by Joan Smith
Sam stared at him, a hopeful question burning in her eyes.
“I did mention the epilogue, didn’t I?”
“I wish you wouldn’t speak in riddles,” Sam said coldly, and turned her attention to the swallows screeching above as they darted from tree to tree.
Samantha hardly recognized Lady Monteith when she met her in the saloon. What had wrought this change? Her eyes and cheeks glowed, but not so noticeably as her henna hair. Her toilette, too, was livelier than before. She hadn’t quite sunk to sprigged muslin at her years, but she wore a pretty gown of emerald green that reminded Sam of the lawns just admired, and Howard of Kashmir.
“How kind of you to come,” Lady Monteith said. Sam’s uncertain position had robbed her of vitality. Lady Monteith’s heart soared to see such slender competition. Even a distressed young maiden was still plenty attractive, however, and further measures were called for.
“Try to cheer him up,” she said. “Make him laugh, if you can. You go with her, Monty. Howard will like to hear the lively chatter of you youngsters. Urge him to talk about building Shalimar and filling it with children.”
Howard had admitted his dread of this project. Peace and quiet were what he spoke of now. “Stay as long as you can. He has trouble getting in the days,” she added, as a final deterrent.
Though the ordeal loomed with all the attraction of a visit to the tooth drawer for Sam, she gamely attempted to carry out instructions, as she felt guilty about breaking the engagement. Monteith knew his mother well enough to recognize her scheme. He thoroughly approved of her intentions and was ready to abet her. He opened the door and entered the sickroom with a loud “Holloa, Uncle. See who I’ve brought to entertain you.”
Lord Howard sank deeper into his pillows and assumed a sickly air without too much trouble. His pallor was not the sickly white of a normal invalid, but a bright yellow, due to his liverish condition and the results of long exposure to the tropical sun. “Sammie, kind of you to come,” he said in a puling whine.
“Good morning, Howard. I trust you are feeling better.” She smiled.
“Not as fit as I would like.”
“Why, you’ll be up and about in no time,” Monteith said heartily, and sat on the edge of his uncle’s bed with a lurch that sent the mattress bobbing. “You must be back on your pegs for next week’s assembly. Sam is looking forward to having a jig with you.”
Samantha looked at the wreck before her and felt grave misgivings as to Monteith’s attitude. But she really felt sorry for Howard and wanted to cheer him.
“I’ll save you every dance,” she promised rashly. “Monteith is going to set up waltzing lessons, if you please.”
“I have seen the waltz done in London. I’m not sure I approve of it for ladies.”
“Gentlemen can hardly perform it alone!” Sam said, and laughed.
“They can perform it with the other sort of woman,” Howard pointed out. Sam’s face took on an expression of shocked disapproval. Irene would have laughed and teased him. The young were really tediously self-righteous. He had convinced himself he must be rid of Miss Bright and decided to show her the rough side of his nature. “Gentlemen are allowed some latitude in such matters,” he said haughtily.
Sam looked warily to Monteith, to see if he concurred with this notion. He nodded his agreement, but when she caught his eyes, she noted the glint of mischief. “I must disagree, Howard!” she said firmly. “My husband will not carry on with lightskirts, I promise you.”
“Children, children,” Monteith said. “It’s time for a glass of wine to clear the air.”
He went to the door and let out a bellow that sent Howard into a grimace. “None for me. The doctor has got me on infants’ fare,” Howard said.
“A glass of wine won’t do you any harm,” his nephew said.
“Much you know about it! It could kill me. You wouldn’t believe how my poor gut gripes at anything sour.” He rubbed his stomach and frowned in imaginary pain as he spoke. He’d make sure the bottle stayed behind when the youngsters left.
Monteith chattered inanely and loudly as he filled two glasses. “A toast to the handsome couple,” he said, clinking Sam’s glass and smiling at Howard.
He then turned his attention to relating some long and not very amusing stories, which sent both himself and Sam off into peals of noisy laughter. Sam noticed that the louder they laughed and talked, the less happy Howard became.
“I fear we’re tiring you, Howard,” she said after half an hour that had seemed much longer.
“I could do with some quiet,” he said weakly. “Thank you for coming, Sam. You mustn’t put yourself out too much on my account. Visits are tiring. You youngsters have better things to do than sit with a sick old man.”
“You’re not old!” she told him. But he seemed to have aged twenty years since his first coming to the Hall.
“I fear I am, my dear. That promise I so rashly made you at Shalimar—I may have to renege on it. You recall what I said, about my gray hair....”
She gave a blush and lowered her eyes. Prude, Howard thought. “You run along, Nevvie,” he said to Monteith. Samantha bit her lower lip and looked alert.
Monteith looked a question to her. She nodded, and he left.
“Draw your chair closer to my bed,” Howard suggested.
She nudged the chair an inch closer, ready to flee at the first sign of passion. “What is it, Howard?” she asked stiffly.
