by Joan Smith
Picking himself up, Claymore brushed himself off and said to his friend, “I told you it was her room. I told you I heard her calling me. Gad, but she’s a beauty, Rex.”
“Well, if you ain’t a gudgeon, Clay. That wasn’t Wanda at all. It was only Ellie.”
Chapter Three
Somehow the gentlemen managed to get safely to the Abbey. They even found their chambers, and were in bed before the return of the Homberlys from their evening out. They did not, however, arise early after their libations and nocturnal ramblings. The sun was midway across the sky before they sat down to a steak and ale, which gave Mrs. Homberly (informed of their arrival by her servants) time to get Missie decked out in her best sprigged muslin gown and herself time to wonder and wonder again why he was come. He, of course, was not her beloved son, but his guest. Missie might be only sixteen, but she was large for her age, and with the Marquis not a day over twenty-five, if that, there was no saying...
As soon as her son told her they were off to the Wanderleys, though, her hopes plunged. Not only had that wretch of a Wanda nabbed the squire’s son, now here was Ellie about to snap up this very eligible parti. At least that would be the last of the Wanderley girls to worry about. Thank God they had finally had a son, so that they might quit breeding those damned beautiful girls every few years.
The gentlemen were a good deal more circumspect in their selection of horses in the daytime than they had been the night before, and made a decent showing on the bays they rode on this occasion. This was their first chance for private discourse since their evening’s orgy, and it was Clay who raised the subject
“Do you happen to recall, Rex, did we do something foolish last night?”
“Not we, you.”
“I rather feared it might be me. I have a devilish sore arm this morning. All bruised.”
“That’d be from falling off the ladder.”
“On a ladder, was I? Dear me. What could I have been doing there?”
“Trying get into Miss Wanda’s room.”
“I didn’t make it, did I?” Clay asked, with a worried frown.
“Nope, you fell off.”
“Good. Did I like Wanda?”
“Didn’t see her. Got the wrong room.”
“Good again. Whose room did I get?”
“Only Ellie’s. It don’t matter. She won’t cut up.”
“I hope she won’t tell Wanda.”
“Shouldn’t think so. Funny little creature, the shy one of the family. Didn’t tell a soul when I accidentally broke her mama’s Sevres vase, throwing it at Abel.”
“Accidentally?”
“Accidentally picked up a good one. Thought it was only a cheap one. He went and told Wanda I’d been seeing Millie Winters.”
“You were dangling after Wanda yourself, I take it. That why you dislike her now, because she jilted you?”
“Didn’t jilt me. Never cared for her except for about two weeks when I was fourteen or so. Too conceited. Well, you know the way pretty girls are. Not like Ellie at all.”
They crossed the border from Surrey into Sussex, without either of them recalling who was purported to have bought up the county, and before long were cantering up the road to the Wanderley house. It was now early afternoon, and the brick house was revealed as a picturesque home, three stories high, with a slate roof and a general appearance of prosperity, in spite of Adam’s squandering of his money on flowers. They were admitted by the butler, and Mrs. Wanderley came into the drawing room, bringing with her her youngest daughter, Miss Wanda.
The girl was quickly judged by the Marquis, and decided to be beauty enough to pit against Miss Golden. She had fine raven hair, blue eyes, a suitably modest expression, and a figure that would not show to disadvantage beside the Rose. She conversed agreeably, and before ten minutes were up, Claymore was picturing her in her bridal gown, and also in various ball gowns, trailing on his arm, and turning every head in the room by her stunning appearance.
Wine and biscuits were served. Rex, divining his duty, drew Mrs. Wanderley aside to discuss local matters, leaving Clay free to further his suit with Miss Wanda. Mrs. Wanderley was only minimally interested to hear Rex’s mother had been to dinner at Ashton Manor, having heard it already from his mother, yet she was not loath to give the other two young people a moment to become acquainted. Quite the contrary, she led Rex on with a million questions he could not answer, and even favored him with a recital of her sister’s daughter’s friend’s latest romance. He had never received such condescension from her before.
