Miss Snypish thought quickly. Her employers’ absence, albeit a brief one, would offer her the opportunity not only to receive visitors in privacy, but would also provide the time she needed to complete several important business arrangements that had been pending until such a moment. She would just as soon eliminate as many of her duties as possible. “Might I suggest, madam, that, wherever you are going, you take Lady Lucy along with you?”
“Lucy? That annoying baggage!” Prudence snorted dismissively. “Whatever for?”
“You do not wish visitors, nor will you allow any of us to leave the premises. I am not negligent in my duties by any means, but even I cannot watch both of them twenty-four hours a day. Moreover,” she went on in a significant tone, “I have of late interrupted more than one whispered conference between the pair. Indeed, I believe them to be plotting some sort of mischief. Trust me, those two are up to anything! If you wish to guarantee Lady Selinda’s continued docility and obedience during your absence, I would suggest you take her sister with you.”
Prudence thought for a moment, then nodded. It would be useful to have a ready threat to ensure Selinda’s compliance. She could not afford any trouble now. Moreover, having the child alone with her in the country would provide the opportunity to even the old score between them. More than once she’d intercepted Lucy’s rebellious glances, and the child had never made secret her opinion of her supposed aunt. In the seclusion of Darrowdean, these offenses could be answered. A good whipping and a bread and water confinement would be the very thing for the little brat. Prudence’s countenance cleared considerably as she envisioned Lucy’s future sufferings. Life did offer some moments of satisfaction.
“I believe you may have something there, Snypish. Very well, then. I shall take the child, but have a care and do not mention this decision to anyone. I haven’t the patience to listen to tirades. Be prepared to pack a valise for the child when I give the word. She needn’t know a thing until just before she’s led to the carriage.”
* * * *
Rupert, for his part, had also spent the remainder of the day brooding. His mother, he grumbled inwardly, bore watching. He didn’t at all fancy her beastly meddling in his affairs and he would be damned if he would allow her to interfere with his plans for Selinda or her fortune. Absconding with a few thousand pounds and pulling a leg for some godforsaken colony or other was not at all what he had in mind. Besides, he intended more for Selinda than the mere deflowering his mother had alluded to. A marriage to her could answer all of his appetites: lust, lucre, and lofty ambition.
The first of these went without saying. Selinda was certainly a choice little morsel and the very memory of her trim body writhing in his arms yesterday still generated a film of fevered perspiration on his upper lip and a severe tightening about the loins. He had been so close, dammit! He shut his eyes and heaved a ragged sigh. His time would come before too long. Yes, he could well imagine years of satisfaction from that quarter.
Second, while he was quite certain his mother had been characteristically acquisitive in the short time she’d had access to the estate coffers, whatever she had managed to accumulate—even with the complicity of Basham—could not possibly rival the potential available. True, the sale of Darrowdean would very likely fetch a pretty penny, but there were other estates and properties, and perhaps even vaults filled with plate as well. Who, after all, knew what Basham was keeping for himself? Piles and piles of riches, very likely. Then why, Rupert asked himself reasonably, settle for thousands of pounds when one might have tens of thousands?
Last, though, it came to ambition. With Selinda as his wife, Rupert could enter those circles heretofore closed to him. He could affect—nay, actually live—the life of a gentleman, just as he had always dreamed. From earliest childhood, Rupert had felt himself destined for great things, but for years he had been weighed down by his mother’s shameful past and tawdry connections. It was high time he cut loose from the old harridan. Delving into a box of honeyed comfits, he wondered idly if there were an oubliette at Darrowdean.
Rosamonde’s eyes glowed in the moonlight, Waverly was reading, and her alabaster brow shone like marble. Looking deeply into Roderick’s eyes, she read there the love she had ever sought but which had heretofore eluded her. Her mind cast back over the time since he had entered her life, first as the distant, aloof Duke of Duncarlyle, then as the mysterious masked Roderico, fiery and passionate. In the first guise, he had perceived the misery of her untenable circumstances as the victim of her guardian’s scalding obsession. Then, he had undertaken to deliver her from Blackthorne’s advances, only to succumb to the Silent passions concealed beneath their otherwise tranquil demeanors. Rosamonde felt herself drawn toward him, into his arms, beyond all control, all hope ...
