“Didn’t seem it? Why, how long were you there? What do you mean?”
“You was asleep the first time I passed you, so I thought it best to keep an eye on you. Who’s this Reagham person? Yes, I heard about him too. I was sitting in the tree behind you.”
Emily ignored this unromantic confession. “Mr. Reagham is a gentleman—he came to my house the other day to say that an—ad-mir-er—” Emily’s voice broke over the word. “An admirer wished to meet me, and didn’t feel right about speaking to me at home, what with Feabers and all the others, and Jenny and Mamma and Papa, and Maggie, and—” Her voice broke again. “I thought it was romantic!”
“Damme, Emily, that’s the sort of nonsense that got you into a scrape when we met.” Domenic shook his head. “I swear, it’s as if you wanted to lose your reputation. Why, I can hardly blame Ratherscombe for—” Catching sight of Emily’s face, he amended the statement. “Almost can’t blame him. So he sent an emissary to ask you to meet him, and you went. Didn’t think it was Ratherscombe, so who the devil did you think? The prince? Devonshire? Or perhaps Lord Byron’s corsair? If you ain’t the silliest chit I’ve ever met! Now look, Emmy. When we reach your house, let me do the talking, and I shall get you out of this scrape somehow.” Domenic stopped the horse for a moment to stare up at her earnestly. “It’s just that I should hate it if you were hurt, Emily.” He patted her hand.
Emily, still hiding behind his handkerchief, peered down at him in awe. “Oh, Domenic.”
“There, there, Em. It’s all right,” he assured her awkwardly, and reached up to touch, just once, a curl of her dark hair. “Well, shall we go along?”
“We could go through the back, you know,” Emily added in a more prosaic tone.
“Worse than the front,” Dom replied. “All the maidservants, and they’ll gabble something fierce, I can tell you. Front door’s the ticket, Emmy.”
“I shall leave it all up to you,” Emily stated as he lifted her down from Hellbrand’s saddle.
The door was flung open almost before Dom had time to knock, and Feabers, looking as distracted as it was possible for such a retainer to look, ushered them into the house. Behind him, Lady Graybarr and Miss Prydd, pale and hurriedly dressed, had stopped in the midst of talk to see who had arrived.
“My child!” Lady Graybarr shrieked, flying past Jenny and the butler to seize her daughter in her arms.
“Oh, Mamma!” Emily gasped, equally overcome, and the two supported each other toward the stairway.
“Which leaves only me to thank you, it seems,” Jenny said wryly to Dom. “And to ask where on earth you found her, Dom. Her maid came to me an hour ago insisting that Emily had left the house—dressed herself and left before the fires were even burning! I didn’t believe it, but when I saw that it was so, I had to tell her mother—we were quite frantic with worry. Not that she was gone so long, but at seven o’clock on a Sunday morning? What else could we think but that she was in trouble of some sort. What romantic conceit was she playing at?”
“Why,” Domenic said hurriedly, with as much authority as he could muster, “I met her in the park for a walk, and this great cur came dashing up to us and—”
“Tried to black your eye for you?” Jenny asked.
“Well, I promised I’d not peach on her,” Dom admitted.
“I shan’t make you. And together we shall think of something better than a dog,” Jenny said. “Would you like some breakfast?”
“Be much obliged, actually. I’m hungry as a lion.”
“Dom, there’s nothing for us to—to worry about, is there?”
He stared at her, open—mouthed, for a moment, then broke into a peal of laughter. “D’you know, she’s quite fierce when she need be, Jenny? No, she’s a little shaken, but she’ll be right enough. And you’ll have no more trouble from Rathe—that quarter again, I can tell you,” he finished quickly.
“Excellent,” Miss Prydd said solidly. “Well then, let us see what cook has produced for us this morning.”
Chapter Ten
After an enormous breakfast, during which he disclosed to Miss Prydd far more than it had been his intention to, Domenic finally turned his attention to what sort of story should be told to satisfy the curiosity of the servants. “Although why we need tell them anything—” he began. “Yes, Jenny, I know. But it does seem hard that, when someone pays a wage to someone else—”
“That that fact in itself should not insure that the someone else will do no talking about the someone?” Jenny supplied. “In a better world, my dear, certainly. But, although Feabers would never talk about the family, I don’t suppose we can rely on the housemaids to exercise such discretion. So, my dear, we must think up some story as to what you and Emily were doing out at that outrageous hour.”