Claymore smiled inwardly as he absorbed the charms of his new beloved. The very one to set the Rose down a peg, and to refute the foolish rumors that were no doubt going the rounds about his being all cut to shreds by her rejection.
“I understand your first Season was cut short by an unfortunate accident,” Clay said.
“Yes, so foolish of me. I took a tumble from my horse at a fence. She was frightened by a mole, else it would never have happened.”
“It was London’s loss,” he told her gallantly, while remembering quite distinctly Rex’s comment that she had fallen from a tree. Beauties were notoriously proud, of course, and naturally she would not own up to such conduct as climbing trees. What puzzled him slightly was where she had been climbing a tree in London. While these thoughts flashed through his mind, he continued with his conversation. “I hope we may have the pleasure of your company for the Little Season.”
“I am not sure,” she said vaguely. Certainly no comment was issued to the effect that she might be married by then to a squire’s son.
“Come, Miss Wanderley, you must give us bachelors who failed to make your acquaintance during your short visit a chance to impress you favorably.” He smiled. She blushed, and looked up at him modestly from beneath her long lashes in the approved manner.
“Such plain girls as myself cannot hope to impress favorably when there are true beauties like Miss Golden around,” she replied coyly. So she knew about that episode. With Ladies Siderow and Tameson to keep her informed, he could not have hoped to keep his affair to himself.
“Some gentlemen like that pastel sort of beauty, but I must own I have always preferred brunettes,” he said. Now that is not even a lie, he congratulated himself silently. Till he had clapped an eye on the Golden Rose, he had preferred brunettes.
“Such a whisker, my lord,” she teased gently. “You must know everyone expected you to offer for her.”
He swallowed his ire. No doubt everyone would also know shortly that he had offered for her, and been refused. That would do him no good in his conquest of this proud beauty.
“You must not believe everything you hear, Miss Wanda,” he returned grimly. Seeking for a means to turn the conversation from this topic, he said, “How does your broken leg go on? I notice you do not have a limp.”
“It was not actually broken, but merely a slight crack the doctor thinks. In any case, I can walk very well now, and even begin to dance again.”
“That is good news. I hope I may soon have an opportunity to see how well you can dance.”
“Oh, as to that, I daresay there will be any number of assemblies and balls soon. With all the families coming back from London again, things will pick up here. It has been so very boring to be stuck out in the country these months.” She sighed wearily, and Claymore thought it a little odd that she should find it boring, when it was the only life she had known but for that week or two in London. Besides, spring was the prettiest time of the year to be at one’s country seat, and he personally found the London Season was held at the worst possible time.
“In any case, I hear your papa has a very interesting hobby, which must have helped you pass the time.”
“What, his flowers? I do not interest myself in them.”
“Ah, that is a pity. They might have been a diversion for you when you were not able to get about much.”
“Yes, well, I am better now, thank heavens.”
They c
hatted on for fifteen minutes more, giving Clay ample time to discover that Miss Wanda was very much like other young ladies of her years and class. She liked dancing above anything, she adored Byron, she read gothic novels, she sketched a little, played a little, spoke a little French, and was ready to flirt with and be prodigiously amused by a handsome marquis with twenty thousand a year, though in justice she could hardly know the exact total of his fortune. He thought that he could win her favor in a week’s concentrated assault. From the gracious smiles her mama was bestowing on them, he foresaw no difficulty from that quarter. She was, he thought critically, just as pretty as Miss Golden, and he had no reason to think he could not send a notice in to the papers well ahead of Miss Golden’s nuptials.
After the prescribed half-hour allotted to a social call, the gentlemen arose to leave. They were invited, not to say pressed, to return for dinner the very next evening. Rex was reminded to drop by and see Abel, who had a new hunter he would like to show his friend, to show Lord Claymore the conservatory, and in general to make the place their own.
At the door Rex said, “Where’s Ellie today?”
“She is with her papa, I expect,” the lady of the house replied. “She gives him a hand with his orchids.”
“No, she’s spraying the roses, Mama,” Wanda contradicted.