Waverly wiped his brow and exhaled unevenly. Little wonder, he reflected, that Lady Selinda had had such difficulty devoting her attention to church services. This was heady stuff and, he was quite sure, altogether improper. How nice for a change! Lord Waverly read on with marked attention.
Unaware that his imagination followed the same path as Selinda’s as he read, he, too, envisioned himself in the role of Roderick, paying court to a Rosamonde who was very much the image of Selinda. As page gave way to page, he filled in such little details as the author of that text had referred to but euphemistically. By the last chapter, Lord Waverly had an exceedingly precise picture in mind of what loving Selinda might be like.
As he closed the book, Waverly turned his mind to Selinda’s situation. Much of it seemed to be mirrored in the plot in which he had just been immersed. Was that, he wondered, another reason the story had held her so rapt? In the book, Rosamonde had been set upon by unscrupulous villains and rescued by an intrepid duke. True, there were villains aplenty in today’s world, villains worthy of any sensational novel. But heroes? Were there any more heroes?
A hundred schemes for Selinda’s deliverance whirled about in his head, but each seemed more mundane than the next. Of course, he would send his man of business to Darrowdean as he had promised, and he would do his best to see that Selinda and Lucy’s guardians were brought to justice, but he feared it would take more than that to truly win Selinda’s heart. He’d seen enough of desperation to know that she might be persuaded to marry him out of a survival instinct or, worse yet, out of gratitude. That would never do. He would have to think about this. Perhaps Lucy would have some ideas.
* * * *
Lucy certainly had. Before she was sent up to bed that evening, she had managed to return to the back entrance where she discovered the oilskin pouch secreted among the vines just as Lord Waverly had promised. Inside she found five shiny gold sovereigns and a note. It read:
My dear Lady Lucy,
I hope that the enclosed coins may be of some use to you—it never hurts to have a little of the ready at one’s disposal. I shall keep good watch at your window for any sign of yellow asters.
God bless you, Waverly
Lucy smiled to herself as she realized how comforting the weight of the gold coins felt in her little hand. She must take care to see that her wealth was not discovered. It might be very helpful if she should have to bribe a servant or hire a hackney. She had not yet determined whether it was wise to tell Selinda about her acquaintance with Lord Waverly. She did not think her sister would disapprove, of course, but she knew that Selinda worried inordinately about her and tried whenever possible to shoulder all the burdens of their difficult situation herself. Perhaps it would be best to wait and see.
Before she turned to go in again, Lucy took the precaution of picking a small bouquet of the flowers, which were to be her distress signal, if needed. It couldn’t hurt to be prepared since she could hardly imagine having such an opportunity should a real crisis arise.
As she made her way up the stairs to bed a few moments later, she remembered that tonight Lady Sybil would try her hand at altering dreams. Selinda’s, she knew, was bound to be delightful, and, come to think of
it, she wouldn’t mind a nice one herself. She sincerely hoped, however, whatever the ghost had in mind for Rupert and his mother would set them on their tails!
Chapter Twelve
Selinda did not quite know how she had found herself in the meadow, hazy with a blue froth of forget-me-nots, but as she lay in the deep green grass and gazed up into the depths of the sky, she felt as if she had never truly been at peace before. A few white clouds drifted by, and she smiled as she watched them. The sun shone down, warm, brilliant, and reassuring. She almost felt as if she were floating.
As she lay there, she found she was dressed in a light and airy gown, so light indeed that it seemed as if it might blow away as easily as a wisp of down. Amazingly, as soon as that thought had formed, a playful breeze came up and her gown floated away with it. She suddenly found herself dressed only in her chemise and a pair of little kid gloves. That was a comfort anyway, she thought. Despite her surprise at her sudden state of dishabille, Selinda found herself unexpectedly composed. Then, turning lazily onto her side and raising up on one elbow, she found herself face-to-face with Lord Waverly in much the same manner as she had done under the pew in church. How singular!
