Carola Dunn (13 page)

“I assure you, sir, he had no need. Her ladyship recognized him the moment he stepped through the door and was filled with joy to see him again. He has always been something of a favourite, I collect.”

“Lucky for him. It is not every vagabond wastrel who can count on a doting aunt to preserve him from debtors’ prison.

Miranda wondered why he had vouched for Mr. Daviot to his friends if he considered him a vagabond wastrel. Doubtless the phrase sprang from a natural disgruntlement at knowing the Prodigal Nephew was his aunt’s favourite. She ought not to have mentioned it.

“He is working very diligently at his book,” she offered.

“With your generous assistance.” Lord Snell drove the curricle out of the park and turned down Oxford Street. “Daviot has the gift of ingratiating himself. Do not let him take advantage of you as he does of Lady Wiston.”

“I have been on my guard since first we met.” That first meeting was engraved on her memory. Lord Snell would not have assaulted her so disgracefully. Lord Snell would not have been sleeping in the gardens in the first place. “But it is only sensible to assist Mr. Daviot in his efforts to break free of the need for Lady Wiston’s support. And should he begin to neglect his writing, I am in the best possible position to know it at once.”

“Very true, Miss Carmichael.” The baron smiled at her. “I am glad to discover his specious charm has not succeeded in hoodwinking you.”

* * * *

As yet Mr. Daviot showed no sign of neglecting his work, though he did not come in to luncheon that day. What with walking Mudge and accompanying Lady Wiston on various visits, Miranda was not free to go to the study until late in the afternoon. He had left, but she found a new batch of papers to be transcribed.

At dinner he was lively, making his aunt, Miranda, and Mr. Bassett laugh with his description of the Explorers’ Club and the gentlemen-travellers he had met there. Lord Snell sat silent, unamused, and Mr. Daviot made no acknowledgement of his lordship’s part in obtaining his membership.

Even as she laughed at his irrepressible drollery, Miranda was dismayed by his indifference to common politeness. However much he disliked Lord Snell, he ought to admit to being beholden.

After dinner, Mr. Daviot and Mr. Bassett went out, being engaged to make up a party with several acquaintances to attend the Little Theatre, which remained open for the summer. Miranda, busy all day, had not yet written her regular letter to her brother. She sat down to the task at the small writing desk in the sitting room, while Lady Wiston challenged Lord Snell to a game at piquet.

Miranda hoped her ladyship would not cheat. She feared his lordship would not be amused.

Lord Snell won several hands, by large scores. At last Lady Wiston announced her intention of retiring for the night and Miranda went out with her.

As they parted in the passage, Lady Wiston whispered with a mischievous look, “I saw your face and guessed precisely what you were thinking. I did not quite dare. Godfrey is a sadly sober young man. It is a pity he will not learn from Peter to be a little more lighthearted.”

“And Mr. Daviot from his lordship to be a little more serious!” Miranda retorted.

“Hmm,” said Lady Wiston enigmatically, and bade her good night.

On Miranda’s dresssing table a note awaited her, propped where she was certain to see it, with her name on it in Mr. Daviot’s familiar scrawl. What did he have to say that could not wait until the morning?

Nothing, as it turned out. “I must speak to you urgently,” she read. “Try to come to the study before breakfast.”

So, wild with curiosity, next morning after taking Mudge out Miranda went to the study. Mr. Daviot was there before her, rising from his writing table as she entered. He looked as serious as she could wish—even grim.

“Why before breakfast?” she asked, closing the door behind her.

He went to the door, opened it, and glanced down the hall. “I want to be sure we shan’t be interrupted. Please, do sit down, Miss Carmichael.”

She sank into an easy chair. “What is the matter? Do you mean to castigate me for some dreadful error in your manuscript? The original has not been thrown away, so it cannot be difficult to repair.”

“No, no, nothing like that.” Perching on the edge of the table, he gazed down at her for a moment, then slipped down and took a hasty turn about the small room. “Damn...dash it, I don’t know how to tell you.”

“Begin at the beginning,” she suggested prosaically.

With a lopsided grin, quickly fading, he plumped into the seat opposite her. “I’ll try.” He leaned forward and spoke with emphatic earnestness. “You won’t like what I have to say, but I beg you will hear me out. You must be aware that Snell does not regard Aunt Artemis’s foibles in quite the same indulgent light as do you and I.”

