by Dorothy Mack
“Victoria, where are you off to? I have spoken to you twice,” complained Lady Honoria, breaking in on her niece’s mental scheming.
“I’m so sorry, Aunt, I was wool-gathering, I fear. What did you say?”
Vicky smiled brilliantly into shrewd old eyes that narrowed in response.
“I still haven’t learned how you became acquainted with Andrew. Such a strange coincidence,” mused her aunt in all innocence.
All conversation seemed to have ceased for the moment. Across from her, Drucilla replaced her cup on the tea table with a little crash. She was blushing furiously and staring at her hands clenched in her lap. Mr. Massingham, the fiend, was sitting at his ease, wearing the expectant expression of one about to enjoy a good story, and Gregory was politely attentive.
Vicky fixed her aunt with a warning look and said tonelessly, “Mr. Massingham chanced to come upon us just after a highwayman had held up my chaise. He helped to thwart an attempt to abduct me, and got shot for his pains.”
It was apparent from Lord Ellerby’s horrified exclamation that he had been told nothing about the holdup, but before Vicky could relax, Lady Honoria had given a start and leaned forward. “Then Andrew must be the fortune —”
“Yes, I am the fortunate fellow whose privilege it was to render your niece and Miss Hedgeley a small service.”
Vicky’s eyes had closed for an agonised moment when Mr. Massingham had interrupted Lady Honoria’s impulsive exclamation. When no explosion occurred, she opened them cautiously. Drucilla was breathing more easily; her hands had released each other so she could reach for her nearly full cup once more. Lord Ellerby was bombarding Mr. Massingham with questions about the robbery. She slanted a glance at her aunt and was not surprised to see that lady biting her lip and looking pensive. She was somewhat puzzled but infinitely grateful to discover that Aunt Honoria had not poured the whole tale into Gregory’s ears after receiving her letter.
Gregory too had evidently found this noteworthy. Bewilderment showed in his fine eyes as they located Lady Honoria. “Am I correct in assuming that you knew of this holdup, ma’am?”
“Why, yes. Vicky wrote me an account of it, but she didn’t mention Mr. Massingham by name. That was a surprise.”
For a second Vicky’s glance met that of Mr. Massingham, brim-full of amusement, and resentment surged through her veins. That maddening care-for-naught was actually enjoying this excruciating conversation!
Lord Ellerby, impervious to any byplay, was faintly shocked. “And you did not think to mention the incident to me, ma’am, during the two days we travelled together? Why, Vicky might have been killed … or worse!”
“What is worse than being killed?” Vicky asked flippantly, refraining this time from looking at her antagonist, who might have been tempted to enumerate some fates worse than death. “Don’t fuss, Gregory. The incident must have slipped from my aunt’s mind.”
“Slipped from her mind? Something that might have resulted in the death of one who is like a daughter to her? I don’t think I understand you.”
It seemed Gregory was determined to be difficult, and Vicky’s glance pleaded for assistance from Lady Honoria, who said lamely, “Well, it didn’t slip my mind precisely, but I did not believe Vicky would care to have the affair bruited all over town, so I didn’t mention it.”
“I see. I regret that anything in my conduct might have led you to believe that I would bruit such a story about town,” Lord Ellerby replied stiffly.
“I didn’t mean you necessarily, Gregory, so you needn’t get upon your high ropes,” snapped Lady Honoria, who was beginning to feel as besieged as a modern Pandora who couldn’t get the lid on again.
Lord Ellerby was clearly unmollified, but he closed his lips firmly.
“Miss Seymour herself made very little of the incident,” offered Mr. Massingham in soothing accents. “I was unconscious at the time, but Amos tells me she was as cool as could be when she shot the thief. You should be proud of her courage, ma’am.”
This complimentary speech, ostensibly addressed to Lady Honoria, was well-received by Lord Ellerby. “I must have known that you would keep your head, of course, my dear Vicky,” he said with a warm smile.
Vicky summoned up a weak effort to meet his.
