Mrs. Tibbet didn’t help. Anne’s plans to aid her with the chores were scoffed at summarily, although there was a grateful twinkle to be detected behind her spritely grey eyes. She assured Anne, however, that household matters were in fine fettle. This Miss Derringer had no difficulty believing, for the crescent positively sparkled and in every corner there were huge baskets and epergnes. These were filled with ferns, poppies and a brilliant array of English country roses. The air was scented and sweet, mingled only with the clean smell of soaps, carbolic, starch and crisp, well-aired linen.
How the bevy of maids attended to all these matters, Anne could not imagine, for, like a truly well run household, they were almost never seen, though their presence lingered refreshingly in the neatness of the anterooms and in the dust-free marbles and in the Sevres china that was scattered artfully on shelves and occasional tables. The billiard rooms had been opened and aired; the cellars, by all accounts, were being well utilized, some of my lord’s finest burgundy, hock and claret being sampled well into the early hours.
Now, at last, Anne could see the last of the riders set off on their trail across country to Lord Anchorford’s estate. Just why he could not accommodate the party remained a mystery to Miss Derringer, who privately thought the absent earl much put upon by his guests. Still, he was obviously generous to a fault, and Anne, already beset by a very soft spot for the errant earl, could not find it in her heart to berate him for such a truly honourable shortcoming.
Perhaps, now that Carmichael Crescent was free again, she could venture into the gardens with the children. They could fish by the stream and supplement the evening’s menu with a nice basketful of trout. Not that it needed supplementing, of course, but the activity itself would most likely be beneficial. She drew away from the window and shut the festoon blinds with a flourish.
“Tres bien, mes infants! Close your books. That is enough dreary work for one day. All the hard work vanishes, I promise you, when you travel to Paris. Perhaps you shall, some day, now that the war is over.”
Her words were quite lost to her charges, who slammed the offending books closed and clamoured to alternately cat call and hug her. An unexpected lump rose to her throat. She loved them, these little scamps. The thought was a revelation to her, for up until now, she had thought mostly—and on similar terms, though she would have been loath to admit it—of their debonair half brother.
She patted Kitty’s bouncy, irrepressible copper-coloured curls and laughed. Tom stepped back and grinned saucily. “Shall we fish?”
“You shall fish. I, however, shall be very ladylike and take up my pastels. How long do you think you rascal-lions need to get ready?”
“We are ready now!”
“Gracious, Tom! Not even I would be so foolhardy as to recommend you take up fishing in your present attire! Go change, I beg you, and be brief! Kitty, do not forget a parasol and some of that excellent unction de maintenon I made up for you yesterday. That should keep the freckles from your face!”
“Miss Derringer, it shall be an age before we are ready!”
“Nonsense, not if you run, slide down the front banister and cross quickly over to the south side. You should be in your chambers in an instant!”
Tom giggled. Kitty chuckled merrily, the sudden smile miraculously removing faint shadows from her face.
“You really know nothing about governessing, do you?”
“Not a jot!” Miss Derringer was strangely cheerful for such an appalling admission. “Perhaps you shall instruct me as we go. You, after all, have had the benefit of several governesses.”
“All of them singularly trying!”
Anne’s eyes twinkled. “I wonder? Was it not you, my sweet ones, who were so singularly trying?”
“Only because they had no notion how to go on! You, on the other hand ...”
“... have every notion! And my notion is that if we do not hurry, the day will be over before we set out. I must beg a lunch basket from Mrs. Tibbet, grab a bonnet and then we shall make haste. Shall we meet over by the stream? Tom, can you fetch my easel? Thank you.” Miss Derringer, energized by this sudden change of curriculum, winked at her charges and set off primly down the marble corridors. She had no premonition whatsoever of what was next to occur.
Lady Caroline Dashford surveyed the pretty blue chamber with an eagle eye. It was hung with azure cretonnes offset by cheery, daffodil-coloured muslin blinds. Her nightstand was of cherry oak, but the bedstead was of the very height of fashion—iron emblazoned with balls and rails. Lady Caroline, however, thought she might prefer brass.
