Lady Sherry and the Highwayman (17 page)

Daffodil looked at her own reflection, not wishing to meet her mistress’s beseeching gaze, then helped herself to the rouge pot because her own healthy cheeks were unnaturally pale. “Neddy don’t see it that way. He thinks you should pay up anyways. He’s hinting that there’s others as’ll pay him for what he knows if you won’t.”

Lady Sherry was being made cross by this relentless adversity. “Then let him!” she snapped. Daffodil said nothing. After further reflection, Sherry added, “Who can he mean?”

Daffodil put down the rouge pot. “I’m sure I don’t know.”

“Maybe not, but you could guess!” offered Aunt Tulliver from the depths of her chair. “If you was to put your mind to it. Think on this, milady: who do we know that’s pettish and peevish and tiresome and fretful, and who also hasn’t exactly welcomed you with open arms to this house?”

For a person who was not addicted to guessing games, Sherry divined this answer very promptly. “Lavinia, of course. She
would
listen to Ned.”

“Aye, and Sir Christopher would listen to
her,
and then we’d all be in the basket.” Tully shook her turbaned head. “I don’t say I blame you for ripping up at her, milady. Anyone would be thrown into a pucker by finding her snooping about like that. But now that she’s increasing— If Sir Christopher was besotted previously, now Her Spitefulness will truly be able to wrap him around her little finger. Devil of a business as it is, milady, you’d best pay up!”

How sad to think of her brother dwelling beneath the hen’s foot. Sadder still to think of herself and her retainers exposed as accessories to a highwayman’s escape from his justly deserved fate. “I’ll think of something,” Sherry murmured. Daffodil looked relieved.

Tully’s expression was not so readable. “I wonder,” she murmured, “if the scamp will be back on the high toby now.”

Sherry’s patience was exhausted. “Oh, let us hear no more of the wretch! Daffodil, do you mean to stare forever into that mirror, or will you help me dress? Andrew will be here at any moment and I do not wish to keep him waiting, and so if you do not mind—”

No more did Daffodil wish to keep Lord Viccars waiting. He’d take Lady Sherry’s mind off things it had no business dwelling on. Aunt Tulliver lent her assistance also, and soon Sherry was turned out, as Daffodil put it, in prime style. Chemise, drawers, stays that further constricted her small waist and emphasized the shape of her breasts, silk stockings, and a thin sarcenet slip; a gown of white French gauze striped with blue, with long, full sleeves and a lace-scalloped hem, a very high waist and a very low bodice cut into a deep V; satin slippers tied with crossed ribbons and long white gloves.

At last she was ready. Sherry fastened a sapphire and pearl necklace around her throat and picked up a blue Levantine pelisse edged with floss silk, then went downstairs to await the arrival of her escort.

Chapter Seventeen

Lady Sherry might have been en route to her own execution rather than a party in her honor, so grim was her mood. Nor were her spirits elevated when Lord Viccars’s elegant carriage rattled past St. George’s in Hanover Square. Not that the church was not impressive, with its elegant portico and large Corinthian columns, its lofty tower terminated by a turret-crowned dome; but Sherry could not think with complacency of the wedding ceremony that was scheduled to take place there within a few weeks.

Yet again, she forced Micah from her mind. Idylls end, she told herself; she must be grateful that she had enjoyed one at all. If the world seemed a great deal more flat than it once had, if she knew there was no grand and glorious surprise awaiting her around the comer, because she had already had her surprise and it was behind her now— Well, that was just the idyll’s price. Sherry was no green girl; she knew that for all things payment must be made. Now she was to be married, and time was marching forward at a relentless pace. As was Andrew’s carriage, arriving long before Sherry was prepared to face his sisters at a big, red mansion with a balustraded roof, which was approached by way of a forecourt and a prominent portico.

Within that elegant structure waited, amid a great deal of fashionable company, the Ladies Cecilia and Sarah-Louise. Sherry was introduced to a great many people whose names she would not remember; and was reminded of the comment of a fellow writer who had said to her that in society he felt like a poodle dog compelled forever to stand on its back legs. The sisters drew her away to a brocaded sofa and seated themselves on either side of her for a comfortable little coze. They bore a marked resemblance to their brother, who looked very fine this evening in his knee breeches and striped stockings, frilled shirt and Florentine waistcoat and long-tailed blue coat. Not that either Lady Cecilia or Sarah-Louise could lay claim to lush side-whiskers—though Cecilia did have the faint shadow of a mustache on her upper lip—but both had the same sandy hair and Sarah-Louise had a familiar smile.

