It was true that the church was perilously close to Gresham Hall, but Maitland was comforted by the fact that, since she was more than likely involved in helping her aunt with the arrangements for this evening’s festivities, there was very little danger of Georgianne showing up on the village green. Nevertheless, despite the fact that his attention was almost fully occupied with keeping the lads in check, he found it impossible to stop his eyes from straying over to the little wicker gate that marked the entrance to the Gresham estate, in the forlorn hope of seeing her emerging through it.
Two hours later, exhausted but fairly well pleased with his afternoon’s work, he eased himself down into one of the vicar’s comfortable old armchairs.
‘They’re turning into quite a reasonable bunch of players,’ he remarked, smiling his thanks up at the deaf housekeeper as she passed him a cup of tea. ‘I shall be sorry not to see how they progress.’
‘Off soon then, I take it?’ asked Mr Childs, his chubby young face a picture of disappointment. ‘No luck with your enquiries, then?’
‘None at all, I’m afraid.’
The vicar gave a slightly distracted nod, then, leaning forwards, he said somewhat hesitantly, ‘Don’t know if it’s of any consequence, old chap, but there was something that occurred to me the other day, after you left.’
Raising a questioning eyebrow, Maitland waited for the other man to continue.
‘Well, the thing is,’ went on the vicar, ‘and, I’m not sure whether you are aware of this, but old Godfrey Freeman—my predecessor—was sometimes in the habit of taking the odd service at the chapel up at Highsmith House. Baptisms and burials and so on for those unfortunate little ones who didn’t survive.’
His attention suddenly alerted, Maitland clapped his hand to his forehead ‘The home for unwed mothers!’ he exclaimed. ‘Why the devil did that not occur to me before?’ Then, leaning forwards, in great eagerness, he asked, ‘Would this Reverend Freeman have kept any records of these births and deaths, do you suppose?’
‘Oh, he would have been obliged to,’ Mr Childs was swift to assure him. ‘Trouble is, there’s no sign of them amongst any of the papers here, so that just leaves the chapel or Highsmith House itself!’ A slight flush crept over his cheeks. ‘As you are no doubt aware, Lady Highsmith is away from home at present, but it did occur to me that, since you are in such close contact with everyone up at the Hall, it is possible that you may be able to elicit some further information from Miss Stephanie herself.’
‘I shall have the pleasure of seeing Miss Highsmith this very evening!’ Maitland replied, with a satisfied smile. ‘And I can’t thank you enough for bringing this piece of information to my attention. I was beginning to despair of ever finding anything of value.’
‘Think nothing of it, my dear chap,’ said the vicar, rising to his feet to see Maitland to the door. ‘I trust that it will prove to be of some use to you. Indeed, it’s the very least I could do after all your sterling efforts to knock my fledgling cricket team into shape!’
With a dismissive grin and a wave of his hand, Maitland mounted Pegasus and rode back through the village. Having previously paid scant attention to the Highsmith property, which was situated at the junction of the Willowby lane and the main pike road and some three miles or so distant from the church itself, he now realised, when viewing it at closer quarters, that the large house could well have been the one so vaguely described by his uncle. It even had a driveway bordered with lime trees. But a convent it was most definitely not!
Could it be possible that the house had changed its designation over the years? he wondered—maybe the fickle Miss Highsmith would be able to supply him with some answers on the subject? Suddenly the thought of spending the evening at Gresham Hall became a far more interesting prospect than it had been earlier in the day! Wheeling his mount around, he headed up the turnpike back towards the Dun Cow, barely able to conceal his eagerness to share this exciting information with his cousin.
Chapter Eighteen
The room was already becoming oppressively warm, even though the evening was barely yet into its stride. Standing at the top of the stairs, anxiously scanning the faces of the mass of individuals now milling around below him, Maitland was unable to locate either Georgianne or, more especially, for the moment at any rate, her friend Stephanie.
