Carola Dunn (27 page)

“That is what you said before,” Sophie dared to point out.

Effie glared at her. “But it was I who was confined for an entire afternoon, due to your incompetence. Besides, everything is different now that Nerissa will not care if she is caught.”

“What do you mean to do?”

“I have not decided yet. We must wait for an opportunity.”

Sir Barnabas no longer supposed for a moment that Miles would make advances or Nerissa succumb to them however long they were shut up together. Nonetheless, he resolved to throw every impediment within his power in Euphemia’s way. It would be a pleasure.

* * * *

After a wretched night of miserable dreams, Nerissa awoke to find reality no improvement. She was not sure which she dreaded most, facing her relatives after the catastrophic dinner or Miles after his kiss. To him, it had been no more than an offer of brotherly comfort. To her, it had been a devastating revelation.

At last she understood all the warnings, the prohibitions, the insistence on chaperons. Held close in Miles’s arms, enveloped by his virile strength, the heat of his body permeating her, his mouth on hers, she would have done anything he asked of her. So experienced a gentleman must have been aware of her response, her racing pulse, the strange weakness in her limbs accompanied by a burning tension within.

Her grandfather was right. At heart she was a wanton, and worse, an ill-bred wanton who had disgusted all her guests.

For all Miles’s kind words, he’d never be able to reestablish her reputation, if he still wanted to after her disgraceful display. In any case, Mr Harwood would probably demand that she leave at once. Even the good-natured little lawyer must have been scandalized by her deplorable blunders at the dinner party.

She had failed. There was no hope of taking home a fortune to Mama and Papa, and far more painful, she was dreadfully afraid she had forfeited Miles’s respect and friendship.

In her purse was enough of the pin-money Mr Harwood allowed her to take her home to York. She could sneak out, ride Vinny down to Riddlebourne, and catch the stagecoach. But no, she would not cry craven. She must show those who hated her that they had not crushed her spirit. And since she had to face them sooner or later, let it be sooner. She would go down to breakfast as if nothing were amiss.

She rang the bell for Maud. The maid bustled about with even more than her usual alacrity, silent sympathy radiating from her in waves. It found expression at last as she draped a blue and grey Paisley shawl about her mistress’s shoulders.

“There, miss, that’ll keep you warm. Oh miss, we’m all on your side, even Mr Snodgrass. He don’t hold wi’ pixies and such, Mr Snodgrass, but he said it were like some mischeevious imp stood at your elbow and kept a-jogging of it.”

“That is what it felt like, Maud.” She shuddered. “Every move I made led to another mishap.”

“Cook’s going to start putting out bread and milk for the Little Folk every night.”

That made Nerissa smile, and she went down to the breakfast parlour buoyed by the servants’ support. Not that her situation had changed, but it was a little easier to bear.

Matilda and Raymond were already down. Both wished her good morning with an air of commiseration, not the triumphant scorn she expected.

“Came a nasty cropper last night,” said Matilda gruffly. “Want you to know I didn’t have anything to do with it. Bad as shooting a fox.”

Raymond gave her an approving look. “Not my idea of fair play,” he agreed. “To seek out transgression is a duty; to induce it a sin. ‘A good name is rather to be chosen than great riches,’ but you have been cheated of both, Cousin.”

“Aubrey disapproves, too. Shocking bad taste, he said.”

Before Nerissa could express her surprised gratitude for their sympathy and ask how they supposed she had been tricked, if not by a pixy, Ben rushed in.

“I’ll have fresh tea for you in just a minute, miss, and hot toast, and Cook says d’ye care for an omelette, that’s best not kept on the sideboard, or aught else she can do for you special.”

Nerissa developed a sudden craving for potatoes fried with onions and ham, a favourite after-theatre supper treat. By the time she had finished with the footman, Raymond and Matilda had gone out together, and a moment later Miles and Miss Sophie came in.

“Have those two been crowing over you?” Miles enquired acidly, seating Miss Sophie beside her.

“No, not at all.” Glad of Miss Sophie’s presence, Nerissa tried to match his lack of embarrassment. Obviously the kiss which had shaken her to the core meant little to him, accustomed as he was to the practised embraces of Cyprians.

He was still her friend, and angry in her behalf. “The wretches cut you?” he demanded as he moved to the sideboard and served Miss Sophie with her usual cup of chocolate and a muffin with strawberry jam.

