She had agonized over the seating arrangement. The numbers were uneven, with more ladies than gentlemen, and it had been imperative that Asher and Mrs. Manley be seated nowhere near Ormsby. Which meant she kept Asher and Mrs. Manley at her end of the table and left her father to cope with Ormsby at the other end. The Birrels were placed in between to act as a buffer, with Mrs. Birrel seated next to her father, across from Ormsby. If Mrs. Birrel thought it strange that she and not Mrs. Manley was seated next to her host and that her husband was placed in the middle of the table instead of at Juliana’s side, she gave no sign. Feeling that the most danger would come from Asher, Juliana made certain that the vicar and Serena sat between Ormsby and Asher on that side of the table.
From the various compliments made about the food from the guests, she had to assume that it was delicious, but she might as well have been eating sweepings from the stable floor for all the pleasure she took from the meal. Once she glanced up and from the other end of table found Ormsby’s eyes on her and the expression in their depths was not friendly. It was apparent that the marquis had guessed that it was she and not her father who had invited all of the other guests including Asher and Mrs. Manley. Even though a frisson of fright trickled down her spine, she met his gaze and sent him a dazzling smile. Bastard!
Having watched her push her food around on her plate all through dinner, Mrs. Manley murmured, “My dear, it is not so very awful. We are almost through our meal and no blood has been shed so far.”
“The evening isn’t over,” Juliana said mournfully.
Mrs. Manley smiled. “True, but you can rely on Asher to behave himself—he was raised a gentleman, even if at times he doesn’t act it.”
Juliana glanced at Asher and he flashed her a sunny smile that did nothing to calm the turmoil in her breast. Her anxiety increased as the meal came to an end and she faced the unhappy prospect of leaving the gentlemen alone in the dining room with their port and brandy. With only her father and the vicar to run interference between Asher and Ormsby, could disaster be far behind?
To her great relief and gratitude, when the meal ended and the ladies rose to leave the room for the front parlor, Asher followed suit. Looking down the long table at her father, he said, “I hope you forgive me, sir, if I join the ladies?” He glanced at Mrs. Manley before returning his gaze to Mr. Kirkwood, and added, “I am driving a young pair of horses tonight that are known to be fractious and my grandmother has requested that I keep as clear a head as possible.” He grinned. “She says she has no intention of being ditched on the way home.”
Mr. Kirkwood smiled. “Even a bit foxed, I doubt that someone with your skill at the reins would allow that to happen. But, yes, certainly, go with the ladies.” For different reasons, as much as Juliana, Mr. Kirkwood had been dreading the moment the ladies left the room and eager for the protection afforded by the female contingent, he seized on the opportunity Asher has provided him. He looked at the other two men and suggested, “Unless someone has an objection, shall we all join the ladies?”
“An excellent idea,” concurred the vicar, having concluded that for unknown reasons, his role and that of his family tonight was to keep Ormsby from cornering his host. Confident that his friend would explain all to him at the earliest moment, the vicar rose to his feet and threw down his napkin, saying. “I think a cup of coffee with the ladies will do very nicely.”
If Ormsby disliked this turn of events, he gave no sign, and with the other gentlemen accompanied the ladies into the front parlor. The ladies had just selected their various seats, when Hudson, followed by a footman, entered the room with a pair of silver trays holding the implements and items necessary for tea and coffee. A plate of dainty lemon biscuits and one of thinly sliced gingerbread had been added for those who might like something else to nibble on as they drank their tea and coffee.
After everyone was served, as Juliana had hoped, the Birrel girls, ably assisted by their mother, chatted on about how ill poor Thalia was and how Lord Caswell’s letters cheered her to no end. With misgiving Juliana noted the tightening of Ormsby’s mouth at the mention of those letters, and she braced herself for trouble.
His pale blue eyes cold as ice fixed on Mr. Kirkwood, Ormsby murmured, “But what is this? Before I left London I heard that there was no question of an engagement between them. It is my understanding that Caswell had not come up to scratch.” A warning smile on his face, he added, “Surely, you are not still thinking that they will make a match of it?”
