by Joan Smith
The Dowager bore up well, for she enjoyed a good set-to, and there would be a fine one before this day was over. Yet she became fidgety as the day progressed, and still no signs of Claymore. Shouldn’t have taken him more than a couple of hours to come from Bath. In assorted attempts at conversation with her daughter-in-law it came out that the marriage settlement had been twenty-five thousand, not hundred, as she had thought. She choked on the sum, and was more convinced than ever that Clay must love the girl, so why did he not come? Then she fell to wondering how he had contrived to purchase a large diamond in the circumstances to which the settlement must have reduced him. She understood for the first time his eagerness to get ahold of his jewels. She could not but feel culpable, and thought it might be politically wise to turn the heirlooms over to the bride now, before Clay returned.
With an anguished heart she did so, only to have Ellie look at them blankly, declare them very fine, and shut the lid of the chest without so much as lifting one of them up to try on, or admire. Whatever else the girl was, she was not grasping. The young mawworm of Clay’s had been right about that at least.
By dinnertime both women were distracted with waiting and worrying. When the meal was finished, they retired to the Blue Saloon and Ellie offered her services to work one corner of the tambour frame, on which a canvas firescreen was being embroidered. “This is for my Dower House,” she was told. “I’ll be removing there after I return from Bath. I don’t intend to billet myself on you and Clay.”
Ellie had already been assured of this by her husband, but was happy to hear it confirmed. “I hope it is not too far away,” she replied, by way of appearing friendly.
“Only a mile. Close enough, but not too close.”
“Just a pleasant walk.”
They worked on till ten, both with one ear to the door, and not even half the other on their conversation. “He won’t be coming tonight,” the old lady announced as the clock chimed ten dolorous clangs. “Might as well toddle off to bed.”
Ellie was happy enough to do so. Even if he did come, she would prefer to have the first meeting take place in private. The Dowager sat up alone, long after Ellie retired, thinking about the scrape, how to disentangle them all, and later fell into a reverie of her future life. Much as it pained her to admit it, she was getting old. Couldn’t hack the London round anymore, and this great rabbit warren of a place was too much for her. The gardens were a disgrace, and she hadn’t been up to the third floor for two years. Her little brawls with Clay were becoming more of a nuisance than anything else as well. She’d be glad when this one was over. Lud, she hoped she didn’t become one of those mellow old ladies, smiling at her children and grandchildren, and slipping them money and sweets, respectively, on the side. She was forced to admit, though, that she felt a very unaccustomed pity for Clay’s young wife. Actually thought she might turn out to like her, which she had not counted on. She had rather liked Lady Siderow, whom she knew a little the year she was married to her Polish lord, or whatever he was.
She got up and went to examine the corner of the tambour frame Ellie had been working on. Well, she was a nice little thing, but she was no needle woman. This pleased her rather than otherwise, for she was a bit of a dab in that line herself, and didn’t much relish competition. Bad enough to be put to the blush by the girl’s knowing so much about history and gardening. One had to maintain one bastion of supremacy. She was not ready to abdicate completely. The girl was no musician either, if that one off-key little song she’d strummed tonight was any example.
She was just putting away her threads and needles when she heard a clatter of hooves on the drive, going round to the stables. She was finished when she heard a footfall in the front hallway, and went out to see who it was. She hardly recognized her son, he looked so pale and worn.... She expected some sort of rip-up from him, but he said only, “Hallo, Mama,” and pecked her on the cheek. “I got your note. Thank you for sending it. Is Ellie all right?”
“Yes, gone to bed long since. Come in and have a glass of something. You look dead beat.”
“I am. I have been riding since morning.”
“Lud, Clay, Bath is only twenty-five miles away.”
“Yes, but I was at Reading when I received your note.” He sank into a chair, and she bustled off for refreshments. Looked as if he needed more than a glass of wine. She had a servant bring cold meat and bread into the Blue Saloon, for she hadn’t the heart to ask him to stagger into the dining room.
“Ellie is asleep, you say?” he asked when she returned.
“Yes, gone to bed hours ago.”
“I won’t disturb her then. I suppose she told you...”
“I ain’t blind, Clay. She has told me enough.”
“Yes, I know I acted the fool, Mama. Pray don’t scold me. I will be in fitter trim to spar with you tomorrow.”
Again she felt that weakening stab of pity, and for her own son, too. She softened her barb. “Why did you not follow her on, as she seemed to expect you to do?”
He raised his two hands, palms up, and shrugged his weary shoulders. “I didn’t think she was coming here. We had had words, you see.”
“Pooh! A lovers’ quarrel. She expected you to go after her.”
“Mama, I have been ‘going after her’ these four days past. Chasing all over England looking for her. I didn’t think she’d have the bottom to face you alone. I made sure she had gone off to her papa.”
“She showed more sense than you then, for she came here, just as she ought.”
“I hope you like her.” The son cast a wary eye on his mother as he uttered this hope.
“Yes, we go on very agreeably. She is not in the least a dowd, as that friend of yours said, but very elegant, and with excellent conversation for a young girl. She is nothing special with a needle I find, but then one can’t expect all accomplishments to be hers at so young an age.”
