Cynthia Bailey Pratt (22 page)

The servants snored openly on the grass. Both the Massinghams slept peacefully, one propped against the luncheon basket and the other laid neatly down with a handkerchief over her face. It was rather dull, sitting beside them, without even a book to while away the postprandial hour. Danita went to look at the stones alone, being careful to keep out of sight of Berenice and her suitors. They did not need her company.

While marveling over the strength required to lift the capstones so high, Danita began to think of Sir Carleton. Had the early Britons who raised this monument been a race of men like him? He was strong and clever enough to imagine a way to assemble massive stones from far away and to build them securely enough to last an eternity.

She did not know a great deal about the Druids, except that they wore white robes, worshipped oaks, and were reputed to be capable magicians. It was not hard to think of Sir Carleton working magic. She wished he were here now. So often she’d thought of him, only to have him appear, that when a hand touched her arm, she smiled before she turned.

“Your Grace!” she said, her pleasure vanishing immediately.

Not even a man of his self-conceit could imagine she was glad to see him. “Did I startle you, my dear? I had no intention of ... did you think I was a ghost, rising to lay a cold hand on yours?” With a lunge, he took her hand. “There, you see, I am quite warm, though not so warm as you, I fancy.”

“Excuse me. I must return to my party. They’ll be looking for me.” She tried to free her hand, but his grasp was just a little less than painful.

“Come, my dear,” he said, blowing the words onto her cheek as he drew her closer. His long caped coat and wide beaver hat, tipped at an extreme angle over his thin face, might have made him appealing to some women. Not, however, with the gleam of appetite in his black eyes.

“Don’t be so hasty. If you accept me, what a myriad of pleasures will be yours. Much money, a fashionable abode, the plaudits of the
ton.
You are a handsome creature, you know. If better dressed...why do you wear these dreadful clothes? With my taste to guide you, all London will be at your feet!”

Her heart beat faster. When his eyes had dropped to her bodice, they had not risen again. Though he held her tightly against his body, she tried to speak lightly. “Why, Your Grace, it sounds to me as though you are proposing an honorable arrangement.”

She was freed so quickly she almost laughed. Though surprised, the duke did not seem defeated. “Don’t play the fool with me, my lovely. You are no lady, you know, to be offered an
amende honorable.
My mother would never hear of it.”

Now Danita did laugh. “You cannot be up with the latest gossip, Your Grace. I am respectable once more. My past has been verified by unimpeachable sources. They are asleep, over there, on the grass. Now, I think you must excuse me.”

He kept pace with her. “What can Blacklock give you that I cannot? Think of what you are throwing away by refusing me.”

“I cannot see that I lose very much. Besides, you must rid yourself of this notion that Sir Carleton means anything to me.”

“Then why did you come with him to my card party? Ha, that is not a question you find so easy to answer, Miss Wingrove.”

Danita could not answer. She herself was a little confused as to the reason she had not refused Sir Carleton’s request outright. By now, she knew it was not because he promised to cancel a debt when he’d had no intention of accepting her repayment anyway.

Seeing his prey at a loss, the duke put his hands on her shoulders and forced her to face him. “I will have you,” he declared, his hands sliding down to pinion her arms against her sides. “You were made to be mine.”

As his mouth came down on hers, Danita kicked him with all her strength. But not even a half-boot of jean could make much impression on a hussar boot. She felt something wet and warm thrust against her tightly-closed lips and shuddered away, throwing her head back. The duke only chuckled and pressed his hateful mouth against her throat.

“Pardon me,” said a young man’s light voice. The duke turned with a growl, only to run his face into a fist. He reeled back, letting Danita go, perforce. Blushing violently, she took the hand Lord Framstead held out. He half-sheltered her with his person. “Are you unhurt, Miss Wingrove?”

Danita nodded, the back of her hand to her mouth, then pointed as the duke sat up. His capes hid his face, but strange muffled oaths emerged from the boxcloth. Tearing free, he jumped up. “Are you the ill-mannered puppy who dared...? I demand satisfaction for this, this insupportable insult! Oh, it is you, Framstead.”

“Yes, Your Grace. Do you wish satisfaction? I can have my seconds call on you.”

“No!” Danita said. “It isn’t...”

“Of course,” Lord Framstead went on coolly, “they’ll want to know why I knocked you down. Kissing, or rather, mauling another man’s affianced bride is hardly a creditable reason for a public duel.”

