Maggie MacKeever (8 page)

Lady Laurent made an unsuccessful attempt to conquer her rage, and skillfully drew Loveday aside. “I was not aware Jasper was dangling after a rich heiress,” Charmain murmured thoughtfully. “I knew he was quite taken with you, my dear, but not that his affections had become fixed to the point of making you an offer. It seems extremely irregular, especially when I consider that he has been dancing attendance on me. I declare, I am all out of patience with the man!”

Loveday fervently wished herself elsewhere. “Pray do not excite yourself, ma’am. The fault must lie with Jasper. Perhaps he failed to make his intentions clear.”

Charmain’s eyes flashed, but the smile never left her face. “I did not know that Assheton had taken a turn for the infantry,” she retorted. “I do not scruple to tell you that I consider this a shocking business. You will not take it amiss, I hope, when I say that such a reprehensible connection will not do for an innocent young lady like yourself.”

“Surely you refine too much upon it.” Loveday sought to restrain her temper. Lady Laurent, at least, had never heard of her various unladylike exploits.

Charmain gave a tinkling little laugh. “You must allow that I know more of the world than an impressionable puss like yourself! Jasper will ill-use you and cause you endless mortification. He doesn’t care a button for you, that’s obvious, but will allow you to fritter away your chances. Do you wish to end up on the shelf? Even if you
did
succeed in getting him to the altar, it is inevitable that he will play you false.”

Loveday remained silent, but her thoughts were quite unsuited to a young lady of gentle birth.

“I see that I must resort to plain speaking,” Charmain lamented. “Even now your betrothed is not indifferent to me, and has arranged numerous assignations. Strange behavior, is it not, in a man about to be wed? Furthermore, I think it exceedingly strange that Jasper hasn’t mentioned this betrothal to me.”

Loveday hoped her burning cheeks would be attributed to maidenly confusion. Dillian, whose sharp ears missed little, moved to her side.

“It has not yet been announced.”

“But my dear child,” Charmain protested, “I am his particular confidant. Jasper tells me everything!”

Dillian proceeded to effectively dispel her carefully cultivated air of genteel ladylikeness. “Not
quite
everything, it seems,” she said.

Chapter 5

“Don’t tease yourself, child.” Isolda’s tone was bracing. “I assure you I am well pleased that you’ve taken such efforts with Dillian. In truth, I am very much obliged to you.”

Loveday’s head ached, and she wanted nothing more than to be left alone with her chaotic thoughts. Instead, Isolda had come to her chambers so that they might talk undisturbed.

“Dillian’s unfortunate background and sad instability provide her little chance of forming an eligible connexion. It is the most lowering reflection that she possesses Vere blood. I daresay it is quite remiss in me to allow her to attend Charmain’s
soiree,
but I am persuaded it will do the chit no harm.” Isolda shot a keen glance at Loveday. “I daresay you think very poorly of me, and believe that I have treated the girl shockingly.”

And have you not? thought Loveday, as she made a polite disclaimer. She had come to believe that Dillian’s eccentric turns weren’t to be wondered at, considering the unnatural treatment to which the girl had been subjected.

“No, no,” protested Isolda, “you may be frank with me. It’s nothing but the truth, after all, as I am sure you must admit.”

“Well,” Loveday commented carefully, “it’s true that I had remarked upon your indifference toward her. Dillian’s so-called lack of stability seems to me nothing more than the natural consequence of an unrestrained childhood.”

Isolda raised a thin white hand. “Dillian has found a staunch champion in you. Don’t blush, child; I find your concern quite praiseworthy. My only worry is that you may come to grief over the matter, for the sad truth is that Dillian will never be as other girls her age.”

“Perhaps not,” Loveday replied. “She is admittedly given to odd fantasies, but I personally find her refreshing.”

“And you wonder that I do not? Remember that the miserable creature caused the death of both my husband and my son. Is it to be thought wonderful that I find her presence a sore trial?”

Loveday looked at the old woman’s flashing eyes. “Dillian was but a baby then. Surely you cannot blame an innocent child for what happened.”

“She should never have been born.”

Loveday was startled by Isolda’s venom. Loathing twisted the aristocratic features, briefly, and then the duchess smiled.

