Amanda Scott (24 page)

On the upper landing, he stopped, turned toward her, and said quietly, “Something has distressed you. What is it?”

She replied in an undertone, “Only that I am truly coming to realize what an abominable situation your father has created.”

“He has,” Manningford agreed, “but you can have no cause to blame yourself. Indeed, if you want to disassociate yourself from the whole affair, I will arrange for you to do so at once.”

She stared at him. “But how could you think that I—”

“Come.” He glanced toward the door to Sir Mortimer’s room and took her arm again. “We’ll talk in the study.”

“But he is waiting.”

“Let him wait.” He opened the door and drew her into the room, shutting the door again behind him. “He might hear our voices but not our words, and although Borland might come out while we stand on the landing, he will not interrupt us in here.” Then an unfamiliar, stern note entered his voice. He said, “Tell me the truth, Nell. Do you want to end this nonsense right now?”

She drew a long breath, staring at the top button of his waistcoat, trying to sort her feelings. Despite her concern for the effect her relationship with Sir Mortimer might have on his family, she knew she didn’t want to stop what she was doing. Still, the thought that Manningford would end it for her when it was in his own best interest for her to continue was a warming one. She wondered if he truly believed he could stop it all so easily. Wanting to believe in him but knowing she had no real wish to test him, she looked up at last with a rueful twinkle in her eyes and said, “Will you think me irrational if I tell you I have no wish to end it?”

He smiled. “Not in the least. I should be most relieved to hear it, but understand me quite clearly. The moment you desire an end, I will tell him. I’ll not allow you to be troubled by an agreement to which you are held against your will.”

“I am not unwilling, sir,” she said, warmed beyond reason by his words and the tone in which he spoke them. “I will own that the Regent’s involvement has me in something of a quake. Despite Aunt Flavia’s assurances, I cannot believe that we might not find ourselves in the suds if we attempt to deceive him.”

“Will you trust me to deal with the Regent?” he asked. Then, before she could reply, he added gently, “Your great-aunt has the right of it, you know. With no more than a certain amount of care we ought to brush through that whole business unscathed. You need not let it distress you so.”

She hesitated, then said, “To be truthful, sir, though I feel a certain apprehension regarding his highness’s visit—because Sir Mortimer’s secret might be revealed, you know, which would affect his health adversely—that aspect of the matter does not concern me personally, and so it does not distress me quite so much as I might have led you to think.”

“But something has done so. Tell me.”

She glanced up at him, opened her mouth, then shut it again and looked away.

He frowned, stepping back. “If you feel you cannot confide in me, of course there is nothing more to be said.”

For reasons that she could not explain, even to herself, it was imperative to her to assure him that she had no qualms about confiding in him. Quickly she said, “I did not mean to seem secretive, sir, but the matter is one of some delicacy, and I should not wish you either to think ill of me or believe me to be imagining things. If I am troubled, it is by the fact that your father seems likely to continue to demand my frequent presence in this house while your sister is here. She cannot like my growing relationship with him, and I am sure I do not blame her.”

“You need not let Sybilla’s megrims fret you,” he said.

“Oh, but I look at her and feel such sorrow that she has never known the sort of companionship I knew with my father. My mother died when I was not much older than she must have been when yours did, but I had Papa’s love to sustain me, and though he was not a sensible man, his disposition was most affectionate. I adored him and still miss him very much.” Tears welled into her eyes, but before they could spill down her cheeks, she pulled her handkerchief from beneath her sash and wiped them away.

He took an impulsive step toward her, and for a moment she had the pleasing notion that he meant to take her in his arms to comfort her, but he did not. Instead, he stopped directly in front of her and said firmly, “My sister’s emotions need not concern you. In fact, she is happy in her marriage and takes care that none of her mischievous brats shall lack the love and affection that were denied to us by our father. For that matter, if you will consider the matter judiciously, you will see that our childhood was not unusual, and that of the two parents, it was yours rather than mine who was the rarity.”

“Why, what can you mean, sir?”

