Amanda Scott (9 page)

“I wasn’t doing anything,” Timothy muttered.

“I should not like to have to ask your aunt what you were doing,” warned Abberley. “I believe, since she was not playing a game, that she must have been searching for you, which is a thing she should not have to do, you know.”

Timothy dared a small shrug and, when there was no response, said with more than a touch of defiance, “I didn’t want lessons today.”

“Lessons?” Abberley quirked an eyebrow at Margaret.

She smiled. “The vicar has kindly undertaken to give him lessons for a few hours each morning,” she said.

Abberley nodded. “That is indeed kind of Mr. Maitland. You are quite old enough to begin lessons, Timothy. Surely, you wouldn’t prefer to spend the whole day with your nanny now that you are so grown up?”

“He hasn’t got a nanny,” Margaret interjected, a note of irony in her voice making the earl look at her sharply.

“Routed?”

“Indeed, though you mustn’t blame Timothy. There were other forces involved.”

“I see.” There was a moment’s silence. “I begin to believe you have been making a nuisance of yourself, young man. Perhaps, once I have had the opportunity to speak at length with your aunt, it will be necessary that you and I have a long chat together. What do you think about that?”

Timothy shot a slanted look at Margaret, half daring her to say something, half frightened that she would.

She smiled at him. “I do not believe such a conversation will be necessary, my lord. Timothy has behaved very well this week. His only lapse has been his neglecting to inform me this morning that he meant to come into the woods instead of going to Mr. Maitland.”

The boy relaxed, but a twist of Abberley’s lips showed her he wasn’t fooled for a moment. And once they had arrived at the manor, where she was able to turn Timothy over to Melanie, the earl led her straight into the downstairs parlor, a little-used room just off the front hall, where they could be assured of at least several moments of privacy.

“That lad’s been leading you a dance, or I miss my guess,” he said without preliminary. He stripped off his riding gloves and laid them beside his whip on a side table.

Margaret made no attempt to deny the charge. “This has been a difficult time for him, sir. What do you mean to do with him?”

“Do with him?” He stared at her, bewildered.

“Well, you said Michael had appointed you his guardian. Does that mean you intend to take him back to the hall with you?”

“Good Lord, no!” He pushed a hand through his hair, staring at her in astonishment, his earlier commanding attitude gone completely. “What on earth put such a notion into your head? What would I do with him at Abberley?”

“Well, if you are his guardian—”

“Look here, Marget, you’re not thinking of going back to Vienna, are you?”

“No, but what has that to do—”

“That has everything to do with the point at hand. I haven’t the least idea of how to raise a boy. That’s woman’s work, at least until he’s of an age to go to school. It never occurred to me for a moment that Timothy would live anywhere but here. I frankly admit that if you were returning to the Continent, I should be at a standstill, for I am certainly the last person he should be forced to depend upon, but if you are willing to remain here and look after him, that seems the most logical way to deal with the problem. I shall see to it that the property is properly looked after, of course.”

She shot him a sardonic look. “Will you, my lord? As properly as Abberley has been looked after, I suppose.”

He grimaced. “Michael’s bailiff knows what he’s about, you needn’t worry. I’ll see he has full authority. As you will have full authority over the management of the house. I daresay,” he added quickly, “that it will give you pleasure to rout certain of its present inhabitants.”

“It will, at that,” she agreed, more in charity with him at once. “Tell me what you discovered. Did Mr. Jensen actually have the will in his possession?”

“Pretty nearly. He had a complete duplicate in his files. It is his policy always to make two copies of important papers, and the copy was properly signed and witnessed, exactly like the original.”

“Then, why on earth did he not make its existence known?”

“He didn’t realize there was any need to do so. He assumed that everything was properly in train here, that someone would have made contact with him had any difficulty arisen. He knew nothing about Jordan Caldecourt’s efforts in Parliament.”

“Merciful heavens!” Margaret exclaimed. “I’d quite forgotten. Can the will be overturned by that dreadful petition?”

“Of course not. I put a stop to the petition before I left London. Just explained that an error had been made, that the will existed, after all. I had to produce it before witnesses, but everything is settled now. There are still certain formalities to be attended to, regarding probate, but you have nothing to worry about where the Caldecourts are concerned.”

When he moved as though to take his departure soon after making this blithe statement, Margaret shook her head at him. “Oh, no, you don’t, my lord. You are going to tell this tale to Jordan and Lady Annis yourself. They’ll never believe it, coming from me. They’ll probably demand to see the will.”