Catford, as he had just observed, was still in the receiving line, along with his parents and the rest of the Gresham family. Maitland had been surprised not to find Georgianne standing with them. Fortunately, for his own peace of mind, the press of people moving forwards to pay their respects had absolved him from giving his friend any more than the customary bow, for which the viscount had returned him a cheerful grin— this friendly salutation merely having had the effect of making Maitland feel a good deal more of a bounder than he had felt originally!
Standing at his side, his cousin Jeremy was also scouring the room for a sight of his proposed bride. However, Fenton’s eagerness to find Stephanie was more to do with the fact that he wished to tell her that he had, after going to some considerable trouble and expense, finally managed to avail himself of the marriage licence that she had insisted he procure before she would commit herself to eloping with him.
Georgianne, having caught sight of the two men the moment they had appeared through the doorway at the top of the staircase, was doing her best to conceal herself behind one of the pillars that she had spent so much of the afternoon festooning with ribbons and posies. In the event, as even she was bound to admit, the final results of her labours had proved to be quite eyecatchingly dazzling. At least no one would be able to fault her in that respect, she thought, heaving a deep sigh of regret, as she allowed her eyes to linger upon Maitland’s face.
In order to avoid a face-to-face confrontation with him in full public view, she had managed to persuade her reluctant aunt to excuse her from the family line-up. Although she knew that it would be impossible to avoid him entirely, she felt secure in the knowledge that, should he seek her out, the press of people around would serve to obviate all but the most cursory of conversations,
He looked so imposing and so full of self-assurance standing there, surveying the crowd. And, although he was not what one might describe as exactly handsome, his features were regular and well formed, his eyes clear and bright and his lips—but perhaps it would be as well not to dwell upon any thoughts about his lips at this particular moment, she thought hurriedly, doing her utmost to banish the memory of that breathtakingly heady embrace.
Like the vast majority of the other gentlemen in the room, Maitland was clad in a long-tailed evening suit, his crisp white shirt and neckcloth standing out in stark contrast to the coal-black superfine of his jacket. Unlike most of the others, however, his broad shoulders and upright stance were more than enough to make him stand out from the crowd. Small wonder that she had lost her heart to him, thought Georgianne sadly, as her eyes followed his progress down the stairs and, eventually, out of her line of vision. Stephanie, as she quickly observed, had wasted no time in making her way towards the Honourable Jeremy and the pair were, even now, heads together, involved in hatching some nefarious scheme or other. She hoped to goodness that Steffi was not about to ruin her aunt’s big night by running off with the man in the middle of this evening’s festivities!
‘I trust that you are not hiding yourself away from me, Miss Venables!’ came a soft voice from over her shoulder.
With an exclamation of dismay, she spun round, only to find herself face to face with the very person that she had been trying to avoid.
‘N-not at all, Mr Maitland,’ she stuttered, as the telltale colour rose in her cheeks. ‘I was—er—merely adjusting one of the ribbons on the pillar—it seemed to have worked itself loose.’
He eyed the offending decoration with some scepticism. ‘Looks pretty secure to me,’ he pronounced. She was lying, of that he was quite certain, although why she should need to drum up such a paltry excuse to explain away her co
ncealment was beyond him.
There followed a somewhat awkward pause as Georgianne desperately tried to think of something to say that did not sound as absurdly idiotic as her previous offering.
Fortunately, Maitland forestalled her. ‘I was hoping that you would be able to tell me where I might find Miss Highsmith,’ he said.
Georgianne’s heart sank even lower. So, he was still intent upon pursuing Steffi, she thought glumly, not entirely sure whether she ought to be glad or sorry that, if the poor man truly had any designs in that quarter, he was about to have them cruelly shattered.
‘She was over by the stairway, in conversation with your cousin, the last time I saw her,’ she replied, pointing her fan in the direction she had indicated. ‘In fact, I am almost sure that I saw them going towards one of the card rooms just behind the stairs.’
‘Thank you.’
Bowing, he made as if to take his leave but then, gritting his teeth, he smothered the oath that had inadvertently slipped from his lips, stopped and spun round to face her again.
