Elizabeth Mansfield (23 page)

“No, now that you’re here, you may as well stay and tell me what you’ve come to say. Let’s go to the sitting room where we can be private.”

Julie followed her down the hall. When they passed the open door of the drawing room, Julie caught a glimpse of Lord Smallwood looking up in surprise from the pages of the
Times.
But since Cleo did not pause to let her visitor and her father exchange greetings, Julie had no choice but to proceed without a word. She could only hope that Lord Smallwood would not think her rude.

When they were seated opposite each other on easy chairs in the sitting room, Julie looked about her. It was a small room with two tall windows that faced the street. The easy chairs faced a fireplace topped by a huge mirror. In it, she could see Cleo studying her with a penetrating stare. “You do not look like the blooming bride I expected to see,” Cleo remarked bluntly. “In fact, you’re almost as Friday-faced as I am.”

“If you think that my ‘Friday face’ is caused by my not being Tris’s bride, Cleo, you’re fair and far off,” Julie said, turning her eyes from the mirror and facing the other young woman bravely. “Tris and I have never wanted to marry. That’s what I came to tell you.”

Cleo crossed her arms and sat back in her easy chair, her posture clearly indicating her intention to reject anything she heard. “I didn’t ever believe you wanted to marry Tris. It was plain as day to me whom you wanted to wed. But you cannot say the same for Tris. Not after what happened at the fair.”

“Yes, I can. It took us—Tris and me—a long while to understand ourselves, but I think we do now. We were raised like brother and sister, you see, but we were never taught the difference between the brother-sister feelings and lovers’ feelings. I believe it was our mothers’ fault. Their hearts were set on our marrying. But Tris and I always knew that was something we didn’t intend to do.”

“Always? Even as children?”

“Always. And when he fell in love with you, that was the final proof. It was you he wished to wed, not me. That was why he tried so hard to get me married off to Lord Canfield. The trouble was that Lord Canfield, just like our mothers, decided that I loved Tris and ought to wed him.”

“Peter?” Cleo’s brows knit in disbelief. “Are you telling me that Peter was trying to marry you off to
Tris?”

“Exactly. You don’t believe me, do you? Tris never could believe it either. He convinced himself that Peter cared for me. It’s hard to blame him, for Peter decided—not with my consent, I may add—to pretend to make love to me to make Tris jealous.”

“Let me understand you,” Cleo said, leaning forward with sudden interest. “Do you mean to say that while Tris was urging you toward Peter, Peter was urging you toward Tris?”

“Yes, just so! Do you know, Cleo, that I sometimes think men are quite idiotic?”

Cleo gave a hiccoughing laugh. “I’ve known
that
for years!” For the first time since she came down the stairs, her eyes took on a sparkle, and her voice was warm. “But, please, Julie, do go on. This is quite fascinating.”

“There isn’t much more to tell. When Tris saw Peter kissing me, he felt an unexpected and unexplainable anger. He and all the rest of us interpreted that anger as jealousy. If he was jealous, we all reasoned, he must be in love with me. That seemed a logical explanation, affecting everyone’s judgment, even mine. We actually became betrothed.”

Cleo’s eyes fell. “Yes, I ... I heard.”

“But I knew almost at once it was a mistake.”

“Of course it was a mistake,” Cleo muttered. “You were in love with Peter. What’s become of him, by the way?”

Julie was tempted to reveal what she’d seen that afternoon, knowing it would be soothing to share her pain with another woman, especially one who’d also suffered. But she’d come here to discuss Tris’s problems, not her own. Dropping her eyes from Cleo’s face, she fixed them on her folded hands. “Peter never cared for me in that way, you know,” she said quietly. “His whole pursuit of me was a sham for Tris’s benefit.”

“So
that’s
why you’re looking so peaked,” Cleo said with sincere sympathy. “I’m sorry, Julie. Truly.”

“Thank you,” Julie muttered, looking up again. “But I didn’t come here to talk about me. May we return to the subject of Tris?”

