by Buck, Gayle
Lord Humphrey laughed. The two skirmishers left off battle and looked around, their expressions reflecting profound astonishment. At the same time, the occupants of the drawing room spilled out into the hall.
“Neville! Margaret!” exclaimed Lady Dewesbury. She hurried forward. She hugged both swiftly, then released them in gathering dismay. “Whatever are you doing here so early? Look at the both of you! You are soaked to the bone! Go up at once and soak in a hot tub before you catch your deaths!”
“Mama! Papa!” squealed the young lady. Deserting her mother, she threw herself into the earl’s arms. She placed a resounding kiss upon his cheek. “Oh, it is so good to be home!”
The young gentleman was not far behind in greetings, but he was much more circumspect, offering his hand to his father and Lord Ratcliffe. But when he came to Lord Humphrey, he grinned and feinted a punch at the viscount’s forearm.
“Well, brat? Have you been given the sack again?” asked Lord Humphrey, grinning, as he warded off the mock blow.
“No such thing! I am on holiday, I shall have you know! Yes, and so is Margaret. It is the jolliest treat! We are to be home a full month,” said the young gentleman.
The young lady turned again to her mother. She was trying unsuccessfully to undo the sodden satin bow of her ruined bonnet. “Mama, pray—!” Lady Dewesbury went at once to work on the knot and the young lady slewed her bright eyes round on the viscount. “Edward! You shall never guess! The new music teacher says that I dance quite divinely. And you once called me a clumsy ox, only for mashing a few of your worthless toes!”
Lord Humphrey turned to Joan. “If you have not already guessed it, this is my younger brother. Neville, make your leg to Miss Joan Chadwick, my betrothed. And that pert baggage is our sister, Miss Margaret Dewesbury.”
“Betrothed?” squeaked Margaret. Her large gray eyes widened to their full extent. She did not even notice that her mother had lifted away the disgraceful bonnet. “But I thought that Miss Ratcliffe was—”
Lady Dewesbury hurried to interrupt her youngest daughter. She threw a comprehensive glance at Lord Dewesbury’s descending glower. “You shall be told all about it in due course, Margaret. But for now you must go upstairs and get out of those clothes. You, too, Neville. No, Margaret! Not another word! Now come along, the both of you!”
Lady Dewesbury firmly marched her two slack-jawed progeny up the stairs. As they passed Joan, they stared hard at her with burning curiosity.
Joan nodded in a pleasant way and she smiled faintly. There seemed to be no end to the people to whom she was to become known as the viscount’s betrothed. The farce had grown to ludicrous proportions and was still gaining momentum. It only needed the neighborhood gossips to drop in for a chat with Lady Dewesbury, she thought with resignation.
At the turn of the stairs, Neville twisted in his mother’s clutches. “Papa! The carriage has thrown a wheel at the end of the drive. That was what we ran ahead to tell you!” he called.
The earl waved acknowledgment and turned to the butler. “Hudgens, call the proper men out. They’ll dislike this weather but it cannot be helped. Promise them an extra pint.”
“Yes, my lord.” Hudgens left at once to set the task in motion.
Lord Ratcliffe chuckled. “Quite an exciting time we are having, eh, Greville? The unexpected casts a fine burnish onto the days. Enough to keep us all upon our toes.”
Lord Dewesbury glanced toward Joan. “Indeed. One could wish for more comfortable times, however.”
Lady Cassandra had come last to the drawing-room door and had stayed well back from the latest flurry of greetings. Now she moved forward, snorting her disdain. “Stuff and fustian! What a dreadful bore you have become, Greville! I had thought better of you. One should not curl up one’s toes before the grim reaper ever appears! Miss Chadwick! You shall accompany me up the stairs. I am fatigued by the miasma of the hidebound and obstinate stupidity that emanates from a certain quarter!”
The earl’s face and neck flushed. His mouth tightened. “You, madam, have always meddled in matters that are not yours to command. I have held my tongue, but no longer. Be warned, Lady Cassandra! I shall not sit idly by for more of your insults and sly maneuverings.” He spun on his heel and strode down the hall until he reached his study. Entering, his lordship slammed the door with resounding force.