“Nay, there’s no need to freeze on me, lass. It’s time you and I admitted the truth. We don’t suit. I’m too old, and you’re too young. It will be a disappointment to you now, but in time you’ll get over it. I’ll see what I can do to hint Monteith in your direction. If you can lose that missish way of pokering up at any mention of sex, you might nab him. He ain’t a nabob, but he’s got a handle to his name, and the Hall is a fine little house.”
A wave of relief inundated Samantha. She felt as if she had been released from prison. “If you’re sure, Howard...”
“It’s a pity, but facts are facts. Winter and summer don’t belong together. I waited too long to come home. I shan’t be building Shalimar after all. I daresay that was half what attracted you to me.”
“No, to tell the truth, I wasn’t attracted by Shalimar at all. I thought it sounded silly.” She drew the heavy ring from her finger and handed it to him.
He shoved it back, saying, “Keep it as a reminder of me.”
“As if I needed a reminder!” she exclaimed.
Howard felt a proud swelling of his chest and smiled benignly. “Call it a little something for the trouble and disappointment I’ve caused you.”
“I couldn’t keep it. It’s too valuable,” she said firmly, and set it on the table.
“As you wish, my dear. So it is good-bye,” he said, with a sad smile, and an eye to the table to see the level of the wine bottle.
“Yes, it is good-bye, dear Howard.”
Assured of her freedom, she risked a very quick kiss on his forehead. It felt hot and dry, and nearly as repulsive as his lips. Then she rose and glided quietly from the room.
Monteith was waiting for her in the hallway. “Well?” he asked.
“Monty, he jilted me!” she whispered, and fell into a fit of nervous giggles.
He lifted her in his arms and swung her around in the air, with her feet ten inches off the ground. “Then we can make it official. You’re my woman!” he said.
He gazed into her face, hovering above his, then lowered her till their lips met in a frenzied kiss. His lips moved restively as her arms tightened around his neck. The long kiss continued as she slid slowly to the floor, gliding against him in a body caress.
When at last he released her, she looked shyly at him. “Is that what you’ve been waiting for all this time?” she asked. “For Howard to jilt me?”
“We foolish gentlemen have a code in these matters. Stealing another man’s bride is frowned upon. I’ve wanted to make my declaration for days. I was
within a breath of it that afternoon in your saloon, but somehow we came to cuffs instead. I was jealous as a green cow.”
“And I was mad as a hornet. I thought it was only my getting Howard’s fortune that upset you.”
“No, it was Howard’s getting you. But enough of that, I want to rush in and make it official, before someone else gets at you. I love you madly, darling. Will you do me the honor—oh, damme, I haven’t asked your mother for permission.”
“She says yes,” Sam assured him.
The happy couple were embracing in a way that Lady Monteith found highly improper when she spotted them on her way upstairs to listen at Howard’s door.
“Monteith!” she exclaimed loudly.
“We’ve done it, Mama. He broke the engagement.”
Lady Monteith’s eyes darted to Sam’s ringless finger, and a small smile formed. “I’ll just look in and see if he requires anything,” she said.
She found Howard with the wine bottle to his lips, smiling like a pagan. “Come sit beside me and console me, Irene,” he tempted, patting the bed.
She spotted the diamond-and-ruby ring sitting on the side table as she perched on the mattress. “The doctor said no wine, Howard dear,” she reminded him.
“Just a drop to wet my whistle. I am feeling much stronger since you have been taking such good care of me.”
“What are sisters for?” she asked archly.
One of Howard’s hands slid toward the ring on the table, the other around Irene’s waist. “I never thought of you as a sister, Irene. Lately I have come to think of you as a very desirable woman.” He reached for her left hand, from which her wedding ring had magically vanished two days ago, for Howard hadn’t said anything about overcoming his dread of widows and it seemed ill-advised to remind him of her status.
“You’re not forgetting I was married to Ernest?” she asked.
Despite her second-hand condition she looked as good as new—better. “I wager there are pages Ernie hasn’t read,” he said. Such was his notion of romance that he told her Serena’s theory of widows; such was Irene’s that she laughed heartily, even though he had told her the circumstances under which Serena had delivered her theory.
Irene wagged her finger and charged him approvingly with being a wee bit of a libertine.
“You bring out the beast in me,” he threatened. As the ring was slid onto her finger, the beast drew her into his arms for a tussle that made Irene forget all about Ernest.
After this brief lapse from propriety, Irene returned to business. “We shan’t tell the youngsters for a few days,” she said. With an unwonted dash of charity, she added, “Miss Bright will be all cut up,” to make him feel good.
Howard nodded. “She will. I mean to hint Monteith in that direction to soften the blow. Otherwise we might have to sit a month before she attached someone else. There’s no denying the young lady is a prude. I don’t know about you, Irene, but my feeling is that the sooner we get on with the wedding, the better.”
Irene considered her options and was willing to sacrifice Monteith. There was no saying how long Howard’s infatuation would last. He was getting stronger every day. If he recovered enough to jaunter off to London again, he was lost. Best to take him while she had the chance. And, really, she quite liked Sam.
