Evelyn Richardson (3 page)

When Lord and Lady Cresswell had returned from their travels. Aunt Harriet had made some halfhearted offers to remove to a house in Bath, but having put so much into the gardens and conservatory, she was quite relieved when no one paid the slightest attention to her. So she remained a fixture at Cresswell, largely ignoring the children and the world in general. She did take an interest in her eldest niece, especially after Frances returned from the Season disappointed in what the ton had to offer and as little interested in becoming a society matron as Aunt Harriet had been.

It was Aunt Harriet who, listening to the imaginative way in which Frances taught Cassie and Frederick their history lessons, had convinced Frances to write down these lessons and send them off to her father's publisher in London. And it was Aunt Harriet who shared in Frances' surprise and delight when Mr. Murray had written back that he was honored to print “these extremely edifying histories for young readers” and had requested more. By degrees, Aunt Harriet had proved to Frances that a lack of success in London by no means presaged an equal lack of success in the country. She encouraged her niece to read anything and everything, from politics and agriculture to literary and artistic reviews. Slowly the sound opinions and good judgment Lady Frances developed were appreciated and made her sought-after by local gentry and tenants alike. She still retained her natural reserve. Only her family and the Mainwarings were aware other fun-loving side, her wonderful sense of humor and extravagant imagination that invented mythical beasts and hair-rising adventures for hours on end. This same sense of humor allowed her to be amused rather than discommoded by her aunt's eccentric ways, her habit of putting any visitor out of countenance either by cutting him dead or, if the slightest interest were evinced, by subjecting him immediately to an extended horticultural tour of Cresswell. Frances knew how much the prospect of cramped quarters, poor air, uneven sunlight, London society, and the parting with the Cresswell rose beds would upset her aunt. But she also knew that the ton, which was not only censorious but remarkably well-informed, would soon discover and comment on her behavior if she were to set up an establishment with only Freddie and Cassie as companions. She may have considered herself well on her way to being a respectable spinster at the advanced age of twenty-two, but the scandalmongers would be more than happy to gossip unless she had a more respectable chaperone than a pair of mischievous eleven-year-olds. There was no help for it but to drag Aunt Harriet along with them to Brook Street. Though, she mused, the constant attention required to check the insatiable curiosity and incessant antics of the twins makes them far more effective chaperones than an aunt who would continue to putter with her plants while thieves carried off the silver and ravishers abducted her niece.

Pushing these thoughts aside, she resolved to tackle her aunt by offering her the baggage coach and the services of James, the footman, for the plants a week before the rest of them were to travel, in addition to the enticement of having the front bedroom and dressing room as well as the morning room—all very sunny—at her complete disposal. Having settled that to her satisfaction, she bade Kitty good-bye and rewarded herself with the prospect of a long ride in the soft afternoon sunshine.

Half an hour later, having donned a new riding habit just arrived from the dressmaker and having ascertained from a quick glance in the mirror that the severe cut and jaunty hat were as becoming as she remembered, she strolled out to the stables to be greeted by her favorite mount. Ajax was eager to be released and could barely wait for her to be tossed into the saddle and be off. A handsome Arab, he seemed too strong a mount for a lady, but Frances was a skilled horsewoman and took great delight in the challenge of handling such an animal. The wind whipped the cobwebs from her mind, while the sight of the countryside with its delicate touches of green and the smell of fresh earth made her begin to regret her decision to exchange it for the crowds and the pavements of London. For some time she galloped along, letting Ajax choose the way across the fields, jumping hedgerows and slowing down to canter through the woods, both of them relishing the exhilaration of freedom. But soon thoughts of a myriad of tasks she had left undone intruded and she knew she should return to them. Regretfully she took one last jump and headed home to finish the accounts waiting for her on her desk.

Her good intentions were not to be fulfilled, however, for upon her return she was forestalled by Higgins, who informed her that a gentleman awaited her in the library. Alerted by the somewhat anxious expression on his normally wooden countenance, Frances questioned him farther. “It's the new Marquess of Camberly, milady.” Then adding in a confidential tone, “And he looks to be in not the best of tempers.” Thus forewarned. Lady Frances removed her hat, smoothed a few unruly wisps of hair, and shook out the skirts other riding habit. Then, fortifying herself with a deep breath and assuming as much dignity as possible after such an invigorating ride, she entered the library.

