Lady Elinor's Wicked Adventures (27 page)

“Surely she isn't hosting a party?”

“Only a party of one. A gentleman at my club wanted to be sure I knew, since I had been out of the country so long. She is accompanied, as I am told she often is of late, by Lord Percival Winters.”

Norrie stared at him for a moment, and then sat down abruptly. “I am not certain I understand what you are saying.”

He raised his brows but said nothing.

“All right, I am not certain I
want
to understand what you are saying.” She shook her head as if to clear it. “It is barely two months since her husband died, and she is—at least ostensibly—in deepest mourning, accompanied by her lover? Is that what you are telling me?” He nodded. “Thank heaven your sisters were deposited with Aunt Georgina, at least.” He shrugged, and she relapsed into silence.

She was shocked. Wonderful. He—and his family—had managed to shock her. Never before had he seen her shocked. Angry, yes, and even frightened. She had been angry with Landi, with Girard, even angry at the way his sisters had been treated, but never shocked. This was what he had succeeded in doing for her. Instead of protecting her, he had exposed for her the vileness that was his mother.

He cleared his throat. “So you see, there is no need for you to come with me. I can see to it that she never crosses your path.”

She looked up, startled. “No need? Of course there is a need for me to come with you. To be honest, I am looking forward to seeing you throw Lord Winters out of your house. I know his wife, you see. After that, I am sure I can help you convince your mother that she will be happier if she departs immediately for whatever residence she chooses.”

It was Harry's turn to sit down abruptly. “You're serious.” Her shock had apparently been replaced by anger.

“Of course. We are married, aren't we? That means that we face things together. If you confront her alone, you may be held back by some nonsensical notions of the duty owed to a mother. I will have no such qualms.” She began to pace back and forth, tapping a finger on her cheek. “The only question is whether your sisters should come with us.”

“My sisters!” Now she had shocked him. “They're children.”

“Yes, they really shouldn't witness this, though they would probably enjoy seeing you toss Lord Winters out on his ear. However, there could be an ugly scene, and we do not want them to witness that.” She frowned. “The problem is that they really shouldn't be left alone.”

“They'll be safe enough here, surely, with a house full of servants.”

“It's not their safety that worries me. They still half expect us to go off and leave them.”

“They can't seriously think…” He heaved a sigh. “Of course they can. A week isn't enough to overturn a lifetime of experience. You'd best stay here with them. I can come and get you all when it's safe.”

She shook her head dismissively. “Absolutely not. I know you want to protect them, but they also need to know that we are all part of a family, that they belong with us. No, I think what we will do is go down in two carriages. You and I can set out early in the morning and be there shortly after noon. The girls can set out later with Martha so that they arrive in the early evening. That should give you enough time to send Lord Winters on his way, and any eruptions from your mother should have subsided by then.” She looked up at him with a smile. “It was clever of you to have your estate so close to London. It makes it so much easier to get away for a while whenever we choose.”

Suddenly Harry was feeling cheerful again. “We have some other places farther afield,” he said. “Even one in Wales if we ever want to get away from everything.”

* * *

Despite the gloom of the day, chilly and damp even for England in June, Harry had been looking at the countryside with considerable interest earlier in the trip. The world looked rather different when one owned a large chunk of it and was responsible for those who lived on it. Buckinghamshire was pleasant to look at, with gently rolling hills covered with what appeared to be fertile fields. Norrie shared his interest, and they wondered whether those fields were really sufficient to support the prosperous towns they passed through.

As they neared Bradenham Abbey, the landscape continued to be attractive, but Harry's spirits fell. “We must be getting close. I recognize the names of some of the places we've passed. But I don't recognize the places themselves.” He shook his head. “All my life, this has been my home, at least nominally, and so little of it is familiar.”

Norrie, who had been holding his hand, gave it a sharp shake. “Well, it soon will be familiar, so stop feeling sorry for yourself. Just think of all the fun we will have exploring and discovering.”

