Elisabeth Kidd (28 page)

“What is going on, Sabina dear?” Edina enquired, reversing her normal style of conversation. “I was just admiring the wallpaper above the wainscoting in the library,” she said. Apparently the question was rhetorical after all. “I see it is new and I daresay your doing. I cannot tell you how I look forward to assisting you—”

“Edina,” Sabina dared to interrupt, “we have visitors whom you must meet.”

The introductions were made, and Edina was apparently suitably enough impressed by Lady Kimborough to assure the countess that she was receiving the proper deference, and the party gathered in the by now somewhat crowded parlor. In the absence of servants, Edina offered to obtain some refreshment. She went off in the direction of the kitchen and could be heard talking to herself until she was out of earshot.

After a few moments of silence, Lord Kimborough announced, “My wife has something she wishes to say to you, Lady Sabina.”

All eyes turned toward the countess, who looked as if she had hoped this meeting would be somewhat less widely publicized, but she went determinedly ahead with what soon revealed itself as a rehearsed speech, apparently insisted upon by her husband.

“That is correct,” she said, meeting neither Sabina’s nor anyone else’s eyes. “I wish to apologize to you, Lady Sabina, for my rudeness earlier today. I realize that you could not possibly have had anything to do with the disappearance of our miniature, and it was unjust of me to accuse you. I hope—I trust you will forgive me.”

Sabina found that she had been holding her breath again, but when it became obvious that for Lady Kimborough, this apology was a great concession, she let it go, smiled, and said, “Of course I do, Lady Kimborough. Please forget it, as I shall. And please, let us call on each other—as neighbors—more frequently in future.”

The countess met her eyes finally and nodded. “Thank you, Sabina dear. I hope we may do so.”

Henry felt it safe to inject a question at this point. “I beg your pardon, but do I understand you to mean that the
other
miniature has gone missing?”

Richard spoke up on his wife’s behalf, thanking Sabina for bringing the Bromleys’ half of the set to the Abbey—which he realized, a little belatedly, was news to Henry, but both gentlemen glossed over their ignorance of facts which appeared to be plain to all the ladies.

“Lady Sabina’s return of the miniature previously resident in Bromleigh Hall prompted my wife to compare the two pieces,” Richard went on, with the most delicate possible phrasing, “but when she went to the cabinet in which ours was kept, it was missing. She was naturally distressed, and in her agitation, made remarks which she now regrets. But I beg your pardon, Lavinia, for putting words into your mouth. Is that what you wished to say?”

“Yes, thank you, Richard.”

“Well, that is wonderful,” Dulcie put in brightly. “I mean, it is a shame that the other miniature cannot be located, but if we put our heads together, perhaps we can organize a search, or simply ask among the servants—which I’m sure you will do at once, Lady Kimborough. I daresay someone simply took it away to clean or some such thing.”

“It was some such thing,” said a voice from the doorway.

Sabina, who had jumped up at every approach of a carriage in the hope that it meant Robert had returned, had entirely missed the sounds of the latest arrival at her doorstep. She rose quickly, but managed not to run into his arms when he shook his head slightly, then gave her a quick, reassuring smile.

“Robin!” his brother exclaimed. “Do you know something about this? Where have you been?”

Robert came fully into the room and took up a position before the fireplace as if he were prepared to address the gathering. All heads turned as one towards him, but he said nothing for a moment as he surveyed the assembled friends and relations. His eye lit on Edina.

“I believe we have not met, ma’am.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Sabina exclaimed, stepping forward to perform the introductions. “Edina, this is my—my friend, Captain Ashton, Lord Kimborough’s brother. Robert, I should like to present my cousin, Miss Bromley, who has—ah, come to live with me here at Carling as my companion.”

Robert not unnaturally raised his eyebrows at this piece of news, and Sabina attempted to convey with a look that such plans had yet to be altered. He smiled wryly and seemed to understand without words.

“I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Bromley,” he said warmly, instantly enchanting Edina, who would have become immediately profusive had Robert not gone on, “I hope I may see you often at Carling in the future. For the moment, however, I fear we have a pressing matter to address, which I propose to do at once, since we are among friends.” He glanced at his sister-in-law and added, “So to speak.

“I gathered from what I heard on my arrival that the miniature which resided in the Abbey’s collection is thought to have disappeared. I assure you, it has not.”

With that, he withdrew a small case from his pocket and opened it to display the miniature portrait of a young man in Elizabethan garb. Lavinia let out a gasp and rose to take the object from Robert, but he held it out of her reach.

“One moment, Lavinia, if you please.”

“I spoke with Lord Bromleigh about the miniature which we all saw in the collection at the Hall the other day, and I was convinced by the documentation he showed me and by his personal recollections that the mysterious ‘Lady S’ does indeed belong to the Bromleys. However, he had no knowledge of a matching portrait.

“I therefore took the portrait in our collection to the dealer who had most recently appraised the Bromleys’ piece. Fortunately, this gentleman, whose shop is in Leicester, subsequently, out of personal curiosity only, researched the provenance of the miniature of ‘Lady S’ and discovered that there had been a matching portrait, also by Nicholas Hilliard, the well-known Elizabethan court artist, of the lady’s husband. His—that is, the dealer’s—intention was to seek out the second portrait and offer it to Lord Bromley. He had been unsuccessful until I presented the piece to him. He confirmed that it was the missing portrait, although he had not yet made the connection between the last owner, at the time of William and Mary, and its present whereabouts.

