Miss Westlake's Windfall (26 page)

The play went on as the earl sat. He leaned toward Lady Ashmead. “Irmentrude? Who is that chap with his arms—one arm, by Jupiter—around my girl?”

She whispered back: “He is Sir Emery Westlake, recently of the Army, a nice, decent lad. A baronet.”

“A baronet? Bah. Who’s t’other fellow, the handsome one behind the curtain waving his sword like he knows how to use it?”

“That is none other than my husband’s by-blow, who died in the last act. If I can stomach him, you can accept the heroic young baronet who loves your daughter.”

Chas took up the narrative: “Seeing the young lovers melted Sirenia’s frozen heart, like the first buds of spring awaken the earth after winter. She could not bring her wrath to bear against them.”

While the young sea sprites sang their song, dancing around Tess, Lord Ravenshaw leaned toward the viscountess again. “How many butter stamps did old Geoffrey leave you with, anyway?”

She rapped his knuckles with her lorgnette. “They are orphans from the foundling home. Now stubble it, Archie. I want to see the end. Demme if the Westlake gel doesn’t have something between her cars after all.”

Chas frowned at both of them, speaking louder: “Repentant, the sea goddess decided to bring courageous Sebastian and his men back to the land of the living, with the help of her water fairies.”

They dragged Leo’s once more inert body across the stage, where Tess sang another stanza, affirming life. The pirate sat up and stretched, and espied a goddess. He went down on one knee to her, vowing his undying—unless he had a relapse—devotion.

“But what of your princess?” the goddess asked, pointing across the stage to the young lovers, standing so close together her father’s cane could not have fit between. “The kingdom you could rule, the fortune she would bring?”

Instead of the baritone’s aria that should have followed, Leo turned to the audience and slowly, carefully spoke his lines: “Leave them to tend the soil. I am a man of the sea, where my beloved resides. As for riches, what good is wealth if a man’s heart is poor?”

They walked off the stage, hand in hand.

When the cheering died down, mostly from the members of Leo’s crew and the ladies, and the curtains were drawn, Chas read the envoi. “The princess and her noble captain returned to Pitsaponia, where”—he improvised with a nod toward his mother and the earl—“the Queen and her ministers approved the match. The royal couple lived long and ruled wisely, and had many children to gladden their days.”

“Hmph,” Lady Ashmead snorted. “I hope they got more pleasure out of their brood than I get from my aggravating offspring.”

The earl glowered at the closed curtain as if he could see through it, to where Emery and Esther were still embracing. “Amen to that.”

“As for Sebastian and the sea goddess,” Lord Ashmead continued, “they went on adventuring, ridding the high seas and far reaches of fire dragons, fiends, and tax collectors.”

Lady Ashmead patted Ravenshaw’s hand. “At least you can be happy you aren’t that chit’s father.”

Ada struck a chord so Chas could finish.

“Everyone lived happily ever after, which is what we wish for you, dear listeners.” He bowed, then added, “Oh, and the sea sprites all found good homes.”

Chapter Twenty-eight

Bows. Curtsies. Applause. Hugs, kisses, more applause. More bows, more kisses, more bouquets. They were a success. The play was a masterpiece. Tess was a genius. Strangers from London were clamoring to talk to her, waving contracts and checks in front of her face.

Glowing with stage makeup and pride, Tess took up a post in the library, signing programs for all of those who did not want to know her in the past, but now wanted to prove that they did. Her future looked rosy indeed.

Tess put off the London businessmen, telling them she had to consult with her financial adviser in London, Monsieur Prelieu, before committing herself. Meanwhile, they were welcome to present their proposals to her business partner, Leo. The eventual checks, she made sure they all knew, were to be made out to Mrs. Leo Tobin.

After supper and celebrations, Mr. and Mrs. Holmdale gathered up the foundling home children, with two likely prospects of families for such bright, handsome, and hard-working boys.

The earl was seated in the Crimson Parlor with a glass of Lord Ashmead’s finest cognac in his hands. He was scowling at his daughter, who was accepting her rightful homage from her court, from Sir Emery’s right side. Emery had changed into his own scarlet regimental jacket, with his injured arm in a sling.