“Whose fiancée is
she?”

“Pray use a politer tone, Your Grace. I should hate to put myself to the trouble of knocking you down again. You are considerably older than I.”

“I asked you a question, damn you! Who is Miss Wingrove to marry?”

Danita said quickly, “It’s a secret. I couldn’t possibly ...”

“Me,” Lord Framstead said, and crossed his arms on his chest. “I’m not a duke, just an earl, of course. But then, I don’t think you were offering to make her a duchess. Was he, my love?”

Danita could only shake her head. Lord Framstead stepped forward, his hands dropping to become surprisingly formidable fists. “I should kill you for that alone, my lord Duke. But I shan’t. You are, as I said, considerably my senior. And I was taught never to strike old men, unless they particularly ask for it.”

The duke could only bow and walk away, fuming. The rest of his party immediately recognized the anger he made no push to hide, and their picnic ended with surprising suddenness. “Let us go,” said his mother. “I hate these old rocks, anyway. And if Ambrose does not feel well, it is best we go home at once. I told you driving in this strong sunshine would bring on the headache.”

“Yes, Mother.” All during the two-hour trip homeward, His Grace was mapping out in his mind where the Irishman would most likely be. It would be easy to drop a word of congratulations in his ear on the approaching nuptials of his good friend, Framstead. He would be very surprised to find that Blacklock knew of it. Indeed, he would lay a very great wager that Framstead’s engagement would be as great a shock to Blacklock as it had been to Miss Wingrove herself.

Danita sat on a cantilevered rock and wiped her face with the handkerchief Lord Framstead offered. Gazing up at him, she said, “You are rather chivalrous, aren’t you?”

“Oh, I say ...” Lord Framstead turned a pretty shade of pink. “I only...that is...well, what else could I say?”

“I suppose it was the only thing to say. He knows you aren’t my brother, and you couldn’t be my father.”

“That’s what I thought. I mean, he’s not the sort to give up just because a friend happens by.”

“You are a good friend, Lord Framstead. And as a friend of yours, one now deeply in your debt...”

“Oh, I say...”

“I must ask that we keep this ‘engagement’ strictly between ourselves. I am all too flattered to be called your future countess, even in jest, but there is another young lady who might not relish the thought of it.”

Lord Framstead looked glum. “I don’t think she’d care, very much. She has that barrister. God help his clients! You should hear the tripe he’s spouting about beautiful Roman maidens sacrificed on these rocks.” He slapped his hand down on the stone where Danita sat and an inch-square chunk of gray quartz dropped to the ground. “Damn me!” he said, startled into forgetting the presence of a lady. “Damn me, if I don’t give it to Miss Lucy!”

Chapter Twelve

“You know,” said Berenice as she and Danita waved farewell to their friends, “I think Lord Framstead is fond of you.”

Danita almost laughed. “You must make up your mind. First it is Mr. Kitson. Now it is Lord Framstead. Who next?”

As they mounted the steps, Danita could not help casting a look back at Sir Carleton’s residence. The high front windows at this hour of the afternoon gave back only reflections. She thought of the duke’s cold eyes and impatiently shook herself.

“What is it?’’ asked Berenice, turning her head to see what had disturbed her cousin.

“Nothing, dear. Just a ... I’m tired. All that fresh air.”

Berenice yawned obligingly as they entered. “Oh, so am I. But Danita, I think I’m right about Lord Framstead. I ... I hadn’t told you about the breakfast the other day, how he stood up and said that one had only to look at you to know you were a lady through and through, and ...” The girl ran out of breath.

“Wait. What’s all this?”

Berenice explained and then said, “I was going to say something too, but I can never think of the right words at the time. Oh, but in half an hour, I could have given them all such a set-down!”

“I’m sure you would have.” Danita did not want to say too much, perhaps spoiling the girl’s innocence, but she could not resist adding, “Berenice, did it never occur to you that Lord Framstead might have defended me for your sake? It’s all right now, but at the time, your living with a ... well, with me, could have been ruinous to your future prospects.”

“That’s what he said.”

“Lord Framstead?”

“No!
Mr. Newland.”

From above them a weak voice called, “Is that you, lamb?”