Her stockinged feet slid over the Kidderminster rug noiselessly. She approved of that, for it was the very height of exquisite taste and luxury. Perhaps, when she was countess, she would have it removed to her own quarters. Mind you, more likely than not, she would merely procure another such a one. Certainly, the walls would be rehung with patterned silk, and the beds—well, unless they were four-poster or brass at the very least, they would be relegated to the nursery or servants’ quarters.
With a little smile, she contemplated life as the newest Lady Edgemere.
It was all so simple. Just as soon as that sapskull Robert handed over the diamond necklet, she would wear it downstairs to dinner and coyly announce that they had a declaration to make. Robert could hardly cry off with half the eyes of the ton staring at him—and at the lavish gift he had just bestowed upon her. She felt, rather smugly, that she had been sufficiently careful with her reputation for no suspicion to attach to her baser motives. Robert would be in a spot, and there was only one way out of it. Marriage, she had come to see, had its advantages. Despite the evidence of her looking glass, she knew, with more than faint dismay, that she was not getting any younger. It was imperative that she land her fish now, before it was too late.
And that vile governess... for all her modest attire she did not trust her an inch. Robert had been behaving unaccountably strange lately. She must have a care.
To this end, she threw down her curling papers and called in her dresser.
“Jane!”
It did not take long for the excellent Jane to appear from the dressing room, where she had been repairing a tear to one of the modish bombazine walking dresses she had sole charge of.
“Ma’am?” She bobbed a curtsy and waited on her mistress’s pleasure.
“Jane, I wish you to dress my hair in a psyche knot. I believe the curls will show to great effect over my new poke bonnet.”
“The azure straw?”
“Whichever else? Hurry, the men shall return soon, and I wish to appear at the best advantage.”
“You always do, ma’am!”
Lady Caroline sank into the settle with an air of supreme satisfaction. “I do, don’t I, my dear? If you manage the ringlets tolerably, you shall have my batiste gown with the mameluke sleeves. The colour, I find, is a trifle outmoded. Besides, that detestable governess was wearing something of that nature this morning.”
The maid did not point out that a faded dimity did not in any way compare with an exquisite chintz morning gown designed by Madame Fanchon. Lady Caroline’s loss was, after all, to be her gain. She pulled all the pins from madam’s hair and began brushing vigorously.
It was not her fault that Lady Caroline, at that moment, should choose to take her somewhat into her confidence. Neither was it her fault that she allowed the curling papers a little extra time in the bright, guinea gold hair. After all, anything that affected Lady Caroline’s stature must, necessarily, affect her own. With a prim smile, she fluttered over to the duchess and collected a handful of plumes.
“Now, ma’am, if I might make so bold, who is ye fortunate suitor? I believe in me excitement I may ’ave missed ‘is name.” She glanced slyly at Lady Caroline. “Like as not, ma’am, there be many as what would wish to shower you wiv diamonds and what not. You are like a honey pot and them gennelmen so many bees!”
Lady Caroline preened. It was true, what the maid said. She c
ould snap her fingers and have any number of gentlemen purchase trinkets and baubles. Indeed, she had many an interesting piece to show for it. What she did not have, however, was a ring. Since Lord Edgemere was so obliging as to be the wealthiest and highest ranking among her intimates, it was only fitting that he should provide it. Besides, there was no denying his other charms... .
“Jane, you should know-I do not gossip with the lower orders.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Jane lowered her eyes modestly and picked out a Japanese feather. No one would say her mistress was not the very height of vogue. Lady Caroline, encouraged by the youthful effect, relented somewhat. It would not do to be too harsh on the girl. She was, after all, a genius with curling papers. Besides, she didn’t count. She was simply a servant.
“I shall tell you this, Jane. He is quite the handsomest man of my acquaintance.” There! That could not have been plainer. Lord Carmichael, with his muscular, trim and quite overpoweringly masculine physique was obviously the gentleman to whom she obliquely, in a strictly ladylike manner, referred. As for his adorable, guinea gold curls that so exactly, to a shade, matched her own... she sighed. He was a fine specimen.
