by Amanda Scott
His cheeks burning now, Crawley held his temper in check with difficulty. He wanted to tell Thorne he was wrong, but he couldn’t. He wasn’t altogether certain it was the truth. At last he said only, “I’ll need paper and pen, Josh, if I am to write that letter so you can enclose it with yours.”
“Very well, but I wish you would reconsider.”
“I cannot. I gave my word I would see that Dickon finishes Miss Theodosia Adlam’s portrait before her aunt’s ball, and I also promised to teach a mischievous young man to drive a team in form. I can’t disappoint them, can I?”
“Excuses, Ned. Oh, don’t eat me.” Thorne got up and pulled the bell. “I’ll get you your damned paper and pen.”
They played piquet afterward, and since Thorne forbore to lecture and Crawley won nearly a hundred pounds, his spirits improved considerably; however, by the time he reached his own house several hours later, they had sunk again. His mother and sister had not yet come in, so he adjourned to his library and rang for wine, sitting before the crackling little fire, his feet propped on the fender, to think.
He could not imagine why, when he had not had the least intention of bothering with estate business until autumn (before the hunting season began) that he had suddenly taken it into his head to tackle matters at Longworth now. Certainly Dawlish had only irritated him by begging him to do so, and Dawlish was one of his closest friends. So why, he wondered, should comment by an annoyingly overcompetent female stir him to such lengths as to have sent him to Thorne for help?
He had left the library door open, and after a time he heard the porter walk across the marble floor to the front door. A moment later the door opened, and he heard his sister’s voice.
She swept into the library, followed by Lady Crawley. Getting to his feet to greet them, he found himself thinking that Belinda looked particularly well that evening, in a gown of pale pink muslin trimmed with turquoise satin ribbons that matched her eyes. Another ribbon was threaded through the chestnut curls framing her pixie face, and her eyes sparkled with pleasure. She flitted her fan at him and said with a laugh, “Where did you disappear to, scoundrel? We hoped you would at least come to collect us.” Turning before he could respond, to gaze at her reflection in the glass above the mantel, she tilted her head to one side and went on gaily, “It was a pleasant enough gathering, I’m sure, but we were simply forced in your absence to insist that Dacres escort us home. Was it not kind of him to do so?”
“Look here, Bella,” he said sharply, “I thought I had made it plain to you that you need not try to bring Dacres round your thumb. If he has fallen tail over top for Miss Oakley or Theo Adlam, there is no reason for you to make a cake of yourself.”
She put her face close to the glass and frowned. “I hope that is not a blemish forming. How vexing! Just when one wants to look one’s best.” Then, looking over her shoulder at him, she added in an airy tone, “I would have you know, dearest one, that Dacres danced three times with me this evening and only once with pretty little Theo. He did dance twice with Caroline, but she will not dance with any man more than that because she is too afraid someone will disapprove, but of course, no one minds what I do, for they have all known me forever.” Tossing her head, she sent him a challenging look, and turned to her mother. “Really, Mama, you look worn to the bone. You must go straight up to bed. I’ll go up with you. Ned is not at all amusing tonight. No doubt he had another bad night at the tables.”
She took Lady Crawley’s arm and had begun to urge her toward the door when Crawley said grimly, “Bella.” His tone stopped her, but she did not turn.
“She will be along shortly, Mama,” he said.
Lady Crawley gave him a look he could not interpret. He thought she looked relieved, but was not certain why she should be and dismissed the notion once she had left the room. He said, “Shut the door and sit down, Bella. I want to talk to you.”
She tossed her head again. “I cannot think why you would wish to do so, for I am merely following your advice. I do not feel at all in the mood for more conversation tonight. It has been a long day, and I wish to go to bed. You were right, by the bye. I had not thought it would be so, but it is. I had a wonderful time tonight. Good night, dearest.”
She stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek and was gone before he thought to stop her. He could not remember any other time that she had disobeyed him. What on earth, he wondered, had come over her that she should do so now? A yawn midthought caught him unaware, and he looked at the clock on the desk. Nearly three. He had promised to take Master Freddy out for his first lesson the next day, after yet another session of playing nursemaid. He had better, he decided, try to get some sleep.
The next morning, when he arrived at Adlam House, he drew his curricle in behind another carriage. Since it was little more than half past eight, he wondered who could possibly be calling so early. When he recognized the device on the door panel as Lady Augusta’s, he grew more curious yet.
Bidding a civil good day to the little mongrel, standing guard in his usual position, he went up the steps. Having given his gloves and hat to the butler, he turned automatically toward the parlor, but Heath stopped him. “Miss Felicia would be much obliged if you would step up to the morning room, my lord.”
“Certainly,” Crawley said, turning toward the stairs. He heard Theo’s angry voice before he reached the landing, and the sound quickened his steps.
“He is a villain, I tell you, and I want someone else to do my portrait!”
Felicia wanted to shake her abominable sister. “Theo, please lower your voice.”
“Every truth has two sides, my dear Theodosia, and you may criticize others only when you have done some good thing yourself. Pray, do collect yourself.”
“I don’t want to collect myself, and I will shout if I want to,” Theo cried at the top of her lungs.
