Though two years older than her brother, Cynthia bore a striking resemblance to him with her merry blue eyes and generous mouth. Fortunately in her the patrician nose had been softened somewhat, and her springy brown curls further alleviated any impression of severity that might have marred the cheerful countenance. She wore a high-waisted dress of sprigged muslin that only partially concealed the fact that she was increasing for the third time. In deference to her interesting condition he had said, “You’d best sit down, my dear. I have rather weighty news.”
“You haven’t been playing too deep, have you?”
“That’s one way of putting it, I suppose,” he had murmured as he swung around a chair so he could straddle it backward. “I’m going to be married.”
Her needle arrested in mid-stitch, Cynthia regarded him incredulously. “But you’ve said nothing! Not the Penhall girl, surely. You told me she was only a flirt.”
“It’s very difficult to explain, my dear, but I think you should know the whole story—not that you are to spread it abroad, mind you. Do you know Sir Robert Somervale?” When his sister shook her head, Lord Greenwood sighed. “I wish I didn’t. A few weeks ago I met him at Tattersall’s, a jovial country-squire type more interested in the stables than the drawing room. Well, we got to talking and he offered me a chance to have a look at Grantley’s pair of bays before they were actually turned over to Tattersall for selling. They’re legendary, Cynthia! And not over three years old, with the sweetest dispositions imaginable. I’d have been a fool not to take the opportunity, and I got them for a song.”
“But you already have a pair,” his sister protested.
“Yes, but I’d intended to give them . . . That is, a very particular friend of mine had been wanting such a pair.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Adam, not a present to that flamboyant peacock in Clarges Street. Haven’t you any pride? Where do you think she gets all those jewels? Not from the dustbin, you may be sure. She has dozens of admirers and you are simply one of the train.”
Cynthia had a most unnerving thought, and her eyes widened in horror. “Dear Lord, don’t tell me you intend to marry her!”
“Of course not! Don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped, entirely discomposed. “One doesn’t marry women like that. Will you let me get on with my story?”
Meekly, she said, “Excuse me. Pray continue.”
“Well, anyhow, I bought the horses and gave them to the Jewel with a very handsome little carriage, but I was grateful to Sir Robert for putting me on to them, you know, and so I invited him round to a little dinner party I was having. He drank everyone else under the table; I’ve never seen the like of it. Stutton and Norwood were literally on the floor, but Thresham and Midford were still in their seats, mostly by luck, I suppose, when he started to talk about how long it took to send a message to someone in the country. He huffed and puffed a lot about the mail coaches not maintaining their ten to twelve miles an hour, and said a private messenger wasn’t much better. ‘I’d give a great deal to see a message carried fifteen miles an hour,’ he declared, all pompous. Well, years ago Old Q, when he was Lord March, had made a bet that he could have a message sent fifty miles in an hour, and he won. Thresham was about to slip under the table, but he nudged me when he heard Sir Robert and whispered so loud I was sure the old fellow had heard, ‘Remember March!’ I hadn’t the slightest idea what he was talking about until Midford kicked me in the shin and winked slyly. ‘Cricketers,’ he mumbled.”
Greenwood pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I suppose it was all a setup, as Dunn says, and I know it wasn’t right of me to try to take advantage of him when he’d done me a favor, but I was half gone and I thought I was very clever to make him the wager. Magnanimously, I offered him terms that I could send a message fifty miles in an hour and he slapped his hand on the table and swore that it couldn’t be done, but that by God he liked my pluck. ‘Tell you what,’ he says, ‘if you can do it you’ll win yourself five hundred pounds.’ So I said, “You’re on. And if I can’t, you shall have a thousand.’ ‘No, no,’ says he, ‘ye shall have my daughter for your bride; there’s a consolation prize for you!”’
“Oh, Adam,” Cynthia cried despairingly, “you didn’t.”
“It never occurred to me that I wouldn’t win. Old Q’s team had no difficulty, but I had only three days to assemble the men, and I couldn’t find many good cricketers in that time.” He groaned. “You should have seen the ragged scamps. Every two minutes someone dropped the ball with the message in it, and one fellow let it roll halfway down a hill before he retrieved it. We didn’t even come close.”