If he had not been a great deal too angry to care. Lord Julian Mainwaring would have described his first impression of Lady Frances Cresswell as charming rather than beautiful or dignified—an excellent figure, hazel eyes sparkling, and cheeks flushed after a ride. Her graceful entrance and melodious, “Good afternoon, my lord,” added to the impression and further exacerbated Mainwaring's temper.

He had been intensely annoyed several days prior to this encounter to receive notice of an action led by the local magistrate against the agent at Camberly, which had forced him to abandon several interesting political projects in London and post down to Hampshire. He had been even further annoyed to discover that the action had been precipitated by the complaint of a Lady Frances Cresswell. If there were anything Julian Mainwaring loathed more than interference in his affairs, it was interference from an officious busybody spinster who had nothing better to occupy her time than causing trouble for everyone else. Years of dealings with a host of aunts and cousins bent on running his life had perfected his technique of discouraging such meddling. An aloof, coldly polite demeanor dampened the curiosity and helpful suggestions of even the most inveterate of busybodies. He had been perfectly confident that the use of this weapon, an icily polite setdown, would solve his problems with Lady Frances as effectively as it had with the others. The shock of encountering someone who was not only a mere slip of a girl instead of a withered-up spinster, but also a girl who did not conceal an annoyingly understanding humorous twinkle in her fine eyes and revealed a charming smile completely deprived him of his usual resources. Accustomed to dominating every situation, he felt himself at a loss in dealing with this one. Frustration merely added fuel to his anger with the situation and with his hostess.

Frances, waiting for his reply, had ample time to study her opponent. The fierce set on an arrogant jaw, the tightening of well-shaped lips, and the lowering of black brows over intensely blue eyes did nothing to dispel her original reading of his character from his letter. He was a man accustomed to command, arrogant and impatient of other people. The gracious manner and smile that good breeding forced her to adopt disappeared immediately and she faced him warily, determined not to be dominated.

“It has come to my ears, madam, that you have had the effrontery to complain to the magistrate about the conduct of my agent.” If she had been bent on resisting him before, she needn't have worried. Her determination, which had sprung from her natural resistance to anyone overbearing, was now fueled by anger. An excellent estate manager herself, she had long been annoyed by the irresponsible behavior of Camberly's shiftless Snythe. Fair-mindedly she had to admit to herself that it was none of her business that the estate was poorly managed, but waste and disrepair upset her whenever and wherever she saw them. In some ways she had been affected. Common fences that had fallen down allowed Camberly livestock into the well-ordered fields of Cresswell's tenants. After all her complaints had been totally ignored, she had repaired the fences herself, but her annoyance had remained. She had been almost glad when her youngest housemaid's tale of woe had revealed Snythe to be a villain as well as negligent. Frances had surprised Sally in tears one morning, and after much cajoling had discovered that he had been forcing most unwelcome attentions on her. When she had rejected him he had threatened to turn her father, one of Camberly's oldest tenants, off the land. Her father's tenancy had been guaranteed by the late Lord Mainwaring's will, but Snythe had enlisted the aid of a disreputable solicitor from the nearest town and had managed to convince Mr. Clemson that it was in his power to remove him from the farm. Sally had been at her wits' end. Much as she loathed the slimy Snythe, she loved her family and knew the miseries of the certain poverty that threatened them should they be turned off. Having heard the entire story. Frances had bidden her dry her eyes and had ridden straight to Sir Lucius Taylor, the local magistrate. Bluff and honest. Sir Lucius had been Frances' adviser in all estate matters since her father's death. He had been glad of the opportunity to bring Snythe to account, something he had been longing to do even longer than Frances.

Thus it was with some asperity that Frances replied, “Yes, my lord, and you may be sure it should have been done long before this, for that man has been running the estate into the ground this age.”

His expression became truly alarming. “How dare you interfere in my affairs, madam!”

