Country Flirt

by Joan Smith

  “No, Lord Howard! Only if I accept your offer. Here in England the ladies still have something to say about their fate.”

  “You’ve caught me dead to rights there.” He laughed.

  “As we are scarcely acquainted, you have no business speaking of marriage. But I’m curious to see the land. I assume you’re going to build a house?”

  “No, missie. A castle. There’s already a little house on the land, Gerard tells me.”

  “Why don’t you come along, Monty?” Sam invited. “It won’t take long.”

  It was borne in on Monteith that if Howard was planning to build a castle, it was of some interest to him to see where and hear more details. He swallowed his spleen and tried to smile.

  “Very well, we’ll all go.”

  “You’re welcome to tag along,” Lord Howard said.

  Lord Monteith tagged along on the outing that was to have been his own private one, and which he had anticipated with some pleasure. He always enjoyed Sam’s company. With Howard dangling after her, Monteith was taking a closer look. His uncle might not be the tip of the ton, but he was no fool, either. He knew a good thing when he saw it. With maturity, Sam had become more sure of herself, more interesting.

  It was Lord Howard who held the carriage door for Samantha, and he who climbed in beside her, with a careless word to Monteith to give his driver the directions. “The Langford property,” he added.

  Monteith was too surprised to be offended at his uncle’s manner. The Langford property comprised a thousand acres of prime farm land, and held not “a little house” but a fine stone mansion. He gave his driver the order and took his seat on the banquette across from the others. “The Langford property, eh?” he said leadingly. “That’s a fine estate.”

  “I like the situation, there on the ocean,” Lord Howard said. “It reminds me of Calcutta. I shall drop a few yachts in the water for us to play with. A masulah if the surf is rough, and a batch of paunceways for our guests. For myself, I like a catamaran better than anything. My tastes are simple.”

  “I wish your language were,” Monteith interjected, but he went unheeded.

  “We shan’t be able to go inside the house without Gerard,” Lord Howard continued. He aimed all his conversation at Samantha, which amused her and annoyed Monteith. “He has the keys, but we shall have a look at the outside. From what he tells me, it might do for a guest house, except that I want that location on the point for my castle.”

  “Lord Howard, I’ve been in the Langfords’ house, and it is beautiful!” Samantha objected. “You surely aren’t speaking of tearing it down and starting from scratch.”

  “I can build right over it and make it an anteroom if you’ve a fondness for the place.”

  The drive along the shore road was beautiful in spring, with the sparkling ocean below and birds screaming in the blue sky above. They turned in at a pair of handsome iron gates and followed a curved road up a slight incline to the house. The stone mansion’s lordly location added to its beauty. It stood three stories high, a house in perfect repair.

  “It looks so lovely—it just suits the location,” Samantha pointed out.

  “You may keep it for a toy house, if you and I come to terms,” the nabob told her.

  Samantha ventured a quick glance at Monteith, expecting some ironical remarks about dolls or toys. He was staring at his uncle with an expression that would curdle cream.

  “I’ll build a higher mountain up above it and put the castle there,” Lord Howard continued. “Yes, that would be best. The hill is a little squat, now I think of it. We would be better off with more altitude. You see how obliging I am,” he complimented himself.

  “Yes, indeed,” she said, speaking halfway between her companions, but catching Monteith’s eye to throw his words in his face. “One won’t have to pity your wife— whoever she may be. And I wish you will not speak as if it were settled between us, Lord Howard.”

  “You might at least stop ‘lording’ me!” Howard said playfully. “Call me burra sahib if you don’t like to use my Christian name yet. In that way, I can call you Sammie.”

  Lord Monteith gave a snort of disgust and managed to turn the conversation to pounds and pence. He learned what he feared—that his uncle had been quoted a price a good deal higher than the property was worth. “But I’ll shake them down ten percent,” Howard said. “Gerard tells me they are anxious to sell.”

