By the time Meg appeared she was sitting in the window with her book in her hand, the picture of prim girlhood.
Lord Marklye had not yet returned from his trip to Tunbridge Wells by the time she descended the stairs. Only her mother was waiting on the terrace, a book in her hand. She greeted this new, sober-mannered daughter with approval, praising her choice of a pale muslin dress tied with a blue sash, a garment which spoke volumes as to its wearer’s position in Society, and admired the neat way in which the maid had managed to secure the heavy hair and the matching blue ribbon which adorned it. Apart from her height, Susan, in this artless outfit, looked more like the sort of daughter Mrs Porter had once imagined introducing to Society.
It was perhaps the girl’s conventional presentation which prompted the matron, lulled into adopting a warmer and more confiding manner than usual, to raise the subject of Lady Leland’s card party and the note which had been enclosed with the invitation. This missive informed the putative guests that her ladyship had decided to use the occasion of the card party to announce her recent decision to make her companion her heiress and to introduce the young woman to the neighbourhood as such.
“Only fancy!” Mrs Porter exclaimed, taking a sip of the lemonade which the butler had placed upon a small table beside her chair. “What in the world will her ladyship’s relations make of her decision to leave all her money to such a person? One must suppose that, since she is making such a public announcement, she has plenty to leave.”
“Will her relations be there?” Susan asked, trying in her new guise as a prettily behaved person to evince an interest in something which meant very little to her. Never having met either of the ladies concerned and having lived her whole life in expectation of a fortune herself, she set little store by such things. If the old lady wished to leave her companion a fortune, Susan could not see in what manner such a move affected either her or her mother.
“I have not the least notion. If they are, I should not be surprised if there were to be considerable argument. But what of the companion? No doubt she is an encroaching young woman who has somehow put pressure upon the old lady. I own that, if I find that to be the case, I shall feel obliged to point it out to her ladyship.”
“Are you acquainted with Lady Leland, Mama?” Susan asked pacifically, thinking that her mother joining the argument would be unlikely to benefit anyone.
“No, I have never met her but, since I understand that she is excessively old and has been widowed a great many years, I think it likely that she is not in full possession of her senses. If that turns out to be the case, I am convinced that, as a responsible person, it will be my duty to take a hand in the matter.”
“Lord Marklye has met her,” Susan suggested diffidently, “and did not seem to think her to have lost her wits.”
“No,” Mrs Porter said, “but then he has lost his – on account of the companion’s allure.”
Chapter 20
“I should not have thought there would be any difficulty in holding up your head now that you have become an heiress; everyone will defer to you,” Lord Marklye pointed out.
“Stuff! They will no doubt find a great deal in my character to disparage and will be convinced that I must have put undue pressure upon her ladyship in order to feather my nest.”
“I daresay they may but you must not allow their envy to spoil your own joy. And pray do not pretend that you do not wish to be raised from humble companion to valued heir. Her ladyship has taken this step because she loves you; why should that distress you? Have you put her under duress and threatened to break her spectacles if she does not leave you something?”
“No, of course I have not; on the contrary, I have tried strenuously to persuade her not to take this course.”
“So your annoyance now is caused as much by your failure to have your own way as by your perception of the unwiseness of her decision?”
“Is that what you think? If you are right, it makes me seem very childish.”
“Indeed – prepared to cut off your nose to spite your face. Would you really prefer to continue as a humble employee, who will be obliged to seek another position when the old lady dies, than a beloved companion? If it is the gossip from which you shrink, let me assure you that it generally does not persist for long – a new scandal soon takes its place. When I inherited my fortune - which did not come with the viscountcy - from a lady to whom I was not related, there was a vast degree of speculation concerning the connexion that I was assumed to have had with her. Her name was dragged through the mud on account of a kind and generous action; I was thankful that she was already safely in a place where such calumny could not touch her. I was judged to be a person with a shady past who ought to be avoided and could not be trusted in any respect. I must, they averred, have done something reprehensible to endear myself so mightily to a woman that she cut out all her relations and bequeathed her money to me. Of course, the social ostracism did not last long because people soon realised that it would be difficult, if not impossible, to share in my good fortune if they refused to associate with me. Miraculously, Society forgot about how I had acquired my means and, far from cold-shouldering me, began to court me assiduously. ”
“Lud! Do you suppose they will throw themselves at me? I do hope not for I should not know what to do with them. Perhaps I should direct them to your door?”
He laughed. “I do not think the sort of people who throw themselves at me would be interested in you. I am pursued by women; you will be besieged by men. I’ll lay you odds that Mr Armitage, who seemed bent on ravishing you with or without your consent just now, will appear before you on bended knee as soon as he is apprised of your change in fortune.”
“Oh, I do hope not. I have no experience at all of rejecting suitors. What should I do?”
“Tell him you do not care for him – and never will. But it is doing it rather too brown to pretend that you have no experience of rejecting admirers. I own I have wondered why you are not married and have conjectured that you must have taken refuge with Lady Leland in order to escape such persons, perhaps one in particular. Am I right?”
