Maggie MacKeever (17 page)

“I await your pleasure,” Charles murmured, availing himself of one of her hands.

“Beside,” Phyllida added, “you know I dislike of all things to bestir myself. It appears to be a family trait.”

“You are in a very teasing mood, I think,” her admirer murmured languidly.

Phyllida glanced at him, startled. “I make you my compliments,” she said at length. “You play off the airs of the exquisite with a nicety. I think one might call you a veritable Tulip of Fashion!”

“Thank you: you are very good.” Charles dropped his bantering tone. “I repeat, Phyllida,” he stated, with great seriousness, “I await your pleasure.”

Loveday, watching with consternation, was dismayed. Phyllida twinkled—that was the only word for it—she twinkled at Charles Elcock.

Jasper did not miss the look that passed between his sister and her one-time swain, but unlike Loveday, he was only amused. He’d lived through the novel experience of Phyllida’s come-out and subsequent success. Charles Elcock’s heart wasn’t the only one that his incorrigible sister had bruised, and time hadn’t changed her all that much. Jasper knew that his father considered Adolphus Montague a rubbishing sort of fellow; Jasper knew too that Adolphus had various fancy pieces in his keeping, before and even after his marriage, and he suspected that Phyllida knew it too. If so, she never mentioned the matter. Something, however, was responsible for the dampening of her volatility, and he was glad Elcock was present to amuse her. It never occurred to him that Phyllida might desire more than a mere flirtation.

“I have something for you,” Sylvester murmured, and drew Loveday aside. She smiled at him inquiringly. “A birthday gift. I thought you might like to have it early.”

“To be sure I should,” Loveday replied.

“I think it extremely appropriate for your coming-of-age day.”

“Ah, now you seek to intrigue me.”

“No,” Sylvester replied, “I do not. It was Phyllida’s idea. We put our heads together and decided what you would like most.”

A suspicion stole over Loveday. “What have you done?” she demanded. Sylvester drew an envelope from his pocket and handed it to her.

“I thought you might like to have it in writing,” he said and watched as she withdrew a piece of paper and sank into a chair.

Loveday read the document through once, then again. When she had done she raised her eyes to Sylvester’s face in disbelief.

“However did you get him to agree?” she asked with awe.

“Blackmail,” said the Lord Dorset calmly. “I’d already ascertained his whereabouts, you see. He was quite eager to strike a bargain, and readily agreed to, uh, prolong his absence indefinitely in return for an allowance. I have settled his debts also.”

“You must let me repay you,” Loveday protested.

“Nothing of the sort. You are betrothed to my son, after all.” Sylvester lowered his voice. “The word is all over London by now.”

“Oh, no!”

“Furthermore,” Sylvester added, settling the matter, “I am inordinately fond of you and am only too glad to be of service.” He paused and cleared his throat. “There’s one other matter. I hope you were not too fond of your father’s man of business?”

Loveday looked startled. “I detested the man.”

Sylvester smiled. “Good. I needed a scapegoat. It was part of our agreement that I contrive to clear your father’s name.”

Loveday was unaware that she had crushed the precious document in her nerveless hands. Sylvester gently retrieved it. “I succeeded tolerably well, I think,” he said complacently. “London is now abuzz with the scandal, and your father totally exonerated of any stigma. Well, consider! Upon being suddenly called abroad, he arranged for his man of business to settle his affairs. He cannot be held to blame because the scoundrel absconded with the funds!”

Loveday felt this fitting; she’d long suspected the man of fattening his purse with her father’s money. Torn between laughter and tears, she flung her arms around the earl’s neck.

Chapter 11

Isolda was not pleased with the events transpiring beneath her roof, for she was accustomed to ruling her household with a firm hand. Now things occurred over which she had no control, and she found the experience novel but disconcerting. Moreover, her plans for her grandson seemed to have gone sadly awry.

She sighed, and condemned the entire Assheton clan to perdition. Jasper was an engaging rogue, with his buccaneer face and bewitching eyes, and she longed for him to be at the other side of the world. Isolda had no intention of abandoning her scheme, but she foresaw that its achievement would be more difficult than she’d anticipated. Sylvester Assheton’s arrival had definitely complicated matters: it quite effectively prevented her from coming the heavy with Loveday.

