Regency Sting (13 page)

“Really, Anne,” Cherry said with a touch of reproval in her voice, “you cannot expect me to compliment him on his
coat
!”

They came to a fork in the path, one branch leading upward to a grassy knoll where there was a bench with a fine view of the prospect below, and the other downward to a lake where a number of swans floated in graceful arrogance. “We must make a decision,” Anne said, turning to face the gentlemen who had caught up with them. “Since you are the newcomer in the park, Lord Mainwaring, you may choose our direction. Shall it be the lake with the swans or the knoll with the bench?”

“Oh, let's see the swans, by all means,” he answered decisively.

They turned into the downward lane. As they did so, Anne took Arthur's arm, forcing Lord Mainwaring to drop back and fall into step beside Cherry. After a moment, however, Anne stopped. “Oh, dear, there's something in my slipper,” she murmured, limping. “Please take me up to the bench, Arthur. I'm afraid there's a pebble lodged in my shoe. Cherry, dear, go along with Lord Mainwaring. We'll catch up in a moment.”

The imploring look cast at her by Cherry and the mocking gleam she saw in Jason's eyes told her that her ruse had not fooled them, but since no objection to her suggestion was voiced aloud, she had her way. In another few moments, she was seated on the bench, with Arthur kneeling before her in an attempt to remove her shoe. “Never mind that, Arthur,” she said impatiently. “Just sit down beside me. I want to apologize to you.”

She launched into a penitent, heartfelt explanation of her thoughtlessness the day before, and Arthur, melting at the sincerely contrite expression in her eyes, forgave her. She then told him eagerly about the arrangement she had made with Lord Mainwaring concerning her marriage settlement. If she had expected Arthur to be overjoyed by her news, she was doomed to disappointment. “But I never asked … that is, I have no wish for a settlement or anything else from Lord Mainwaring,” Arthur said with obvious disapproval.

“But, Arthur, I don't understand!” Anne was completely taken aback. “Isn't that the very thing your mother wants for you?”

Arthur shook his head impatiently. “I'm not interested in what Mama wants. What
I
want is to marry the woman I love without assistance from a man who is a stranger to us both.”

“He's not a stranger to
me
. He is, in a way, responsible for me. Have you taken him in dislike, Arthur?”

“No, not at all. He seems a very decent sort. That, however, does not mean that I can endure living on his charity.”

“You are being much too
nice
in your attitude, my dear. Besides, we
cannot
marry without Lord Mainwaring's financial assistance.”

“Yes, we can, as I explained to you before. I've thought it all out. If I take the living in Shropshire (and, by the way, I've already taken steps to sell the country estate which will support my mother and sister), we can manage very well without his lordship's generosity.”

“Do you mean the vicarage? Surely, Arthur, you were not serious about that! It was a suggestion made only out of desperation, was it not? Now that I've found a more acceptable solution—”

“It is not a more acceptable solution to me. I was
quite
serious about the Shropshire plan, and the only flaw
I
see in it is the necessity to make a Gretna marriage.”

Anne stared at Arthur as if she'd never seen him. Could he really
want
the life of a country vicar? Or was the thought of the need for assistance from a stranger so repugnant to him that anything, even a Shropshire vicarage, would be preferable? “Oh, dear, I see we've come to an impasse,” she said slowly, “but we cannot solve the problem now—not with Cherry and Lord Mainwaring waiting for us. We'll have to continue this another time.” With a troubled frown, she rose from the bench.

“But you haven't let me remove the pebble from your shoe,” Arthur pointed out.

She glanced up at him with a mixture of impatience and guilt. He was always so disconcertingly
honest
! “Really, Arthur, you are sometimes incredibly naive. There
was
no pebble.” And to avoid his reproachful stare, she hurried down the path.

When she and Arthur finally caught up with their friends, Anne found to her chagrin that Cherry and Jason had been joined by another couple—none other than Lexie de Guis and her companion. Their horses had been tied to a nearby tree, and from the flirtatious smile on Lexie's face, the interested gleam in Jason's eye and the bored expressions on the faces of Cherry and the cavalry officer, Anne deduced that the meeting had occurred quite soon after she and Arthur had left. As they approached, they heard Jason remark to the lady, “Shucks, ma'am, most of the men in America are much taller than I. Why, back home, they find me positively puny.”

