Willowswood Match

by Gayle Buck

  Anne regarded her with astonishment. “Miranda! After all the insult that young woman has heaped upon you, how can you say that you pity her? I certainly do not.”

  “Miss Wainwright’s position does her credit, Anne. She proves herself the better woman, you see,” said Lord Townsend lazily. He was rewarded by a dark flash from Miss Wainwright’s eyes. It was not often these days that he was able to break through her reserve and he had discovered an ever-increasing desire to do so. There was a quality about their former relationship that he very much regretted losing. He was determined to recapture it if he could possibly do so.

  “This dashing naval officer sounds quite an exceptional gentleman,” said Miranda. “I shall be most curious to meet him. Did you happen to catch his name, my lord?”

  Lord Townsend frowned slightly. “I am certain that the squire and Mrs. Earlington must have mentioned it a score of times, but I was far too amused by the tale to pay particular attention to it.”

  “I too am all agog to make his acquaintance. Perhaps we shall pay a call on Mr. Willoughby. I have for some time had a desire to inspect his roses,” said Anne, funning.

  “Yes, and I suppose you are a devout dove lover as well,” retorted Miranda. When her cousin stoutly maintained with a somewhat sheepish air that she was, Miranda began laughing and could not stop. It was left to Lord Townsend to tease his sister-in-law unmercifully over her heretofore unsuspected passions.

  As Miranda listened to their lively banter she marveled not for the first time over her cousin’s resiliency. Anne had been prostrate with grief only weeks before, her condition compounded by her indifferent health. But there had lately been a significant change in her. Anne had begun to make an effort to sit at dinner with the rest of the family and to spend part of her days outside her bedroom. She had also conveyed to Miranda an interest in the hiring of the staff.

  For Miranda, the most telling point of all had been Anne’s eventual willingness to accept the expressions of sympathy that she received from her neighbors. She was also astonished when Anne had sent a request for the village seamstress to wait on her at Willowswood and ordered several gowns done in mourning colors. Within days, Anne was attired in the somber dark grays and black, which suited her pale coloring. Those who called on her took away impressions of fragile, brave beauty.

  Viscount Wythe and Robert had also taken to full mourning. Miranda, who was not of the immediate family, settled for shades of soft gray, blue, and mauve. She re-trimmed her less frivolous gowns and bonnets in black satin and velvet ribbons and filled in those gowns that were cut low across the bodice with ruchings of fine lace.

  The number of invitations received at Willowswood declined sharply once it was known that the Townsends were in mourning. There were a few functions that Miranda deemed unexceptionable, but Anne would attend none of them, preferring instead to remain secluded at Willowswood except for attending Sunday chapel. She did, however, pay a handful of morning calls on those acquaintances who were exceptionally kind in their expressions of condolence.

  Miranda was pleased that Anne had come down out of her bedroom and it was very good to hear her cousin laughing as she was this evening. Perhaps Lord Townsend had been right in informing Anne so early of Richard’s death. It seemed to have given her time to adjust to the idea before having to face it publicly. She was certainly making the effort to resume her place as mistress of Willowswood, which could only be beneficial both for herself and for Robert. Robert was obviously pleased by the change in his mother. His nightmares had begun to abate and though the boy grieved for his father in his own quiet way, Miranda thought the boy was adjusting better than could have been expected.

  As for herself, Miranda found that she was coming to terms with her feelings for Lord Townsend. She knew that she could never expect a declaration from him. He was far superior to her socially and could choose a bride wherever he liked. She only hoped that she would be long gone before he did so. In the meantime, she was grateful for the gradual narrowing of the once-impossible distance that had separated her from Lord Townsend. It meant that they had regained a good measure of their former easy companionability and conversation. Miranda did not consider herself happy, but neither was she particularly unhappy. Content was perhaps the best word to describe her feelings. She did not recognize her state of mind for the emotional limbo that it was. But it would soon become all too clear to her.

  * * * *

  One Sunday morning as the ladies were leaving church and Lord Townsend was handing them up into their carriage, a horseman coming down the lane reined in at the hail of an acquaintance.

