An Affair of the Heart (19 page)

“No, I think the look of idiocy was less pronounced.” Joan laughed. “What is that little ring you’re wearing? I noticed it during dinner. Did Clay give it to you?”

“Yes,” Ellie said, and swiftly covered it with her right hand.

“You would do better to wear your diamond for these  few days,” Joan suggested. “I am curious to see it, and so must everyone be. We have been hearing about the Claymore diamond forever, but I can’t recall that I ever saw it on the Dowager.”

“It ... he ... his mother has it, you see,” Ellie explained in confusion “She went off to Dorset to her daughter in such a rush that she forgot to give it to Clay.”

“Did it on purpose
I
bet” Joan shrugged. “Lady Castlereagh, who is a bosom-bow of hers, tells the most gothic stories.”

“I expect she dislikes the match, for Clay might have done much better for himself, and then the huge settlement on top of that....”

“She wrote you a very pretty note, you recall. And as to the ring, you’ll have it soon enough. How I should have loved to see Wanda’s face, though! Lord, if she has flashed her rock under my nose once, she has done it a hundred times.”

“Mine is bigger,” Ellie defended her desultory provider.

“Yes indeed, love. I was not trying to steal your thunder. Quite the contrary. I don’t doubt he’ll have it here before the wedding.”

Ellie had not thought to discover this. “I don’t care about the ring,” she said.

“No, why should you? You have the Marquis!”

Chapter Twelve

It was a regular cavalcade that wended its way to Claymore House the next afternoon for the viewing of the mansion. Mrs. Wanderley was excessively eager to see its elegance, that she might take home a detailed description to regale Mrs. Homberly and her other social cronies. For five years she had been enduring Marie’s casual comment that Rex was “putting up” with the Marquis during a visit to London, now he would be “putting up” at
Ellie’s
mansion, but that would soon come to a halt. He must hire a room at a hotel like anyone else, for she would not abide his sponging off
them.

Lady Siderow, Ellie’s favorite sister, had been invited, and Lady Tameson descended on the family in such a pique at not having been invited to dine with the Marquis the night before that the only way to soothe her ruffled feathers had been to include her in the invitation. Indeed, it was perfectly clear that she meant to tag along whether invited or no, for she said a dozen times, “Well, I’ll not be left out
this time”
and never removed so much as a glove during her entire visit, lest they try to slip off without her being quite ready.

This left Wanda at loose ends with all her chaperones occupied, so she went along too. The last thing she wanted to see was more glories being heaped on Ellie, but she owned (to herself) that she was curious to see the fabled mansion. The crusade was met at the door by, not a butler, nor even the host, but Rex Homberly, who had come to town with Clay and was staying with him.

“Ah, I see Claymore is making you earn your keep,” Mrs. Wanderley said with a glittering smile. She must speak to Ellie about this business.

“Lord, what are all of you doing here?” he demanded genially, and stood firmly fixed in the doorway, barring entry, till Clay told him to stop being such a ninnyhammer and move aside.

He enumerated each visitor as they entered. “Mrs. Wanderley, Lady Siderow, Lady Tameson, Wanda, Ellie. Where’s Abel? You’ve left one of the family behind. Ellie.”

Ellie, already in confusion at the uninvited entourage that had come along, frowned at her neighbor. “He and Papa don’t arrive till tomorrow,” she said.

“Bringing them along for the tour tomorrow, are you?” Rex asked. Aside to Clay he added, “Ought to charge a shilling a head, Clay. Make a fortune.”

“And a crown a head for
overnight
boarders, Claymore,” Mrs. Wanderley added with an arch laugh. “Then you wouldn’t have people forever billeting themselves on you.”

“You see I make him work off his charge by acting as my butler.” Clay smiled, and bowed his guests in. To Ellie he said, “Do bring your papa and Abel tomorrow, if you think they would be interested.”

“I daresay Papa would like to see where I shall be living. I ought to have waited till everyone was here.”

“Adam won’t care a fig,” Rex told her. “Ain’t a fern or a palm tree in the whole place.”

The crowd was finally in, pelisses and bonnets stashed away, and the ladies huddled in a group admiring the black and white marble floor of the hall, the curved staircases that branched off to left and right, giving on to a walkway on the next story, and the rather ugly statuary residing in niches along the walls. Claymore had little experience in conducting tours, and asked if they would like a glass of wine before commencing.

