massingham’s circumstances, but Miss Hedgeley seems to be a considerable heiress, and I cannot help wondering if … that is…” She paused delicately, and Sir Hugh obligingly came to her rescue.
“You are quite naturally wondering if Drew’s offer for Miss Hedgeley’s hand might have been motivated by a desire for worldly advantage. I should hate to think it, and indeed I should be surprised to find it so. It was common knowledge in the regiment that he is old Lord Mallard’s heir — at least he is next in line for the title,” he added with scrupulous attention to accuracy. “I realise this is not conclusive proof of his solvency or his disinterested affection. Nor do titles and fortunes invariably go together, though Lord Mallard is rumoured to be very wealthy. That is the extent of my knowledge at present.”
“I do trust you are correct, Sir Hugh. My mind is much relieved.” Vicky produced a soft smile designed to conceal her private reflection that, despite Sir Hugh’s avowed disinclination to believe ill of his friend, a title in the offing was no guarantee of pure motives as the basis of Mr. Massingham’s pursuit of Drucilla. She contented herself with having planted the warning, though if it had been really necessary she would think less of Sir Hugh’s perspicacity in future.