“Such a quaint little creature,” the mother explained deprecatingly. “As though we had not two gardeners to do such things. I am sure I don’t know why she bothers her head, for she might much better be practicing her pianoforte. She is an abominable player, I promise you, in spite of years of lessons.” Turning to her daughter, she added, “I hope she is wearing her bonnet, or she will be all tanned. Was she wearing a bonnet, Wanda?”
“I didn’t notice, Mama.”
“Well, never mind that. Tomorrow evening then, my lord. Come early, and my husband will show you his plants before it comes on dark. I am sure you will be greatly interested in them. I’ll tell Abel you’re home .”
They were shown to the door, and escaped into the sunlight. “What did you think of her?” Rex inquired directly.
“Charming. I liked her exceedingly.”
“She was putting her best foot forward to impress you.”
“I hope she may continue to do so.”
“She will till you’re caught anyway. Then the tune will change.”
“I am firmly caught already, dear boy. I have quite decided to offer for Miss Wanda.”
“Hsst!” a sound came from round the corner of the house.
“You hear anything, Clay?”
“Here. Come here, Rex. I want to speak to you.” A large floppy straw hat peeped round the corner, and a beckoning hand urged them to come. On the hand was a very dirty twilled cotton glove, several sizes larger than the hand within.
“Oh, Ellie. There you are,” Rex said good-naturedly. “Was asking for you. They thought you was with your papa.”
“No, I was spraying the rose bushes, but I am finished that. Come around here. I don’t want Mama to see me talking to you in all my dirt, or she’ll scold.”
A trim little figure, tall and straight, led the way to an area at the side of the house that was sheltered by a cantilevered roof, and on a work table beneath it various pots, humus, bulbs, trowels, and plants were spread out. The destination reached, Ellie turned around and faced her followers.
They looked, and Claymore could not believe this was a daughter of the house, for her soiled apron, bedraggled hat, wispy and disheveled hair proclaimed a very underling of the domestic staff.
“Clay, this is Ellie,” Rex explained, and considered that sufficient introduction.
“Your servant, ma’am,” Claymore said, bowing stiffly.
Ellie performed half a curtsy, then changed her mind and proffered her gloved hand. Looking at it, she swished it back behind her back with a grimace. She had been in the potting shed when the guests arrived, and so did not know of their presence in time to get cleaned up. Alice, a kitchen maid who happened by, mentioned that Mr. Homberly was here, with a lord from Lunnon.
Ellie immediately knew it to be her moonlight visitor, and stood by to hear their departure. She was eager to see the newcomer in the clear light of day to determine if he was really as grand as she had thought last night. He was. He looked a positive Apollo beside poor stubby little Rex. His dark green riding jacket fit his shoulders without a wrinkle, and his fawn trousers hadn’t a spot on them. His top boots, too, were unmarred.
As the Apollo’s brown eyes raked her own awful garments, she realized too late her mistake in appearing before him in such an unbecoming guise. She slipped off her gloves, and tucked a few stray strands of hair up under her sun hat. She then made the error of wiping the perspiration from her brow, and a long streak of mud was trailed across her forehead. Now that they were here, she was uncertain what she had meant to say.
“You look the very devil, Ellie,” Rex said kindly. “I don’t believe even Missie goes about in such rags as you’re wearing. ‘Pon my word, I don’t know what your mama’s thinking of.”
“I have been working—potting these bulbs Papa has received from America,” she explained, while Claymore continued to look. There were some distinguishable traces of the Wanderley beauty there under the mud, he thought. The eyes were fine—like Lady Siderow’s. Maybe even bigger than Wanda’s, though not so cunningly used, with batting lashes and coy glances. A direct, forward gaze. They were gray eyes; Wanda’s were blue.
“You ought to let one of the gardeners do it,” Rex continued.
“We only have one, and he only comes three days a week,” Ellie said, thus revealing her mama’s proud lie that they had two.
“Well, what did you call us for?” Rex demanded impatiently.
“I was just wondering about last night.”
“What about it?”
“You were here, perhaps you don’t recall, for I think you were both tipsy,” she said stiffly, quite overcome with embarrassment as Claymore’s brown eyes continued to take in details of her awful toilette.