Which brought her to Phyllida, whose apparent placidity seemed to mask unexpected fires. Why else would Charles Elcock be living in her pocket, as he was? Isolda brooked few illusions about Averil’s friend; he was not one to engage in polite flirtation without some hope of success, no matter how feeble-minded he appeared.

Isolda attempted to focus her straying attention to the lists spread on her desk. She’d hoped to force Loveday into an admission of duplicity with this ball, but the chit gave no indication of being worn-down with guilt. Assheton played the lover in fine style, Isolda had to give him that, even though she did wish him in America, being scalped by some heathen redskin.

“Come in,” she called irritably, and Dorcas entered the room. Isolda noted with dour amusement that the chit appeared remarkably subdued; she supposed it was too much to hope that Hilary had finally exercised his husbandly prerogatives and given her a well-deserved scold.

“I’ve come to see if I can be of some assistance, ma’am,” Dorcas said with great sweetness, and Isolda saw her pipe dream, in which Hilary finally asserted himself and emerged a man, vanish. Dorcas definitely wanted something.

“Well, you can’t.”

Dorcas was not so easily dismayed. She wandered to the window and looked out, in time to see Jasper grasp Loveday by the waist and swing her into the air. Dorcas frowned.

“I had a letter from a friend in London,” she said idly. “Did you know that Loveday once engaged in a race in Hyde Park? And that she actually dared drive a carriage down Bond Street?”

With resignation, Isolda put down her pen. “I have followed the chit’s progress with great interest,” she replied. “Did
you
know that she has never been denied a voucher to Almack’s?”

Dorcas pouted. “I’m surprised you’d have so unprincipled a person in your home.”

“I’m glad you recall that it
is
my home,” Isolda retorted, “and that I may entertain whom I please. I find Loveday quite refreshing, and that is all that signifies, is it not?”

“Perhaps she reminds you of your own youth.”

Isolda remained unperturbed. “Precisely. And I am surprised to find you a higher stickler than the patronesses of Almack’s.”

Dorcas whirled to face her. “Almack’s!” she cried, with startling desperation. “Why do you keep us prisoners here? Why can you not let us live in London, where my family and friends are? We could manage quite well!”

Isolda eyed Dorcas with distaste. This marriage did not turn out as she had anticipated, for Dorcas had changed from a biddable girl into a virtual harridan with an unpleasant amount of temper. “We have covered this ground countless times before. Hilary has no expectations, merely the allowance I make him.”

“But we could live quite comfortably on that!”

“No, you could not,” Isolda stated firmly. “Hilary would lose vast sums at play, and you would spend equal amounts on clothing. You would soon find yourselves completely destitute, and it would be futile to apply to me for aid.”

“You could increase his allowance,” Dorcas insisted.

“More hair than wit, the both of you!” Isolda cried in exasperation. “I am not required to provide for Hilary at all. And if you think I’m so generous as to bear the expense of a London season, you’re even more of a widgeon than I’d suspected.”

Dorcas pouted as she pleated her skirt. “You don’t care at all for Hilary or you wouldn’t put me off in this disagreeable way.”

“Are you so intent on making a spectacle of yourself?” Isolda inquired.

Dorcas glared at her with indignation. “Well, if that isn’t the outside of enough! Next you’ll accuse me of giving myself airs!”

Isolda waved a weary hand. “Pray don’t enact me a Cheltenham tragedy,” she interrupted. “I warn you I should find it a dead bore. You think you and Hilary could contrive to remain beforehand with the world? Poppycock, my girl. If Hilary has hoodwinked you, it is very disagreeable, and he deserves to be paid in his own coin; but I make him a generous allowance and I have no intention of increasing it.”

“He could always take a position somewhere.”

Isolda placed her hands on the desk. She could not afford to lose her temper, not now when there were so many important things to occupy her thoughts. “Let us have an end to this! Your husband is an improvident idler. He has never worked and he never will.  And
I
wish to hear no more of this.”

Dorcas knew when she’d been bested. She did not intend to give up her dreams of London, but she would let the matter rest temporarily. Isolda was old; if not before, they would remove to London after her death.

And if she’d known beforehand how matters stood, she would never have selected Hilary from among her various suitors. “What’s Dillian’s part in all this?” Dorcas asked.

