by Joan Vincent
God, how beautiful she was. The squire forced his mind back to the present, back to Audacia. Roland had opened his eyes concerning Miss Aderly. Suddenly, he saw Audacia for the beautiful young woman she was, not merely the comfortable friend who’d helped him through a difficult time.
Her coming-out in London caused him much concern. Could a young woman as mischievous as she, with no mother to guide her, survive the rigors of the “season?” Would she withstand the dowagers’ inspection? Could she handle the young dandies and the rakes who would certainly pursue her?
And what was to be made of Roland? Obviously something was lay heavy upon the man.
When he arrived home, Steins, the butler, opened the door before Webster reached it. “Squire, thanks be for your return. His lordship has been asking of you rather frequently for the hour past,” the harassed man greeted his master. “Could you see him?”
“I’ll go right up, Steins. Have a light collation prepared for my lunch and some broth for Lord Greydon. Bring both to his chambers, we shall dine there,” the squire instructed as he handed his hat, coat, and glove to the man.
With slow steps, he mounted the stairs and paused outside Greydon’s door. A moment of concentration enabled him to push his concerns aside. Geoffrey strode into the bedchamber with a light smile upon his lips.
Roland, who had been leafing fretfully through a book, tossed it aside, folded his arms, and glared expectantly.
Nodding a greeting, Geoffrey retrieved the book from the edge of the bed. Opening it, his eyes fell on a passage. Giving a wide grin he read, “‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate.’ Now to my mind you look more like an October storm.” Geoffrey laughed, closing the book.
“Shakespeare, my friend? A good companion, indeed. I could not offer you better for improving your mind. But if you wish to keep abreast of your social whirl perhaps I could have Steins bring the Gazette to you after lunch.”
“Brought to me. Bah!” Greydon scoffed. “I am no puling child to be waited upon at every turn. Would you have me a cripple?”
“Even cripples have their uses,” Geoffrey noted gently, then regretted his words seeing his friend’s dismay.
“Taking care now and lying abed but a day or two is far better than misusing your health and lying abed a month,” he hurried to add. Geoffrey tossed the book back to the earl.
“My ride was invigorating. It is a damnable inconvenience that you could not attend with me. Miss Aderly wished you dire health, but immediately regretted it and began insisting upon preparing a poultice for your chest. A desire for retribution perhaps?” he asked. Raising his voice above Greydon’s answering growl, he added, “But never fear. I have saved you from the prospect of having to bare your anatomy.”
“Doing it too brown, Geoff,” Greydon said tersely. “Miss Aderly was very decently covered by her chemise.”
“I did not ask, but then, Audacia may wish to question you about that.” Webster smiled. “She had no idea why her father was . . . er, ‘upset’ about the situation.”
“And you enlightened her? You bloody fool,” the earl cursed, pushing aside the bedcovers and making to get out of the bed. The quick movement brought on light-headedness and he was forced to lie back. “When I am recovered you shall make restitution for your loose tongue.”
“My loose tongue? But I was the spirit of discretion. I even managed to fob off Sir Aderly rather well.”
“Fob Aderly off? About what?” Greydon questioned suspiciously.
“He inquired if I knew of any dandies or fops visiting in the area,” Webster said, taking a seat in the chair by the fireplace. “I did rather well assuring him I knew of none despite your presence here.”
A scowl curled Greydon’s lips then departed. “Then Miss Aderly is well?” he asked, voicing his thought.
“In the best of health.”
“What did you learn from Aderly? Does he consider her honour impugned?”
“I know not. It seems you rescued the wrong person, my lord. If you questioned the baronet I am certain he would insist his man’s nephew, who supposedly happens to be visiting, was rescued by some gentleman who is strange to the area.” Geoffrey watched the earl’s reaction to this news. His friend’s continuing interest, even concern, for someone of Audacia’s sort was extraordinary.
“The man had best see to his daughter. I wonder if he knows how fortunate he was that someone like that Darby fop didn’t come along. Did you learn what steps he means to take with her?”
“What name was that?” the squire asked, disregarding the earl’s questions.
