A Banbury Tale (25 page)

“Mathilda!” she cried. “What is to become of you?”

Tilda regarded her with interest. “I had thought that you, at least, would wish me to remain faithful to the memory of Dominic.”

“But I do!” Eunice protested. “Only it is not seemly that you remain unwed, and after your brother has made such efforts on your behalf!”

Since such inconsistency was quite in character, Tilda paid it little heed. Instead, she eyed her brother warily. Bevis’s expression indicated a strong desire to throttle her, if he did not first go off in an apoplexy.

“You will find yourself without a shred of reputation left,” he prophesied grimly, “and then you will realize the opportunity that you have thrown away.”

“I doubt that, very seriously.” Tilda noted the vein that throbbed in the Duke’s temple.

“You needn’t come to me for aid!” he cried. “If you go to Timothy now, and beg pardon for your willfulness, I believe he will alter his decision to press his suit no further. Otherwise”—the Duke paused for effect—”I shall wash my hands of you!”

“Bevis,” replied Tilda, “nothing would delight me more.”

“Mathilda!” Eunice fairly shrieked. “How can you be so ungrateful, you heartless creature? Poor Dominic must turn in his grave with shame that you bear his name!”

“Eunice,” Tilda said, with a cold eye fixed upon that tactless individual, who already realized the enormity of her mistake, “I will give you an hour. If you remain in my house at the end of that time, I will have you forcibly expelled.”

“You would not!” blustered the Duke.

“Try me,” invited his sister with relish. “You shall soon see.”

“Mathilda,” entreated Eunice, “you must see that you cannot remain here without a suitable chaperon. It will give rise to unwelcome comment!”

But Tilda had not spent her time with Dominic to no avail. She lifted her chin and quelled her audience with a single glance. “I,” said the eccentric Lady Tyrewhitte-Wilson with icy hauteur, “can do precisely as I please.”

* * * *

“And you wish me to point out to Mathilda the error of her ways?” The Duchess regarded her unexpected, and unwelcome, visitor. “I vow you have me in a puzzle, Abercorn. Does my opinion weigh more heavily with Mathilda than your own?”

“I believe you to have a great deal of influence over my sister,” the Duke replied stiffly. “Surely you must agree that Tilda should be grateful that Timothy has asked for her hand! Nor do I see that my concern is a matter of perplexity. I have done my brotherly duty, nothing more.”

“Very good of you,” approved his hostess with patent insincerity. “I am only surprised that you should abandon your wife to do so. However, I daresay you knew what you were about, and that she has managed to keep herself tolerably amused during your long absence.” Allowing Bevis a few moments to ponder this, Agatha reflected that she must devote more time to the task of seeing Tilda safely married. There was a bet to be won. “But I cannot agree that Timothy Rockingham would be a suitable match.”

“I might have known,” said the Duke bitterly, “that it was useless to apply to you.”

“You might,” agreed the Duchess. “I do not intend to see Mathilda forced into a marriage that is repugnant to her.”

“Very well.” Bevis obviously exercised great control. “I cry pardon for disturbing you.” Without another word, he strode from the room. Agatha was left to reflect upon her youth, when titled peers of the realm comported themselves like aristocrats and refrained from behaving like shopkeepers cavorting in the unfamiliar guise of gentlemen.

She frowned at the lists that lay scattered across her writing desk. It had been a most trying day. Her labors had suffered constant interruptions from the first; no sooner had she settled down to work than Lionel had appeared, a study in frustrated chivalry. So far from taking umbrage at the studied insults flung incessantly at him by the pugnacious Marquess, Wilmington had advised his one-time ward to stop behaving like a scrubby schoolboy. It was not to be expected that Lionel would accept this insult calmly. Agatha reflected that she had not seen her grandnephew display such emotion since the age of five, upon the death of a beloved, if flea-ridden, hound.

Agatha did not know precisely what had provoked this hostility, but nourished little doubt that this, too, could be laid at Maddy’s door. Life had been far from dull since her chance meeting with that enterprising damsel! But she had sent Lionel on his way with some well-chosen advice concerning the perplexing behavior of young ladies. The Duchess had urged the adoption of a cool and reserved manner, calculated to arouse in its recipient severe pique and a wish to seek revenge in another man’s arms. The results of this sage counsel could not be other than interesting. Castigating herself as an interfering meddler, Agatha grinned.