“Dillian? What do you mean?”

“The snake, of course.” Dorcas gestured impatiently as she met Isolda’s perplexed glance. “Who else do you know who can charm the birds from the trees? Who else could have put that snake in Loveday’s bed?”

Averil chose that moment to interrupt them, and Dorcas sailed from the room. She had not yet forgiven the Duke of Chesshire for the masterful set-down he’d administered at Lady Laurent’s ball.

“Still in a temper, I see,” Averil remarked. “What’s to do? You are decidedly pale.”

“Dorcas suspects that Dillian is our culprit. Perhaps we are mistaken, Averil; perhaps these attempts on Loveday’s life have nothing to do with the murders of your father and grandfather.”

Averil stared at the duchess. “And you credit this tale? Think, grandmother, what possible motive could Dillian have?”

Isolda subjected him to a keen glance. “I’m surprised that you defend her.”

Averil shrugged. “I don’t. But can you not see that Dorcas ever tries to further discord? One of her few pleasures is in setting people at odds.”

“That may be.” Isolda’s thoughts were temporarily distracted. “Tell me, how does your suit prosper?”

“Not at all. Your friend Dorset did us a great disservice by clearing Lord Fairchild’s name. Now Loveday thinks of nothing but returning to London.” Averil did not add that he suspected his own dealings with her to have been rather too precipitate.

“Sylvester Assheton is no friend of mine,” his grandmother replied tersely as she returned to her work.

* * * *

Charles and Phyllida decided upon a stroll in the garden. Phyllida had come to call on Loveday, but Loveday was nowhere to be found.

“How fortunate for me,” said Charles, who had no suspicion that he was fast in the toils of two adroit schemers.

“I have not been in this part of the gardens before,” murmured Phyllida. “It is remarkably secluded, is it not?” She met Charles’s questioning look with a bland one of her own, and settled herself comfortably on a bench.

“Tell me what has transpired since we last met. I am surprised you have not married.”

“I have never wished to marry anyone but yourself,” Charles replied. Phyllida twinkled at him.

“You must not blame Jasper for his interference in our elopement,” commented the staid matron. Jasper’s knowledge of the intended flight to Gretna Green had been her doing, but she saw no reason to tell Charles that she’d suffered misgivings at the last moment.

“He came to your rescue like a true gallant, which is a thing no one could blame in him.” Charles wasn’t likely to forget his chagrin when, rushing to meet his beloved, he’d encountered her younger brother instead. “Gave me quite a dressing down. Offered to bloody my nose, too, as I recall. I naturally declined.”

“Naturally,” agreed Phyllida. Jasper had been highly indignant about the matter, and it had taken all her persuasive abilities to prevent him from inviting Charles to participate in a duel.

“But that’s behind us now.” Charles claimed her hand with flattering enthusiasm. “I’ve found you again, and there’s nothing to stand in our way.”

“Alas!” Phyllida ejaculated dramatically. “You come too late. I am Wed to Another!”

“Excuse me,” said Loveday, appearing from behind a bush and reflecting wryly that she was developing quite an affinity for shrubbery. “I did not mean to interrupt! Tarbath told me you had come, Phyllida, and I immediately set out in search of you.”

Charles did not care for the amber eyes that were fixed so unflinchingly on him. He thought he’d done the chit a service when he’d frustrated Averil’s advances; perhaps he’d mistaken the matter. He cleared his throat.

“I’m particularly glad to find
you
here,” Loveday continued inexorably, her eyes never moving from his face. “There is a matter that I particularly want to discuss.”

“Oh?” Charles couldn’t remember a more uncomfortable moment.

“It’s about Dillian.”

Charles felt a great relief, which was destined to be short-lived.

“I know you’re her father.”

“What?” Charles snapped. “You’ve taken leave of your senses, girl! I don’t know who her sire is, no one does, but it isn’t me!”

Loveday might have faltered in the face of such furious conviction, but Phyllida took a hand.

“Hogwash, Charles,” she said firmly. “Anyone with two eyes in their head can see the resemblance.”

Charles felt betrayed, and looked at his one-time love reproachfully. “Then why hasn’t anyone remarked on this startling similarity before? It strikes me that you’re both all about in your heads. Do you think it might be the heat?”