The Merry Month of May

by Joan Smith

  “It was a chance meeting, no more,” she said swiftly. “Peter was as relieved as I to have it done with.”

  “But you were so much in love before! You looked like death when he left, Sara. What happened?”

  She gave him a pert look. “He came back.”

  “What does that mean?”

  She took a deep breath and braced herself to tell all. “It means I was not heartbroken when he left. I was relieved, really. We didn’t suit. I was too young, and everyone thought it a great match. The plans were all made, the gown ordered, and everything. Papa wanted— Oh, you don’t understand, but Peter does.”

  Haldiman listened, with his mind roving over that ancient history. “I had no idea,” he said, in a dazed voice.

  “It’s true all the same. Now let us speak of more pleasant things, if you please. Miss Harvey was a great hit, was she not?” she asked, and watched for his reply.

  “Yes. But are you saying your father was forcing you to marry Peter?”

  “Not forcing, exactly. I—Peter was handsome. I liked him, at first. But there was that business of your maid, Polly, you know.”

  “You learned of that, did you?” he asked, his jaw muscle quivering. “That was ill done of him. I wanted to box his ears. But I do think he’s changed, you know, improved.”

  “It is over and done with. You must believe me. I think he has changed, for the better, but I still don’t love him. I could never love him.”

  “Is there someone else?” he asked warily.

  “Jealousy is the best sauce.” Betsy’s arch words came back to her. Haldiman seemed at least a little interested. Might she increase his interest by claiming a flirt? “Perhaps,” she smiled.

  He looked and saw the amusement sparkling in her eyes. Sara didn’t love Peter. She didn’t love Idle. She may not love him yet either, but it seemed possible now. She had let him kiss her at least. He sipped his wine, wondering how best to advance his suit. Before he set his glass down, Betsy came flouncing into the room, eyes darting fire.

  “So here you are, Rufus!” she exclaimed. “Is poor Sara not feeling well? I have noticed all evening you were looking peaked.”

  “I feel fine,” Sara replied.

  “With those gaunt cheeks? My dear, you look like death. Doesn’t she look pale as a ghost, Rufus?”

  “Sara is fine. We were just having a chat.”

  “About Mary and Dickie? There is a match hatching there, mark my words. Little Mary is up to all the rigs. Fetch me a glass of wine, Rufus. I’m fagged to death.” She took care to take a seat in the middle of the sofa, between Haldiman and Sara, when he rose.

  Haldiman went for the wine, and Betsy turned a gleaming eye on Sara. “Would you be a darling and leave us alone for a moment, Sara? I think Rufus wants to speak to me. You know what I mean. The only thing holding him up is that he didn’t know who to ask for my hand. I mean to tell him Peter can speak in place of my father. He is my brother-in-law, after all. It will do, don’t you think?”

  Sara stared a moment blankly. Was this what Haldiman had been leading up to? Scarlet stained her cheeks to think how close she had come to betraying herself. “Oh yes, certainly. He will do excellently.” Rufus returned just as she was rising.

  “Don’t rush off, Sara,” he said.

  Betsy winked behind his back. “I—I have to go,” she said, and left the room in a dash.

  As soon as Haldiman sat down, Betsy curled her arm around his. “She left the door open, but no one can see us. We can be quite private here for anything you want to say.”

  Haldiman stiffened like a statue. “We have nothing to say that others might not hear.”

  She batted his hand playfully. “You are so stiff, Rufus. Don’t worry. Papa would be thrilled if I were to write home that I’d married a lord.”

  In a fit of horror Haldiman heard himself say, “Ah, have you accepted an offer from Peter then? He didn’t tell me.” He carefully disengaged his arm.

  “Peter! Why should I take Fiona’s leavings? I don’t mean Peter.”

  Haldiman turned from plaster to stone. “Really? Then I cannot imagine whom you have accepted an offer from.”

  Betsy’s brown eyes narrowed to slits. “I don’t suppose you can imagine who’s been running after me as hard as his legs can carry him either! If this is an example of English manners, you can keep them.” She rose and flounced from the room to complain to Peter of the shabby treatment she had received from his brother. Peter, thrown for a loss, expressed himself properly incensed on her behalf and said he would speak to Rufus.

