by Buck, Gayle
The countess reached out and took her hand. She drew the unwilling young woman toward the settee that was situated under the room’s large bay window. “You shall confide in me, I insist.”
Joan realized that Lady Dewesbury had little intention of leaving until her curiosity was satisfied. Nevertheless, she made an appeal. “My lady, pray do not. It is nothing that must concern you.”
“Miss Chadwick, when you became betrothed to my son, everything about you must concern me,’’ Lady Dewesbury said forcefully. She saw that the young woman had averted her face as though struck, and she gentled her tone. “My dear, what is it?”
Joan rose hastily from the settee and took a quick step away. “I should not confide in you, of all people. Lady Cassandra ...” She broke off, realizing instantly that she had erred. It was a measure of her agitation that she had so easily betrayed herself. She turned back to face her hostess and tried to regain her ground. “Lady Dewesbury, I am most sorry to put you through such unpleasantness. I would undo it if I could, really I would. But it is such a tangle, I do not think that I would be able to take up my old life now.”
Lady Dewesbury received several impressions at once. The revelation that her mother was somehow involved was filed away for later contemplation. She was more concerned with Miss Chadwick’s obvious sincerity and what little that she had revealed. On the basis of a suspicion that suddenly reared its ugly head with her unwelcome guest’s words. Lady Dewesbury probed a little deeper. “I suppose that my son has much to do with your inability to, as you say, take up your old life?”
Miss Chadwick’s expression gave credence to the countess’s suspicion. Lady Dewesbury’s lips tightened briefly as she thought what questions she would like to put to a particular young gentleman. “Miss Chadwick, when I came up to you the viscount was pursuing you, obviously to take up a conversation that had been abruptly suspended. You were in tears—yes, I saw them, my dear. His lordship had been ill-tempered with you, hadn’t he?”
Joan tried to laugh, but the sound caught in her throat. “His lordship had never been so before, you see. Stupid of me, really. It was just that it came so swiftly after—” She brought herself up short. She did smile at the countess then, tremulously and politely. “Forgive me, my lady. I am not usually one to wear my thoughts on my sleeve. As you said, it has been a most fatiguing day.”
Lady Dewesbury saw that the young woman had at last gotten herself well in hand. She was not disappointed, however. What she thought she had gleaned had set her mind seething with further conjecture and strengthened suspicions. “I shall not disturb you further, then, Miss Chadwick. I shall see you again at tea, of course.”
Joan murmured assent and it was with relief that she saw her inquisitive hostess out of the bedroom.
With the sound of the outer door being shut, the door to the closet room opened and the abigail put her head around it. Her eyes were wide and held a conspiratorial expression. “Is it safe, miss?” she whispered sotto voce.
Joan laughed shakily. She dashed her hand across her eyes for the last time. “Yes, of course it is, Maisie.”
The abigail left her hiding place and came into the room. “I heard everything, miss. Begging your pardon and all, miss, but it is a proper turnabout, isn’t it? I heard ever so much from the upstairs maid, who was dusting the room when I came up with the trunks, and this Miss Ratcliffe is a regular tartar. She’ll not make it simple for you, I’ll warrant.”
Joan sighed. “It’s none of it simple, Maisie. It was perfectly ghastly this afternoon, and it can only become worse. Oh, Maisie! Whatever shall I do? I almost wish that I had never met his lordship.”
“No point in wishing that, miss,” said the abigail. She began to help Joan undress so that she could put on a fresh gown for tea. “You can’t go back, and especially after what has passed between you and his lordship.”
“No,” Joan agreed dismally.
Neither she nor the abigail realized that, behind them, the bedroom door was being softly closed.
Lady Dewesbury went along to her own rooms, very much shocked.
She had turned back to Miss Chadwick’s room, recalling that she had not given her guest the hour that dinner would be served. She had turned the knob and started to hail her guest, but she paused on hearing the abigail’s repeating of the servants’ gossip. Then she had been captured by Miss Chadwick’s reply and she had listened for a moment longer.
It was reprehensible of her to have eavesdropped. She knew that, and she was heartily mortified by her uncharacteristic action. But she was glad, too, that she had heard what she had, for it made some sense out of her son’s unprecedented departure from obedient duty.