“I assure you, I restrained myself with difficulty from entering your affairs long before this. It always grieves me to see an estate mismanaged, but I refrained from any action, feeling confident that surely someone would recognize Snythe for the scoundrel he is. Obviously I was guilty of misplaced optimism. It was only after his neglect destroyed some of our seedlings and he threatened my housemaid and her family with ruin that I took any steps at all.”

If Lord Mainwaring had been annoyed before, he was furious now—furious because he had not had the time to follow up on his original suspicions of Snythe and come down to investigate, and furious because he had been put in the wrong by a girl little more than half his age. “And I suppose, my girl, that it never occurred to you that the most honorable and expedient way to handle this matter would have been to complain to me,” he retorted contemptuously.

Lady Frances flushed. Though privately she acknowledged the justice of his remark and its good sense, she was not about to give in to such high-handed behavior. “I had no reason, sir, given your total disregard for Camberly and its people, to believe that you would pay any attention to a communication from a ... a 'girl,' “ she replied, her eyes kindling at his slighting form of address. “And now, seeing how arrogant you really are, I am surprised you should have paid the least attention to my complaints.”

“I had to attend to my own and my brother's affairs in London before I could consider Camberly,” he answered, further exasperated at having to defend himself to her. He continued, “As to the rest of the people at Camberly, who are also no concern of yours, I have arranged to bring out my niece this Season under my cousin's aegis, and I will thank you to stop interfering there.”

“Interfering? I?” gasped Frances, angry beyond all decorum at this unexpected attack.

“Whom else must I thank for putting such prudish and bluestocking notions into her head that she writes to me that she does not want to be 'sold to the highest bidder on the Marriage Mart,' as she phrases it? Where else must I look to find the example that makes living in the country, following 'simple, educational pursuits,' seem so attractive? Living in the country and managing an estate may be very well for one such as you, but you know that someone such as Kitty, who has the most naive outlook on life and possesses such romantic propensities, is not the type to enjoy it for long. Better by far that she come to London and learn the untaxing role of a young woman in society so that someone stronger and more sensible than she can take care of her.”

Privately Lady Frances was in total agreement, but it would never do to let this overbearing person know that. “Yes, and suppose no such paragon appears—then what will she fell back on?” was her swift rejoinder.

A cynical smile touched the corners of his lips. “Never fear. What young buck could resist the trusting simplicity of those big brown eyes?”

Before she could stop herself. Frances commented tartly, “Well, obviously men such as you could.” Heretofore she had maintained her dignity in spite of being in such a rage, but as these words escaped her lips she realized how rapidly she had descended from a rational condemnation of Lord Mainwaring's business to puerile comments on his personal affairs. Guiltily conscious of this, she put a hand to her mouth and in a remorseful tone added, “Oh, I do beg your pardon.”

This rapid change from the furious, contemptuous mistress of Cresswell to someone who suddenly looked like a schoolroom miss caught in an illegal escapade completely threw Mainwaring. Unwilling amusement crept into his eyes as he agreed, “Yes, but I am not the marrying kind anyway, you know.”

That left Frances without a thing to say, but rescue was at hand as Higgins entered bearing a decanter of port, which he offered to his lordship. This interruption brought Mainwaring to his senses, and though he thanked Higgins, he declined, saying that he must be off to Camberly, where he was expected for tea. With that and a curt “Good day, ma'am,” he strode off, leaving Lady Frances to smile gratefully at her butler.

“That was excellently done, Higgins. I do thank you.”

“I thought perhaps his lordship was in need of some restorative,” he replied, his impassive countenance belied by twinkling eyes.

It wasn't until he was halfway back to Camberly that Julian realized that though he'd received an explanation, he had certainly not received anything that remotely resembled the apology he had ridden over to demand. “In fact, it was she who seemed to think I was in the wrong,” he muttered bitterly to himself. “Any man would have apologized openly, honestly, shaken hands, and been done with it.” His eyes kindled. “In fact, no man would have interfered in such a damned officious manner without coming to me in the first place.” Thoroughly irritated by the thought that a mere girl had dared to tell him how to go on, he refused to admit that he had been in complete agreement with her over the original problem. He urged his horse to a gallop. “Damned foolishness! Imagine leaving the management of an estate to a woman—and a girl at that!”