  Mr. Olive counted himself one of Captain Daggett’s best friends in the district and it puffed up his consequence when the naval officer stopped to speak with him. “Eh, Daggett, had an early ride, have you? I wouldn’t have thought to see you up after your late night at the alehouse, and especially when you had such a delectable piece for company,” he said convivially. He snorted laughter.

  Captain Daggett was somewhat irritated. He was not ashamed of his vices but it was another thing to have some idiot trumpet them aloud for the sharp ears of all the starchy matrons. It did not suit him to gamer disapproval. His social situation was presently satisfying to him and he wanted nothing to change that. He leaned down and spoke quietly. “I would take it as a favor if that did not get nosed around, Olive. You understand, of course. The ladies do not like it.”

  “Oh, certainly! Nothing easier to understand. I’ll keep mum, never fear,” said Olive reassuringly. He embarked on a long tale of his one visit to London and the pleasures that he had found there. It was told with much winking and snorts of laughter.

  Even as Daggett maintained a polite expression of interest and made short comments when appropriate, his attention wandered. His eyes happened to rove over the people leaving the church. Suddenly he stiffened, his gaze riveted by one particular face. Brusquely interrupting Mr. Olive’s climactic moment, he said, “Who is that getting into the rig with the gray cattle?”

  Mr. Olive looked around. “Oh, that is Mrs. Townsend and her brother-in-law, Viscount Wythe. A regular London beau, is his lordship. I never learned the proper knack for tying a neckcloth, but his lordship is never seen abroad without an intricate design of some sort. I have been meaning to approach him, just in a friendly manner, and endeavor to find out his secret. But you never know—devilish high in the instep are some of these dandified gentlemen.”

  “Never mind the man’s neckcloth, Ned! Who is that lady with his lordship and Mrs. Townsend?” asked Daggett impatiently. His eyes were still on the woman’s face.

  “Why, that is Mrs. Townsend’s cousin. Miss Miranda Wainwright. She is an affable lady and her manners are quite good and surprisingly straightforward. Rather refreshing, actually, after some of our own ladies. She is visiting from the States, you know,” said Mr. Olive. “What do you think, Daggett? Should I approach his lordship about his neckcloth and risk a setdown?”

  The carriage containing the party from Willowswood passed. Daggett’s hard glance followed the lovely, animated face of Miranda Wainwright. He could hardly believe that it was the same woman from the Larabelle and that she was in this neighborhood. The coincidence was extraordinary and it set his thoughts to spinning, especially the fact that Mr. Olive had called her “Miss” Wainwright. It was obvious to him that she had chosen to conceal her married state. Vivid to his mind came a recollection of boarding the Larabelle and of how she had protested the impressment of the sailors. He remembered in particular the protective clasp that her husband, Jeremy Wainwright, had had on her arm.

  Daggett’s lips lifted in an unconscious snarl. Jeremy Wainwright, the man who was responsible for his being under severe reprimand and stripped of his command! The deep hatred in him was like bile in his throat. “Do as you wish, Olive. I’ve no patience for neckcloths,” said Daggett. He pulled his mount around and cantered off.

  Mr. Olive regarded the captain’s abrupt departure with ast
onishment. “No patience for neckcloths! My word!” he exclaimed.

  * * *

  Chapter 19

  Bertram Burton was well-known as a true sportsman. He often got up hunting parties that lasted for weeks. His acquaintance extended mostly to gentlemen like himself: horsy, loud outdoorsmen who often seemed to care more for their horses and hounds than they did for themselves or their families. Miss Burton detested her brother’s house parties but tolerated the company because the majority were male and occasionally there did appear an interesting face among them. Once there had been a Scottish laird, whose proposal she had declined only because she disliked the thought of being buried in the cold north six months out of the year. No, Miss Burton was looking for a gentleman of consequence who could provide for her expensive tastes and take her to London.

  Bertram was well aware of his sister’s ambitions. He did his best to bring fresh blood to her attention but thus far without noticeable luck. When Viscount Wythe had come into the neighborhood he had set out at once to make his lordship’s acquaintance. He invited Lord Townsend to join in the sport to be had at Stonehollow whenever his lordship was so inclined and had sold one of his finest hunters to him. At first Bertram had been put off by Lord Townsend’s unconscious air of arrogance, but it was not long before a mutual interest in sporting had established a friendship between the two gentlemen. Bertram thought it was almost a pity to think of saddling his lordship with Mary Alice, but he was not long in realizing that there would be no such match.