“I know her conduct makes him concerned lest she run into difficulties. I did my best to reassure him, and he has made no attempt to persuade her to change her ways.”

“He has no desire for her to change her ways!”

“Then what troubles you?”

“Miss Carmichael, yesterday when we were walking together, Lord Snell made me the most infamous proposal. He tried to convince me that my aunt is showing signs of lunacy—”

“I cannot believe it!” Miranda cried, aghast.

“And he offered to bribe me—with her money, once he has control of it—to support his application for committal.”

“I cannot believe it. You misunderstood. Lord Snell is an honourable gentleman, he would never propose such a cruel, underhanded scheme.”

“He did,” Mr. Daviot insisted. “I know you too well to credit for a moment that you would fall in with the scheme, but I had to warn you to beware. What I want your advice on is whether to inform Aunt Artemis.”

“Certainly not! Why distress her to no purpose? This cannot conceivably be anything but a ridiculous mistake, a simple misunderstanding.”

“Snell was most explicit,” he said quietly. “I did not, could not misunderstand.”

“Then you must be making it up,” Miranda accused him, angry and agitated. “You have disliked him from the first. You hope to blacken him in my eyes.”

Mr. Daviot glared at her. “Why the devil should I wish to try anything so baconbrained?” Jumping to his feet, he towered over her. “How like a totty-headed female! The only conceivable motive for denigrating him to you would be jealousy. I promise you that is an emotion with which I am wholly unacquainted! I don’t give a tinker’s damn if you go ahead and marry the prating hypocrite!”

And with that Parthian shot, he flung from the room.

Chapter 11

Miranda was furious. How dare the wretch insinuate that she fancied him jealous of Lord Snell! That would mean she supposed Mr. Daviot to be in love with her, and the notion had never crossed her mind. She was no vain, frivolous, totty-headed schoolroom miss, imagining every man she met must admire her.

Totty-headed, indeed! If that was what he thought of her, why did he ask her advice and entrust her with his precious manuscript?

As for suggesting she had set her cap at Lord Snell, it was the outside of enough. She could hardly help treating his lordship with a trifle more than ordinary courtesy when he was a relative of her employer and a guest in the house.

If Peter Daviot were not in the same position, she would not so much as pass the time of day with the odious man!

Wiping away an angry tear, Miranda stalked over to the writing table and scowled down at the burgeoning book. She owed it to Lady Wiston to go on assisting him with the transcription, but she would take care to do her share of the work in his absence in future. Let him go elsewhere for advice. It was no business of hers to rein in his embellishment of the facts. Let him cross the line into sheer fantasy!

He had a vivid imagination. Could he have imagined Lord Snell’s infamous plot? But despite her earlier doubts, she had never seen any sign that he might be unable to distinguish fact from fiction. Nor had he ever made a real attempt to mislead her or his aunt. On the contrary, he had always been perfectly frank and open, even about his own shortcomings.

So he must have misinterpreted whatever Lord Snell had proposed to him. Miranda racked her brains, trying to conceive what his lordship might have said which could be misunderstood in just that fashion.

“You there, Miss?” Alfred stuck his head around the door. “‘Er lidyship says are you comin’ acos she’s got—”

“No!” came a pained cry from the passage. Twitchell appeared behind the new footman. “Start again, boy.”

Alfred opened the door wide and drew himself up. He was already beginning to fill out his livery as prophesied. Miranda gave him an encouraging smile.

“If you please, miss, her ladyship wants....” He glanced back over his shoulder. Twitchell’s lips moved. “Her ladyship would like to know,” Alfred continued, “wevver you will join her at breakfas’ being as how there’s stuff...there are matters she wants to gab about...no, wishes to discuss!” he ended in a triumphant burst.

“Well done,” said Miranda. “I can see you are going to be an excellent footman. Yes, I shall come directly.”

All three gentlemen were at the breakfast table with Lady Wiston. Her ladyship, Lord Snell, and Mr. Bassett all greeted Miranda with “Good morning,” and a smile. Mr. Daviot grunted. He did not even glance at her, so she did not have to avoid his eyes.

The infuriating thing was that she found it difficult to meet Lord Snell’s gaze, too. She managed it, and smiled at him, but she was quite glad to take a seat next to Lady Wiston and opposite Mr. Bassett, who was positively beaming.

“Miss Carmichael,” he said eagerly, “I do hope you’ll like my notion. It’s the perfect day, with the sun shining and no wind. The water will be flat as a duck pond, I vouch for it.”