“Forgive an old woman’s fancies, child,” she said. “I have always deprecated the mystery that surrounds the chit’s birth, and often find myself completely dispirited. Of course Dillian is not to blame for the sins of her forebears.” Her eyes searched Loveday’s face. “I have shocked you, have I not? Very well, I shall make amends. Dillian is sadly in need of a new wardrobe, and I shall leave its selection up to you. I noticed how charmingly she looked in your borrowed finery. Twitching sews a neat seam; I will lend her to you for the purpose. Nothing too grand, mind you; I don’t want Dillian to get notions above her station. It will be a miracle if the chit ever gets a husband.”

“You are too harsh!” Loveday protested. “Dillian is little more than a schoolroom miss. In the ordinary course of things, she wouldn’t even be out yet. Time enough then to think of a marriage.”

“Do you really think,” Isolda inquired icily, “that I will present Dillian to polite society? A half-witted bastard of extremely dubious background to be publicly acknowledged as a member of the house of Vere? Never! Had not Averil insisted, I would never have kept her here.”

Loveday had supposed no such thing, but Isolda’s vehemence dismayed her.

Isolda’s sharp eyes caught her instinctive gesture of withdrawal. “Never mind,” she soothed. “I am not averse to a match between Dillian and your brother, if it comes to that. They’re two of a kind, after all. And you shall wed Averil. We begin to understand one another, do we not?”

Loveday’s poor head, by this time, pounded fit to burst. “No,” she replied through clenched teeth, “we do not. I have told you, ma’am, of my betrothal to Jasper. Even if I were not promised to another, I would not wed your grandson.”

“Why not, pray tell? I cannot think you would make a better match.”

“Am I to assume that you consider Jasper Assheton to be shabby-genteel? I will take leave to inform you, ma’am, that he is commonly held to be the very pink of perfection. And I assure you, a match with one of the
ton’s
most eligible bachelors is not to be caviled at. I should be a pretty sort of gudgeon to cry off.”

Isolda tried a different approach. “But look around you, child!” she protested. “Would you not like to be chatelaine of this castle? Assheton can offer you nothing half so grand as this.”

“I imagine,” Loveday said bluntly, “that in time I should find the castle a dead bore. I am truly sensible of the honor you wish to do me, and very much obliged to you for your concern, but my affections have become fixed. Jasper and I will deal very well together.”

“A match between the two of you would be unexceptionable, despite Charmain’s opinion of the contrary.” Isolda smiled, and Loveday wondered how much of that conversation she’d overheard. “But you would soon come to grief. Assheton is very much in the petticoat line, and would be desirous of mounting a mistress before a year had elapsed. Are you so eager to play second fiddle to some prime article of easy virtue? My grandson will not prove indifferent to you, and has little penchant for straw damsels.”

If Isolda had hoped to shock Loveday, she was remarkably unsuccessful. Loveday had been accustomed to plain speaking from her cradle, and saw nothing startling about Isolda’s comments. “Fiddlestick! I collect you wish me to act vulgarly forward and hurl myself at Averil’s head? You are talking nonsense, ma’am.”

Isolda placed a frail hand over her heart. “What have I said to anger you? An alliance with Averil could only add to your consequence. You should count yourself honored, not fly into a passion.”

“Gammon!” Loveday retorted rudely.

Isolda straightened. “Tongue-valiant, are you not?” she demanded. “You go beyond the line of being pleasing, Loveday. Such vulgar expressions are quite inappropriate for a young lady of breeding. If you do not mend your tongue, my grandson will rightly consider you a mulish madcap.”

“If such things weigh so heavily with the duke,” replied Loveday, determined to burn her bridges, “then I must make a push to appear totally unprincipled. Perhaps
that
will convince you that this scheme simply will not do!”

“I think,” said Isolda faintly, “that I am going to have a spasm.”

Loveday was immediately remorseful. She had not suspected that Isolda was given to vapors.  Even so, she should not have spoken so frankly to so venerable a lady. Isolda, however, made a quick recovery and waved away the proffered vinaigrette.

“Now,” she demanded, “perhaps you will be so kind as to tell me why you have taken Averil in such positive dislike.”

“Because I find him arrogant and overbearing, though I am reluctant to speak so plainly to you.”

“I did not know you were so well acquainted.”

“We’ve met,” Loveday replied curtly. “Although I doubt if he recalls the occasion.” Averil had been foxed.

