Regina Scott (9 page)

“Let us merely say, my dear Meredee, that I suspect the same person who concocted your father’s insect elixir developed the recipe for the spa waters.”

“You are doing it entirely too brown. Those waters have healing properties. Look at Mr. Barriston.”

“A more wrinkled specimen I have yet to find.”

Meredee shook her finger at him. “And may you look so good when you reach the age of eighty and eight, sir.”

He laughed. “All right, I’ll grant you that Mr. Barriston is remarkable for his longevity.”

“And Mr. Dickinson, who was governor of the spa years ago, attained the age of one hundred and one.”

He shook his head. “You clearly know the history of the spa. And can you promise me that it will heal everyone who drinks of it?”

Her father’s face came to mind, and she felt her smile slipping. “I wish I could.”

He reached out his free hand and covered hers with it. “Forgive me. I should make better conversation.”

His touch focused her. How could she mourn the past when the present was so very sweet? “I find the conversation and the company quite satisfactory,” she replied.

He gave her hands a squeeze and released her, but she fancied she could still feel his grip, firm, gentle, encouraging. She held the sensation to her heart.

They dipped into Scarborough, and she could see the red-tiled roofs sloping down the hill, the golden stone tower of St. Mary’s and the outline of the castle on the headland.

Up ahead, the lone figure in the red coat was all too visible as he slipped deeper into town. Meredee’s heart jumped. The rest of the conversation, she feared, was far more stilted, and she could not relax until Chase had deposited her at the inn and driven for home.

“T
ell me something,” Chase said to Phoebe as soon as they’d returned to the house and he’d had Beagan and the footmen deal with their accoutrements. “Why did you join us today?”

His sister, about to climb the stairs for her room, paused to look back at him wide-eyed. “Why, I wanted to see the North Bay, of course.”

Chase raised his brows. “Indeed. That would explain why you spent much of the time wandering into ravines and less in befriending Miss Price.”

Phoebe smiled. “She is a dear, isn’t she? I do hope you plan to offer for her soon.”

Chase shook his head. “Any plans I have for matrimony will have to wait until you are settled in that happy state.”

Phoebe’s smile only grew bigger, and she hurried back to his side where he stood in the marble-tiled en
tryway. “Oh, Chase, really? Then you’ve had second thoughts about Algernon?”

Chase rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Mr. Whitaker is not a topic of discussion in this house.”

“Oh!” Phoebe stamped her foot. “You are the most unreasonable, pigheaded man! I hope you enjoy eating dinner alone, for I shall
not
be joining you.” She dashed up the stairs, and Chase heard her door slam a few moments later.

“Why can’t my sister be more reasonable?” he grumbled to Trevor when his friend joined him for dinner in the cherub-ceilinged dining room. “Would you wish to marry a dandy like Whitaker?”

“Never,” Trevor returned, the sleeve of his navy coat dark against the table linens as he reached for another helping of veal. “The person I marry had better not need to shave in the mornings.”

“I wasn’t aware that Whitaker was old enough to shave.”

“A direct hit!” Trevor declared. “But just because you and I find Whitaker tiresome doesn’t mean Lady Phoebe will follow suit. Women have their own opinions in these matters.”

“So I’ve noticed. I suppose I should just be glad Whitaker is less dangerous than Delacorte. I doubt he’d have the stomach to kidnap her.” Chase tugged the edge of his linen shirt away from the insect bites that dotted his neck. They itched abominably, and he’d finally settled on his tobacco-colored banyan to
wear to dinner. The embroidered long coat was comfortable, and it allowed him to forgo a cravat.

“Your sister does seem to attract scoundrels,” Trevor agreed with an utter lack of concern over the matter. “You’re lucky she’s never shown interest in me.”

Chase eyed him. “Perhaps I should encourage her then.”

Trevor sat up so suddenly he nearly pulled his china plate into his lap. “That was a joke.”

“Not necessarily.” Chase leaned forward. “I’ve always maintained that a marriage should be for mutual benefit, the couple well known to each other. You’ve known Phoebe since she was a baby; she listens to your guidance. You could help her mature.”

Trevor’s eyes narrowed. “And how exactly do I benefit, besides having married an adorable infant?”

Chase leaned back. “She has a considerable dowry, and our family is irreproachable.”

Trevor set down his glass, folded his napkin and rose. “If that’s all you think I wish in a wife, Lord Allyndale, I bid you good evening.”

Chase rose and caught him before he could stalk out the door. “Hang on! I meant no insult.”

“You seldom do.” Trevor’s green eyes snapped fire. “But you are one of the few who knows the nature of my birth and the state of my finances, and I’ll thank you not to mention either again.”

Chase let go of his arm. “You know neither
troubles me. You’ve proven yourself an honorable gentleman.”