‘It would pain me very greatly to lose your friendship, Georgianne,’ he told her, his voice low, but full of urgency. ‘I can’t apologise enough for what happened yesterday morning but I swear that, if you would just consider returning our relationship to its previous happy footing, such a thing will never occur again!’
‘Since you have given me to understand that you are about to leave the district,’ she replied stiffly, ‘I should think that any likelihood of it being repeated is somewhat remote!’
Momentarily stung by her frigid tone of voice, he was silent, then, ‘True enough,’ he felt bound to concede. ‘But I should like to be assured that if I were to come to Gresham Hall again, at some time in the future, you would not find my presence unwelcome.’
She stiffened, the colour rising in her cheeks once more, but this time for a very different reason. ‘I trust that I can always be relied upon to do my duty by my aunt’s guests,’ she retorted. ‘And I have no doubt that Catford’s friends will always be made welcome at the Hall.’
With that, she turned on her heel and, head high, she edged her way through the group of people who were conversing nearby and disappeared into the crowd.
His eyes grim, Maitland stared after her departing figure until it was no longer visible. Then, with a barely audible grunt of frustration, he started to make his way over to the anteroom of which she had spoken. At least let me find some bright spot in this otherwise never- ending pit of gloom, he prayed, closing his eyes briefly as he cast his mind back to the moment that he had spotted Georgianne lurking behind the pillar. Wearing a hip-skimming gown of cream-coloured satin, whose low-cut bodice revealed rather more of her luscious décolletage than was good for any man’s pulse rate, and a simple pearl tiara fixed atop her glossy curls, she had looked so heart-stoppingly lovely that, despite his fervent promise to keep his distance, it had taken every ounce of his self-control to prevent himself reaching forwards and pulling her into his arms.
Gritting his teeth together, in an endeavour to cast that tantalising vision from his thoughts, he reached the stairway and, spotting the closed door of the aforementioned anteroom, he was just about to make his way towards it when he felt a tap on his shoulder. Turning, he was seized by a faint sense of alarm as he discovered Catford regarding him with a slight frown on his face.
‘Let’s get out of this crush for a minute, Will, old sport,’ begged the viscount, as he edged himself sideways in an effort to preserve his injured leg from the swaying corpulence of a passing matron. ‘There’s a little matter I would like to have clarified, if you’ve no objection?’
Maitland’s heart sank. So, it’s finally about to come out into the open, he thought, as he hurriedly suppressed the groan of regret that threatened. Still, perhaps it’s time for ‘cards on the table’—at least now I might find out, once and for all, exactly what the situation is between the enigmatic Miss Venables and her cousin!
Directing his friend to follow him into the card room—which Maitland, to his surprise, discovered was empty of any other inhabitants—Catford bade him sit down and, perching himself on the arm of a nearby armchair, said bluntly, ‘I dare say that you will tell me that it is none of my business, Will, but I have to ask you this. Have you and Georgie fallen out over something?’
Somewhat taken aback at this direct line of questioning, it took Maitland a moment or two to recover his composure. ‘What’s given you that idea?’ he asked guardedly.
Catford pursed his lips. ‘Well, she’s been acting damned oddly this last couple of days,’ he replied. ‘Just when we were all beginning to think that she’d put all that sorry business behind her, she seems to have gone right back into her shell again.’ He shook his head mournfully. ‘I really don’t care to see her like this, Will, and I couldn’t help wondering whether you had had words—and just when I thought that the pair of you were getting along so famously, too!’
Maitland was now in something of a quandary. He could hardly tell his friend the real cause of the apparent dissension between Georgianne and himself but, since it was clear that the viscount had noticed something amiss, he felt obliged to conjure up an explanation of sorts.
‘It may well be that Miss Venables was not best pleased with the wetting she took on our last ride out together,’ he offered, affecting a shamefaced expression. ‘My fault, entirely, I hasten to add! And then, when I was obliged to cancel our appointment this morning, I fear that I must have blotted my copy-book entirely!’