Miranda laughed. “I am quite prepared to believe you, sir, but may I ask which water? And why we should be concerned for its calmness?”

“The Thames, dear,” said Lady Wiston. “Mr. Bassett proposes to hire a wherry to carry us all down to Deptford to take a look at the
Adder
.”

“She’s out of dry dock,” Mr. Bassett told Miranda, his face alight with enthusiasm, “and moored in the river.”

“Is your command confirmed then, sir? Have you heard from the Admiralty already this morning?”

“No,” he admitted, slightly crestfallen, “but I was told yesterday I shall more than likely get her. Once I have my orders, I may have to leave in a hurry. And the weather might not be so good, either. Do you not care for the outing, ma’am?”

“It sounds like great fun.” But not with both Mr. Daviot and Lord Snell aboard, Miranda thought. “Do you wish to go, Lady Wiston?”

“Yes indeed, dear. It will make a delightful change. Sometimes I think we are getting very set in our ways,” Lady Wiston said, to Miranda’s startled amusement. “Besides,” she continued, “when dear Mr. Bassett is gone, it will be pleasant to have a picture in our minds of the very ship he sails on.”

“If I get her, ma’am.”

“I am sure you will,” said Miranda, sorry she had voiced a doubt, “but just in case, we must carefully note all the
Adder
’s faults. Should something go amiss, we may abuse her to our hearts content, though if you become her captain we shall, of course, entirely forget every little blemish.”

Mr. Bassett grinned. “If I become her captain, I’ll see no blemish,” he assured her. Turning to Lady Wiston, he asked, “What time suits you best, ma’am? High tide is mid morning.”

“What difference does the tide make?” she enquired.

“An ebb tide going and a flood tide returning makes easier work for the oarsmen.”

“But at high tide,” Lord Snell put in, “the mud flats are covered, which makes for a more agreeable journey.”

“They stink,” Mr. Bassett admitted, “and they’re not pretty.”

“Then by all means let us go as soon as we can,” said Lady Wiston. “I shall add a tip for the watermen for their hard work. Does this morning suit you, Godfrey?”

“Excellently.”

“Peter?”

“I shan’t go, Aunt Artemis. I must get on with my writing.”

“Do come, Daviot,” cried Mr. Bassett. “I particularly want you to see the
Adder
.”

“Yes, do, dear boy. An extra gentleman is always to be desired on such an expedition, do you not agree, Miranda?”

Miranda could hardly contradict her outright. Hesitantly she said, “If Mr. Daviot is otherwise engaged, ma’am, surely Lord Snell and Mr. Bassett will suffice to take care of us?”

“Upon my oath we will,” said Lord Snell.

Mr. Daviot cast a sidelong glance full of suspicion at the baron. “You are right, Aunt,” he said. “Your consequence demands a superfluous gentleman in your escort. I shall come.”

“Silly boy,” she said fondly.

“Splendid!” Mr. Bassett rose to his feet. “Pray excuse me, ma’am. I’ll be off to Surrey Stairs to make arrangements.”

“We shall meet you there as soon as possible, Mr. Bassett,” said her ladyship, and he hurried off. “Miranda,” she continued, “when you have finished your breakfast, pray send to tell Mr. Sagaranathu not to come this morning. Ask him to come later this afternoon, and to stay to dinner, and if he cannot, assure him I shall pay him for my lesson anyway.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Oh, I have a charming notion! Tell Cook to pack up hamper, cold meat, bread and butter, fruit, whatever is to hand, and we shall go on to Greenwich for a picnic. Now is not that a delightful notion?”

“Delightful,” Miranda echoed with what enthusiasm she could muster. At least an extra two hours of Mr. Daviot ignoring or glowering at both her and Lord Snell, she reckoned.

“You had best bring a shawl, dear, or a cloak. I daresay it may be chilly on the water, especially if a breeze should spring up. I shall change. Trousers are undoubtedly more practical for boating, but alas I have not the temerity to wear them in public. Peter dear, pray order the carriage.” She bustled out, followed by Mr. Daviot.

Lord Snell smiled at Miranda. “Lady Wiston takes a childish pleasure in this expedition,” he said.

“Childlike,” Miranda murmured, not quite audibly. An educated man like the baron ought to know the difference, she thought uneasily. “I am looking forward to it, too,” she said aloud. “Excuse me, my lord, I must go and speak to Cook at once.”