Mr. Kirkwood was clearly at a loss to answer this bold attack and he threw an agonized glance to his daughter. Juliana’s heart sank right down to her toes and she geared herself to confront the marquis. His words had to be refuted at once, because as dear and delightful as they were, unaware of what was going on, it would be impossible for the Birrels to keep this conversation to themselves. And if Caswell were to hear of it…She swallowed. He’d hotfoot it to their doorstep and demand an explanation from Thalia, measles or no, ill or not, and Mr. Kirkwood. She didn’t see either her sister or her father being able to keep secret the existence of those wretched letters and then, she thought wearily, the cat would truly be thrown amongst the pigeons.
Desperately she sought for a reply that would undo Ormsby’s words, yet not cause a terrible scene. Help came from an unexpected quarter.
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” said Mrs. Manley. “Of course, Caswell came up to scratch and everyone knows they’re in love. Without a doubt, Caswell and Thalia will marry—most likely before the end of the year.” She smiled thinly at Ormsby. “You know, Bertram, you really shouldn’t listen to gossip. It is so frequently wrong—usually spread by ignorant and low-minded individuals who have no inkling of the truth. You would be wise to keep that particular bit of scandal broth to yourself.”
Ormsby’s face darkened and he snapped, “I would remind you, Madame, that I left the schoolroom a long time ago and am not in need of any lectures from you.”
For Juliana and his grandmother’s sake, Asher had been on his best behavior. Well aware that they had been invited to dinner to lend aid, not create trouble, he hadn’t needed the reminder from his grandmother on the way to the Kirkwoods’ this evening to mind his tongue—and he’d done a good job of it…until now. It was beyond him to allow anyone, but especially Ormsby, to take that tone with his grandmother.
From his position near Mrs. Manley, like a big lazy tiger, Asher straightened. His eyes boring into Ormsby’s, he said coolly, “You may have left the schoolroom many years ago, my lord, but it appears that you didn’t learn anything before you left. I think you owe my grandmother an apology and Mr. Kirkwood as well.” He smiled, showing his excellent teeth. “It isn’t very gentlemanly to spread such scurrilous gossip or to speak so impolitely to your elders—especially, a woman of my grandmother’s station and years.”
Aghast, Juliana stared from one man to the other, the violence and hostility swirling between them an almost palpable thing. Not six feet away, they faced each other, Ormsby’s face filled with rage, Asher’s expression expectant and watchful.
Asher held himself loosely, his blood tingling with excitement, ready if Ormsby should go so far as to forget himself and launch an attack. It was regretful this confrontation was happening here and now, but Asher welcomed it—he hoped, nay, was praying that Ormsby would come at him.
Juliana glanced wildly from one man to the other, her brain scrambling for a way to salvage this impossible situation and avert bloodshed. Staring at them, it suddenly struck her how much, in this moment fraught with violence, alike they looked. The resemblance wasn’t obvious, although they were similar in build, both tall, broad-shouldered, slim-hipped men, Asher the taller by perhaps an inch. Both had black hair and olive complexions, but there was something…. She couldn’t put her finger on it precisely, but she knew that it was something that wouldn’t ordinarily be noticed by anyone, something about the way they held themselves, something about the pugnacious jut of the jaw, the taut
line of the mouth….
She shook herself. She was imagining things and now was no time to go wool-gathering. Determined to prevent the situation from deteriorating even more, she leaped to her feet and catapulted between the two men. Standing between them, after flashing each man a stern look, she said firmly, “That’s enough! I’ll not have the pair of you brawling like ignorant savages in my father’s house. How dare you subject us to such a scene!”
The others in the room had been transfixed by the astonishing scene unfolding before them, but at Juliana’s words, the vicar blinked and said quickly, “Come, come, gentlemen. You are both men of reason.” He smiled at Asher. “I am sure that the marquis meant no insult to your grandmother.” His mild gaze moved to Ormsby. “And you, my lord, your words were perhaps harsher than they needed to be. Calm yourselves.” He coughed delicately into his hand. “I would remind you that there are ladies present…some very young ladies.”