“I pray you will accept our apologies, ma’am,” Claymore said. “I fear we may have been a trifle tipsy.”
“Ape drunk,” she shot back, goaded on by embarrassment to anger. “Climbing up a ladder, and saying all manner of foolish things.”
“Shut up, Ellie,” Rex said bluntly, stealing a quick look around, lest they were being overheard.
“I hope you will be kind enough to disregard any foolish utterances I may have made,” Clay broke in. Even if the girl was a hoyden, one did not tell a lady to shut up.
“Naturally I paid no heed. Did you hurt yourself, my lord? I feared you may have done yourself an injury when the ladder slipped, for it seemed to me you hit the ground very hard.”
“Nothing to signify.”
“What is it you want anyway?” Rex insisted. “Haven’t got all day, Ellie.”
“I was only curious to know if you were both all right after your night’s activities,” she said, and blushed at her forwardness at having accosted them at all, but as she was already rosy from her work, the blush went undetected.
“Of course are, and don’t go blabbing about last night to your mama—or Wanda either,” he threw in for good measure.
“As if I would.”
“Come on then, Clay,” Rex turned to his friend.
“Delighted to have made your acquaintance, Miss Ellie,” Clay said, bowed politely, and smiled. He had a very cold smile, she thought. He hadn’t looked like that last night. It was the wine that had done it, she supposed. Quite obviously it was the wine that had induced his passion for her as well, for he was certainly not impressed with her today. Had seemed to take her in disgust.
When she resumed her activities, an occasional thought of a declaration of love by moonlight intruded itself, but she was not desolate at having it come to nothing. She worked fast, as she wanted to have a ride before dinner and had to be home in time to prepare herself for Mama’s company,
even if it was only Magistrate Maheme and his wife. The wife would pound the pianoforte for hours, she supposed, and her husband sing “Blue-Eyed Mary” off-key.
No matter, she would slip away to the library and work on the family history. It had been kept for nearly three hundred years. The family was an old one, but her mama had not kept it up, and Ellie was now endeavoring to add to it what she knew or could discover of recent import. The marriages of her two elder sisters had to be recorded, and some notes of the Siderow and Tameson connections. Uncle Gerald, too, had distinguished himself in Wellington’s Peninsular campaign, and she had to write to him and discover what battles he had taken part in. With both of her sisters increasing, there would soon be births to record as well. Maybe even another wedding this year, if Wanda decided to have George Hibbard. Someday she would be recording her own marriage, she supposed. It seemed to her something in the infinitely removed future.
Chapter Four
The intervening day passed with no occurrence of note. Mrs. Homberly induced Rex and his friend to take Missie to the village for some embroidery cottons, hoping to put her a little in Claymore’s way. He found her to be very much in his way, but it gave him not the least pleasure. Wanda, too, was sent to the village in hopes of encountering the Marquis. Her errand was to stop at the Vicarage and leave off some flowers for the church, as her mama thought it would be a suitably romantic chore should she happen to encounter Rex and his friend. However, she missed them by a quarter of an hour, and when Mrs. Wanderley in desperation had the gig put to to transport herself and Wanda to visit Mrs. Homberly, she was again too late. The gentlemen had taken their fishing rods to the trout stream, so she returned home to prepare the evening’s attack.
Late Wednesday afternoon Rex and Claymore presented themselves at the Wanderley residence, to be regaled with a stroll through a damnably hot greenhouse, and a lecture on orchids, humus, temperatures and the difficulty of maintaining them at the proper level, bugs, slugs, and other matters of a horticultural and unappetizing nature. Finally, their brows moist, their collars entirely wilted, and their shirts clinging to their backs, they escaped and gulped in the fresh evening air before going to the Green Saloon, where the family was impatiently passing its time with a glass of sherry while awaiting their arrival. Both guests would have preferred a tall, cool glass of ale, but had the sherry pressed on them, and preferred it to a burning throat. Clay felt he could break Rex’s record at that moment, if only he could get his hands on a glass of ale.
