Two Corinthians

by Carola Dunn

  “Why, you're soaked to the skin, Miss Claire,” scolded the butler. “Let me take your pelisse afore you catch your death of cold."

  Alfie entered the hall in time to hear his last words.

  “You not going to die of cold, Miss Claire?” he cried, his face agonised.

  “Of course not, Alfie,” she assured him, but her teeth chattered, and she was shivering.

  “Cold,” he repeated, his expression paralysed by the effort of his mental processes. At last the idea emerged. “Take coal up to chamber,” he said in triumph. “Tell Molly to light fire."

  “Yes, Alfie, go at once.” Lizzie flew in and ran to hug her sister, regardless of her wet dress. “Claire, I was so worried about you! Come up quickly and get into dry clothes. I gave Mama such a piece of mind that she went to bed with the megrim as soon as we reached home. You will be glad to hear that we are both impertinent, ungrateful hussies! I do not think there is the slightest chance that she will take me to Town now. Is it not wonderful? I had so much rather be with just you."

  “You did not tell her our plans?"

  “No, though it was monstrous difficult to hold my tongue. You are quite right that she will only try to throw a rub in our way unless we do not tell her until we are ready to leave. Oh, Claire, I am looking forward to it so, and I do love you!” Once again Lizzie flung her arms round her sister and hugged her hard.

  Claire could not imagine why she had succumbed to the blue devils not an hour since. Lizzie, Alfie, and even Golightly cared for her. Her mother's animosity was insignificant, and soon she would be free of it.

  She could not help wondering whether George had been moved by chivalry alone when he lifted her onto Orpheus's back. Was it possible that he, too, cared for her a little?

  Chapter VIII—George

  George, too, was pondering his feelings for the Misses Sutton as he rode round to the stables. The plain fact of the matter was that he enjoyed their company. He liked them in a way that he had not liked any female outside his immediate family for as long as he could remember.

  Always the shadow of Danny's experience had come between him and the respectable young ladies he might have been expected to take to wife.

  Now the shadow was lifted. That alone might account for the lack of cynicism in his relationship with Lizzie and Claire, and he might find that he looked on all women with a new eye. They were unusual young women though, unlike any he had ever met. For one thing, they never bored him.

  Was liking and an absence of boredom sufficient ground for marriage? He had told his father he meant to look about him for a wife. He could imagine being happy with either of them. On the other hand, it would scarcely be fair to Lizzie to spoil her plot by offering for her after all, and the difference in their ages must be a disadvantage. Claire he ought not even to consider: he had as good as given his word to Lady Caroline that he would not interfere in Pomeroy's pursuit.

  With a sigh of relief at this satisfactory reasoning, which left him free as ever, he dismounted and rubbed Orpheus's wet nose. His groom appeared from the tackle room.

  “We'll be leaving this afternoon, Peter,” he said. “Make sure that he's fed after you rub him down, though I don't mean to ride him and we go only as far as Oxford today."

  “Right, my lord. I'll see to it the team's ready when you want ‘em,” the groom promised stolidly, with only a hint of a glance at the pouring rain outside. He was used to his master's restlessness and sudden decisions to move on.

  George saw the hint and grinned. “Sorry to drag you out in this weather, but it's time to be off. Wrap up warm, and there'll be hot toddy at the Mitre when we reach Oxford."

  He hurried to the house. The wind was blowing in gusts again, and he cursed as a flurry of rain bespattered his face. Nonetheless, it was time to go, before he found himself any more entangled in the lives of the Misses Sutton. The last thing he wanted was to raise any expectations he did not mean to satisfy.

  He laughed aloud as he realised that that was precisely what he had been doing without a qualm for the past decade. Truly Claire and Lizzie were different from the general run of females of their class! Well, he would see them in London.

  Golightly met him in the hall and tut-tutted as he took the wet coat and hat. “Luncheon will be served in the morning room in half an hour, my lord,” he announced.

