Carola Dunn (12 page)

“No doubt he’ll be glad to put to sea in anything larger than a wherry,” Peter observed, wondering if his lordship regarded Bassett as another rival for Miss Carmichael’s heart.

“Yes, I am sure he will be happy to be off.” Lord Snell hesitated, then continued, “He must find it embarrassing to be Lady Wiston’s guest.”

“Not at all. He accepts her hospitality in the friendly spirit in which it was offered.”

“That is not quite what I meant. Look here, Daviot, I’m going to be frank with you.”

“I only wish you would!”

“It can scarcely have escaped your notice that Lady Wiston has been behaving extremely oddly. Do you not think it has passed mere idiosyncrasy and entered upon...lunacy?”

“Lunacy!” Peter stared at him with narrowed eyes.

Snell shrugged. “Call it senility, or what you will.”

“I cannot consider anyone senile who could so ably defend the Navy.”

“I cannot consider anyone sane who would stand on her head at the behest of a ragtag Oriental!”

Peter was in a quandary. He knew a good part of his aunt’s eccentricity was deliberately assumed for her own purpose. Yet he had been sworn to secrecy and Godfrey Snell was the last person, besides Miranda Carmichael, to whom she would want her plot revealed. Not to mention that the plot itself could at a pinch be taken as further evidence of derangement.

He suspected Snell’s motive in fearing for her sanity was not pure solicitude. Yet his only reason for distrust was the antagonism he had felt for the baron from the instant of making his acquaintance.

If he was too violent in defence of Aunt Artemis, Snell would not confide whatever he had in mind. Yet if he failed to defend her, his silence might be taken as agreement.

His silence had already lasted long enough to be taken as implied interest, at least. Snell went on.

“You must admit her conduct is strange enough to warrant concern. If nothing is done, her mind may degenerate until she commits some dreadful act we should regret not having foreseen and forestalled. I propose to call in a physician to observe her, to diagnose her condition and inform us as to whether further measures are advisable. Ah, here we are.”

They stopped, having reached 29, North Audley Street, where a brass plate announced the Explorers’ Club. Lord Snell, a member of White’s, eyed the narrow, unimpressive house with disdain.

“They are looking for new premises, I believe. I daresay they will change the name when they remove. Do you wish to go in now?”

“Yes, I think I will.”

“I must walk on to Portchester Square to keep my appointment with Miss Carmichael.”

“Let us finish our discussion first, if you don’t mind standing for a moment. You mentioned a physician?” Peter said neutrally.

“Two physicians, as a matter of fact. I understand two opinions are required for committal.”

“Committal!” He could not hide his outrage.

“Not to a common asylum!” Snell hastily assured him. “Naturally Lady Wiston would be privately cared for. You need not fear for your own situation, Daviot. When she is confined—purely for her own sake, as I need hardly say—I shall have control of her funds, at least with Bradshaw’s concurrence, which he will scarce withhold from me.”

So that was it. Lord Snell’s hidden motive was nothing but plain, common-or-garden greed.

Oblivious of Peter’s disgust, the baron continued, “Her fortune is very large. I shall make sure an income is settled upon you sufficient to live on in reasonable comfort. All I ask is that you support my petition to the court.”

“I’ll see you damned first!” Peter cried, prudence overwhelmed by fury. “If you imagine I’d sell my aunt into captivity, she is saner than you, my lord, and you may go to hell!”

Chapter 10

Miranda gazed at herself in the cheval glass. The walking dress of canary jaconet, with its single modest flounce of chestnut-brown mull, became her. She was tolerably pretty, she thought, trying to be objective, but besides being too tall she had not the sort of beauty which might tempt a peer to forget what was due to his rank.

She must not refine upon Lord Snell’s kindness. That could only lead to his disgust and her disappointment.

Donning her chestnut lustring spencer, she tidied her hair. Her chipstraw bonnet, gloves, and reticule she carried downstairs to the drawing room and set in an inconspicuous corner. If his lordship had forgotten the promised outing, he must not suppose her waiting for him.

