Eyes watchful, Molly kept still. The fox returned her look with just as much caution. Two feet away the creature paused and sniffed the air. He edged forward, looking ready to run if Molly dared so much as to let go her breath. Whiskers lightly tickled her fingertips, and he allowed her the barest touch of his head. He had surprisingly wiry fur.
As she straightened, the fox turned and bobbed back to Sylvain, glancing over his shoulder, his dark eyes less wary and now filled with shy interest.
Sylvain seemed to approve of the exchange for she smiled. That changed everything. Her eyes brightened, and the smile added an elfin charm to her face, curving the straight lips into an attractive bow. Her features no longer looked so sever, nor so awkward.
Gracious, if she left off the muddy dresses and the twigs in her hair, she would quite catch the eye.
The young woman seemed to have no idea of her charm, however, and she merely said, as if bestowing an honor, "Trace likes you."
The fox sat down next to Sylvain and opened his mouth to pant, revealing a pink tongue and a gleam of sharp teeth. Molly would not have been so interested in having him sniff her fingers if she had first glimpsed those teeth. They were not as long as those she had seen on the tiger heads that had adorned some of the officer's quarters in India, but they looked capable of taking off a finger with one snap.
"We can walk with you to Lanton—it's not far," Sylvain offered.
"Thank you," Molly said, coming forward. But what she really wanted to ask was more about Theo and Sylvain's sister. Only it's nothing to do with me and I ought to just mind my own business. And still the words popped right out, "So why did Theo not marry your sister?"
Sylvain seemed not to mind her prying, but started into the woods, taking the footpath that had brought Molly to the lane.
"Oh, she married someone else instead. I rather thought she wanted Theo, but she changed her mind, which is just like Cecila. She was even going to be Lady Nevin for a bit, but now she's Mrs. Dawes of London and Penelope—she's my other sister—is Lady Nevin."
Pausing Sylvain glance over her shoulder with a frown. "I suppose that all sounds terribly ramshackle, doesn't it?"
It did. But Molly found relief slipping through her that Sylvain's sister had been the flighty one. So she only shook her head and said, "I'm not in much of a spot to judge others overmuch."
Sylvain started forward again. "That's sounds wise. I hate to be judged—and I always am. All I am supposed to know, or care about, are pretty dresses and dancing and dull things like sewing and household economies!"
Molly smiled. The girl made these sound fates worse than death. "That doesn't sound too awful."
"It is if you do not like dancing, or sewing, or having to put on gowns that you will only tear the hem on." She slanted a glance back at Molly. "Do you know Terrance as well as Theo?"
Again, Molly shook her head. She had to concentrate to get over the roots of a towering tree—oh, how she wished they could at least have walked upon the dirt lane. Even the cobbles of London were seeming so much easier on the feet than this rambling, uneven path. "No, I've not met Theo's brother. I only just met Theo at a...at Mrs. Ellis' house."
Sylvain slid her a glance again and asked, "Are you actually going to marry Theo?"
Putting her gaze on the ground, Molly focused on avoiding yet more roots. She supposed that if she could ask Sylvain straight out about her sister's past with Theo, there could be no reason the girl could not ask about her future with him. Only there wasn't one to discuss.
Preferring to stay as honest as she could, she said, "You might say it depends on what his father thinks."
"Really? And you don't mind that Theo...well, that he visits the sort of places where he met you? Terrance does that, too—I'm not supposed to know about any of it, but everyone in Halsage knows about the Winslows."
"Do they? What do they know?"
"That they are shockingly wild. At least Terrance is, and Theo seems to mean to follow him. Do you mind? Cecila did—which is why I think she and Theo quarreled so much. It always seemed to be over him—well, his being some place she did not like him to be."
"Well, any man I marry won't be needing a place such as where we met—I'd make sure of it!" And she would, too, Molly thought. She had made up her mind about that some time ago, after enough chats with Sallie's girls to have an idea of just what brought a man to Sallie's and what it took to keep his interest there.
It had surprised her that most of the girls had their regulars, and that the gentleman themselves seemed to prefer an established arrangement. But Sallie had always said, "They're creatures of habit. It takes treatin' 'em bad enough that they'll look for new, more pleasant habits to get into. So you just have to make certain the habits you set with 'em are too enjoyable to leave."