“Name? You mean Darby’s? I heard gossip of him before I left London.”
“What was it you heard?”
“According to the ‘ladies’ who spoke of him he is a comely lad. Their latest on-dit was that his gaming losses were more than his father could cover.
“More titillating for the ladies was the rumour that he had stayed at the home of one of his father’s friends and—well, let us say it was about a young daughter of the friend. The insinuation was quashed but most dowagers are now wise enough to keep their daughters from his way.”
“Is he of the Worcester Darbys?” Geoffrey asked, now seated at the edge of his chair.
“There are no others remaining of the family but the Worcester branch. But enough of gossip. What is to be done with Miss Aderly?” he persisted.
“In the morn Audacia is being sent to Lord and Lady Darby at Worcester. They are to sponsor her this season,” Geoffrey answered tersely, his brow furrowed with concern.
“Is the man a fool? Has he no care for his daughter? How can he send her to them knowing what the son is?” Greydon asked in disbelief.
“Lady Darby was a close friend of Lady Aderly. I gather that she promised to take Audacia in hand when she came of age when that good lady died. Besides, Aderly is not much in London, nor does he peer over the puffs in the Gazette. His only interest is in his machines.
“I daresay he still believes the Darbys to be among the best of the quality. He asked me if I had heard of them of late but of course I had no idea. Damme,” the squire cursed, “I have already said I know nothing of the Darbys.
“I cannot go to Aderly without revealing this conversation, and what could I say if he asked why we were discussing his daughter? He’s no slow top. Could start asking more damning questions. What’s to be done?”
Roland eyed his friend closely. “What’s the chit to you that your hackles are raised so?”
“A friend, a damned good friend, and a lamb when it comes to Darby’s sort. I told you before that I would not see harm done her.”
“If you’re so keen on the wench, why don’t you offer for her,” the earl returned, with more spirit than he meant to use.
“That I may,” Geoffrey threw back, rising. “She is as fine a woman as there is to be found in the kingdom.”
“There is no need for such extreme measures, yet,” Greydon retorted a bit hastily. “Darby was sent to Cornwall to rusticate.”
“Why did you not tell me that from the first?”
“I wasn’t asked.”
“Your pardon, my lord . . . your honour.” Stein’s quiet voice made the two men realize they had been shouting. “Shall I serve you now?”
“I should like to dine alone,” Greydon told him.
“Very well, my lord.” Webster made a mock bow. “Bring my lunch to the library, Steins,” he ordered and stalked out of the chamber.
Greydon accepted his tray and waved the butler and his valet, who had entered behind the other, out of the chamber. Picking up his spoon, he tasted the broth, but it aroused no interest. Dropping the spoon disgustedly into the bowl, he lay back and closed his eyes.
Immediately he saw Audacia, wrapped in the woollen blanket, seated before the cottage’s fireplace. The black velvet of her half-dried hair framed her sturdy face. He longed to reach out and touch the softness of that black wealth, to look deep into those constantl
y changing, challenging eyes.
With a start, Roland shook himself. “Want to make a bloody fool of yourself,” he muttered. What is it about the chit that makes me moon like a green youth over a first love? I know her not.
Anger mingled with his strange yearning to know more of the girl. But Geoffrey had shown a particular interest and Roland was determined none of his family would ever again be the cause of pain to his friend.
* * * *
A few bites of food from his plate were enough for Geoffrey and he pushed it away. Why did I lose my temper with Roland? he pondered. His curiosity about Audacia bothers me not. Then what? The squire rose and began pacing.
That Roland can be drawn to shouting is a certain sign of his interest in Audacia, Geoffrey thought, and I bungled the handling of that. Pausing before the windows, he saw his one-armed reflection and cursed. “That’s it, fool. Look at yourself.”
Mayhap Roland is not far from the mark, he thought. Audacia would make an excellent wife. She has never looked at me with pity like some. “Oh, God,” Geoffrey moaned and turned from the window.
