Read Amanda Scott Online

Authors: The Bath Quadrille

Amanda Scott (3 page)

BOOK: Amanda Scott
2.39Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

“I remember.” He set down me decanter and his glass and lifted the teapot. “That was before my father took a hand in things. You had more beauty and poise than all the others put together and more charm in one finger—”

“I was older than the others,” she pointed out with a grimace, remembering the pangs of that first Season, when her aunt had insisted that she and her sister go to London at last and leave her father for two months with only the servants to look after him. “I was nearly twenty-two.”

“The others were hags,” he said. “I remember.”

“But you wanted no part of me after your father decided that the wealthy Sir Mortimer Manningford’s daughter would make you a good match, and I doubt you think about me much now, either, especially when you are with the Mandeville—”

“I said I don’t wish to discuss her, but you are wr—”

“No, you never wish to discuss your peccadilloes, only mine,” she snapped. “And I do not wish to discuss those, so we shall soon run out of conversation. Are you going to pour that tea for me or only hold the pot until it turns quite cold?”

With a sigh, he poured tea into a china cup and handed it to her. Then, moving away again, he said abruptly, “Whether you wish to discuss this matter or not, we must. And you would do well to remember that I am still your husband, Sybilla. Like it or not, that position gives me certain rights under the law that you will not wish me to exercise.”

She stiffened. “Are you threatening to beat me, Ned? For if you are, I will remind you that you are not under your own roof but my father’s, where you have but little authority.”

He grimaced. “Despite extreme provocation on more than one occasion, I believe I have never yet beaten you.”

“But you have wanted to.” Her cup of tea forgotten, she glared at him, challenging him to deny it.

He didn’t. “Dammit, Sybilla, you would try a saint. Even you must own that much.”

“I own no such thing, and if you have come here only to insult me, you may take yourself off again!”

“You won’t be rid of me so easily as that, I’m afraid. Did you think my mother would not tell me? She didn’t want to, and had you remained in London as she expected she would perhaps have kept her secret longer, but you cannot wonder at it—”

“If you do not come to the point, I shall scream,” Sybilla snapped with sharp exasperation. “What secret has your mother revealed? That I have not written her in a twelvemonth? That may be an exaggeration, of course, but she does exaggerate from time to time, and I should certainly not quibble over a m—”

“A twelvemonth?” With a derisive look, he moved toward her again. “You say you have not written her in all that time?”

The note of sarcasm in his voice stirred her temper even more, but she managed to control it, saying with forced calm, “Well, I did not say that precisely, of course, and the fact is that I cannot recall when I last wrote her, so I am in a poor position to debate the matter with you. I hope I did not write something to offend her, but if I did, it was unintentional and the fault of my idiotish pen. Everyone knows I hate writing letters. You certainly know.”

“I do,” he agreed, “but you seem to have brought yourself up to scratch a number of times these past months. Do you not realize that you have had nearly five hundred pounds from her?”

“Five hundred!” Her eyes widened as she shook her head in denial. “She cannot say she has sent me so much as that!”

The harshness in his countenance became more marked than ever, and he loomed over her menacingly. A lesser woman might have cowered in her chair. Sybilla did not, but she did regard him more warily. He had never raised a hand to her, though she knew well that she had often provoked him to a point where many another husband might have done so. And although Ramsbury had not, he had reacted angrily enough on more than one occasion to send icy prickles racing up her spine. Their bedchamber door was not the only inanimate object to have suffered from his temper, but she had never had any real cause to fear him.

He bent nearer. “So you lost count, did you?”

“I didn’t! That is … Ned, you cannot think—”

“Don’t lie to me! I won’t stand for it this time.”

“I’m not!”

“Then you would call my mother a liar.” His eyes narrowed to slits, and a small muscle jumped in his jaw.

Feeling fear of him for the first time, Sybilla shook her head harder, paling. “No, of course I would never do such a thing. All I can say is—”

“It would be better, I think, if you do not say anything more,” he advised grimly, straightening again. “Above all, don’t try that well-practiced innocent act with me or deny that you would lie through your teeth to protect yourself or one of your family—Brandon this time, I expect. You see,” he added with a sardonic twist of his lips when she gasped, “I know you too well. You will not pretend you have never lied to me before now.”

