Elisabeth Kidd (10 page)

“Good. Then when will we see you up and about again?”

“When it pleases me to be up and about.”

Lewis stared at her, his expression alternating between a scowl and a wink.

“Henry tells me you’ve been to see the Jeromes,” he said then. “How are they all at Missenhurst?”

“In fine fettle.”

“Nonsense. You were never at the Grange, although I daresay Dulcie’s mother would support the tale. What were you up to, Sabina? You know what a terrible liar you are, so do not try to deceive me, of all people.”

“I seem to have succeeded with everyone else,” Sabina countered. “What makes you think I have been telling you all some Banbury story?”

“Never mind how I know, and stop evading the issue. The more you hedge, the more disreputable the whole adventure must have been. I know you, Sabina.”

“Do you?” Sabina asked, her fragile sense of fun withering again. “I scarcely know myself these days.”

Lewis’s tone immediately softened, and he leaned over to take his sister’s hand.

“Won’t you tell me about it, my dear?”

She shook her head miserably. “I can’t—not yet, anyway. I’m sorry. It’s not you, Lewis, but only that I—”

“Hush, now. You needn’t go into it if it will upset you. I only came to chivy you into coming down to dinner, but since putting a pea in your shoe did not do the trick, I must beg you to come down if it will not cause you a setback—my begging, that is to say. I know how you dislike people groveling at your feet. Besides, Georgie’s coming for a visit. You wouldn’t like to be unwelcoming, would you?”

There was a decided twinkle in Lewis’s hazel eyes when he mentioned Georgina Campion. Alicia’s niece, the only child of her only brother, Georgina was a universal favorite among the family, but particularly with Lewis, since she appeared not to be at all aware of his affliction and made him join in with any mad scheme she concocted for their entertainment. Sabina had noticed some time ago, however, that Georgina was amazingly adept at challenging Lewis while never suggesting anything that was physically outside his capabilities.

“Naturally I shall be glad to see Georgina,” she said. “How long will she stay? When will she be arriving?”

“Not until tomorrow,” Lewis admitted. “But do come down tonight, love. It’s deadly dull with only Randolph prosing on with the same topics of conversation he had been boring us with for years. You know how it is when he gets onto clothes or architecture. I vow, he would tear Stonehaven down and rebuild it from his own plans if Papa had been foolish enough to leave him enough money to do so.”

Sabina laughed and promised to consider coming down to dinner, but as no one else came to ask for her company, she delayed leaving her room for yet another evening, at the end of which, however, she was so bored with her own company that sleep began to look like an attractive entertainment and
Guy Mannering
finally succeeded in putting her to sleep.

She thus slept the night through and was surprised to wake the next morning feeling more nearly herself. She told herself this was a decided improvement, but her heart felt differently.

* * * *

The next day, since she was finally able to concentrate on something other than her own misery and Robert Ashton’s treachery, she spent reading, and it was seven o’clock before she realized that the light was going. A moment later, Dulcie came storming into her room, a martial light in her eye.

“Really, Sabina, this is the outside of enough! You must stop sulking and come down to dinner.”

“Very well.”

“If you do not wish to marry in the normal way and start a family of your own, you simply must rejoin this one—did you say you would come?”

Sabina laughed. “Oh, Dulcie, do come down from your high horse. I said I would. I was just on the point of ringing for Emily to help me dress.”

“Oh, thank goodness.” Dulcie sank down on the windowseat beside her sister-in-law and heaved a sigh. “I really did not want to rail at you, dearest, but I felt something must be done.”

“You are quite right,” Sabina agreed. “And I have decided that it cannot be done from this room.”

Dulcie looked at her with concern growing in her eyes again. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. But I shall think of something.”

Chapter 7

Robert Ashton gazed down the length of dining table in front of him, mentally comparing his ancestral residence with the cosiness of the Theaks’ home on the water—and not to the Abbey’s advantage.

