Madcap Miss

by Joan Smith

  “Pooh!” Grandma turned to Grace. “You tell me about her. I want to know more than the color of her hair, mind.”

  “She is not beautiful,” Grace decided, “but I like her. She never tells me to run along, as Mrs. Elton does,” she added with an innocent smile.

  Grandma flew into delighted outrage. “I know how it was with that common Elton creature.”

  Whewett turned a stern eye on his daughter. “I am sure that Pamela—Mrs. Elton—never said anything of the sort, Augusta.”

  “Papa, what a whisker! Don’t you remember the time you were in the conservatory with your arms around her, and she—”

  “I have no such recollection.”

  Lady Healy turned a fulminating eye on him. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Tell me a little more about Lady Eleanor, Augusta.”

  With an innocent face and a mischievous eye, Grace complied. “She is nowhere near so young or beautiful as Mrs. Elton. Her hair is not such a nice, shiny gold. It has a little gray around the temples. She does not wear such low-cut gowns, either, that show her shoulders and half her chest. She doesn’t give me sugarplums to go away and play, like Mrs. Elton, but she is very nice. She takes me to church when Papa doesn’t want to go and gives me nice books to read.”

  “She sounds very suitable.” Grandma nodded approvingly. “What is her age, Alfred?”

  “Forty-three,” he replied without a moment’s hesitation.

  “That is a little old. Will she be able to give you a son?”

  “Mrs. Elton is good at sons,” Grace interpolated. “She has two sons by her first husband.”

  “Humph. By someone,” Lady Healy muttered. “Still, Lady Eleanor is a little longer in the tooth than I like. Is there no one else?”

  “There is a Miss Farnsworth living nearby,” Whewett said, with a satirical lift of his brow in Grace’s direction. She tried to frown him into discretion, but he ignored her.

  “Let us hear about her,” Grandma demanded.

  “Not very attractive, I fear,” Whewett began. “A rather dumpy girl and a shade impertinent.”

  “You always liked those stunted gels, like Irene. I see a spark in your eye for this Miss Farnsworth. I daresay you don’t mind in the least that she ain’t up to your elbow.”

  “Actually she is nearly up to my chin.”

  “Is she wellborn?”

  “I believe so—gently born at least.”

  “Fortune?”

  “None. The father was improvident, and the lady has turned governess.”

  Grandma stared, bewildered. “May I know how Miss Farnsworth found her way into your list of eligible ladies? A dumpy creature of inferior stock and no fortune. Next you will tell me she has no character to boot.”

  “That is debatable,” he admitted.

  “What is your opinion of this paragon, Augusta?” Grandma asked, in accents of heavy irony.

  “Papa is joking. The fact is, he has taken Miss Farnsworth in dislike for some reason. She usually gets the better of him in an argument, you see, for she is rather clever.”

  “Clever enough to have set her cap for Whewett!”

  “Not in the least,” Grace objected. “She would not have him if he begged on bended knee.”

  “How do you know this?” Grandma demanded and, fortunately, did not wait for a reply. “The woman is a sly rogue. It is a trick as old as Eve for ladies to let on they ain’t dangling after gentlemen, hoping to pique their interest. Don’t be taken in by it, Alfred. Gracious, are there no eligible ladies in Dover? Why are we discussing widows, elderly spinsters, and penniless governesses? Birth and fortune and character are what you want.”

  “And looks,” Whewett added. “Pray do not marry me off to an antidote, if you please.”

  Grandma lost patience with him. “It is you who ought to come to Scotland. The lasses there are bonnie. The fact that they are mostly pygmies would suit you down to the heels, Alfred.”

  Before much longer Lady Healy said, “I am going to bed early. You may stay down and keep your papa company for half an hour, Augusta. Try if you can talk some sense into him. Come and say goodnight to me before you retire. I shan’t be asleep. It takes me an hour to recover from Mulkins’s hauling me about as she gets me into my nightgown.”

  As soon as they were alone, Grace turned a sapient eye on Whewett. “Why the devil did you bring my real name into the conversation?”

