by Joan Smith
She rose without realizing she was doing it, perhaps because the only reason a gentleman ever offered her his hand was to help her rise. But when she was standing, he gripped her fingers more tightly and gazed at her pinched face in consternation. “What have I said to distress you? I meant no harm.”
His sympathy had the effect of heightening her mood. She turned her head away to hide the tears that scalded her eyes. She blinked them away and said, “It’s nothing. Really.”
“When a gentleman makes a lady cry, it has to be something,” he insisted.
She shook her head. “It’s not you. It has nothing to do with you.”
“Is it Felix? Is he behaving objectionably?”
“Felix is a fool.”
“Yes, but is he pestering you with unwanted advances?”
“Constantly.”
Ravencroft’s jaw tightened. “I’ll – have a word with him.”
“Don’t be foolish. He is not a rake. He only assumes I care for him. He is a nuisance, not a menace to my virtue, if that is the notion you have taken.”
“Then what – “
She knew some explanation was necessary and told the simple truth. “Papa is dying, Ravencroft. That is why I was – why I was sad just now. He calls me Nanny when I visit him.” A sniffle escaped, a tear oozed over her eyelid and trembled down her cheek. When Amy lifted her hand to wipe it away, Ravencroft took out his handkerchief and blotted at it gently.
“He is an old man, Amy. He has had a long and good life,” Ravencroft said, trying to soothe her, and knowing the words were useless. He put an arm around her shoulder, but she didn’t respond. She felt stiff as a limb. He patted her shoulder and removed his arm.
“I know that,” she said in a husky voice. “It’s not just his dying. When he goes, I shall have to either marry Felix or leave the Hall, where I have lived for most of my life. I don’t know whether I’m crying for Papa or myself.” She straightened her shoulders and steadied her lips. “In any case it is not your problem, and I am sorry I inflicted it on you. That was unmannerly of me. So, you will be dining with the Harpers.”
Ravencroft could see she was embarrassed by her one lapse into tears. It must be an unusual thing for her to let herself go. And difficult for her, having no family in the house she could share her troubles with. He was peculiarly flattered that she had done it when she was with him. Surely that indicated she felt easy with him? He wanted to sympathize, but knew her pride wanted only to be done with her little lapse.
“Yes, but I shall see you at the assembly later. I look forward to it, Amy.” She looked displeased with his usurping her Christian name. “Are you not going to wrap my knuckles for calling you Amy?” he asked, trying to goad her into a smile.
“I am hardly in a position to criticize you. I must go now. Papa took a bad turn this morning. “
“I am sorry to hear it. Is there anything I can do?”
“No, thank you. The doctor is doing what can be done. I may not be able to attend the assembly this evening. You will let me know about the horse race? The sooner you can arrange it, the better. You can leave a message at the abandoned house.”
“If I don’t see you this evening, I shall call on you tomorrow morning.”
She looked at him, surprised and pleased. “Might it not be inconvenient for you, when you are busy arranging the race?”
“I’ll call. I’m sorry about your papa, Amy – Miss Bratty.”
“You can call me Amy,” she said, but in a dull voice, as if it were a matter of indifference.
He gazed at her a long moment. Her eyes shone from her tears, and her lower lip was still unsteady. He felt an urge to steady it with his own. How had he thought this courageous, put-upon lady was a prim little prude?
“Amy,” he said, and left.
Chapter Seventeen
When Doctor Croft came down from Lord Ashworth’s room after his second visit, he proclaimed his patient in satisfactory condition. “He’ll last awhile yet,” he said.
Only then did Amy realize how worried she had been. She could feel the tension ease out of her muscles, leaving her weak. “Thank God. No danger of another spell in the night?” she asked.
“I’ve given him a sleeping draft. He won’t stir until morning. I’ll come back then. You just calm your fears, Miss Bratty. There’s a party at the Greenman tonight. I suggest you have Mr. Bratty take you. You need an outing. You are losing the bloom from your cheeks.”