Lady Cecilia was a great deal less merry. The heat and dust in London at this time of year were unbearable, were they not? And what did Lady Sherry think of these Hampden clubs that had sprung up all around the city, many of which entertained very seditious ideas, even designs of seizing property? Lady Sherry thought she must avoid a discussion of politics with her prospective sisters-in-law—as if Lavinia were not sister-in-law enough for anyone!—and adroitly turned the conversation to the Horticultural Society, which she knew was Cecilia’s consuming passion. Consequently, she was privileged to hear a dull, if uncontroversial, discussion of the experimental growing methods that produced strawberries as large as small apples and eleven-pound Providence pines.

Sarah-Louise broke into the conversation then; at five-and-thirty, she still remained the impetuous, spoiled darling of her family. “Cut line, Cissy! That is such dull stuff.
I
wish to know what Lady Sherry is writing now. Andrew mentioned a highwayman. I am a great fan of murder in Gothic castles and Oriental palaces myself! Ancient,
moldering
castles! Ghostly apparitions and avenging shades!”

“Ah, yes, the highwayman.” Was everything to remind Sherry of Micah? “It does not go as well as I might wish.”

“I am an admirer of Miss Austen’s work myself.” Lady Cecilia launched into an erudite discussion of
Pride and Prejudice.
“And Maria Edgeworth’s
Belinda
is quite unexceptionable.”

“At least the first volume is,” remarked Sarah-Louise. “I found it dull going after Lady Delacour reforms. Although I did like the locked room!” She nudged Sherry with her elbow. “You must not listen to my sister! She will have you writing such dreary stuff as Mary Brunton. ‘ The mind must be trained by suffering before it can hope for usefulness or true enjoyment,’ indeed! Well,
I
have not suffered, nor do I intend to, and though I may not be useful, I certainly know already how to enjoy myself!”

“Rather too much so,” observed Lady Cecilia disapprovingly. “Lady Sherry, you must pay my sister no mind. Tell us, what renovations do you plan for Andrew’s town house?”

“Yes, do tell us!” Sarah-Louise chimed in. “Because even Cissy admits she couldn’t live in that old bam. Although we all did live there as children, of course. Talk about your dreary mausoleums! If ever a place deserved to be haunted, that one does!” She opened her eyes wide. “Why, perhaps it is! Perhaps Mary walks there. Mary was Andrew’s first wife, you know. Not that her death wasn’t perfectly natural, because it was: she tripped over her own skirts and fell down the stairs. Which served her right in a way, because she was so very vain. But she was not a very obliging person, and she did not get along well with Andrew, and so if she had the opportunity of—”

“Sarah-Louise!” Cecilia looked very stern.

The younger woman flushed guiltily and broke off. “I fear I tend to chatter like a magpie. You must pay me no mind!”

“Indeed!” said Lady Cecilia icily. “You show so little manners, Sarah-Louise, that one would think you went seldom into society!” Then it was Cecilia’s turn to flush as she realized what she’d said—for this little party was a dress rehearsal for the larger betrothal ball that was being planned, at which Cecilia wanted to make certain that their brother’s affianced bride wouldn’t disgrace herself and them. “Not that
you
will need me to give you a gentle hint, Lady Sherry, as to how one should go on. I will not stand on ceremony with you: I feared I might have to speak where I should not! But you are perfectly correct and unassuming in your manners—obviously a model of good breeding, my dear!”

A number of things occurred to Sherry during this speech, primarily that Lady Cecilia had a very high sense of decorum and a disposition to think well of herself. Perhaps this was a characteristic of ladies of the very first distinction. Andrew’s eldest sister put Sherry strongly in mind of Lavinia.

Even with marriage, Sherry was not to escape this sort of quizzing. As Andrew’s wife, she would still be interrogated and have her every action criticized. Lady Cecilia, like Lavinia, would demand an accounting of her time.