  The Langford house was untenanted, and they got down from the carriage to walk around it. While Monteith was taking a close look at the state of the house, Lord Howard got Samantha alone to point out the various views.

  “The only thing holding me up in the purchase is the number of begahs that go with it,” he said, frowning.

  “You don’t want to farm, I take it?”

  “I’m past that, but even without farming, you see, three thousand begahs is only a thousand acres. A man likes to have a few more inches than that to spread out in. Gerard is approaching the folks on the west side to see if they’re interested in selling some land. If they are agreeable, I might close. So what do you think, Sammie?”

  “I think you are very extravagant, sir!”

  “An old bleater like me has to be a bit extravagant to land himself a prime young creature. I know Monteith has a prettier face and a less bagged one. I didn’t know he had you in his eye, though I should have known if I’d thought about it. I wouldn’t like to butt in if he is on the edge of offering for you. I’m all in favor of seeing the young bucks settle down. I had the notion it was young Teddie that fancied you. I figured I had a good chance against a younger son.”

  “None of them fancies me, Howard. We are just friends. And are you quite sure you don’t fancy someone else more?”

  “No one I’ve seen so far.”

  She looked him in the eye and said, “I thought perhaps Mrs. Armstrong appealed to you.”

  “There is nothing for me there. She ain’t the sort of gel I took her for.”

  This admission of philandering was given without a blush, and so were the lies that followed it. “Don’t think anything of that sort would continue after I was married,” he assured her. “I’d be constant as the North Star.”

  Before she had to reply, Lord Monteith joined them. And she was glad not to have to make any decision yet. In twenty-six years, no gentleman she liked any better than Lord Howard had offered for her. Despite his age and despite his peculiar manners, he was attractive. His incredible wealth imbued him with an aura that made manners unnecessary. He was extravagant and interesting and even handsome, to a certain extent. How much was she allowing her petty annoyance with Monteith and his mother to color her thinking? It would be folly to marry from spite. Or was it his fortune that lured her? To speak of “dropping a few yachts in the river” appealed to her. Though not poor, the Brights had never been rich in the way the Monteiths were rich.

  A whole new world would be opened to her. Travel, society, living in a castle. But living with Lord Howard— who would soon be an old man.

  As if reading her thoughts, Lord Howard suggested he and Monteith take a dart down to look at the water. The path led down a rocky cliff, which he executed with the agility of a mountain goat. Coming up, which was a deal harder, left him still unwinded. He was no more tired than Monteith.

  “The ladies might find the climb a little arduous,” he said to Samantha. “It would be no trouble to have a staircase chiseled into the rock face, or an iron set of stairs put in.”

  Monteith looked across the water, thinking. This lavish-handed way of living must appeal to someone like Sam, who had never been beyond Lambrook, except for a few trips to London. And why should that anger him? He knew his mother was foolish to think she could bear-lead the nabob. He would surely marry some young lady. Why not Sam? He looked over his shoulder and found her gazing at him.

  “We should be leaving if we want to get home in time for luncheon,” he said.

  Chapter 9

  Lunch at Lambroo
k Hall held a few surprises for Samantha. The size and quantity of the jewels on view were not amongst them. After hearing Lord Howard’s views on a house, she expected the jewelry to be plentiful and ostentatious. She found that rubies and emeralds and even diamonds could be tiresome when they covered the surface of a whole table. Many of the stones had not been set yet and were held in little leather pouches. Those that had been mounted were poorly done and reminded her of the tawdry paste jewels seen in the village “everything” shop.

  After the guests had said “Very nice,” and “How lovely,” and “I didn’t know emeralds-rubies-diamonds came in such a large size” half a dozen times, they ran out of compliments. It was for Lord Howard himself to show them the way.

  “This little gem was given me by the nawab of Sutani.” He smiled, holding up an ugly length of diamond chain. “It is to be worn on the ankle. Every gem is perfect. Not a flaw in them, a diamond merchant told me. You’ll never guess what I got it for.” He looked around expectantly, but no one was willing to hazard a guess.

