Letty said, “Shall I ride on, sir, so you may be private with your brother?”
“No,” both men said at once.
When she made little effort to stifle a chuckle, Raventhorpe gave her a sour look, but Mr. Delahan looked slightly relieved.
Raventhorpe said, “I warned you, Ned, that I would not prove an easy touch the next time you—”
“I’m not,” the other said hastily. “Boot’s on the other foot.”
“You expect me to ask you for—”
“No, no!” Ned laughed. “I mean that I came to tell you that you have been right all along. I am mending my ways. I learned a lesson at Newmarket when I-Wish-You-May-Get-It failed to finish, and I’m retrenching, Justin, word of a Delahan. And don’t say that Father says that whenever he—”
“I won’t. I know you mean it, or think you mean it.”
“I do, and I’ll show you that I do. Only …” He reddened, clearly at a loss.
“Only what?” Raventhorpe prompted.
“Well, the fact is that I lost rather more than I thought I had at Newmarket, and I shall need a bit of the ready to tide me over until—”
“No.”
“But I’ve told you that I have come to my senses! I don’t know how you can be so … so…” Glancing guiltily at Letty, Ned fell silent.
“Now, you listen to me,” Raventhorpe snapped, making Letty wince. “I warned you how it would be, and your promises at this juncture mean nothing.”
He went on in a low but menacing tone, ripping his brother’s character to shreds and making Letty wish she were miles away. There seemed to be nothing she could do that would not emphasize her presence. Nor could she doubt, in the mood he was in, that Raventhorpe would order her to be silent if she dared say a word.
Ned’s face was as red as a ripe tomato. Moisture glinted in his eyes, and although he stood the dressing-down manfully, a muscle twitched in his jaw, telling Letty that resentment was the strongest emotion he felt. She had seen her brother Gideon look exactly so on more than one occasion; and in her experience, that look led to nothing good. Much as she would have liked to let Mr. Delahan know she sympathized, however, she could not.
“Now, if you know what is good for you,” Raventhorpe said, after speaking for what seemed like an age but could not have been but a minute or two, “you will get back to your studying. The best way to retrench, my lad, is to stay in your chambers until you are called to the bar, if that ever happens. Now, go!”
The younger man had looked straight ahead the whole time his brother talked, but now he turned abruptly to Letty and said, “Your servant, ma’am.” Then he wheeled his mount and urged it to a gallop, slowing again only as he left the ring.
Letty looked at Raventhorpe. He was still watching his brother, and she could see that his jaw clenched in much the same way that Mr. Delahan’s had. Before she thought, she said, “What a very pretty way to introduce your brother to me, sir. I daresay that not quite half the people here today can have realized you were giving him a devilish scold.”
He looked sharply at her, his face reddening in anger. “What I choose to say to my brother is no affair of yours.”
“Quite true,” she retorted affably. “How much better it would have been had you thought about that before you read him such a sermon with me looking on.”
“Forgive me,” he said stiffly. “You are quite right. I daresay you’d prefer that I not inflict my presence on you further.” With that, he rode away to join a group of ladies, who, Letty suspected, would be only too glad to soothe his anger.
She rode by herself for some minutes before she saw Lady Tavistock riding sedately toward her. Giving Denmark a nudge with her heel, she rode to meet her, wondering if the woman meant to take her to task again for flirting. Little did she know, Letty thought; but in the event, the older woman’s words surprised her.
“Her Majesty would be pleased if you would ride with her, my dear.”
Since it was quite impossible to suspect the marchioness of levity, Letty said, “Now, ma’am?”
“Yes, of course. Do not keep her waiting, Letitia.”
“No, ma’am, certainly not.”
Melbourne had gone, and Victoria was indeed waiting with apparent patience on the little brown mare that was her favorite.
“Lady Tavistock said you wished to speak to me, Your Majesty.”
“Yes, Lord Melbourne suggested that we speak further, Letitia.”
“I must apologize, ma’am, for speaking out of turn last night.”