“Only that it is quite customary for children of the
beau monde
to be strangers to their parents. Had my father spent his time in London, at his club, leaving his brats at his country home to be raised by servants, no one would have thought it at all odd, for most of the gentry do precisely that. What makes my parent unique is that we lived in the same house with him until we—Charlie and I, at least—were sent off to school. Even if our mother had lived, we still would have been raised by nurses and governesses, just as most children are. My sisters are hardly the only women of our world, you know, who retain a stronger affection for Nurse than for Mama or Papa.”

It was true. She knew it as well as he did, but she had not thought about it in that way. She did now and realized that she had been refining rather more upon Sybilla’s tone than she need have done. Having recognized Sybilla as a managing woman, she knew now that a portion, at least, of her attitude stemmed from the fact that Nell had accomplished something with Sir Mortimer that his daughter never had.

“Perhaps I might induce him to—”

“No,” Manningford said. “You will only upset him and do no good by it. In any case, you ought to be thinking about your own difficulties and not bothering your head about ours. One reason I came up with you is that Ned told me he brought your brother home with him. He thinks well of him, and I respect his opinion. Even before this, I had meant to get to the bottom of the business with your cousin. Now it becomes more pressing, and I want to have a closer look at that betting book. If there is anything out of the way about the manner in which the wager was entered, I’ll rout it out. It is possible that Jarvis, after his father’s death, might have found a way to alter the wording.”

“But such books are practically sacred, are they not, sir, and you forget that Mr. Bygrave was the one to inscribe the wager in the book. He said himself that he wrote it down precisely the way Papa and Reginald commanded him to do.”

“Or so Jarvis told your father,” Manningford reminded her. “Recollect that your brother had already left for the Continent by then and could neither confirm or deny the tale.”

“But he has confirmed it now,” Nell said, then corrected herself at once. “Or at least he remembers nothing to contradict any of what Jarvis told us then. His recollection of the whole business is dim, since he was so odiously foxed at the time.”

“Oddly so, Ned thinks, and I agree with him.”

“Oh, no, for Nigel is—or I should say, was—sadly unsteady in that way, sir. He was frequently quite … quite sodden with drink, for I saw as much myself, often and often. Why, even when they were at home together, both Papa and Nigel were used to drink as many as two or three bottles of port, between them, after dinner. And if you think I cannot know, sir, let me tell you that it was I who kept the housekeeping books, not Papa.”

He chuckled. “I don’t doubt your word, but I still intend to look into the matter closely. I have been party to too many outrageous schemes in my lifetime not to recognize the framework for one when I trip over it. Your cousin’s error, I think, is in having thrown too many ingredients into his stewpot. One might believe in a wager gone wrong, a host of convenient corpses, even a duel, but someone cheating in the duel, then a disappearing heir—Nell, I ask you, even in the sort of books my father writes, so many bits and pieces could never add up to a tidy whole. Jarvis has overdone it, and therein lies his undoing.”

She sighed. “Perhaps, sir. I confess to a hankering of my own to see that betting book, but despite what you may think of him, if Jarvis did do something dreadful, I doubt we will find him out. He can be devilishly clever when something matters to him. No scheme of his will unravel at a touch.”

“Perhaps not, but I wish you will trust me to try my luck. I think you see more of your father and brother in me than I deserve. No, no, don’t poker up,” he added when she moved to protest. “I don’t mean to offend you. I know it must be absurdly easy for one in your position to assume from the tales you have heard about me that I am cast in a similar mold.”

“Oh, no,” Nell said, but the words sounded weak in her own ears, and she was not surprised when his expression indicated clearly that he did not believe her. From the moment, weeks before, when he had so casually told her he was abducting her, she had seen in him many of the same traits she identified with the two men she knew and loved best, but although she had known all along that she had an inclination to compare him to them, she had had no idea that he had been aware of the fact.

“I know that my reputation for outrageous behavior must appall you,” he went on, “for I have frequently been careless, certainly irresponsible, and at times even downright foolish. But I am older now and capable of better things, and so I shall prove to you. In the meantime, my dear, if we are not to have Borland hammering upon the door, you had better get along to the old gentleman now.”