However, the thoughts that had been set in motion in her mind were disturbing ones, and Lady Dewesbury was not at all certain that she wanted to learn more about what was behind the strange engagement between her son and Miss Chadwick.
As it was, the household was in an uproar.
Her husband was out murdering innocent birds. She could never become used to that, even if one could later justify it by serving fowl at table.
Her dearest and best friend was furious and would probably shake the dust of Dewesbury Court from their heels, never more to be heard from. She could scarcely blame Aurelia, but it was so utterly unfair that their friendship was threatened, and through no fault of her own.
The rest did not bear thinking of. She would much rather shut her door and wait for everything to be resolved without her. However, she could hardly avoid the situation when everyone must meet again at tea.
Chapter Thirteen
Tea was almost as uncomfortable as the initial meeting.
Joan knew herself to be ill-at-ease, but she made a gallant attempt not to appear so. She had chosen to wear one of her most flattering day gowns in hopes of giving herself courage. The long-sleeved gown was a pale lavender muslin and was tied close under the bosom with gray satin ribbons. She knew that she appeared at her best and therefore she was able to meet the gazes of those already in the drawing room with an air of quiet confidence. She paused on the threshold.
Lord Humphrey crossed the room at once to lead her in. His gray eyes appeared shuttered and his expression was distant when he glanced down into her face, but nevertheless Joan derived some comfort from his presence. “Miss Chadwick, I am glad that you have joined us,” he said.
“It is my pleasure, my lord,” Joan murmured.
He looked at her sharply, suspecting her of sarcasm, but there was nothing in her expression to point to it. “You know my grandmother, Lady Cassandra, of course.”
“My dear Miss Chadwick. I hope that you have found everything to your taste?” asked Lady Cassandra, amusement tingeing her voice.
Brief annoyance flashed in Joan’s eyes. “I am not at all disappointed, Lady Cassandra. Quite the reverse, in fact,” she said. Her reply was just pointed enough to convey something of her feelings.
Lady Cassandra laughed.
While Lady Cassandra still chortled, Lord Humphrey hurriedly turned Joan toward his mother and the gentleman who stood beside her. “I was remiss earlier in not making proper introductions. This is my mother, Lady Dewesbury, and my godfather. Lord Ratcliffe, Miss Joan Chadwick.”
“How do you do, my lady, my lord,” said Joan, offering her hand to each in turn. Though Lady Dewesbury and Lord Ratcliffe acknowledged her with cool reserve, their greetings also reflected proper civility.
Joan’s worst fears loosened their hold on her. She had been prepared for more outbursts or at the very least patent hostility. Apparently, the countess and Lord Ratcliffe had at some time between this and the last meeting concluded that the matter should be handled with more decorum.
Joan was surprised when Lady Dewesbury went so far as to compliment her on her appearance. “Thank you, my lady.”
Lady Dewesbury knitted her brows as she surveyed Joan’s gown once more. She looked as though she wished to pose a question, but she apparently thought bett
er of it. Instead, she inquired of Joan how she preferred her tea.
Joan indicated that she liked her tea sweetened, with milk. She took the cup from her hostess’s hands, thanking her ladyship for the courtesy.
“Have you been long in this part of the country, Miss Chadwick?” Lady Dewesbury asked with her best hostess smile. She could not help noticing certain things about Miss Chadwick, most particularly the young lady’s well-bred manners. The girl was obviously quite used to taking tea in company.
Miss Chadwick was not a stunningly beautiful young woman, but Lady Dewesbury thought she was beginning to see what must have attracted Lord Humphrey to her. She had a certain dignified air about her. Her short dark curls provided a frame for her expressive brown eyes and her pleasant-featured face. She was well-turned-out, her gown the work of an obviously superior needlewoman, but Lady Dewesbury thought the choice of color too subdued. She presented an overall picture of quiet gentility that was reinforced whenever she spoke in her well-modulated voice.
“No, my lady. I think it is a very beautiful county, however, what I have seen of it in the last few weeks,’’ said Joan.
