Jane Ashford (8 page)

Clarissa’s tone was so happy and ingenuous that Laura had to relent. “I’m sure he does, but will you not listen to me for a moment?”

The younger girl fumed to her. “There is no need. I know what you wish to say, and I agree with you. I was silly and foolish and anything else you like. I shall not do it again, and I sincerely apologize to you for my shocking rudeness this morning. There, is that all right?” She did not wait for an answer but plunged ahead. “Do you think we might invite Mr. Redmon to dinner some night next week, Laura? We could ask him when he calls tomorrow.”

“If you like,” answered Laura, a little overwhelmed at this flood of docility.

“I can wear my apricot crepe,” murmured Clarissa.

“Whom else do you wish to have?”

“What? Why, no one else. There is no one else I wish to see.”

Laura shook her head. “We cannot possibly invite a single gentleman to dine alone with us, Clarissa.”

“Why not?”

“It isn’t done.”

Clarissa grimaced, then her face cleared. “Well Eliot can stay home to dinner, can he not? It is only for one night. We must ask him.”

“I suppose that would do,” replied Laura slowly, “if he is free, of course.”

“Well we shall make it when he is. I shall ask him as soon as he comes in.” Clarissa bounced out of her seat. “Oh I am so happy,” she cried, as she moved toward the door.

“But Clarissa, you…” began Laura, though it was obvious that her sister did not hear. She watched the younger girl drift out to the stairs and start up to her room. Laura shook her head. What next? she wondered to herself.

At teatime Eliot strolled into the drawing room and accepted the cup Laura poured for him. Clarissa took this opportunity to ask him to dine with a friend of hers the following Friday, and he agreed absently. After a few minutes of desultory chatter, Clarissa excused herself and went upstairs, leaving Laura and Eliot alone.

Laura watched her run up the stairs. “It is the oddest thing,” she said to Eliot. “The friend Clarissa was speaking of is the Marquess Redmon. I recognized him as the man you pointed out to me at the ball, but he introduced himself to her as merely Mr. Redmon. And when he brought Clarissa home today, he gave me the unmistakable signal that he did not wish his real name mentioned.” After she had spoken, Laura put a hand to her mouth. She had not meant to bring up the subject of Clarissa’s scrape.

But Eliot did not appear much interested. “Redmon is a funny chap,” was his only reply.

“I suppose so. He seems quite nice, however.”

“Umm.” Eliot turned toward Laura like a man coming to a decision. “I wish to talk with you about something important,” he said abruptly.

Laura bowed her head, a little resenting this offhand dismissal of her story.

“It concerns a man you met at the ball last evening.”

“A man?” asked Laura. “I met so many people.” But she began to suspect what was to follow.

“I refer to Mr. Allenby,” he answered, a bit stiffly.

“Oh yes, your friend. A very amusing man.”

“He is that, certainly. It is one of his talents. But we are not such good friends any longer.”

Laura’s jaw hardened a little as she thought that it was no wonder, since Mr. Allenby’s wife had become Eliot’s mistress. But she said nothing.

“I am sorry that you found Jack Allenby so amusing, Laura, for I’m going to ask you expressly not to see him.”

She raised her eyebrows, feigning surprise. “Really? Why?” She watched his eyes. “Does he, like his wife, skirt too near the line?” Laura felt greatly daring as she said this. For some reason she wished to force Eliot to tell her the truth, aloud and openly. If he will only say it, she thought, that Mr. Allenby is the husband of his mistress, I will do what he asks. But she trembled with tension awaiting his reply.

“He does,” responded her husband shortly. “His reputation is shocking, especially of late. No lady of quality would be seen with him.”

Bridling a little at this implied criticism, Laura said, “But he is at all the best parties, I know. Even Mrs. Rundgate asked him. And everyone speaks to him. I don’t understand.”

For a moment Eliot seemed at a loss. “That is true. His behavior is perhaps not well known in all circles, and some do not disapprove. But it is one thing to chat with such a man briefly at a party and quite another to receive him at home, or go about with him.”

Again Laura raised her eyebrows. She was getting angry at Eliot’s hypocrisy. “But I have done no such thing. Did someone tell you I had?”

Eliot made an impatient gesture and rose to stand near the fire. “No, of course not. And I would pay no heed to gossip. But you are pulling this conversation quite off the mark, Laura. What is the matter with you? The last time we had such a talk, you were ready to comply with my wishes.” He sounded annoyed. “It comes down to this. I have some reason to believe that Jack Allenby is no longer a friend to me. In fact I begin to think that he would do me an evil turn if the opportunity came his way. There have been some losses at cards and so on. Jack is very vain about his skills and hates to be beaten. And other things. I do not wish you to be involved.”

