by Joan Smith
He gave her a roguish look. “I won’t say it hasn’t occurred to me,” he riposted.
So that’s what the vixen is up to! Fay said to herself. She thinks to plant old Gurney on me. The woman is mad as a hatter. She went along with the flirtation, however, to amuse herself.
Fenwick noticed that Miss Lonsdale was at loose ends, and moved to join her, where she sat primly sipping her tea. Jane had been acutely conscious of his presence ever since the company’s arrival. Despite his less than exemplary behavior the day before, she had been hoping for a few moments alone with him. Her heart thumped nervously as he took the chair beside her and gave her a quizzing smile.
“As we have been exchanging secret glances for quite ten minutes, the next step is for us to exchange a few words,” he said.
She flushed when she realized that she had indeed been exchanging secret glances with this dashing lord. In her discomfort she spoke more bluntly than she liked. “Why did you draw Lady Sykes’s attention to me?” she asked.
“Why did you look at me in that pleading way? I thought you were uncomfortable with the conversation, if one can call two cats hissing conversation. I was merely trying to divert the talk to less violent channels.”
“I was uncomfortable, but I didn’t mean for you to draw Lady Sykes’s attention to me.”
“I’m sure you were already the cynosure of all eyes, ma’am. It is the inevitable fate of the youngest, prettiest lady in the room.” Jane gave a little snort of derision.
“Considering the competition, there is not much compliment in that comparison,” he added. “I shall improve on my compliments as we go on. How was I to know Phoebe would subject you to such a barrage of questions? It seems you attract interrogators, Miss Lonsdale,” he said, smiling ruefully.
She replied, “I cannot imagine why I have suddenly incited so much curiosity, unless it is my relationship to Aunt Fay.”
“I fancy you’ve hit the nail on the head.”
“It’s a pity the ladies cannot rub along better. Aunt Fay is lonesome here.”
“She has you now. Such charming company must go a long way toward alleviating the situation.” He sketched a small bow to accompany his compliment. Then he peered at her archly. “Was that better?”
Jane assumed this sort of flirtation was the accepted mode amongst fine lords and ladies, and smiled her approval. “Aunt Fay has no one of her own age. I think she misses Lizzie—Lady Pargeter, I should say.”
“And not her late husband, Lord Pargeter?”
Jane found herself being examined by a pair of brightly curious eyes. “And Pargeter, of course, but a lady likes to have a female of her own age to discuss those things that are of interest only to ladies.”
“I should think you’re missing your friends as well, Miss Lonsdale. I am obviously not a female, and a decade older than you, but if you would like to discuss those things you imagine only ladies are interested in, I should be happy to try to oblige you.”
“Oh, I am not lonesome yet.”
“I am,” he said bluntly. “Let us comfort and console each other with a good scandal broth. Now, where shall we begin our gossip? What do you think of Phoebe’s bonnet? Did you ever see such a quiz?”
Jane’s eyes widened in astonishment to hear such nonsense from Lord Fenwick. Her notion of him had been formed on his first visit when he had questioned her so brusquely, almost rudely. He hardly seemed to be the same man today.
Undeterred by her lack of response, Fenwick chatted on. “It would do well enough for a widow, but for a distant cousin to be donning such a load of crape is doing it too brown—or in this case, too black. Much good it will do her, unless Pargeter is looking down on her from above. And even then, he can hardly change his will.”
He was rewarded by a small gurgle of laughter. “What is of more interest to me is Mr. Gurney’s setting up a flirtation with my aunt,” she said.
“Your wits are gone begging, ma’am. He’s planning to root you out, limb and branch, and replace you as Lady Pargeter’s companion. A curious notion of horticulture to be sure, to replace a healthy young rose with a withered stump of yew, but you will find no excess of intelligence at Swann Hall.” He noticed that, instead of being flattered at being called a rose, she was regarding him with narrowed eyes. “Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked bluntly.
“I hadn’t realized I was looking at you in an objectionable way, but as you ask, I wondered why you continue your visit at Swann Hall if the company does not please you. Mr. Swann mentioned yesterday that you were on your way to your hunting box. It is close by, I believe?”
