Anna Jacobs (23 page)

“Hrmph. You know my niece already, I believe?”

“Yes, of course I do. We’re old acquaintances. Good day, Miss Dencey.” He strode over to clasp Bea’s hand and felt it shaking in his. As he looked down into her eyes, his own softened involuntarily. “Are we not, Beatrice?” he added softly, so that the Dowager didn’t catch the words, which were a caress in themselves.

For a moment, Beatrice forgot herself and smiled back at him, her eyes betraying the love she was trying to deny as clearly as if they had spoken it aloud. “How do you do, Mr Serle?”

“I hope your ankle is better.”

“It’s quite recovered now, thank you.”

Goodness! Just look at them! marvelled Eleanor. Well, I don’t need to worry about what to do with Serle. He loves her, too. Bea’s being very noble, keeping him for me, so I must find out why, but I’ll be better off with my Crispin. What fun this visit is going to be!

Beatrice swallowed hard and forced herself to stand back. “I don’t think you’ve met my niece, Mr Serle. This is Eleanor.” Her voice had become cool and impersonal again, as if he were a stranger or a distant acquaintance.

He turned at once to greet the younger lady with a smile.

Smiling back at him, Eleanor decided she would have to get on good terms with him as soon as possible. He might make a very useful ally. After all, there was a lot to arrange and her only hope of success lay in making the Dowager believe that a rearrangement of partners was her own idea. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr Serle,” she said cheerfully. “I hope you had a comfortable journey here.”

“Delightful. This is quite the pleasantest time of year, don’t you think, Miss Graceover?”

“Oh yes, very pleasant. The gardens are so pretty one cannot help but enjoy being out of doors.” But she could see his eyes stray back to Beatrice, who was deliberately looking the other way. What had got into her aunt? If she loved him, she should be doing all she could to get herself married to him, not throwing him at her niece. Eleanor intended to fight for Crispin tooth and nail. But no - Bea was just the sort to be noble and self-sacrificing about everything.

Well, that wasn’t going to be allowed.

The Dowager rapped her cane on the ground. “I bid you welcome to Satherby, Serle, but as it’s late, we’ll have to pursue our acquaintance over dinner. It’s time we all changed. We don’t keep town hours here. We dine at six sharp.”

“I shan’t keep you waiting, your Ladyship. My man will have unpacked my things by now.” He followed the footman out, tossing over his shoulder for Beatrice’s benefit, “I’m no dandy!”

Beatrice blushed scarlet and deliberately upset her embroidery silks onto the floor to cover her confusion.

“Good looking fellow,” said the Dowager before he was out of hearing.

Beatrice saw him cast a laughing glance at her over his shoulder and once again she averted her eyes.

Eleanor observed with approval that Mr Serle had a good sense of humour. “He is very good looking, Grandmamma, but not as good looking as Mr Smeathley, do you think?”

“Smeathley?” The Dowager blinked in surprise. “I suppose the fellow’s all right, but he can’t compare with a Serle. Don’t like the way Smeathley does his hair, either. If those curls are natural, I’ll eat my walking stick.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re wrong!” declared Eleanor, clasping her hands at her bosom and sighing. She wondered for a moment if she were overdoing things and she had great trouble holding the pose, but had the satisfaction of seeing both ladies staring at her in puzzlement. To her relief, neither said anything.

As she and Beatrice walked up to their rooms, she managed to prattle only of Augustus Smeathley, though she was hard put to keep the eulogies going all the way upstairs.

Dinner wasn’t a comfortable meal, for several members of the party had too much at stake to allow themselves to relax. The Dowager sat at the head of the table, flanked by Mr Serle and the elder Mr Smeathley. Eleanor was set at Mr Serle’s right hand, with Crispin next to her. Beatrice sat on the other side of the table, between the two Mr Smeathleys, which made it very difficult for her to avoid Justin’s eyes. Beyond Mr Augustus Smeathley was his mother, who said very little to anyone, but smiled a lot and partook of every dish offered to her.

They were served in state by both footmen and the butler. Eleanor was the life and soul of the party, prattling on about this and that, and fluttering her eyes at Mr Smeathley in a way that soon had Crispin frowning.

