Amanda Scott (15 page)

“I’m stout enough, sir,” Simon replied, smiling. “Won’t you take a glass of madeira?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” replied the earl, following him with a casual recommendation thrown over his shoulder to his wife to find out where their rooms were and to let him know.

Diana laughed. “Here, Mama, I’ll take you up myself. The house is already as full as it can hold, I think, and we’ve more guests arriving every day. I cannot think when I’ve had so much to do!”

“The activity agrees with you, my dear,” said her mother, following her up the wide stair. “You’re looking very well indeed. Do we seek out the platitudinous Lady Ophelia, or may I simply find my bedchamber and take off my stays?”

“You may do precisely as you please,” said Diana. “I must leave you almost at once, because Simon promised the children he would take them all riding this afternoon, so I must be sure he and Papa do not get to talking or Simon will forget. And Rory cannot do it, because he has gone into Bath for the afternoon. I don’t know precisely what errand he had there,” she added, when Lady Trent made a querying noise, “but I daresay he thought it of utmost importance. Either that, or he merely wished to avoid attending to any more host duties than absolutely necessary. From one cause or another, he has been like a cat on hot bricks these past days and more.”

She was babbling, and Lady Trent would notice, Diana realized, but she could not stay to be cross-questioned, and for once she was grateful not to have the time for a comfortable coze with her beloved mother. Leaving her to recuperate after her journey, Diana hurried toward the stairs again, only to discover her young nephew lurking in the gallery attempting to peer over the railing.

“John, whatever are you about? Simon will come for you when it is time to ride out, you know.”

“Oh, it ain’t that, Aunt Diana,” the boy assured her, grinning. “I was wanting to see the heiress. I have never had an opportunity to see one before, you know.”

D
IANA LAUGHED AT HER
young nephew, but she could scarcely blame the boy for wanting to catch a glimpse of Lady Sarah Sophia Fane. The slender, dark-haired beauty, taller than Diana by at least three inches, had stirred everyone’s interest from the moment of her arrival with her parents, first because her father, the tenth Earl of Westmorland, had chosen, in Lady Ophelia’s words, “to inflict his presence upon the house party,” and secondly because Lady Sarah’s inheritance was so great that it must command interest in any company.

However, as the days passed, Lady Sarah’s light began to dim, and despite her magnificent fortune, she was discerned to be not entirely above reproach. “A tiresome schoolgirl,” said Lady Ophelia predictably late Wednesday morning when Diana chanced to find her alone for a moment in the blue parlor. “Young Sarah—for call her Sally after her mama I will not, and she no longer wishes to be styled Sophie, as I’m given to understand she was during her childhood—young Sarah carries delusions of her worth beyond all limits. She talks too much and too often and has a coarseness of manner that I cannot like. In point of fact, she puts herself forward in a most unbecoming fashion. I trust that Susanna will not be so mistaken in judgment as to imitate such improper behavior.”

Diana reassured her ladyship on that score and then had to hide a smile a moment later when Lady Ophelia wondered aloud where Lord Roderick might have taken himself off to. “For I cannot but think that Lady Sarah might appreciate his company for a walk through the shrubbery, you know. The house grows close with such a great company.”

It had been rapidly borne in upon the members of her family that Lady Ophelia did not wish them to believe that such trifling circumstances as Lady Sarah’s manner and conversation, both of which might easily have been improved, ought to blind anyone of sense to the very real advantages of a fortune of forty thousand pounds per year. During the two days following Lady Sarah’s arrival, it had become clear that Lady Ophelia had decided that Lord Roderick should be encouraged to cut out Lord Villiers in his pursuit of the heiress. Diana, believing that Simon, too, would see nothing amiss in adding forty thousand pounds per annum to the Warrington fortune, had taken the first opportunity to tease her brother-in-law about his excellent prospects for a prosperous future. To her astonishment, Rory had not seen anything funny in the situation.