“Yes, of course. I’ve already admitted being fascinated. You were saying that you knew the betrothal was a mistake. How did you know?”

“It’s simple. You see, through all the days of the engagement Tris never kissed me. Even Peter, who doesn’t care for me at all, once kissed me in a moment of spontaneous affection. But Tris never did.”

Cleo gasped at that. “Never?”

“Not once. We both realized that was strange. So we talked it all out. Tris believes, and I agree with him, that it wasn’t love but a kind of brotherly protectiveness that made him so angry with Peter. A strange man was mauling his sister, you see. That’s all it was.”

“Brotherly protectiveness?” Cleo frowned doubtfully. “That hardly seems an adequate explanation.”

“Tris has a somewhat darker one. He thinks he
was
jealous, in a way. I’d always been his adoring little playmate, you see, and suddenly he was losing that adoration. He felt an unreasonable resentment toward Peter for stealing away that adoration. In some dark corner of his mind, he says, he quite selfishly expected me to go on adoring him and no one else, while he, on the other hand, could be quite free to love wherever he chose. He realizes now how childish those feelings were.”

Cleo’s eyes stared into hers, wide with astonishment. “I see,” she said in a small voice. Shaken, she tucked her legs up under her and curled up in her chair, arms wrapped tightly about her as if she were protecting herself from the impact of this new information.

“He never stopped loving you, you know,” Julie said gently. “The time of our betrothal was the worst of his life. I hope you believe that.”

Cleo peeped over at her, tears filling her eyes. “I w-want to believe you,” she said with a sob.

“You do love him, then?”

“Love him? I’m b-besotted!” She buried her face in her arms. “I haven’t been able to get back to my old life since the day I left Enders Hall. I do nothing but m-mope about, whining and feeling s-sorry for myself, like the foolish heroines of silly romances. Yes, I’d say I love him! More than I want to. And much more than he d-deserves, the idiot!”

“Oh, Cleo, I’m so glad! He’s waiting right outside, you know. With his heart in his mouth.” Julie stood up and smiled at the tearful girl huddled in her chair. “Shall I tell him to come in?”

Cleo raised her head, her eyes flying up to Julie’s face in sheer terror. “Now? No, I can’t! Look at me, Julie! I’m a sight!”

“He will think you the most beautiful creature he ever laid eyes on, I promise. I’m like a sister to him, and I know.”

Cleo got slowly to her feet, ran her fingers through her curls and gave a timid nod. Julie didn’t wait for more but ran down the hall and out the door. Tris, whose eyes had been glued to the doorway all this time, leaped from the carriage and grabbed her shoulders. “Well?” he asked tensely.

“Go to her, Tris,” Julie said with a tremulous smile.

The light of pure joy transformed Tris’s face. He glowed like a just-lit candle. With a gulp, he took time only to press Julie’s shoulders with intense gratitude before dashing into the house.

Julie climbed up into the carriage, wondering if she should wait for him or go back to the hotel by herself. It was getting late. The sun had set, and the street was darkening. She looked over at the Smallwood house as if she might find an answer in its facade. What site saw was the window of the sitting room. Inside Cleo was lighting a lamp. Julie could see her reflected in the mirror over the fireplace. As she looked, another figure appeared in the mirror. Tris had burst into the room. He said something brief. Was it her name, or the words I love you? Julie couldn’t tell. But she saw Cleo lift her arms in response. Immediately, Tris took her into a fervent embrace. They held each other tearfully for a long time before he actually kissed her.

Julie turned her eyes away. Not only was it improper to watch, but it hurt too much. It wasn’t jealousy, exactly. It was envy... the pain of realizing that she would never have the good fortune to experience just that sort of embrace.

After a quarter hour, Tris came out and opened the carriage door. His eyes were shining. “I’ll never forget what you did, Julie. You’re the best sister I never had.”

“Am I?” she smiled.

“In every way. So, like the good sister you are, go on home without me. My lovely, forgiving, adorable Cleo would like me to stay here a while longer.”