That’s why I was angry. Why didn’t I realize it earlier? The only way to help Audacia is to go to London, and if I do that I cannot help but see Lucille and that look of pity that has been a haunting spectre these last years. So it has come at last, he thought bitterly. Now you have no choice but to face it through.
* * * *
“Is your packing completed, daughter?” Sir Maurice asked when Audacia came to his workroom to bid him good night.
“Yes, Father, there was not much to be taken. My gowns will be frightfully out of style.”
“Do not fear for that. I have attended the matter. It is one of the reasons I wish you to leave so early. Lady Darby will be a much better guide in selecting the proper fashions than I. I have prepared letters for her explaining what I wish and also a draft for you from which you may draw for pin money. Buy all the furbelows and geegaws you like. Remember, you are to enjoy yourself,” he told her as he turned his cheek for her kiss.
Audacia nodded, but was totally unconvinced that enjoyment could be found in the purchase of anything as farcical as geegaws.
“You may even encounter your brother in London,” Sir Aderly noted, trying to hearten her.
“Daniel?”
“What other? He wrote and asked if he might go with Viscount Hillern and a friend. I received his letter just yesterday and will write on the morrow granting my permission if you wish.”
“Oh, Father,” Audacia gave him a crushing hug. “That would be absolutely marvellous!”
“Fine then. Now off with you. We shall be rising early. The mail coach will halt at the crossing around six and we must be there. Mr. Ballin and I shall drive you and Miss Strowne.”
“Could you not come to London, Father? Then there would be no need for my going to the Darbys,” Audacia asked hopefully.
“I may, I may. We shall see. But you must go, for as I said, gowns and frills are not for me to choose. Sleep well.”
Abed a short while later, Audacia found that sleep came quickly, but with it came wild, odd dreams of Daniel and Geoffrey with the Earl of Greydon ever in the shadow of their steps.
Chapter 8
Audacia looked uneasily to Miss Bea when the stern-faced butler at Lord Darby’s said she should follow him. Alone.
The past three days had been filled with eye-widening sights for the young woman, who could not remember her only journey to her home near Bedworth. More than once during the days of bone-jarring, flesh-chilling, body-bruising travel, she had been thankful for Miss Bea’s steady reassuring presence. Having reached Malvern by late afternoon, the pair had hired a post chaise and arrived at the Darby estate after sunset, where they hoped for quiet and rest.
The sight of the huge Gothic mansion, shadowed against the moonlit sky, had chilled than comforted. The mounted gargoyles and myriad reflecting windowpanes reminded Audacia of staring eyes. There wasn’t a hint of welcoming warmth. Even the park they drove through to reach the main entrance of the house was filled with bare-branched shadowy shrubs, which brought her father’s fearful tales of haunting spirits to mind.
When they had stepped from the coach, Audacia had glanced up at the stretch of overgrown ivy, which had spread out like a cloak to cover the windows, and resolved not to be separated from Miss Bea.
The stiff faced butler turned to see that the young woman was hesitant to leave her companion. “Miss? Your woman will be seen to. We must not keep her ladyship waiting,” he clipped impatiently.
“Of—of course,” Audacia answered unsteadily, unaccustomed to so abrupt a manner. She brushed at her wrinkled and worn pelisse in an attempt to smooth some of the travel creases from it as she followed his steps.
The great corridor the butler led her through was as wide as the morning room back home and Audacia was agog at it and at the golden candelabras mounted on the linen-fold panelled walls. Only a few stubby candles burned in these instead of the full complement, and Audacia could only wish for more light with which to examine the wonders that appeared as they progressed.
Passing a full suit of armour standing with jousting staff in the metal gauntlet, she was reminded of tales of knights of old and wondered if some member of the family long ago had been a true gallant. A richly coloured woven tapestry of an Elizabethan court scene caught her eye. Its value reminded her of the wealth of her mother’s friend. So absorbed was she in the court scene that it was not until she had walked squarely into the butler that Audacia realized he had halted and opened a door, awaiting her to enter.