She stood where she was, staring at him, wishing she might contradict him; but she could not. So it was that when he grasped her elbow lightly and gave her a little push toward the door, she nearly went without speaking; however, as he reached to open the door, she turned in his grasp, almost without thought, stood on tiptoe and, reaching her hand up to clasp the back of his head, pulled his face down and kissed him hard on the lips.

Then, smiling mischievously at him, she turned and ran from the room, down the corridor to Sir Mortimer’s door. When she reached it, she looked back over her shoulder to see him grinning at her with such elation in his eyes that she knew without a word having been spoken that he read the thoughts racing through her mind and was delighted by them. When he took a step toward her, however, she recollected herself at once, and turning away with a jerk, reached for the door handle and pushed open the door, resolutely erasing all thought of Mr. Manningford from her mind and fixing her attention upon Sir Mortimer.

To her surprise, for she had thought him very ill indeed, the old gentleman was sitting up against his pillows, and his eyes lit with welcome at the sight of her. Borland got up from his chair by the window at once, and said, “Most impatiently he’s been waiting, miss, if I might take the liberty to say so. He’s got a wee surprise for you.”

“Indeed?” She turned to the gaunt figure in the bed, smiled, and said, “I wonder what that might be, sir. I adore surprises.”

“Good,” he said, if not clearly, at least more forcefully than she had heard him speak in several days. “Sit.” His eyes shifted toward the chair by the bed that she generally occupied while she read to him.

As she moved to obey, Nell said, “I hope you will not be vexed with me, sir, for I have brought no pages to read today. I had thought you would not wish to continue our work while her ladyship and Axbridge were here, and so although I accompanied my aunt to pay our respects, I did not anticipate being asked to visit with you.”

He grunted, cleared his throat, and said carefully, “Flavia here?”

“Yes, to welcome Lady Axbridge, you know, for your daughter is a favorite with her. But I must tell you, sir, I am delighted that you are beginning to recover your power of speech.”

Sir Mortimer’s odd half-smile touched his lips, and Borland said, “He’s been that determined to speak, miss, though I was by no means certain it were good for him to keep trying as he did. Still, I thought it better to allow him to have his way than to vex him further by sniping at him. Then too,” he added with a sigh, “it was never of the least use to do so. But I must say, I was quite as astonished as what I can see you are yourself. And that’s not the whole of it,” he added, smiling as he held out a sheaf of papers to her. “He’s been hard at work, he has.”

“Oh, indeed?” Nell took the papers with some reluctance, for although she was not by any means confident of her ability to mend his book by herself, she was oddly averse now to interference from anyone in what she was doing, and though she shrank from submitting work to Mr. Murray that was not entirely Sir Mortimer’s, she dreaded the old man’s criticism.

As she glanced at the top page, Borland said diffidently, “An you can make head or tail of it, miss, I’ll own m’self surprised, for he was unable to speak at any length and I made no attempt to write more than what he did say. I take leave to tell you, I don’t know, myself, what he meant in some instances.”

Nell nodded, but she scarcely heeded his words, for she was having all she could do to hide her immediate opposition to what she was reading. Clearly because of his disability, Sir Mortimer had been brief to the point of curtness, but his comments were nonetheless pithy for all that. The first thing Borland had written was ‘Elizabeth insipid,’ followed by ‘Percy a stick.’ Impulsively, she opened her mouth to defend the two characters, but she repressed it and read the next comment, ‘lives before.’ Her imagination stirred, for although the note was a brief one, she knew suddenly what he had been trying to tell her.

Elizabeth still had not come to life, and Sir Percy was no more than a stick figure. Only their villain had life. She looked up from the page to find the old man staring at her, his eyes narrowed as though he would measure her reaction.

She sighed. “I didn’t know what was wrong. Whenever I read what we had written, I knew that certain passages—particularly ones I had altered—made me uncomfortable, as though something were amiss. You are right about Elizabeth. Try as I will, I cannot like her. She is so … so …”