“No, no, Miles. In fact, they almost apologized. They apparently agree with you that someone caused all my... my faux pas.” She had to joke about it or cry. “The servants believe it was a mischievous pixy.”

He grinned, shaking his head. “Perhaps it was, for I’ve lain awake half the night trying without success to work out how it was done.”

“If it was, I am safe in future, for Cook is to leave bread and milk every night to propitiate the Little People. Only perhaps I have no future. Mr Harwood will probably ask me to leave now that I am no longer an heir.”

“Oh no, dear,” cried Miss Sophie in distress. “Surely not!”

“He will be justified in doing so,” Nerissa said gently.

“I’ll talk him out of it.” Miles sat down with a heaped plate. A wakeful night had not diminished his appetite. “Are you not eating, Nerissa? You must keep up your strength for the fight to clear your name. What will you have?” He started to rise again.

“Ben is bringing me a special treat,” she said with a smile, just as the footman came in with her fresh tea and hot buttered toast.

“The rest’ll be a minute or two, miss,” he apologized.

“Hot buttered toast!” said Miles enviously. “It’s almost worth being persecuted for such a treat.”

“I cannot eat so much.” She offered him the plate. “What do you mean, fight to clear my name? It is surely hopeless after the dinner party, and Cousin Euphemia told everyone that I am an actress...”

“And I told them you are not,” Miss Sophie declared, “as did Jane, though for quite different reasons.”

“No one will care, if my plan works,” Miles said. “I spent the other half of the night thinking it up and it is foolproof, except that it does depend on one or two people and Harwood will have to... Ah, speak of the devil. Good morning, sir. Is it too early for a legal consultation?”

“I fear I cannot disregard the terms of Sir Barnabas’s Will,” said the lawyer heavily, “much as I might wish to do so. My dear Miss Wingate, it is impossible to express my regret...”

“Hold, sir! Allow me to put the case to you while you eat your breakfast. No irrevocable decision should be made on an empty stomach. Now, for a start, Nerissa has not positively broken one of her grandfather’s commandments, has she?”

“She has lost the goodwill of the local gentry,” said Mr Harwood hesitantly.

“A mere negative. Sir Barnabas gave her six months to win them over...”

“‘To prove herself an acceptable acquaintance to the gentry of this neighbourhood,’“ Mr Harwood quoted. “Yes, yes, I see what you mean. There are two months left before she can be said to have failed.”

“Just as I thought. My second question is whether you will allow me to invite a few friends for a short stay at the manor.”

“That will not help,” Nerissa said sadly. “Sir Barnabas said most particularly ‘the gentry of this neighbourhood.’“

He gave her a reassuring smile. “Wait until you hear the rest of my deep, dark plot. Well, sir?”

“A deep, dark plot, hey?” The lawyer’s eyes twinkled. “A small house-party seems a reasonable expenditure, unless you mean to refurnish the manor from top to bottom in their honour.”

“A house-party!” Miss Sophie bubbled with excitement. “Whom are you going to invite, Miles?”

“And why?” asked Nerissa.

“I’ll come to that in a minute. What made me think of my plot is a letter I received the other day. I didn’t tell you about it, Nerissa, because you were in a fidget over the instructions for the groom you sent down to the coast for the fish and lobsters.”

“An excellent turbot,” murmured Mr Harwood reminiscently.

“For heaven’s sake, Miles, who was the letter from?” Nerissa demanded.

“From my friend Gerald Thorpe. He’s in Devon and he asked if he could drop in to see me on his way back to Town in the middle of February.”

“I recall your speaking of Mr Thorpe more than once, but how can he help me?”

“Lord Thorpe,” said Miles in a weighty voice. “Viscount Thorpe, heir to the Marquis of Haverford. Poor Gerald has gone and got himself betrothed to Lady Beatrix Desmond, the Earl of Allerleigh’s sister, and he’s been staying at Alley’s place--with his parents and his sister, Lady Charlotte. And Lottie’s engaged, too, to Ferdie Merrick--Viscount Merrick--who’s also at Allerleigh.”

Nerissa realized she was gaping and closed her mouth. Then she opened it again to stammer, “B-but...”

And shut it again as Ben brought her breakfast. As soon as the footman left, Miles explained.