Throughout this discussion of the robbery, Drucilla had sat silent, her eyes following each speaker in turn. Vicky had noted that her brightness dimmed temporarily after Lord Ellerby had made his concern for herself so unmistakably plain. Now the brightness was back as she turned to Mr. Massingham and engaged his attention with questions about the welfare of the family at Meadowlands. If the memories of Vicky’s own girlhood were an accurate indicator, her young friend was now going to demonstrate her complete noninterest in Lord Ellerby for the benefit of anyone who cared to observe. Obviously the plan half-germinated in Vicky’s mind in the last half-hour was not going to find perfect soil conditions for sprouting without some intensive spadework on her part.
Lady Honoria was intrigued by the description of the Meadowlands residents and made Mr. Massingham the bearer of an invitation to them to dine at the Oaks a couple of days hence.
The uncomfortable tea party broke up when Mr. Massingham, who had an hour’s ride to face, took his leave. By this time, Vicky was as interested in having a tête-à-tête with her aunt as Lady Honoria had been immediately after her arrival. Fortunately, all present signified their intention of retiring to their respective rooms to rest before dressing for dinner. Within five minutes of going their separate ways, she was knocking on her aunt’s door.
The door was opened to her by Trotton, who had travelled in the baggage coach with Lord Ellerby’s valet. She was busily unpacking her ladyship’s trunks when Vicky arrived. She replied to the latter’s welcoming speech with an assessing look and the blunt remark that it wouldn’t surprise her in the least if her mistress had done nothing but drag her hair back anyhow ever since leaving London. Undaunted by this criticism, Vicky grinned and confessed to that particular misdemeanour. She was informed that she might expect things to change from this moment forward. It was agreed that Trotton should come in an hour to arrange Miss Seymour’s hair, but in the meantime she was to close the door to Lady Honoria’s sitting room so the two ladies might have a private cose before dressing.
“Why did you not advise me of your arrival or even mention that you were coming?” demanded Vicky, wasting no time in coming to the point once her aunt was seated in a wing chair covered in a crewelwork design. “And whatever possessed you to bring Gregory here?”
“Sit down yourself. You have too much the appearance of an avenging angel hovering over me that way,” replied Lady Honoria, who never cared to be put on the defensive. “I didn’t even know I was coming until yesterday — you know I hadn’t planned to leave town immediately. That’s why we were two days on the road. We got a late start.”
Vicky waved a hand toward the door leading to the bedchamber. “That’s a lot of baggage for a woman who decided to take a trip on the spur of the moment.”
“Well, I was of two minds about whether or not to come until yesterday, if you must split hairs. And I have brought no more than the barest necessities.” Indignation rang in Lady Honoria’s tones.
Knowing it to be her aunt’s invariable practice to bring every belonging that wasn’t nailed down and could even remotely be considered necessary to her comfort, Vicky abandoned this line of argument.
“And what made you drag Gregory along? What did you hope to accomplish by this ploy, beyond my mortification and raising false hopes in Gregory’s breast?”
Lady Honoria’s eyes slid away from her niece’s unyielding face. She sounded much less assured as she admitted that she had invited Lord Ellerby after rumours had reached her ears that he had been distinguishing Lady Mary Ashley with his attentions this past week.
Vicky was appalled. “All the more reason to leave him in peace.”
“I thought a spell of boredom in the country would bri
ng you to your senses, so when I received your letter full of adventures and new acquaintances, it seemed vital to have Ellerby on the scene too before these new people drove him out of your mind altogether. Though after meeting that pretty little ninnyhammer you have staying with you, I’m not so confident I did the right thing. Unless I miss my guess, she is vastly taken with him. If you continue to give him the cold shoulder, you’ll drive him right into her arms! What man wouldn’t prefer a warm, willing female to a human iceberg?”
“And you haven’t even seen her dimples at work yet!” Vicky laughed. “Drucilla is a natural honeypot.” She became serious as her aunt snorted in ladylike disgust. “Of course it is far too early to tell, but there might be a match there. I should think they’d suit very well. Gregory needs a girl who will adore him, and Drucilla should welcome his gentleness and innate chivalry after consorting with Andrew Massingham these past weeks.”
Lady Honoria threw up her hands in disgust. “I give up! You are impossible! Men of Ellerby’s calibre are not so thick on the ground that you can afford to pass them over to all your unmarried friends. You are not getting any younger, my child.”
When her niece merely twinkled naughtily, Lady Honoria gave a helpless shrug and honed in on another subject. “And speaking of Andrew Massingham, why did you never mention the name of your unsuccessful eloper? I very nearly made a terrible gaffe this afternoon.”