“In other words,” murmured Sarah-Louise as her elder sister’s attention was attracted by a passing guest, “we are delighted to find in you nothing for which to blush. You won’t furnish the tea tables of the
ton
with tittle-tattle, as Cissy had feared you might, for she doesn’t know you as I do— She doesn’t read your books, you see! They’re not elevating enough for her. Although if Cissy was elevated any higher, she’s scrape her nose on the ceiling, I vow!” She leaned closer. “Tell me the truth! You don’t read that Brunton female!”

“No.” Lady Sherry was beginning to like this prospective sister-in-law rather a lot. “I am rather more prone to read things like
The Annals of Newgate
. Or
The Genuine History of the Life of Dick Turpin,
who—”

“I know!” interrupted Sarah-Louise. “Who rode to York, jumping over all the turnpike gates on the way. I wonder if that tale is true. What do you think about this Captain Toby person? Cissy will threaten to wash out my mouth with soap if she hears me say it, but I’m glad he escaped!”

Lady Cecilia turned back to them then. “You are glad
who
escaped?” she asked.

“Not glad!” protested Sarah-Louise innocently as she nudged Sherry in the ribs again. “How could I be? At least that horrid Bonaparte person will not escape his prison on Saint Helena. Oh, look, there are Andrew and James. I’ll wager they’ve been playing at cards. Come, Lady Sherry, let me introduce you to my husband. Isn’t he a handsome brute?” Without giving Sherry an opportunity to answer, she maneuvered her up off the sofa and through the crowd.

“I thought you were in need of rescuing. Cissy can be a trifle overbearing,” whispered Sarah-Louise. Sherry felt as though she were being swept along in a small whirlwind’s wake.

Sarah-Louise’s James was indeed handsome, a tall man with carelessly arranged dark hair and a mischievous twinkle in his eye. The sight of their obvious affection for each other caused Sherry a pang of regret. She did not love Andrew as she should, not in the manner she had recently discovered it was possible to feel, yet had still agreed to become his wife.

Perhaps it was just as well. Sherry sipped champagne from a crystal glass. She had fallen in love, however briefly, and it had been both unsuitable and uncomfortable. At least she would be more content with Andrew than if she continued to dwell beneath Lavinia’s roof. Perhaps her efforts to make Andrew happy—and Sherry did mean to make Andrew happy—would distract her from her own heartache. Surely it must be better to settle for what love was available than to do without any love at all.

The evening passed in a confused impression of bare arms and bosoms and backs swathed in shades of blue and green, violet and primrose; of gowns of patent net and lace and ribbon, velvet and silk, satin and shot sarcenet, crepe and tulle over satin slips. Sherry saw shirt points so high they must surely cut their wearers’ ears and every variety of intricately tied cravats from the Oriental and the Mathematical to the Ballroom and the Trone d’Amour. Countless times, she was introduced to some new person; and professed herself delighted to  countless more. Throughout it all she maintained an abstraction that would lead Lady Cecilia to incline her turbaned head, setting atremble the long white feather thereto attached, and pronounce gravely that Lady Sherry was not only a female of unusual character but an excellent creature withal, not given to frivolity but distinguished for her accomplishments and possessed of a well-regulated mind; and Sarah-Louise to speculate merrily with her spouse not upon Sherry’s intellectual resources but upon what had preoccupied her thoughts.

Lord Viccars had not failed to notice that his fiancée was in a very quiet mood. Andrew was feeling a little pulled-about himself, subject to the blue devils common among bachelors whose days of freedom are about to end. Before him loomed a clear picture of what was to come. He saw himself grown sedate, complacent, and prone to
embonpoint;
clustered around him his wife, children, and even the family dog, all of whom would no doubt make demands upon the head of their little household. They would require his time and attention and affection. The children would grasp with sticky fingers at his exquisitely tailored coat and breeches; the dog would enthrone itself on the drawing-room settee. As for his wife—

Andrew glanced at Lady Sherry, and felt vaguely ashamed, for anyone less grasping he had yet to meet. Still, he could not rid himself of the suspicion that with marriage she would change into someone quite different from how she was now, someone grasping and greedy for the things of this world that his money could provide her, clothes and jewelry and the fashionable diversions of the
haut ton;
that with marriage a transformation would be wrought similar to that which had occurred in his first wife. There was something to be said in favor of such creatures as Marguerite, who wore their avarice on their sleeves as openly as more tender females wore their hearts and who gave good service for payment received.