“Well! I am most impressed. Perhaps there is hope for Greville yet,” said Lady Cassandra with perfect calm.
“Grandmamma, I have also reached the end of my tether. Joan and I are agreed. There will shortly be changes made which will put a period to this pretty entertainment,” said Lord Humphrey grimly.
Lady Cassandra’s eyes narrowed. “I understand you, of course. Do as you think best, Edward! I have nothing to say about the matter, as Greville has so forcibly pointed out.”
Lord Ratcliffe looked from the viscount to Lady Cassandra with a puzzled expression. There was obviously something being said of some moment, but the key eluded him.
Joan took the elderly lady’s arm and drew her gently up the stairs. “Come, my lady. You will wish to rest before dinner.”
“You will come to my room and keep me company,” Lady Cassandra commanded.
Joan knew that her ladyship meant to wheedle out of her whatever had been decided between herself and the viscount. She shook her head. “I think not, my lady. But perhaps later after the company retires, if you wish it, I shall come to your room and read to you from a book of poetry.”
Lady Cassandra smiled. She said dryly, “Humoring the old woman, are you, my dear?”
Joan’s eyes twinkled even as she inclined her head. “Yes, my lady.”
Lady Cassandra chuckled, her good humor restored. “I like you. I always have. You don’t let anyone bully you about, including my grandson. You’ll come through with flying colors, my dear.”
Joan looked at her ladyship, wondering exactly what Lady Cassandra was alluding to. “What do you mean, my lady?” But Lady Cassandra merely smiled in a secretive fashion and Joan understood that she was not going to have her curiosity satisfied so easily after she had decided not to confide in her ladyship. Joan laughed and shook her head.
Chapter Twenty-two
That evening, dinner proved to be livelier and more congenial than at any other time since Joan and Lord Humphrey had arrived at Dewesbury Court. Joan looked around at those seated at the table. The company had swelled with the additions of Sir Thomas and Lady Athene and the viscount’s younger siblings, Neville and Margaret.
The conversation practically sparkled with the fresh gaiety provided by the two youngest members of the Dewesbury clan, and affected everyone, bringing ready laughter to the surface. Even the earl and Lady Cassandra were able to set aside their skirmishing at each other.
Joan was profoundly relieved. She had become heartily sick of the constant tension and the sniping that had been carried on over her head and to her face. It was refreshing to be able to enjoy a normal dinner conversation with her partners, who happened to be Lord Ratcliffe and young Neville.
Joan found that she liked Lord Ratcliffe. He was a quiet gentleman of thoughtful expression, and if his opinions were delivered at times in a ponderous fashion, it was but an amusing quirk of his character. Joan decided that his lordship was at heart a good-natured and a fair-minded gentleman. She knew that in regards to herself, Lord Ratcliffe had for reasons of his own made up his mind to accept matters for what they were and go on from that point. He apparently bore her no ill will for capturing the prize that by all intents was to have gone to his own daughter. In fact, his lordship made quite clear that his primary concern was not the viscount’s aberration from obedience, but his fall from grace.
“I will not disguise from you. Miss Chadwick, my profound dislike of all this high drama over Lord Humphrey’s betrothal to you. The earl and I have been friends nearly all our lives, and in the transport of celebration at the birth of my daughter, we exchanged a rash promise that I for one ha
ve come to regard as the silly mouthing of the moment, and certainly nothing that should have driven such a breach between Lord Dewesbury and the viscount,” said Lord Ratcliffe.
“Your feelings do you justice, my lord. It is an ill thing, indeed, for there to be division between a father and his son,” Joan said quietly. “But I do not know what can be done to heal the wound. Perhaps you, who have so much insight into the earl’s personality, might suggest a proper course, my lord.”
Lord Ratcliffe regarded her thoughtfully. “You speak gently, Miss Chadwick. However, the hint of steel in your own character makes itself well-heard.” He smiled at her. “I shall endeavor to use what influence I may upon the earl. As the father of the maligned lady, I suspect that my opinion must carry some weight.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Joan said, smiling in her turn.