She picked up the new
Examiner
. Lady Wiston declared the radical paper sadly tamed since the end of the Hunt brothers’ imprisonment for libelling the Prince Regent, but Miranda found its views interesting. Not that she could concentrate while straining her ears for the sound of a curricle drawing up in front of the house, or Lord Snell’s footsteps in the hall.

Lord Snell strongly disapproved of the
Examiner
, she recalled. Hurriedly she folded it and laid it aside. Then a flash of defiance took her by surprise. What did it matter if he caught her reading it?

If all he wanted was her company for an hour, her political opinions could not affect him. If his regard for her was deeper, but could not survive seeing her reading the
Examiner
, then better it should die. Miranda took up the paper again and tried hard to pay attention to an article on the Duke of Wellington.

She succeeded to the extent of noticing neither the arrival of the curricle nor the opening of the front door. She glanced up as the drawing-room door opened.

Lord Snell looked preoccupied, even annoyed, a frown engraving lines between his eyebrows. Knowing he had just been with Mr. Daviot, Miranda wondered what that gentleman had said or done to discompose the baron.

In her view Mr. Daviot had by no means shown adequate gratitude for the offer to aid his application to join the Explorers’s Club. Sometimes he seemed positively determined to offend Lord Snell. It was odd in an otherwise friendly, easy-going gentleman who had happily fraternized with, among others, both Sagaranathu and Daylight Danny.

Whatever Mr. Daviot’s misdeeds, his lordship was sufficiently distracted to pay not the slightest heed to her newspaper. “Ah, there you are, ma’am. Are you ready?” he said impatiently.

“Yes, my lord.” Miranda quickly retrieved her bonnet, gloves and reticule. It was a pity she did not possess a parasol.

“Where is my aunt?”

“At her lesson, sir, above stairs.”

“The Lascar always comes at this hour?” He stood aside to let her precede him out to the hall.

“Yes, except on Sundays.”

“And she practises before changing for dinner every day?”

“Faithfully,” said Miranda, rather surprised at his interest.

Out in the street the new curricle awaited them, a smart vehicle painted black with the wheels picked out in crimson and a crimson leather seat. Hitched to the pole stood a team of four matched blacks, held by a groom from the coach-builder. Lord Snell handed Miranda up, took the reins, and joined her.

“Wait here,” he said curtly to the groom.

They set off towards Hyde Park. Lord Snell negotiated with ease the traffic of Oxford Street, busy despite the absence from Town of most of the Polite World. The blacks trotted through the Cumberland Gate. Turning southward, his lordship urged them to a canter.

Despite the fine day, there were few people about. Miranda rather wished the Ton was out in force to observe her bowling along at the side of her handsome escort. She saw a few strollers and nursemaids with children, half a dozen riders, a platoon of scarlet-coated infantrymen marching from somewhere to somewhere else. She smiled, recalling Mr. Daviot’s quizzing her about the effect of smart uniforms on the feminine sex. Lord Snell seemed disinclined for conversation so she held her tongue.

Approaching the southern end of the park, they slowed to a trot again to negotiate the sharp turn. But then Lord Snell whipped up the team into a gallop. Miranda grabbed the side of the curricle with one hand, her bonnet with the other as they whirled around the bend by the Serpentine.

Reining in sharply, he swerved into the right turn to the Ring at a mere canter, then held the horses back to a trot to complete the circuit around the grove in the centre. Miranda breathed again.

“Showy slugs,” he disparaged the team. “The curricle corners well, however. I have a mind to purchase it, but I shall take it round again before I decide.”

“I can see you drive to an inch, my lord,” Miranda gasped, “but pray set me down first.”

He turned to her. “I beg your pardon, Miss Carmichael,” he said stiffly. “It was remiss in me not to enquire whether you would dislike my springing the horses.”

“I should very likely have said no, sir.” She could not help a sneaking suspicion that had she been an eligible, blue-blooded damsel he would not have been so remiss. “Alas, I find I am chicken-hearted.”

Lord Snell smiled faintly and shook his head. “That I refuse to credit, but I shall drive at a more sedate pace this time.”

“Speed is quite exhilarating on the straight. It was the corners which alarmed me.”

“Don’t tell my aunt, if you please. I would not wish to alarm her, too. She is fond of you, I believe.”