“She is rather shy, and I suppose I warned her you are—”
“Yes, I make no doubt you gave me a ferocious character, and it seems Lady Siderow backed you up, but we got on in spite of that. I would not say she is shy precisely, by the by.”
“Well, not precisely,” he agreed, with a strange smile on his wan face.
“I take it this breach between you two is not irreparable?” the Dowager asked, eyeing his smile.
“Since she is come here, I have some hopes it may be repaired.”
“Yes, and if you saw her eyes light up every time your name is mentioned, you would have no doubts of her feelings at least. Very fine eyes, incidentally. Rather like Lady Siderow’s.”
“Better than Lady Siderow’s,” he pointed out.
“I can see I’ll have to step up my comparisons, or eliminate them entirely if she is to be an Incomparable.”
“Just so.”
“And well she might be, with a settlement of twenty-five thousand pounds!”
“Ah, you have discovered that, have you?” he asked, with an arch glance, not completely devoid of horror.
“I have, but it’s your money, and you may squander it as you please. It is nothing to me. Well, it’s all in the family, as far as that goes. And had you told me the truth of the matter, I should naturally have given you your ring, and other things. Gave ‘em to her, by the way.”
“Thank you, Mama,” he said, feeling the words hopelessly inadequate to the occasion. Truth to tell, he was so tired the whole conversation was like a dream.
“Don’t thank me. They’re yours. Not that they made much of an impression.”
“Did she not like them?” he asked, surprised. There were some fine and costly pieces among the Claymore heirlooms.
“Hardly glanced at them, to tell the truth. Your foolish friend mentioned something about your buying her a diamond ring.”
“My foolish and well-meaning friend, Mama. You underestimate Rex. He has bent over backward to help me all through this awful business.”
“Let’s see the ring. Do you have it?
”
“Yes, I have it here.” He pulled it out of his pocket and showed it to her.
She did not quite whistle, but her lips took on the look of it. “Very fine. Must have cost you a bundle. How did you swing it with the settlement to make?”
“I haven’t. Paid for it, I mean.”
“Maybe you could take it back, since she’s got the others now. Your well-meaning friend told me you’d already given it to Ellie. Wondered that she wasn’t wearing it.”
“I’m sure he thought he had a reason for telling you so. No, Mama, in a way this ring is responsible for our—altercation, one way or the other, and I mean her to have it. Now if you would care to lend me—”
“I haven’t given you any gift yet. If you would care to consider it as your joint wedding gift, I’ll make a present of it to Ellie.” Good God! Here was she, slipping her children money, as she was determined she would not do. “And you can give me back my pearl,” she added, to salve her conscience.
“It would be highly appreciated, Mama. I don’t mean to make a habit of outrunning the grocer, if that is what has got your brow wrinkled.”
“Very well, that’s settled. Give me the bill when you get it. I shan’t ask the price, for I want to get some sleep this night. Now we must consider what to do about the scandal broth that I make no doubt is brewing, what with you two dashing all over the countryside in separate carriages. Ellie tells me I am ill, and she came on ahead here to tend me, while you followed behind.”
“And Rex told someone or other I came here by way of Bath to pick some medications up for you. It is such a tangled skein there is no hope of unraveling it. I doubt any two people think the same thing on this matter. And for myself, I don’t care a tinker’s curse what anyone thinks, except Ellie.”
“But for the looks of it, Clay, I was thinking whether we couldn’t all go together to Bath for a few days. I’ll lay low to lend credence to my illness, just letting a few crones in to see I am really there. If you and Ellie are seen about together, it will give the lie to the stories. I’ll even make an appearance at the Pump Room and have a glass of that awful water, to prove I am not well, though the stuff would be enough to really sicken me.”
“I won’t ask such a sacrifice of you. No, you go ahead to Bath. Ellie and I will rusticate here a while. Perhaps we’ll join you later for a few weeks.”
She was about to persist, but upon noticing a certain rigidity settling in along the line of Clay’s jaw, she refrained. “I shall do what I can to scotch the rumors in any case.”
“How many times tonight have I thanked you, Mama?”
“More times than the rest of your life put together. You are become a pattern-card of civility.”
“And you are behaving very much like a mother. You weren’t used to, you know.”
“Ah well, I grow old. I can feel the rust creeping into my hinges; that’s what my mother used to say—seems like a million years ago. But she lived twenty years after that. I may be back to my normal unmaternal self by tomorrow and renege.” Glancing at his tired face, she changed tack. “Go on up to bed, Clay. You look dog tired.”
“Yes, I will. Where is Ellie sleeping?”
“In the master bedroom. I had it prepared for the two of you. You see how you have misjudged me? I moved out, just as I ought.”
“I am embarrassed to say thank you again. What shall I say instead?”
“Say good night, before you fall on your face. All this cordiality is tiring me out. I’ll go up with you.”
They proceeded together up the staircase, each half dragging himself, and half dragging the other. “Quite a pair of relics,” the Dowager said. “It’ll be good to get into my snug little cottage.”
“Bath will rejuvenate you.”