“So you are going to marry his daughter?”
“There’s no way I can get out of it, Cynthia. A gentleman can’t welsh on such a bet, no matter how harebrained it is. I met the girl today and offered for her. She’s a little mouse, and lame to boot, but she wouldn’t go against her father. We’re to be married a week from today.”
Cynthia had set aside the handkerchief and sat studying his face with something akin to horror. “A week from today? You can’t be serious. There would hardly be time to prepare a wedding dress, let alone her bridal clothes.”
“I don’t think her father has even thought of that. I told her you’d see to the wedding feast, Cynthia. I hope you don’t mind, for she’s stuck out in a school in Kensington and wouldn’t be able to manage. If you can, I’d like to take you to meet her tomorrow or the next day.”
“She’s a schoolgirl?”
“I imagine she’s seventeen or eighteen, about to come out. Oh, and she’s a friend of Lady Anne Parsons.”
Cynthia had never been advised of her brother’s misadventure at Parkhurst, but she was aware of his friendship with Lord William. “I’m glad to hear it, for it may give us an opportunity to bring this off with some degree of propriety. For heaven’s sake, Adam, make sure that none of your cronies brute the truth about, or your poor bride will be an object of the most inhuman jokes.”
“What about me?” he demanded, stung.
“You have no one but yourself to blame.”
“She didn’t have to accept me. You would never have let Papa push you into such a harum-scarum marriage.”
“So you were depending on her to get you out of your scrape, were you?”
Seldom had Greenwood seen her eyes so cold or heard her voice so icy. “You really are a thoughtless nodcock, Adam. I can offer you no sympathy whatsoever, but I feel a great deal of concern for the girl. Of course she had to accept you. Anyone as heartless as Sir Robert was in making the wager is not a man whom a child can oppose. Why did he do it? Is she dower-less?”
“Far from it. She comes with a handsome fortune from her mother, and he intends to supplement it. I can only guess that he didn’t want to be bothered with her any longer and chose me because I’m titled and well-heeled.”
“And stupid enough to fall in with his scheme,” she concluded with asperity. “Oh, Adam, I thought you were learning a little decorum and sense this last year. You know I dearly love you, but you came of age a year ago and should long since have left off your youthful spirits for a little dignity. No, no, I won’t scold you. I can see you’re feeling wretched enough without my aspersions. Come, we’ll make the best of this pickle if you will only accept your responsibilities. You don’t mind her being lame, do you?”
“No, of course not.”
“What’s her Christian name?”
He shook his head. “I don’t remember. Now don’t be irate with me, Cynthia. I’m sure if I heard it I was far too distracted to remember.”
“Never mind. We’ll find out tomorrow. Why don’t you call for me at ten? And not in your curricle, please. I don’t wish to meet your fiancée with my coiffure looking as though I’d tried to ascend in a balloon.”
He rose when she did. “Will you bring James?”
“No, I think not. If she’s shy, it will be better to introduce one family member at a time. Promise me you’ll try to make the best
of it, Adam.”
The grin he offered her was crooked and did not light his eyes. “I’ll try, my dear.”
So it was with some surprise that Cynthia watched Maggie walk toward them, smiling, her wide gray eyes filled with pleasure at seeing his lordship’s sister welcome her with apparent warmth. Cynthia would willingly have consigned her brother to the devil just then for his lack of insight and empathy with this lonely child. She took possession of Maggie’s hand and tucked it under her arm. “We have a thousand things to discuss about the wedding, but it seems a pity to stay inside on such a day. Could we stroll about the grounds?”
“Why, certainly.” She turned shyly to Greenwood to ask, “Would that suit you, sir?”
Momentarily forgetting the occasion and thinking of all the cloistered young ladies awaiting his inspection, he said with suspicious alacrity, “Of all things!”
