Rivals of Fortune / The Impetuous Heiress (7 page)

“Of course. It came to me just now. We shall need a great many tools, I suppose, and some workmen. We can do some of the digging, but not all.” He frowned and shook his head.

“There is quite a pile of gardening tools in a shed at the Abbey,” said the other. “It looks as if they had an army of gardeners years ago. Some of them are a bit rusty, but I daresay they will do.”

“Splendid,” cried Mr. Rowntree.

“As for workmen, that is more difficult. Old Ernst, my gardener, will help us now and then, I suppose, and perhaps your man also. But other than that, I do not know. We may pay some workmen, I daresay?” This last remark was tentative.

Rowntree frowned again. “No, no, we cannot do that. My other experiments require all of my extra funds at present.” He thought for a moment, then made an airy gesture. “Well, we shall simply have to dig ourselves,” he said. “There is nothing for it. I daresay it will be good for us all.” And having reached this conclusion, he turned and left the room without another word.

When he was gone, Erland smiled ironically. “I wonder how Templeton will like that,” he said. “He did not seem to me the sort of young man who likes to dig. I wonder if he has ever held a shovel?”

“Have you?” asked Joanna.

He turned back to her, his smile gone. “Indeed, I have. Do you forget that I am a colonial? I have held and used a shovel, an axe, a long rifle, and many other very ungenteel implements. I shall be your father's chief digger, I wager.” He looked directly into her eyes.

For some reason, his cool gray gaze made Joanna uncomfortable. “Father did not mean…” she began.

But Erland held up a hand. “I have the greatest respect for Mr. Rowntree.”

Joanna found this reply somewhat unsatisfactory, though she did not know why. But before she could speak, he went on. “And now, I want your advice.”

She stared at him. No one had ever asked for her advice before.

“Your mother has been telling me, you know, about this party she plans. It sounds splendid, and I am very grateful. Indeed, I should like to repay her hospitality and entertain my neighbors, perhaps. So, I have evolved a scheme.”

“What?” said Joanna when he paused.

He smiled. “I thought I would stage a picnic at the Abbey, perhaps next month. We might wander about the ruins, you see, and eat our dinners sitting on mossy old stones.” He looked at her expectantly. “What do you think?”

“I?” Joanna was nonplussed.

“Yes. I want your opinion. Do you think it a good idea? Will it be suitable? The interior of the house is so run-down, I cannot hold any gathering there. This seemed just the ticket. But will it do?”

“Oh, yes. It sounds splendid.”

He eyed her narrowly. “There's no need to be polite, you know. I have been out of the country for so long that I know nothing about fashionable amusements.” He grimaced. “Never did, if the truth be told. So, I wish to know if a picnic is all right.”

Joanna had recovered from her surprise. “Oh, yes,” she assured him. “It is all the crack just now. Everyone will like it excessively.”

Erland looked at her, then nodded. “Good. I will set things in motion. Mrs. Smith will no doubt have the vapors.”

Joanna laughed, a vivid picture of the old housekeeper's probable reaction in her mind.

“Exactly,” said Erland, “but have no fear, I shall win through.”

“When will it be?”

“Well, your mother's party is next week, I believe, so mine shall not be for another two weeks after that. I do not wish people's memories of your mother's perfectly-run household to be too bright. The contrast will be shocking, I fear. So, say the middle of July, then.”

“Perhaps the ruins will be cool,” offered Joanna.

“Precisely, I shall put that on my invitation cards.”

“How absurd you are.”

“I?” He feigned astonishment. “Not at all. I am the most commonplace of men.”

Joanna merely shook her head, and Erland rose. “I must go,” he added. “I have neglected a great many unpleasant duties already this morning, and now I must attend to some of them.”

Joanna rose also, and they started toward the door.

“By-the-by,” continued the man as they reached it, “I do not wish to reveal my plan for a picnic just yet. I must see first whether it can be done. Can we make it our secret for a while?”

Joanna cocked her head. “If you wish.”

He smiled. “You must help me with the arrangements, and when they are complete, we shall unveil the scheme to the world.”

The girl did not know exactly how to take this. She wondered if her mother would approve of her planning a party for a single gentleman. But she could think of no reply, so said only, “I will not mention it.”