“To tell the truth, I always enjoy a good family squabble. Having stumbled into a prime one, I am loath to leave until it is settled, one way or the other—by trick or by treaty.”
“It is settled, Lord Fenwick. My aunt was legally married. She is Pargeter’s heir. Or does Lady Sykes plan to take the matter to court?”
“I believe I’ve talked her out of that folly. You can thank me later. But if you think the matter is settled, ma’am, I take leave to tell you, you are hopelessly naive. It has only begun. There is an exceedingly wealthy widow and her charming niece to be married off, preferably to obliging relatives of Lady Sykes.”
She stared in confusion. “I expect Aunt Fay will receive offers, but I am not wealthy. I’m a working lady, and in my experience, poverty has always proved a sovereign prevention against marriage.”
“But you are speaking of arranged marriages,” he pointed out. “Your modern lad and lass have been known to flout common sense and marry where their hearts dictate, with the somewhat dimwitted notion of living on love.”
“With the cold pudding of poverty for dessert.”
“No, no! You were supposed to disagree with that cynical ‘dimwitted,’ Miss Lonsdale. How can we enjoy a good argument if you go agreeing with my antique notions? It is your duty as a penniless orphan to push for marriages of love. A cat may look at a king, and a dowerless lady may hope for an offer from a prince.”
“The only offer I look forward to is one of employment, if Fay does marry, that is. Certainly she would not do so in the near future. She’s still in mourning.”
Fenwick cocked his head to one side and directed a knowing look at her. “Well, if you insist on talking common sense, mourning did not prove a deterrent against marriage for your aunt—nor did poverty, come to that. I believe it is Lady Pargeter I should be having this conversation with.”
“There were special circumstances,” Jane pointed out.
Having lulled her suspicions by his nonsense, Fenwick began to work the conversation around to Miss Prism’s Academy, hoping to learn Miss Lonsdale’s secret, for he felt there was some secret lurking there. Whether it was her illegitimacy or a matter relating to misdoing on her own part, he was curious to discover.
“Do you miss your students, Miss Lonsdale?” he asked.
“One always has a few pets, but in general, I own I am happier here than at the academy.”
“I expect it would actually be the other schoolmistresses you were closer to.”
“Yes, I had one particular friend, Harriet Stowe. Our backgrounds were rather similar. Both clergymen’s daughters. Harriet was in worse case than I. She had no relatives when her papa died.”
“She was fortunate to have been hired by Miss Prism. I believe one requires some connections to be taken on there?”
She noticed the keen eye with which he regarded her, and was suddenly suspicious. “I had no special connections. I believe that, like myself, her papa knew some influential clergyman in Bath.”
“And is that all that’s required? One would think the line of hopeful applicants would be a mile long. I thought perhaps Lord Pargeter put in a word for you.”
“No, how should he? I didn’t know him at the time.”
“You didn’t visit your aunt at Wildercliffe before this visit?”
“Yes, once when the first Lady Pargeter was still alive.”
>
“You got on well with Pargeter?”
“I scarcely met him. And that was after I was working at the academy, Lord Fenwick. I assure you he had nothing to do with my being hired.” She could find no reason for his questions. He had been listening when Lady Sykes covered the same ground earlier. This conversation seemed pointless, unless he felt she was unqualified as a schoolmistress. “I was hired for my talents,” she said stiffly.
“I’m sure they are formidable, Miss Lonsdale.”
She stared at him a moment before speaking, trying to gauge his intention. He met her gaze, but she read some guile in his expression. He smiled, but it was an insincere smile.
“No, they are only average. Formidable talents are not required to teach young ladies reading and writing.”
“Of course.” Fenwick nodded. “Character, I expect, is of equal or even more importance.”
Her tongue touched her lips nervously. “Quite,” she said.
Fenwick’s interest soared, but before he could pursue this new line of inquiry, Swann was upon them. He used his empty cup as an excuse to escape Lady Sykes. When he had filled his cup, he joined Fenwick and Jane.