Gratified by his ready assent, Maggie relaxed somewhat and led them out a side door into the grounds, where graveled walks led off in three directions. One of these was a sheltered stroll for cooler days near the house, but the other two were the ends of a wide circuit through the flowerbeds, hedges, and a little grove of horse chestnut trees. Gallantly Greenwood placed the ladies’ arms through his and immediately headed in the direction that seemed most promising, that is, the one where he could see several girls walking on the path ahead and playing hopscotch to the left.
“Have you finished your lessons for the day already?” his lordship asked curiously. “There seem to be any number of girls wandering about.”
“We have a little free time in the mornings about now, then several more classes before dinner. In nice weather most everyone goes outdoors, because if you stay in Mrs. Childswick is sure to set you at your needlework.”
Cynthia smiled reminiscently. “It was much the same where I went to school in Bath. When I think of those hours spent over ridiculous homilies which no one’s parents would contemplate hanging in even the most obscure rooms of their homes.”
“Mrs. Childswick has a favorite, Corneille’s ‘Do your duty, and leave the rest to heaven,’ which she uses as a punishment for anyone so careless as to fall into habits of Impertinence, Indolence, or Ignorance,” Maggie told her. “She makes the offender embroider it on a velvet cloth, which the girl must purchase out of her own pocket money.”
Adam grunted. “I should think you’re well out of here.”
Maggie’s eyes dropped and Cynthia pinched her brother for such a thoughtlessly ungallant comment. Surprised, he stared at her a moment but she refused to enlighten him, talking instead of her old school at Bath until they had overtaken the first girls on the path.
“May I introduce you to my friends?” Maggie addressed her question to Mrs. Morton, since she could not for the moment meet Greenwood’s eyes.
When Cynthia nodded her agreement, Maggie called to Lady Anne and Emma, who, though aware that the trio was behind them, were steadfastly proceeding so as not to interfere. They turned around at Maggie’s voice and waited for the party to join them. Like two spring flowers in their yellow and blue gowns, they bobbed curtsies to Lord Greenwood and his sister, their eyes full of curiosity and their lips formed into polite smiles. Reminded of his little problem at Parkhurst, and Lady Anne’s probable opinion of him, Adam set himself to win her approval while Cynthia chatted with Emma and Maggie about the upcoming season.
“Lord William hasn’t come to town yet, has he?” Adam asked politely.
“No, he’s been with Papa in Cornwall for the last month or so. Mama wrote that she would come to town with Jack next week, and Papa and Will would follow when they return.”
“Do you join them in Grosvenor Square?”
“Yes, in a while. I want to stay here until Emma leaves, too. She’s Lady Bradwell’s niece, and will spend the season with her.”
“Is she?” Adam glanced at the girl with renewed interest, wondering what it would be like to be chaperoned by the dashing matron who supplied more on dits per season than any half dozen other ladies. He could not recall ever having met Lord Bradwell, though he had himself been on the town for four years. There had been a time, in fact, when he had thought to make up to the lady; at twenty anything had seemed possible. But Lady Bradwell did not encourage puppies and she had gently but firmly repulsed his advances. It had been rumored that season that she was having a fling with Sir Nicholas Dyrham, but no one could actually accuse Lady Bradwell of being indiscreet.
Undoubtedly that was why she was perpetually the talk of London. She pursued a course of unadulterated pleasure, and yet there was no gentleman who had ever breathed so much as a word of having been her lover. No fashionable fribble ever issued from her front door in the morning still dressed in his evening clothes. No daring blade escorted her home of a night who was not seen to issue forth within a very few minutes of depositing her. No crim. con. cases arrived in court naming Lady Bradwell as corespondent. Quite a remarkable career she was having, when one thought about it! And Adam was thinking about it as he observed Emma in animated conversation with his sister. A fetching girl, almost a parody of her aunt’s older, more voluptuous charms.
His attention had wandered seriously and Adam was recalled to Lady Anne by a movement on her part to join the other ladies. “A thousand pardons! I was wondering on which side Miss Berryman is related to Lady Bradwell. For the life of me I cannot recall her family.”