He grinned. She never let him feel sorry for himself. Or rather, she always showed him that there was no reason to feel sorry for himself. “What, no words of sympathy, no pity for my benighted childhood?”

“Nary a one. Look! Is that it?”

They had just crested a hill and could see in the distance an enormous rambling building of gray stone. Actually, it looked more like a series of connected buildings, none of them very high, wandering across a valley.

“Yes, my dear. That is your new home. Bradenham Abbey.”

She seemed to be looking at it with delighted surprise. “It really is an abbey? I mean, most of the time when things get called an abbey, it only means that there once was an abbey, and they used the stones to build a new house.”

Harry smiled and realized that he was looking at it with a certain fondness. “It really is an abbey. After the monks were kicked out, the new owner was a frugal sort who just knocked down the church and adapted the rest. It's been adapted a bit more since then, and it's really quite comfortable inside as I recall.”

“Oh, Harry, I can't wait to see it.” She was practically jumping up and down on the seat.

“Just remember what—or who—is waiting for us there.”

She lifted her chin. “Nothing and no one we can't handle.”

* * *

The coach pulled up at the entrance to the Abbey, where a roofed staircase was guarded by Gothic arches. There was a pause before the door opened and a footman hurried down to help them. A second and a third followed to carry their luggage, and by the time Harry and Elinor had reached the door, an august personage was standing there to greet them.

“My lord, I must apologize for the inadequacy of your welcome. We had not expected you.”

“It was a sudden decision.” Harry, with Elinor on his arm, walked into the entrance hall, a rather gloomy, square room with doors leading in all directions. “My dear, may I present Bidewell, our butler.” While Elinor smiled a greeting, Harry continued, “Have my wife's things and mine taken up to our rooms. I trust they are ready for us.”

“The earl's room has been kept in readiness for you, of course, but…” Bidewell did not seem to know how to continue.

“But you did not know I had married.” Harry smiled. “Never mind. Just put Lady Doncaster's things in there with mine. And my sisters will be arriving later today. Have their rooms ready too.”

Bidewell blinked.

Harry sighed. “My sisters do have rooms, do they not?”

“The nursery has always provided them with a certain degree of privacy, my lord.” The butler seemed to be choosing his words with care.

“Privacy. Good God.” Harry closed his eyes. “Prepare two of the guest rooms for them. We won't be having any guests for a while, and they can choose different ones tomorrow if they like.”

By this time Elinor had passed her bonnet, gloves, and mantelet to a waiting footman, and Harry had also been divested of hat and gloves. “Is my mother about?” he asked casually.

“I believe she is in the blue drawing room.” Bidewell hesitated, as if about to say more, but closed his mouth and stepped back.

“We will join her,” Harry said. “Have some tea brought to us there.”

* * *

A footman flung the door open and they entered the blue drawing room together. Elinor had her hand on his arm and his hand was protectively over hers. The couple on the settee sat up abruptly, the woman turning angrily to face the intruders. The man beside her jumped to his feet. Elinor felt a momentary confusion. She had expected to be encountering Harry's mother, but this woman, although of a suitable age, was dressed in a gown of orange and red plaid.

“Hello, Mother,” said Harry.

Oh goodness, thought Elinor. This is his mother. She felt glad that she was wearing one of Mr. Worth's creations, a fine black wool trimmed with black velvet at the bodice and on the bell sleeves. She had chosen it because it would not get too wrinkled on the journey, and it gave her spirits a boost to know that she was now the one dressed properly.

“Harry. What are you doing here?”

As a welcome to a son not seen for years, it sounded inadequate to Elinor. She tightened her hand on Harry's arm.

“This is my house, if you recall,” he said.

She made a dismissive noise and looked at Elinor. “And this is…?”

“Allow me to present my wife.” Harry's smile barely touched his mouth and reached no higher.

“Your wife? Since when have you been married?”