“Pity our outing was canceled, Miss Lonsdale,” he said. “We shall do it tomorrow, if you like.”
“I look forward to it,” she replied. Relief showed on every line of her face, and Fenwick was sharp enough to see it. She was definitely uncomfortable discussing character. He was intrigued that such an innocent-seeming lady should harbor a secret vice. What could it be?
“I must visit Wilkie and Minerva this afternoon, rain or no,” Swann continued. “They only hatched six eggs this year. They usually hatch seven. With only the one breeding pair left, I can take no chances. I am on the lookout for a pair of black swans. You wouldn’t happen to know of a pair for sale?”
“I’ve never even seen a black one,” she told him.
“Some neighbors of mine in Surrey have a pair, but I doubt they would part with them,” Fenwick mentioned.
Swann sipped his tea and glanced about the room. “Old Horace is acting pretty coy,” he said. “Trying his luck with Miss—with Lady Pargeter. Hard to remember to give her her title when she has been Miss Rampling forever. Phoebe will never bring it off.”
Jane continued drinking her tea, but Fenwick caught her eye and smiled.
“If worst comes to worst, Miss Lonsdale, I know several families who would be happy to hire a governess with experience at Miss Prism’s Seminary,” he said in a joking way.
“What the deuce are you talking about?” Swann asked angrily. “Miss Lonsdale ain’t looking for a position. She just got here. She has not even seen my swans yet.”
“I was discussing future possibilities, after Miss Lonsdale has seen your swans,” he said.
The visit did not last long. As soon as the tea was finished, the callers left.
While they were driving home, Phoebe said, “The chit is certainly Pargeter’s by-blow. I noticed a marked resemblance, but I shall not call Nigel until it is settled that she is to inherit Wildercliffe, or he will go falling in love with her, for she is a little prettier than I had expected.”
Fenwick had seen no such resemblance. Jane’s conversation told him she had no thought of inheriting, yet she had become quite vexed when he harped on her former acquaintance with Pargeter. There was some mystery there, some irregularity.
He stifled a yawn and said, “Surely love is a prerequisite for marriage, Phoebe.”
“What bizarre notions you modern fellows harbor. Love is fatal to a happy marriage. It produces nothing but jealousy and arguments. Your mama would stare to hear you speak so foolishly, Fenwick. Love indeed! I shall invite them to Swann Hall for dinner, to forward the relationship.”
“It’s my house,” Swann said, his ire rising.
“Indeed it is, and I want you to do the thing up nicely, Scawen. Two or three courses and as many removes. You must not mention it to your mama, or she will want to join the party. She’ll ruin it, with her dribbling and meandering talk. What a trial it is when the old folks don’t know enough to die. Did you notice the housekeeper was wearing Lizzie’s pearls, Fenwick? I wonder if the jewelry was left to her outright in the will. It is worth fifty thousand easily. The Pargeter diamonds alone must be worth close to twenty thousand.”
“Ten,” Scawen said.
Phoebe ignored him. She was the sort of lady who dealt in hyperbole. Her enemies were all blackguards, and her few friends were saints. Anyone with five thousand a year was a nabob, and anyone with less than five was a pauper.
“See if you can find out the next time you call, Horace,” she said. “But do it discreetly. You did very well, by the by. I knew someone of your cut would just suit the housekeeper.”
* * * *
At Wildercliffe, the visit was also being discussed.
“Lady Sykes plans to palm that disreputable brother of hers off on me,” Lady Pargeter said, and laughed merrily. “She must think I’m easy to please, if I would marry that sponge. What had Fenwick to say, Jane?”
“He mentioned the same possibility,” she said.
“I begin to see why they came. There is one good thing in it at least. It seems Lady Sykes has decided not to go to court. I would dislike the bother. Shall we have a snack before lunch? I am feeling peckish.”
“You go ahead. I’m not hungry, after sitting all morning. You’ll be putting on weight if you keep up at this rate, Aunt Fay.”