  “For purposes of revenge, daughter. Why did you give her the idea I have been making love to widows in conservatories?”

  “She is not at all missish, Whewett. She knows you have been making love to someone.”

  His brows lifted an inch. “You have a very improper notion of my character.”

  “I was only trying to add an air of authenticity to the romance. You would have been making up to her if she were my Mrs. Elton. It is what Papa did when Mrs. Nichols was after him. I adored her. All those lovely sugarplums! But still, I did not want him to marry her. I don’t suppose Augusta really wants you to marry anyone, either. It was one of my great fears that Papa would bring a wicked stepmother down on my head.”

  “On the contrary, Augusta would be happy for a mother, but it is not a Mrs. Elton or a gray-haired Lady Eleanor who will make a good one.”

  “Nor a Miss Farnsworth, either, with her sly ways.” Grace laughed.

  Whewett examined her in an interested way, noticing that she was untouched by embarrassment. The idea of a match between them had not occurred to her, then. She was glancing at the bottle of port.

  “May I have some?” she asked.

  “Certainly not. You’ve had more than your one glass for today, young lady.” He expected a pout or sulk and anticipated a few moments' playful argument. It was enjoyable to have reached a footing of familiarity with a pretty young lady again. But there were no pouts, only a smug smile that made him wonder. “I would not want to undermine a lady’s character by feeding her too much wine,” he prodded.

  A ripple of tinkling laughter rent the air. “Oh, I am already past redemption,” she said, thinking of the champagne under her pillow.

  The half hour passed pleasantly, and Grace left, slipping two glasses upstairs with her. She took them to her room before saying good night to Lady Healy. She then settled in with a new book to await Whewett. For half an hour she read and waited, wondering what kept him so long. An hour passed, and still he did not come. She was about to go downstairs after him when she heard the soft sound of footfalls in his room. She tapped on the door, wondering if it was his valet.

  “What is it?” Whewett called through the door.

  “It’s me. I want to talk to you.”

  “It’s late, Grace.”

  “It’s only nine-thirty.”

  He unfastened the lock and glanced through the partially closed door. “Lord Whewett, are you locking yourself in to be safe from my advances?” she asked, her eyes wide with shocked amusement. Her hair was still done up in tails and bows, her child’s frock safely in place, but since the night before, Whewett had been acutely aware of the impropriety in their situation. He had taken the decision not to enter Grace’s room except in a case of necessity.

  “What is it you want?” he asked stiffly.

  She pulled the bottle of champagne from behind her back. “A party! I stole this from the cellar. I do hope you will join me. I don’t want to drink it all alone. I have two glasses smuggled up as well.”

  Whewett felt the full allure of pleasurable misconduct that could be enjoyed secretly. He had to drag himself into line. “I don’t think this is a good idea, Grace.”

  “Oh, do come. It is an excellent idea. I never tasted champagne in my life. I have been dying to try it and have been waiting an age for you to come.”

  He was hard put to find an excuse. “One glass,” he relented, stepping in with more hesitation than real reluctance. Nine-thirty was demmed early to go to bed after all, and there was always the excuse of matters to discuss with his partner.

>   “Follow Grandma’s good advice,” Grace suggested with no air of constraint. “You only have one spin. Grab all the pleasures that offer. I may never have another chance to drink champagne—a whole bottle, I mean. I plan to drink all that you don’t.”

  With this warning, Whewett imbibed a good deal of it in a great hurry. He was nowhere near bosky, but felt a pleasant glow.

  “Isn’t it lovely?” she asked two or three times. Her eyes sparkled with adventure, and the wine brought a flush to her cheeks. Whewett felt a compelling urge to pull the ribbons from her hair and loosen it around her shoulders. Those braids stood in the way of his pleasure, a constant reminder of her vulnerability.

  Grace perched on the edge of the bed and lifted her glass, to admire it. He noticed that her smile was becoming wobbly. “How I should love to be rich and drink champagne every day. Do you drink it often, Whewett?”

  “Very rarely. I prefer claret.”