Amy felt she should stay at home, but now that the crisis was over, she wanted to attend the assembly. She rationalized that it was her father’s business she was eager to get on with. She might spot Bransom’s watch, for instance. But at the bottom of her heart she knew Ravencroft was half the reason for her eagerness to attend.
She felt a fool for breaking down in front of him that afternoon. Yet he had not pokered up or mocked her in his usual odious way. He had been gentle, understanding. She had never seen that tender side of him before. That the Wolf was capable of sympathy had come as a complete surprise. That he had not used her emotional breakdown as a pretext for refusing her help in the case was almost unbelievable.
When Ashworth was still sleeping soundly after her dinner, she decided she would attend the assembly. It had never so much as occurred to Felix that he should stay home. He feigned satisfaction at Lord Ashworth’s condition, but beneath the facade she could discern his impatience to have his title.
In a softer, gentler mood, she could understand it. Ashworth did not mean to Felix what he meant to her. Felix had only become close to the family after his own father died five years before. To him, Ashworth was just an impediment to his inheritance. The real pity was that Ashworth had no sons of his own.
She wore her best evening gown of bronze taffeta with a chiffon overskirt and dressed her hair en corbeille, drawn back from her forehead with a tumble of curls behind. The skirt rustled daintily when she walked.
“By Jove, I am a lucky fellow,” Felix said when he saw her. “You will be the belle of the ball. The prettiest lady there. I wonder what Miss Kell will wear. Blue, I daresay, to match her lovely eyes.”
“Pity she has no dowry,” Amy said, undeceived at his flattery.
“It is always the way. The ladies have looks or money, never both,” he said with a tsk. He had no notion of offending the well-dowered Amy, but only blurted out what was in his simple mind.
“One can’t have everything, Felix.”
He took her arm and led her out to the carriage. Felix no more wanted to marry her than she wanted to marry him. Perhaps he saw in her a suitable wife who would be content to stay home and run Bratty Hall while he enjoyed his new opulence in London. And of course he wanted her dowry, but if he could find one of equal size in a lady he liked better, he would not feel a single qualm in forgetting he had been begging her to marry him for years.
The Misses Harper had given up attending the assemblies a decade before. Having no daughters or nieces to chaperone, they always stayed home, content to watch the carriages arrive at the Greenman from the comfort of their drawing room. Amy was surprised to see them at the assembly, looking like a pair of crows in their black gowns and caps. She was amazed to see that suave London buck, Lord Ravencroft, sitting with the provincial spinsters, presenting such an odd contrast. Yet the three gave every appearance of enjoying themselves.
Felix was surprised, too. “Egad, what is Ravencroft doing with that pair of ancients?” he asked. “They must be related.”
“Stanford, Felix! You mustn’t call him Ravencroft. You recall he is here on secret business.”
Felix brushed this aside with a wave of his hand. “I solved that business long ago. I don’t know why he hangs about.”
Amy had the first set with Felix. At its end, she drew him over to say good evening to the Harpers and Ravencroft. Ravencroft requested her company for the second set, as she hoped he would. They went to the floor before the music began.
Ravencroft said, “You are
looking very stylish this evening, Amy. I am happy you could come.” The first impression was of elegance, but as his dark gaze studied her face, he saw she was pale from worry. “I take your presence to mean your papa is improving?”
“Yes, the doctor has visited him again and says he will pull through this time. I should be home with him, but I felt I ought to come to see if there is anything to be learned. How on earth did you get the Harpers to come?” she asked, “And why? Surely they are cramping your style?”
“They wanted to attend, they only needed a little coaxing. I invited them because if there is anything to be learned about Ford’s and his cohorts’ doings, those ladies will hear it. Ford is not here, but his guests are. The pair of dandies in the Stutz jackets,” he said, nodding to a line that was forming for a country dance.
