An Affair of the Heart (7 page)

Wanda nodded, and yawned, and very soon excused herself and went off to bed. Her mother, too, arose and said to her other daughter, “Don’t stay up all night, Ellie. And for goodness’ sake, can’t you do something else with your hair besides scraping it all back like a washerwoman? It is not at all attractive, love. Next year I shall take you in hand, and see if we can’t nab a title for you, too. Hah! How I laugh every time I think how Marie Homberly and her set used to pity me, having four daughters. A title and a fortune for every one of them, and then Abel, too, at last, to secure the estate.”

She pranced off in high good humor, and actually hummed as she mounted the stairs to her room. The hum died on her lips as she noticed the threadbare carpeting beneath her feet. Nuisance of a man, with his expensive flowers. Drapes for the three drawing rooms this year, or she would go to London and stay with Joan till he came around.

Once
Rex was so indiscreet as to indicate to Missie that he
might
take her for a spin in his curricle, his fate was sealed. Not only did she rag the life out of him herself, but she also told her mama, who promptly added her solicitations to those of her daughter. Actually, Rex was rather fond of his little sister, and showed it in the usual manner of elder brothers by forgetting her existence nine-tenths of the time, teasing her occasionally, and bristling at any slight offered to her by anyone but himself. In any case, by midmorning it was firmly established that Missie was to go to Needford with
Rex.

Missie and her mother were both of the opinion that it was Miss
Ellie
Wanderley who was to accompany Lord Claymore in his curricle. Wanda, after all, was as well as engaged. So Missie was happy in the knowledge that she would have a famous outing. She and Ellie were bosom-bows in spite of the two years that separated them. It was largely Missie’s approval, in fact, that led Rex to consider her such a right ‘un.

At the last moment Mrs. Homberly was hit with the marvelous notion of Missie going in Claymore’s carriage as far as the Wanderleys’. Claymore was not caught in the parson’s mousetrap yet, and who was to say he wouldn’t as lief have Missie as Ellie. Obviously he was not looking about for a lady of fashion. Unaware of the reason for this slight modification of plan, Missie hopped happily into the curricle, and proceeded to amuse Claymore with a recital of how she planned to be an actress when she grew up, which whiled away the time very gaily for both. Clay congratulated her on her interesting choice of career, and asked nonchalantly if her mama knew of it.

“No, no one but Miss Ellie knows, for we are very good friends. I had hoped she might come to London with me, but I suppose now...”

“Has Miss Ellie different plans then?”

“But of course she has. That is ... well, she very likely will have, if you make her an offer.”

A startled brown eye was lifted from the road long enough to show Clay’s astonishment. “Make her an offer!”

“That is why you’re here, isn’t it? At least Mama thinks it is, and I must say, I don’t know why else you would come to the Abbey, for there is nothing here to amuse an out-and-outer like you. Yes, and I am
sure
Rex said you came to make an offer to Miss Wanderley. Ellie is Miss Wanderley, even if no one calls her that. Besides, it can’t be Wanda, for she is practically engaged, because, of course, she is so much prettier.”

“No, you exaggerate the matter. She has said nothing to me about being on the verge of an engagement.”

“Why should she?
It’s Ellie you’re dangling after.”

“No, it is not.”

“Oh.” Missie looked moderately surprised. “But it
can’t
be Wanda. And why are you taking Ellie to Needford if it is Wanda you fancy?”

“You misunderstand the matter. It is Wanda I am taking to Needford.”

“What?” Missie demanded, deeply offended at this trick. “You mean Ellie is not coming? If I’d known that, I should have stayed at home. It won’t be any fun with Wanda.”

Clay heard the blunt exclamation with outward calm, and asked on what that assumption was based.

“I hoped we might have a curricle race.
Rex says he has sixteen-mile-an-hour horses, and I was sure we would have a race. But if Wanda is along, she will not want to go fast, for it will ruin her hair, or give her freckles, or some such thing.”

“Your mama would not appreciate our racing with ladies in the curricle,” he comforted her. “Not quite the thing, you know.”

