The Bumblebroth (3 page)

"My daughter is scarcely out of the nursery," she informed them with her chin in the air.

This offended posture gave William a better look at her enchanting profile, but he could not resist provoking another flash from her blue eyes.

"The nursery? But I understood Lady Pamela to be some fifteen years of age. Surely it is unusual for a girl of fifteen to be in the care of a nurse?"

The duchess coloured as if he had caught her telling the biggest bouncer of her life.

"Nanny Phillips has been in my service since well before Pamela was born," she explained rather vaguely. "I regard her more as a companion for Pamela than as a nurse, but my daughter is— still— quite young enough to be in her charge."

There seemed nothing to say to this, so William leaned back in his chair and awaited the entrance of the mysterious Lady Pamela.

Lady Westbury filled the interval with boasts about the Norton family, something she took pleasure in doing on even less pertinent occasions. From time to time, she threw a compliment to her son, which he did his best to ignore. It was clear that his apparent about-face had placated her, so that she was willing to overlook the teasing barbs it had pleased him to send her way.

Before too many minutes, the door opened to admit Lady Pamela, accompanied by Nanny Phillips. They were followed by three or more fine hunting dogs, who came so closely in Pamela's wake as to seem almost a permanent escort. Remembering them as she advanced into her mother's morning room, the girl uttered a sharp sequence of commands. The dogs immediately sat at attention, their adoring gazes fixed firmly on their mistress's face. So well mannered were they, they never once took the slightest notice of the guests.

Pamela's quick entry only served to confirm William in his suspicions, coming as it did a mere five minutes after her summons. Evidently, Lady Pamela had been neither resting nor studying too deeply. She had the air of someone who had been out and about for hours.

William rose and made his bow to the girl and the elderly nurse at her side.

After so much preamble, however, Lady Pamela's appearance came as something of a disappointment. She was certainly no beauty to be guarded from moonstruck suitors. In spite of a pleasant openness of countenance, she did not favor her pretty mother in the least, unless the paleness of her hair could be ascribed to the duchess. But unlike her mother's silken strands, Lady Pamela's were curly to the point of being frizzy. They surrounded a round face possessing none of the duchess's delicate features. Her skin, though fair, was of the sort that tended to redden under embarrassment rather than blush a rosy pink. Her figure, too, being on the stout side, lacked the elegance that would find favour with most gentlemen. She was dressed in a simple, but fashionable gown that did nothing to hide a rather masculine stride.

William did not allow any hint of his disappointment to cross his features, but immediately set himself the task of putting the young lady at ease. He could see she was not accustomed to strangers. She curtsied most awkwardly.

From his own mother, this lack of polish would have drawn an instant wince and a subsequent rebuke when the company had departed, if not immediately. He half suspected he had tumbled upon the reason for the duchess's attempts to put him off; surely, she would have wished to prepare her daughter better for such a meeting.

But glancing at the duchess's face to see how she was taking her daughter's clumsiness, William found no criticism of Pamela's performance. Instead, he saw in the mother's look only a rather touching protectiveness, as if she were blind to her daughter's deficiencies.

Since William's mother had no right to govern Lady Pamela yet, she only winced mildly at the child's awkwardness. Then she covered her grimace with an embarrassing plethora of admiring phrases, encompassing the child's hair, her face and her gown. The more she effused, the more annoyed the duchess seemed and the redder Lady Pamela's face became, so William offered the poor girl his arm and conducted her to the window seat to spare them both his mother's compliments.

Nanny Phillips followed them and stood at her charge's elbow. She was, if anything, even older than Barlow— a shrunken, wizened, almost fairytale creature, who looked as if she might have been spawned by an acorn. William warmed to her instantly, but noticed that she was striving to hide a yawn as if she had just been wakened from a morning nap. Her cap was put on neatly though, and she fulfilled her, perhaps, unaccustomed duty in good form.

Quite pleased with her son now, Lady Westbury did her best to hold the duchess captive by engaging her attention with impertinent questions about Westbury Manor.