For a tense second the two men remained as they were, poised like a pair of combatants on the battlefield, their eyes locked in a duel. Juliana was on the verge of throwing herself against Asher and dragging him away if necessary, when Ormsby’s gaze dropped. Mortified that he had allowed his temper to get the better of him and that tonight’s doings, which did not place him in a flattering light, would spread through the neighborhood and beyond, he sought to rectify the damage.
His face flushed with a combination of fury and embarrassment, he said stiffly, “My apologies to everyone. I am not myself tonight.” He bowed to the room in general and muttered, “It has been an…enlightening evening. Now if you will excuse me, I must be off.” And the next second he had strode from the room.
There was a stunned silence when the door shut behind him, and then Mrs. Manley said to no one in particular, “I must say that was better than any drama I have ever seen in a London theater.”
Juliana smothered a half-hysterical giggle, hardly daring to believe that the danger, for the moment, was over. “Riveting,” she managed as she took her seat again.
Asher sat down casually on the arm of his grandmother’s chair and teased, “Well, of course it was—and you must admit I played my role superbly.”
Juliana cast him a dark glance and he grinned at her.
Mrs. Manley tapped him smartly on his wrist with her folded fan and said dryly, “While I appreciate your intervention, I think you forget I’ve been dealing with the Beverley family for longer than you have been alive. Bertram needed a sharp set-down and I would have enjoyed giving him one.” She smiled impishly up at him. “But you did play your role very well, indeed.”
The vicar cleared his throat and slid his eyes to his two daughters, who were avidly watching this byplay. Recalled to her duties, Juliana looked to the young ladies and murmured, “If your parents have no objections, perhaps you would like a brief visit with Thalia before you leave tonight? I know she would be delighted to see you.”
Serena was clever enough to know that they were being gotten out of the way so that the adults could speak freely, but she had been raised properly and after receiving Mrs. Birrel’s blessings, she made no demure when Hudson arrived to escort them to Thalia’s room. She might not be privy to what would be said in the room she had just left, but oh, did she and Margaret have an exciting tale to tell Thalia!
The instant the door shut behind the girls and Hudson, Mr. Kirkwood said, “I do apologize to all of you for tonight’s unfortunate scene.”
“Oh, fiddle!” said Mrs. Manley. “The Beverleys are noted for their arrogant, overbearing ways and you don’t need to apologize for someone else’s bad behavior—and Bertram has never cared what people thought of his supercilious manner!” She sniffed. “He is far too arrogant to consider other people. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I know it is unchristian of me, but I cannot like Ormsby,” chimed in Mrs. Birrel. “I remember his nasty ways as a child and he was just as dreadful then.” She looked at Mr. Kirkwood. “Don’t you remember, Edmund? He was always bullying you or one of the other boys in the neighborhood or making the girls cry.” Her normally smiling countenance anything but, she muttered, “He used to pull your wife’s hair and mine, too, and frighten us with bugs and snakes. Juliet even called him a bully to his face when he pushed her into a mud puddle and ruined her new gown. He was an unpleasant boy and he grew up to be a most unpleasant man.”
“I didn’t know him as a youth, but I tend to agree with you, my dear,” said the vicar, adding with a smile, “and I don’t care if it is unchristian of me to say so. He treats his tenants badly and despite his wealth and my many requests for help has never lifted a finger to lend any aid to the indigent families in the area.”
“That’s the Beverley family for you—selfish to the bone,” Mrs. Manley said bluntly. “His father, Arthur, was every bit as clutch-fisted and indifferent to anyone’s comfort but his own—as is his son. Of course, it is no wonder that Bertram grew up to be just as grasping and haughty as his father.” She glanced at Mrs. Birrel for confirmation. “He was what, two, three years old when his mother died?”
Mrs. Birrel nodded. “Poor little mites. I was only a baby then myself, but years later, I remember my mother talking about those two motherless babes being left in the hands of that coldhearted man. There was no kindness in him—he was cold and cruel and not the man to have the care and raising of two young boys. She pitied them greatly.”