He was fully clothed, she noted abstractedly, and she wondered if he didn’t find her state of near undress just the least bit odd. He smiled at her slowly and reassuringly, though, as he gathered her into his arms and kissed her very gently in the warm sunlight. How lovely it felt to be held! On one distant level, she realized this odd circumstance had to be very, very wrong, but, oh, it did feel so very, very right.
The kiss seemed to go on forever before it gradually became deeper, and, to her dismay, she felt her lips very gently part beneath his. She had never thought of such a penetrating kiss, but this, too, felt quite natural and enjoyable. Slowly she gave herself up to the embrace; bit by bit, she allowed herself to respond to his hands, which were delicately tracing the lines of her back and thighs. In spite of the sun’s warmth, she shivered and gasped as Waverly cupped one of her breasts and caressed it luxuriously for several long moments. What an extraordinary to-do! Selinda had never imagined that such a thing might happen, but it felt exquisite. All the while, he continued to kiss her in a decidedly thorough manner. Slowly she felt herself arch and moan.
“Selinda!” a voice whispered. “Selinda!”
She felt herself being shaken urgently. Selinda opened her eyes to the blackness of her chamber.
“Wake up, Selinda! You must have been having the most terrible nightmare,” Lucy told her in some confusion. What on earth was Lady Sybil about? She had thought this was to be a nice dream. “Why, you’ve been thrashing about and moaning like anything. And it took me forever to wake you!”
Selinda groaned. In the darkness, Lady Sybil joined her. What a lovely dream she’d created. And, oh! what a plaguey thing it was that Lucy had interrupted it. She certainly had not anticipated that sort of development. Well, she had done her very best. She knew it was certainly a dream to carry her heart away, but would it do for Selinda? A tiny shiver of doubt crept over her. The ghost was vaguely aware that Selinda was somewhat less worldly than she had been at a similar age. For that reason, she had taken some pains to rein in her very sensual imagination. After all, she reminded herself virtuously, she had made sure that the gentleman in the dream had kept his breeches on. The memory of her own maidenhood was quite blurry, though; what, she wondered, had chasteness been like? It had been so fleeting. Well, the dream was done now, so it didn’t truly signify, did it? She only hoped that her efforts had been sufficient to promote a tendre.
In the darkness, Lucy turned over and went back to sleep, but Selinda now sat upright in bed, cradling her face in her hands. She was anything but ready to return to her slumbers. Dear Heavens! She was worse than any strumpet not only to have somehow summoned up such a shocking dream in her imagination, but to have enjoyed it, too! She must indeed be a very, very bad sort of girl. The very worst sort! Shameless! She could almost weep but restrained herself for fear of Lucy awakening once again. Ever since Rupert’s scandalous attempt on her virtue, she told herself, she had tumbled into the depths of depravity. First, there were her designs on poor, innocent Lord Waverly, and now this disgraceful dream. Was there any hope for her? And yet... it seemed Lord Waverly might well be her only hope. She really did not wish to ensnare the gentleman, but it seemed too much to ask that he might simply fall in love as inexorably as she seemed to be doing. It was all too perplexing!
* * * *
In the opposite wing of Harroweby House, Lady Sybil now turned her efforts to the more sinister members of the household. As far as she was concerned, Rupert’s lascivious scheming presented the most imminent threat to Selinda’s well-being. Therefore, she must not only heighten his distrust of his compatriots, but also somehow steer him away from the girl. She feared that might be a more complicated task than she was equal to. Perhaps it would be best to enter his dream and see what sort of material there was to work with, she decided, as she followed the discordant sound of wheezing snores into his chamber.
Lady Sybil stood for a moment over his bulky form and concentrated. Well, she thought to herself as his dream took shape before her, it might well have been worse. Over the years, she had found it altogether remarkable how many men of a lecherous bent dreamed about eating.