  “You don’t know how to enjoy your money,” she said sadly. “I don’t think you even know how to enjoy life, Whewett. I daresay champagne would not be so delightful if you could have it whenever you wanted, but I think it’s lovely.” She tilted her glass and drank. A drop of wine hung on her lip, and she licked it with her tongue.

  Whewett felt a stirring of desire. “I know what I would enjoy to do right now,” he said, his voice burred with huskiness.

  Grace set her glass aside with a sigh. “You don’t have to tell me. We must figure a way out of this projected trip to Scotland.”

  She missed the quick look of surprise that flashed across his face. When he spoke, his voice was schooled to a normal tone. Much better to discuss business. “I have exhausted every excuse I can think of, and still she persists.”

  “I could become ill,” Grace suggested.

  Looking at her healthy young face, he said, “It would not fadge. Skipping has made you too robust.”

  “I could go with her,” she said, with a tentative peek to see how this was received. “I have nothing better to do. I like her and would not mind a trip to Scotland. Who would there be to tell her I am not Augusta? You would just have to make sure your daughter did not write to her while I was there.”

  “You indicated more than once an eagerness for our play to fold,” he reminded her. “It is a visit of two or three months she has in mind, Grace.”

  Grace frowned as she imagined the future. “I could grow up a little over the months—lower my voice by the minutest of degrees and become more interested in the doings of ladies. She did mention finding me a beau.”

  “Aha! That’s the attraction, is it? You mean to pose as an heiress and set yourself up with a well-inlaid laird. No, seriously, it is much too risky. Here you can come to me in case of any difficulty arising. I am bound to protect you. In Scotland you would be at her mercy. She would not deal easily with you if she ever learned the truth. It is a small world, you know. Someone from your own neighborhood or mine might be visiting and reveal your masquerade. She’d be furious. You’d find yourself clamped into prison, my girl.”

  “Perhaps you’re right,” she said reluctantly. “You always meet someone you don’t want to when you are doing something wrong. It is practically a law. How shall we get out of it though? She considers it settled.”

  “I’ll be damned if I know,” he admitted. “We must cudgel our brains and come up with something. We can’t offend her with a refusal when she’s just told me Gussie is her heir.”

  “Some occurrence at Dover that I must attend?” Grace suggested halfheartedly.

  “What could be important enough to prevent the visit?” he asked, drumming his fingers on his knee, while a deep frown creased his brow.

  “Your imminent danger of falling into Mrs. Elton’s clutches?” she asked, but in no serious way.

  Whewett regarded her with a curious smile. “That has definite possibilities. Best let her suggest it herself, however. Grandma likes to be the instigator. Your role, daughter, will be to insinuate in that sweet childish way you have developed that whatever about your papa not wanting you to go, Mrs. Elton will be delighted at your absence. And of course you do hope that Papa won’t be so lonesome that he invites Mrs. Elton to visit again. Yes, I think this has possibilities.”

  “I was only funning! It would never work, Whewett.”

  “I know it,” he admitted.

  “Perhaps if you became ill ...”

  “She’d only haul me off to Scotland for a cure—and a wife.”

  “Sickness, death, and accident are the only things I can think of that might put her off. You have not mentioned any relative being ill, and I cannot think we should go so far as to kill someone.”

  “An accident should be sufficient. Why don’t I just break your leg or fracture your skull? You wouldn’t mind, Grace? I’ll pay you extra,” he offered, and drained his glass.

  “How much?” she asked, with a face quite serious, but for a certain sparkle in her eyes.

  His gaze wandered from her head to her ankles. “Your head is worth little enough—quite empty. If we must damage one of those charming ankles, however, that is a different matter.” He set down his glass, rose, and made his bow. “I shall leave before I succumb to temptation.”

  “You didn’t quote a price on the ankle,” she reminded him.

  “I was not speaking about the ankle.”

  “Then it is to be a fractured skull. I repeat, how much?”

  “I wasn’t speaking about the skull, either,” he said. “Good night, Grace.”