Alexandra de Guis threw back her head with a peal of hearty laughter. It was some moments before Anne managed to divert her attention. “Good day, Miss de Guis,” she said loudly.

Lexie turned to her at last and flashed a brilliant (and, to Anne, triumphant) smile. “Ah, there you are at last, Miss Hartley. We've been passing the time waiting to say good day to you. May I present Captain Edward Wray? Edward, I don't believe you've met Miss Hartley or her escort, Lord Claybridge.”

While the men shook hands, Lexie tapped Anne's arm with her riding crop. “You are a naughty puss, Miss Hartley, for keeping this charming cousin of yours hidden away. Not that I blame you,” she added with a sidelong glance at Lord Mainwaring, “for if I were in your place, I might have done the same. But you must not be permitted to do so any longer.” With that, she again turned to Jason, smiling up at him enticingly. “Did you hear that, my lord? Take warning. Now that I've discovered you, your period of seclusion is over.” Then she took her escort's arm. “But come, Edward. We must go. The horses should not be kept standing any longer.”

She strolled off on Captain Wray's arm without a backward glance, but every eye followed the pair until they had mounted and ridden off into the trees. As the four strollers turned and climbed the path back to the carriage, Anne had all she could do to hide from the others her intense vexation. The afternoon had been a failure for three of the four of them, but the fact that the fourth had so obviously managed to enjoy himself immensely somehow made her feel that the day had been worse than a failure—it had been a positive disaster.

Ten

The sun had set and the afternoon had grown quite cold by the time Cherry and Arthur had been deposited on Cherry's doorstep in Half-Moon Street. Arthur had glumly watched the coach disappear down the street and had sighed, tipped his hat to Cherry and started toward his own equipage when she stopped him. “Would you like to come in for a cup of tea before you start for home?” she asked.

Willing to postpone the depression which he knew would settle on him once he was left alone to review his unsatisfactory conversation with his beloved, Arthur acquiesced. As Cherry led him into the house, took his hat and ordered the tea things, she was aware of a perceptible lightening of her spirits. For the first time that day, she was conscious of a feeling of contentment. She settled herself behind the teapot and permitted herself to wonder why she had been so ill-at-ease all afternoon. Certainly Lord Mainwaring had done or said nothing to discompose her. Yet she had not felt at all happy in his company. On the other hand, here with Arthur, even though he was bound to spend the entire time confiding to her his troubles with Anne, she was almost blissfully content. It was a most curious reaction, one which she would explore at length as soon as she had the opportunity to think. In the meantime, she turned her attention to her unhappy guest, listened to his woes with her wide eyes brimming with commiseration and offered him comforting murmurs of hope whenever he paused for breath.

In the coach, meanwhile, filled with utter disgust, Anne glanced surreptitiously at her companion. Jason was leaning back contentedly against the squabs, his hands behind his head and his legs stretched out comfortably before him. His lips were turned up in a small, reflective smile and his eyes were lit with an abstracted glow, as if he were reliving a fond memory. Anne ground her teeth in irritation. Had that detestable Lexie caught him
already
?

But she would not surrender without a struggle. “Cherry is quite a lovely girl, is she not?” she asked suddenly, with a falsely cheerful lilt in her voice.

“Mmm,” Jason murmured absently.

“You must certainly agree that she is pleasant and even-tempered.”

“Mmm,” Jason nodded.

“Not a bit stubborn either, is she?”

“Not at all, as far as I could see,” he agreed.

“Sweet-natured, too. As sweet-natured as one could wish.”

“Oh, yes, very sweet-natured.”

“And adequately tall, I would say, wouldn't you?”

“I suppose so,” he assented uninterestedly.

“And … er … quite full in the chest, too, don't you think?”

Jason shifted around, took his hands from his head and sat up at attention. “
What
was that you said?” he asked, his eyes taking on their mocking gleam.