“Your apology is accepted,” Victoria said. “Lord Melbourne explained that you are accustomed to a great deal of freedom, for a female. Your father must be a most unusual man.”
Uncertain what the queen’s purpose was in suddenly befriending her, Letty wondered if Her Majesty wanted something from Jervaulx. Feeling reluctant at first, she became more at ease when she saw that Victoria felt envious of her childhood. Realizing that Melbourne must have exerted his influence on her behalf, Letty considered what his motives might have been. Since she kept half her mind occupied with that exercise while the other half concentrated on the conversation, it was not until she chanced to catch Raventhorpe’s eye that it occurred to her that she might have someone else to thank for the queen’s change of heart.
Glad though he was to see that his little chat with Melbourne had borne fruit, Raventhorpe was not feeling pleased with himself. He knew that he had behaved badly, and that he owed his brother an apology for ripping up at him like he had with Letitia right there. A horrid thing to have done.
Then to have snapped at her! That, he decided, was so unlike him as to be worthy of some deep thought. She had said nothing more than he had roundly deserved to hear. Was he, he wondered, growing to be such a coxcomb that he no longer considered the feelings of others at all?
His first impulse was to go after Ned at once and apologize to him, but he quickly thought better of it. The damage was done. Moreover, if the lad was to learn anything from it, he would not do so if Raventhorpe went haring after him with his hat in his hand. The arrival just then of the Duchess of Kent with several of her attendants reminded him that he could not simply leave even if he wanted to. He had to remain with the queen, as her lord-in-waiting, and his duties would continue into the afternoon, since she would be holding court.
Lady Letitia was not in attendance during the afternoon, and he found that he missed her. When Catherine Witherspoon seemed to ignore him while she flirted with Conroy and his aide, he wondered if Letitia had confided in her.
By the time he returned to Sellafield House, he had put his brother out of his mind. A note from Puck, reminding him that they were to dine together at Brooks’s, gave his thoughts a new direction. He did not forget Letitia—she seemed to lurk in hidden corners of his mind all the time now—but he did succeed in keeping his mind on his dinner and then on his cards, as he and his friends made a night of it.
For the next few days, he attended to his duties at court, managed to avoid Sellafield’s renewed demands on his purse, and took his mother and a bosom bow of hers to see the new play at Drury Lane. Her ladyship introduced the only sour note that evening with a wholly innocent observation as they were leaving.
“Thank you, Justin, for a wonderful outing,” she said. “Indeed, my dear, I am particularly conscious of your consideration, in view of the fact that you must be anxious to get to Ascot for the races on Thursday.”
“I shan’t be going to Ascot, Mama. I must remain available for duty at court until Friday, and your dinner party is on Saturday.”
“So it is, but … Oh, dear, such a pity that you must miss the races!”
“I will survive, ma’am. Have you received replies to all your invitations?”
“Oh, yes, and everyone is coming,” she said happily. “Sir Adrian and Lady Devon-Poole, and their Susan, of course. The aunts are quite thrilled to be meeting her at last, for from some cause or other, they never have done so before.”
> He kept her chatting casually until they had reached the carriage, by which time he had learned that Letitia had accepted her invitation. After that, he lost interest in the dinner party, but he recalled the conversation the next day when he received the following note: My dearest Justin, it began. Pray meet me at your great-aunts’ house at two o’clock. It is a matter of some urgency. Yours, Susan.
He knew of only one person who might thus sign a note to him, but it was nearly inconceivable that Miss Devon-Poole would send him so personal a note. He suspected, instead, that his younger brother was playing some prank in an effort to get even with him for their scene the previous Friday. Tempted though he was to ignore it altogether, he decided he could not, on the remote chance that it might be genuine. He had not clapped eyes on Miss Devon-Poole for several days, and much as he would have liked simply to ask her if she had written to him, he could not. To do so would be nearly as improper as the note itself was.
The possibility that disturbed him most was that she might have learned of his erstwhile interest in her. Puck had seemed to think that she did know, and Puck quite frequently was right about such things. Perhaps, Justin thought, he had underestimated her, and she was attempting to bring him up to scratch.