“Then believe me when I say I can handle my own affairs.”

“And believe me when I say I only wish to help.”

Trev shook his head. “I’d be mad to accept your help. I’ve watched you since we were boys. When a problem arises, you set it right, no matter the cost to you or those around you. You cannot order the world to your convenience, Allyndale. The rest of us have opinions and desires, as well.”

Chase stepped back. “You sound like Phoebe.”

“Then perhaps your sister has more sense than you think.”

Chase sighed. “Come back to the table, Trev. All I ask is that you think on the matter. By marrying Phoebe, I am convinced, you’d be doing my sister and yourself a great service. I know you could protect her against the likes of Delacorte.”

“You and I together can handle Delacorte,” Trevor replied, but he suffered himself to return to the table. “As for the rest, I still say you should hire Miss Price to chaperone your sister. Surely someone so redoubtable could keep away the riffraff like Whitaker.”

“Miss Price has her own plans for the summer,” Chase told him. “She seeks a particular seashell.”

Trevor choked and had to reach for his glass. “Oh, I can see how that would make it difficult to spend time in society,” he said sarcastically after taking a
good long sip. “You’d be doing her a favor by pairing her with your sister. Talk about mutual benefit!”

Chase wasn’t sure how Meredee would be helped by pairing her with Phoebe, but the idea took root He resolved to discuss it with Meredee at the next opportunity.

Meredee was having similar trouble getting her point across. She fully intended to discuss Algernon’s behavior with him the moment she returned to the inn, but when she carried her things back to her room, she found his room empty. She would have been worried, but the red jacket folded carefully across the chair told her that her stepbrother had come back safely, if only to change his coat.

“He is woefully neglectful of his duty,” Mrs. Price lamented when Meredee asked her stepmother if she’d seen Algernon. She sniffed and eyed Meredee from where she’d taken to her bed with a headache. “I wonder where he learned that.”

Meredee felt the barb, as she was certain her step mother intended. “I am sorry to have spent so much time away from you today. But were you not to go walking with Mr. Cranell?”

Her stepmother pouted, reminding Meredee a bit of Lady Phoebe. “His gout flared up. And Colonel Williams was busy with his tailor.”

Meredee stuck out her lower lip in sympathy.
“And so Scarborough’s reigning belle found herself unexpectedly alone.”

Her stepmother nodded. “Exactly! You may read to me if you like, or perhaps we could work on the lace for my new cap.”

“Are you not the least bit curious about my adventure today?” Meredee teased.

Mrs. Price blinked. “No. Why? Did his lordship say something about me? Or Algernon?”

“No,” Meredee replied, holding back her sigh. “But I need to speak to Algernon as soon as he returns.”

“I’m sure I don’t know why.
He
didn’t tarry at the inn alone all day. He took himself off before I woke and only returned long enough to tell me not to wait up.”

And in this, at least, Algernon proved true to his word. Though Meredee stayed up until her candle burned out, her stepbrother didn’t return to the inn until after she’d fallen asleep.

She was ready to wake him for services the next morning, but Mrs. Price intervened.

“Don’t you bother him,” her stepmother said, her gray lustring gown nearly as severe as her words. She settled her white straw bonnet on her curls. “He’s so worried about this affair with Lord Allyndale he cannot get enough rest.”

Somehow Meredee did not think it was worry that kept her stepbrother abed. But she picked up her cashmere shawl with the pink roses along the hem,
draped it over her pale rose gown, and followed her stepmother down to the cart the inn used to ferry its guests around town.

St. Mary’s at least was unchanged from when Meredee had last lived in Scarborough. The dark wood pews with their little gated entries sat under triple arches of golden stone, bathed in light from the massive stained-glass windows that edged the sanctuary. The voices of the orphan choir rose sweetly toward the high-beamed ceiling. It was a place to inspire awe, instill reverence. She always came away feeling as if she were better than when she’d arrived.

Glancing about now, she spotted Mr. Cranell, whose pallor and grimace said his leg still pained him; Colonel Williams looked dapper in a new bottle-green coat; and Mrs. Warden and Mrs. Dennings, the widows who made their living by pouring the waters for the spa guests, were on hand, as well. Mrs. Dennings, in particular, looked weary, her shoulders bowed, her head sunken onto her chest. She was a sharp contrast to William Barriston, who stood tall and strong in his pew near the front of the church alongside his narrow wife.

No sooner had Meredee sighted the Barristons than she noticed another tall, well-shaped gentleman nearby. Chase wore his black coat with dignity, his head high, his profile a study in concentration. Lady
Phoebe beside him yawned behind her lace-gloved hand, head bowed under her pink satin bonnet.