But this was a step too far and Mary, who had been able to put away her earlier disgruntlement with Marklye’s ‘overbearing’ manner on account of her gratitude at being rescued from Mr Armitage - and had been prepared to engage in a certain amount of badinage on the subject of suitors - took exception to this intrusive question. The smile faded and her lips took on an angry pout.
“You presume too far, my lord,” she said after the silence had lengthened to some few minutes.
But Lord Marklye was not to be intimidated by Mary’s temper. He said, “I see that I was right.”
“How dare you make such an assumption?” she exclaimed. She had tried to keep her lips closed and maintain an icy silence but, if his lordship had been better acquainted with her, he would have known that her character did not easily suffer constraint and that it needed only the slightest provocation for her to fly off the handle.
“People are much given to making assumptions about other people, sometimes on the flimsiest evidence,” he replied calmly. “I have admitted to it, that is all. Why does it make you angry? Are you perhaps still annoyed with the man in question? If so, is it not time you laid your fury aside?”
“It is nothing to do with you!” she snapped, two spots of colour flaming in her cheeks.
He saw the angry colour and the way she compressed her lips and suspected that the least little push on his part would unleash the diatribe which he was certain trembled on her tongue. It was clear that, in spite of closing her mouth with such determination and staring resolutely ahead, she held her temper on an exceedingly short rein. These were not the only signs of the gathering storm: the clenched jaw was betrayed by a little tell-tale pulse visible beneath the skin; her lips, held together by sheer force of will, yet quivered; and her hands had formed into fists. It would have taken a less observant man than Lord Marklye only seconds to percei
ve that his companion was almost at boiling point. His lordship, keenly observant and captivated by the beautiful Miss Best, made no attempt to resist his desire to provoke.
“Well,” he said mildly, looking at her sideways to observe the effect of his words, “it is nothing to do with me in one sense but, on the other hand, I confess to a great deal of vulgar curiosity. Pray do not hold back! If you wish to shout at me in lieu of that other, feel free to do so. I will engage not to shout back and will, moreover, listen to what you have to say and promise never to divulge a word of it to another as long as I live.”
“Why?”
“Because I find you fascinating: what are you doing here? You are not the usual sort of person who becomes a companion to an old lady. You are, to begin with, almost certainly I should say, of the nobility; such persons do not generally become companions. If they do not marry they are more usually to be found hanging on to their noble relatives’ coat tails, suffering indignities and insults on a daily basis. They are never – at least I have neither seen nor heard of such a person - endowed with dazzling beauty. You are perhaps the most beautiful woman I have ever beheld. What in the world are you doing here?”
“Perhaps?”
“Have I insulted you?”
“Yes.” But the anger had vanished, to be replaced by barely suppressed amusement.
“I see; I apologise and amend my judgment: you are without doubt the most beautiful woman I ever beheld.”
Mary choked.
He said nothing more, waiting patiently until his companion had mastered her laughter and was able to speak again.
At last she said in a deceptively quiet voice, “I take it that it is not my character which fascinates you, my lord.”
“Oh no! It is your looks – entirely your looks,” he said, teasing.
“They will not last much longer,” she muttered, trying, in her turn, to provoke.
“No? How old are you?”
“Five and twenty.”
“Ah; in that case you are probably almost at the very zenith so far as your beauty goes. Why, even by next year they will no doubt have begun to deteriorate.”
“If that will deter people like you and Mr Armitage from trying to take advantage of me, it is a consummation devoutly to be desired,” she retorted.
“I do not recall trying to ravish you – yet.”
“No,” she agreed, her voice quivering, “you assault me with words, with innuendo, with improper, probing questions. That is almost worse.”
“Would you rather I kissed you, snatched you up, flung you across my horse and galloped off with you?”
“No!” she cried again with unnecessary emphasis for, in truth, his too accurate description of Mr Armitage’s assault filled her with a shaming desire for him to do precisely that. She would have fought him off – of course she would - but she could not allow him to tease her with impunity.
“What would you like me to do?” he asked blandly.
“Take me home and never address another word to me!”
“Very well. I will turn the curricle at once if that is what you wish. Shall we abandon the search for your lost reticule?”
As he spoke he drew the horses up and prepared to turn.
“No! I must have the reticule; it is full of Lady Leland’s money: I cannot leave it on the road to be picked up by any passing thief.”
Marklye stopped, the curricle now halfway across the road, the horses facing the fields on one side.
“I am yours to command. Which way would you like me to proceed?”
“To find the reticule,” she replied in a constricted voice. “But pray do not say another word.”
She did not look at him as she spoke, fixing her eyes on the horses’ ears ahead of her, but she was nevertheless disquietingly aware of his leather-clad hands as he once more turned his steeds.