One of the men had long blond hair with a curl tumbling over his forehead. The other wore his dark hair cut close to his head. Both were in their thirties, which made them a couple of decades younger than Ford. They wore high cravats and pinched waist jackets thrown open to reveal garish waistcoats and behaved in the foppish manner of London dandies, perhaps to impress the local women. Amy doubted they had ever been in a schoolroom, much less taught in one.
“I have seen the blond one on the strut,” she said.
“Let us join them and see what we can learn”.
“You realize it is to be a country dance?” she said, peering to see if he objected to this rollicking entertainment.
“I have endured worse – for king and country. Let us go.” Then he stopped. “Unless you object?”
“We are here, let us get on with it,” she said, careful not to suggest she was gaining any pleasure from their dance.
Amy knew Miss Emry, the lady with the blond man. She presented “Mr. Stanford” to the group. The other lady finished the introductions, presenting Mr. Jermyn, the blond, and Mr. Saxton, the brunette. It was the blond who was soon rolling his eyes at Amy. She batted her lashes back at him and simpered shyly to encourage him. When Ravencroft glowered at her, she assumed he was acting the role of jealous lover.
To her astonishment, when the dance was over he took a firm grip on her elbow and said, “Let us go to the refreshment parlor, Miss Bratty.”
“No! I believe Mr. Jermyn is going to ask me to stand up with him for the next set.”
“That is exactly what I’m afraid of.”
“That is why we’re here, to see what we can learn.”
“We’ve met them now. I’ll talk to them. There is no reason you need associate with such riffraff.”
She just shook her head. “I, too, have endured worse for king and country.” She turned and gave Jermyn a smile over her shoulder. “Here he comes now,” she whispered. “You had best dart back to the Harpers.”
She noticed from the corner of her eye that it was to Miss Spencer, not Miss Harper, than he darted. It annoyed her, but she had more important things to consider. She smiled demurely at Mr. Jermyn.
“I believe you are a newcomer to Easton, Mr. Jermyn,” she said. “Are you just visiting, or dare we hope you are moving to town?”
He threw out his chest and said importantly, “I make my home in Lunnon. Just here on business. “
“How interesting! What is your line of business?”
“Me and my friends are thinking of opening up a boys’ school for gents. Something really top o’ the trees.”
“How interesting. Then you will be staying in town?”
“Lord lumme, I’m not a school master! Not I! It’s just an investment for me.” He gave a leering grin. “Mind you, I might stay if I find something that strikes my fancy. Would you care to stand up and jig it with me, Miss Bratty’?”
Amy felt she could do a better job of quizzing him without the interruption of music and dancing. She had already noticed he wore a watch chain, and meant to find an excuse for him to draw out that watch before she left him. As a wall clock twelve inches in diameter hung on the wall of the dancing room, she said, “I should like it of all things, but could you be a dear and take me for a glass of punch first? My poor throat is parched.”
He held out his elbow, she put her fingers on it, and they were off. Mr. Saxton and Miss Emry were not a step behind them. Miss Emry was a companion to Lady Bridget Healey, a local spinster. They stood in a group, talking. Amy soon realized Mr. Saxton was the more clever of the two men.
He sidled up to Amy and said, “That gentleman you were with, Miss Bratty, I hear he is looking for a house to buy.”
“Yes, Mr. Stanford has a yacht. He wants a place on or near the water for convenience. Do you know of one?”
“Not I. He must have deep pockets;”
“Yes, I expect he must.”
“You knew him before he came here?”
It was possible he had seen them together, or heard gossip about Ravencroft’s visit to Bratty Hall. She said, “He was acquainted with my cousin, Mr. Bratty, in London. He has called on us a few times.”
“Where is he from?”
She leaned a little closer and said in a confidential voice, “He has a huge estate in Devon, but he spends a deal of time in London, I believe. Very eligible!”
Mr. Saxton seemed satisfied with this explanation. He had only one more question. “Is he some kin to those old biddies he came here with tonight?”
She frowned, as if considering it. “He didn’t say so. I expect they are friends of the family. And are you, like Mr. Jermyn, here on business, Mr. Saxton?” From the corner of her eye, she saw Ravencroft loitering outside the doorway, watching her.