“No, for you know I have.” Knowing it was pointless to try to explain but seeming unable to help herself, she said, “They needed me here, Ned, and you had forbidden me to come. I thought I could drive my phaeton to Bath and back before you found out I had not gone with Mally to High Wycombe. What else was I to do?”

“Obeyed your husband,” he retorted bluntly. “What about the last time you gave Brandon money? It was two hundred pounds that time, as I recall.”

She sighed, hoping he did not intend to recite an entire litany of her previous misdeeds, and knowing that the time he spoke of was not the last time she had given money to her scapegrace brother. Since to tell him as much now would only result in making him angrier, she said carefully, “You’d ordered me not to give him a penny, so it would have been foolish to tell you I had when you were already angry with him. And it was only bad luck that you found out. If he had not been in his cups and talking rather wildly—”

“But I did find out, just as I have this time. I suppose that with your own extravagance added to the demands your family constantly makes on your purse, and despite the generosity of your allowance, it was only a matter of time before you outran the constable. But since it must have occurred to you at once that I’d raise the devil of a dust if those bills came to me, you had to find another way. You certainly knew I would refuse to frank Brandon’s excesses or pay for that disgraceful emerald-green gauze thing you had on at the Sefton’s Christmas rout—”

“Goodness, I didn’t think you even saw me that night!”

“No one could have missed seeing you. That dress was a scandal, as you know perfectly well. ’Tis as well you didn’t sneeze or you’d have exposed yourself completely. Not that everything could not already be seen through the sheerness of the material. I’ve never questioned your expenses, nor have I demanded these past months that you answer to me in any way, but what you thought you were about to have worn such a—”

“Nonsense,” Sybilla snapped. “There was nothing in the least amiss with that gown. I received any number of pretty compliments, I’ll have you know, and—”

“Oh,” he said, leaning dangerously close to her, “I don’t doubt the compliments, but if you were expecting one from me—”

“No, Ned. I might just as well have been a stranger that night for all the heed you paid me then—or any other night, for that matter. You say you have not questioned my expenses, and that is perfectly true. Nor have you demanded that I answer to you for my behavior until now. But now you—”

“I would not now, if it were not—”

“Oh, hush, before I lose my temper altogether. How you dare to question me about such a matter as this after the way you have behaved, I cannot think! You have been living a fine life without me, have you not? I hear about you all the time from my friends, you know, and yours as well. You spend your time gaming and racing, engaging in ridiculous wagers with your friends—indeed, your lifestyle is not unlike Brandon’s, is it? Though I believe he has not yet been credited with a string of mistresses, casual birds of Paradise, bits of muslin—”

“That’s enough!” he roared, bringing his fist down upon the Pembroke table with enough force to rattle the dishes. “I have warned you, Sybilla—”

“Yes, indeed you have, sir,” she retorted, able to ignore the fierce expression in his eyes only by forcefully reminding herself that he was not nearly so menacing as he looked. “I tell you now that you may warn as you choose and believe
what
you choose. I don’t care a rap. Indeed, I deny nothing! ’Tis beneath me to deny such outrageous things. I tell you also that you are no longer welcome in this house, so you can either leave peacefully or I shall ring for Robert to show you out.”

“Do you think he can make me go if I do not wish to go, Syb?” he asked grimly.

“No,” she retorted, “but I do not think you will want me to send for him either.”

He shrugged. “It would not matter, but I will not force you to put me to the test. I will advise you instead to have a care. You may believe you have won by these little diversionary tactics of yours, but if you will think about what I have said, I believe you will agree that in future Brandon must not expect me or mine to get him out of his troubles.”

She opened her mouth to tell him he was wrong about everything, but he didn’t give her the chance. Making his bow, and not nearly so gracefully as Mr. Saint-Denis had done, Ramsbury turned on his heel and left the room, slamming the door behind him.

When he had gone, Sybilla sat for some time deep in thought, wondering why she had not made a stronger push to convince him that he was wrong about her. For one thing, she remembered now that he had mentioned London, that his mother had thought she was there rather than in Bath. But surely, although she knew he had been at Axbridge for a fortnight himself, she could easily prove she had not been in London since Christmas. She had not thought to point this out to him, however, for as always they had seemed to strike sparks off each other, making it difficult to pursue calm conversation. If only Ramsbury had not been so accusing of manner. If only he had remained calm and listened to her.

