Amanda Scott (16 page)

“Papa! Oh, Aunt Diana, may I go? I promise I’ll not repeat what I heard to a soul, but please don’t let Papa find me here like this. Though he hasn’t thrashed me but twice in my life, this”—he patted the shotgun—“would take the devil of a lot of explaining.”

“Run along then, you little wretch. I’ll hold them at bay till you’re safe. But mind you put that gun up at once and don’t take it out again unless one of the gentlemen says you may do so. Your word, John.”

The voices were closer, just around the bend. The boy glanced anxiously over his shoulder, then said, “Word of a Sterling, ma’am. Now,
please
!”

She nodded, and he was gone, his feet fairly flying over the gravel path. Diana moved quickly toward the sound of masculine voices. She had heard Simon’s as well as her brother’s and assumed the men had finished their hunt. A scant few seconds later, she encountered Ethelmoor, Simon, Lord Villiers, and Sir Richard Colt Hoare. The last, a gentleman with some fifty-five summers in his dish, who was generally as much at home in the hunting field as in his exquisitely decorated drawing room, was limping slightly. Upon meeting Diana, he appeared to be somewhat embarrassed.

“You’re back early,” she said smiling.

“My fault, Lady Andover,” said Sir Richard with a grimace. His voice was gravelly, and his manner was often curt, but she liked him and knew he meant no harm to anyone. He seemed now to be trying to sound at least amiable as he explained, “Took the deuce of a tumble, and my mount came up lame. So did I, as you see—my leg though, not my head, as these young fools seemed to think. Feared I’d muddled my senses and insisted upon showing me the road home.”

“No such thing,” declared Villiers, grinning. “Not so much as a pigeon to be seen this morning, don’t you know. Westmorland and some of the others stayed out, but it’s my belief they won’t bag a thing. I say, m’lady,” he added more consciously, “you wouldn’t know where a fellow might find the Lady Sally, would you?”

“Indeed, sir, she is in the drawing room with your mama and some of the other ladies.” Villiers looked anxious to be off but loath to leave Sir Richard, so Diana turned to the older gentleman and said kindly, “Lady Ophelia was going to speak to her housekeeper when I left her some moments ago, Sir Richard, and I know she will want to order a poultice for your leg to keep the swelling down. She is quite knowledgeable about such things, I assure you. We all go to her with our injuries. Do you take him straight along, my lord.”

“Aye, like a pony for quacking,” agreed the older man. “She’ll more than likely treat me just as the fellas in the stable will treat my poor old Dutchman. Well, we both need a touch of cosseting, I daresay. Take me to her ladyship, Villiers, and fling me upon her mercies before you go off in search of your young heiress.”

Diana chuckled, and her eyes were still twinkling when she met Simon’s gaze. She could see her amusement reflected in the golden-hazel eyes, and the expression caused a sudden, unexpected stirring in her midsection. Over the past few days she had had an opportunity to see him in a different light. He had seemed at times to be everywhere, playing at spillikins with the children one moment, dancing the next, then taking a hand at whist with his father and Lord Jersey, or even exchanging charming pleasantries with Lady Jersey while she flirted outrageously with him. Each morning he rode out shooting with several gentlemen, but in the afternoons he could often be found in the billiards room or in the library, and in the evenings he seemed to be part of every activity. When a problem arose or a servant wasn’t where he was supposed to be or a meal was delayed, it was Simon, who with a quiet word in the right ear, saw that things were put to rights. The marquess scarcely noted what went on around him, devoting his attention to those guests like Lord Jersey or Sir Richard whom he personally found to be interesting. He ignored Lady Jersey, albeit with great politeness, paid little heed to the children or the younger women, and spoke to the younger gentlemen only when it was necessary.

Simon was undeniably the host, and he was carrying the burden easily and with flair. He had even managed to steal a moment or two of privacy with his wife from time to time, and he didn’t seem the least bit flustered, Diana realized with a small pang of envy, by the knowledge that royalty was about to descend upon them.

The Prince of Wales, the Duke of York, and Mr. Brummell were to arrive the following day. And really, she mused now, one might think from the way Lady Jersey and some of the others went on that Mr. Brummell was the one who was bestowing the greatest honor upon Alderwood Abbey, and the one who must be best pleased.