The maidservant’s eyes gleamed knowingly. The handsomest man of her acquaintance? She thought instantly of the rakish Sir Archibald Dalrymple. He had stolen a kiss in the courtyard once, and the very memory still made her wish to swoon. Yes, he was very dashing, bold Sir Archibald. And his dress sense! Superlative beyond belief. She couldn’t wait to be dismissed to the kitchens. It would be a fine thing to tell Jeeves. Jeeves was not bad himself and liable to be butler one of these days! Thank goodness Lady Caroline had had the notion to part with the batiste. Jeeves, she knew, would admire the mameluke sleeves.
Twelve
“Miss Anne, may I talk with you?”
“Of course, Mrs. Tibbet! Do you need help, after all? I thought, when I saw the table menus...”
“No, Miss Anne! Don’t you go worrying yourself about those! It is all under control, it is, except for the fennel which Morton swears he planted but which is now nowhere to be found. Like as not it was the marjoram he planted, for we have that bountiful. I shall have to send Bertha down to Lord Anchorford’s. Like as not the under gardener is probably not so half witted as our addlepated young Morton. A right dressing down I gave him. How, I ask you, am I to make a perigord pie without fennel? It is beyond comprehension.”
Miss Derringer knew better than to suggest a perigord could probably manage without the sprinkling of herbs. Mrs. Tibbet, when it came to household matters of great import, was fastidious to a fault. She therefore frowned sympathetically, agreed that Morton was more dim than wiled, and waited, patiently, for Mrs. Tibbet to reveal what was on her mind.
“There is a gentleman below stairs asking after you.
“Beg pardon?” Whatever Anne expected, it was not this. Mrs. Tibbet looked at her closely. She had her own suspicions about the state of Anne’s heart. But now, with a gentleman calling... She shook her head. “Usually the staff only receive callers on their half days, but I reckon that you, Miss Derringer, are different. I took the liberty of inviting him to the small parlour, for though he is not a gentleman if you understand my meanin’, he is nevertheless a very pleasant spoken fellow and rather above the likes of Jeeves and Morton and what have you.”
Anne was now more bewildered than ever. Who, in the world, could be calling on her? Who in the world even knew where she was? She had, of course, written to Lady Somerford, but receiving no reply had assumed the connection cut. Who, then?
When applied to, Mrs. Tibbet shook her head and stated that she was none the wiser, for though the gentleman had been kind enough to show her a card, she had never had a formal education and so could not, unfortunately, read. She reddened at this admission, and Anne resolved at once to offer her some tuition. She did not voice the thought, however, but nodded in a mystified manner and allowed Mrs. Tibbet to lead the way. Carmichael Crescent was so large that she could not yet trust herself not to get lost, especially with the amount of small parlours the establishment housed.
The man who paced the room anxiously beamed when he turned around and caught sight of her standing a little hesitantly in the doorway. Then he strode forward and took her hand so warmly that Mrs. Tibbet could be forgiven entirely for mistaking the circumstances. As it was, she looked intently at Anne, who smiled and introduced her to “Mr... . Clark, was it? from Messrs. Wiley and Clark.” The formal address and the gentle way in which Anne extricated her gloved hand quelled Mrs. Tibbet’s half-formulated surmises. She bobbed politely, then excused herself, listing a dozen things at least that required her immediate attention. Then, carefully allowing the requisite three inches of open door—Anne was amused to see she was still being treated as a lady rather than an upper servant—Mrs. Tibbet took her leave.
After gazing at Anne for a moment—for all his boyish detective work, he had quite forgotten how beautiful she was—Ethan Clark stepped forward and handed her a package.
Anne raised her brows.
“Whatever is this, Mr. Clark? Surely not an early Christmas present in June?”
“I hope it will be welcome whatever the month, Miss Derringer! It was a regular song and dance I had to find you. Still, if you find the contents to your liking, I shall be well satisfied.”
“Mr. Clark, you are mystifying me! Whatever can ... oh!”
Anne startled as a handful of banknotes fell to the ground.
“What in the heavens is this?”
“Heavens is right, Miss Derringer. That star, Polaris, you were telling me about. Well, it came in.”
“The star came in?” Anne looked at Mr. Clark solicitously. Was he quite well? Was he headed, sadly, for Bedlam? She shook her head and retrieved some of the notes.
Mr. Clark saw her reticence and chuckled. “Jove, I am a gabster! Not the star, the ship!”