“Let’s see if marriage rejuvenates you.”
At the top of the stairs the Dowager turned left to what was now her suite. A sad come-down from the master bedroom. Still, it suited her age and encroaching infirmity. Smaller, and less draughty. It could be the north wind howling through the windows in her old room that gave her those painful twinges in the knees and shoulders.
Clay turned to the right and went to the door of the master bedroom. His mama had not turned it over to him upon his father’s demise, as she should have done. He would have felt an intruder had the room been vacant. Knowing that his wife was within, he felt the veriest interloper. He supposed she was asleep, and wanted only to take a peek; to reassure himself that she was really there, under the same roof as himself, after all these weary days of pelting about England looking for her.
She was there, and she was asleep, her dark curls spread out on the pillow, the shadow of her lashes elongated on her cheek. She looked about six years old. He stepped in and closed the door behind him, but as deep darkness followed this step, he reopened it to light the single taper by her bed before closing the door again. Perhaps the sound of the door awoke her, or perhaps her troubled spirits allowed her only a fitful doze. In any case, she opened her eyes and blinked twice at him, before springing up to a sitting position.
“Clay! Is it really you?” she said, her voice sleepy.
“I didn’t mean to awaken you,” he apologized, yet he was not sorry to have this glimpse of her with her eyes open. He came closer to have a better look. “I think it’s me, but I am so tired I hardly know.”
“You look haggard,” she agreed. “You had better sit down. Here!” she added, patting the bed, as she noticed he looked around the room for a chair. “And tell me what has fagged you so.”
“Well, Ellie,” he began uncertainly, “it is chasing from here to kingdom come looking for you that has fagged me so. What did you think?” He perched, rather tentatively, on the outermost edge of the bed as he spoke.
“I didn’t think it would take you so long to find me, for I told Meecham where I was going.”
Their hands slid along the coverlet toward each other, stopping just as they were within ames ace of meeting. “Yes, Meecham told me.”
“Well, then, why didn’t you come?” Something between doubt and a pout puckered her lips and tilted her chin up.
In spite of his fatigue Claymore felt the old urge to pounce assert itself. “You said you would not come here, if you recall. ... . .”
“You know I didn’t mean it,” she challenged, and her lips began to tremble, till she pulled them together between her teeth.
“You had already peeled off on me once that day.”
“What did you expect when you went ranting on about that horrid Gloria Golden in your sleep, and—everything.”
“What?” He let his hand inch forward and grabbed her fingers. They felt warm and soft. “What else did I do to give you so poor an opinion of me?”
“Nothing. You didn’t do anything, Clay. That’s just it.”
“It’s not that I didn’t want to!” he defended himself, squashing her little fingers till they ached, and peering at her through the dim light of the only candle to determine whether they were discussing the same thing.
“It is certainly not that I didn’t want you to. I am not so strange as that.”
“You looked as if you didn’t want me to. You looked so very young, frightened.” She still looked young, but not, he thought, so very frightened. He brought out the diamond ring. “This is what delayed me so long the morning you left.” He took it out of its plush box and slid it over her finger. It was still too big, so that the diamond slipped around to the underside of her hand, and she had to clench her fingers to keep it upright. She smiled, but did not go into raptures as though she had been craving it. He was rather glad.
“There, now we are really engaged,” he said with quiet satisfaction. “And it’s bigger than Wanda’s, too.”
“We are really married, Clay,” she reminded him.
He scrutinized her pale face closely, and smiled softly to himself, before he raised her diamond-studded hand to his lips and kissed it. “Yes, you are my wife, and to hell with Homberly,”
he replied enigmatically.
“Oh, what has Rex to do with anything?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all.” He put an arm around her shoulders, gently, and pulled her toward him. When he met with no resistance, but quite the contrary, felt her lean against him, he forgot he was half dead with fatigue, and said masterfully, “Now, Ellie, there will be no more of this dashing away from me, understand? I was wild with worry.”
“Were you, Clay?” she asked happily. “I am so very sorry, and you must not talk about Gloria in your sleep.”
“It was a nightmare,” he explained, just that very moment visited with the marvelous inspiration. “I had a horrible nightmare that I was married to Gloria. I often get nightmares of that sort—witches chasing me, and houses burning down, and being married to someone I detest. That sort of thing.”
“What a whisker,” she jeered, and fell into a fit of giggles, more from nervousness than mirth.
“It’s good to see you smile again, Ellie,” he said, peering down at her happy face. She instantly turned serious, but the trick was already done. They were face to face, only inches apart, and in a second he was kissing her lips, fighting back the impulse to pounce.
“The shy one,” he whispered into her ear, as she put both her arms around his neck and proceeded to tighten her grip.
“Oh, I think you are the shy one,” she chided, as he nuzzled her ears, her neck, even her shoulder.
“Ellie,” he said dangerously, and went on to attack her in a manner that gave her a much better impression of him, for it was clear the deceitful girl hadn’t a shy bone in her whole body.
Copyright © 1977 by Joan Smith
Originally published by Fawcett Crest (0449230929)
Electronically published in 2009 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228