  “For taking the nawab’s measurements and ordering him a jacket from London,” he said, and laughed raucously. “I was the nawab’s head man for a few years. Clerking didn’t pay worth a tinker’s curse. Any gentleman with his wits about him dropped it after a month. I gave it up as soon as I found where the real blunt was to be made. Come and try it on, missie,” he said, holding the piece out to Mrs. Tucker, and using it for an excuse to leer at her ankles. The Sutton ladies and their husbands had been beckoned to the affair, though Clifford was excluded.

  Mrs. Tucker emitted a shocked croak and recoiled in horror. “On your arm then, if you’re shy,” Lord Howard said, and hung it on her wrist.

  Lady Monteith took the notion he might be planning to give each lady guest a gift, and quickly snatched it back. Over a peculiar luncheon at which each dish was heavily spiced and odd tasting, Lord Howard drank a good deal of wine and regaled them with details of his variegated career in India. He had apparently offered his talents to assorted highly placed Indian princes whose aim in life was to ape English manners.

  “I must have ordered more silver and china from England than the whole royal family put together. I got a cut of ten percent from Rundell and Bridges when they discovered what I was about, raised the price by five hundred percent plus shipping when I sold it, and still got a hefty bonus from the nawabs for each purchase. It is a license to make money, being a nawab’s man. They have more blunt than they know what to do with.”

  “They’d do better to spend some of it on their people,” Monteith said. “From what you’ve said before, the lower class lives in dire poverty.”

  “They’re used to it. What can you do with people who go on breeding like rabbits and won’t eat beef?” he replied.

  “Perhaps that is why they practice that dreadful suttee,” Mrs. Bright said. “To control the population.”

  “Damme, it has nothing to do with that,” Lord Howard corrected her. His face was flushed and his eyes glazed, but he filled his glass again and continued. “It has to do with propriety. No man of taste would eat another man’s leftovers. I’ll be dashed if he should—”

  “Do try some of this lovely chutney on your meat, Howard,” Lady Monteith said rather quickly, and passed the dish along. “So tasty. I must get the recipe from Suwani.”

  “I’ll have him mix up a batch for you. It has fruit and lemon and seasonings and spices. Try a little, Irene. You’ll find it makes even this tame ragout edible.”

  Lady Monteith put a dab on the farthest edge of her plate, and Lord Howard was off on another spiel of having outwitted a prince.

  “Well, ladies, you must excuse me,” Lord Howard said when lunch was over. “I still have the Indian habit of taking a snooze in the heat of the day, though I’m getting over it. The noonday sun was like the blast from a furnace. And myriad mosquitoes! They come in clouds to carry off your blood.” Shortly after he left the room, the high-pitched squeal of a servant girl under attack was heard.

  It was obvious to everyone that the nabob was more than ready for bed. How he had drunk two bottles of wine and still stayed on his feet was close to a miracle. The company smiled politely and settled in to discuss affairs. Samantha was relieved to get away when Monteith suggested a walk through the park.

  “I think your mother might have included Mr. Sutton without arousing Howard’s suspicions,” she said idly.

  “That is one good effect of Uncle’s visit,” Monty countered. “I wouldn’t be sorry to see a little cooling in that quarter.”

  “I didn’t know you had anything against the match!”

  “I am not so outspoken as Uncle, but there are some few ladies a man is reluctant to see in the hands of another man. His mother, sisters—you,” he added, with a quizzing little smile, and took hold of her fingers. Monteith had often held Samantha’s elbow; it was the first time her fingers had been so honored. This intimate touch made her feel self-conscious.

  “Why me? You’ve never treated me like a sister.”

  “Haven’t I ignored you assiduously all these years? That is how siblings treat one another, unless one of them is in trouble, in which case we rally to the defense. I am exerting every effort to herd Teddie and Bert home to make their overtures to Uncle. And I intend to protect your gentle self from his invasions as well.”