Dinner at Ashtonbury Abbey was invariably in the formal style, even when only family members were present. The Abbey was a large building, built upon over the centuries since the Dissolution in a variety of fashions that tended to reflect ever more ancient times so that in its current incarnation it resembled a crusader’s castle more than a modern estate. The dining room was likewise built along massive lines, with a table that could seat fifty; even with all the leaves removed, it could hold many more than the five persons who assembled there for meals in the ordinary course of the day.

The earl’s heir, Viscount Ashton, aged seven, and his younger brother, the Honorable David, aged five, did not of course dine with the adults except on those rare informal occasions when their mother was able to tolerate them. This left, in the current season, the earl and countess, the countess’s mother, Lady Brendel, the Reverend Mr. Jennings, a distant relation of Lady Kimborough who chanced to be staying at the Abbey, and the earl’s younger brother, lately returned from the wars, to forgather at the family board.

On the day of Robert’s parting from Sabina, he was unable to participate in the proceedings as fully as Lavinia might have liked and so was grateful for the voluble Mr. Jennings. The meal itself was somewhat overpowering in any case, consisting of numerous courses and side dishes, from poulard à la duchesse to an exquisitely grilled breast of lamb in mint leaves. Lavinia employed a French chef, not so much because she cared particularly about what she put in her mouth, but because she could boast about him—in a subtle way, of course—to all her acquaintance. Alfonse stayed because he was allowed to experiment as much as he liked so long as he provided at least one good English dish at each meal, and because the earl at least appreciated his efforts and told him so.

In the general way, Captain Robert too was a notable trencherman, having learned when food was short as well as unpalatable to make full use of it when it was plentiful. However, he was notably remiss in contributing to the polite conversation which his sister-in-law decreed was as essential a part of civilized dining as good food, but this was the last thing he cared to exercise his mind on, to Lavinia’s oft-expressed regret. She had for some time been discoursing upon the paucity of high-minded activities to be found in the neighborhood without offering any suggestions of her own or volunteering her own home for activities in the advancement of literature or science, but only Mr. Jennings appeared to be interested in the subject.

“I was privileged to hear a lecture by Mr. Southey while in London,” this gentleman remarked. Having made short work of his grilled trout, daubed his lips genteelly with his napkin, and cleared his throat importantly in an irritating way that could not help draw the attention of the other diners—the earl’s younger brother excepted—to his remarks.

“That is, I should say”—Mr. Jennings tittered delicately—”When
I
was in London. I daresay I might call on the Southeys at any time while they are domiciled in Greta Hall, which, as you may know, lies a mere twenty miles from my own home. However. What was I saying…?”

There was a momentary silence until Lady Brendel offered politely, “When you and Mr. Southey chanced to be in London at the same time…”

“Oh, indeed, yes, how absurd of me to lose my train of thought….”

Since Mr. Jennings’s train of thought, once set firmly in motion, ran very well on its own, Robert felt no obligation even to appear to be raptly attentive to his words. Instead, he allowed his mind to wander back to his last sight of Sabina Bromley. Did she really despise him as much as that look seemed to say? Was she able to forget, for he certainly could not, the very different look she had given him the day before on the canal bank? She had told him that she loved him; she had initiated the declaration.

Why, if she did not mean it?

He told himself that he had every right to be as angry as she was at his “betrayal”—she had, after all, deceived him about her loss of memory. To be sure, she had not recognized him as a member of the Ashton family, and he had deliberately led her to believe he was someone else. Yet, why had she concealed her own identity in the way she did?

“My dear Robin,” Lavinia was saying, “I wish you would let me plan a ball, or at least a small dinner party, for you.”

He was fairly certain that he had not heard any introduction to this topic, so he asked, quite naturally, “Whatever for?”

“It must seem unusual that we have not yet done so,” Lavinia explained, as to a slightly dim child. “It should not be thought that your arrival was not an important family occasion—which of course it was, and it must be seen to be so by the rest of the world as well.”

“I am perfectly capable of announcing myself. I will even, if it will allay your social concern, say that I did not wish any fuss to be made about my return.”

“Yes, but it isn’t just that,” Lavinia went on. “You have not met our neighbors for years, some not at all. There are a number of pretty, eligible young girls—”

“Oh, no, Lavinia! I will not have you parading matrimonial candidates through my own home for my inspection. That is the outside of enough.”

