Jane Ashford (9 page)

“Ah. So that is where you spend your time, Redmon. You prefer it to the clubs, do you?”

The younger man flushed a little at this thrust, and Laura cringed at her husband’s tone. It was the same he had used with her yesterday. But Mr. Redmon was not so easily daunted. “Not at all,” he replied. “But I took a fancy to visit the other day. It is an amazing place.”

Eliot nodded uninterestedly, and the subject was dropped. The conversation became stilted and difficult. Clarissa seemed embarrassed and awkward, and Mr. Redmon had little to say under the eye of the older man. Laura, the memory of their disagreement uppermost in her mind, was nearly silent. Only Eliot seemed unaffected. He chatted for a time, then rose again. “I must be off. I came in chiefly to inform you, Laura, that I shall be going out of town for a few days, perhaps a week. Elsmere has invited a group up to his hunting box for some runs.”

“Very well,” answered Laura. She was angry with him for telling her this so carelessly. He showed no feeling at all, and it must look odd to a stranger that he would speak so.

“I shall see you next week then,” he finished, and he left the room.

The mood having been broken, Mr. Redmon took his leave soon after. The dinner invitation was duly delivered and accepted, and he left with the promise to call again soon. When he was gone, Clarissa went into raptures once more. She was far too occupied with her own feelings to notice Laura’s preoccupation. Her paean was interrupted only by the necessity of going upstairs to change for dinner, and it continued throughout the meal in one form or another.

Laura listened with half an ear while she thought about her own situation. Eliot was quite clearly reprimanding her by going off in this way. She set her jaw. They would see whether he could cow her. Her expression was so defiant that Clarissa noticed and asked if there was anything the matter. Laura shook her head. “Nothing at all, my dear,” she said. “Quite the contrary.”

The next morning Laura suggested to her sister that they take a walk in the park, and, Clarissa being agreeable, they set out about eleven. Laura’s anger had cooled only a little and she half hoped they would encounter Mr. Allenby, or even his wife, giving her the opportunity to speak to them and flout her husband’s commands. She wished to make Eliot regret that he had spoken so harshly to her, and perhaps to make him apologize. She found, as she considered the matter, that it was somehow very important that he do so and that they settle their quarrel soon.

Thus, as the two sisters strolled about the paths in the park, where the first crocuses and daffodils were just beginning to bloom, both kept a sharp eye on the other morning walkers, Clarissa hoping to see Mr. Redmon. But both were to be disappointed. They saw neither Clarissa’s new friend nor the Allenbys, and Laura had just suggested that they turn toward home when they were hailed from behind and discovered Lord Timothy Farnsworth and Sir Robert coming up with them. Laura groaned softly, making her sister giggle.

“Hello,” cried Lord Farnsworth cheerfully. “Fancy coming upon you like this. Quite a stroke of luck. Meant to call today, you know.”

“No, did you?” replied Clarissa.

“Yes, indeed. Lovely day, what? Sun, air, flowers.” He gestured vaguely toward the side of the path.

The two gentlemen were very splendid this morning. The bright colors of their waistcoats and the glitter of the rings and fobs with which they had bedecked themselves were almost too much in the clear sunshine. Sir Robert had daringly replaced his neckcloth with a spotted kerchief knotted carelessly around his throat. He affected a marvelous nonchalance about this innovation, but an uneasy look in his eyes suggested that he was not entirely satisfied with the effect.

In fact one odiously high-nosed old gentleman had already put him quite out of countenance by raising his quizzing glass and saying quite audibly to his companion, “Whatever are the young men coming to these days, March? That fellow is wearing a neckerchief precisely like my groom’s.”

Thus Sir Robert was not quite himself just now, and after muttering a brief greeting to the ladies, he resumed his jealous scanning of the other strollers for signs that they were critical of his attire.

“We were just about to turn back,” said Laura, in hopes of evading the two dandies.

“Famous,” replied Lord Farnsworth. “We’ll escort you home.”

Chagrined, Laura exclaimed, “There is not the least need for that. We do not wish to trouble you.”

But they would not allow that it was any trouble, and the group turned onto the path leading toward the gate and Laura’s house. Lord Farnsworth kept up a flow of commonplaces, Clarissa occasionally supporting him, and they reached Regent Street soon after.

The gentlemen came in with them despite the hints Laura threw out, Lord Farnsworth continuing a very boring story about the rout he had attended the previous evening, then moving on to the ball they had all danced at not long since. As he said this, he cast a languishing glance at Clarissa, attempting, Laura supposed, to further the absurd fiction that he was smitten with her.

Just then Mr. Dunham entered to announce another caller, and Laura rose with some surprise to greet Mr. Allenby. Somehow she had not imagined that he would call on her so openly.

“Good morning,” said Mr. Allenby, taking her hand with a winning smile. “I was passing on my way to the club, and I thought I would just look in to tell you how much I enjoyed our little chat the other night. How are you?”