“Why did you never mention knowing the man?” retorted Vicky. “Besides, I thought I did identify the man Drucilla was eloping with.”
“You did not,” said her aunt definitely, correcting this impression. “In your account of the affair, you merely referred to him as ‘the fortune hunter’ or as ‘Drucilla’s soldier.’ ”
“If I’d had the least suspicion that you were acquainted with him or guessed you would come charging up here to play Cupid, I would certainly have identified him, but you may rest easy on the other score. Mr. Massingham nipped in very neatly to cover your bêtise. He’s quick-witted enough, I’ll give him that.”
“I cannot believe that Andrew is a fortune hunter. He was a handful as a boy, but there wasn’t an ounce of malice in him, and besides, he is Lord Mallard’s heir. He has no need to marry money, nor would he be permitted to form a connection with the niece of a bourgeois, no matter how large her fortune. From my limited exposure to Lord Mallard — for which blessing, by the way, I am eternally grateful — I’d say he’s as stiff-rumped as they come, very high in the instep.”
“I don’t believe he asked anyone’s permission,” commented Vicky dryly. “If you don’t accept him as a fortune hunter, then it must be love. Did Mr. Massingham’s behaviour today strike you as being that of a man in the throes of a grand passion?”
“How can I tell? Only a moonling would wear his heart on his sleeve for the world to see, and Andrew is not that, I thank God!”
“Do you think he is in love with Drucilla?” persisted Vicky. “Do you believe a man of his type would make a good husband for that child?”
“I haven’t seen enough of Andrew as an adult to guess whether or not he is in love, but this I will say: when he loves a woman, he will be a very good husband.”
“There I must differ with you. Men of his sort regard women as playthings to be kept in reserve for light moments and shunted aside when important matters intrude. They spend the greater part of their lives in the company of like-minded males.”
“That is true only until they form a deep attachment. Andrew’s father was just such a one as you describe until he met Marie. They shared everything afterwards.”
Vicky looked sceptical. “I am sorry to disagree with you, Aunt, but I do not believe Mr. Massingham is capable of forming a deep attachment. Certainly he has not done so for Drucilla, though he assures me he is determined to wed her. Well, I am equally determined he shall not. She and Gregory might suit very well, though I shall have to take a hand after what happened this afternoon. Obviously she thinks he is mine.”
“Now who is playing Cupid?” asked Lady Honoria, torn between amusement and annoyance, the gleam in her eye at variance with her tightened mouth. “I must say that life in Leicestershire promises to be much more amusing than I had anticipated. Why are you rubbing your forehead like that? Come to mention it, you are looking a trifle pale also. I hope you are not sickening for anything, my dear.”
“No, I have the headache a trifle, that’s all. Your Mr. Massingham spooked Shadow this afternoon and I took a toss. Nothing to signify,” she added as Lady Honoria’s countenance reflected sudden alarm, “but I am going to have a number of bruises in unmentionable places by tomorrow.”
“Have a hot bath and go directly to bed with a tray,” recommended her aunt. “I shall make your excuses at dinner.”
“Nonsense. I am perfectly capable of eating my dinner sitting at table. I should be dressing by now, however, and Trotton insists on doing my hair.” She pulled a rueful grimace and rose from the settee with a little difficulty. Dropping a kiss on her relative’s cheek, she said simply, “I’m glad you’re here.”
As Vicky went out of the room, Lady Honoria stared after her, aware that she had been given much food for thought since her arrival in the country.
CHAPTER 11
That first evening with a swollen household went more smoothly than might have been predicted, given Vicky’s battered physical condition, Drucilla’s suspected emotional upheaval, Lord Ellerby’s natural disappointment at his reception at the Oaks, and the fatigue that an elderly lady might be expected to experience after two days of travelling. Drucilla was admittedly a bit subdued early in the evening, but as the newcomers had never witnessed her in high spirits, there was no notice taken by anyone save her hostess, who viewed the situation with a tolerance born of understanding. The other three members of the house party had lived long enough in society to be more adept at disguising their feelings. Lord Ellerby, who had received a much better upbringing than Lord Byron, would not have dreamed of sulking in a corner or being rude to perfectly inoffensive persons because he had been crossed in love. No hostess of his acquaintance had ever had cause to complain that he ignored his dinner partners or failed to uphold his end of the conversation.