She felt a pluck at her sleeve and she turned her head to her other dinner partner. “Did you wish to say something to me, Mr. Dewesbury?” she asked.
The young gentleman flushed. “You may call me Neville, ma’am,” he muttered.
“I am honored by the privilege,” Joan said gravely.
He shot her a suspicious look to see whether she was ridiculing him, but her expression reassured him. Neville’s face cracked into a broad grin. “I say, I do like you better than Augusta. That is what I wished to tell you, you see. She is always handing me such set-downs. Not that I regard it, of course. But I cannot bear the way that she has treated my brother. She was always lording it over him and positively crowed to the world that he was hers for the crook of her smallest finger. Poor Edward could do nothing about it, not when it was set in stone that he was to wed her. But you have fairly quashed that!”
“However true that may be, I think it would be kinder not to trumpet it about,” Joan said, a pronounced twinkle in her brown eyes.
Neville nodded sagely. “Aye, I understand, of course. I’ll not play the dastard and lord it over Augusta.” His blue eyes kindled and he said firmly, “No matter what provocation she offers me, I shan’t do it.”
“Certainly that would be the course of a born gentleman,’’ Joan said.
Neville’s narrow chest swelled with pride. He picked up his wineglass and looked about the table with a decidedly cockish air. Joan had to turn away to hide her laughter. Neville Dewesbury was young and idealistic and possessed a strong sense of outrage at injustice. She knew that she was going to enjoy watching him grow into manhood.
Still smiling with her amusement, Joan chanced to glance across the table and met the unfriendly stare of Margaret Dewesbury. The girl dropped her eyes to her plate. She fiddled with her fork, not really eating.
Joan shrugged. She was sad that the viscount’s young sister had taken her in such instant dislike, but she was not going to allow the girl’s opinion to dismay her. Either she would win Margaret over, or she would not.
Joan reflected that she had changed since coming to Dewesbury Court. She had always been one eager for friendship with everyone she came into contact with and cast down if that happy state was not achieved. In the beginning, the level of hostility that she had encountered at Dewesbury had made her actually physically ill. It had been a complete shock to her that anyone would regard her in the guise of an enemy. Lady Cassandra had attempted to prepare her in her own devious way, but her ladyship’s hints and abrupt switch from confidante to acquaintance had fallen far short of armoring her against the reality.
Experience had taught Joan with harsh haste that she could not expect to receive the goodwill of all those with whom she became acquainted. It had been a series of painful lessons, but Joan had gradually come to understand that her own self-worth did not necessarily depend upon the opinions of others.
She had told the viscount that she was seen as an upstart, a seductress, and a baggage, and it had been true. Perhaps the words had not been actually voiced, but they had been there in the accusing eyes of those about her. Joan had been distressed and shocked by that slanderous image of herself. She knew that she was none of those things, but to defend herself had been impossible. She had had to accept what was thought of her and then shrug it away as unimportant. She would remain true to herself, and though it was a difficult road she walked, she remained hopeful that in some way she would find herself vindicated.
Lady Dewesbury and Lord Ratcliffe seemed to have changed their opinions about her already, and for that Joan was most grateful. Sir Thomas and Lady Athene, though they had not expressed enthusiasm over the so-called betrothal between herself and Lord Humphrey, neither had they condemned it. Neville Dewesbury had come down soundly in her favor. Joan hoped that she would be able to mend matters between herself and the earl, that she could somehow win over Margaret, and that she could become friends with the remainder of Lord Humphrey’s immediate family. But if she could not, then she would accept the situation and find her friends outside the Dewesbury family.
Joan had not realized how long she had been reflecting until she saw Margaret’s eyes rise to meet her gaze. There was frustration and hostility and unease in the girl’s eyes, as though she was made uncomfortable by the length of Joan’s regard. Joan smiled and looked away, but not before she had caught the quick look that Margaret had tossed down the table at Miss Ratcliffe.