“Dashed if I’ll let them push me into making a cake of myself,” he had said in response. “In the first place, I love Sophie and I mean to marry her. In the second place, dashed if I can see any way they might expect me to cut Villiers out of the picture. I can scarcely expect Simon to slip his wind merely to oblige me, and if you think Sally Fane has any intention of giving herself over to a younger son when she might have the heir to an earldom, you’re mighty mistaken, my girl. Furthermore, I’ll be damned if I’ll let myself be leg-shackled to a self-centered chit who sings till after midnight with the voice of a corn crake and who precedes every one of her inane observations on the state of the world or anything else with ‘my goodness me.’ No one of sense could expect a fellow to wish for such a thing.”

“Not even for forty thousand pounds a year?” Diana had asked him, one eyebrow cocked in disbelief.

“Not if she were King Midas’s sole heir,” he replied uncompromisingly.

His attitude had not deterred his aunt in the slightest, however, and so Diana could not be amazed now to be sent in search of her brother-in-law with orders to “suggest” that he find Lady Sarah Fane and offer to show her over the gardens. She knew that Lady Sarah was sitting in the first-floor drawing room with her mama, as well as with the Countess of Trent, Lady Jersey, Lydia, Susanna, and several other women, engaged upon needlework and conversation. No doubt either of the younger ladies would appreciate any suggestion that would enable them to escape the atmosphere of barbed compliments and wicked gossip that was common to any group of which Lady Jersey was a part. For that matter, Diana thought with a grin, there was little chance that Lydia or Lady Trent would turn down such an opportunity.

The gentlemen had, for the most part, spent their mornings and part of each afternoon out hunting and shooting, and she knew that Simon, her brother, and Lord Villiers had gone with them this particular morning, but she knew also that Lord Roderick had not accompanied them. Not that she had seen him yet today, but she knew he had promised to take young John Sterling into the home wood for a shooting lesson. Accordingly, she decided to walk toward the stables in hopes either of encountering them upon their return or of gaining some information as to their whereabouts.

Leaving the house was no simple matter, for she encountered first one guest, then another. But after assuring one stout dame that a luncheon would be set out in the morning room at half past twelve and then informing a dour, gray-headed gentleman that the marquess and Lord Jersey could be found with their heads together over a backgammon board in the new hall, she did manage to make her escape.

The day was crisp and chilly, but the skies overhead were clear and blue with light, fluffy clouds drifting along as though they little cared how far they traveled or how long their journey took them. Diana breathed deeply of the fresh cold air, gathered her shawl more tightly around her shoulders, and set out through the hedge garden toward the stables at a brisk pace. The hedges on either side of her were much too tall for her to see over them, and as she rounded a turn in the path, she nearly collided with her breathless nephew.

“John!”

John had indeed been hurrying, head bent, one hand stuffed in his jacket pocket for warmth, the other resting upon the barrel of the shotgun he carried under his arm, as though to ensure that the barrel pointed properly toward the ground. He pulled up short when she spoke his name, clearly startled and none too pleased at having met her there. But when he spoke, his attitude was one of studied carelessness.

“Oh, sorry, Aunt Diana, I was in a bit of a rush.”

Diana’s eyes narrowed as she looked down at him, noting the flush beginning to creep up his neck and into his cheeks. “Well, then, my friend, where are you bound in such a hurry?”

“Oh, just to put this gun up,” he said. “Doesn’t appear that his lordship means to take me out, after all.”

“John, you haven’t been out shooting alone, have you?” Diana demanded suspiciously. “Your father would never—”

“’Course I haven’t been shooting,” the boy replied stoutly. “Don’t you think I know better than that? But the fact is, Aunt Diana, that his lordship promised to take me out, so when I saw him from my window heading for the stables, I thought like as not he was looking for me. Only…only he wasn’t,” he finished lamely, shooting her an oblique glance from under dark lashes.

“What did Lord Roderick say when you found him?” Diana asked, thinking it odd that Rory would not honor a promise she knew he had made.

John’s complexion grew a shade redder. “Well, the fact is I—I didn’t speak to him.”

“Didn’t speak to him?”

“No, he was engaged in conversation with someone else, you see, ’n I didn’t like to interrupt. It was clear as anything that he’d forgotten he meant to take me out.”

“But you should have reminded him, John. Where is he? I’ll speak with him myself.”

“No, please, I’d rather you didn’t. He’s…well, he’s a trifle out of sorts at the moment.” The boy seemed more flustered than ever.