“They are all returning to London for the Season and they plan to spend a night in Dorchester, so I’ll invite them to stay here for a few days instead. I can count on Gerald and I’m pretty certain of Alley and Ferdie. Lady Allerleigh will come with Alley, of course; they were married quite recently. Dashed if there hasn’t been a positive epidemic of it! And they’ll bring Lady Bea. I can’t guarantee the Haverfords, I’m afraid and they would be the crowning glory, but I shouldn’t be surprised if they accept.”

“But Miles, why should any lords and ladies, other than your particular friends, wish to stay at Addlescombe Manor? It is an excessively comfortable house but hardly grand enough for a Marquis and a Marchioness!”

“Oh, did I not tell you? Lady Haverford is my godmother and she’s fond of me in her way, though all too liable to rake me over the coals.”

“Your godmother! She must have known my grandfather then.”

“I daresay they met at my christening. At the time I was not sufficiently
compos mentis
to notice. But she was my mother’s friend and Sir Barnabas my father’s. I doubt if they ever really knew each other.”

Miss Sophie was looking thoroughly bewildered. “I am sure it will be delightful to make the acquaintance of your friends, Miles, but how will they help poor Nerissa?”

“Why, as bait, ma’am, as gaudy flies to...”

“Please!” said Nerissa, “not fishing metaphors! You mean everyone will wish to be presented to them?”

“Precisely. Send out invitations to a dinner, or a tea, or what you will, and our country gentry will come flocking to meet the grand lords and ladies.”

“Miles dear, how prodigious clever you are!” Miss Sophie was in raptures.

Mr Harwood took his spectacles from his pocket and thoughtfully polished them on his napkin. “Hmm, yes, an ingenious plot. It may well work, yes, I should not be a bit surprised if it works.”

Nerissa’s heart was too full for words. Miles was willing not only to make her known to his tonnish friends but to enlist them in her cause. Though he had now and then mentioned his forays into the Beau Monde, she had not realized he had so many good friends among the nobility. Gerald, Ferdie, Alley--he even called an earl by his nickname!

Lady Bea, Lottie. A pang shot through Nerissa’s breast. The Ladies Beatrix and Charlotte were betrothed, but how many other titled young ladies did Miles count as close friends? If none of them could tempt him to consider marriage, the tiny whisper of hope she had been unable to suppress became utterly absurd.

“I’ll write an invitation right after breakfast,” Miles was saying, “Don’t breathe a word to anyone until I know for certain they will come.”

Miss Sophie and Mr Harwood agreed. They both finished their breakfast and left, but Nerissa lingered over a third cup of tea. Oddly, the destruction of her last hope that Miles might not be irreversibly set against marriage made her feel less embarrassed about her response to his kiss. His plan to introduce her to his noble friends proved he did not regard her as a lightskirt. To him the kiss had been no more than a mark of friendship, as he had told Miss Sophie.

He helped himself to another slice of cold beef, sat down again opposite her, and said, “You don’t believe it will work, do you? At first you looked dazzled by my brilliance, but then you turned thoughtful and down in the mouth.”

She could not tell him her gloom was caused by the realization of his friendship with any number of charming, elegant, beautiful, and blue-blooded young ladies.

“It is a brilliant plan,” she said sincerely. “I am just afraid whoever ruined the dinner party last night will do the same when your friends are here.”

Miles frowned. “I don’t believe they will dare. I rely upon Mrs Pettigrew, who was most put out last night, to lead the returning horde. Look how she fawns on a mere baronet! But Sir Neville and Lady Philpott have still more reverence for a title, since their exceedingly minor title is their only claim to distinction. In my opinion they will be
aux anges
and nothing is less likely than for them to do anything to spoil the visit.”

“Perhaps, but there is still Cousin Euphemia.”

“Alas. I’ll tell you, what we really need to win over the populace is buckets of ducats to strew in the streets, the way Aladdin did it.”

“Dinars,” Nerissa reminded him, laughing, “though I daresay ducats or guineas would serve as well.”

“Undoubtedly. Failing that, if you don’t mind I’ll have a word with Lady Haverford beforehand...”

“You will not tell her everything!” she said, horrified.

“Lord, no. Just enough so that if there is trouble she is ready to put the blame where it belongs. She is as dictatorial as any sultan in Arabia but there’s a soft heart underneath.”

“I do hope she will accept your invitation. Miles, even if only your particular friends come we shall have to open up the bedchambers in the unoccupied wing. I cannot leave it to the last minute to consult Mrs Hibbert.”