“Oh, I’d better go and see her.” Berenice tossed her parasol onto the low bench in the hall and ran lightly up the stairs. Looking down at her cousin from the landing, she said, “I still think he’s fond of you. I don’t begrudge you my Number 5 beau, Danita. Oh, yes, I’ve numbered them, to keep track. I have at least a hundred, you know. But my absolute favorite is Number 15. You can’t have him.”

Giggling, Berenice vanished from Danita’s line of sight. “Were you lonely, dearest?” she heard the girl call.

Shaking her head, but smiling at the girl’s high spirits, Danita picked up Berenice’s parasol. It was lovely thing, with a carved ivory handle and gleaming brass fittings, a birthday present from her doting grandmother. The cost had been something like twenty pounds. Danita thought that high for a frivolity, yet had to admit her thoughts might be barbed with jealousy. She knew she was due to inherit a comfortable sum of money, sometime in the dim future. Though this knowledge pleased her, it did little to alter the circumstances in which she found herself at present. She could not see herself purchasing exotic parasols.

Twirling it by the shaft, Danita turned to go upstairs when Figgs said, “Excuse me. Miss Wingrove. But a person awaits you in the morning room.” The butler took the parasol and also held out his white-gloved hand for Miss Wingrove’s bonnet.

“A person, Figgs? Who?” A foolish hope that it might be Sir Carleton blossomed and died in an instant. Figgs would have said “gentleman” if it had been he.

“He gave the name Eaves, Miss Wingrove. He said he would speak only with you. I told Mrs. Clively and she said he might wait. He has been waiting since eleven o’clock this morning.”

“Thank you, Figgs. I’ll go in at once.”

“I shall wait for you here, miss, if I may.”

The man who rose at her entrance had the look of a clerk, perhaps in a bank. His skin was pale and his forehead creased, though not as though with looking at the sun. He seemed slightly damp as though just washed, with his curling hair and shiny skin. “Are you Miss Wingrove?”

“Yes. How may I help you?”

“Oh, no, miss. Mr. Kitson sent me. He said I was to wait, that walking through the streets was dangerous enough once, he wouldn’t have me goin’ back and forth.”

“I’m sorry I am so late, Mr. Eaves. I went on a picnic to Salisbury Plain.”

“Now that’s surprising, that is!” exclaimed the man. “I took my mum and sisters there not two years ago. Oh, they liked it, miss. I read a book on it to ‘em that winter and they was just tickled. Fancy you being there today. Mum will be interested.”

Suddenly, Mr. Eaves looked like what he was, a boy of no more than eighteen, looking back on one of the high points in a life devoted to stool, desk, and pen. “Are you Mr. Kitson’s clerk?” Danita asked.

“Yes, ma’am. Clerk of his Bath office.”

“Your mother must be proud you’ve risen to such a responsible position.”

Mr. Eaves thrust out his chest. “That she is. It’s all I can do to stop her bragging about me.”

“If you’ve been here all day, Mr. Eaves, you must be hungry. Let me ring for something.”

Shifting his feet and not meeting her eye, Mr. Eaves mumbled, “I had a sweet. Miss Wingrove. From that jar.” He pointed toward the writing desk as though expecting to be dragged off to gaol at any moment for his heinous crimes.

“That’s not enough to live a whole day on. I’ll call the butler.” Danita had only to poke her head out. Figgs still stood in the hall. “Some sandwiches, if you please. And if Mrs. Figgs has any of that lovely currant cake remaining, could you bring a large slice?”

“Are you all right. Miss Wingrove?”

“Perfectly.”

She still had no idea what Mr. Eaves wanted, besides feeding. But that he certainly needed. Imagine leaving a boy alone for hours without food! It’s a wonder, she thought, that he hadn’t started gnawing the furniture.

After he’d wrapped himself around three ham sandwiches, Mr. Eaves recalled why he’d come. “It’s this here money, Miss Wingrove.”

“Money?”

.The young head nodded as though on a stalk. “Yes, a whole bag of it.” He squinted toward the door and then to the window as though searching for eavesdroppers. “That’s why Mr. Kitson had me wait. He’s used to London ways, I fancy, and you couldn’t pay me enough to walk through them...those streets there carryin’ nothing more than a half-crown. But here in Bath, why, any street is safe as a bank.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Eaves,” Danita said. “What money?”

Again, he looked furtively to the left and the right. “This, miss.”