Lady Anne had a better understanding of what he had really been thinking than he could possibly guess, and it was one of the things that worried her—that men would look on Emma as fair game because of her aunt. Anne’s frown called forth Adam’s most charming smile, rather endearingly crooked in his embarrassment, and she relented. “Emma’s parents are dead, but her father was Lady Bradwell’s brother.”
“I see.” It seemed wisest to change the subject. “Are you to come out this spring?”
“Yes, Maggie and Emma and I have been planning for over a year what we would do this season, how we would support one another and, of course, take the town by storm,” she confessed with a laugh that made the luminous brown eyes dance.
“I’m sure you will.” Although he delivered this statement with due gravity, there was just enough amusement on the handsome face to show he was quizzing her.
“Well, with Maggie married, it will be different than we’d planned.”
Abruptly recalled to his imminent marriage, Adam cast a hasty look at his bride-to-be, who was cheerfully immersed in conversation with Cynthia, and said stoically, “Better, I should think. As Lady Greenwood, she will be able to chaperon you. Not many young ladies could wish for more than to have a friend their own age as chaperon, rather than an older woman who might not see eye to eye with them.”
“I . . . hadn’t thought of that. Won’t you be taking a wedding trip?”
“We haven’t discussed it,” Adam replied stiffly. “The season is about to begin.”
Lady Anne felt a momentary flicker of anger, which did not escape her eyes, but she said pleasantly enough, “Of course,” and turned to the others to suggest that she and Emma should be returning to the school. Readily agreeing, Emma strolled off with her arm in arm and Maggie watched them go with a sigh. For a few minutes she had felt protected, and now she must once more face two people she had never even heard of a few days previously.
To banish the melancholy expression from the girl’s face, Cynthia stepped into the awkward silence to say how pleased she was to meet Miss Somervale’s friends and to express her approval of the modiste chosen to provide some wedding clothes. “Madame Minotier is not so well known as some, because those who discover her won’t breathe a word for fear she will be too busy to handle their needs. I’m so glad Miss Berryman knew of her.”
“Papa sent a note saying she had agreed to come directly considering the very limited time. I was surprised he could convince her.”
Cynthia wasn’t the least surprised. No modiste could ask for more than to have her fashions disp
layed (to how few she was unlikely to know) at the first wedding of consequence this spring, and to have them paraded about during the season by the new Lady Greenwood. A triumph indeed, and at that it wouldn’t come cheap. Making a mental note to warn Adam of the expense, in case the unsophisticated Sir Robert balked at the reckoning, Cynthia let the matter drop. If the modiste was likely to arrive any moment, Cynthia wished to settle the details of the wedding celebration and leave the couple alone for a chance to get acquainted. Each of her suggestions was received equably by Maggie, who was apparently too stunned still to have any ideas of her own, and indifferently by Adam, for which she would dearly have loved to kick him.
From across the lawns they saw a chaise drive up to Windrush House, which, considering the quantities of fabric hauled out by a young assistant, and the elegant toilette of the older woman, could only be the modiste arriving. Cynthia firmly took charge, saying, “I will go ahead and see that everything is brought up to your room. It always takes them a while to set up for measuring and such, my dear, so don’t you and Adam be in a hurry, please.”
Instinctively, Maggie moved forward as Cynthia hastily left them, but Adam tightened his grip on her arm and insisted, “Let her go. We have several matters to discuss, and once a modiste gets her hands on you, there is no freeing yourself for hours. Did you expect us to take a wedding trip?”
The question startled her. Poor Maggie didn’t expect anything, and she was not at all sure she liked the tone in which the question was asked, it had the bullying ring to it that she was familiar with, but would never become accustomed to, in her father. “I had given no thought to the matter.”
“No? Well, your friends obviously have. I should think you would like to be in town for the season, and I know I would, but I am willing to take you to Combe Lodge for a week or two after the wedding.”
Maggie studied the tips of her toes, which showed beneath her gown. “How very kind of you.”
The Loving Seasons Page 4