Lady Siderow observed his uncertainty, and took him in charge. “Let us have a look around first, then refresh ourselves with wine. There is no need for us to see more than the downstairs. May we begin with this saloon here on your right? How lovely and spacious it is. This would be your main drawing room, I collect?”

The throng followed in and gaped around at the large room, the
two
Adams fireplaces, the Persian carpets, were treated to an exposition by Lord Claymore on the efficiency of gaslight—his own sole improvement to the mansion. He was mute on such subjects as Chippendale stands and Queen Anne chairs, paintings by Canaletto and French desks, but their worth did not escape the assessing eyes of the Ladies Siderow and Tameson, who raised their eyebrows at each other in appreciation.

Lady Tameson thought, when she spotted a Chinese Chippendale stand that would just suit her small sitting room, that the room was perhaps slightly crowded, and she would offer to relieve Ellie of a few pieces. Mrs. Wanderley, following slightly behind the others, unobtrusively turned a few pieces of ornamental porcelain upside down to determine their value, but the name of Meissen meant nothing to her, and a blue F, surmounted by a crown, indicating the Furstenberg factory, was even more mysterious.

The tour continued, guided by Joan, through the library, with its intimidating array of leather-bound volumes, the ballroom, composed of two large rooms with a sliding wall to permit part or whole to be used, according to need. Mentally comparing it to the Hibbards’ tiny dancing parlor, Wanda felt a sharp twinge of envy. The dining room was admired, and here Ellie saw the one feature she intended to change. She could not think she would enjoy eating with various scenes of carnage of the hunt bleeding before her eyes.

Mrs. Wanderley observed that the drapes in here were nearly as shabby as her own, and said aside to Ellie that if she would like new draperies for a wedding gift she would not in the least mind returning the silver tea service, for she had already marked
three
quite similar, and Rundell and Bridges were very good about taking things back. Overhearing this remark, Caroline reminded her mama that she and Harold hadn’t received a silver tea service for their wedding.

“Oh well, if
you
want to buy it, Caroline . . .”

The matter was allowed to drop, as Caroline very seldom wanted to
buy
anything except new gowns. “Harold is not really that fond of tea,” she said.

Wanda, irate with the praise her sister’s home was eliciting, asked, “What, is there no picture gallery in the house? At the Manor they have a great long gallery.”

“Our family portraits are in the gallery at Claymore Hall, in Somerset,” Clay told her, “though there is a small gallery here.” He opened a paneled door into a “small” gallery fifty feet long, which was also used as a music room and occasionally for small impromptu dancing parties. The walls were hung with landscape paintings and some lesser portraits not deemed worthy of inclusion in the Somerset gallery. A pianoforte stood in one corner, with a harp standing beside it.

“Ah, a music room,” Wanda laughed. “What a pity you cannot play better, Ellie. You might try the harp, for you will not want to assault your poor husband’s ears with your pounding on the pianoforte.” She strolled toward the pianoforte as she spoke, intending to give the Marquis a morsel of the music he would be missing.

“Let’s split,” Rex said to Clay and Ellie, who stood on either side of him, “before she strikes up the ‘Fleuve du Tages.’ “

A general exodus, prompted perhaps by the same fear, left Wanda no option but to follow, before she had completed two bars. “Quite out of tune,” she whispered loudly to Caroline, whose thoughts were running elsewhere. Ellie had never taken any interest in the harp, whereas
she
had had half a dozen lessons two years ago, and given it up. She would like to resume, if only she had an instrument.

“There’s not much more downstairs,” Clay said. “A breakfast room in there.” He opened a door to allow a peek, but did not bother to enter.

“Forgot the visitor’s parlor,” Rex reminded Clay.

“Oh, that’s nothing.”

“My favorite room in the house,” Rex opined.