Though Meredee listened with her usual care to the readings and the vicar’s sermon, her gaze kept drifting toward Chase. She saw when he handed his sister the book of prayer, the movement encouraging. She noticed when he bowed his head for the benediction. Far from detracting from the service, his presence added to the simple pleasure of worship by knowing that he was worshipping, too.

A deep sigh of satisfaction rose up inside her as she followed her stepmother out of the church. St. Mary’s sat near the castle headland and commanded a view out over the town to the sea. The sky was a brilliant blue over Scarborough; the water a deeper blue stretching out below them. For a moment, she wished she were a bird, soaring up and over the expanse, with limitless light and limitless freedom. Then she noticed the man in the yellow coat, darting behind one of the nearby tombstones in the churchyard, and all good feelings fled.

Algernon.

What was he doing? He couldn’t be bothered to attend services, to pay his respects to his Maker, yet here he was, skulking about the churchyard like a resurrection man set on stealing corpses. She glanced at Mrs. Price, but she did not seem to have noticed her son, as she was still talking about how much she enjoyed the Vicar Mr. Kirk’s way with words.

“Wasn’t that lovely?” Lady Phoebe enthused, hurrying up to them. “Those dear children, and the organ! A shame so many people were missing.”

Her gaze to Meredee was imploring, and Meredee realized with a start that she was worried that Algernon hadn’t attended.

“I fear the attractions of Scarborough keep many abed late,” Meredee said, and nearly winced when her voice came out more stern than she intended.

Lady Phoebe frowned, but Chase joined them then.

His smile was all for Meredee, and she found it difficult to remember Algernon’s problems.

“I’m merely thankful our exertions yesterday did not keep you from attending, Miss Price,” he said. “I wonder—you’ve known the town some years. I find myself curious as to the families buried here. Would you be so good as to show me?”

He truly wanted a guided tour of the churchyard?

Not now, not with Algernon hiding there. Lady Phoebe glanced in that direction, and her hand shot out and gripped Meredee’s arm. “Oh, yes,” she said, gaze focused on the tombstones. “I love old church yards.”

Chase frowned so thoroughly at his sister that she nodded vigorously. “Truly! I’m sure Meredee knows any number of stories. Don’t you?”

At the moment, she was privy to one story too many. “Much as I adore St. Mary’s,” Meredee said,
“I’m sure the churchyard would hold little interest for either of you.”

Mrs. Price suddenly clutched her other arm. “No, no. Of course not.” She jerked her head theatrically toward the tombstones, and Meredee nearly closed her eyes in mortification. “I’m sure we would be much better served to stay here and chat.”

“Nonsense,” Lady Phoebe said with determined cheerfulness. “This way.” She tugged Meredee toward the graves.

“I must insist,” Mrs. Price said, clinging on to her other hand. Meredee held herself still, arms tense, refusing to be budged by either of them.

“If you’ll allow me,” Chase said. He reached out and detached his sister’s then Mrs. Price’s determined grips. “Miss Price will accompany me. Phoebe, you will wait by the carriage. Mrs. Price, I promise to restore your stepdaughter to you shortly.”

“Well, if you think you must,” Mrs. Price murmured and bit her lip. But Chase merely accorded her a nod and led Meredee toward the graves.

Any other time Meredee would have been pleased to show him the area. Some version of St. Mary’s had stood on this spot for over six hundred years. The tombstones, some square, some rounded, others cut at an angle like diamonds, crowded the yard. Voices from the departing parishioners came quietly here, like whispers from the past. She could easily point out the tomb of John Travis, one of the surgeons who had
attended her father and was much loved in the area, and graves belonging to other friends of her father. But now she kept expecting to turn down a corner and find Algernon huddled against the stones.

Still, she tried, pausing at this stone and that. But Chase seemed no less distracted. His gaze strayed off over the roofs of the town, and his hand continued to rise to his snowy cravat.

“And this fellow,” Meredee said, stopping before a well-known stone, “swam the channel in under a minute and established Britain’s first colony on the moon.”

“Fascinating,” Chase murmured.

“My lord, had you some other purpose for this walk?” Meredee asked, hands on her hips. “This tour does not seem to be amusing you.”

He quirked a smile. “Forgive me. I had a reason for accosting you, but I’m finding it difficult to concentrate.” He tugged at his cravat again.

Meredee peered closer. The bites on his neck were an angry red, and she had to stop herself from reaching up and stroking his cheek in sympathy. “Those bites look fearsome!” she said instead. “I have something that will make them stop itching. I’ll send someone up to your house with a bottle as soon as we return to the inn.”

“And will this concoction smell any better than the one you used yesterday?” he teased.

Meredee smiled. “That you will have to see for
yourself. It smells like lemon, but I promise you it feels a great deal better on raw skin!”

“So, what is this fellow’s true claim to fame?” he asked.