Joan took a breath, at once and completely understanding the source of Margaret’s hostility. She had assumed that the girl was reacting on her brother’s and her family’s behalf, but that had been erroneous. In that swift look of Margaret’s, there had been a combination of adoration and a desire to be recognized. Joan glanced also at Miss Ratcliffe, seeing her as Margaret must—beautiful, sophisticated, and feted. Miss Ratcliffe embodied what every young maiden wished for herself, thought Joan. The girl positively worshiped the ground that Miss Augusta Ratcliffe trod.
The revelation was a disturbing one, encompassing as it did Miss Ratcliffe’s spoiled nature. Miss Ratcliffe was obviously susceptible to flattery and certainly a young girl’s adoration was that. She was also selfish and disregarding where others’ feelings were concerned. Joan had been dealt personal experience at the lady’s hands in that regard and she had no illusion about Miss Ratcliffe’s sense of compassion. She could only hope that Margaret was not destined for a harsh disenchantment where Miss Ratcliffe was concerned.
When dinner was finished, the ladies withdrew into the drawing room to allow the gentlemen privacy over their port. They were not soon left to themselves, however, for the gentlemen all trooped into the room within the half-hour.
Joan elected to play softly at the pianoforte as an accompaniment to the conversation. She enjoyed music for itself, but in this instance it also served the purpose of gracefully excluding herself from the group. She preferred some quiet time in which to gather her forces of patience and civility, for every evening there was made some cutting or oblique reference to the ties that bound her to Lord Humphrey.
Vincent Dewesbury leaned his shoulder against the wall and observed his cousin’s betrothed with the connoisseur’s eye. Miss Chadwick was of passing good looks, but he thought there was nothing particularly remarkable about her. Her hair was brown, her eyes were brown, her skin the alabaster that so often characterized those of otherwise dark features; she was quick and graceful and ladylike.
Mr. Dewesbury’s gaze left Miss Chadwick to travel across the room to Miss Ratcliffe’s face. His mouth turned down in an odd half-smile. Miss Ratcliffe was a diamond of the first water and as unobtainable as the moon. His smile abruptly disappeared and he straightened from his negligent position to approach his uncle and engage the earl in conversation.
Lady Cassandra had badgered Lady Dewesbury in partnering her in a game of whist against Lord Ratcliffe and Sir Thomas and she was thoroughly enjoying the opportunity to show off her own trouncing skill at cards. Lady Athene stood at her husband’s shoulder, recommending now and then a particular card with a whispered word. Sir Thomas gave no hint that he actually listened to his lady’s advice, but played
a game as unhurried and deliberate as his own character.
Lady Ratcliffe quietly embroidered while she listened to her daughter’s sprightly discourse to Lord Humphrey and Margaret. The viscount’s expression was one of polite interest, but there was a distance in his eyes that hinted Miss Ratcliffe’s conversation was less than fascinating. His gaze strayed more than once to the young lady at the pianoforte.
The Harrington children had naturally been relegated to the nursery during the dinner hour, but they had been promised that they might be brought down later to the drawing room. When the door opened and the two boys spilled through it, followed by the nursemaid who carried the toddler, the sedate adult pace of the evening was shattered.
Lord Humphrey was at once dragooned by the twin five-year-olds into playing horse, which he laughingly obliged for first one and then the other. Neville volunteered to take on a rider and the towheaded boys squealed in delight as their noble steeds played at jousting. The toddler howled his rage at being excluded, but he was diverted to good effect by Margaret, who chased him from one sanctuary to the next in a course that crisscrossed the room.
Joan turned away from the pianoforte, greatly enjoying the children’s fun. She thought it particularly endearing of Lord Humphrey not to care that his cravat had been pulled out of its precise lines or that his hair had become mussed by little hands.
A small force suddenly careened into her knees and she looked down, startled. The toddler grinned up at her, his innocent eyes alight as he clasped tight the folds of her skirt. “Well, little man! Aren’t you the bold one,” Joan said, chucking him under his soft chin.
The tiny boy chortled and ducked his head to one side. He straightened and leaned against her again. “Din! Din,” he demanded.
Joan obliged him and he ducked aside again, giggling. It was a game that they played together for several moments until Joan bent down to hug him. “You are a sweet boy,” she whispered.