Thanks to a friendship with the prince that had grown steadily over a period of years, as well as to his own nimble wit and acid tongue, George Bryan Brummell had risen over the past three years to become a powerful arbiter of fashion among the members of the
beau monde
. His strictures upon dress had been known to make more than one duke cringe and rush back to his tailor, but it was also said of the Beau, as he was known to most of the world, that he had been endowed with such imperturbable amiability that he could maintain a simultaneous friendship with people who were bitterly at odds with each other. Diana found herself hoping now that that particular description of Mr. Brummell was an accurate one.

“Diana, have your wits gone wandering?” demanded her brother. “I have twice asked you if Lydia is likewise in the drawing room.”

“Oh, I beg your pardon, Bruce. I was thinking of Mr. Brummell.”

“What, that fellow? Why on earth think of him? He ain’t even a ladies’ man, and you’ve no business, moreover, to be thinking of any man but your lord here, my girl.” Ethelmoor chucked Diana gently under the chin, but his smile grew rueful when she glared at him. “Forgive me, Di. Where is Lydia?”

“She was indeed in the drawing room with the others,” Diana told him, “but Lady Jersey and Lady Westmorland were being so out of reason polite to each other that Lyddy may well have taken flight by now. She will certainly have done so if Lady Ophelia has joined the drawing-room party. Oh, dear,” she added with a comic grimace, “I was supposed to find Rory and send him out walking in the garden with Lady Sarah Fane, only I don’t know where he is, and Lord Villiers has very likely walked off with the prize by now, any way.”

“For which you will undoubtedly be blamed,” said Simon, grinning at her. “Do you go away, Ethelmoor, and find your beautiful lady. I’ve a mind to enjoy a few brief moments of privacy with mine.”

“I’ll bid you both good luck, then, for someone will no doubt be coming in search of you before you’ve enjoyed much time alone.” He waved amiably and wandered off down the path.

“Why Brummell, sweetheart? Are you worried?”

“Should I not be, Simon? The prince has made it clear that he has given up Lady Jersey in favor of Mrs. Fitz, only her ladyship refuses to be given up. If she has mentioned his name with sickening sweetness once, she has done so a thousand times. What if Mr. Brummell allows his wit to run free? We could find ourselves in the midst of a shocking bumble broth.”

“Would that be so new to us?” Simon’s tone reflected bitterness as he drew her hand through the crook of his elbow and rested it upon his forearm.

Diana caught her breath at the tone. They had been getting along well these past days and she found she had no wish at all to quarrel with him. She was afraid to speak, not knowing what to say and fearing to spark his temper.

Simon looked down at her. “Well, sweetheart?”

She looked away. “Simon, please, I only worried because such a thing would distress Lady Ophelia and your father. If Mr. Brummell doesn’t cause a scene between the prince and Lady Jersey, he may still stir something between the prince and the Duke of York. There is naught but envy and bile between the two of them, as you know perfectly well.”

“Don’t fret, sweetheart,” Simon said then, gently. “Brummell would never do anything so tasteless. Prinny is a martyr to insecurity, and George defers to him and amuses him. His air of supreme confidence seems to support Prinny’s spirits as nothing else can. And George makes Lady Jersey believe that no one understands her as well as he does, so that disposes of her. He has known her well, after all, since the prince first married Princess Caroline. George was as much in evidence in royal circles then as her ladyship was, only I daresay his presence was much less distressing to her highness.”

“Oh, Simon, if even half the stories about Lady Jersey are true, the princess must have wished herself back in the middle ages when she might have shouted ‘off with her head’ and been done with it. Is it true that Lady Jersey actually poured some evil-smelling stuff in the princess’s hair on her wedding night and dosed her wine with a purgative and the prince’s with a sleeping potion?”

“From what I’ve been given to understand, there was little need to put him off. The princess was not what he had been led to expect his wife to be. But, according to George, the princess was surely sick and the prince was more than a little worse for drink on their wedding night. The rest of what one hears about Lady Jersey’s tricks is best forgotten, I think. And as for your worries about York, you may also trust Brummell to bring out the best in him, rather than the worst. George calls him a ‘jolly, cursing, courageous man,’ says he’s noble to a fault and other such muck, and York laps it up like one of his wife’s damned poodles lapping cream. Believe me, we will have cause to be grateful to George if the New Year comes in quietly. No one else could ride the waves of this particular flood of guests with his skill.”