After seating himself beside the young lady, William made several attempts to draw her out with the ballroom chatter he had perfected on other girls of a similar age. She responded to him awkwardly and with an obvious lack of interest. Her complete deficiency in social skills at first amused him, and then rapidly grew tedious. He began to wonder why the duchess had been so determined not to expose her daughter to his notice, for surely there could be no danger of his falling in love with the chit. His mind was increasingly taken up with this question, to the point that he was at pains to find something to say to Lady Pamela, when a chance remark about one of his horses brought a gleam to the girl's eyes.

"Are those your horses in the stables now?" she asked excitedly.

"The pair of greys? Yes. They brought us in my chaise. Did you see them?"

"Oh, yes." She sighed on a note of bliss. "Mama's head groom called them to my attention when I came in from my ride this morning. He knew I would wish to see them."

So much for the governess story, William thought, wondering again at the duchess's reluctance. "And did they meet with your approval?"

"Such prime bits of blood? How could they not! They are bang up to the nines!" At a reproving sound from Nurse, who had come awake at such language, Lady Pamela covered her mouth. "Oh, sorry. I'm not supposed to use expressions I pick up from Tim."

"Is Tim your groom?"

"Yes."

"Then I quite see that he would not be the best person to emulate."

He was rewarded with a giggle. Happy to find a successful topic, he continued, "So you enjoy horses, do you? And you ride. Do you drive a team?"

Lady Pamela gave a scoffing laugh and waved him away with a most indelicate gesture. "Of course not, silly," she said.  Evidently, now that she knew William to be a good judge of horseflesh, she was willing to accept him as a friend. "Whomever should I get to teach me? My mother rides, but Papa never allowed her to drive a team, and coachman is far too old and deaf." She sounded rather wistful.

"Well, perhaps I could teach you," William said, thinking in passing that the house seemed remarkably full of old retainers. "If I decide to stay in the country for a time, I would be happy to call and take you for a drive."

He wondered what on earth had induced him to make such an offer. He had begun to like Lady Pamela, but certainly not to the extent that he would change his plans for her. She was an honest, engaging child, free from all the affectations he so earnestly detested in other debutantes. As engagingly unaffected as her mother, in fact, but without an ounce of her beauty.

"Oh, would you?" Lady Pamela responded gruffly, reddening with pleasure at the thought. "That would be just the thing!"

Nanny Phillips made another tut-tutting sound. William promised Pamela to make his best effort, and then told her stories about his younger brother that he thought would appeal to her. Gerald was the most bruising rider in the family. In spite of his thin frame, he had a "neck-or-nothing" courage that got him over every fence without a spill. He seemed to speak a horse's language, so that he was able to extract the best behaviour out of the most poorly mannered beast. William reflected that it was too bad Gerald was not yet down from Oxford.

As she listened to his stories about Gerald's prowess, Lady Pamela's eyes shone with excitement. But after a while William was at pains to hide the fact that the task of entertaining her had grown tiresome. From time to time, he glanced surreptitiously at the duchess and found her straining to listen to her daughter's conversation. The spot of dirt still bedecked her nose, and she had long since given up on her flowers. The sight of her daughter's eager receptiveness to William's interest seemed to trouble her, and before long she found a means of bringing their tête-à-tête to an end.

Interrupting Lady Westbury, she rose and said firmly, "I am afraid you will have to pardon me, but I think Pamela has had enough society for one day. She will more than likely be tired from all the excitement."

Pamela looked surprised and started to protest, but the duchess turned to Nanny Phillips and asked, "Isn't that right, Nanny?"

Nanny Phillips hesitated only a second over the unfamiliar question.

"That's right, Miss Mattie - er, Your Grace," she said. "I was just thinking it would be time for Pammy's nap."

Pamela's face betrayed signs of a sustained shock, which revealed that she was not used to being treated like a baby.

William ignored this, however, to turn towards the duchess with a lift to his brow. "Miss Mattie?" he repeated with interest.