“No, but I wouldn’t care, and neither would Ellie. So Ellie is not to come at all, then? I wonder if
Rex would mind if I stayed behind at the Wanderleys’. Then he needn’t go dragging off to Needford at all, and
you
can take me back to the Abbey with you, which will please Mama.”

Clay bit back a smile at her artlessness. “A pity you hadn’t sent a note ahead asking Ellie to come with you. Your brother mentioned it last night, and there would be room in his curricle, I think.”

“Did
Rex mention it? Well then, I shall ask her when we get there.”

“She won’t be ready.”

“Pooh! How long will it take her to throw on a hat and a pelisse?”

“Quite a while, if she is in the state she was in the other day, covered with mud and messing around in flower pots.”

“That’s true. I hadn’t thought of that. But if she is
clean,
I shall ask her to come.”

The young lady’s physical state of readiness was not immediately evident upon their arrival, for she was nowhere to be seen. Was, in fact, sulking in her room, determined not to be hanging about like an unwanted dog when Claymore arrived for Wanda.
Upon the breathless entry of Missie into her chamber, and a hasty explanation of the situation, she had on her little buff straw bonnet and a paisley shawl that clashed dreadfully with her sprigged muslin in the twinkling of a bedpost. There was really no need for such haste, for the gentlemen arrived at the appointed hour, and naturally Wanda the Wonderful had to keep them waiting for a quarter of an hour while she put the finishing touches on her toilette. She was not such a flat as to be ready and waiting! A protective layer of Gowland’s Lotion was carefully applied to her charming visage, for wind and sun wreaked havoc with a delicate complexion. Then she had to try on the mauve silk pelisse and see whether it didn’t go better with the yellow gown, but it looked gaudy, so she exchanged it for the green crocheted shawl, as Mama had suggested.
 

 By the time she had got a fresh hankie and transferred all her essential items to her yellow and green beaded reticule and descended the staircase, the party were all chomping at the bit to get going, and it was only the grandness of her getup that put Claymore back into good humor. Even that did not quite restore the others.

Clay’s curricle headed off first, and as his grays were fresh as rain it was not long before he put a few hundred yards between his carriage and his friend’s. Missie’s suggestion of a race appealed strongly to him, but he noticed that Wanda was already holding tightly to the edge of the seat, and not even trying to make conversation as it took all her efforts to just remain seated.

“Shall I slow down?” he asked.

“Oh no. Such fun! Very exhilarating to be jolting along at this rate. It makes me quite giddy with pleasure.” Clay smiled at her, and thought how the girl was traduced by her jealous detractors. She would have loved a race. But within a half-hour her giddy pleasure had given over to plain giddiness, and she had to beg him to slacken the pace, just a little, as her hands were quite cramped from holding on for dear life.

At their reduced speed it was not long before they were caught up by
Rex and his party, and when Wanda risked a glance over her shoulder, she said, “Perhaps you had ought to slow down just a trifle more, and let them pass.” He did so, and the ladies in the other carriage had obviously great powers of balance, for their hands were free to wave merrily as they shot by.

“There is no great hurry, is there?” Wanda asked apologetically.

“Certainly not. The day is so fine, and the scenery so beautiful, that we shall just poke along at a nice slow trot and enjoy ourselves.”

Conversation was possible at the five miles an hour to which they were reduced, and Wanda undertook to amuse her driver by pointing out the various farms they passed, and mentioned the names of the owners, and something of their condition. After a few miles she said, “It is very hot, it is not?”

“You might take off your shawl,” Claymore pointed out.

“Oh no, my
shoulders
are freezing. It is only my face that is hot. It is that sun, beating right in my eyes. We ought to have remembered the sun would be in our eyes if we drove west in the afternoon. I hope I don’t become all splotched.” She bent her head, so that the rim of her bonnet might protect her from the sun’s blasts. Short of turning the carriage around and heading home, Claymore was at a loss as to how he might protect his precious charge from the elements.

“The sun will be behind us on the way home,” he said hopefully.

“We should have brought a closed carriage,” she replied. But she rallied after this exchange, just when he was sure she was going to sink into the sulks. She even raised her head from its bent position, and pointed out that the little farm there, rather falling apart, belonged to Tom Langdon. He had a daughter, Nora. A very nice girl. She further forgot herself so far as to crane her neck around after they were past, to determine whether Nora was about, and perhaps to determine as well whether she had a caller.