They had begun walking toward the house as they talked, and Diana gave his arm an impulsive squeeze as she glanced up at him. “No doubt you are right, sir.”

“I am. Did you not say, by the by, that you were searching for my brother? If you want him, we are moving in the wrong direction. He’s at the stables talking with the Comte de Vieillard. Said he had a horse to show the old gentleman. Don’t believe it myself. The comte scarcely has the look of a Melton man.”

“Maybe he is looking for something for the Vidame de Lâche,” Diana said pacifically. “But it doesn’t matter in the slightest, I’m afraid, for your aunt will think I’ve shirked my duty by not bringing Rory up to scratch. I cannot think, however, that he can be persuaded to make much of a push to engage Lady Sarah’s affections.”

“Good Lord, no.” Simon laughed.

“You don’t favor such a match?”

“With that tedious child? I should think not. She shows not the slightest sign of generosity, kindness, grace, integrity, or even dignity. She’s just a foolish chit who has been allowed to think entirely too much of the importance of her fortune. Westmorland would have done better to teach her manners and deportment, but I daresay his nose was put out by old Mr. Child’s will, so he never did a thing for the girl. And she lacked the benefit of a mother. I may have my differences with my twin, Diana mine, but I’d never serve him such a trick as to push him into a match like that one.”

“But forty thousand pounds, Simon. Every year!”

“So what?” Simon retorted rudely. “Rory wasn’t born without a shirt, whatever he says. He’ll not starve if he doesn’t marry a great heiress. I think all the better of him for not attempting to free himself from Father’s authority in such a way.” He paused, seeming oddly reluctant to continue, but when Diana didn’t speak, he said, “I did speak to Father, by the way, as you asked me to do, but he remains adamant. Says he has no wish to allow Rory to play at ducks and drakes with any Warrington property before he has first shown us that he can behave responsibly.”

“Oh, dear.” Diana wondered if her father-in-law would deem it responsible of Lord Roderick to have fallen in love with an émigré’s daughter. She was glad that Simon didn’t want his brother to marry Lady Sarah for her fortune, but she was nearly certain that he wouldn’t be impressed by Rory’s choice for a wife. Lord Roderick might have expectations, but Mademoiselle Sophie had none unless there was some truth to the improbable Beléchappé treasure. Even that would more likely go to her brother. And whether there was treasure or not, and even if the marquess did not share his sister’s great distrust of foreigners, she doubted whether either he or Simon would regard Rory’s hopes with much favor. Her thoughts were interrupted at this point by the sound of a high-pitched, giggling voice from just around the next bend in the path.

“Oh, my goodness me, Lord Villiers, but we have come so far from the house! I know my papa and my stepmama—though I oughtn’t to have to call her so when she is so few years older than I am, myself—would not think it proper I should come so far without a footman, you know, just because you met me on the point of stepping outside for a breath of air. Oh, my goodness me!”

With a startled look at one another, Simon and Diana turned right about and fled down the nearest turning. They emerged at last, safely, in the courtyard near the entrance to the cloister, and Simon guided her through the doorway into the chilled recesses of the magnificent cloister itself. At the moment there was no one about, though a good many servants’ rooms were located just off the long, fan-vaulted chamber and the kitchens and laundry rooms were close by. But the cloister was empty. It was also cold. Simon turned Diana to face him and tucked her shawl more securely about her shoulders.

“You’ll catch your death with only that thing to protect you,” he said gruffly, looking down at her. The expression in his eyes changed noticeably, and Diana was not the least surprised when the firm grip on her shoulders relaxed and his arms went around her. His lips found hers quickly, and she was soon feeling anything but chilled. She responded eagerly to his caresses, her cheeks glowing now as much with passion as from the cold air outside, and when Simon suggested they might slip into a servant’s unused bedchamber, she chuckled, the twinkle in her eyes daring him to follow through on the suggestion. With a sigh he set her back upon her heels. “I suppose not,” he said. “Not here and not now, but someday, Diana mine, when I am not host to two or three dozen assorted people who would like nothing better than to spread a tale about finding the Earl and Countess of Andover making love on a servant’s bed, then I’ll accept the challenge I see in your eyes.”