  He went straight to the study and said, “We’re for it, Rufus. Betsy’s in an uproar. She thought to get an offer from you. You’ve been pretty particular in your attentions, you know.”

  Haldiman just shook his head. “Marry her, Peter. She’s going to have one of us, by hook or by crook.”

  “I had intended to. You said I should offer for Sara, to make it up. She don’t want me. The thing is, I fear Betsy don’t care for me as she used to.”

  “You could turn her up sweet.”

  Peter rubbed his jaw. “I daresay I could, given a few days. I haven’t met anyone I like better. She likes the kiddies. She is a good, lively sort, like Fiona, and the dibs are in tune. The chief difficulty is that she would expect me to return to Canada. Retford, her papa’s place, is much grander than the Poplars, and Betsy is now the sole heir. She will want her husband to run it.”

  Haldiman considered it. “That does present a problem. We would not like to see you and the boys leave England.”

  “Nor do I want to leave.”

  “Might she agree to selling Retford, after her father’s death, I mean?”

  “I could sound her out. I’ll go and begin to soften her up now.”

  Haldiman remained in the library, thinking. When Lord Peter returned to the ball, he saw that Betsy was standing up with that scoundrel of a Kevin Moore, rolling her eyes at him and having great success.

  Miss Harvey’s thinking was that she had had what she bluntly considered “a bellyful” of noble manners. If Rufus did not love her, why had he been making up to her? She was not long in figuring out his motive. He wanted to keep Peter away from her, and Peter, the gudgeon, did exactly as he was told. Her mind was made up in that instant. She would have Peter, and the surest way to attach him was to show him how little she cared.

  Mr. Moore, being the most handsome man in the room, was singled out as her tool. She had taken his measure long since, but his lack of fortune was no bar to the use she meant to put him to.

  “Are you remaining long in England, Miss Harvey?” He smiled, his eyes suggesting a deep interest in her answer.

  She cast a bold smile on him. “That depends on how amusing I find the beaux. Are you amusing, Mr. Moore?”

  “Amusement is, perforce, stifled in such a public ambience. Alone in a closed carriage, I manage to amuse tolerably well, if I may blow my own horn.”

  “So you say,” she said, smiling encouragement.

  “I will be happy to prove my boast, ma’am. You have but to name the hour and the day.”

  “And, of course, to provide the carriage, as you came on the stage,” she pointed out.

  Now how the devil did she know that? “True, I lost a wheel en route,” he lied with the accomplishment of long practice. “But a carriage cannot be a problem here. Peter will lend me one.”

  “I’ll ask him,” she smiled. And let him know why I want it, too. That will turn the trick!

  The elderly guests began leaving first. By two o’clock Mrs. Wood and Lady Idle were yawning into their fists and casting hopeful glances at the youngsters. Sir Swithin, in a state of boredom; Sara, in a thoroughly disgruntled mood; and Mary, in alt, gathered up their belongings, thanked their hostess, and took their leave.

  Sara drove home with Sir Swithin, as she had come. “I observed Haldiman follow you into the library,” he said. “Did anything come of it?”

  “Yes, we were joined
by Betsy. She hinted me away as she wanted privacy to hear Haldiman’s proposal.”

  “I cannot think such blatant dealing would serve her well. Nor did it. If she got an offer from him, I am an elephant’s ear. Now you have only to observe me to see I am no such a thing. She came out of that library breathing fire and rushed straight off after Moore. She is too clever not to realize what he is. She is using him to make Haldiman jealous. Or perhaps Peter. I fancy Haldiman let her know she was wasting her time. She’s settled for Peter.”

  “I didn’t realize you counted mind reading amongst your various talents, Swithin,” Sara grumbled, and pulled her pelisse around her to sulk her way home.

  “I see you have added bad manners to your meager charms. Never mind, I shall blame it on disappointment.”

  Sara went home and threw her green gardenias into the dustbin. She wanted no reminders of this wretched ball.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Over the next two days Sara sat in hourly expectation of a call from Haldiman and Betsy, announcing their engagement. By the third day she was so anxious she almost wished they would come and get it over with. It was only Richard Deverel’s calls and Mary’s high spirits that kept Mrs. Wood from noticing Sara’s condition.