  “Thank you. Dry these as well as you can, will you? I shall be leaving for Town this afternoon. And send Slade to me now."

  'Yes, my lord. A pity you must travel in this weather, my lord."

  George realised that he would owe his host and hostess an explanation for his unexpected departure. And it must be good or Claire would be blamed, since she had been with him last. He racked his brains. It must be important enough that he had no choice but to leave, yet dull enough that he might have forgotten until the last minute.

  He produced a sigh. “A legal matter,” he said. “If one keeps one's lawyers waiting it always ends in disaster. Lord Carfax happened to draw my attention to the date. I have so enjoyed my stay here that I quite lost track of time."

  “Precisely, my lord.” The butler's tone suggested that his lordship deserved high marks for effort if not for truthfulness.

  Slade's disapproval was more overt. He muttered ominously as he helped his master change out of his riding clothes. “Can't pack that coat and hat damp, it'll ruin them. No time to clean the boots proper, let alone polish them. There's three shirts in the laundry, them girls are slow as treacle, besides three I've not yet ironed. Only five starched cravats."

  “I shall go unstarched then,” said George calmly. “Perhaps you would prefer to follow tomorrow with my wardrobe?"

  The valet looked thoroughly offended. “I shall contrive, my lord, to be ready in time for your lordship's departure,” he said with stern dignity.

  His lordship departed immediately for the morning room.

  Lady Sutton and Lizzie were already there. The men of the family, after a hearty breakfast, generally made do with bread and cheese in the stables at midday. George wondered where Claire was, though he was unsurprised by her absence. Only her mother could have caused this morning's tears.

  “I hope your sister has not suffered from her wetting, Miss Elizabeth?” he enquired, helping himself to a thick slice of cold roast beef and a piece of pigeon pie.

  “I think not. She is not hungry."

  “I must thank you, my lord, for rescuing the silly girl from the effects of her folly,” said Lady Sutton ungraciously.

  "I did not tell Mama you brought her home,” Lizzie assured him. “She got it from the servants."

  “Nonsense, Elizabeth, I saw it from the window,” lied her ladyship. “You show a total want of propriety in supposing that any lady listens to servants’ tattling. Obviously it is out of the question to expose your indecorous behaviour to the Polite World this spring."

  George lost his appetite. It appeared to have come to open warfare between Lizzie and her mother, and he had no desire to find himself trapped between the battle lines.

  Lady Sutton must also have heard that he was leaving. However, after her words to Lizzie about servants’ gossip she could not admit it, so he was able to present his regretful explanation in due form. She glared at her undutiful daughter but accepted his apologies with a proper show of disappointment at losing the pleasure of his company.

  “I must bid you farewell immediately,” she added, pressing her hand to her forehead. “I feel one of my headaches coming on, I fear, and I shall be forced to lie down for the rest of the day."

  George rose and bowed and expressed his hopes for her speedy recovery and his gratitude for her hospitality. As she tottered out, she passed near Lizzie and leaned towards her.

  “You shall live to regret this day's work, missie!” she hissed.

  Scarcely had the door closed behind her when Lizzie crowed, “I have begun to win! Now that I know that Claire will soon be gone and cannot be made to suffer, I can say what I think a
nd Mama does not know how to answer."

  “Abominable brat,” said George through a mouthful of pie. His appetite had returned with his hostess's departure. “I hope I have not spoiled your plot?"

  “Not in the least. It was splendid. Mama learned that you had brought Claire home—for which I must thank you—before she learned you were going. She was persuaded you have done it for my sake and that your reputation was much exaggerated. She told me to be prepared for Papa to call me this evening to tell me of your offer!"

  George was tempted but decided not to enquire as to what she had heard of his reputation. Instead he asked, “And did you believe I had done it for your sake and was on the point of proposing?"

  “Of course not! Why should you do anything for my sake? Even the plot, I am sure you joined in only because you thought it would be amusing. And you helped Claire because she was in difficulties and you are a perfect gentleman. Did Lady Caroline exaggerate your reputation?"