“Have you friends in the area, then?” asked Lady Dewesbury.
“Miss Chadwick has been staying with me for the last few days,” Lady Cassandra said, an edge of challenge in her tone.
“Indeed,” said Lady Dewesbury. It was another piece of the puzzle and it was almost irresistible, but she hoped that she was intelligent enough to see what her mother was about. She did not take up the gauntlet that her mother had so blatantly flung down, but instead turned again to her unheralded guest and set herself to engage Miss Chadwick into conversation.
Joan rose nobly to the occasion. She was used to the tone of such conversation, which was gently probing yet polite. As the vicar’s daughter, she had been the object of a good many well-meaning dames who had stirred themselves to an interest in her. It was old stuff to parry Lady Dewesbury’s veiled inquisitiveness, yet she did so in such a fashion as would not offend her ladyship by volunteering small impersonal tidbits about herself that would satisfy the lady’s curiosity for the moment.
“Yes, my lady, I quite enjoy drawing and music and other such gentle pastimes. One can find much enjoyment in expressing oneself creatively,” she said.
“Oh, yes,” agreed Lady Dewesbury. She was herself too clumsy to enjoy painting and she was so tone-deaf that music did not particularly appeal to her. However, such ladylike accomplishments proved nothing about Miss Chadwick’s background. Miss Chadwick looked and acted the part of a lady, but Lady Dewesbury wanted to know who her family was and their connections.
As he watched Joan, Lord Humphrey found himself reluctantly admiring her. He was still angry, both with himself and with Joan, but as he stood by in the presence of her quiet courage, he found himself wishing that circumstances were different. He would have liked to go over to her and make light conversation, as he would have done with any young lady whom he found attractive. But instead he was forced to make himself agreeable to his mother and to Lord Ratcliffe, with an eye to persuading them to accept his wife’s—or Miss Chadwick’s—presence.
For his mother’s benefit, he had decided almost immediately that his best present course was not to seem too protective or possessive of his betrothed. It would give Lady Dewesbury the time she needed to adjust to Joan and to learn a little about her without the irritant of his own interference, he thought. He was well aware that he was in deep disgrace and quite unforgiven. That had been made perfectly clear to him by the countess.
Lord Humphrey had been greeted upon his entrance into the drawing room by a reproachful look from his mother. She had said nothing untoward to him, nor later to Joan, but the expression in her eyes had spoken volumes, he thought with a sigh. He suspected it would take some exertion on his part to convince her of the rightness of his actions. At least she had not cut up publicly again or given the cold shoulder to Joan. Indeed, he was astonished that his mother treated Joan with so little antagonism after that first disastrous meeting.
He was also pleasantly surprised by his own reception at Lord Ratcliffe’s hands. Though there had remained a degree of affront in the continued stiffness of Lord Ratcliffe’s manner, that gentleman had unbent enough to greet the viscount with a degree of warmth that earlier had been missing. Lord Humphrey felt his confidence go up a notch regarding his ability to bring around at least one of his godparents.
Lady Ratcliffe was an entirely different matter, however. She would naturally feel the insult sharper, having so obviously taken to herself her daughter’s indignation.
The viscount was unsurprised when Lady Ratcliffe did not come down for tea. Lord Ratcliffe had made her excuses gracefully, but the lady’s absence was still felt keenly by the gathered company as a measure of her disapprobation.
Lady Ratcliffe was not the only defector. Her daughter, Miss Augusta Ratcliffe, also did not put in an appearance. Lord Humphrey thought rather grimly that he was only too glad that Augusta had chosen to remain abovestairs. He was certain that when at last his erstwhile intended did decide to come down, they would all be treated to a rare show. He was not at all put out by Miss Ratcliffe’s absence.
However, Lord Humphrey was worried about the earl’s continued absence. He asked quietly of his mother, “Is his lordship returned?” Lady Dewesbury shook her head, an anxious pucker between her own brows.
Lady Cassandra heard the quiet question and she turned her eagle regard upon her daughter and grandson. “The earl is still behaving like a schoolboy, is he? I would not have thought it of him. I am surprised—yes, surprised that so worthy a gentleman indulges in such frightful tantrums.”