  **

  There were two main preoccupations at Haldiman Hall during this same period: entertaining the guests till they saw fit to leave, and keeping Betsy out of mischief with Kevin Moore. She had adopted the habit of wandering off with him to out-of-the-way rooms of the house first, then out into the grounds. They were spotted in the music room, the conservatory, the gazebo, and strolling through the park, holding hands. On the second day they borrowed a carriage and no one knew where they went, but they were late home for dinner.

  “Why did no one tell me the man is a rake?” Lady Haldiman demanded, for the blame of having invited Moore lay in her dish. On the third day after the ball she was in her private parlor with her sons. “His mama was used to be very good ton.”

  “Well, his papa ain’t,” Haldiman said bluntly, “and we must guard Betsy. It seems everyone knows what he is except us. If she comes to grief, it will look demmed bad for our guardianship of her. She was out with him all afternoon yesterday.”

  “Aye, and lost a wheel off my carriage while she was about it,” Lord Peter scowled. “I offered to drive her myself, but she let me know in short order that she wished privacy with her new suitor.”

  “When I told her my rig was hors de combat today, she said they would ride instead,” Haldiman announced. “I could hardly claim every mount in the stable had suddenly gone lame. And now that I have claimed my rig is busted, I cannot use it myself.”

  “You’d best get down to Whitehern on horseback then,” his mother said to Haldiman. “That is where she said she is going. Not that she’ll be there for long.” She nodded sagely, her earphone directed toward the conversation. “That was only an excuse to cover up her roaming around unchaperoned with Moore.”

  Haldiman felt a keen reluctance to go. Not that he wanted to avoid Sara’s company, but to avoid it with Betsy, who had a way of stirring up mischief. “Why don’t you go?” he suggested to Peter.

  “I have half a dozen men working at the Poplars this afternoon. I dare not leave them unattended or they’ll sit twiddling their thumbs.”

  “You’ll have to go, Rufus,” Lady Haldiman decreed. “There is a platter of raised pies Cook has been trying to keep from perishing in the larder. Let them be your excuse. It is only fair we help feed Deverel, for he was originally our guest, but I swear he takes two out of three meals at Whitehern, thank God.”

  Haldiman used that slim excuse as a reason to go to Whitehern. He found Betsy there as she had claimed. And as his mama had prophesied, she was already on the verge of leaving. Betsy cast a bold, knowing look at him.

  Sara, already astonished that Betsy had come with Moore, had a new idea to conjure with when Haldiman came pouncing in. She heard him ask the butler in anxious accents if Miss Harvey was here. She observed Betsy’s taunting smiles, and Haldiman’s heavy frown. Betsy had refused him! Incredible as it seemed, she could find no other explanation for their peculiar behavior. Both Betsy’s secretive, teasing comments and Haldiman’s embarrassed disavowals told the same story. She had jilted him for Moore, and he was so perturbed he was hounding after her in a most ungentlemanly way.

  “Why Rufus,” Betsy smiled when he was shown in. “You did not tell me you were calling on Sara today.” Her knowing tone and laughing eye made mockery of that “Sara.”

  Haldiman colored up and mentioned the raised pies left with the butler.

  “Ah, so it is raised pies that have brought you, is it?” Betsy laughed. “You must not go taking that for too great a compliment, Sara. Speaking for myself, I would call it an insult. When a beau calls on me, I do not expect him to bring pies, but flowers, or poetry. But then Haldiman is not at all romantic.”

  Haldiman flushed. Sara colored up angrily, and Mrs. Wood said. “Pies may not be romantic, but they are certainly welcome. Thank your mama for me, Haldiman. How is your mother, after the commotion of her ball?”

  “She is holding up tolerably well,” he replied, happy to steer the conversation to calmer waters. “Most of the guests have left, and we are returning to normal.”

  “Ho ho!” Betsy jumped in. “You see what he is about, gentlemen! He is hinting you away, Richard. Or is it Kevin you mean, Rufus?” Again that conscious look passed between them. “Fear not, Rufus, you will soon be rid of all your guests.”