“Good morning, everyone,” Crawley said cheerfully, stepping into the room through the open doorway.
Felicia made no attempt to hide her relief at seeing him. “Good morning, sir,” she said. “I fear you have come to attend a Cheltenham tragedy.”
“Where’s Vyne?” he asked resignedly.
She could not blame him for his tone, but she gave him a quelling look as she opened her mouth to tell him.
Theo snapped, “He has gone, and I hope he never returns! He is a beast, Crawley, and that is all there is about it.”
“What did he do now?” There could be no mistaking the exasperation in his voice.
Felicia managed to speak this time before Theo could do so. “I am afraid he was provoked, sir. No, Theo, hush. Indeed, you have both spoken and done entirely too much this morning. Had you ever before troubled to come downstairs at eight o’clock, you might have learned that Sir Richard always arrives before then. And had you known that, you might not have been caught in the act.” A bark of laughter from Crawley made her add coolly, “You may well laugh, sir, for there is no doubt some humor in the situation somewhere; however, I must tell you that I do not see it at the moment.”
“A bad temper carries with it its own punishment,” Lady Augusta said with unruffled calm.
“Aunt Augusta,” Theo began dangerously, “If you say—”
“Be silent,” Felicia said.
“I won’t! Not if I have to stay here, at all events.” And with that and a flounce, she swept past Crawley out of the room.
Felicia sighed. “Do sit down, sir. I should like to know what you think is best to be done next.”
“What is this? Are you asking for my advice?”
“If you please.”
“I should advise you to slap that young woman soundly.”
“Hear, hear,” Lady Augusta said with a fierce nod.
Felicia bit her lip, feeling that it would be unwise at this juncture to admit that she was sorely tempted. Instead, ruefully she said, “I do not require advice in regard to Theo, sir, as I think you know perfectly well. But you know Sir Richard much better than I do. Will h
e come back? He has said he will not.”
Crawley sat down in a chair near to hers and said more gently, “Perhaps you had better tell me exactly what happened. I collect that she tried to get a look at the portrait.”
The memory of it made her wince, but she said with what she thought must be admirable calm, “Theo is determined to see it, and Sir Richard refuses to allow her to do so.”
“I am well aware of that,” he said. “Do not forget that I spend two hours with them each morning. I believe I have heard most of her demands and nearly all of his refusals.”
“Well, today she took matters into her own hands,” Felicia said. “Recalling that I had given Sir Richard my key to the parlor, and having already determined that there was no way by which she might otherwise break in—”
“Yes,” he murmured, “particularly since the front areaway prevents her from simply climbing in one of the windows.”
Certain that it was unnecessary to tell him that her sister, however unprincipled, would never make such a public spectacle of herself, Felicia repressed a shudder at the mental image and said firmly, “Quite so. At all events, she remembered that Mrs. Heath—our housekeeper, you know—has a complete set of keys to the house. Theo simply asked her for the key to the parlor, and Mrs. Heath not knowing any better, gave it to her.”
“I see how it was,” he said. “Theo didn’t do the thing in the middle of the night like a sensible person would have done. Instead, she came down just a bit earlier than usual and got caught in the act. I suppose Dickon was not polite about it.”
Lady Augusta laughed harshly. “I walked into the house right behind him, Crawley. The parlor door stood ajar, and I actually saw him grab her just as she was reaching for the cloth over the portrait. I thought for a moment,” she added with a look of unholy relish, “that he meant to strangle her.”
Felicia was watching Crawley closely, but this time he showed no inclination to laugh. Instead, eyes narrowed, he looked straight at her and said grimly, “My advice holds, but I’ll see what I can do to smooth things over with Dickon. I think you can trust him to return simply because he has promised to have that damned painting—forgive me, Lady Augusta—”
“No matter, dear boy. I have heard language before, I assure you. Moreover, I quite agree with your sentiments.”
He smiled at her, then said reassuringly to Felicia, “He has promised to show it at the Academy Exhibition, and since Lawrence has defied him to show anything as good as his portrait of the Princess of Wales, it has become a matter of honor, I believe, but I will do what I can to make certain of it.”
Felicia sighed. “I should not burden you with my troubles like this, but I do hope you can smooth things over with him.”
“Troubles shared are troubles halved,” Lady Augusta said.
For a brief moment Felicia had yet another urge to slap someone, and wondered why she, who had never had such urges in her life before, should suddenly be having them so frequently. She chanced to look at Crawley and saw that his eyes were twinkling. He did not smile, but she knew he was amused. Nonetheless, the expression was one of such understanding that it warmed her to the bone, much as a caress would have done. For a long moment, she could not look away. Her gaze was pinned to his, as if some power beyond her own were controlling it.
“It is no burden,” he said suddenly.
She heard his voice as if it came from a great distance. Blinking, she fought to collect her wits and, rushing her words, said, “Thank you. Though my sister’s megrims are no concern of yours, I shall be most grateful if you can bring Sir Richard back. I will attend to Theo. You may tell him she will not attempt again to see the portrait. He threatened in the course of his diatribe to remove it to his own house, and to make her go there for her sittings. But though I know people do go to artists’ homes to sit, my father would have a seizure if Theo ever did such a thing. She is his primary interest, you know, outside of his Vernis Martin vases, his coins, and his wine.”