“Very well, thank you. Please come and sit down.”

He looked around the room, his hazel eyes twinkling irresistibly. “Well I don’t know that I will, actually, now that I see who is with you. I’m not certain I can stand up under both Lord Farnsworth and Sir Robert so early in the day. Would you think me abominably hen-hearted if I turn tail?”

“I would indeed,” replied Laura, laughing, “and odiously unfeeling as well. I have been talking with them for nearly half an hour.”

“You are a woman of fortitude. Allow me to compliment you. I perceive there are subtle depths to your character.”

Laura shook her head. “How ridiculous you are. Do come in for a moment.” They moved across to the sofa and sat down. The three gentlemen greeted one another stiffly. Lord Farnsworth and Sir Robert had gone a trifle glassy-eyed when Mr. Allenby appeared in the doorway. Putting up her chin, Laura ignored the speaking looks they directed at her and turned to talk to her new guest.

This gentleman was smiling at her. “You look the picture of haughtiness,” he said. “What has put your back up? I hope it was not I?”

She smiled and shook her head.

“Thank God for that. I should not like to be the target of that look, I tell you frankly.”

“Then you must mind your manners, Mr. Allenby,” responded Laura teasingly.

“I shall,” he promised.

“It was kind of you to call today. Our conversation was cut short at the ball.”

“It was indeed. In fact I only dared come here because someone happened to mention that Eliot has gone out of town. I got the oddest notion that he does not wish us to become better acquainted.”

Laura drew back slightly. “Very odd,” she agreed faintly.

He watched her face. “Isn’t it? He is becoming a positive dog in the manger. I hardly know him these days.” Still surveying her, he changed the subject abruptly. “And so you are enjoying London?”

Laura looked up. “Everyone asks that. I am, very much.”

“Alas, I have been guilty of a cliché. I shall never forgive myself.”

She dimpled again. “One must sometimes resort to commonplaces, I suppose, else there would be no conversation.”

But he shook his head. “I pride myself upon never doing so. It is my sole distinction, lacking as I do title, fortune, or godlike handsomeness. I have set up as a wit, but already you have punctured my pretensions. You are a dangerous woman, Mrs. Crenshaw.”

Laura made a deprecating gesture and was about to reply in kind when Sir Robert broke into their conversation. “Handsome boots, Allenby,” he said. “Hoby make them for you?” He was clearly determined to break up the tête-à-tête.

Casting a laughing glance at Laura, Mr. Allenby said, “Yes.”

Sir Robert nodded. “Very handsome.”

“That is quite a compliment, coming from you,” answered the other man. “What do you think of the coat? I had Scott make it up for me with these brass buttons.” The quizzing look he flung at her almost made Laura laugh outright.

Sir Robert was torn. He did not care for Mr. Allenby’s coat at all; in fact it quite revolted his delicate sensibilities, but he could not say so. He had set himself to protect Laura from the attentions of a man whom she could not recognize, as did he, as a libertine of the worst stripe, and thus he must be conciliating. “Very… ah, very modish,” he choked out, “something unusual about it, distinctive.” Unable to restrain himself, he added, “But you know, old man, you might try mother-of-pearl. All the crack these days.”

“Is it?” inquired Mr. Allenby innocently. “Well perhaps I shall. But I am extremely fond of brass buttons.” He examined one of them. “In fact I was thinking just yesterday that I should have a fob made to match.”

Sir Robert goggled, sputtered, and finally tottered away, defeated. He could not in conscience continue to talk with a man who would wear a brass fob.

When Sir Robert had returned to his seat beside Clarissa, Laura laughed delightedly. “What a complete hand you are,” she told Mr. Allenby.

“Ah. You could do the same. Tell him that you have vowed to wear nothing but brown gloves, or that you prefer tucks to ruffles. The poor fellow cannot endure such brutalities.”

Laura laughed again. “I couldn’t.”

A smile lit Mr. Allenby’s eyes, and he rose. “I must go. My victory has exhausted me, and besides, I have a luncheon engagement.”

Laura also stood, holding out her hand. “I am sorry.”

He bowed over it. “Could I but believe you. Please say everything that is proper to your sister. I have been abominably rude not to talk to her, but tell her I refused to brave her companions. We will not let her know that I infinitely prefer conversing with you.”

A little color sprang into Laura’s cheeks, and she looked down.

Mr. Allenby watched her. “Tell me,” he added as they walked toward the door of the drawing room, “are you so sorry to see me go that you will agree to come driving with me some day soon?” As she hesitated, he added, “Or have the gossips given you such a fear of me that it is impossible? I will not press you, never fear.”

Laura raised her eyes; his hazel ones quizzed her. “Of course not,” she replied quickly. “I should be delighted to go.”

He bowed. “Splendid. Perhaps Tuesday next?”

Laura nodded, and he smiled at her again before leaving the room.