As Sylvain stepped from the woods and into open land, she stopped and turned to Molly, a puzzled frown tightening her sandy brows. "But just how do you make certain he would never need such a place?"
Oh, don't I just talk too much, Molly thought, biting her lower lip. Perhaps this was why young ladies weren't supposed to talk to women such as she was supposed to be—it wasn't only to shelter the young ladies, it also kept worldly women such as she was pretending to be from getting backed into corners. Well, she had to say something. The girl looked quite stubborn enough to out-wait Methuselah for an answer. Only what could she say that wouldn't lead to more questions?
Taking a breath, Molly tried to think of what Sallie might reply. "Look at it this way, ducks—a fellow's always going to look. He can't help that. But if he's got what he wants already in hand, why spend his time and money and effort for anything else?"
Head tilting to the side, Sylvain seemed to think this over. Before she could ask for elaboration—which she certainly ought not to know, and which Molly feared she wouldn't be able to provide—Molly glanced across the open land toward the square house of gray stone that stood on a small rise of land.
"Ah, and there's Lanton Hall. Thanks ever so much. I don't want to keep you, and I'll stay to the lanes goin' back."
The change of topics distracted Sylvain well enough. She glanced at the house and up to the darkening sky. She gave a sigh. "I suppose I should go home as well. I am already late out. Oh, if Lady Thorpe offers cakes, take the almond—they're wonderfully sweet."
Molly paused, her interest caught. "Really? What sort of almonds does she use?"
Sylvain gave a shrug. "I just eat them. I suppose though that I ought to warn you she is a bit odd. But I like her. She's not one of those who think I have to talk lots just to prove I'm not really shy."
Molly gave a laugh. "Ducks, you're one of the least shy people I've ever met."
"Well, of course." With a smile, she thrust out her hand and with a firm grip she shook Molly's hand, almost more like a man. "I am glad we met. I like you. And I hope you do marry Theo. You'd be good for him."
With that, she turned, gave a whistle to her fox and disappeared into the woods.
Molly stared after her a moment, bemused by the girl's opinion of her value to Theo—not one that any would share. A penniless orphan with no family, no assets, and only a history of working in a brothel good for a young gentleman? Not likely. But it showed what a good heart the girl had. And how innocent she was. Molly suspected that if the girl were given the chance she might well adopted Molly, much as it seemed she had that three-legged fox.
A drop of wetness splashed onto her cheek. She glanced up at the clouds, opened her umbrella and hurried toward Lanton Hall.
Thankfully, she reached the graveled drive before the rain began to fall in earnest. Droplets still managed to stain her skirts, blown sideways by the wind. But she gained the gray stone steps to the entrance and soon stood under the front portico. Applying the iron knocker to the door, she waited only a moment before the young man who had been with Lady Thorpe yesterday opened the door.
Stomach churning at her own audacity in arriving uninvited, Molly pus
hed back her shoulders. "I'm here to see Lady Thorpe."
He glanced at her and stepped back, allowing her inside.
Lowering her umbrella, she came in. Rose—pink ones, white ones, yellow, red, dark golden ones, some striped, some merely buds, some full blown, some with masses of petals and some with single rows—decorated every table in the hall, adding a perfumed scent. Molly glanced around, taking in the colors and the smells, and found herself facing Lady Thorpe's butler again.
"I'm—" she started, but he cut off her words at once.
"Miss Sweet," he finished for her, disapproval tight in his tone. "I don't know what you're game is with the Winslows, but her ladyship's care is my look out. And I won't have no London lightskirt taking advantage of her."
Molly stiffened. "My, but the gossip has been busy."
"I made it a point to ask after you. Whatever rig you're running with the Winslows, that's they're look out. But just because her mind wanders a bit, that don't mean her ladyship is ripe for your plucking."
Face hot now, Molly regarded the young man. He had an honest, round face. Dark blond hair was brushed back and worn short, and his gray eyes looked as dark as the clouds outside. Dressed in black with a yellow waistcoat, he was not tall—Molly could look him straight in the eye. But he had a sturdy look to him, as if he could easily pick her up and put her from the house if she would not leave on her own.