“I’ll speak to Monteith. I shouldn’t be surprised if he agreed to have her.”
“He acted a little jealous the other night at the party, I thought.’’
“Where shall we live, Howard?” she asked, with an innocent face that gave no hint this decision had been made days ago.
“We’ll build ourselves a little hut on the river.”
She smiled as though suddenly struck by inspiration. “Howard, you have already purchased the Langford property—why not live there, in that lovely stone mansion? It will be big enough for us two.”
“It will do for a start, at least, and we’ll buy a grander place in London. You will want to spend the season in London, I daresay. I do like the situation of the Langford cottage, there on the water. We’ll have our little fleet of masulahs and the temple backing against the orchard.”
“You must teach me to sail.”
“There’s plenty I mean to teach you, my little hussy.” He grinned and pounced on her.
Epilogue
“Age before beauty,” Mrs. Bright conceded with a demure smile when the schedule of weddings was being discussed at Lambrook Hall with Lady Monteith. “By all means, you and Howard must go first, Irene. We don’t want to risk your losing out on another parti due to dragging your feet. Will you have the wedding here, or will Howard be well enough to hobble to a church?”
Nothing fazed Lady Monteith these days. She smiled gloatingly. “Howard wants to be married at St. Michael’s. As to his health, he is well enough to want to go to Paris.”
“While Shalimar is being built, you mean?”
“Shalimar be damned. We shall live in the Langford mansion. My pride doesn’t require a marble monument, but my common sense does demand a well-run estate. And there will be no fleet of silly foreign boats, either. I shall allow him one good sturdy yacht. The boys will enjoy that when they come to visit.”
“Will you allow them to view the naughty Indian temple?”
“If they care to pry open the crates, they may view anything they like. I didn’t raise a parcel of prudes. Howard feels a reproduction of a Norman chapel will suit the landscape better and is not planning to erect the temple.”
“Howard’s taste is improving under your tutelage.”
“True.” The lady smiled. “But you must not say so in front of Samantha. And when will you and Clifford tie the knot?”
“Sam and Monteith will go first. Clifford wants Sam to be our matron of honor, and till she is married, you know...”
“You mean Mrs. Tucker wants the dignity of having Lady Monteith take part in the ceremony. Dear me, how odd to think of little Sam assuming my title.”
“And you being plain Lady Howard.”
“Lady Howard will do fine for me. The demotion hasn’t stopped the Duke of Rutledge from inviting Ted and Bert to his estate for a couple of weeks. He has more daughters than he knows what to do with, and every one of them has an excellent dot.”
This bitter pill was swallowed, and Mrs. Bright proceeded to other touchy matters. “What will you wear for the wedding, Irene? Clifford wants me to wear white. Are you...”
A snort of laughter rang out. “White, at our age? We would look a pair of quizzes, and where would we ever wear a white gown again?”
“I have convinced him that pale blue is more becoming to me.”
“I’ve chosen green.”
“Do you really think, with that red hair...”
“Henna. Monty says he can get me a more natural hue in London.”
Mrs. Bright patted her own graying locks and looked uncertainly at her friend.
“It isn’t your color, Nora. I should think ash-blond might do. I have the list of colors here somewhere. I’ll ring for a servant to get it. Tea, while we’re at it, or would you prefer wine?”
The shared problem of setting on a wedding style that would please their husbands without setting the rest of the parish reeling with laughter helped return the old friends to their former good relations. Before the visit was over, plans were afoot for many shared outings.
Monteith and Sam, passing by the open door, exchanged satisfied smiles, “I told you things would sort themselves out.” Monty assured her. “Mama is up to anything.”
“We shan’t have to wait long to make our wedding plans.” Sam sighed happily.
“It’s been too long to suit me already,” Monteith said, and pulled her into his study for a kiss. It was the same room where the nabob had tried to have his way with her. The nature of the attack, too, was quite similar, but it stirred no unpleasant memories. Sam was sufficiently in love to do more than tolerate his amorous assault.
They didn’t stop, but did take a short break
when the familiar “Holloa” was heard in the hall beyond. “Where’s my little woman? Irene? Ranji has arrived. You must come and meet him.”
The sound of footfalls was followed by a delighted exclamation from Irene. “Our dubash! How lovely! Did he get the quotations for the jewelry collection as you asked?”
The young lovers found the English language more enjoyable. “Shall we go out and join your papa?” Sam suggested.
“Yes, let’s,” Monteith said, and released her. “We can’t abandon Howard. He hasn’t a chance against Mama. The poor man needs all the help he can get.”
They went arm in arm into the marble-floored entrance hall just as Lady Monteith reached for the quotations and studied them with a contented smile. “This calls for champagne!” she exclaimed. “And a nice cup of tea for you, Howard dear. Holloa, boy!”
Copyright © 1987 by Joan Smith
Originally published by Fawcett Crest [0449214249]
Electronically published in 2011 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228
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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.