Erland bowed slightly, then took his leave. Joanna watched him run lightly down the stairs before she picked up her bonnet and went up to her bedroom to put it away.

The next few days were very busy ones for Joanna. She had little time to herself as she helped her mother prepare for the dress party, fidgeted through fittings for her new dress, and spent long hours listening to Selina's laments. The latter's mother had decreed that she could not attend the Rowntrees' party, being only seventeen and not nearly out. Selina did not take the decision well. In fact, she was outraged, and took Joanna's every spare moment to express her emotion. By the day of the party, Joanna was heartily sick of the subject. She looked forward to the evening not only as a source of amusement, but also as an end to Selina's complaining.

As she dressed that evening, Joanna thought of Peter and his wife, who perforce had been invited. Somewhat to her surprise, she felt no great emotion at the idea of seeing them. What was wrong with her? As she fastened a silver bangle on her wrist, a gift from her mother, she thought of the third member of that household. Sir Rollin Denby would also be present tonight; he had promised to come. A memory of his wild race with Jonathan Erland and the jump that ended it floated through Joanna's thoughts, and she smiled slightly. It would be a little exciting to see Sir Rollin again. Her cheeks flushed becomingly.

Joanna stood up and turned before the long mirror above her dressing table. The new dress was perfect: the palest jonquil muslin, with tiny puffed sleeves and one long flounce at the hem. Trimmed with deeper yellow ribbons, it glowed against her dark brown hair and gave her dark eyes a brighter sparkle. Her mother had also bought her new kid slippers to match, as well as the bracelet, and Joanna had done her hair in a mass of ringlets tied with yellow ribbons. Altogether, she had never felt so elegant and grown-up as she did in this moment. The girl looking back from the mirror might be a London miss, she thought, ready for an outing at Vauxhall or Almack's. Her reflection smiled, cherry-red lips curving upward. Surely tonight would be a night to remember. And all her vows of eternal seclusion forgotten, Joanna skipped down the stairs to meet her mother in the drawing room.

Mrs. Rowntree awaited her there, also looking very fine. She wore a gown of deep red and her grandmother's ruby necklace. Her dark hair was twisted in a knot on the top of her head with curls falling over her ears. She might have been Joanna's sister rather than her mother, and she looked nearly as excited as the girl. The Rowntrees seldom entertained, Mr. Rowntree being utterly uninterested in such frivolity, and his wife had resigned herself to that fact. But before her marriage, she had been extremely fond of parties and dancing, and her eyes were bright with anticipation now.

“Perfect, Joanna,” she said as her daughter entered. “The dress is lovely.”

Joanna pirouetted before her. “Oh, I do like it,” she replied.

Her mother nodded, smiling, but before she could speak again, the door opened and Mr. Rowntree came in. He looked rather awkward and uncomfortable in his evening dress. His neckcloth seemed too tight for him and his shirt points too high, though neither would have drawn a second disdainful look from one truly interested in fashion.

“Emma, this is intolerable,” he said, running a finger around his neck. “Why must I make a spectacle of myself in this ridiculous way? I have work to do, important work, and you know I am no good at these occasions.”

His wife smiled again. “If you want to be on good terms with your neighbors, George, you must see them occasionally.”

Mr. Rowntree sighed miserably and went to sit at his table in the corner. “I am too uncomfortable to argue the point,” he said, putting his head on his hands. “Let them come.”

Mrs. Rowntree exchanged an amused look with her daughter.

“Oh, but you look splendid, Papa,” said Joanna coaxingly, “and Gerald is riding up for the evening. You will be able to talk with him and his friends.” Mrs. Rowntree had recruited several of the Oxford students to fill out her numbers.

Mr. Rowntree raised his head and turned to answer his daughter, but paused with his mouth open and simply stared at her for some moments.

After a while, Joanna moved nervously. “What is wrong, Papa?”

He recovered himself, but shook his head as if mystified. “You are different, Joanna. You are grown-up, I suppose.” This idea seemed to both astonish and displease him. Joanna looked to her mother.

“She looks lovely, does she not, George?” said Mrs. Rowntree.