He patted his jacket. “In my pocket.”

“Well, take care you are not set upon by thieves on your way back to the hall,” she warned with a small shiver.

“Lord, it’s not the original, just a fair copy that one of Jensen’s clerks made out for me. The original’s in London, where it will remain until probate is completed. You’ve nothing to fear.”

He followed her obediently to the drawing room, where they found the others.

Lady Celeste beamed upon him. “How nice to see you, dear boy. Have you brought good news?”

“I have,” he replied, taking her outstretched hand and giving it a squeeze as he bent over to kiss her powdered cheek. “You are looking marvelously well, ma’am.”

“Why is it that people always say that to me as though they are much surprised to find me so?” demanded her ladyship, laughing at him. “If I were twenty years younger, they would tell me I was in good looks or that my dress was particularly becoming. Instead, they comment upon my health as if they had been expecting me to cock up my toes before they’d had the chance to lay eyes upon me again.”

“Exactly so, ma’am,” said Abberley, his tone serious but his eyes twinkling merrily.

“Odious boy. Make your bow to Lady Annis.”

He turned, the merriment fading. But his tone was perfectly polite as he greeted Lady Annis, who languished with her cut-crystal vinaigrette in a deep armchair, and Jordan, who had risen from his lounging position on the settee to greet Margaret.

“You say you have brought news?” the younger man inquired, watching him closely. “From where?”

“London,” replied Abberley briefly.

Lady Annis drew a sharp breath. “London? You went to London, Abberley? We are in daily expectation of news from London ourselves, though I daresay you could not have known that.”

“Indeed, ma’am, I know exactly what you were waiting to hear, and I am sorry to disappoint you. Your petition has been withdrawn.”

“Withdrawn!” Jordan took an angry step forward. “If you have been interfering in matters which do not concern you, Abberley, I’ll have you know that—”

“Dear me,” interjected his lordship, bored, “such vehemence quite distorts your image, Caldecourt. After striving to appear blasé, one must never resort to bursts of temper. I have interfered only in that which concerns me very much. I have been sadly remiss in my duties, but after seeing Miss Caldecourt last week I was reminded of them. I merely went down to London to arrange for Sir Michael Caldecourt’s will to be entered for probate.”

“Sir Michael’s will!” Lady Annis sat up, her ill health forgotten. “But surely you mistake the matter, Abberley. Sir Michael left no will.”

“I fear ’tis you who mistakes the matter, ma’am. There is indeed a will, and it names me young Timothy’s guardian and cotrustee with Sir Harold, which is rather a nuisance since he is out of the country, but I daresay I shall contrive well enough.” He said the words casually, as though he had not the slightest notion of the effect they would have upon his listeners, but it would have been an insensitive man indeed who failed to realize that Lady Annis and her son were dumbstruck.

Lady Celeste was not. “I daresay you counted your chickens before they hatched, Annis,” she said cheerfully. “Never a wise thing to do, you know. I am persuaded you will wish to return to Little Hampstead as quickly as possible, now that you know you will not be burdened with Timothy’s affairs after all.”

“Can’t,” said Jordan, not without a glint of triumph. “Let the house till the end of the year. We’ll have to go to London.”

“London!” Lady Annis was betrayed into a squeal of dismay. “How can you even think of such a thing, Jordan, when I am well nigh prostrate now? You know I am never well in London. The noise, the excitement, the constant bustle—my poor nerves would never stand it. No, my dearest,” she continued, calming herself with apparent difficulty, “much as it goes against the grain to throw ourselves upon Margaret’s gentle mercies, we must do so. She could not be so heartless as to make us leave when she knows she might well be sending me to my death.”

Margaret carefully avoided meeting either Abberley’s eyes or Lady Celeste’s. Her voice was devoid of expression. “You must stay as long as you like, of course, Annis.”

Lady Celeste was indignant and didn’t scorn to show her feelings then or to express them to Margaret once they were alone. “’Tisn’t her health at all, as you must know,” she said tartly then. “’Tis simply the shock of thinking even for a single moment that she might have to tip over the ready to pay for lodgings in town.”

“Tip over the ready, Aunt Celeste? Really, Timothy should hear you.”

The old lady chuckled. “I did scold him for using slang, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

“Well, best he learn now that he should do as he’s told, not what he learns from others.”