Domenic looked up, startled. “Me! Why, ma’am, I only rescued her from that—”
“Certainly,” Jenny assured him hurriedly. “But no one saw her leave, and unless someone saw Ratherscombe with you or with her, it will look very much as if she crept out to meet with you.”
“But that’s ridiculous, Jenny. Everyone knows that Emmy don’t care two figs for me, leastways, not when Peter’s about. Not that I’d mind meeting her in the park. But you know, ma’am—” He looked at her imploringly.
“Yes, dear, I do indeed know. But you realize that you’re something of a hero now? Perhaps the best thing is to say that she did go out in the park to meet with you—on some silly wager, perhaps? That way, Emmy will think that you gave that out to save her name, and no one will really think the worse of either of you, for it is much better for a headstrong girl to meet with a nice young man in the park on a Sunday morning for the purpose of playing out a wager—Lord, what should that have been?—than for the same girl, with a slight tint of scandal about her name, to go to meet some entirely unknown man, only to have him turn out to be—”
“The blighter who brought her to scandal in the first place. I say, ma’am, that’s not half bad. Just what one might read in a romance.”
“I was afraid of that.” Jenny said ruefully. “But it will have to do, for I cannot think of anything else. Have you had enough to eat?” She eyed the wreckage of two ham steaks, several eggs, a sweet bun, kedgeree, kippers, potatoes, and jam, which littered several plates in front of Domenic.
“Why, yes, thank you,” the boy said, unabashed.
“A growing boy.” Jenny mused, half under her breath, as they left the room. “Now, I must tell Emily and her mother, and make clear the story we are to tell ... or let drop for the servants. That wager—let me think.”
“I dared her to walk around the Serpentine entirely.”
“Goodness, no. Do you think Emmy would agree to such a scheme? Even for a wager? You—you dared her to ride Hellbrand? I certainly wouldn’t myself, but then—”
“No, ma’am, that won’t wash, for Emmy gave me the devil of a fight over just coming back here with her on Hellbrand’s back, since she wasn’t dressed to ride.”
“You’re right. Oh, Lord, what then? You dared her to walk backwards to the edge of the Serpentine without falling in?” Jenny suggested, remembering a prank of her own nursery-room days.
“That’s the ticket! And a great dog did come up and frighten her, just as she was about to win the wager, and I had to chase it off, and she—”
“Careful, Dom, don’t overly embroider this story. I will allow you your miserable cur. Either way, you make a heroic figure.”
“If you say so, ma’am,” he said resignedly. “I suppose I had best be off and tell Peter, then.”
“Why? The fewer people who know of this morning’s work—the true or the false of it, indeed!—the better.”
“Well, he said something to Ratherscombe about not troubling Emmy again, and I should think that he’d like to know that he was not regarded.”
“Just what any gentleman must like to hear with his Sunday morning breakfast,” Jenny agreed readily. “All right, Dom, to Mr. Teverley,
but, I beg you, to no one else.”
“What sort of gudgeon do you take me for, Jenny? And may I call later and see how she goes on?” The young man’s voice lowered, and his open face became, momentarily, older and more serious. “It sort of makes up for the mill at the inn. I would have done it then, too, only Peter was there first, and today she looked at me, Lord, ma’am, as if I had the keys to all heaven in my pocket. She’s very pretty,” he said simply. “And if she weren’t such a gull-wit at times she’d be very dear.” He sighed. “Making a cake of myself, ain’t I?”
Jenny smiled at him. “Not at all. And who knows, maybe it will all come right for you. Now, be off and tell Mr. Teverley what has happened to you today. And we shall hope to see you later.”