The man continued to look at his daughter, frowning, and his wife had to repeat the question before he heard her. “Eh?” He started. “What? Oh, so she does. Lovely.” His brow cleared, and he added warmly, “You are beautiful, Joanna. I can't think why I haven't noticed before now. You're the image of your mother when I met her. You'll be a credit to us both tonight, though I'm sure I'd little to do with it.” He ran a distracted hand through his sparse brown hair and smiled. His thin, rather austere face softened, and Joanna was overcome by the knowledge that her father cared for her.

“Th-thank you, Papa,” she stammered. “I shall try to be, always.”

The maid came in then to tell them that a carriage had arrived, and the family moved to the landing to receive their first guests. They were Mr. and Mrs. Grant, but Joanna greeted them in a daze, her father's praise still ringing in her ears.

By eight thirty, their drawing room was filled, with only the Finley party yet to arrive. Joanna stood with Constance Williston in the corner of the room and looked out over it. Her brother Gerald stood opposite with her father and a group of young men, all talking at once. Her mother sat at the other end of the room with the Grants and some of the other neighbors, and another group of young people chatted further down the side where Joanna stood.

She turned to Constance, who looked cool and pretty in a gown of pale green muslin, embroidered at the waist and hem with a row of dark green leaves. “It is getting hot, isn't it?” said Joanna, putting her hands to her glowing cheeks.

Constance started, pulling her eyes from the opposite side of the room. “What?” she asked, blushing.

Joanna repeated her remark, and Constance agreed.

“I do not see how we can dance,” continued Joanna. “We should melt in this heat.”

“It is hotter in London rooms,” said Constance absently. “Girls sometimes faint from the closeness of the air.”

“I can well believe it. I cannot imagine…” But Joanna's imaginings were interrupted by the arrival of the Finleys and Sir Rollin, the former full of apologies for their lateness. Adrienne Finley blamed her brother in a penetrating voice. “He would not hurry. I told him that a country party is not at all like London. One may not wander in at any hour and expect a welcome. But Rollin is too used to being cosseted. Hostesses have spoiled him. They are so glad to see him enter their drawing rooms that they forgive him the most cavalier behavior.” Adrienne was glancing sharply around the room as she spoke, nodding to the people she knew and subjecting the others to close scrutiny.

Mrs. Rowntree came forward and began introductions. Most of the guests were already acquainted, but only a few had met the new Mrs. Finley. Adrienne enjoyed being the center of attention, and her voice carried throughout the room as they progressed around it. Several conversations paused. “How do you do? Yes, just married this month and arrived here soon after. A lovely neighborhood. So rustic. How do you do? Quite a romance, yes, all in the first weeks of the season. How do you do?” This went on for some time.

Joanna made an impatient gesture. “Must she talk so loudly?” she murmured with annoyance.

Constance glanced around them, but no one was near. “Perhaps she is nervous,” she suggested.

The two girls looked at Adrienne, who was telling Reverend Williston of a superb preacher she had heard at Bath. Adrienne was brilliant in emerald silk with masses of pale green ribbons and a green and gold enameled fan. “Do you truly think so?” asked Joanna skeptically.

Constance watched Adrienne move on to Mr. Townsend and begin to rally him on his flowered waistcoat, saying that it was almost as striking as one she had seen the Duke of Cumberland wear in London last season. Mr. Townsend was obviously torn between complacency and outrage. “Well, perhaps not,” agreed Constance. She smiled wryly. “I begin to wish I had not chosen to wear green,” she added. “I shall be quite overpowered.”

“Nonsense,” replied Joanna fiercely. “How can anyone like
her
?”

“Like whom?” drawled a lazy voice behind them. Both girls jumped guiltily and whirled. It was Sir Rollin Denby.

“I…I didn't hear you come up,” stammered Joanna.

“Obviously,” answered Sir Rollin, “else you would not have been gossiping. It is never so amusing when one is overheard. But tell me, whom can no one like?” The wicked twinkle in his eye suggested that he already knew the answer.

Joanna could think of nothing to say; she swallowed nervously.

“We were speaking of old Mrs. Rouse,” put in Constance coolly. “It is a very sad case. She is in need of assistance, but she is so unpleasant that few people want to visit her.” Her calm blue eyes met Sir Rollin's hazel ones with no sign of wavering. Joanna looked at her with amazed gratitude.