They proceeded in silence for some way until his lordship pulled up once more, coming to a halt at the side of the road. He did not speak but waited for his passenger to say something.
She did, after a long silence. “Why have you stopped?”
He did not answer. Provoked beyond bearing, she repeated her question.
He looked at her blandly but did not open his lips.
“For Heaven’s sake, can you not answer?”
He shook his head, his eyes laughing at her but his mouth firmly closed.
“You are beyond bearing!” she exclaimed. “Must I countermand my earlier request before you will answer?”
He nodded.
“Pray speak at once!”
“I took your insistence upon my not speaking as a command, not a request. Am I now permitted to speak?”
“Yes, but only in order to say something useful. Why have you stopped?”
“Because I could not help noticing that the road is strangely covered with scattered flowers and concluded that you must have been engaged in picking them when Mr Armitage came upon you. I assume you dropped them during the altercation and guess that you let the reticule slip at the same time. It is probably somewhere around here. Would you like me to search?”
“I can do so myself,” she said, preparing to jump down the considerable distance from the seat of the curricle to the ground.
“No, you stay here while I look. You might break an ankle if you jump all that way. Manning!” He turned his head to address the groom, who stood at the back. “Take the reins while I look for Miss Best’s property.”
“I can take the reins,” she said, “or do you not consider me capable of holding the horses?”
“I am sure you are perfectly capable; my fear is that you may decide to drive off and leave me behind once I am in the road,” he returned.
“It would serve you right if I did for then you might have some understanding of how horrid it is to be wholly without power and subject to merciless teasing. I will not; I hope I am above taking such petty revenge. I will engage to wait until you have done searching when I will meekly hand the reins back to you.”
“Very well.” He put them in her hand and said to the groom, who had already jumped down and gone to the horses’ heads, “You can help me look for the reticule. Miss Best will mind the horses.”
Mary sat rigid in the curricle, wishing that her pride had not led her to offer to take charge of it, while Marklye and his groom walked up and down the road and the verge beside it. She stared ahead, admiring the matched pair of bays. It was a long time since she had driven any kind of an equipage and, her father never having permitted her to handle either a high-bred pair or a sporting carriage, she was prey to considerable trepidation lest the fidgeting pair should take it into their heads to set off down the road. She wondered what she would do if they did.
Unfortunately, she was put to the test very soon when a farm cart came lumbering towards her at precisely the moment when another curricle, approaching from behind, was obliged to draw out to pass her. The road was narrow and the bays, startled by the approach of the two vehicles from opposite directions – and perhaps conscious of the lack of authority in the person holding the ribbons - began to sidle nervously.
Mary took a firmer hold of the reins and spoke to the horses, adjuring them to hold still and not to take fright at such a silly thing.
She was so taken up with her attempts to control her steeds that she did not notice whether her erstwhile companions were still in the road when the other curricle, with a few choice words directed at a person, who had for some reason decided to stop in the middle of the highway, flew past. She wrenched the reins, shouted “Whoa!” with what authority she could muster and hoped that she was not damaging the valuable pair’s mouths for she rather thought that Marklye would not readily forgive her for such cack-handedness.
But it was too late - or in any event impossible to hold them still as the curricle passed on one side and the farm cart, creaking, arrived directly opposite at the precise same moment. They took off, first sidling alarmingly to the left and almost into the ditch b
efore taking to their heels and galloping off down the road as fast, it seemed to her, as they could go.
Mary, both terrified and angry – for why had Marklye left her in charge of a clearly unmanageable pair – stood up, balancing precariously, and attempted to take charge, employing not so much skill – for she had none – but sheer masterfulness. She began, gradually, to get the horses under control. Now that they were in full flight there seemed to be no point in jabbing at the reins to make them stop; the best thing to do was to try to steer them, to keep them on the road and to avoid any other vehicles or horses which they passed. No one could possibly have overtaken them. Indeed, almost the worst of it was that she could see the other curricle not far ahead of her and was afraid that, at the breakneck speed which they had adopted, her steeds would be intent on passing it and would most likely be too stupid or unnerved to notice any other carriages or carts that might be travelling on the other side of the road.
Fortunately, they did not meet anyone else and the man in front, hearing the pounding of hooves from behind, looked round, saw her apparently chasing him and put on a further turn of speed himself. He did not, she thought bitterly, wish to be overtaken by a female, particularly one who was driving so badly.
Slowly, as the bays wore themselves out, they began to feel the guidance of the driver behind them, to sense that this human, although not their master and clearly lacking his skill, had yet some character and determination, and to heed her handling. She no longer pulled violently, she did not shout; indeed – as her temper evaporated in the presence of such peril – she began to speak in a soothing but firm manner.
By the time they ceased their mad gallop, they were some miles from the Viscount and his groom and Mary, initially feeling pride in her ability to bring them under control, realised that she was by no means out of danger. She would have to turn in order to return for the two men.
Chapter 21
Mary Or The Perils 0f Imprudence Page 18