The other gentlemen left soon after, clearly uncomfortable. Then Mr. Dunham came in to announce luncheon. When they had finished, Laura suggested that they write to their aunts, but Clarissa was restless. “I believe I will go out again, to the library,” she replied. “I want to exchange my novel. I finished it last night. You needn’t come if you’re tired. Nancy can accompany me.”

Memories of the last time Nancy went out with Clarissa led Laura to say that she would certainly come, and they summoned the barouche to take them to Hookham’s.

As they drove, Clarissa scanned the pavements and paid little attention to her sister’s remarks. They reached the library and exchanged Clarissa’s book without seeing anyone they knew. Clarissa looked disappointed as they prepared to step into the carriage once more.

“Shall we do some shopping as long as we are here?” asked Laura sympathetically.

But Clarissa shook her head. “No. I do not feel like shopping. We may as well go home again.”

They were driving along a busy thoroughfare when Clarissa suddenly cried, “Stop,” and the coachman pulled up abruptly. The tilbury behind them only just managed to avoid hitting their barouche, and the driver took instant exception to their abrupt move. Another behind him began to shout, and several pedestrians drifted nearer to see what the commotion was about. Laura put a hand to her forehead.

“Oh dear,” said Clarissa, but she did not sound particularly sorry. She was waving to a gentleman on the other side of the street.

Laura recognized Mr. Redmon even as she said, “Clarissa, do stop. You are acting like a hoyden.”

Eventually their coachman got the barouche pulled over to the side of the street, and the tilbury and hackney passed by, their drivers staring disgustedly at the trio now occupying the carriage. Laura was abashed, but Clarissa did not seem to notice. Mr. Redmon had been uneasy since he first caught sight of them, and now that he had climbed into their coach, he looked even more tense. Laura correctly assumed that fear of recognition occupied him more than embarrassment at having been hailed so abruptly. In this part of town, he might at any moment be greeted as “my lord.”

“How funny that we should see you,” Clarissa was saying lightly. “Quite a lucky coincidence.” Laura smiled, for hadn’t they been searching for Mr. Redmon practically the whole day?

“Very,” replied the young man, glancing sidewise at the shops nearby. “I hope you will allow me to accompany you home?”

Clarissa agreed happily, and Laura continued to smile as she watched Mr. Redmon slouch down as far as possible in his seat and pull his curly brimmed beaver down over his eyes a bit more.

“Were you shopping?” asked Clarissa. “We have just come from Hookham’s. I am often there nowadays. We had no library in the neighborhood at Eversly, you see, so I am making up for lost time.”

“Ah,” replied the marquess, his eyes still on the street.

Clarissa began to look puzzled and a bit hurt. “I have become addicted to novels,” she added. “I had read none until we came to town.”

Mr. Redmon nodded.

Laura intervened. “That is one of the most pleasant advantages of town life,” she put in, “the great diversity of entertainments. Having a circulating library nearby seems a luxury to us, but it is the merest commonplace to Londoners.”

Neither of the others seemed disposed to reply to this trite statement; in fact they were both silent and uneasy now. So Laura continued, “After a while one begins to wonder how one ever got on without these diversions. It is a lowering reflection. Do you think we shall become utterly dependent on town gaieties?” She looked at her companions. Clarissa said nothing; she was frowning at Mr. Redmon.

The young man started. He had turned quickly to avoid the glance of a man he thought he knew, but as he looked back, he saw that it was someone else entirely. “What?” he said. “Oh yes, just so.”

“You do think so?” Laura could not resist teasing him. His furtive demeanor and hunted looks were so ridiculous.

He stared at her. “I… that is, I’m not certain… I fear I did not catch what you said.” A disarming smile softened this admission.

“I merely wondered whether the dissipations of town life will spoil us for the country,” said Laura.

Mr. Redmon looked surprised, then shook his head decisively. “Couldn’t,” he said. “Why the country is much more amusing. You can’t compare the two.” He was relaxing more as they turned from the busy commercial streets onto quieter avenues.

“Well I am not so sure,” answered Laura. “I cannot yet decide.” They pulled up before her house, and Mr. Redmon jumped out to help the ladies down. Just as Laura was about to invite him in, a voice from the other side of the street interrupted.

“Redmon,” cried the man just coming out of a house there, “just the man I want. I haven’t seen you this age.”

The marquess started and turned quickly. “Hello,” he responded. He turned back to the sisters. “Sorry,” he gulped, “must go. Very pleasant drive; nice to have seen you. I shall call again soon.” And with these hasty words, he practically ran across the street and took the man’s arm to guide him away.

“Say, aren’t you going to present me?” the man protested, but Mr. Redmon pulled him away, and in a moment they disappeared around the corner of the street.

“Well,” said Clarissa. She turned toward the door that Mr. Dunham was holding open. Her expression was compounded of chagrin, puzzlement, and hurt in about equal parts.