“And they deserved to be pitied,” Mr. Kirkwood agreed softly. “I remember that they both went in fear of him, but it was worse for Vincent. Bertram was wary of his father, but Vincent was absolutely terrified of him. To this day, I can recall him turning white at the very sound of his father’s voice.”
“Vincent?” Asher asked, joining in the conversation. “That’s not a name I’ve heard before.”
“That’s because the dear boy died, oh, ages ago—before you were born,” Mrs. Manley said. “He was a nice boy—nothing like Bertram.” She smiled faintly. “If she’d been a different kind of woman, I’d have suspected that Lady Ormsby had cuckolded her husband, because Vincent was…” Her eyes sad, she murmured, “He had such promise.”
“Oh, my yes,” breathed Mrs. Birrel. “And when he died so tragically…”
“What happened to him?” asked Mr. Birrel, unfamiliar with this bit of local lore.
“No one knows for certain,” answered Mrs. Manley. “He was found with a broken neck just a short distance from the main gates leading to Ormsby Place. Whether his horse was startled and reared and knocked him into a tree limb and that broke his neck, or for some reason he fell from his horse and landed on the ground wrong, breaking his neck, the physician could not say for certain.” She hesitated. “There was some question of robbery raised—a gold ring with the Ormsby crest engraved on it that Vincent always wore was missing. To my knowledge it was never found, but since his purse with several gold coins in it and the diamond and ruby stickpin he was wearing were still on the body, it didn’t seem that a robbery had taken place.” She glanced around the room. “I ask you, what self-respecting thief would take only a ring, easily identified, and leave behind the coins and the stickpin? It was a mystery but all the neighborhood really knew was that the marquis’s heir was dead at twenty-one.”
“What a sad story,” murmured Juliana. “I never realized that there had been an older brother. I thought Ormsby was an only child.”
“Well, he is certainly selfish enough to have been raised as one,” said Mrs. Manley.
Serena and Margaret returned just then and the conversation became general. The hour had grown late and shortly, Mr. Kirkwood and Juliana were standing on the front terrace, bidding their departing guests good night. When it was Asher’s turn to thank his hostess, Juliana whispered in his ear, “Meet me at the library French doors in an hour. We must talk.”
His gaze met hers and he gave her a quick nod.
Asher wasted little time driving his grandmother home, but he didn’t escape without a warning fro
m her. As he pulled the horses to a stop at the front of the house, she touched him on the arm and said, “You must be careful with Ormsby. I know that you would like to do him a harm, but be aware that Ormsby is not an honest or fair fighter. You confronted him tonight, embarrassed him before others, and if he can punish you for it, he will.” She looked out into the night, her thoughts far away. “Though they were born and raised here, Libby Birrel and Edmund are too young to remember the gossip that flew around the area after Vincent died. The vicar didn’t live here then so he wouldn’t have heard anything about it, but I can tell you that there was much discreet speculation among several of the people in the area about whether or not Bertram had had something to do with his brother’s death.”
Asher frowned. “You mean people thought that Ormsby had murdered him?”
She nodded. “Yes. I felt the same way and more than once I heard that suspicion raised by the squire’s father, the vicar at that time, as well as Denning’s father. Everyone in the neighborhood knew that Bertram was jealous of Vincent, envious that his older brother would inherit the title and all that went with it.” She sighed. “We had serious doubts about Vincent’s death, but there wasn’t anything anyone could prove—it looked like a tragic accident.”
“What about their father? What did he think?”
“Arthur Beverley was an arrogant despot, but to be fair, the notion of one child murdering the other is something that just about any parent would dismiss out of hand.” She made a face. “Arthur had always favored Bertram and would never allow a criticism to be leveled against him—no matter how well deserved—so he most likely would have furiously brushed the idea aside, if anyone had been brave enough to bring it to his attention.” She looked thoughtful. “Arthur made no secret of the fact that he found his heir lacking in the traits he highly desired, traits that Bertram had in abundance. I doubt the man even mourned his eldest son’s death. He was too delighted that Bertram would follow him into the title.”
Passion Becomes Her Page 14