“You are a fraud, Aunt Celeste.”

“You are attempting to change the subject, miss.” her ladyship retorted. “You know perfectly well that Annis wants to remain only to avoid spending any of her own money. If they have hired out that great barn of a house Stephen bought in Little Hampstead, she must be making a pretty penny on the deal. Let her spend it to quack herself and to provide a roof to cover her head.”

“You don’t mean that, ma’am,” Margaret said quietly. “You would be the first to condemn my actions if I were to turn them out. We don’t like them, but they are still family. They have the right to stay at the manor as long as they like.”

Lady Celeste sniffed, but she presented no further argument.

Timothy, on the other hand, waylaid Margaret less than an hour later—first, demanding to know how soon Lady Annis and Jordan would be leaving; and second, wishing to know if she had told Lord Abberley anything to his discredit.

“I didn’t tell him anything,” Margaret began, then, blatantly taking advantage of the opportunity, added in pointed tones, “this time.” Noting that she had the boy’s full attention for once, she continued, “I trust you will give me no reason to bear tales of your behavior, Timothy.”

“You wouldn’t cry rope, would you, Aunt Marget?” His eyes were wide, innocent, those of a child in desperate straits.

“Ah, Timothy, you still don’t understand about guardianship,” she said sadly. “You see, his lordship has the right to know if you are not behaving, and I would be in deep trouble if I tried to protect you from him. I am persuaded there must be a law that says I cannot do such a thing.”

“Would they take you to prison, Aunt Marget?”

She grinned at him. “No, you unnatural boy, so you needn’t sound so hopeful of such a thing coming to pass. You’d just best behave yourself.”

“And will his lordship make them leave soon if I behave?”

Margaret’s grin faded. “They wish to stay, Timothy, and it is our duty to make them comfortable. They are part of our family, you see, so we cannot simply send them away.”

“You don’t want them to stay.”

She sighed. “I want you to behave properly toward them, young man. You will only make matters difficult for me if you do not.”

He favored her with a long look, then said, “Very well, but when I am a man, I shall tell them they cannot stay here anymore.”

“Goodness, I hope they won’t be here so long as that,” she said, laughing.

Later that afternoon she accepted Lady Celeste’s invitation to accompany her on a drive through the countryside in an open landaulette. The day had warmed up considerably. The sky was clear and deeply blue, and the Ermine Street roadbed was dry though badly rutted as usual. Tall hedges lined the way for a mile or so as the carriage rattled its way southward, but then they entered open country that provided fine bursts of scenery.

Margaret turned to her companion with a delighted smile. “I’d nearly forgotten how beautiful Hertfordshire can be. This was a splendid idea, ma’am.”

“Needed fresh air to strengthen my lungs,” returned Lady Celeste, straight-faced.

Margaret chuckled. “I daresay you’ve a pair of the strongest lungs in Britain, ma’am.”

Lady Celeste smiled, well pleased with the compliment, and they fell silent again to enjoy the scenery.

Shortly afterward, the coachman turned west toward the village of Mayfield. After fording a small stream that flowed from the mighty Cam River, situated some miles to the east of them, they entered the quiet white and gray village, where the road forked. Several cottages nestled around the small flint church on the western fork, but most of them occupied one side or the other of road leading north. Their walls were of flint or of plaster, sometimes decorated with patterns in lines, and there was abundant thatch. Here and there the line of cottages was interrupted by a gateway opening into a farmyard. Sunlight beamed brightly on the neat little village, and sparrows chirped in the trees at the farmyard gates.

Taking the northern fork, they soon left the village behind. There were more copses of trees now, and the country seemed to rise on all sides of them. Eventually the road would take them past Caldecourt and Abberley to Therfield Heath, though it was commonly traveled only part of that distance. They passed between newly plowed fields that would soon be tall with corn, clover, or barley. White bryony grew in the low hedges lining the fields and even sprawled over the still-damp rabbity mound by the wayside. The grassy borders between the roadbed and the hedge showed new green shoots. At first the road was rough, but hard and white. Soon it became practically green and then wholly so, but it was level, and after Ermine Street, the carriage seemed to be fairly skimming along. As they passed by fields Margaret knew to be part of Caldecourt Manor, the road was lined for a time by lime trees. Then there was a spread of elder flower and lady’s slipper. Everywhere they heard the chatter of young birds.