Domenic bowed and took his leave, and Jenny, smiling to herself, went upstairs to consult with Lady Graybarr and her daughter.
o0o
When Dom returned that afternoon he found all three of the ladies in the blue salon. Lady Graybarr was paging through the Ladies’ Companion, Miss Prydd was engaged in making a collar from some bits of lace and silk left from Emily’s newest gown, and Emily herself was propped up on a chaise longue like an invalid with a Norwich shawl about her shoulders. She looked very pale and shaken still. It was Emily who looked up first, and the smile that lit her face and dark eyes would have warmed the heart of a far cooler and wiser man than Domenic Teverley.
“Hullo, Emily.” He had made his bows to the older women, and set himself gingerly next to her. “I just came to see how you were feeling.”
“Oh, Domenic,” Emily breathed, and made a quiet fuss over him, insisting that he stay for tea, and watching him with a glowing gaze which pleased and unnerved him exceedingly. Lady Graybarr, uninterested in talking with a boy of nineteen (be he never so much the hero) finished with her magazine and took her leave. Once she was gone, those remaining in the room relaxed somewhat; Domenic even vouchsafed the information that his mother had sent her regards to the ladies of Graybarr House.
“She did?” There was no mistaking the surprise in Miss Prydd’s voice.
“Why, yes. Confess it surprised me a deal, seeing as how she—” He trailed off, eying Emily. “I collect Peter had a talk with her, ma’am.”
“I wish I had seen it.” Jenny murmured wryly.
“She was quite civil, too,” Dom assured her. Emily looked up, uninterested in this obscure conversation, and smiled at Dom’s third coat button, rather bewildered.
“I know I owe you a world of thanks,” she began softly. Dom looked uncomfortable but said nothing, and Jenny suddenly involved herself in her lacework. Emily continued with her speech, in which she described herself as the worst fool in creation, praised her rescuer as a hero of Hellenic proportions, and ended, “Will you be friends again?” Dom hastily assured her that he had always been her friend, and that it was a pleasure to be of service. Jenny, watching the whole drama, marveled at the children’s touching ability to ignore her presence. The sounds in the room were reduced to sighs and murmurs until Feabers entered to announce the arrival of Peter Teverley.
Dom was immediately on his feet.
“Hullo, Peter. I tried to find you at home this morning, but—”
“I was, if you had only listened when I spoke to you yesterday, called from London overnight. I have only just returned.” Teverley took his seat next to Miss Prydd. “And how do you ladies do today?”
Emily blushed, and Jenny answered for both that they did fairly well.
“My dear—Miss Prydd.” He lingered teasingly over her name. “Only fair? You look rather to advantage in that gown. Miss Emily, however, does look a little fagged. Too much partying, child?” The tone was actually solicitous, but Emily roused herself from her absorption in Domenic’s buttons to gaze at her former idol with something near to dislike.
“I will leave the details to Dom to explain. Only suffice it to say that Emily has had a shock today, and is still somewhat taxed by it.” Dom took Emily’s hand and stroked it soothingly, and she returned her fullest attention to him. Jenny took this opportunity to murmur, “Forgive me if this gives you pain, but I fear you have been supplanted by Dom as a hero.”
“What?” Teverley’s tone was equally as light. “Did the boy save her from the ravages of some monstrous cur?”
Jenny went into peals of laughter, much to the astonishment of Teverley, and of Dom and Emily, who had not heard his comment. When she had somewhat regained herself, she said only, “I will leave it for Dom to tell. But what called you from town? More of the business we discussed the other afternoon?”
“No, this was merely a trifle to do with the home farm.” But he explained the situation to her briefly, and again Jenny surprised herself and him by asking quite pertinent questions. At last, “If you ever tire of London, ma’am, you would make the most admirable factor for a large estate.”
“What a horrifying notion,” Jenny said playfully.
“Well, ma’am, I had only come for a brief visit—you can see that I am still in all my dirt! I had best steal my cousin away and have him regale me with tales of his ‘heroism.’” Teverley rose and gestured to Domenic, who took leave of his angel reluctantly. “Miss Pellering, I hope to see you properly recovered shortly. Miss Prydd, my dear—that is, my dear Miss Prydd, your servant.” And with just that much ceremony he took his leave, with Domenic behind him, leaving Jenny to wonder if perhaps he was somewhat discomfited by Domenic’s sudden elevation in Emily’s esteem. Indeed, she wondered what it could mean that he had come straightaway to their house—rather than gone to his own to refresh himself from his journey. This argued a degree of attachment that Teverley certainly had not so far shown for Emily. Aloud, in any case. “I beg your pardon, love?” Jenny turned to hear Emily’s muttered comment.