Lady Pargeter called for bread and butter and some cold mutton, promising she would go out and walk as soon as the rain let up. Jane sat on, mentally reviewing her first flirtation, and wondering if it had been a flirtation, or merely a diversion to cover an interrogation. Lord Fenwick had asked a dozen seemingly pointless questions. Why did he think Pargeter had taken an interest in her? He had something in mind, but for the life of her, she couldn’t fathom what it was.
Chapter Seven
The next morning dawned fair. From his study window, Lord Malton saw the sun glinting on newly leafed trees, fresh from the spring rain. A light breeze stirred their branches. On an impulse he rose and threw open the mullioned window, a thing he seldom did. As a warm zephyr blew over him, he felt some long-forgotten stirrings of life. It was Fenwick’s recent visit that called to mind his late friend Pargeter, and his widow. A fine-looking woman, Rampling. He had always thought so. Many a time he and Pargeter had regretted her being a lady. On an impulse, Lord Malton decided to call for his carriage and pay a call on Lady Pargeter.
He took a glance at himself in the gilt-framed mirror in the entrance hallway as he left, and gave a shudder of distaste. Where had this old man come from? His nice tawny mane of hair had faded to gray decades ago, and had nearly left his head entirely over the past ten years. The tawny hair would have looked like the devil with his ruddy nose and cheeks, but he wished he had more than a fringe of white to cover his pate. His stomach preceded him by half a foot, but by God, he still looked like a gentleman. He had not begun drooling on his waistcoat, and he could walk with the brisk step of a fifty-year-old.
Lady Pargeter was quite simply amazed to receive a call from him half an hour later. He had always treated her with a certain avuncular jollity that was half flirtation and half genuine friendship. She soon saw that his manner had not changed in the least.
“Lady Pargeter! I trust this old ghost from the past does not frighten you,” he said, walking forward and raising her hand to his lips.
“Lord Malton! I couldn’t be more surprised if you were a ghost.” His smile told Fay that the call was a friendly one. “Why have you been ignoring me?” she demanded.
“Because I’m a lazy hound, and could not drag myself out of the house in winter. It was Lord Fenwick’s call t’other day that brought you to mind. Not that I had forgotten you entirely! At my age, you must know, I’d forget to eat my dinner if the servants didn’t call me. Oh, I am a sad wreck of humanity. A sad creature. May I have a glass of wine?”
&nb
sp; “You were not used to be so formal, Lord Malton. Help yourself.”
“Don’t you think you might dispense with the ‘Lord’ after all these years, Ramp—Lady Pargeter?” He stopped and shook his head. “No, I cannot call you by that name. Lizzie will always be Lady Pargeter to me. You are Rampling, but as it wouldn’t do to call you so now, I shall call you Fay,” he said daringly.
He poured the wine and they settled in for a good coze.
“Young Fenwick was sniffing around to see what he could discover,” he said. “Sykes put him up to it, no doubt.”
“You didn’t tell him?”
“Not the whole, until we see how things come out. Mind you, you can’t keep it a secret forever.”
“There’s plenty of time. Did Fenwick tell you my niece is staying with me?”
“He mentioned it. Where is she?”
“Swann has taken her to see his swans.”
“Ah, Swann,” he said fondly. “You ought to encourage her to have him. An excellent fellow, Swann. He’ll never nab a wife on his own. Swann Hall needs a lady’s touch. Poor old Mrs. Swann is past it. I hear she’s completely bed-bound. How cruel time is. I remember her as a pretty lady when I was in short coats. She was quite the belle of the parish.”
Lord Malton remained for an hour, chatting and enjoying the little flirtation immensely. When he left, his step was lighter, almost youthful.
* * * *
At Swann Lake, Jane Lonsdale was also enjoying her morning. She had been pleasantly surprised to see that Lord Fenwick accompanied Swann when he called for her. He was dressed more casually on this occasion, with a dotted Belcher kerchief in lieu of a cravat, but wearing the same blue jacket, which hugged his broad, straight shoulders. His chestnut hair, brushed forward in the stylish Brutus do, gleamed in the sunlight. Swann could not have chosen a companion more likely to cast him in the shade.
