Amanda Scott (11 page)

“For goodness’ sake,” Miranda said then, “just look at that, Dree. Whatever is happening over yonder?”

Hearing a rumble in the distance that sounded a little like thunder, Adriana hurried to her sister’s side. “What is it?”

“There.” Miranda pointed. “You can see the French coast, despite this dismal weather, and the wind is blowing this way. That must be why we can hear them.” She pushed open the window, and another low booming sound drifted across the water. “Do you see them, Dree? Ships, dozens of them. They look like tiny toys. There’s another puff of smoke. How long it is before the sound reaches us.”

Indeed, the rumbling sound did not come until she had finished speaking, and Adriana found that her stomach muscles had tightened in the meanwhile. So many ships …

“Come on, Randy, we must find Joshua.” Hurrying downstairs, they found family and guests gathered in the great hall. At the tea table, Sophie was graciously accepting a cup from a tight-lipped Lady Adelaide, while Alston and fair-haired, ruddy-cheeked Claude Ringwell made their careful selections from a plate of sandwiches near Lady Henrietta’s chair. Sarah, her husband, Sally, and George were talking with Mr. Dawlish and another gentleman near the north fireplace.

Adriana hurried to Joshua, who stood near the western fireplace, his booted foot resting upon the gleaming fender, his elbow upon the chimneypiece, while he conversed with a large, muscular, older man who was bent over to warm his hands near the flames. “Chalford,” she said hastily, “the most awkward thing. Oh, I beg your pardon, your grace.” She bobbed a quick curtsy to the Duke of Norfolk, who had straightened and turned at the sound of her voice. “I did not realize you had arrived.”

“No ceremony, Adriana, if you please,” commanded his grace with a crooked smile. “Give us a hug instead.”

She grinned and willingly accepted a lusty hug, glad to note that he had recently had a bath. She had known Norfolk from her childhood, for he had been one of her father’s cronies—the one who accompanied the Earl of Wryde into mischief more often than not, she had been wont to think. Though it was said of him that he had no graces other than his title, that he had to be dead drunk before anyone could bathe him, and that as many of his coachman’s children were Norfolk’s as were his coachman’s, she liked him. Nowadays, she knew his grace’s energies were taken up as much by architecture as by raking, for though he remained a raffish gentleman, as interested in sport as Lord Villiers was, he was even more interested in the changes being made at Arundel.

“His grace,” Chalford said with a smile, “has just been telling me that he wishes Horace Walpole were alive to see what he’s accomplished these past years.”

“Called the place a heap of ruins when he visited my father in ’49,” said the duke. “Pity he’s dead now. The library is nearly finished. My architect’s outdone himself.”

“I’m sure he has, sir,” Adriana said, turning to Chalford as she spoke and adding urgently, “Joshua, there are ships, dozens of them. We can see them from my bedchamber windows.” She glanced around, realizing that she had drawn the attention of everyone in the room.

Lady Henrietta came quickly to her feet. “What is it, Adriana? Ships, you say? Where? Oh, mercy me, what shall we do? Those dreadful Frenchmen!”

“Sit down and compose yourself, Hetta,” commanded Lady Adelaide, turning her attention without noticeable reluctance from Sophie’s chatter.

“But, Adelaide, they must certainly be French.”

“As you thought three nights ago,” said Lady Adelaide with a stern note in her voice that could not be misunderstood. When Lady Hetta subsided, abashed, she added, “Much better. You will soon see there is no cause for concern.” She glanced at Joshua. “You will wish to send someone to the ramparts to see what it is that has aroused Adriana’s disquietude, Chalford. I daresay the alarms the other night will account for it and what she has seen is no more than a French naval exercise of some sort.”

Nodding, Chalford left the room, but he was gone for only a few moments. When he returned, he rejoined Norfolk, Adriana, and Miranda near the fireplace. “Someone will report soon,” he told his wife in an undertone, “but I daresay Aunt Adelaide is in the right of it and there is no cause for anxiety.”

“The ships are very far away,” she admitted, looking at Miranda, who had been flirting outrageously with Mr. Bennett.

Miranda grinned. “Goodness, Dree, did you think the French would invade us? Even Orson admits such fears to be idiotish.”