But there was little time to waste on love’s young dream, just as there was little time to spend listening to the housekeeper’s lament at being requested to attend to the needs of so many guests. Nor had the Duke of Abercorn’s appearance been felicitous, for his hostess had been forced to endure a long catalogue of Timothy’s sterling qualities.

“Bah!” muttered the Duchess. She had no time for nincompoops. To further her annoyance, she had been persuaded to add Eunice Scattergood to her cortege, an act that was not entirely philanthropic since she had immediately condemned the overwrought matron to tend to Letty Jellicoe. Kenelm’s mama showed every sign of becoming a permanent semi-invalid, comfortably ensconced in some forgotten lady’s bed. The two women should deal well together, being sisters in misfortune; when Letty bewailed her son’s misconduct, Eunice could respond with Tilda’s ingratitude.

At least Kenelm had sufficient wit to leave his hostess undisturbed. A frown crossed Agatha’s brow. She had not suspected Clemence would play the indecisive bride, yet the chit was indulging in all the coy airs and graces of the most demure young miss. She was also brazenly ignoring her benefactress, who had that day been forced to dress without the assistance of her abigail. Agatha’s frown deepened. On reflection, the matter was demned odd.

Micah was behaving in a manner that might have been calculated to annoy his godmother, and she had several times been forced to restrain a desire to give him a thundering scold. This forbearance was largely prompted by the suspicion that to do so would spell disaster for her plans. It was nothing more than perversity, no doubt, that caused the Earl to offer Maddy such deliberate provocation, and the chit to flutter those long lashes and appear a hardened flirt when in his lordship’s presence. Agatha wondered briefly if her choice of Maddy as a tool had been a happy one, but the thing was already done.

When the door softly opened, Agatha sighed. It was no more than she had expected, another claimant on her time with yet another problem that she must solve. Her gaze fell upon Mathilda, who looked to be in a towering rage.

“It sometimes occurs to me,” remarked the Duchess, “that I find myself in the unlikely position of running a home for wayward females.”

Tilda took a stance by the fireplace. “Am I to be included in that category?”

“You,” replied Agatha, a wary eye upon her guest, “are the most wayward of them all. May I ask why you felt it necessary to arm yourself with a riding crop before venturing into my morning room?”

Tilda laughed reluctantly and tossed the whip into a chair. “Since I made so bold as to ride to the Hall unescorted, I thought it prudent to arm myself. There is always the possibility that my brother might decide to force me to his will.”

Intrigued by this image of the proper Duke of Abercorn cast into a villainous mold, Agatha chuckled. “It boggles the imagination, does it hot?”

Tilda agreed. “But I have heard reports of a stranger in the area, and thought it wise to take precautions.”

Agatha thought it unlikely that even the fearless Lady Tyrewhitte-Wilson could successfully roust a determined assailant with only the aid of a riding whip. “A stranger?” she mused. “Perhaps Alastair?”

“You seem mighty taken with the idea,” said Tilda, who was not. “I admit it also occurred to me.”

“Matters progress.” Agatha’s eyes sparkled. “If it
is
Alastair, he must have some infamous plot in mind. What, I ask myself.”

“And have you an answer?” Tilda could not share this enthusiasm, for she clearly recalled her last encounter with the gentleman. Alastair Bechard would have been pleased to leave her to languish in a house of ill repute.

“Not yet.” The Duchess grinned. “But I shall. Now, to you, Mathilda: I understand you sent Eunice to the roundabout.”

“Agatha, you amaze me.” Tilda’s expression was dumbfounded. “How could you possibly have known?”

“Because the wretched creature is here!” snapped her friend. “And your brother was so foolish as to think I might proffer him my aid. I hope you rang a regular peal over him!”

Tilda smiled. “I did. I fear it served little purpose, for I’m sure he will return to the attack. Would that I could convince him to leave the country altogether!”

“I fancy I may be of some assistance in that accomplishment,” Agatha remarked complacently. “For I intimated, very gently, that his good wife might be enjoying his absence overmuch.”

Tilda burst into merry laughter. “Agatha, you are a rogue!”

“All the same, my dear,” replied the Duchess, “it is no wonder that Abercorn has made you out of sorts. Were he my brother, I would long ago have bid him go and be damned.” She gazed with some severity upon one of her lists. “I tell you, Tilda, I can make no sense of this.”