Thus it was that at two o’clock, he presented himself at the Upper Brook Street house, where Jackson admitted him at once, looking relieved to see him.
“Thank heaven, sir,” the porter murmured.
“Is Miss Devon-Poole—” Justin began, only to break off in astonishment when Miss Abby fairly erupted from the stair hall. The magnificent hat she wore quivered with colorful beads and ribbons, all clearly chosen with care to match the varicolored stripes in her silk afternoon frock.
“Justin, thank the Lord! Of course she is here, and what you were thinking I cannot imagine. She walked in when Sir John Conroy was here, too, and how I managed to fob him off before she said why she had come I do not know.”
“Conroy! What the devil was he doing here?”
“Goodness knows,” she said airily. “Fortunately I was in such a dither as to how to reply to his questions that I could scarcely think. Had it been otherwise, I would very likely have said the worst thing possible when Jackson announced Miss Devon-Poole. Miranda will be so vexed when she learns that Sir John called when she was out, but she will be more vexed with you! To have arranged a tête-à-tête with her here when she’s not even married, let alone she hasn’t produced an heir for her husband, because, of course, she hasn’t got a husband—”
“What the devil are you saying?” he snapped. “You can’t be talking about Aunt Miranda!”
Miss Abby blinked in bewilderment. “Miranda’s gone to Bond Street, thank heaven. I only wish she’d had the foresight to take Liza with her, because poor Liza was with me, of course, and now she’s run away. Really, I’m quite vexed with you myself, Justin dear.”
“Run away?” Justin’s head was beginning to spin.
“Yes, and that’s your fault, too, because you’ve encouraged her to believe that the main reason you come here is to play the piano for her. The minute Miss Devon-Poole said she was to meet you here, Liza knew what the meeting was for, of course. But how could you, Justin? I didn’t even know that you knew our little secret, but if you do, you must also know that consorting here with a young woman of quality like Miss Devon-Poole goes right against our rules.”
“What rules?” he demanded.
“Well, I know they are not written down, exactly, but they have always been perfectly clear to our patrons, after all, and—”
“What patrons?”
Turning pale, Miss Abby glanced wildly at Jackson, then grew quite still.
Justin, too, looked at Jackson. When the porter looked solemnly, silently back he turned again to Miss Abby. “Well? Answer me, ma’am. I’m waiting.”
“I can see that,” she said wretchedly. Then, visibly gathering herself, she said with more firmness, “If you do not know, then why did you invite Miss Devon-Poole to meet you here, if I may ask?”
“I did not invite her. I strongly suspect that Ned sent us each a message to meet here. He is out of charity with me, you see, and this smells like one of his pranks. He must have thought that my apparently inviting Susan to meet me here, when she has never met you, would cause me some embarrassment.”
“Embarrassment?” Miss Abby shut her eyes for a moment, then said, “No wonder she looked at me so peculiarly when I said your arranging to meet her here was most irregular, but it is, Justin. I hope you’ll tell Ned he must not do it again.”
“I mean to say much more than that to him, ma’am, I promise you. But you must tell me at once what is going on here.”
“Must I? What of Liza? Something dreadful may happen to her if—”
“Liza will come home when she has done with her sulks,” he retorted ruthlessly. “Now, ma’am, I do not want to ask you again. Tell me at once.”
“Very well,” Miss Abby said with a watery sniff, “but Miranda will be so dreadfully vexed with me, and I am sure I cannot blame her in the least this time.”
ELEVEN
KEENLY AWARE OF THE porter’s fascinated gaze, Justin hustled his reluctant relative into the central stair hall and shut the door. When she would have gone upstairs, however, he stopped her with a touch.
“One moment, Aunt Abby. Before we go to Miss Devon-Poole, I want a full explanation of all this, if you please.”
“But I don’t please,” she protested. “Oh, not at all! Moreover, my dear, we mustn’t leave her alone a moment longer than necessary. So rude, you know. I am wholly conscious of that, but when our maid, Mary, quite fortunately saw your carriage from the window, she told me, knowing that Miss Devon-Poole had said she was to meet you here, and I knew I must speak to you before—”
“You left Miss Devon-Poole all alone up there?”