  After a particularly trying day dealing with another of Miss Burton’s tantrums, Bertram wished that the London gentleman was not quite so cagey. He sat musing before the fire, wineglass in hand. “I’ve seen the look in his lordship’s eyes when she plays her tricks. Lord Townsend laughs to himself, he does. He’s too downy a one to be caught in Mary Alice’s toils,” he said with a sigh. A moment of thought and he slapped his thigh. “And damn if I don’t admire his lordship all the more for it! There aren’t many who see the sweetened trap for what it is.”

  His expression darkened as his thoughts carried him on to another gentleman who seemed impervious to his sister’s manifold charms. “That Captain Daggett, now. I do not see what Mary Alice finds so fascinating in him. I don’t like the look of him myself. Too twitchy by half and the way he sits that job horse of his is enough to turn a man’s stomach with disgust. Aye, that fellow is not all that he is cracked up to be. He is the stuff one should never turn one’s back on.”

  Miss Burton was aware of her brother’s dislike for Captain Daggett. It but added to the naval officer’s infuriating attraction. She had tried for weeks to break through the gentleman’s formal manner toward her and spark some hint of admiration in his cold, derisive eyes, but to no avail. In the beginning it had only piqued her that Captain Daggett appeared immune to her beauty. Gradually, however, his disregard had become almost an obsession with her. She could not stand to be slighted by the gentleman. Gone was her original intent to make him beg for her favor. It was now she who schemed to solicit someone’s interest. She did not recognize that Daggett had quite literally turned her own tactics against her.

  Miss Burton made up her mind that Captain Daggett must be brought to recognize her. After much labor, she sent a carefully worded epistle to the gentleman. His answer was long in coming and at the end of two days she was on tenterhooks. When the letter finally arrived in the post, she seized on it and tore it open with impatient fingers. What was written there appeared to satisfy her, for she raised her eyes and slowly exhaled her pent-up breath. Tapping the letter against her hand, Miss Burton smiled in satisfaction.

  That night Miss Burton drove her gig by a roundabout way to a little-used entrance to the rose garden at Willoughby Hall. She had disguised herself in a heavy veil and cloak, a wasted precaution since it had not occurred to her to use other than her own well-known gig and horse. Miss Burton alighted to the ground, then stood hesitantly. She stared at the garden wall, wondering if she was mad. Her nerves were stretched taut and she made a move to reenter her carriage. But the door in the garden wall opened and a man’s silhouetted figure appeared in it. Miss Burton took a steadying breath, calling upon the steel and courage that a lifetime of jumping high fences and wide ditches had bred in her. She walked forward swiftly, not allowing herself another second to doubt her actions. Her hand was caught up and carried to the gentleman’s lips as he drew her inside the garden wall. The door creaked as it closed behind them.

  Captain Daggett led his private guest toward the gazebo that stood in the middle of the rose garden. The heady perfume of the roses was heavy on the night. They entered the mysteriously shadowed gazebo. Captain Daggett turned to her. With careful hands he put back the heavy veil and undid the ties that bound her cloak about her slender neck. His fingers paused at the pulse beating unnaturally swift in her soft throat. The cloak and veil slid away to the ground.

  A shaft of moonlight reflected the uncertainty in Miss Burton’s eyes. She was like a terrified hare, poised for flight and yet fascinated by the danger she sensed.

  Captain Daggett ran his hand lightly up her bare arm. He felt her shudder but he knew it was not in revulsion. His thin mouth eased in a satisfied smile. He had deliberately chosen this spot for their assignation for its evocative atmosphere, and it was working its magic. Miss Burton was his at last.

  He seized her by her hair and took her astonished lips with savage passion while his other arm pinned her to him. He gave no quarter, but demanded her surrender. Though often kissed, Miss Burton had never been treated to such a sensual onslaught. With the first flickering of her own awakening ardor, she was lost.

  An hour later Miss Burton emerged from the garden. Beneath the concealing cloak she was disheveled in dress. There was a dazed expression in her eyes and she stumbled as she stepped up into the gig. With shaking hands she slapped the reins and the horse started up. A dense cloud passed over the moon as she drove off.