  Haldiman gave a visible start at her words. Good God, was she contemplating a runaway match with Moore?

  Moore gave her a heavy frown and said at once, “It is time we were leaving, Betsy.”

  “Sure you won’t come with us, Mary?” Betsy asked, as she gathered her belongings to depart. Moore stood smiling at her side.

  “I am going to show Mr. Deverel the church,” Mary said.

  “Lud, that won’t take two minutes. What is there to see? A crumbling old heap outside, a rickety pulpit that is as old as Adam, and three stained glass windows inside. It is scarcely worth the trip, I promise you, Mr. Deverel. Why do we not have a good gallop instead, and perhaps stop somewhere for tea?”

  “Mr. Deverel is interested in old architecture,” Mary insisted. A beau had accomplished what neither parent nor sister could, in Mary’s case. She began to observe Betsy through Deverel’s eyes and saw what the rest of the world saw: a good-natured hoyden.

  “I have to post into the village,” Haldiman said, as though on impulse. “I might as well go along with you.”

  “You?” Betsy looked at him as though he were a heathen. “Now why the devil would you want to ride with us? You will have more enjoyment staying to chat with Sara.” Again that knowing smile lifted her lips. Sara observed that Haldiman’s surveillance put Betsy in a temper. He must have been pestering her to death.

  “I did not come here to see Sara,” he objected, then cast an apologetic glance at Sara, who had turned into a perfect statue.

  “In any case, we are not going to the village,” Betsy said. “That is too tame for us, isn’t it, Kevin? It was only to please Mary I suggested it.”

  “Where are you going then?” Haldiman demanded, turning his question to Moore.

  Moore smiled blandly. “That is up to the lady, Lord Haldiman.”

  “And the lady has not made up her mind,” Betsy said pertly. She was not pleased that it was Haldiman who was haring after her. Why had not Peter come? “Come along, Kevin,” she said, and waved her fingers to the company.

  Mr. Moore made a great business of bowing all around and thanking Mrs. Wood for her hospitality, which had consisted of a small glass of sherry.

  Haldiman paced the salon a moment. He wanted to give Sara some indication why he was following Betsy, but could not say what he wished in front of others. “I don’t like this. She is spending too much time alone with Moore. While she is residing under my roof, I am responsible for her�
� is all he said.

  “She would have no idea how a bounder like that could take advantage of her,” Deverel said. “Though Miss Harvey strikes me as a lady who can take care of herself,” he added.

  “If you are truly worried,” Mary said, “Richard and I will go out with them tomorrow. You won’t mind, Richard?” He expressed lukewarm agreement. “We’ll drive down to the ocean and have a picnic. You can tell her this evening, Lord Haldiman.”

  “I will, thank you, Mary. Perhaps I’d best jaunter along behind them and see which route they are taking.”

  Sara looked like a pillar of salt. She managed to incline her head slightly when Haldiman said goodbye, but she could not trust her voice to speak. It caused an ache deep within her to see him sunk so low. Trailing at the heels of Betsy Harvey, enduring her slings and jibes. Whoever would have thought he would settle for so little and have to try so hard to gain even that unworthy female?

  Despite Betsy’s boast, it was to the village they headed. In fact, they even stopped at the church, from whence they dawdled along, looking in the shops and finally entering the tea parlor. Haldiman figured that not even Moore could get into much mischief in Mrs. Weston’s tea parlor and rode home.

  Miss Harvey and Mr. Moore were home not half an hour after him. The crafty Betsy had seen him skulking along behind them. The only thing that made Moore’s company even tolerable was that it angered the Haldimans so, and she could do that as well in the comfort of the Hall as on the streets. When Peter returned that evening, Haldiman told him of the picnic, and Peter used it as an excuse to seek Betsy out after dinner. He beat Moore to the music room, where Betsy had gone to be private for whatever gentleman wished to entertain her.

  “It sounds divine,” Betsy sighed. “And will you be at the party, Peter, or do you and Sara have other plans?” Poor Sara was used indiscriminately to badger both Haldiman and Peter.

  “I shall take the boys to the picnic. I have no plans of any sort involving Sara Wood,” he said comprehensively.