“Out of sorts? I wish you will be plain with me, John, for I begin to think you are merely cutting a wheedle in order to avoid punishment for taking a gun out when you know that you are not to do so. Just what do you mean by all this? Out with it, young man. What have you done?”

John was indignant. “I? I haven’t done anything. Well, leastways,” he amended conscientiously, “nothing but take this gun out without a grownup by. And I’d as lief you didn’t tell Papa I did, for I promise I’d never have loaded it or fired it without Lord Roderick’s permission. But like as not, Papa wouldn’t care about that, ’n he might cut up stiff on account of my having it out at all.”

Diana could well believe it. Nothing was more likely to rouse her brother’s usually placid temper than one of his dependents doing something foolish or dangerous. She felt like cutting up a bit stiff herself. “I won’t tell him if you promise never to do it again,” she said quietly, “but what happened with Lord Roderick, John?”

“He was talking with an old man,” said the boy, “a pretty fat old man, leaning on a cane, with gray hair all round the edge of his head when he took off his hat, which he did to wipe off his forehead, though how a fella could sweat so much when it’s as cold as be dam—As cold as this, I meant to say,” he added quickly. “Well, I don’t know how he could, is all.”

At first Diana could think of no one among their many guests who answered such a description, but even as she began to say as much, sternly, to young John, she realized who the gentleman must be.

“I daresay the Comte de Vieillard has arrived, then,” she said. “Did you hear him speak? Did he sound French?”

“He certainly did,” replied the boy with a chuckle. “Half his words were French, like
mon dieu
and
merde
and—”

“Yes, I see,” she said dryly, “but do you mean to say you eavesdropped upon their conversation?”

“N-not precisely.” John looked at his boots, well aware that a gentleman did not listen to the conversations of others. “I daresay I ought to have come away at once, but I didn’t immediately perceive that it was a private conversation. Then, I heard the old gentleman say he thought someone had most likely been arrested, so I knew at once that I mustn’t listen. Only then…well—”

“I understand perfectly,” Diana interjected quickly. “But arrested! Who was arrested?”

“‘
Madame la comtesse, mon ƒils, et ma chère
Sophie,’ whoever they may be,” John informed her with a promptitude that belied his earlier casual unconcern. “He mentioned
l’empereur
, Auntie. Isn’t that Napoleon Bonaparte of France? Isn’t that how he chooses to style himself? Is he the one who arrested them? Who are they, anyway?”

“Mr. Bonaparte is not an emperor yet, John, but he has said he means to be, so he is no doubt the person to whom the comte referred, but for heaven’s sake don’t go gibbering of this to anyone else unless you wish also to explain how you came by the information. We cannot ask what was meant without explaining that you overheard them speaking, which would then lead to a discussion of the gun, I fear.”

John’s eyes widened, and his voice was touched by dismay. “I should say I’ll keep mum then, but if someone has been arrested who ought not to have been, oughtn’t Uncle Simon to be told? I daresay he could effect their release quick as a cat could lick her ear.”

“No doubt he could if they have indeed been arrested, and no doubt Lord Roderick will apply to him for assistance if such is the case,” Diana told him, trying without much success to achieve a normal smile. “But you know, my dear, the countess, her daughter, and her son are all guests at Versailles just now for Christmas, so an arrest is most unlikely. I daresay that with the comte mixing his French and English, as you say he did, you merely misunderstood him.”

“Perhaps.” But John sounded doubtful, and Diana could scarcely blame him. He would not be so unmannerly as to contradict her, but she knew Ethelmoor’s French, like her own, was nearly flawless, and he had made a point of seeing that his son had excellent training. She had no doubt that John had heard exactly what he said he’d heard. But she wanted to defuse what might prove to be an awkward situation. It would be much more difficult to explain that the comte himself, no doubt senile as well as gout-afflicted, had simply overstated his alarms. Not having heard from his family with the regularity that he had hoped for, he was no doubt worrying before it was necessary to do so. She would certainly give the matter more thought and make an opportunity to discuss it with Lord Roderick before approaching Simon with the tale.

Just then young John’s head came up alertly, his face the picture of dismay, and she heard at the same time the voices of several men approaching through the shrubbery. The sound drew steadily nearer.