Chin lifting, she returned his stare, her pride hurting. "I came to visit an old woman who thought she knew my mother—that's the only rig I have. And if you think I...."
Before she could go on, Lady Thorpe's fragile voice drifted into the hall, sounding distressed, "Grieg, I cannot find Captain Villars anywhere—not even under my bed!"
Both Molly and Lady Thorpe's butler, Grieg, turned as her ladyship came down the blue-carpeted stairs at the back of the hall. Her ladyship paused on the upper landing and squinted into the hall before coming down the stairs. "Oh, dear—a guest. Do forgive me, but I have lost my cat. Grieg, can you please find Captain Villers. Oh, but I suppose first you must bring some refreshments for...for...."
Her words trailed off as she approached.
Molly picked up her courage and held out her hand. "It's Miss Sweet, your ladyship. We met yesterday."
That pulled an even more distressed look from the older woman. "Did we?"
Molly shot a glance at the butler and found him scowling at her, but she was determined to show him she did not mean any harm to Lady Thorpe. She turned back to tiny slip of a lady. "I shouldn't expect you to remember me. It was only the briefest meeting. On the lane between here and Winslow Park—I'm staying with the Winslows."
Lady Thorpe's faded eyes brightened. "Are you? And how is dear Lady Winslow and her little boys? Such rascals they are—always into mischief."
Molly's smile stiffened, but she caught the warning shake of Grieg's head and so she said nothing. She did not have to. Lady Thorpe had again turned to her butler, "Grieg, do bring refreshment into the drawing room." She tucked a trembling, age-withered hand into the crook of Molly's arm. "This way, dear Miss—what did you say your name was again?"
"Sweet, my lady."
"Ah, yes...like Sweet William—I must remember that."
She started toward a side door, but Grieg stepped forward at once. "This way, my lady, to the drawing room." He shot another frown at Molly and started up the stairs, glancing back as if to make certain that her ladyship followed.
Molly kept her steps slow to match Lady Thorpe's tottering pace.
On the upper floor, Grieg led the way to a pretty, yellow painted room that overlooked the front of the house. Even though it was summer, a fire crackled in the hearth, and it was welcome enough for the storm had chilled the day.
As Lady Thorpe moved to a chair, Molly started to undo the ribbons to her bonnet, but Grieg leaned closer and muttered, "You won't be staying that long."
She shot him a hard look. While she admired the protection he gave his mistress, it had started to irritate.
Defiantly, she took off her bonnet. Handing it to him, she said, "Thanks, but I think that'll be all I need of you."
She could almost swear she heard his teeth grinding, but as Lady Thorpe was again asking him to bring refreshments, he bowed, shot a warning glance at Molly and left.
Easing herself into a gold satin brocade covered chair near the fire, Lady Thorpe gestured toward the chair opposite. "Do sit down, Miss...Miss...?"
"I wish you'd call me Molly—or Mary as you did yesterday," Molly said, coming forward and hoping to stir Lady Thorpe's memory.
Her ladyship gazed back, the wrinkles on her brow creased and her eyes worried. Her face relaxed with a sudden smile. "Do let me ring for refreshments. Oh, but where did I put that bell?"
Over the next three quarters of an hour, Molly kept thinking of Theo's words—that it was not Lady Thorpe who suffered from her lack of memory. He had the right of it. Molly endured with a stiff smile as her ladyship kept forgetting who she was and why she was here. When Grieg returned with a footman and a silver tea set, the butler remained positioned just behind Lady Thorpe with a stern stare locked on Molly.
As if he's expecting me to steal a spoon, Molly thought, her patience worn to the nub.
Only once, after pouring tea, did Lady Thorpe's eyes sharpen. She stared at Molly and said, "My, but you look so like Amy—only Amy's been dead for years."
She rambled off on another tangent, talking about her cats. Molly soon learned that while Captain Villers was a cat she wasn't sure if he could not be found because he had run off or because he, too, had passed on years ago.