“But surely you will wish to marry and settle down now that your military career is at last at an end. You said as much when you first arrived.”

And so he had. That had been rash of him, Robert now knew, but at that time he had had only one candidate in mind, and she had now declined the post.

A thought occurred to him. Could she have known who he was, after all? He did not guess that she had not really lost her memory—even when they were play-acting and she had drawn a picture that seemed very much like her life as he was aware of it. Could he have been equally obtuse in thinking she had not recognized him?

But the puzzle remained—why?

Lady Brendel had by this time entered the conversational lists. A formidable aristocrat with an aquiline cast of countenance and a penchant for varying shades of purple in her garb and personal adornment, even to the feathers in her turbans, she began describing in excruciating detail the various entertainments she had had the pleasure of attending or hosting in London last season and in which she had every intention of indulging herself again.

“Perhaps, Robert, you would like to spend a little time in town with us?” she offered. Robert made an effort not to wince, but she must have sensed his withdrawal, for she went on, “Or with my other daughter and her husband, Lord Northrup, who would be equally glad to have you. You may even come to us during the summer, when London is thin of company, of course, and it is always possible to arrange a small entertainment at home. Would that suit you better?”

“Thank you, Lady Brendel, but I fear I would damage your reputation as a hostess beyond repair.”

Lady Brendel smiled at this witticism. “Dear me, no—as if anyone could! That is,
you
surely would not do so.”

Robert knew better than to fob Lady Brendel off with vague assurances that he would consider her kind invitation, and he only smiled noncommittally. The ladies appeared to be as one in deciding that there was nothing to be gained by pursuing the subject further at this time, but Robert knew he had not heard the last of it.

The conversation turned to other topics, and Mr. Jennings obligingly resumed his observations, which were innumerable, so that Robert was allowed to finish his meal in silence. The dinner ceremony concluded with a crème plombières praliné, which Mr. Jennings disposed of with his usual dispatch. Lady Brendel, declaring that she never ate sweets, ate hers anyway. Lavinia picked up her fork, but did not touch it, and Mr. Jennings eyed her plate covetously. Robert quietly signaled a footman, who brought Mr. Jennings a second helping.

He must, Robert thought, write to Dulcie Bromley this very evening to learn how Sabina’s return had been received by her family and whether her attitude towards him had softened in the least. If it had, he would approach her, apologize again, and attempt to start afresh. If not—well, he would find another way. He would not give up.

“We had given him up for dead after all that time,” Lady Brendel was saying. This succeeded in penetrating Robert’s reverie, and he wondered if they could possibly be talking about him again. It seemed not, however.

“He turned up after the battle of Victoria—is that right, Robert?”

“Vitoria.”

Lady Brendel appeared not to hear the distinction and went on, “Yes, and in perfect health, although it appeared he had lost his memory and was laid up in a field hospital for weeks before someone was able to identify him.”

Robert shook his head slightly to clear it. It must be only coincidence that they were speaking of a loss of memory. Or perhaps he had heard incorrectly. He must stop brooding on what had happened or he
would
begin hearing things. He was more used to taking action.

But it seemed that the ladies were taking action of their own, however indirect. Having engaged his attention again, Lady Brendel enquired of her daughter if the gentleman in question was not the same Captain Tennison who had married Salford’s eldest daughter, the one whose hair was never properly dressed but who had a very fine, clear complexion.

“Indeed, yes, and a most eligible connection it was. I believe she is already increasing with her second.”

Robert was aware of Lavinia’s views of marriage, an institution which she considered necessary for the propagation of a solid bloodline and nothing more. She was aware that her contribution to her own marriage was superior in the matter of pedigree to her husband’s—at least in her view—but she did not hold that against him, feeling that the combination of their inheritable traits was a happy one and was alone responsible for the good health, pleasing looks, and observable intelligence of her male progeny. It naturally followed that her brother-in-law should also make such an alliance, and had she been brought to understand that he intended to marry only for love, she would have pitied him.