“Ah,” said Denby, his smile widening. “But I can hardly believe that that is true of
you
, Miss Williston. You are not the type who lets such superficialities guide her behavior.”

“I hope not indeed,” replied Constance, her chin high.

“And you, Miss Rowntree?” he asked mockingly. “I take it you are not quite so charitable?”

“I…I fear not,” stammered Joanna, wishing she were somewhere else.

“A pity. Harboring ill feeling can lead to such very unpleasant consequences.” There was a hint of steel in his voice, and both girls looked up, surprised. He made a gesture and smiled. “It is always best, I have found, to forgive injuries and forget them.”

Constance raised her eyebrows. “Of course.”

To Joanna's vast relief, they were interrupted at this moment by her mother, who was endeavoring to start a few couples dancing at the end of the room. Besides Joanna and Constance, there were two other girls from some distance away, and there was a wealth of young men to partner them, thanks to the colleges. The governess from the Townsends' had agreed to play.

“Come Joanna,” said Mrs. Rowntree, “you and Constance may start. I have young Townsend eager to dance and…”

“And I,” interrupted Sir Rollin. “Will you honor me, Miss Rowntree?”

Joanna's mother did not look overly pleased at this development, and the girl herself felt a quiver of unease. Still, she could do nothing but accept. Soon, she was standing up with Sir Rollin for a country dance, Constance and Jack Townsend beside them, and the two other girls partnered by Jonathan Erland and one of the Oxford students.

There was some commotion behind them; then Joanna heard Adrienne Finley exclaim, “La no, Mr. Townsend, I protest I will not dance. Why, I am an old married woman now.” The gentleman made some remark that Joanna could not hear, then Adrienne continued. “Well, if you insist, but I do protest. What will Peter think?” Peter evidently thought nothing at all, for in a moment, the new couple had joined the set.

The piano began. Joanna watched her feet for the first few minutes. This was the first time she had danced in public, and though she knew the steps, she felt a little nervous. But finally, she saw that she was not going to make a mistake or tread on her partner's foot, and she looked up. Sir Rollin smiled. “You are looking very pretty tonight, Miss Rowntree,” he remarked.

“Thank you,” answered Joanna. Sir Rollin was very splendid himself, in his dark evening coat and pale pantaloons. Indeed, he was the most elegant man in the room, and Joanna felt rather in awe of him. It was not only his magnificent appearance; he seemed in the habit of saying the most unsettling things. She searched for something to say. But Sir Rollin did not allow the pause to lengthen. When the dance movements allowed, he chatted pleasantly, gradually putting the girl at her ease.

“I have tried some of the rides you showed us,” he said later in the set, “and I enjoyed them very much. You made good choices. Yesterday, I rode to the top of Brent Hill. The view is splendid, particularly of Erland's ruins. They are really extensive, are they not?”

“Yes. It was a very large abbey, I believe.”

“Alas for Henry VIII.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Nothing.” He smiled slightly.

There was a pause. Feeling awkward, Joanna asked, “Do you go to Brighton soon?”

Denby's smile seemed to stiffen. “I really cannot say, Miss Rowntree. That depends on many things.”

“You must miss your fashionable friends, here in the country.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Doubtless. But do they miss me? That is unlikely.”

Joanna did not understand his tone, and she frowned.

“Brighton, my dear Miss Rowntree, is an odd place,” he continued, “and a preeminently expensive one. Unless one has friends with a house, it is really too expensive. At least for such as I. And so, I stay, for a time.” His lips quirked. “My sister desires my company,” he finished.

Joanna felt uncomfortable and had some idea that she had made a social error, though she did not know just what it was. She was generally silent through the rest of the dance. Sir Rollin stared out over her head, as if his own thoughts were far more interesting than the gathering at which he found himself.

When the set ended, there was a pause while the young people rearranged themselves. Sir Rollin drifted off, and Jonathan Erland approached Joanna. Adrienne Finley called her husband who came a bit reluctantly into the dance.

Constance had moved toward the corner of the room, near where Mr. Rowntree and the Oxford students were talking; she looked uncomfortable. Joanna went over to her. “Do you have a partner?” she asked.