“Oh, my,” she stammered. She stepped back and reached to straighten her poke bonnet. Miss Bea’s admonition never to apologize to servants rang in her ears at the butler’s glowered disapproval. She lowered her gaze quickly and with a sinking heart entered the large chamber.
A parsimonious fire flickered in the massive fireplace. An unnecessary fire screen of oriental design, much like one that Audacia had read about the Prince of Wales having at Brighton, stood behind a chair. A small table was placed next to the fire. Seated in a chair near this table, bent over an embroidery hoop before her, sat a large-nosed, stern-faced woman who looked to be of Sir Aderly’s age. Though robed in a faultless empire gown, the lady’s plumpness defeated the dress’s intended decorative effect.
Audacia took heart and strode purposefully toward the woman, halting just a few steps from her. She began to tap her foot and clasped her hands behind her back when the woman paid no attention to her. “My lady,” she ventured finally.
“I shall address you when I see fit, young lady,” Lady Darby answered, her rounded shoulders bent over her stitching. “Be silent till spoken to.”
With a deep frown, Audacia glanced about the room. It was a huge square so large that the light from the fireplace was far too meagre for her to make out much of its contents. The fireplace itself was surrounded by an exquisitely rendered series of carved biblical scenes.
“Now, miss—I take it you are Miss Aderly,” Lady Darby said. She slowly raised her eyes to inspect the figure before her.
Warmth rose to Audacia’s cheeks at this blatant scrutiny. Resentment flared then waned as a wave of fatigue swept over her. She tried to stifle a yawn.
“You may stay the evening . . . and perhaps one other day. It could be pleasant to reminisce about your mother, I suppose. But, my dear, your father misunderstood my intent in regard to you,” the viscountess said coldly. She cocked her head as she assessed Audacia’s form.
“My father asked that I give these to you upon my arrival,” Audacia told the woman tonelessly, wishing to end the interview and be allowed to retire. Withdrawing the sealed letters and money drafts from her reticule, she handed them over.
The letters, unopened, were tossed casually atop the table. The bank drafts, however, were greedily scanned, and a bright smile came over the woman’s face as she stared at first one, then the other.
“Why you must be exhau
sted,” she crooned, rising. “How unkind of me to keep you standing in this chilled room.” She pulled the bell cord, retrieved the letters, and then put an arm around Audacia’s shoulders and guided her toward the door. “It was such a charming letter I had from your father,” she twittered, her chin wriggling comically. “Why, we had forgotten you would be of such an age. The years pass too quickly do they not? How does your father fare?
“Oh, here is Trotter. He shall take you to the Green Room. It has a small antechamber. You did bring an abigail? Your father had mentioned that you would?”
“Yes, my lady,” Audacia replied, wishing Lady Darby would not hover quite so near.
“She can sleep in that small chamber. It will be quite comfortable. Would that please you?” she gurgled. “When you are rested in the morn we can talk about plans,” the viscountess continued without pausing to let Audacia speak.
“Take Miss Aderly by way of the solarium, Trotter. The Green Room,” she ordered with a curt nod.
“Sleep well, my dear.”
Too tired to delve into the reasons behind Lady Darby’s sudden change in attitude, Audacia curtsied tiredly and followed the butler, thankful to be allowed to retire for the evening. “Plans,” as Lady Darby said, could be laid in the morn.
With Trotter leading her unbidden guest from sight, Lady Darby took the skirt of her high-waisted gown in hand and hurried down the hall. A hard yank on the first bell cord she came to produced the housekeeper and one of the maids. “To the Green Room, both of you. Get the dust covers off the furniture and be quick about it. Trotter is taking Miss Aderly there but will go through the solarium first. Where is the abigail?”
“In the kitchen, my lady,” replied the wizened housekeeper, Mrs. Scrannot.
“Send her and a footman to manage their baggage. You should be finished in the room before they reach it.”
“Of course, my lady.”
Turning from the servants, Lady Darby twittered gleefully as she hurried towards her husband’s chambers.
“I thought the Aderly miss wasn’t to stay,” the maid spoke lowly to the housekeeper as they began the long flight of stairs to the upper floor.