“At least the clunch has two arms,” the earl conceded to Lady Ashmead, sitting beside him on the sofa.

“Does that mean he is two times as acceptable, you old dodderer, or that he will love her twice as much?”

The earl did not reply, looking for answers in the swirling cognac.

“Fustian, you old goat, and you know it. It’s a good lad, Sir Emery is, solid as stone. Not like that here-and-thereian brother of his, Rodney, who married into a parcel of the dirtiest dishes he could find. Emery will do.”

When Lord Ravenshaw still made no comment, the viscountess rapped him with her looking glass. “So the boy might not have vast lands, deep pockets, or high title. Isn’t your girl’s happiness more important? Did your own arranged marriage bring you any joy, besides the riches you did not need?”

“Brought me my gel,” the earl pronounced.

“Aye, and I would trade my youth all over again for my own three children, no matter how much I complain about them. But do you not wonder, sometimes, what it might have felt like, wed to someone you truly loved?”

He put his hand atop hers. “Perhaps it’s not too late, Trudy.”

Perhaps not.

* * * *

While Lady Ashmead was holding private conversation with the earl, her son had Ada stand beside him to accept the congratulations of their friends and neighbors. The viscount had not asked; he simply held her arm, holding her at his side as if she were the lady of the house. It was not quite the thing, of course, since there had been no formal announcement of a match between them. There had been no formal offer, either, to Ada’s despair, and could not be, in all this crowd.

She could not outstay the company, especially since many were Lady Ashmead’s house guests. The erstwhile sea sprites were yawning, besides, so Ada decided to take them home. Tess was to follow with Leo, but Ada knew better than to wait up. No matter how late they returned, she would not have to worry. Emery’s future looked assured too, for the earl had shaken his good hand and invited him to come take tomorrow’s breakfast at the Meadows. No, all she had to worry about was her meeting in the morning with Chas, in the orchard where they would not be disturbed.

Her prayers that night were particularly poignant.

* * * *

The day dawned bright and warm for autumn, which meant Ada had no excuse for delaying. She harnessed Lulu to the cart and loaded into the back a basket full of puppies, wrapped in blankets with a hot brick underneath. Tally sat on the bench beside her, eager as always.

Chas was waiting at the edge of the orchard, even though Ada was early. Tally jumped down and raced to him, barking and leaping and running in circles.

“Yes, my girl, I am happy to see you. And you, too, of course, Ada,” he belatedly added, too busy admiring the pups to hand her down from the cart. He picked up each one, looking to see if it was a male or female, congratulating Tally on what a fine job she had done, telling her how big and sturdy they were, and wasn’t five just the right number? Ada might have been a delivery boy.

He kept ruffling the new baby coats, assessing the size of the heads and feet and mouths and heaven knew what else. Surely Ada did not. Finally Ada asked, “Did you bring the money?”

He reached into his coat and took out the leather purse, which was larger than the black and tan puppy he held in his other hand. “Of course I did. I had to ransom my dog back, didn’t I?”

“You have been watching too many of Tess’s productions. You know you can’t take them back yet, anyway, not with Lady Esther and the earl staying on another week. And we need to talk about their futures, too. The Holmdales would like the gold one for the foundling hospital, and Garden George thinks the brown fellow might help keep rabbits out of the vegetables. Mrs. Cobble’s niece just lost her pug, so she would like a new dog, and I, well, I rather fancy this one, that no one else is likely to want.” She stroked the littlest one, the runt, of course.

Chas grinned at her, tucking the puppies back under their blanket. He looked at the leather pouch and said, “Hmm. They’ll cost you, you know.”

“What, a litter of mongrel puppies? That’s outrageous.”

He laughed. “Seems to me like Tally’s offspring are in high demand, for all their low birth.”

Ada knew he was teasing, but she could not match his smile. She anxiously ran the leather drawstrings through her gloved fingers. “It is mine, isn’t it?”

He pretended to misunderstand. “The runt?”

“The money, you gudgeon.”

“Oh, that. Of course. Finders keepers, you know, not like my dog. I told you that weeks ago.”

“But then Monsieur Prelieu returned.”

“He never claimed the deuced thing, did he? It is yours.”

“You never put it in the tree for him, did you?”