Laura was silent for a moment. She did not put much credence in Eliot’s talk of cards, knowing as she did a much more compelling reason why Mr. Allenby might dislike her husband, and she felt both hurt and angry that he would not admit the truth. She resented being expected to obey when she was told nothing, particularly when all London knew.

He is still treating me like a child, she thought. She looked up at Eliot with a touch of defiance. “Oh I think you must be mistaken,” she said. “Mr. Allenby seemed to me a very pleasant and polite man. Perhaps you misunderstood something he said, a joke.”

Her husband’s expression became set. He was beginning to be angry. Laura was his wife, and he felt it was her duty to do as he asked. “I have told you my wishes in this matter,” he said stiffly. “I consider the subject closed. You will not receive Jack Allenby.”

Laura’s eyes blazed. “Indeed? And I am to say no more and ask no more, is that it? I am to do as I am told with no word of complaint and no question? Unfair!” She was thoroughly angry now, and it made no difference to her that the issue was a trivial one. Perhaps she did not care whether she ever saw Mr. Allenby again, but she bitterly resented being ordered about in this way.

The corners of Eliot’s mouth turned down. “You are being ridiculous and childish. You know very well that my knowledge of the world is far beyond yours. In effect you refuse to trust me or obey me.”

“You are treating me like a child,” retorted the girl hotly. “Tell me the truth… so that I may judge for myself. Tell me the reasons for your advice.” This last sounded almost pleading.

“I don’t know what you mean. I have done so.”

“You have not,” cried Laura. “You have not!”

Eliot looked at her coldly. It seemed to him that she was being irrational, for no thoughts of Vera Allenby had intruded upon him during this discussion. She did not occupy a position of importance in his mind at any time. And now he was too incensed to think logically.

“You are upset,” he said. His jaw was tight, and he looked at her from under half-closed eyelids. Laura’s cheeks glowed with her emotion, and anger made her eyes flash gloriously, but he was unaffected. “If you do not choose to heed me,” he continued tonelessly, “then I must take other measures.” He bowed and turned to leave the room.

“What do you mean, other measures?” asked Laura uncertainly.

He looked back. “Since my opinions are of so little value to you, my course of action can be of no interest.”

His tone made Laura shiver, “And that is all?” she cried as he reached the door. “That is all you will say to me?”

“I do not see that there is anything further to say. I asked a small thing of you, and you refused. The subject is closed.” He turned away.

Laura jumped up, tears beginning to fill her eyes. She held out both hands and tried to speak. Couldn’t Eliot understand that she simply could not bear the thought of Vera Allenby, of his holding her and loving her, as he had never shown a sign of doing with Laura? But she was too choked by tears to speak, and Eliot walked out without realizing she had tried.

Laura heard the front door open and close, and she sank back on the sofa, gradually regaining control. What was the matter with her, she wondered. Two quarrels in one day, first with Clarissa and now with her husband. Even granting that they both had been exasperating, such quick hostility was utterly unlike her. She drew a shaky breath and leaned back.

Until now Laura had always been the most conciliating of personalities. She and her sister had been opposites in this since they were small children. Clarissa was hot-tempered and hasty and Laura equable and cool. Their aunts had remarked upon it countless times. Now, she thought as she sat alone in her drawing room, everything seemed changed. She had never in her life lashed out as she had today. Twice today! She frowned and tried to think clearly, but her emotions got in the way. Her earlier anger returned as she remembered the way Eliot had spoken to her. He had no right. He did exactly as he pleased, then expected her to obey his every whim. It wasn’t fair.

A small smile lit her features. She could show him she was not a mindless doll, to be ordered here or there. “I shall see Mr. Allenby,” she said aloud. “I feel no particular liking for him, but that is all to the good for I shall not be in danger of succumbing to his no doubt exaggerated charms.” Allenby admired her, she thought. Perhaps this would make Eliot see her as a woman. Her smile broadened.

Laura found no immediate opportunity to carry out her resolve, but she did not forget it. She was thinking of Mr. Allenby, in fact, when Clarissa’s new friend made his call just before teatime the following afternoon. Laura was sitting in the drawing room alone when he was announced. She rose to greet him and told Mr. Dunham that Clarissa should be informed of his arrival.

“In five minutes, please,” Mr. Redmon put in. When Laura looked at him with raised eyebrows, he added, “I wish to speak with you first.”

Mr. Dunham went out, looking disapproving, and Laura sat down again. “Won’t you sit down?”

He smiled nervously. “Not just at first, I think. You must find it rather odd that I introduced myself to your sister as
Mr.
Redmon. You know who I am, it appears?”

Laura nodded.