“Another collector’s item, in fact,” Crawley said.
“Why, no, that was not what I meant at all,” Felicia said, but she was stricken by a sudden awareness that he was right. Her father did indeed look upon his younger daughter as a prize piece in an otherwise ordinary collection of children. He had some feeling for her brother, Jack, as his heir, and therefore for Jack’s children, but he showed little interest in them, and none whatever in her. She saw that Crawley was watching her, and added quickly, “You are absurd, sir. I merely meant that because Papa has a concern for her, he would notice what she did—indeed, I should feel obliged to tell him—and he would never allow it. Nor would Theo go to Sir Richard’s house,” she added bluntly.
“Have you the housekeeper’s key?” he asked.
“Sir Richard has taken it,” she said.
“Then I doubt I will have any trouble convincing him to return.” He turned to Lady Augusta. “But surely you, ma’am, did not come out at such an untimely hour merely to be an audience at what sounds like a rather tawdry brawl.”
She chuckled. “No, I could not sleep for thinking about those dratted invitations, and that is why I am here. What are we going to do, Felicity? I cannot and will not allow my guest list to be printed in the newspaper like the doings of Parliament or, worse, the proceedings of a Magistrate’s Court. It is one thing to have an account of one’s social engagements printed after the fact, but aside from one’s proper feelings of disgust at such a public display, Lady Thomond was quite right about the delicacy of it. Even if we wait until the day before and hope they get the list printed on the day, suppose we have not had all our responses by then? One cannot print names of persons who have not said they will come, for one would be accused of puffing off one’s consequence in a most unseemly manner. And what if the Times were inadvertently to omit a name? Only think how offended that person would be!”
“He would merely think he had got a forged one, would he not?” Crawley asked in a tone clearly meant to be pacific.
But Lady Augusta was having none of that. “Merely? When he would still be offended to think he had been left off my list? Just suppose it were Langshire, for goodness’ sake!”
“The Times would never omit the duke,” Crawley said.
“Very likely they would not, but do not tell me that his grace will enjoy seeing his name listed with a host of other guests meaning to attend a ball.”
“His name is printed every time he attends a Levee or a Drawing Room, is it not?” Crawley said.
Felicia shook her head. “That is not Aunt Augusta’s point, sir. Such names are printed after the event. She is concerned lest it look as if we are puffing off the fact that a duke means to attend our ball.”
“Langshire is small beer compared to the Prince of Wales,” Crawley said with a grin.
Lady Augusta said tartly, “I wish you will keep to the point, my lord. I did not send the prince an invitation.”
“But Prinny knows Vyne means to put his portrait of Miss Theo up against Lawrence’s of the Princess of Wales, and I heard at Brooks’s that he wants to see both portraits. Since he knows perfectly well that Dickon would not show his to the king himself before it is done, I should not be at all surprised if he decides to look in at your ball just to get an early look at it.”
“It would be just like that officious fellow Townshend to bar the door, too,” Lady Augusta said, “for I have already arranged with him to attend, you know. It is quite the thing to invite him. Everyone is doing so.”
“Well, no one knows Prinny as well as Townshend does,” Crawley said, glancing at Felicia. “I assure you, he would not suspect a forged invitation, nor would it occur to him to ask to see the prince’s if he did. You are very quiet, Miss Adlam. I have promised you that Vyne will return. You may trust me.”
Startled, Felicia said, “I cannot imagine how you manage to read one’s thoughts as you do, sir. How did you know I was thinking about that just now?”
He smiled again. “Since yo
ur brow became all furrowed when I mentioned the prince’s desire to see the portrait, it did not take a great deal of imagination to deduce that you were worried lest the portrait not be finished. Shall I put your mind at rest and go and wrestle with Dickon at once, or shall I first take that abominable young rascal Freddy out for his promised drive?”
“Oh, please, take Freddy. How very kind you are, sir! He has been in alt ever since you mentioned teaching him to drive. He was here when I came down this morning, demanding to know when you would take him. I sent him to Miss Ames, telling him he must wait there and do his lessons properly until you called for him, but I daresay he has accomplished little in the meantime.”
Lady Augusta snorted. “There is a time and place for everything, Felicia, and that child don’t deserve a reward.”
Chuckling, Crawley said, “Now, Lady Augusta, you will agree that no act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted. Send for the brat at once, Miss Adlam, and I will do what I can to keep him out of your hair for an hour or so.”
She thanked him and rang for a footman to collect Freddy, who came running into the room a few short minutes later, demanding to know if Scraps could ride with them. When Crawley, responding with a flat negative, had taken him away, Felicia said to Lady Augusta, “His lordship is very kind, is he not, ma’am?”
“He is a rake and a fortune hunter, but women always love a rake, and I doubt you will fall victim to his charm, my dear.”
“I own, I am not so sure of that,” Felicia said. “It was much easier to deal with him when I thought he wanted only Theo.”
“More fool he.”
“He knew from the outset that she is an heiress, you see.”