Tilda was immediately alerted by this bewildered attitude. Agatha was never so scheming as when she appeared most grandmotherly. “Of what? I find it astonishing that anything should so overtax your mind.”

“Impudent!” But Agatha’s glance was appreciative. “It is a pity you are ineligible, for you and Micah would have dealt well together. However, there is the matter of an heir.”

Tilda blinked, but refused to sidetrack the Duchess with confidences. Agatha sighed. “Ah, well, I believe we may expect an announcement soon.”

“I see.” Tilda’s tone was dry.

“Do you?” inquired the Duchess, but waited for no reply. “I do not know what to think of Kenelm’s accidents.”

“He is unlucky,” ventured Tilda, content to play the fool.

“Moonshine!” Agatha waved the list. “It’s a strange ill fortune that makes such sudden, concentrated attacks. Ill wishing it may be, and by someone who’s not reluctant to further his own ends.”

“Alastair,” said Tilda with dreadful certainty.

“The matter bears his stamp.” The Duchess scowled with concentration. “But I wonder why.”

“Clemence? The wrath of a gentleman scorned?” Such dire reaction seemed extreme, particularly in view of the gentleman’s inclinations. But this was not a matter that could be discussed with the Duchess, no matter how liberal her outlook—or, indeed, with anyone.

“No,” said Agatha. “It doesn’t fit. How would Alastair benefit from Kenelm’s death? Or anyone, save Claude de Villiers, who would then become his brother’s heir?” She crumpled the paper. “There is something dashed smoky here, Mathilda, and I mean to know what it is!” She ignored a timid scratching at the door. “Furthermore, I have had word from James, whom I instructed to keep close watch on Alastair.” Maddy silently entered the room.

“James,” observed Tilda, “is destined for great things.” She greeted Maddy with composure, though she was becoming extremely annoyed with the girl. “But, Agatha, is this wise? What if the gentleman should become aware of your extreme interest? He is most astute.”

“And James,” countered the Duchess, “is most discreet. Forewarned is forearmed, my dear.” She smiled benignly upon Maddy, who was looking pale. “But it is most interesting, Mathilda, your friend seems to have vanished into thin air.”

Tilda started, but speech was forestalled. “Please,” ventured Maddy, “I do not mean to interrupt, but a terrible thing has occurred. Clem has gone!” Two faces turned toward her with equal bewilderment. “I fear she has run away, and I am responsible.” Tilda watched with fascination as the girl literally wrung her hands. “We must find her without delay!”

* * * *

“My behavior was shocking,” Maddy murmured. “I wonder that you wish to have anything more to do with me.”

The Earl glanced at Motley, Maddy’s inescapable chaperon, but that faithful watchdog was bent over her needlework with so fierce a concentration that she appeared oblivious. “You are being foolish beyond all permission,” he replied. “You are not to blame for your friend’s disappearance. As for the other matter, I thought we had agreed that it was best forgotten.”

“I am a guest beneath your roof,” Maddy replied, “and dependent upon your charity. For me to act so thoughtlessly was beyond forgiveness.”

“It doesn’t signify.” The Earl’s expression was enigmatic, but Maddy interpreted it as ardor held tightly in check. She wished she knew how to end this game that she’d so carelessly begun; she had broken through the Earl’s reserve, with results that left her unwilling to further provoke this mocking, careless man. Wilmington was capable of great violence, as his dead wife had, perhaps, learned too late. Maddy shivered. “Put it out of your mind. I assure you I have. And Lionel no longer clamors for my blood, so has apparently adopted a more reasonable view.”

Maddy, whose experiences with the Marquess had left her with no great notion of his tolerance, sighed. “This waiting is so hard. I wish that we might have some word!”

Motley, whose hearing was excellent, thought the Earl a master of diplomacy. His experience, of course, would have made him expert at dealing with volatile young ladies. Such was Motley’s abstraction, for she lived with the hourly expectation of hearing from the Comte, and she overlooked all references to this previously unknown incident between Maddy and the Earl. Maddy had doubtless misbehaved, a not surprising circumstance, and had incurred Wilmington’s displeasure.

Maddy’s concern for Clemence was fast developing into an obsession, and all for a few sharp words. Motley had no patience with the theory that Clem had, heartbroken, left the Hall because of Maddy’s lack of sympathy, but Maddy was determined to think herself entirely to blame.