She could not really make conversation—not when she had to keep starting and restarting the same topics. And she could not get Lady Thorpe to fix on the past long enough to determine if there was the least connection between them. An unlikely thing, really, but Molly had had to make the effort at least. But she ought to have listened to Theo's caution that everyone did their best to avoid the old lady.
Still, she could not help but want to be as patient as she could with her ladyship. Grand as she and her house were, what a terrible fate to be left with a rambling mind and only cats for company. One of them—a great, orange cat, and not Captain Villars it seemed—came strolling in during tea and sat on the edge of the rug, washing his paw and his face as if that was the most important task in the world.
She had some consolation, however, in the food. Lady Thorpe had a gem of a cook. There were dainty apricot tarts, thin slices of plum cake, and macaroons so tempting that Molly almost ate all of them. The almond cakes that Sylvain had noted Molly did give into, eating every one, and telling herself that it wasn't so bad, for they were quite small.
Finally, with her appetite satisfied, even if nothing else was, Molly admitted defeat and rose. "I shouldn't take up any more of your ladyship's time."
"But you only just arrived. Do allow me to at least ring for refreshments. Oh, but the tea is here already." Lady Thorpe glanced at the silver tea service, her expression surprised, and Molly decided she really must leave. It seemed as much a strain for her ladyship to be dealing with her as it was for her to deal with Lady Thorpe's forgetfulness.
Her decisions seemed to please Grieg, for he left at once and came back with her bonnet and umbrella.
Lady Thorpe smiled and came forward. "It has been lovely, Miss...Miss Swenton was it not?"
"Sweet," Molly said, the correction by now automatic. "Thank you for seeing me."
"You must promise me to come again—only not on Thursday. Lord Thorpe prefers me to have one day a week when I do not take callers. He says it tires me too much."
Molly wasn't certain if this instruction really came from her butler or her late husband. In either case, it was perhaps a wise idea. At the moment, Lady Thorpe looked as fragile as crystal, as if she might shatter if knocked too hard.
"Thank you, but I won't be stopping long in the neighborhood."
Lady Thorpe's smile faded. "Oh? What
a pity. Well, promise me to call again if you do stay. Will you do that?"
It seemed a safe enough promise, though Molly still felt a twinge at giving it. She was already pretending to be something she was not, and that seemed quite a large enough sin on her soul, even if she was doing it for good reasons.
Still, what odds she'd be here much longer?
With that in mind, she offered up as good a curtsy as she knew and followed Grieg downstairs to the front door with her ladyship holding her arm.
She was glad of Lady Thorpe's company, though she gave the older woman more support than the other way around. However, it kept Grieg from dropping any more hints about how unwelcome she was.
He opened the front door for them, and Lady Thorpe glanced out at the slanting rain. She turned to Molly, her eyebrows lifted with startled surprise. "My dear, where is your carriage? Grieg, did you not send for it?"
"I walked, my lady," Molly said.
"Well, you cannot walk out in this wet. Grieg, have my coach brought to take Miss Street home."
Molly tried to protest. Grieg, too, looked unhappy but he moved at once to obey—most likely thinking that the sooner he had Molly gone, the better, even if it was in her ladyship's coach. And Molly could only hope that while he was gone, her ladyship didn't wander off.
That did not happen, though there was a near miss when an elegant gray cat with a feather-plume of a tail strode into the hall and her ladyship brightened, saying, "Ah, Captain Villars, there you are."
The cat glanced at Molly, froze in place, yellow eyes enormous, turned and ran—obviously skittish with strangers. Lady Thorpe started after the cat, but as Molly had a vision of her getting utterly lost in her own house, she caught her ladyship's elbow before she got far and diverted her attention by asking if she grew all these roses.
Amazingly, Lady Thorpe could name the type of every rose, though Molly had no idea if she was naming them correctly.
"Lord Thorpe and I planted them when we first married moved here. It was my one consolation from being so cut off from my family," Lady Thorpe said, touching a pink-tipped white rose. "They did not approve of Lord Thorpe, you see. Of course, they never approved of poor Amy's husband either. So dreadfully high in the instep, my family. It had to be money and a title, or they wanted nothing to do with any man!"
A Proper Mistress Page 10