Beatrice sent her niece one or two warning glances, which were totally ignored.

The Dowager, whose hearing was not of the best, maintained a dignified silence most of the time, for she hated to mistake what someone had said and thus betray her own weakness, but she threw sharp questions at her guests every now and then to show them she was still in charge.

Beatrice spent the whole meal wishing the floor would open up and swallow her. She had always considered those words, when she read them in novels, to be as stupid as they were trite, but they exactly expressed her wishes at the moment. She didn’t think she could maintain her composure over several days spent in his company and wondered whether she dared pretend to come down with the influenza.

The elder Smeathleys were, as the Dowager had prophesied, no trouble to entertain, for they maintained a dignified silence for most of the meal the better to concentrate on their food.

Their son proved himself not only an accomplished trencherman, but also one who was capable of contributing more than his fair share to the conversation. His unctuous utterances formed a regular bass counterpoint to Eleanor’s bright prattle.

Within a short time, the sound of his voice had set Beatrice’s teeth on edge. That man is a practiced sycophant, she thought indignantly, and if this is the way he intends to make his way up through the ecclesiastical hierarchies, then the church is welcome to him. It amazed her to see Eleanor hanging upon his every word and treating his threadbare utterances like pearls of wisdom.

And Eleanor was making little effort to converse with her other neighbour, Mr Serle, though he’d addressed several extremely intelligent remarks to her, to which Beatrice had felt compelled to respond herself.

Crispin Herforth was very quiet during the meal, observing everything very closely. He wasn’t enjoying the sight of Eleanor hanging upon that buffoon’s words and he meant to have some sharp words with her about it afterwards. Already he was deeply regretting that he’d agreed to be guided by her in winning her grandmother’s consent to their marriage. To his mind, deceit never paid. If it were up to him, he would seek an interview with the Dowager the very next morning to let her know how he felt about her granddaughter.

Serle was also quiet, for his attention was focused on Beatrice, who was looking so strained and weary that his heart ached for her. She’d kept herself in the background and tried to avoid meeting his eyes ever since his arrival, though he’d managed to gain several responses from her, thanks to Eleanor’s inattention. What puzzled him was why the old lady had invited him here? He had a faint hope that the invitation had been prompted by Beatrice, but now he couldn’t believe that.

His eyes strayed to his neighbour. Surely the Dowager didn’t think to match him with her granddaughter? Eleanor was a lovely young thing, but he was too old for her, even if his affections had not been engaged already. He rather thought the chit was up to some sort of mischief and he meant, if he could, to find out what, in case it was something which might upset his poor love. He turned his head and watched with some amusement the way the young minx was flattering Smeathley. The man was taken in by it, behaving like the veriest greenhead, for all his massive clerical dignity.

When the ladies eventually rose to leave the gentlemen to their port, the Dowager announced firmly that she would expect to see the gentlemen in the drawing room within the half hour. “I do not,” she stared round, “approve of immoderate drinking.”

“Nor would we wish to stay away from the ladies for too long,” Augustus Smeathley said, throwing a languishing glance toward Eleanor.

Crispin was hard put not to punch him in the face.

In fact, it was barely twenty minutes before the gentlemen abandoned their port, because each of the three younger ones was so careful to guard what he said that conversation in no way flourished, while the elder Smeathley’s attention was solely on his wine glass.

That port wine, Justin thought regretfully, was some of the best he’d ever tasted and should have been treated more respectfully than being gulped down as it was by the elder Mr Smeathley and ignored by Mr Augustus Smeathley, who was visibly fretting to rejoin the ladies. Herforth seemed a decent enough fellow and, in different circumstances, Justin would have been pleased to pursue a closer acquaintance with him, but for the moment, until he had summed up exactly who was playing which game, he would keep himself to himself.

He complimented the butler as he left the room on the way the port had been cellared and decanted, and made himself a staunch ally, because if Borrill had one passion in life, it was the proper management of good wines.

The ladies, having ensconced themselves in the Blue Drawing Room, passed a rather uncomfortable twenty minutes waiting for the gentlemen. Beatrice saw her aunt settled, noting that the old lady was already displaying signs of fatigue, then sat down next to her and pretended to embroider, putting in some more crooked stitches.