  “If I were your sister, you’d be pitching me at his head.”

  “No, Mama would.”

  “It’s your house. You’re the head of the family. But pray don’t feel it necessary to protect me from a million pounds!”

  “A billion pounds wouldn’t make that yahoo palatable to the taste of a gently bred young lady. Surely to God, you can’t really be considering him as a husband. The man is a caricature. A regular Volpone in his raping of the nawabs.”

  Any fascination Samantha had felt for Lord Howard had diminished greatly during that luncheon. She thought silently for a moment, then changed the subject entirely.

  “You wouldn’t have heard from Ted or Bert yet, I fancy?’’

  “I only dispatched the letters this morning,” he replied, and immediately returned to the more interesting theme. “I might rescind the order. I’m beginning to feel like one of Volpone’s relatives myself, toadying up to Howard. A man can go too far in that direction. Money isn’t everything.”

  “And besides,” she said knowingly, “it is perfectly clear he plans to marry as soon as he can and set up a nursery of his own. I think you would be wise to treat him like any visiting relative.”

  “The problem is not precisely greed. Mama and I don’t want his gold for ourselves. It is merely our instinct, wanting to do the right thing for the boys.”

  “Why can’t they just marry heiresses, like all the other younger sons?” she asked.

  “We males of the Monteith line have the misfortune to marry where our hearts lead.”

  Samantha knew that the late Lord Monteith had been considered unwise to marry Irene, who had no dowry worth the name. They came to a stile, and Monteith offered his hand to lead her over, but when they reached the top, he suggested they just sit on the fence instead. Before them lay the meadow, spangled with wildflowers waving lazily in the sun.

  “I wonder how many begahs are in this meadow,” he said idly. “And how many sicca rupees it is worth.”

  “Heed your own excellent advice, Monty. A foreign language is poor entertainment.”

  “The primeval pastime of romance suggests itself, in this sylvan setting.”

  “A pity you aren’t accompanied by someone other than your sister. Mrs. Armstrong, for example.”

  “That chaste lady?” he asked, and laughed. “She’s already read my leaves, though rather unsatisfactorily.”

  “Then I shall tell your fortune by plucking daisy petals,” she decided, and hopped down from the stile.

  Monteith didn’t accompany her. He was content to watch her lithe young body bending and swaying as she garnered the blooms, with her sk
irt billowing occasionally when the wind caught it. He felt a hot anger building inside, to think of Howard pestering this young lady, who still seemed half a girl to him.

  When she returned, Monteith took a daisy from her and said, “Why don’t I tell your future instead? I am not interested in attaching either a rich man, a poor man, a beggar man, or a thief.”

  He pulled out the petals, one by one, and chanted the old saw, ending with the choice, “Rich man.”

  “The fates have decreed!” she said. “There is no arguing with a daisy. Howard it is.”

  “I mentally cast Howard in the role of Indian chief,” he countered. “We have more than one rich man amongst us—Clifford, for example. And myself.”

  She felt him looking at her. A coil of excitement churned inside her, but her voice remained calm. “Then we must try another daisy,” she said, and handed him one.

  “Fate won’t be managed in that way,” he said, and tossed it aside.

  She handed him another. “We teething infants are intractable. If you don’t pull another daisy, I shall take my toys and go home. So there.”

  Monteith studied her pert smile and the clean line of her chin and neck as she tossed her shoulders playfully. When had Sam learned to flirt? Again the anger gripped him. “Are you practicing up your high spirits to tempt the Indian chief?” he asked in a thin voice.

  “High spirits come naturally to a lady who is being courted.”

  Monty gazed across the field and suddenly jerked to attention,

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “It’s a carriage. I wonder if Teddie—”

  “No, it’s Mrs. Armstrong’s carriage!” Samantha said, and laughed. “Do you think Howard invited her to call?”