A little farther along, a fine home appeared, in the Tudor half-timber style, with a view of cultivated fields stretching behind it, and a large herd of cattle grazing in the pasture. “That’s a fine-looking place,” Clay said. “Who lives there?”

“That is Squire Hibbard’s place,” Wanda answered curtly, and volunteered no further comment. She showed an amazing lack of interest in it, and in fact never so much as glanced to the left as they passed. Clay waited for any more information she might have to impart, but her conversation was at an end. She was silent for the better part of the rest of the trip. The poking pace he was obliged to keep, coupled with his companion’s sullen silence, was putting Claymore into a bad humor.

This outing had been a mistake. With fashionable young beauties, the thing to do was entertain them with balls and routs and parties, where you didn’t have to endure long stretches of their company all alone. He considered that other beauty whose company he had recently been enjoying, and he observed with surprise that he had never been so long alone in her company as he was today with Miss Wanda. The whole affair had been an attempt to get her alone for a moment or two, for she was always surrounded by her court. Even the dullest rattle must appear gay with a dozen men offering her compliments. If she had nothing to say, it was hardly noticed, for she would be smiling, and batting her fan, and listening.

When they eventually reached Needford, it was not difficult to find the ancient church. It was the largest building in the village, yet not so large either, a squat stone affair, with Norman doorway and windows. Outside it, Rex’s curricle was being walked by a local urchin, stiff with dignity at the responsibility placed on his ragged shoulders. Another boy shot forward to claim the job of walking the newly arrived vehicle. Clay flipped him a coin for his trouble, and escorted his wilting companion inside. A cool dampness greeted them.

Wanda said in a dying voice,
“I shall just sit here at the back and let you join the others. I have seen this old church a dozen times, and I am so tired.” Clay made offers to remain with her, but she insisted that he leave. She was determined to be alone, for she had private matters to consider. She had, unbeknownst to her escort, espied
him
walking along the street of the village. He was with Robert Langdon, Nora’s brother, which boded ill. What was George doing here, and why was he with Robert Langdon? It bespoke a friendliness with the family that she could not trust. He might have asked Abel to accompany him, if he wanted to come to Needford. He might have called for Robert—though actually
he
lived closer to the village—and if he had called for Robert, there was not a doubt in her mind that Nora had been present. It was now Thursday—five whole days that he had not called on her. He usually came every single day, rain or shine. It was
not
because she had befriended Elmer Rountree either, on Sunday after church. She had only done that because he had danced twice with Nora at the assembly on Saturday evening. He was tired of her, that was the thing. Well, she hoped he might see her on the arm of the Marquis of Claymore. She was very sorry she had turned her head away when she saw him coming. If she heard he was playing up to Nora Langdon, she would have the Marquis, so there.

Clay deserted his charge, feeling rather guilty about it, but determined to have at least a glimpse of the building after dragging all this way in the heat to see it. Silly not to do that much, and she said she wanted to be alone.

“Don’t seem right to me, a dog in church,”
Rex was announcing, and the group were standing around a tomb where a martyr or crusader or some such old fellow was interred. Carved in stone on the tomb was a small pup, curled up at the man’s feet, his nose resting on his fore-paws, looking as natural as if he might wake up at any moment and wag his tail.

“I don’t see why not,” Ellie returned. “They are God’s creatures too, and I daresay He likes dogs and cats as well as the rest of us do.”

“Yes, but dash it, Ellie, not in church. It ain’t fitting.”

“It is only a statue,” Missie pointed out.

“They should at least put wings or a halo on it, to make it look a little holy.”

Ellie’s sense of humor overcame her at this proposal, and she gurgled,
“Or give it a harp, and pretend it is an angel. You are too nonsensical for words,
Rex.” Then she spotted Claymore, and asked, “Why, where is Wanda?”

“She is resting there at the back,” he indicated, with a toss of head.

“Resting again?” Missie teased. “It seemed to us that you two rested all the way here. We have been looking at the church for an age, and are about ready to leave.”