Her eyelids fluttered with embarrassment. "Yes, my name is Mathilda," she admitted ruefully. "Nanny has been with me since I was His Grace's ward, you see, and occasionally her tongue slips. She is inclined to forget, from time to time, that I am no longer her charge, but she still takes very good care of us."

She regarded Nanny Phillips fondly and with only a mild exasperation for having betrayed her. Even the duchess, at this point, could no longer pretend that Lady Pamela was still confined to the nursery.

She gave her daughter permission to retire. Lady Pamela gave a sharp command to her dogs, and tails waving, they jumped to follow her from the room. Nanny Phillips curtseyed to the company and bustled Lady Pamela out. Before she could do so, however, William promised Pamela to return soon for their driving lesson.

"But— I thought Lady Westbury said you would be leaving!" the duchess cried, in accents strongly suggesting that she believed herself to have been deceived.

William gave her the slightest of bows. "My plans are uncertain. Would you object to Lady Pamela's riding out with me in my chaise?"

She looked anxious. "I couldn't possibly permit such a thing unless I accompanied you."

"Of course," William said, bowing to hide a smile.

Within minutes of this exchange, Lady Westbury and William took their departure. Lady Westbury carefully guarded her tongue, but only until William's carriage had passed through the gates. The instant it did, she began enumerating all Lady Pamela's virtues, the amenities of the property she had inherited, the income she believed to derive from the estate, and the advantages to the Norton family if there should be a match with the daughter of a duke.

Then, unable to restrain herself, she passed on to the duchess's eccentricity and the outrageousness of her costume.

"I was never so shocked as when she walked in from the garden!" she exclaimed. "That gown! I declare I have not seen anything like it since those shocking days before His poor Majesty fell ill. Why it scarcely covered her! I would rather be struck dead than to appear in such a garment!"

Then, with a quick glance at William, she added hastily, "But you mustn't let the duchess's conduct discourage you, William. After you are married, you can find her another house somewhere. You needn't think she will be a burden. Just don't permit it."

Lady Westbury carried on in this vein for some time, before noticing her son's silence. He had neither commented on her observations nor told her his plans for the morrow.

Anxious to discover just how successful her scheming had been, she prompted, "Well, William. You have said nothing at all. Have you no answer to give me?" She turned in her seat the better to observe his expression.

William came out of his abstraction. "My apologies, Mama. I did not realize you were speaking. What was it you wished to know?"

"Not realize that I was speaking! How can you say such a thing, William, when I have been informing you of my opinions this past quarter hour! I have been wondering what you thought of her!"

"Of the lady?" he said in a distant tone. His face revealed no earthly clue as to his sentiments.

"Of course, I am asking about the lady, if it pleases you to speak in such terms! Tell me instantly what you thought of her!"

William commented absently, "I confess that my interest is piqued. I thought her charming— and rather clever."

"Well!" Lady Westbury settled herself back into her seat with an air of satisfaction. She had known William would come to his senses and see the advantages of the match, but she had not cherished any hopes that he would be smitten with the girl. After all, Lady Pamela was hardly what one would call beautiful. If William found her interesting, however, she would say nothing to disabuse him of the idea for she knew gentlemen were peculiar in their tastes. And to call Lady Pamela clever. . .

"William— " she scooted forward again— "I hope you did not misunderstand anything Lady Pamela said to you. I can assure you that she is not a bluestocking. Far from it!"

Her son gave a mischievous grin. The sight of it was vaguely disquieting.

"Oh, no," he said. "I do not fear that. Lady Pamela does not concern me at all."

Chapter Three

As soon as Lord Westbury and his mama had driven out the front gate, Her Grace of Upavon, Mattie, gathered up the skirts of her flimsy gown and ran up the stairs to find Nanny Phillips. As she did so, she noticed the wilted flowers in her hand and, uttering an expression of dismay, flung them over the balustrade. Then, remembering that her footman was getting too old to stoop, she ran back down to collect them and disposed of them herself.

She found Nanny alone, dozing quietly in a chair in her private sitting room. Mattie crept up to her on tiptoes.