In his dream, Rupert sat at the head of a long table, surrounded by great trays laden with roasts and puddings overflowing with gravies and sauces, and was busily stuffing his mouth with both hands. As he did so, the sounds of his piggish grunting filled the air. Inspired, Lady Sybil wrinkled her delicate nose with disdain and went to work at once.
I must eat it all, Rupert was telling himself desperately, every scrap, or I shall get no dessert! Out in the kitchen, he knew there was a blanc mange as big as a house, all moist and quivery, just the way he liked it. What a rotten thing it was that his mother wouldn’t let him start with sweets. As he finished off one tray of food, he pounded his fists on the table for the next before he had even finished swallowing.
Before too long, he found that it was getting quite difficult to hold onto his utensils, for his hands were beginning to alter second by second: indeed, they were beginning to look quite like cloven hooves. That doesn’t signify, Rupert snorted to himself, I can eat faster without ‘em. Straightaway, he plunged headlong into the steaming plate before him, biting into the meat and rooting up the vegetables with the very handy tusks he seemed to have suddenly sprouted.
Lady Sybil grimaced as she observed bits of meat and other victuals flying about. As were all the dreams she tampered with, this one had become extremely vivid—it was all she could do to keep from ducking the imaginary scraps. All the while, of course, Rupert’s transformation was progressing with alarming speed. By this time, his nose had become a long snout, his ears drooped, and a pert pink tail curled at his posterior. Well, she thought to herself, I believe this piggy has foraged long enough.
“Sausages!” A familiar cry rang through the dining hall, followed by the sound of relentless footsteps. “Sausages on the hoof! After him, fools!”
Rupert rose up from his platter with an alarmed snort. His mother, scowling even more barbarously than was her wont, appeared to be coming for him with a pack of fierce dogs. She was flanked by Miss Snypish toting a blunderbuss and Mr. Basham with a large net. As quickly as he could, the ungainly swine started from his chair, upsetting the table and sending plates flying as his hooves scraped and skidded along the slippery floor. He raced as fast as his stout little legs would carry him up the stairs and down the ever-lengthening corridor to his chamber. When at last he reached it, however, the door burst open: somehow the fiends had arrived before him!
He turned abruptly, raced down the stairs, and made for the sculpture garden. There, his heart beating wildly, he stood with wobbly effort on his hind legs, hoping to blend in among the statuaries. It was to no avail, however, for the marble figures, too, turned on him, coming to life with ravenous
expressions on their carved faces. One by one, they stepped down from their pedestals and came for him. He turned again and sped toward the maze. Perhaps he could lose them there. Right, right, left, right again. Before long, he was in the center, but he could hear the voices of his pursuers not far away and gaining on him rapidly. Where could he go? Where could he hide? Looking about him again, he noticed Selinda was now seated primly on a little bench, daintily eating a plate of blanc mange.
“Would you like a bite, little piggy?” she asked sweetly, extending a forkful.
Hide me! he tried to tell her, but all that emerged was a high-pitched squeal. The pack was almost upon him. He squealed again, louder and louder.
“Good for you, Selinda,” his mother pronounced as she rounded the corner of the hedge and marched into the center of the maze. “You’ve got him for us. He will feed us all winter.”
Rupert froze in his tracks, unable to move for some unaccountable reason as his mother’s pack surrounded him, showing their wet, sharp teeth.
“Poor little piggy!” Selinda smiled at him, tears brimming in her eyes. “I could almost find it in my heart to help you if you did not look so much like my cousin Rupert. He did me such an ill turn as you cannot guess. Why, do you know, I was half in love with him until he tried to take advantage of me! Now it will take a good deal for him to find himself in my good graces again, and only I can save him.” She sighed, slipped a silk lead about his neck, and handed him over to his mother, who raised a shining knife above his head.
Rupert reared up in bed, sweating feverishly, his heart pounding. He had never dreamed anything like that before. It was so horrible and so real! Gingerly he touched his face and ears to reassure himself. What on earth could it mean? He was sure there was some unusual significance to it, for he was never one to disregard signs and portents. Great men dreamed such foreboding dreams as this. He would certainly have to find his way over to Whitechapel in the morning to have his cards read.
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