Lord Ratcliffe, seated in the wing-back chair beside Lady Cassandra, had full view of her ladyship’s expression. His heavy brows climbed into his hairline.
Lady Dewesbury pinned a determined smile to her face. “Do you wish more tea, Mama? I shall be happy to pour for you.”
Lady Cassandra showed her teeth in a wicked smile, but she did not make the acid reply that all thought she might. Instead, she merely proffered her cup to Lady Dewesbury.
Truth to tell, Lady Cassandra was feeling oddly off-balance. She had come down to tea prepared to defend Miss Chadwick from a vicious attack, but the attack had never materialized. It was not as though the betrothal had suddenly become accepted, but there were such strange undercurrents emanating from Lady Dewesbury and Lord Ratcliffe.
Lady Cassandra could not quite put her finger on the elusive change in atmosphere that she sensed, and it annoyed her. After a single sip of her freshened tea, she sat down her cup with force. “Pah! The tea has grown cold.”
Lady Dewesbury knew that to be untrue, but nevertheless she felt bound to turn her attention to smoothing over Lady Cassandra’s ill temper. She rose from her place beside Miss Chadwick on the settee and crossed over to bend solicitously over her mother.
Lord Humphrey seized the opportunity to exchange a few words with Joan. He leaned over the back of the settee. “You appear very fine this afternoon, my lady,” he said quietly.
Joan glanced around at him, coolness in her eyes. “A pretty compliment, my lord. To what should I attribute it?” Despite the challenge of her reply, she was sitting stiffly, proof that she was uncomfortable at his proximity.
Lord Humphrey grinned faintly to himself. The expression in his eyes rivaled the devilish glint that so often appeared in his grandmother’s. He allowed himself the liberty of lightly brushing his fingers across the back of her neck as he folded his arms on the edge of the settee.
His touch electrified her, making her start. Joan gave an inarticulate gasp. “My lord! Pray do not!” She was acutely aware of him, only measurably less so of the others in the room. Lord Ratcliffe had some minutes before quietly excused himself from the conversation and taken up the day’s papers, but he was still within hearing distance and so were the countess and Lady Cassandra.
“What, my dearest Joan? I have
spoken for you, after all,” he said teasingly.
She very nearly turned on him then, the insult that he had flung at her quite vivid in her mind. But she caught herself back in time, having seen that Lord Ratcliffe’s eyes had left his paper and now rested thoughtfully on them.
“You will have the goodness to move away, my lord. Or I shall,” she said in a furious whisper.
Lord Humphrey realized that he had set up her back and he abandoned his teasing. He lowered his quiet voice even further. “I wished only to apologize, my lady. What I said earlier was both cruel and inaccurate. You are not in the least like that other lady. I spoke from hasty temper and I regret it.”
There was a short silence.
“I shall accept that, my lord. What choice have I, after all? We are irrevocably bound together in this strange alliance,’’ Joan said. She slid a glance from under her lashes at the viscount.
It was his turn for silence. “As you say, my lady.” He straightened and walked away.
Joan watched his lordship as he left her, not particularly unhappy that she had struck him such a foul blow. It was time he learned that her acquiescence was not to be taken for granted, and nor was it without cost. She had agreed to everything that he had wished, and because of it he had obviously never considered that she might question her role or, more to the point, his.
Her hurt and anger at Lord Humphrey’s unfair observation earlier that day had given her cause for unpleasant reflection, and she had come to see matters from an angle that did not allow for sentimentality. It was wrong of her, but she resented what had happened to her. Her life had been turned on its head, and though she had agreed to accept the change in her fortune, she could yet visit scathing thoughts on the viscount.
Joan had decided that Lord Humphrey had not often thought deeply about the feelings of others. Nothing in their relationship thus far had given to her the impression that he thought further than the moment, or perhaps the next moment.
He had treated her with a kindness and a gallantry that she had thought a reflection of a fine sensitive nature. But since he had returned to Blackhedge Manor, and more particularly since they both had come to Dewesbury Court, she was beginning to wonder whether she had divined him truly.