Catford shook his head. ‘Georgie ain’t the sort to get into a pet about that sort of thing—besides which, she’s already told me that it was she who persuaded you to go out when that thunderstorm threatened—she’s always been a bit of a daredevil in that respect!’
Both men were silent for a few moments then, ‘Dare say she’ll snap out of it, soon, old chap,’ ventured Maitland, somewhat awkwardly. ‘In any event, you should know by now that trying to fathom out what goes on in a woman’s head is a waste of both time and energy—I gave up that course of action a good few years ago!’
‘True enough, Will,’ laughed Catford, as he rose to his feet. ‘Still, I would hate you to part on such poor terms. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind asking her to dance at some point? Pretty good way to mend broken fences, I’ve always found!’
‘Certainly, I will,’ Maitland assured his friend, although he could not help thinking that, after the earlier rebuff, it was doubtful whether Georgianne would be happy to countenance any such petition from him. But then, recalling his other problem, he added, ‘I do have to seek out Miss Highsmith first, though— I have been told that it is possible that she may be able to shed some further light on what became of my missing relative.’
‘Stephanie Highsmith?’ exclaimed Catford, arching his eyebrow in scornful amusement. ‘Doubt if you’ll get much help from that fair damsel—head stuffed with fashion plates and cash accounts, if you ask me!’
‘You may well be right,’ returned Maitland, with a rueful grin. ‘I mean to have a damned good try, nevertheless!’
Although finding Stephanie did not prove to be much of a problem, since she and her cohorts appeared to have set up their own court in one corner of the ballroom, getting near enough to hold a private conversation with her turned out to be a rather different matter altogether, as Maitland was soon to find out.
‘Have you managed to have a word with Miss Highsmith about the chapel records yet?’ he demanded of his cousin, whom he had discovered hovering, somewhat disconsolately, on the fringe of the circle of eager swains who were clamouring for Stephanie’s attention.
‘Er—no—’ fraid not, old man,’ replied the distracted Fenton, anxiously eying his intended bride’s rather coquettish manner towards one of his rivals.
Following the agreement that he should ‘spirit’ her away during the Gresham family’s ritual sojourn at the church service the following evening—she would invent a fictitious headache to prevent her from
accompanying them—Stephanie had then insisted that, in order to avoid drawing undue attention to themselves, it would be best if she and Fenton were to stay apart for the remainder of this evening. At his protest, she had reached for his hand and, fluttering her eyelashes at him, had stroked his fingers, gently cajoling him with, ‘Dearest Jeremy! Surely, you can’t want the whole village hot on our trail before we even reach the turnpike?’
Since that was the last thing Fenton wanted, his main objective being to have Stephanie wedded and— if he had any say in the matter—bedded long before the sun went down, he had had to curb his objections. The result being that he now found himself obliged to stand by and watch while Stephanie danced and flirted with every Tom, Dick and Harry who happened to take her fancy. Having already received several pitying glances from one or two bystanders, who had, apparently, reached the conclusion that Fenton’s term as current favourite appeared to have run its course, his growing resentment had wiped all thoughts of Maitland’s earlier request right out of his mind.
‘Well, what in blazes are you doing stuck at the back of this set of fribbles?’ enquired his cousin, rather crossly. ‘Only this morning you were giving me to understand that you and Miss Highsmith were as thick as two inkle weavers! Don’t tell me that you’ve lost interest in claiming your share of Uncle Roger’s fortune!’
Fenton looked affronted. ‘You know damned well that I haven’t, Will,’ he retorted. ‘But you said yourself that the whole thing was beginning to look like a lost cause. And, with the best part of a year still to go, I need to make the most of every opportunity that happens to come my way in the meantime!’
‘You call this skulking about “making the most of your opportunities”?’ snorted Maitland scathingly. ‘Well, I’m afraid I’ve no time for such niceties!’ And with that, he thrust himself forwards through the crowd of young hopefuls, blithely ignoring all the indignant protests with which he was being showered.
The Major and the Country Miss Page 18