“Miranda,” said Alston, choosing that moment to step up behind her, “I should like to have a private word with you. At once if you please.” His manner was not conciliating.

Miranda flushed and looked to her sister for help.

“Really, sir,” Adriana said lightly, “I cannot think what can be of such importance that you must needs speak to her now.”

“Miranda,” said Alston with haughty emphasis, “is still under my authority, Adriana. Come with me, my girl.”

When Adriana made a slight move as though to interfere, Joshua put a restraining hand upon her arm, causing her to turn toward him in protest. Regarding her with steady, slightly narrowed eyes, he shook his head.

She bit her lip and remained still. Glancing then toward her brother and sister, expecting Alston to mock her silence, she discovered that they had turned away and were approaching the door to the entry hall. Before they reached it, however, the second footman entered rather more quickly than was his custom.

His eyes were bright as he sought his master among the company. “M’lord,” he said, striving unsuccessfully for dignified undertone as he reached the small group by the western hearth, “they are indeed French ships. Miskin saw them through your glass. Nearer the French coast than ours, m’lord, but he says there be English brigs there too, and it looks like they be engaging the enemy. There be shots bein’ fired, Miskin says.”

C
HALFORD PROMPTLY ORDERED LOOKOUTS
to the castle ramparts, but as the day proceeded, their reports continued to indicate that the ships showed no inclination to approach England, that they had moved nearer to the French coast instead. By late afternoon the French ships had disappeared from sight altogether, and three English ships had been sighted making slowly for Southampton. Not until that evening, when more guests arrived for dinner, was further information received.

Chalford had suggested that morning that they inform those of their neighbors who might expect to be presented to the new marchioness that she was ready to receive them, and Lady Adelaide had declared that certain persons among them might actually be invited to dine with their other guests that evening.

“’Tis short notice, of course, but they will be very glad to come, and we will thus attend to several obligations at once,” she told him. “We will set back the dinner hour, which will suit our town visitors and likewise make it unnecessary for anyone to be put to unseemly haste.” Glancing at Adriana, who had turned from a chat with Sally to listen to them, she added, “Not many of them will provide suitable companionship for you, I fear, but ’tis our duty to condescend graciously whenever possible. We must never appear to snub the local gentry.”

“My goodness me, no,” said Sally, whose interest had been as marked as Adriana’s. “’Twould be fatal to snub one’s inferiors, particularly since country squires tend, in my experience, to be such very proud persons.”

Adriana had no wish to snub anyone, so Lady Adelaide’s suggestion was agreed to, with the result that several members of the local gentry—all of those with whom Lady Adelaide could bring herself to associate—joined the houseparty for dinner that evening. Among the first to arrive, after the houseguests and family had changed and gathered once more in the great hall, were Lord Braverstoke and his son, Randall, of Newingham Manor.

Randall Braverstoke caught Adriana’s interest at once—and her sister’s as a matter of course—for he was a charming, well-set-up young man of some thirty-plus summers, with deep-blue eyes and shining black hair. When he bowed deeply over Adriana’s hand, he kept his eyes on her face, his gaze exploring hers while he murmured the usual amenities. And when Adriana smiled at him, his eyes lit with undisguised pleasure and admiration.

“Why do we never meet men like Mr. Braverstoke in London?” Miranda demanded when she and Adriana had moved on to greet other visitors and were beyond earshot of the Braverstokes.

“I like his father, too,” Adriana said with a grin. “With those round, red cheeks and that ring of gray hair resting like a halo upon his head, he looks like a plump cherub.” When Miranda smiled but faintly in response to this sally, Adriana looked searchingly at her. “I have not had an opportunity to ask before now, Randy, but what did Alston want with you earlier?”

Miranda grimaced. “The usual drivel. He saw me with Mr. Bennett and then heard what I said to you. Said I was insolent.”

“Oh, dear.”

“It was nothing,” Miranda assured her, “but I am tired of his lectures, Dree. Have you spoken to Chalford yet?”

“No, and truly, you cannot wish to come to us, Randy. There is nothing for you to do here. ’Tis nothing like Brighton.”

“Believe me, Dree, I would willingly trade a fortnight of Alston and Sophie’s company in London or Brighton for a fortnight of boredom at Thunderhill. Do, please, speak to Chalford.”