  “Since I've no notion what you overheard I cannot say, and true or not it is no fit subject for your conversation,” he said repressively, thinking how unspoiled she was, how utterly lacking in vanity. Would London change her?

  “No, I am sorry, you are right.” Lizzie was penitent.

  “You did overhear, I collect?” He grinned at her. “Surely Lady Caroline did not intentionally reveal my dreadful past to you?"

  “No, I was eavesdropping. It is the best way to learn the truly interesting tidbits."

  “Abominable chit,” he said again.

  “I daresay you are leaving because you cannot bear it here any longer?” she asked wistfully. “I do not mean to tease, but I do hope you will not cut us in London. Mama will definitely not be there."

  “So I gather. No, I should not dream of cutting you in London, you mistrustful child.” Too late he remembered her violent reaction to being called a child by Lord Pomeroy. However, she did not seem to notice. It made him feel old. “I shall be living at Bellingham House, in Berkeley Square. You must notify me as soon as you arrive in Town, and I shall be on your doorstep within the hour."

  “Unless you are not at home when the message arrives,” she pointed out.

  “True. Now I should like to bid your sister farewell. Is she laid down upon her bed?"

  “She said she was going to go to her greenhouse."

  “In this—ah, the wind has shredded the clouds while my attention was elsewhere. Peter will be relieved. You'll excuse me, Lizzie. I shall see you again before I leave."

  “Tell Claire that Mama has the headache and it is safe to come in.” She smiled at him over the rim of her teacup as he left.

  What a delightful girl she was, full of mischief yet devoted to her sister, always looking to protect her. If it were not for the sixteen years between them ... but he would see her in London. If she had not fallen in love with some eligible young man by the end of the Season, perhaps he might try his luck after all.

  Ragged clouds swept across the sky, now exposing now hiding the sun. The air was fresh and mild. Puddles glinted everywhere, and even the best gravelled paths were muddy. There would be another pair of spattered boots to be cleaned by the unfortunate Slade, who had never become accustomed to his master's disregard for his clothes.

  George stood for a moment outside the greenhouse, watching Claire. Here in her own realm she moved with a sureness and grace which contrasted painfully with her awkwardness in her mother's presence. His lordship mouthed a silent curse at the absent Lady Sutton. He knocked on the door. Smiling, Claire beckoned him in.

  It was clear that she had come here while it was still raining, for wisps of hair clung in damp tendrils to her brow. The muggy warmth of the greenhouse had brought a rosy hue to her usually pale cheeks, and her lips looked invitingly sweet.

  George reminded himself of his errand. “I regret to say that I am come to make my farewells,” he said.

  The welcome died from her expressive face, replaced by the vague blankness that was her defence. George hated himself for driving her to that withdrawal.

  “I thought....” she began hesitantly. “That is ... was it something I said this morning? Or did?"

  “Lord no! Though I wager your mother will blame you, despite my attempt to persuade her otherwise."

  “Then why...? You asked Lizzie and me to ride out with you one day!"

  He was more than happy to see that indignation was overcoming her diffidence.

  “It is most ill-bred in me to tell you this,” he said, “but I cannot abide Lady Sutton's constant attempts to intimidate you and your sister. I feel that my presence sometimes exacerbates her rancour, so I have decided to rid you of that added burden."

  Another lie, and he was not used to lying for the sake of tact. In general, he went his way with a blithe insouciance towards most people's feelings—another warning that he was right to be leaving.

  Yet it was no lie after all, he realised, merely a reason that he had been hiding from himself.

  “You will give me your direction in London?” he asked quickly. “I have not offended you beyond forgiveness?"

  “No, how should you?” Her voice shook a little. “You are so considerate. I am not used to having my feelings regarded."

  He took her hands, grubby as they were. “I know. Lizzie has told me something of your difficulties. I admire more than I can say the way you have taught and shielded her, allowed her to grow up uncrushed. You have been strong and successful, where I failed."