“I was talking about Cherry's … er … form. It seems perfectly to suit your … specifications,” Anne suggested boldly.

“My specifications? Are you suggestin' that you find Miss Laverstoke a likely candidate to be my
wife
?”

“But of course! I think she'd make a perfect—”

“You're way off course, girl. I'm not the man for your friend Cherry. She's a lovely young woman, I'll admit, but she's the sort who'd like to mother a man. I'm not lookin' for a mother.”

“Of all the
unkind
—! Really, Jason—”

“My lord,” he corrected promptly.

“Very well,
my lord
. I just wish to point out,
my lord
, that motherly women make the very
best
wives, even,
my lord
, to such obnoxious husbands as you,
my lord
, are likely to be.”

“That may be, but I have quite another sort of wife in mind.”

“You don't say. And what sort is that?”

“The sort like that Miss de Guis. Now,
there's
a female worth considerin'!”

Anne fumed. “I don't see that Miss Alexandra de Guis fits your specifications
at all
!” she snapped.

“Don't you? Come now, girl, be honest. She's very pleasant, taller even than
you
, you know, and her form is … well, it's nothin' short of spectacular.”

“Men!” Anne sneered. “You are all fools! But if you can sit there and say that Lexie is sweet-natured and even-tempered, you're a greater dunderhead than even
I
took you for!”

Jason grinned down into her indignant, flashing eyes. “As long as the girl is as sweet-natured and even-tempered as
you
are, my dear, she will be good enough for me. And now, may I suggest that we get out of the carriage? We came to a stop several minutes ago, and the coachman is starin' at us through the window as if we're a couple of loonies.”

There was nothing Anne could do but gnash her teeth and follow his suggestion.

Despite her exasperation with him, Anne continued to prepare Jason for the forthcoming ball. The dancing was still a failure—it seemed to Anne that the fellow was growing more clumsy with practice—but his speech was steadily improving. Although an occasional “shucks” still passed his lips, he had learned to substitute “perhaps” for the dreadful “maybe” that Americans used, and he had given up saying “I guess” or “I reckon” every time he expressed an opinion. In particular, however, Anne instructed him in the proper demeanor before royalty, for it was rumored that the Prince might put in an appearance at the festivities. It was less than two months since “Prinny” had been made Regent, and his presence at a ball would be accompanied by a great deal of pomp and ceremony. It was vital that Jason not bring unfavorable notice upon himself by committing a social gaffe before the Regent.

Jason, however, demanded that he be excused from his lessons for at least a couple of hours in the afternoons. These he usually spent in Peter's company. The two would closet themselves in the library to play chess, discuss Peter's studies or (if they were sure that the ladies were out of earshot) drill Peter in various boxing exercises. Peter thrived under Jason's attention. His appetite improved, his moods became more cheerful, his pallor lessened and his confidence increased. Jason rapidly filled the void that the absence of a father or brother had created.

One afternoon, their chess game was interrupted by a disturbance in the corridor outside their door. Peter opened the door to find Coyne engaged in verbal dispute with a lanky, gaunt-cheeked personage whose black, long-tailed coat had seen better days, whose gray-streaked mustaches drooped forlornly at the corners and who carried a much-handled newspaper in his hand. “Is there some difficulty, Coyne?” Peter inquired.

“No, Master Peter, it's nothing at all,” Coyne said in contradiction of the quite obvious tension in the hallway. “I'm sorry you were disturbed. I shall see this person to the door immediately.”

“Oh, y'will, will yer?” the ‘person' sneered. “I can tell yer y'
won't
—not till I've 'ad some satisfaction.”

Coyne clenched his fists. “That's enough now, my man. You are
not
qualified for the position, and that's
that
. So let's get along,” he said, and tried to move the fellow on down the hall by grasping the lapel of his coat and pushing him backward.

The man resisted stubbornly. “Le'
go
!” he shouted. “I demand to see 'is lordship.”

“You will
not
see his lordship,” Coyne said between clenched teeth, “so you may just as well take yourself off.”