“It’s along here,” Clay said, leading the band forward to a room he had not intended showing, for it was his favorite too, and as it had had considerable rough use over the past five years, and no redecoration, it was not in the best repair. There always exists in every home one spot where the inhabitants relax and do whatever they dislike to do elsewhere because of the resultant mess. It was here that Clay and Rex shared a bottle, neglectful of circular stains on the table surface, smoked a cigar, occasionally adding a black burned hole to some piece of furniture, entertained at one time a mongrel mutt they had picked up, to the detriment of the sofa’s upholstery, played cards with their feet on the table, and had even been known to shoot darts at the painting of an unknown relative with giant mustachios. A hit between the two curls of the mustache was counted a bull’s eye.

This being the owner’s favorite room, and vacated not two minutes before the guests’ arrival, there were several pieces of personal debris strewn about it. Unanswered invitations, a discarded cravat, and a pair of worn slippers were noticed at a glance. As soon as his visitors were within its doors, he recalled that there were as well some amorous memorabilia in the desk under the window. Stuff that must be burned before he brought his bride to the house.

To his chagrin, Rex came in, plopped down on the tatty sofa, and said, “Time for that wine you promised us, Clay.”

“We will not want to take it here,” Claymore said, striding firmly to the door.

Alas, it was a large house, and Mrs. Wanderley a large woman, unused to prolonged exertion. She, too, sat with a sigh of relief that boded she would remain exactly where she was.

“We will be more comfortable in the Green Saloon,” Clay urged, at which juncture Wanda sat on the chair by the desk and said, “I’m thirsty.
Let us have our wine.”

Lady Siderow took her host’s reluctance to be due to a most natural desire to entertain his guests in a better room. “This is very comfortable,” she told him. “Very like Papa’s study, is it not, Ellie?”

“Yes, even the smell,” Wanda replied for her.

“That is stale cigar smoke you’re smelling.” Clay leapt at the excuse. “You ladies will not be comfortable here.” It had been borne in on him that not six inches from Wanda’s chair there lay a drawerful of incriminating evidence. A telltale lock of golden hair and a dried yellow rose were by no means the worst of it, though they were bad enough to cause a tremble. There were notes from Miss Golden, and the discarded beginnings of replies, even—how had he come to forget it?—an oval miniature of her, given to him on the occasion of his last birthday, also their last kiss.

“We are used to the smell,” Mrs. Wanderley replied. “My whole house reeks of it.”

“Ellie!” her fiancé said in a desperate voice. “Pray, let us remove to the Green Saloon. I have had Mulkin lay a fire. We will be quite comfortable there.”

“Don’t need a fire,”
Rex said. “Dash it, Clay, it’s
July.”

A
servant bearing a silver tray with wine, glasses, and biscuits passed the door en route to the Green Saloon, and
Rex hailed him. “In here, Mulkin.” The servant entered, deposited the tray on the battered table top, and the thing was settled.

Claymore had no choice but to acquiesce, doing his best to conceal his annoyance. Conversation resumed with the passing of wine, led, unfortunately, by Homberly, who never knew when to hold his tongue.

“Remember the last time we was in this room together, Clay?” he said. Clay remembered, and frowned at him. “The morning I brought the announcement of—” A resounding kick at his ankles brought him to an abrupt halt.

“Of what?” Wanda asked, a mischievous smile on her pretty face.

“Of... of,” Rex muttered.

“Princess Charlotte’s engagement, was it not?” Clay inserted.

“Oh fie.” Wanda laughed. “You must do better than that. That was announced last winter; she has been
married
since May second. I think it must have been a
different
engagement.”

“No such a thing,”
Rex said. “It wasn’t her.”

“What a whisker,” Wanda teased with a knowing glance at Claymore. “And
you
pretended you didn’t know about it when first you came to Surrey.
I
was not so taken in as some,” she told him, with a nod of her head at Ellie, who was discussing with Joan a redecoration of the room they sat in.

Claymore glared at her, but Rex chuckled good-naturedly. “Got you dead to rights this time, old boy. Right in this very room. Don’t you mind, Clay, I was here tossing cards into my hat and you came in looking blue as megrim.”

“Yes, I recall the incident. There is no need to bring that up.” He rose abruptly. “Will you not try this madeira, Mrs. Wanderley? I cannot vouch for that ratafia you are drinking. I fear it has been in the house forever, since the year Alice made her come-out,”

“Just a wee bit then,” she said, passing her glass. Her only thought on the discussion was that Rex had been entrenched for a long time, and he would be a hard one to uproot