  She looked at him in wonder. He let go her hands and turned away, leaning forward against her workbench and gazing sightlessly out into the garden. “I have a younger brother, six years younger. When he was born, I promised my mother to take care of him. He little needed my protection, for my family was very different from yours, so I picked him up when he fell off his pony and took him to his first prizefight. He looked up to me, though, and I loved him as you love Lizzie. Only, when the dragon came I had not built up my strength by endurance, as you have.” He paused, hearing his voice shake as hers had.

  “The dragon?” she asked quietly.

  He glanced at her. She had gone back to her work, trimming stems and binding them together in the arcane mysteries of her craft, but he knew she was listening to every word. He was driven by a need to make her understand his weakness and her own strength. He began to pace up and down the narrow space.

  “Danny joined the army and went to Portugal. After Corunna he came home, wounded and with a Spanish bride. Both wound and woman put him through hell, and I will not apologise for using that word. I could not see how to help him so I stayed away, but there must have been something I should have done. There must have been something!"

  “Perhaps not. How could you intervene between man and wife?

  But have you never seen him since?"

  “She ran away and there was a divorce, a scandal in itself and of course rumours flew. Afterwards I went to him. He let me visit, but he never confided in me again, not until ... he fell in love again, Claire, and he quarrelled with his beloved. And he told me, and I was able to make it up between them. You can imagine how I felt!"

  “Yes, I think so.” The faraway look in her grey eyes was not an escape but concentration upon an inner vision. “I am glad you told me. Is he happy now?"

  “Very happy. He is to be wed in June.” George felt as if he was relieved of a great burden. Her calm acceptance and undemonstrative sympathy warmed him. He sat down on an upended barrel and watched her hands.

  Her long fingers with their oval nails moved with a delicate surety of touch. He wondered how it would feel if she touched him. He remembered the supple slenderness of her waist between his hands when he lifted her, the light pressure of her head resting trustfully against his shoulder.

  The back of her neck was almost unbearably tempting.

  “I must go,” he said abruptly. “I want to reach Oxford tonight. I shall see you in London.” As he left he ran one finger down the soft curve of her cheek in a gentl
e caress.

  He strode back towards the house, unmindful of the puddles he splashed through. He had been too long without a woman. As soon as he reached Town he would call on Suzette—or was it Annette? She would be happy to see him after his three-week absence.

  The thought was uninviting. It must be time to find a new mistress, no difficult task, for his generosity was as well known to the ladies of the demi-monde as was his fickleness.

  The devil of it was, he decided, that it was no mistress he needed, but a wife.

  Chapter IX—Bertram

  “Well, Bertram?” Lady Caroline looked up from a letter as her brother joined her in the breakfast-room. “How goes the courtship?"

  “I have not seen her since she was here three days ago.” He helped himself from the variety of dishes on the sideboard and joined her at the table. “I've no intention of making a cake of myself by being too particular in my attentions before I have decided whether she will suit."

  “Lud, sometimes I think you are a regular cold fish!"

  “You know it is to be a marriage of convenience, Caroline. I cannot so easily forget the past."

  “No, and I daresay I should think you a cold fish if you could. You cannot win, my dear. But tell me what you think of her. We dine with the Suttons tonight, remember."

  Bertram groaned. “Truth to tell, her family must be the biggest obstacle—vulgar mother, impertinent sister, father who reeks of the stables, and the brothers do not bear thinking of!"

  “I doubt she will care to see any but her sister once she is married. You are dodging the point, however. What think you of Claire herself?"

  “When she is on her own, and not absorbed in her wretched plants, she is well enough. No beauty, of course, but a coiffeur and a decent wardrobe must improve her looks. She is quiet enough, yet she has a certain humorous touch at times and I think her reasonably intelligent. An adequate companion for the country, but I do not mean to bury myself year round at Tatenhill. I must see how she goes on in Town before I commit myself."