“He never listens,” she muttered to the ambient air.

But her conscience stirred at the sound of her own voice, and another voice deep inside her suggested that the fault was a mutual one. He had certainly been right in accusing her of employing diversionary tactics. To divert her opponent was as natural as breathing to her, a method she had used from childhood in order to control such confrontations as best she might. In the past, she had done it to protect herself and her brothers and sister from the displeasure of adults in general and her father in particular, for Sir Mortimer had not always been a recluse—only since her mother’s death. But as was generally the case between her husband and herself, it had meant that they never really discussed the point at hand.

She knew that Ramsbury had gone away more furious with her than he had been at the outset, and for that she was a little sorry. Her own elation at seeing him had surprised her, but the feeling had quickly been replaced by fury once he had accused her of taking money from the marchioness. And her fury had ruled her tongue. It was no use wondering now if she might have done better to discuss the matter calmly, for the thing was done. There was a mystery though, to be sure, for someone had clearly appealed to Lady Axbridge for money, and had done so in her name.

But Ramsbury had assumed her guilt without even asking her if she had done it, and that was unforgivable. For all that he seemed to believe she could lie at the drop of a hat, he of all people ought to know that she had never been able to do so in response to a direct question. To deceive someone a little in a good cause was no great thing, after all, but a direct lie would be dishonorable and thus an altogether different matter.

It was no use to hope that once he had had time to think the matter over, he would realize he was wrong about her and begin to look for the real culprit, because she knew from experience that he would not bring the subject up again unless he was forced to do so. Indeed, she would be surprised if he even remained in Bath longer than overnight, for he disliked confrontation, and once he had made his point, it was his habit to assume that me other party would bow to his wishes. Moreover, whoever had duped the marchioness would get no more, for he would certainly have forbidden her to send so much as another penny.

Sybilla had no time to consider the matter at greater length just then, for she had not been alone longer than a few minutes before one of the maidservants came in search of her to inform her that her father was displeased.

“Goodness, Elsie, what is the trouble now?” she asked, getting up at once.

Elsie held out a slip of paper. “Here, m’lady. I found it on the side table near the top-floor landing. Near as I can make out, it says he don’t like potted beef and Cook isn’t to serve it anymore in this house. Only Cook says as how she’s got jars of the stuff and won’t throw it out, not if the master shouts from the rooftops, ever so. ’Tis wasteful and not what she’s used to, Cook says. And Mrs. Hammersmyth is out, and I didn’t know what else to do. Not but what she would take Sir Mortimer’s side, and right to do so, I’m thinking, but Cook won’t heed her, whatever she says, ’cause she knows Mrs. Hammersmyth can’t do a thing without your leave or the master’s.”

“ ’Tis the anchovies Papa doesn’t like,” Sybilla said. “I’ll speak to Cook. She can continue to serve the potted beef for our supper and for the servants. Papa will never know. And if she makes him up a nice savory dish of veal scallops, she will soon find herself in favor again.”

“Does the master never come downstairs, m’lady? I been here only the two months, but I’ve never even seen him. Only the little notes on the table.”

Sybilla said with calm dignity, “Sir Mortimer speaks to his own man, Borland, of course, but he is shy with womenfolk, Elsie. He’d as lief never speak to a female if he can avoid doing so.”

“But your mother, m’lady, he must have spoke with her.”

“Well, of course he did. There are four of us children, after all. But when Mama passed on, Papa retired to his books and his writing, and we’ve scarcely laid eyes on him since.”

“You mean you never see him neither?”

BOOK: Amanda Scott
2.39Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Practical Genius by Gina Amaro Rudan, Kevin Carroll
Luana by Alan Dean Foster
Without Options by Trevor Scott
Hey Nostradamus! by Douglas Coupland
Feelings of Fear by Graham Masterton
All Fall Down by Erica Spindler
Lost Souls by Neil White
Asperger's and Girls by Wrobel, Mary, Iland, Lisa, Myers, Jennifer McIlwee, Snyder, Ruth, Wagner, Sheila, Attwood, Tony, Faherty, Catherine, Grandin, Temple