“Mr. Clark, the ship was sunk. Whatever are you talking about?”
“It was not the Polaris, but the Astor that sunk off the Eastern Hebrides. The Polaris came off unscathed and docked in Dover all right and tight.”
“Then ...” Anne paled.
“Then, you are rich, Miss Derringer.”
Anne closed her eves. She felt herself trembling, but ignored the sensation. She was made of sterner stuff.
“Mr. Clark, exactly how much of a fortune do I possess?”
“I believe the total to be in excess of thirty thousand pounds, ma’am. The balance is being held in trust at Messrs. Wiley and Clark. My partner, Mr. Wiley, suggests you reinvest in some other merchant shipping.” He did not say that his partner had given up searching for her and had already exercised this option.
He merely smiled and offered Miss Derringer one of his impeccably clean, carefully monogrammed linen handkerchiefs.
“You must think me a watering pot, Mr. Clark! Though pleasant, I find this news nonetheless a shock.”
“People have swooned for much less a reason, Miss Derringer. I hope, though, that the news is not too late.”
“Too late?” For an instant, Anne was puzzled. Then she smiled.” ”Oh! You mean, I collect, my reduced circumstances. Mr. Clark, you may not believe it, but I have truly been happier as a governess than as an idle lady of quality.”
“You are fortunate, then. The life of an upper servant can, I believe, become precarious.”
Anne’s eyes sparkled as she recalled just how precarious it could be. Lord Edgemere was a hard master to work for. Not because he was unduly harsh, but because he was so excessively... what was the word she was seeking? Magnetic? Attractive was too tame an appellation. She would have to mull it over in the privacy of her chamber. But not now! Already, Mr. Clark was regarding her faint blush with interest.
She decided to turn the subject to lighter matters and was just commenting on the delightful spell of warm weather when Mrs. Tibbet made a cautious return.
“Jason has just watered your horses, sir. I suspect, from the look
of you, to stop with us a mite? that you have travelled far today. Would you like to stop with us a mite? Though we are at sixes and sevens with our houseguests, I have a leftover joint of beef and a trussed turkey going abegging.”
“How very kind! I would love that, though I fear I must look horribly unkempt for you to notice my travel-stained state!”
“Tush! It is no more than can be expected with the country road such as it is! Did you come by the pike?”
So followed a pleasant and desultory discussion of which, it must be said, Anne heard nothing.
Presently, however, she remembered her charges and gasped in dismay.
“Tom and Kitty! I have abandoned them by the stream!”
“Where like as not they are getting into a great lot of mischief but none that you need worrit your pretty little ’ead, over, Miss Anne! Besides, his lordship is more like to laugh than turn you off if ever he found out!”
Mr. Clark laughed conspiratorially at the notion of Miss Derringer being dismissed. “Do not alarm yourself, Mrs. Tibbet! Miss Derringer will not have to concern herself with such things anymore. You shall not, shall you, Miss Derringer?”
Mr. Clark’s tone was playful as he turned to her. Anne dropped the parasol she had hastily retrieved from the occasional table. The gentleman was right! With her fortune, she had no business in the kitchen when she was a lady born. She had no business, in fact, hiring herself out as a mere upper servant. She would have to leave and leave at once! Neither Lord Edgemere’s nor her reputation could stand the scandal if she stayed.
And yet... how could she desert her charges? Though she had only been with them a short time, she knew that it would tug at her heartstrings to leave them to the tender mercies of Lady Caroline and the like. Besides, she was positive that they felt an equally strong attachment to her. It would be cruel. In her—rightly or wrongly—were pinned their hopes, trust and childish needs. She was not such a cad as to dismiss that out of hand. As for Lord Edgemere ... the desolation of not seeing him on such intimate terms again pained her so greatly she had to close her long, hopelessly dark lashes to the thought. The best she could hope for, in the future, would be a distant bow and faint moue of recognition. He might favour her with a dance, but never again a starry night alone with nothing but the stars and a two-inch telescope for company. She hadn’t even had that promised pleasure to treasure up in her memories. But her reputation! it was unthinkable, unthinkable to remain.
Seeking Celeste Page 12