“Not all alone, for her maid is with her, of course,” Miss Abby said indignantly. “She is not likely to wander about, in any case, Justin. She is far too well bred to do that, and anyway, there is no one else here, now that Lady Wi—” She clapped a hand to her mouth, silencing herself.
“Lady who?” Justin demanded, his temper fraying rapidly.
“Miranda said not to name names,” Miss Abby said virtuously. “Moreover, we simply must go up to her—to Miss Devon-Poole, that is—because really, it is quite dreadfully rude to leave her kicking her heels whilst we chat, my dear.”
“Chat!” Justin struggled with increasing exasperation but sternly resisted an urge to strangle the old lady. Lowering his voice, he said, “I will endeavor to smooth things over with Miss Devon-Poole, but you and I—and Aunt Miranda, too—are going to have a very long talk, ma’am, before any of us is much older.”
“Are we, my dear? How … How very pleasant that will be.”
She did not sound as if she thought it would be pleasant at all, however, so Justin said nothing more. He simply followed in her wake when she turned away and hurried up the stairs.
At the landing they met the orange cat, apparently strolling in search of Miss Abby, for it hastened its pace when it saw her.
She scooped it up and began to stroke it, murmuring, “Everything will be quite all right, Clemmy. You will see, my dear. Miranda will be vexed, but she will make things right again, I’m sure.”
When they passed through the rose-filled anteroom into the smaller drawing room, they found Miss Devon-Poole sitting by a window. Fashionably dressed in a pale pink challis gown, she was gazing thoughtfully out at the gloomy day.
Her companion sat stiffly erect in a straight-back chair against the wall opposite the doorway.
At their entrance, Miss Devon-Poole turned, exclaiming, “My goodness me, my lord, there you are! I thought you were never coming, sir.”
“Forgive me,” Justin said, striding forward when she arose from her chair. “I am a villain to have kept you waiting.”
“But, my goodness me, why did you want to meet here? And why were you
not here before me? I expected you to be, you know, to introduce me to your aunts, only, of course, Miss Frome is alone here just now. But she was not expecting me, sir. You ought at least to have warned them I was coming.”
He felt tempted to ask why she had come instead of sending him a civil reminder that she was unacquainted with either Mrs. Linford or Miss Frome. He suspected he would not relish the answer, however, so he held his tongue.
Fortunately, before his silence became noticeable, Miss Abby, still stroking the cat, threw herself into the breach. “Warned us of what, my dear Miss Devon-Poole? I am sure we should be delighted any time you deigned to pay us a call. As you say, though, my sister is not here presently, so perhaps another time might have been more convenient. However—”
“Don’t try to polish this apple, Aunt Abby,” Justin said with a sigh. “Miss Devon-Poole deserves the truth, I believe, distasteful as it is to me to reveal it.”
Miss Abby frowned. “I am sure you know best, my dear, but are you quite sure you know the truth? In my experience, it quite frequently turns out to be something else altogether.”
“I am as sure as I can be.” Smiling ruefully at Miss Devon-Poole, he said, “I believe we can lay the blame for this mix-up at my scapegrace brother’s door. I had occasion several days ago to speak sharply to him, and this is not the first time he has repaid me for such a thing by playing some stupid boy’s prank.”
“Prank, sir?” Miss Devon-Poole arched her eyebrows. “My goodness me, but I have done nothing to make him play pranks on me.”
“No, of course you have not, and I sincerely apologize to you for this. I can assure you that it will not happen again.”
She simpered. “As to that, my lord, I cannot pretend that I was prodigiously displeased to receive the invitation.”
A tiny chill formed in the pit of Justin’s stomach. He saw his great-aunt’s mouth drop open comically and feared she was accurately reading Miss Devon-Poole’s mind. The chit clearly had decided, either because of his brother’s stupid prank or from some other, earlier cause, that the wealthiest man in London wanted to marry her.
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