As far as Lady Honoria was concerned, the only time she ever admitted to fatigue was when she was being heartily bored by the company, and that was clearly not the case in Leicestershire. Those shrewd blue eyes might be somewhat faded in colour, but they missed nothing of the human dramas being enacted in her vicinity. From what Vicky had observed of her aunt’s astringent wit at dinner, coming into the country had revitalised that lady. She had been thinking the same of herself just a few hours earlier, but now she felt rather like a farmer who prayed for a rainfall to germinate his seeds and received a downpour that threatened to wash the seed away. There was no denying that life was suddenly fraught with interest, but she could not take an entirely sanguine view of the immediate future.
This much she acknowledged to herself before rejoining the others for the evening. Perhaps it was fortunate for her peace of mind that there was no time to dwell on the possibilities for disaster inherent in the diverse cast of characters now assembled on the stage that was the circumscribed life at the Oaks. Trotton saw to it that her mistress’ attention was concentrated on what her dresser considered the primary concern of this or any day: her appearance. In her zeal to remedy the cumulative effect of a fortnight of neglect, the dresser was prepared to spare no expenditure of time or energy necessary to create a hairstyle worthy of a ball at Carlton House. Great was her chagrin when Vicky declared with great firmness that she would be quite content with the simple style achieved by Lily scarcely two hours earlier.
“Am I to understand, Miss Seymour, that you would prefer to dispense with my services entirely?”
Vicky eyed the spare figure of her abigail drawn up in wounded dignity, her normally unyielding features even more graven, and knew that she had erred disastrously. It required all the tact at her comman
d plus a cowardly recourse to a plea that her poor head couldn’t stand any hair brushing tonight to smooth Trotton’s ruffled feathers. She tutted disapprovingly at Vicky’s censored version of her afternoon mishap but sprang into action in ordering a bath to be made ready immediately.
The hot bath had been marvellously soothing to her aching body. It had taken repeated prodding on the part of the abigail to coax her out of the tub after a mindless interval of pure sensation. The next few minutes were spent in a mad scramble to complete her toilette and get to the saloon before her guests. It would not do to add to Gregory’s uneasy suspicion of having intruded. Had she been able to conceal her initial dismay at sight of him today, there would be no problem. This shock, following quickly on her spill and its sequel of another antagonistic encounter with Mr. Massingham, must have unnerved her to a degree where she had betrayed her years of exposure to all kinds of social situations, but the blame was hers alone. Therefore, it was up to her to make atonement. And what better atonement than to make Gregory a present of an adoring bride?
Trotton, recognising the look of pure mischief on her mistress’ face, halted involuntarily before resuming her route to the dressing room with the discarded towels. Her own inexpressive countenance concealed a burgeoning curiosity. She had guessed from her ladyship’s abrupt decision to return to Leicestershire after declaring herself situated in London that Miss Vicky was getting up to something in the country. The mystery had deepened with the inclusion of Lord Ellerby. She had always known there was something smoky about that broken engagement. Not even a celebrated toast of the town like Miss Victoria Seymour would calmly throw over a catch like Ellerby unless there was a bigger prize in the offing, though she had certainly kept the identity of this prize dark. In the servants’ room, there had not been the slightest breath of anyone new dangling after her. Whoever it was had obviously not come up to scratch. Having burnt her bridges behind her, Miss Vicky had departed in a huff, but her aunt had evidently been working on her behalf, for here was Ellerby again, ripe for the plucking, if she was any judge. Still, that look on Miss Vicky’s face just now was more than satisfaction at getting Ellerby back. She was up to something when all was said. It would be enlightening perhaps to discover what the talk in the Hall made of this unknown miss she had visiting her. Lady Honoria had merely let drop that piece of unadorned information when the abigail had gone in to unpack for her. Cavanaugh had not even bothered to mention the presence of a guest when he had greeted her and Grooby, Lord Ellerby’s valet, on their arrival this afternoon. Nor had he had anything to say about that Mr. Massingham who had been with Miss Vicky — and her looking more like a hoyden than a lady of quality — when she had appeared on the coachway. Her ladyship hadn’t been aware of his presence, that had been evident, though she seemed to know him.