“That’s right, we’re looking into various business ventures. These things take time – and money if we go for a school.”
“It must be very expensive.”
“Aye, it is,” he said, and didn’t offer one single detail, but just turned back to Miss Emry, at which point Ravencroft came into the parlor. He took a glass of wine and sauntered to the far side of the room.
Amy felt she had been away from the clock long enough to inquire about the time. She had not worn her watch and saw Miss Emry was not wearing one either. She said to her in a loudish voice, “Do you happen to know the time, Miss Emry? I am ravenous. I expect it is hours until supper.”
“I didn’t wear my time piece,” Miss Emry said, looking to Mr. Saxton.
It was Mr. Jermyn, standing beside Amy, who obliged her with the answer. He drew out a gold pocket watch with a flourish, obviously proud of it, flipped the lid and said, “Why it is only half after ten, Miss Bratty. You will have a long wait for supper.” The watch looked like Mr. Bransom’s, but she could not be certain.
“I can’t believe it!” she said, reaching playfully for the watch to look for herself. Mr. Jermyn snatched at the excuse to squeeze her fingers. “I made sure it was near midnight.” She looked, laughed, and said, “You are right!” Then she closed the lid. Before giving it back to him, she glanced at the top, where the initials JRB were entwined. It was Mr. Bransom’s watch. She couldn’t turn it over to see the inscription on the back without causing suspicion, but the top was enough.
“Supper will be worth waiting for,” Miss Emry said. “They serve the loveliest sweets.”
“I hope they serve petits fours,” Amy said. The ladies chatted on about other treats. Amy didn’t think she had aroused any suspicion by looking at Jermyn’s watch. Even Mr. Saxton’s clever face wore a tolerant smile at their inane chatter.
She had to stand up with Mr. Jermyn for the quadrille, but got nothing more out of him. She was on pins to report to Ravencroft, but after Saxton’s questions she didn’t like to display any particular interest in him. She danced with other friends until supper was served, at which time she felt Felix’s friendship with Ravencroft would lend an air of innocence to their dining together.
When she looked around for Felix, she found him in a corner talking to Ford. When Felix saw her, he came and joined her.
“I didn’t realize you knew Mr. Ford,” she said.
“Everyone knows Ford,” he replied. This suggested to her that Felix was betting on some horse race. This, however, wasn’t the time to chide him for that.
“Ask Mr. Stanford to sit with us, Felix,” she said, as the dancers began to move toward the door. “The Harpers are sitting with all the older folks. He will be out of place there.”
Felix looked around the room. “He is with Miss Spencer. I’ll ask them to join us.”
Miss Spencer was not tardy to join the table where the two most eligible bachelors in the room were to sit. She maneuvered herself into a seat between them and shared her attention equally between the two. When she was occupied with Felix, Ravencroft turned to Amy. His scowl told her he was unhappy with her.
“Well, what is the verdict on the watch? I want to compliment you on your acting abilities, Miss Bratty,” he said reluctantly. “You had the pair eating out of your hand.”
“It is Bransom’s watch,” she said, with a smile intended to show anyone watching that their conversation was purely social. She went on to tell him about their pretending to be here in town looking for an investment opportunity.
“They didn’t mention the horse race?”
“No, have you arranged it already?”
“Tentatively. I have many friends in the racing community. Horse racing is the one extravagance I allow myself. The race is to take place tomorrow at five in Canterbury. As time doesn’t permit advertising, it can only be a private race, but I have put up notices at the inns to set the rumor afoot. I’ll mention it to the gents.”
Her objection was loud and clear. “No!”
Miss Spencer turned to stare at Amy’s peremptory voice. She gave Ravencroft an arch smile, “Are you misbehaving, Mr. Stanford?” she asked. “Miss Bratty sounds angry with you.”
“I am trying to lure her into giving me another set. She tells me it would be ineligible to stand up with the same gent twice.”