The Dowager and Mrs. Smeathley made desultory conversation about mutual acquaintances and the foibles of long-dead relatives. Eleanor, after twitching about restlessly for a few minutes, went to the piano and began to play.

It was there that Crispin saw her as he entered, her hair aureoled by the candelabrum behind her and her firm little hands caressing a delicate melody from the keys. She seemed for the moment to have forgotten that there were other people around her and her eyes were half closed as she played. Without thinking, he went to stand behind her to turn the pages and with a start she realized that the gentlemen had returned.

Under cover of the music, she was able to instruct him to meet her on the terrace half an hour after everyone had retired and to stay away from her until then. Further confidences were prevented by Augustus Smeathley, who loomed up beside them and began to hum the melody in a rich fruity voice.

Eleanor kicked Crispin on the ankle, which he correctly interpreted as an order to remove himself.

He did so most reluctantly, his lips tight with annoyance.

“Do you sing, Cousin Augustus?” Eleanor was cooing behind him.

“I delight in it, my dear young lady, delight in it.”

Within minutes they had found some suitable music and were entertaining the company with a duet that proved Smeathley’s boasted love of music to be no lie. It was the one good thing about him, Eleanor thought.

The Dowager watched them for a while, tapping out the tune with a wrinkled, twisted hand, but she didn’t allow the tête-à-tête to continue beyond three duets. “Excellent!” she called. “Now go and find me that sketch-book of Beatrice’s, child. I want to show Crispin the perspectives of the house and grounds.”

Old and half deaf she might be, but within minutes she had them organized into the pairs she wanted. Crispin with herself, Serle with Eleanor and Smeathley with a very silent Beatrice. The senior Smeathleys were allowed to entertain themselves by dozing in a corner.

To Beatrice, the evening seemed to last for ever.

Chapter 12

At the prescribed time, when everyone seemed to have gone to bed, Crispin tiptoed down the dark staircase, wishing he dared light a candle. It was all very well for Eleanor, who knew the house like the back of her hand, to suggest they meet outside on the terrace, but he would have preferred to wait until early morning, when he could see where he was going. He fumbled his way to the bottom of the stairs, praying that everyone else was sound asleep, and with some trepidation made his way across what seemed a vast expanse of hallway.

A door at the back of the hall opened suddenly and a shaft of light stopped him dead in his tracks. He waited where he was, heart pounding, to see who had caught him behaving so strangely.

“Did you wish for something, sir?”

Crispin sighed with relief at the sound of the butler’s voice.

“Yes.” He sought desperately for an excuse. “I wanted to go outside to smoke a cigarillo. Not the sort of thing Lady Marguerite would appreciate one doing indoors, I suspect, and I didn’t want to disturb the rest of the house. Now that you’re here, perhaps you’d tell me which is the best place to go. The terrace, I thought?”

“Yes, sir. If you’d follow me. I would suggest you go out through the library.”

Crispin followed him, hoping the man wouldn’t wait to see the fictitious cigarillo being lit. Damn! He’d better get hold of some, just in case he needed to repeat the excuse. That’s where deceit got you, into tangles! “Thank you.”

“Would you like me to light you a candle, sir?” Borrill gestured with his own candlestick toward an unlit candelabrum.

“Yes. Thank you. I’ll leave it inside, though, and just use it to light the cigarillo in a little while and guide me back to my room when I’ve finished. The moon’s rising now and it’s full enough to provide me with all the light I need. You needn’t wait. I’ll lock up when I come in again. You - er - won’t mention my little weakness to Lady Marguerite, will you?”

Borrill smiled. He had already decided that he approved of The Heir. “No, sir, for it’s one I share.” 

Crispin waited until the door of the library had closed behind Borrill before going outside. He didn’t dare call out and could only wait for Eleanor to find him.

A rustle of skirts and a low chuckle heralded her appearance, and before he could take another step, she had thrown herself into his arms and was raising her face to be kissed.

“Oh, how I missed you!” she sighed, when at last they tore themselves apart and went to sit on a bench.

“And I you, my darling. But what the devil you mean by playing up to that fellow Smeathley! I came very near to calling this whole sham off tonight, I can tell you!”