Adriana nodded, thinking she had best make a push to apologize to her husband for her bad behavior the previous night before she asked favors of him. She felt no urge to explain this detail to Miranda, however, and they were interrupted just then by Sarah Clifford and Sally, the latter demanding to know if the Earl and Countess Cowper were expected to join the houseparty.

“I meant to ask you the moment we arrived,” she said with a laugh, “for you must know that I have the most delightful little surprise for them. Only look at this.” She began to hold out a small, neatly matted and gilt-framed newspaper clipping, then changed her mind and read it to them instead: “‘From among the fashionable dainties of the season, a young earl, it is said, has given a decided preference to young
Lamb.’
There,” she said with a chuckle, “is that not famous? Will it not amuse them?”

“Why would it do so?” Miranda asked.

Sarah, too, expressed puzzlement. “That item was in nearly every newspaper a month ago, Sally. Cowper and Emily Lamb are married now. Are they to visit you, Dree?”

Adriana shook her head. “I believe they intend to spend some weeks at Panshanger, his lordship’s house near Hertford. You will have to send your gift to them there, Sally, for I daresay that they, too, will miss Brighton this year.”

Sally laughed. “To be sure, dearest Emily is now a proper, dutiful countess, which is all the more reason, I think, to remind her that her affairs must always provide fare for gossip. And this bit came not from just any paper, my dear Miranda, but from the
Times,
which so rarely indulges in gossipy
on-dits.
I clipped the notice at once, thinking to make them a wedding gift of it, but through some cause or other I mislaid the thing and only found it again when we returned to the Prospect Lodge.”

“Poor Emily has been providing
on-dits
for all the papers since before her come-out,” Adriana pointed out, “but it will be different now, I believe. I have seen her with Cowper. She loves the man to distraction, Sally, and he is so very charming to her. ’Tis like a storybook romance,” she said wistfully.

“For the moment, perhaps,” Sally said with a grimace, “but Emily is far from being the naive heroine in which story writers delight. She is as worldly as her mama, and no one ever accused Lady Melbourne of being distracted from the main chance by love, though she certainly enjoyed more opportunities than most for distraction. Only wait until Emily becomes bored with Cowper, or he with her. A charming man when he wishes to be, and even more handsome than Leveson-Gower, but Cowper can be as cold and hard as steel, too, and for very little cause.” She shivered dramatically, adding, “Goodness knows I wish them well, but marriage … Well, my dears, marriage can be very difficult.”

Adriana stared at her. Was this the foolish, chattering schoolgirl Chalford had described to her only the previous night? Marriage could, as she was discovering for herself, prove very difficult indeed; however, she could not imagine eighteen-year-old Emily with her large, wide-set brown eyes and pale, innocent face as anything but an adoring young wife. She opened her mouth to say as much, to tell Sally she was being foolish beyond permission to speak so, but the words would not come. A small voice deep inside her suggested Sally might well prove to be right.

“My dears,” said Lady Henrietta just then, approaching them with her rapid, clicking steps, her head thrust a little forward as though to carry her more quickly to their sides, “did you hear what Mr. Braverstoke has been saying about those French ships?”

“No, ma’am,” Adriana said. “I thought the danger was over.”

“Do tell us,” urged Sarah; the others nodded encouragingly.

“You had much better hear it from him, for I should most likely make a mull of the tale,” said Lady Hetta, signaling to the young man in question to join them. “Tell these ladies what you were telling the others, sir,” she said when he came obediently to her side. “He had his yacht out on the water today, you see,” she added with a brisk nod.

“Oh, do you have a yacht?” Adriana asked, smiling at him. “What fun that must be. I have always loved the sea, but no one has ever taken me out in anything other than a small sailboat before. I should adore to sail on a yacht.”

“Then we must arrange an expedition, ma’am,” Mr. Braverstoke said, smiling at her and showing even, strong-looking white teeth. He was of a height nearly equal to Chalford’s, but his body was slimmer and his shoulders not so broad. Nonetheless, Adriana thought, letting her gaze drift idly over his form, he seemed well-muscled and fit. She looked up, encountered Sally’s look of mockery, and blushed. Fortunately, Mr. Braverstoke’s attention had been reclaimed by Lady Hetta, who suggested that he tell about the French ships and never mind puffing off his yacht.