Elinor was rather pleased to see that Lady Doncaster looked annoyed. She bowed her head slightly to her mother-in-law to acknowledge the introduction, and said, “Please allow me to offer my condolences on the death of your husband. I understand it was quite sudden and unexpected.” Her eyes swept down over Lady Doncaster's dress and back to her face. The annoyance changed to a flush of anger.

“We were married in Rome,” said Harry calmly. “I regret we were unable to inform you, but when the news of my father's death reached us, we decided to simply hurry home.”

That did not appear to placate his mother, who turned on him with an angry frown. “I had plans…”

A loud harrumph from her companion interrupted her. He looked uncomfortable, and that discomfort increased when Harry turned to him.

“Ah, yes.” Harry smiled coldly. “My dear, may I present Lord Percival Winters?”

“Oh, I know Lord Winters,” Elinor said with a polite social smile. “We have met at my parents' home.”

“Indeed, indeed, I have known Lady Elinor since she was a little girl. How are you, my dear?”

“Actually, it's Lady Doncaster now,” Elinor said.

“Of course, of course.” He made a choking noise before he turned to Lady Doncaster with a warning look. “Penworth's daughter, you know.”

Elinor could almost see the wheels turning in Lady Doncaster's head as she assimilated this information and tried to decide how to use it. Just then Bidewell appeared with the tea tray. He stood there uncertainly until Elinor waved him to the tea table and seated herself behind it. “How do you take your tea, Lady Doncaster?”

Such an ordinary question with which to announce who was now the lady of the house. Such a bloodless coup d'état.

The older Lady Doncaster recognized precisely what had happened and looked for a moment like a fox at bay. She managed to recover enough to say, “Just a drop of milk, if you please.”

Harry stood beside Elinor, leaning with studied casualness on the mantelpiece. “What brings you here today, Winters?”

Winters darted an uncomfortable glance at Lady Doncaster, who said smoothly, “Winters is an old friend of the family. He came to commiserate with me on the loss of my husband.”

“Dear me,” said Elinor. “There seem to be no more cups. Does Lady Winters not take tea?”

There was an uncomfortable silence. Lord Winters finally harrumphed and said, “My wife was unable to accompany me.”

“You must miss her dreadfully,” Harry said. “Do not let us impose on you any longer. Feel free to leave at once. We will have your things sent on after you.”

Lord Winters put down his teacup and got to his feet with a quick, nervous smile. “Excellent idea.”

“Don't be absurd, Winters,” said Lady Doncaster, reaching out to grab his sleeve.

Winters shook his head and pulled away. “Much the best thing, don't you know. After all, you have your family with you now.” He hurried from the room.

Lady Doncaster turned on her son. “How dare you march into my house and interfere in my life this way?”

“Actually, it is
my
house,” he said mildly.

“And you haven't set foot in it in years. I will not allow you to meddle in my affairs. If you propose to stay here, I will go to London.”

He shrugged. “Do not let me hinder you. But don't plan on going to Doncaster House. That also is now mine.”

She stared at him openmouthed. “Do I understand you correctly? You are throwing me out of my own home?”

“As I said before, it is now my house, not yours. Did Dalrymple not explain the situation to you? He assured me that he had. You have your income, a quite generous one, and either a house in London or an estate in Wiltshire. Have you decided which you will choose?”

“Although there is more entertainment to be found in London, there is, perhaps, more privacy in the country,” Elinor put in. “Fewer people to be shocked if you choose to put off your blacks.”

Lady Doncaster gave the younger woman a look of loathing. “Do not be an insipid fool.”

Harry choked down a laugh.

She turned to her son. “And your father would never have expected me to pretend grief at his death, any more than he would have mourned me. Don't try to claim that you ever thought us a loving couple.”

Elinor looked to see if there was enough tea in the pot for another cup. Regrettably, she decided, there was not. “It is not the dead who care whether we wear mourning or not. It is the people who make up society. And they seem to care a great deal.”

“Will you be quiet!” Lady Doncaster glared at Elinor before returning to her son. “You know I could never live permanently in the country, and you cannot expect me to live in that pokey little London house. It's practically in Pimlico.”