  She listened as he slid the bolt on the door. If he wasn’t talking about incapacitating her, what on earth—Grace gave a light laugh. So she was the temptation he referred to! Was it possible Whewett was trying to flirt? It must have been the champagne. She picked up the bottle and discovered it was empty, so she prepared for bed.

  Chapter Eleven

  It had been established that Whewett was to take his daughter out on Thursday but not at what hour they might leave and when they should return. Lady Healy informed them at breakfast that they might have the better part of the day.

  “Mulkins and I will be selecting items to take to Scotland and packing them. I only want a few portraits and historical mementos of the Brougham family. At my age there is no point squirreling up a deal of sentimental rubbish.”

  She figured her work would not take more than an hour. The truth was that she felt dreadful and meant to spend the day in bed so Alfred would not take the notion she was sickly and use it as an excuse to keep Gussie from going to Scotland. She hoped to be revived when they returned from their outing.

  “I have already found some things you will want, Alfred,” she told him. “The painting of Irene from Mama’s room, done by Phillips. I have collected up some of Irene’s needlework for you and a sketch or two. They will be of interest to Gussie.”

  “I would like to see them,” Whewett replied eagerly.

  The items were brought to the Purple Saloon after breakfast. Grace’s first interest was the painting of Whewett’s wife. He must have been remarkably fond of her to have remained a bachelor for ten years. Grace thought she was about to see a stunning beauty, but from the canvas smiled a face no more than pretty.

  “I see traces of her in you, Augusta,” Grandma said fondly.

  Grace looked in vain for this unlikely resemblance. Both were young, brown-haired girls with faces of an oval shape. Other than this, no likeness existed. She looked at Whewett and saw he was smiling wistfully at the portrait, so intent that he might have been alone in the room. How much he had loved his Irene! She felt a twinge of envy.

  “It doesn’t do her justice,” Whewett said at last.

  “It flattered her,” Lady Healy countered baldy.

  But the old lady usually contradicted any statement. Grace assumed it was a fair likeness. She was surprised that so little beauty had engendered this stoic, long-lasting devotion from Whewett. She was probably mistaken to imagine he had any flirts at home. Yet he hadn’t re
ally been angry at her inventing Mrs. Elton. In fact, he had seemed to enjoy the little game. Perhaps Whewett was ready to break free of Irene at last.

  He examined the needlework and sketches, all rather indifferently done. “Augusta will want these,” he decided.

  “Now it is time for you to be off,” Lady Healy said. “I’ll expect you home for dinner at six. Don’t stuff Gussie up with bonbons.”

  As the two hastened upstairs to prepare for the day-long excursion, Whewett said, “Would it be possible for you to wear that convertible outfit you had on when we met? It will be an excellent chance for you to cease being a child for the day. In case we want to do something more adult, I mean.”

  “Precisely what I had in mind. My bonnet and slippers are still in your carriage?”

  “Yes, you can slip them on there. Think what you would like to do and where. Of course Wickfield is out.”

  Grace scrambled into her old serge suit in two minutes. She met Whewett belowstairs before he thought it was possible. They had made their adieus to Lady Healy, so there was nothing to do but call the carriage and leave, their hearts light with the anticipation of a holiday.

  “A whole day!” Grace crowed. “What shall we do."

  “My carriage and myself are at your disposal. Also my pocketbook. You have earned a good time.”

  “Are we too far from London to go there?”

  He looked at her, astonished. “Was geography not on the Bixworth curriculum? We could not be there before nightfall. The gayer spots are all beyond our reach—Paris, Rome.”

  “Brighton?” she asked hopefully.

  “That was my first idea. Unfortunately I have many friends and relatives who summer there.”

  “I can’t think of any other place worth going to.”

  “I blush to confess the inferior destination I have in mind. Tunbridge Wells. As the scene of your next performance, it might be of some interest to you. It’s only twenty miles away. You can look over the gouty widowers and see if any of them appeal to you.”

  He watched, enchanted, as a smile warmed her face. “Lovely! I should adore it.”