  * * * *

  At Miranda’s urging, Anne reluctantly agreed to accept an invitation to a small private dinner at the Earlingtons. Miranda had pointed out that Anne could not very well remain buried at Willowswood, if only for the sake of her own sanity. Mrs. Earlington had added her persuasions to Miranda’s. “It is only the squire and myself, our daughters, and a few gentlemen to make up the numbers. You may rest assured, dear Mrs. Townsend, that our little potluck will be quite unexceptional.”

  Before dinner was served, the squire brought up the only gentleman unknown to the ladies and introduced him. Miranda met the gentleman’s gaze and the shock of recognition drove the breath from her lungs. She stared at him unnerved. The dashing naval officer they had all heard so much good of was Captain William Daggett, the very same man who had created such hardship for her brother.

  Anne was pleased to make the naval officer’s acquaintance. She held out her hand to him. “Why, sir, I am honored. Indeed, I have looked forward to our meeting. Your reputation has preceded you, you know.”

  Captain Daggett bowed over her hand and retained it a slight moment. Though his eyes appeared a bit hard in expression, his smile was quite agreeable. “I hope that my reputation speaks well of me, Mrs. Townsend.”

  Anne laughed, her eyes dancing as she withdrew her fingers from his light clasp. “Quite well, Captain Daggett. I believe that you have garnered some sort of honor for not succumbing at once to Miss Burton’s fatal beauty.”

  “I am prostrated at the mere sight of beauty, Mrs. Townsend. I acknowledge Miss Burton’s loveliness, but I must also pay court to all the other charming ladies whom I have had the good fortune to have met,” said Captain Daggett. He included Anne Townsend’s silent companion in the compass of his smile.

  Anne realized suddenly that Miranda had not offered one word since Captain Daggett had been introduced. She glanced at her cousin. Anne was startled by the hard look in Miranda’s usually smiling eyes and the flush of color in her cheeks. Anne hurried into the lengthening breach. “My co
usin and I were talking of you only a few days ago, Captain Daggett, and had wondered when we might have occasion to meet the neighborhood’s latest guest. I am happy that we have at last done so, do you not agree, Miranda?”

  “Quite,” said Miranda shortly. She stared into the captain’s cold blue eyes. She had listened to the exchange between her cousin and Captain Daggett with gathering anger. How dared the man behave so coolly when he must realize that she had recognized him. It was only deference for her hosts that prevented Miranda from delivering a blistering indictment of the naval officer’s conduct.

  She still remembered the tone of the last letter she had received from Jeremy only days before. Though he had obviously been happy about the outcome of the struggle, Miranda had been overwhelmed by the tired note that also came through. He had lost too much time in getting his cargo to market and had made far less profit than he had anticipated for his first voyage. He would be fortunate to break even on the return trip, he had written. Her heart had been wrung with sympathy for Jeremy. She knew how much hope her brother had placed on this voyage to establish him firmly in his life’s calling. She had thought at the time that if ever given the opportunity she would happily draw and quarter Captain Daggett.

  “Oh yes, Anne. I am indeed glad to encounter Captain Daggett. His presence in the neighborhood adds a distinctive odor to our circle of acquaintances,” she said without any lightening of her cold expression.

  Anne was appalled. She wondered wildly what to do. Miranda would never consciously insult someone on first introduction. Of course she would not, thought Anne loyally, but her choice of words was incredibly awkward. She was unutterably relieved when after the briefest moment, Captain Daggett began to chuckle. Anne uncertainly joined him in his laughter. Her eyes flew in appeal to Miranda’s face, but her cousin’s only response was to bestow a cool smile on them.

  Captain Daggett bowed to Anne and Miranda. “I shall undoubtedly see more of both of the lovely ladies of Willowswood,” he said with the faintest smile. His eyes rested deliberately on Miranda Wainwright’s cool, dismissive expression. He read the scorn in her darkened eyes and took it as a sign of trapped defiance. “I am especially interested in pursuing my acquaintance with Miss Wainwright,” he said quietly, his thoughts dwelling lovingly on the revenge he meant to take on Jeremy Wainwright.