“I only said, Mirabelle Temple had best keep her prattling to herself. He’s much too good for her.” Emily fixed her gaze stonily on the firedogs and, despite Jenny’s confusion at this leading statement, would elucidate no further as to which “he” she meant.
Reflecting later on Emily’s turn of heart, Jenny came to reflect further on her feelings for Peter Teverley, and was dismayed to find herself no less, indeed, only more attached to him with each meeting. Which was purely madness, she told herself sternly. Perhaps, she mused, it was time to return to Dumsford before she became too attached, and too used to the glamor of her present life. However unglamorous it might appear to Emily, her mother, or even her Aunt Winchell, her life in the last few months had encompassed more excitement than most of the twenty-seven years of her life preceding. She began to wonder how she could go back to her old life, mending shirts and telling tales in the nursery, writing invitations to her aunt’s infrequent parties with her neat, angular hand, and supervising the regular cleaning and repair of the linens and the polishing of the silver.
“But of course, there is no choice to do else, so I will find a way.” She frowned at her reflection in the glass. “I must, in all events, remember that this is only a holiday—a very lovely and extraordinary one! Perhaps I should stay with Mary a while, if she will have me, and see if that will better suit me for ordering things at Dumsford.” Certainly her aunt’s letters had become more and more remarkable for the complaints that without her Dearest Genia nothing went right about the house, and it was certainly more than possible that Lord and Lady Graybarr could have grown fatigued, by this time, with such a long visitor.
“So I shall return to Dumsford and amuse Belle and Betty with stories of the parties I have been to and the people I have met. After all, it’s not a bad future!” She ignored the twinge of distaste that came, unbidden. “And think of the things I have done and seen and—besides, he will probably have Emily in the end, and there’s no use my breaking my heart over that,” she finished illogically. But that thought was too uncomfortable to support for long, and at last she retired, hoping that sleep would temporarily distract her stubborn thoughts from Peter Teverley. So she slept, and dreamt,
unfortunately, of Teverley, all the night through.
o0o
Emily continued to behave like an invalid for a day or two, and then returned to her usual round of gaieties, only languishing interestingly now and again. Domenic was her most constant companion, and Jenny wondered what Lady Teeve thought, for their mutual, soft-eyed devotion had caused some speculation amongst the mammas and dowagers. Peter Teverley seemed not at all unhappy to have been supplanted, and no one, not Lady Graybarr nor Emily nor Domenic, and certainly not Jenny, could feel any differently—although from different motives indeed. There was no time to mention to Emily or her parents her half-formed resolution to quit their house, and very soon she almost forgot that she had made it. Things were particularly busy, and Jenny had taken up a new project: that of trying to interest Mirabelle Temple in some other young gentleman, since Domenic and Emily were so absorbed in each other. Strangely, Domenic mentioned each time that he called at Graybarr House that his mother had sent her kind regards. Jenny privately suspected that there were strong undertones of sarcasm in this wish, but Emily knew nothing of what had passed between her friend and Domenic’s mother, Dom himself knew precious little, and Peter Teverley, who knew the most, was not the person Jenny could speak to about the matter. She hoped only that, since Lady Teeve had been set right regarding Emily’s identity, she had found the real Miss Pellering more acceptable than the supposed one and was willing to let the feud die.
Still, she was surprised when Dom arrived one afternoon at the end of the week bearing a card from his mother addressed to Emily. Lady Graybarr smiled vaguely at her daughter and admitted that this was a singular mark of notice; Domenic only smiled broadly and begged that Emily be quick in opening the letter. She opened it, reread it, gave a gurgle of laughter, and passed it along to her mother.
“But my dear, how delightful!” Lady Graybarr said warmly. “You will go, of course. And dearest Miss Prydd, as well, of course,” she added smoothly.
My Dear Jenny Page 11