“Ah, this is encouraging! He’s aroused your interest. I have decided that you will do quite nicely for Averil. There have been Veres at Ballerfast for hundreds of years; were it not for that wretched Dillian, Averil might have had brothers. His mother was still young enough. However, Averil must now have a son.”

And I am the chosen vessel, Loveday thought rebelliously. Well, we’ll see. “Come, let us speak of other things,” she said aloud, “We are unlikely to agree on this matter.”          

“I like to see spirit in a girl.” Isolda was imperturbable. “You were always one to have a temper, even as a toddler. I thought then that you’d do well for Averil, once you’d grown and acquired some polish. Why, any other child would have flown into hysterics had they seen murder done! You made not a sound.”

Loveday, though infuriated, remained silent. Perhaps Isolda would let drop some hitherto unknown information.

“My husband was inordinately fond of children,” Isolda continued, “and spoiled you shamelessly. You’d crept down to the study to see him, after Mrs. Snugglebutt had put you to bed, and we found you huddled on the window-seat.”

“How is it that I escaped detection?”

“The candles at that end of the room were unlit. Timothy saw to that, no doubt, when he covered you with a rug.”

Loveday could not agree that Dillian was to blame for the tragedy, nor with Isolda’s heavy-handed management of her family, but the sorrow that lined the duchess’s face dispelled her anger.

“I’m sorry,” she said gently.  A large black paw reached from Isolda’s chair and batted, none too gently, at her skirts.

“Verdelet!” Isolda exclaimed with distaste, as she removed herself from the reach of the questing paw. The cat glared malevolently from beneath the chair. “However does he come to be here? Ah, no matter: Dillian will soon follow, so I’ll take my leave of you.” With a regal gesture, she allowed Loveday to kiss her parchment cheek. “Pay no mind to the ramblings of an old woman. Sleep well, child.” No sooner had Isolda gone than Dillian appeared in the doorway, with two apples in her hand.

“Is that for me? Thank you!” Loveday bit gratefully into the juicy fruit, and Dillian flopped gracelessly into a chair. Verdelet purred in her lap.

“I was eavesdropping,” Dillian said, around a bite of apple. “She took quite a pet, didn’t she?”

“Dillian!” Loveday protested, though not with dismay at the girl’s deplorable lack of manners. “How much did you hear?”

“All of it. Wretchedly lacking in principle, am I not? Don’t eat me! I know I shouldn’t have, but I was curious. Averil’s coming home, did you know?”

Loveday shook her head.

“Promise me you won’t marry him, no matter what Isolda does!” Dillian was suddenly intense.

“You know I’m betrothed to another.”

“I know you’re not! Jem told me. And even Isolda suspects it’s all a hum. You must be careful, Loveday. She’ll let nothing stand in her way.”

“Gracious, Dillian, I believe you’re actually afraid.”

Dillian carefully inspected her apple core. “I heard what she said about Jem and me. She doesn’t care about me, she only wants you to agree to marry Averil, and she sees us as a way to force you to do it.”

“Dillian, you haven’t known Jem long, and you’re very young.”

Dillian flashed her a surprisingly adult look. “It doesn’t signify,” she demurred, with an unhappy smile. “I can’t marry anyone.”

“Whatever do you mean? Because you have no portion? Not all men are fortune hunters, Dillian.”

The girl drew a deep breath. “There’s insanity in this family, Loveday. It would be better if the noble line of Vere simply died out.”

Loveday laughed. “Enacting me a Cheltenham tragedy?” she inquired. “Set your mind at ease.  I’ve no intention of allying myself with Averil.”

Dillian wore her enigmatic look. “I’d thought to drop you a hint or two, but it seems that won’t suffice. Loveday, can’t you see? Isolda’s obsession with the continuation of the line, Hilary’s fascination with this crumbling castle, Averil’s damnable temper, me?”

“Dillian!” Loveday’s protest was half-hearted.  She, too, had begun to wonder about the stability of her distant relatives.

“All right, I suppose I must tell you. Averil murdered my governess. She claimed he’d compromised her, and threatened to go to Isolda. Averil threw her from the tower. Won’t you please leave this place before it’s too late?”

Had not Dillian recited the unpleasant tale as if it were a distasteful but well-learned lesson, Loveday might have been more credulous. “This is the height of absurdity! You’re overdoing it, you know. I do wish you’d tell me why you’re in such a fret—and no more taradiddles, please. I’m not so easily deceived.”