“I am certainly very fond of Lady Wiston. She has been all that is kind to me.”

“Ah.” Looking thoughtful, he turned north on the main drive. Not until they reached the Cumberland Gate and headed south once more did he speak again. “My aunt Wiston’s conduct is distinctly odd at times, even bizarre. Does it not disturb you, Miss Carmichael?”

“Not at all, sir,” Miranda assured him tranquilly, gratified by his concern for her peace of mind. “It is not my place to judge her ladyship, and if it were, I should still find nothing amiss. To be sure, Lady Wiston has some original notions, but how dull the world would be if everyone marched in step!”

“I daresay. You find nothing to complain of, then?”

“Only Mudge!” She laughed. “I am truly quite content, my lord. Since I must work for my living, I cannot imagine a pleasanter situation.”

“I see.” Lord Snell fell silent as they approached the tricky corner and rounded it.

This time he took the bend by the Serpentine at a reasonable pace, allowing Miranda to enjoy the sight of the swans and ducks paddling about on the water. Even bribery rarely persuaded Mudge to walk so far.

“How delightful it is to drive in an open carriage on such a lovely day!” Miranda exclaimed.

He smiled at her enthusiasm. “It is still more enjoyable in the country.”

“Oh yes. Lady Wiston sometimes takes a drive out to Richmond in the landau. The countryside is very pretty.”

“You have always resided in Town?”

“My father did not care for the country.” It had bored him to distraction. “And my two previous positions were with ladies living year round in London.”

“This is your third?”

“It is usually elderly ladies, often invalids, who require companions.”

“Your first two employers both...er...went to their reward?”

“Yes.” And tyrannical as they had been in life, Miranda sometimes wondered what sort of reward they had met in death. “I fear it is a hazard of my profession.”

“No doubt. Miss Carmichael, be assured that if anything should happen to Lady Wiston, I shall make it my business to ensure your future welfare.”

“You are very kind, sir, but I hope and believe it will be many years before her ladyship succumbs to the weight of years. She is not so very aged, and her health is excellent.”

“One can never tell what may happen,” Lord Snell pointed out gravely. “Just remember that in case of need your comfort will be my concern.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

Miranda fell silent, somewhat puzzled. What precisely did he mean? Perhaps only that if Lady Wiston dropped dead he would give her a good character. Perhaps that if her ladyship lived many years and Miranda stayed with her, he would provide her with a pension should his aunt failed to do so.

Or could he possibly want to marry her yet hesitate to deprive Lady Wiston of her services? But if such were the case, surely he would not be willing to wait many years. He was of an age to wish to take a wife and set up his nursery.

Maybe he had not quite made up his mind. It would be natural in him to hesitate before the irreversible step of lowering himself to wed a hired companion. In that case, his promise of concern for her comfort was intended to reassure her, to remove one possible source of anxiety from her life.

He must love her greatly even to consider making her an offer. She would never have guessed from his demeanour. How sensitive of him to avoid raising hopes which he might find himself unable to satisfy!

Did she love him? Miranda asked herself. She was forced to answer in the negative.

She admired him, held him in high esteem. But her notion of love included a lack of reserve, a free exchange of ideas, which she presently found impossible with his lordship. She was not at her ease with him.

Yet Samuel Richardson had written that no young lady was justified in giving her heart until convinced she had engaged the affections of the gentleman in question. If Lord Snell made it plain he loved Miranda, she was very sure she would quickly come to return his sentiments. Then she would be comfortable with him and able to laugh and tease as she did with Mr. Daviot.

It was a shame Mr. Daviot did not appreciate Lord Snell’s many qualities. His unwarranted animosity must stem from envy, Miranda thought. It only threw into higher relief his lordship’s amiability with regard to the Explorers’ Club.

She glanced at him. His frown had returned, making his face rather forbidding. Could he regret his openness, perhaps afraid she read more into his words than he had intended? The silence between them had gone on long enough, Miranda decided, and she seized the first subject that came to mind.

“Did Mr. Daviot join the Explorers’ Club this morning, sir?”

“He was offered a temporary membership, and I left him at their premises.”

“Lady Wiston will be pleased.”

“He seems to have won her devotion with remarkable ease.”