Chas busied himself with the basket cover. “Not precisely.”

“Let me rephrase my question then. You did put it in the tree, didn’t you?”

“That was not, perhaps, my most clever idea. I was regrettably castaway at the time.”

“You truly fell off your horse putting it there.” That was a statement, not a question. So was, “You could have been killed, you clothhead.”

He shrugged. “Another miscalculation.”

“You left it for me.”

“The worst idea of all, it turned out. You did your best to get rid of it, though. How come you have changed your mind?”

“Because pride is a cold companion.”

“Unlike my dog, right. Tally?” The hound danced around his legs, so Chas bent down and rubbed her ears. “I knew you’d bring her ‘round, my girl, if she just got to know you.”

Ada narrowed her eyes. “I thought I was doing you a great favor by taking in your dog.”

“That too, I swear.”

Ada decided she would consider this new bit of manipulation later. “Anyway, I changed my mind about the money because I realized that I did have a good use for it, after all.”

“Why now? Emery will come about, and you know that Leo and Tess will gladly provide you with anything you require.”

“I did not wish to wait for Emery, or intrude on Tess. I need the money for my dowry.”

He was silent, staring at the ground. Lud, she was going to accept the vicar after all. After all their kisses, all their unspoken vows.

“You kept telling me that’s what I should use it for, didn’t you?”

He looked at her, bleak sorrow turning his heart to bitter cinders. “I was full of stupid ideas, wasn’t I?”

“Here.” Ada pushed the pouch into his hands.

“Here? You made me bring your wretched windfall, just to hand it back?”

Ada fussed with the blanket over the puppies, making sure they could get enough air. “I want you to have my dowry, Chas. As Tess wrote, what good are riches if the heart is poor?”

The viscount just stared at her, his head tilted to the side.

“Dash
it, Chas, must I spell it out for you? I am giving you my dowry because I love you and I
want to
—
”

He stopped her with a hand over her mouth, then replaced his hand with lips that were cool from the air, then warm, oh so warm. “I love you too, my darling. I always have. Come.”

“But I
—”

“Don’t quibble for once, my pet.” He called Tally up into the wagon and made room for her in the basket. “We won’t be long.” Then he took Ada’s hand and half dragged her through the rows of gnarled apple trees.

Ada had to run to keep up, laughing, asking questions Chas would not answer. “But where
—”

Finally she saw a tree with a pink ribbon around it. It was not the one that had held the windfall, but it was close by. A streamer of green hung from one of the branches, not a vine, but suspiciously resembling part of Tess’s sea goddess costume.

“This time I used a ladder,” Chas confessed.

“I don’t understand.”

“Pull the ribbon, my love.”

She did, and a box tumbled to the ground at her feet. A small, ring-shaped, velvet-covered box.

Ada untied the ribbon and opened the box to find the Ashmead family engagement ring, the one she had tossed at his head.

Through happy tears, she told him, “Oh, Chas, I do love you. I always have. I just never understood how much.”

“I was as much a slowtop, sweetheart, taking you and our love for granted.”

“The ring really is mine?”

“Finders keepers,” he said, tugging off her glove and placing the ruby and diamond ring on her finger.

“And you still want to marry me?”

“More than ever, my love.”

Ada kissed her fingers, then touched them to the tree. “Then I do. I mean I will. I mean
—
”

Chas lifted her right off her feet and twirled her around. “I know what you mean, my addled Ada.” He kissed her then, because words no longer mattered, or could express enough. When he put her down and stepped away, out of breath but not out of arm’s reach, Chas straightened her straw bonnet. “Thank heavens you said yes, because I did not have time to finish my next plan.”

He led Ada to the other side of the tree, where a hammer and chisel lay on the ground, among a pile of wood shavings. Will you ma—was carved into the old bark.

“I swore I would never ask you again, but you didn’t say anything about the tree.”

“I will. A hundred times, I will! I don’t think I have ever been so happy in my entire life.”

“But you will be, every day. I swear it, for you have made me the happiest of men, my dearest. When? That is, when do you think we can be wed?”

“Not soon enough to suit me, but I suppose your mother will insist on a lavish wedding for the Ashmead dynasty.”