“He also confirmed,” Robert added for the countess’s benefit, “that the miniature of Lady S was legitimately purchased by the present Lord Bromleigh’s great-grandfather and that it therefore belongs to the Bromleys.”

“Not anymore,” the earl said sardonically.

Robert looked at him. “I appear to have missed that part of the discussion. Would you care to explain, Richard?”

His brother explained that Lady Sabina had called on them that very morning to make them a gift of the miniature, at which revelation Robert looked admiringly at Sabina, who blushed and lowered her eyes. He then, to make his admiration perfectly clear, took her hand to kiss and leaned over to whisper in her ear, “That’s my darling.” Sabina blushed more deeply.

A general murmur of discussion broke out among the assembled Bromleys and Ashtons, but Robert stilled it long enough to say one more thing.

“In view of Sabina’s generous gesture, I think the only thing I can do with this charming portrait”—he held it up to study it fondly—”is to present it to the Bromleys. Lady Henry, would you be so kind…?

Dulcie accepted the miniature, but before she could voice her thanks, Lavinia protested, “But that will break up the set!”

Robert smiled in Sabina’s direction and said mildly, “I think not.”

The countess sank back in her chair with a dismayed cry, sending Edina scurrying for restoratives, which were in lamentably short supply at the Manor. There being no hartshorn or sal volatile, she spent a fruitless ten minutes searching for a feather she could burn under Lady Kimborough’s nose, by which time that lady had revived and was again insisting that the portrait of the gentleman also belonged at the Abbey.

Henry interjected his opinion, saying that both miniatures should be kept in a neutral place, where members of both families could enjoy them whenever they wished. This naturally provoked a heated discussion about what places might qualify for this honor, which led to the suggestion that the portraits might reside in one house for six months each year and the other for the remainder of the year, which led in turn to a disagreement as to who should have the honor of providing a home for them first.

It was at this juncture that Robert, aware that he and Sabina had been forgotten in the general uproar, pulled her into the hall and drew her into an embrace which quickly eased her mind and warmed her body. When his lips parted from hers, she sighed and laid her head on his shoulder.

“Poor Miranda,” he said. “You must have had the devil of a day.”

She had to laugh. “Why is it that the family I once thought so eager to be rid of me is now so determined never to let me escape them?” she asked of his laughing eyes. “It’s too absurd! One would think they had planned all this deliberately!”

“Personally,” he said, “I know exactly where the two miniatures should reside.”

“I did think of that as soon as Henry made the suggestion,” she said, “but how could I say anything?”

“I expect we can convince them of the wisdom of displaying them prominently somewhere is this house when we return. By that time they should have exhausted their discussion of the alternatives. This is a lovely place, by the way. I should have asked you long before this to show me around.”

“I can do so now, if you wish.”

“I certainly do
not
wish. Do you realize, my darling, that had we known all this about the two portraits to begin with, we should have been married for years by now?”

She smiled. “It does seem a waste, doesn’t it?”

“Well, I for one do not wish to waste any more time. Where is your luggage?”

She was puzzled for a moment. “What luggage?”

“The things you were going to pack to take on your honeymoon, my sweet simpleton.”

“Oh!” She laughed at her own idiocy. “They are—oh, dear, my mind is in such a muddle, I can’t think—oh, yes, in the hall outside my bedroom.”

“Which is where?”

“The second door to the right at the top of the stairs—the back stairs.”

He grinned. “Good girl. I’ll send Foster up to collect it while I get my carriage. Ah—I don’t suppose you could change quickly into something a little more—cheerful?”

She looked down at the black bombazine, which she had almost forgotten, and grimaced. “I can certainly do better than this, even without Emily. I will meet you in five minutes.”

As good as her word—if slightly disheveled from tearing off one dress and throwing another on with a minimum of closed fastenings—she descended to the hall again and heard that the level of voices in the parlor had scarcely abated. She had just reached the door when Dulcie came out into the hall and saw her.

“Sabina! Where are you going?”

Sabina signaled her to close the parlor door, then whispered, “There is a letter for you in your jewelry box, Dulcie. Please don’t say anything to anyone until you read it, I beg you.”

Robert opened the front door just then, and understanding dawned in Dulcie’s eyes.

“Sabina!” she whispered delightedly. “You’re eloping!”

Robert laughed, kissed her on the cheek, and said, “Don’t you dare try to stop us, Dulcie—you did it long before we thought of it.”

Dulcie smiled and conceded the point. “Well, don’t just stand there, you two. Hurry!”

Wasting no more time, they hastened out of the house. Robert helped Sabina up into his light traveling carriage, then mounted the perch and took up the reins.

Before he set the horses in motion, however, he turned to her. “Do you have everything, Miranda?”

She smiled and snuggled more closely beside him. She did not care if she had nothing left to call her own—except him.

“Everything in the world!” she assured him.

Copyright © 1996 by Elisabeth Kidd

Originally published by Signet (978-0451188182)

Electronically published in 2012 by Belgrave House/Regency

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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.