“Yes. Well it is a bit difficult to explain, but I would like to ask that you do not tell Miss Lindley. It seems that she is unaware of my family connections, and I would very much like to become better acquainted with her before she knows.”

Laura looked perplexed. “Why?”

The marquess’ ruddy face creased with the effort of explanation. “You see, I don’t care much for society. I prefer the country and my land to dancing and that sort of nonsense.” He smiled rather sheepishly. “I am my mother’s despair. And the thing I dislike most is the society ladies. I can’t think what to say to them half the time, and they seem silly and artificial to me. But the thing is, they always pretend that I’m a devil of a fellow.” He flushed. “I beg your pardon… I mean, they always act as if I were deucedly witty and clever and, and quite the most amusing chap they have ever come across.” The corners of his lips turned down. “It is all because of my position, you see. Most of them wouldn’t care if I was a hunchback or an idiot. It makes me so angry, sometimes I want to hit them.” He struck his open hand with a doubled fist. “Can you understand what I mean, Mrs. Crenshaw?”

Laura looked at him. “I believe I can.”

He smiled gratefully. “And then I met your sister, ma’am. She did not know me, being new in town. I don’t go about much, you see, only when I’m forced.”

“Yes, I noticed you did not stay at the Rundgates’ ball after the first set,” said Laura teasing him a little.

He looked down. “No, I slipped out. Rude of me, I suppose, but I only went because my mother promised Mrs. Rundgate.” He met Laura’s eyes squarely. “At any rate I liked your sister when we met; and just once I should like to get to know a girl without trading on my title. That is why I did not tell her, and that is why I ask you not to do so. It is up to you, of course.”

Laura surveyed him. His face showed only honest anxiety that she agree and a sort of tired hope that she found extremely touching. “All right,” she said. “I shall not tell her. But I can hardly see how you will conceal your identity. Someone is bound to mention it.”

“I suppose so. But I shall try to avoid those who know me when Miss Lindley is present. I believe I may have given her the impression that I am a little behind with the world just now and of an unknown country family.” He watched anxiously for Laura’s reaction to this.

She could not resist teasing him a bit more. “You have lied to my sister?” she asked sternly, raising her eyebrows.

“No, no. I never would. But I, well I did not tell her all the truth.” He looked so guilty that Laura could not help but laugh.

“Well the truth will come out soon enough, I daresay. But you may count on me. It is ironic. Clarissa always…” She stopped abruptly; she had nearly told him that her sister had always sworn to marry a duke.

“What?”

“Nothing. Shall I tell Clarissa you are here now?”

“Yes, thank you,” he faltered, his expression eager.

Laughing again, Laura went up to fetch her sister. She found Clarissa sitting by her bedroom window, and when she told her that Mr. Redmon had arrived, the younger girl sprang up immediately. “Is he here? I was watching, but I did not see him come.” Her voice was full of ingenuous happiness.

The two sisters returned to the drawing room together. The look Laura saw the two young people exchange as she and her sister entered said a great deal. They are in a fair way to being in love, she thought, and she felt a pang of joy and sadness mixed.

As they talked, it soon appeared that Clarissa and her admirer had many tastes in common. The sisters asked Mr. Redmon about his home, and he obligingly described the countryside and his horses, making it obvious that these were among his dearest concerns.

“Where do you hunt?” asked Clarissa. “That is something I would like to try.”

“You do not hunt?” replied Mr. Redmon eagerly. “I have a young filly nearly grown that should suit you down to the ground, Miss Lindley. How I wish you could try her.”

“Yes,” agreed Clarissa, “I should like it above all things. Perhaps I can see her sometime. In what county is your home?”

Mr. Redmon looked down. “Millshire,” he said, dampening. “Do you ride in town?”

Diverted, the girl shook her head. “At least I have not as yet. But I am getting a mount.” She winked at her sister.

Laura smiled. “You may find trotting in the park very slow.”

Clarissa nodded.

“Especially after Bartholomew Fair,” put in the gentleman mischievously.

Clarissa dimpled and wrinkled her nose at him. “Especially,” she agreed. “Did you see…” And they were off on a rousing discussion of the various attractions of this admirable pleasure ground. Laura was highly amused at their descriptions.

“You almost make me wish to visit,” she said after they had painted the “nature’s marvels” booth in particularly vivid colors. “It sounds quite fabulous.”

“What is that, my dear?” said a cool emotionless voice from the doorway. And Eliot strolled languidly into the room.

Laura’s heart began to pound. It was the first time she had seen her husband since their quarrel. And now she had revealed Clarissa’s scrape to him, and in so doing exposing them all to his displeasure. She clenched a fist in annoyance.

But Mr. Redmon came to her rescue. “I was attempting to amuse the ladies with a description of Bartholomew Fair, sir.”