“I’m so glad for you, Tris. Go back to her. I don’t mind waiting, really I don’t.”

“But I mind. I’ll enjoy myself more fully if I don’t have to think about you sitting out here in the dark.”

“Very well, I’ll go. But how will you get back to the hotel?”

He grinned as he shut the carriage door. “Don’t worry about me,” he chortled. “I’ll float.”

33

That evening, since the ladies had no male companions or social engagements, they dined modestly at the hotel and retired early. Though it was not yet nine, Lady Phyllis began to prepare for bed. She removed her shoes and took down her long gray hair, after which she brushed and plaited it. Just after her abigail finished unbuttoning the back of her gown, there was a tap at her door. The abigail answered. A hotel footman informed the girl that there was a gentleman down in the lobby who was insisting on seeing her ladyship. Phyllis, clutching her gown together at the back, pattered in stockinged feet to the door. “A gentleman? Is it my son?” “No, ma’am.”

“Then it must be a mistake.”

“I don’t believe so, ma’am. He asked for Lady Phyllis Enders.”

“Well, whoever it is, tell him to go away. It’s too late for me to see callers.”

“He was very insistent, ma’am. In a high state of perturbation, I’d say.”

“Oh, you would, would you? And did this gentleman in a high state of perturbation give you his name?”

“Yes, ma’am. Lord Smallwood, he said.”

Phyllis started. “Smallwood? Why didn’t you say so at once? Go and tell him I’ll be down in five—no, ten minutes.”

She put on her shoes and fidgeted nervously while the abigail did up her dress again. It was not a dress she would have chosen to wear when meeting Smallwood again, for the color was drab and the white tucker that reached up to her chin made her look like a governess, but since there was nothing to be done at this late hour, it would have to do. Her hair was a more serious problem. It hung down her back in a loose plait, fit only for sleeping. To dress it properly would require undoing the plait, brushing it again and pinning it into some sort of knot. Even the simplest style would require more time than she had. She and the abigail tried hastily to pin the braid up into a knot, but it was too heavy and kept falling down. With a helpless shrug, she decided to let it hang.

When she came down to the lobby, a mere fifteen minutes from the time she’d sent the message, she did not immediately see him. She walked about, peering round chairs and potted plants with no success. Suddenly, behind her, an angry voice said, “So there you are, ma’am! You’ve kept me waiting long enough, I must say!”

She swung about, her temper snapping. “Blast it, Smallwood, I should have kept you waiting longer. I was undressed!”

“Ridiculous,” he snapped back. “It’s only nine.”

“Yes. Much too late an hour for civilized people to make calls.”

“You are in London now,” he pointed out icily. “We do not keep country hours here.”

“Hummph!” Not able to think of a better retort, she merely glared at him. But as her eyes darted over him, she noticed that the hand clutching his cane was trembling. Her anger melted away at once. “Are we going to argue this way all night,” she asked, letting a smile peep out, “or would you rather get to the point of this call?”

“You’re right, ma’am. We are wasting precious time. Is there a private room where we may chat, or must we discuss personal matters right here where any passerby might hear?”

“I’m sure that an inquiry at the desk is all that will be needed to provide us with a private parlor,” she said, and with a toss of her head that caused her long braid to flip, she marched off to make the arrangement. In a few moments they were ushered into a small, beautifully furnished room off the lobby. When the door was closed, she sat down on a red-and-gold striped sofa and looked up at him. “Won’t you sit down, your lordship?”

“I will not sit down,” he barked. “I have come to ask a question, ma’am. Do you know where your son is at this moment?”

The question surprised her. “I have no idea. The boy is of age, you know. He doesn’t have to report to his mama on his comings and goings.”

“Is that so? Well, then, let
me
tell you the answer. At this very moment he is at my house, in my sitting room, on my own leather chair, with my own daughter in his lap. When I left, they were kissing. It was a long kiss. I have no doubt it is still going on.”

Her face took on a beaming smile. “Really? How
wonderful!
I was so afraid your daughter might not be willing to forgive him. I’m so happy for them both!”