Lord Satan (22 page)

“Mantrap!” Alonso cried. Libbetty leaped down to help
George. A cacophony of baying broke out from the farmhouse.

Fearful of more traps, Libbetty reached George. He already
strained to free himself. Freddy and Alonso worked with him. The baying came
closer, augmented by a shout from Farmer Beddoes, “All right, you sneaking
thieves, I’ll catch you this time!”

The hound had almost reached them when Libbetty heard the
click of the trap’s jaws opening. “Can you move?” Alonso asked.

“I’ll move,” vowed George. Cat joined them, having jumped
from her tree on her own. They all took off running.

“Scatter!” Alonso called. He grasped Cat’s hand to help
her. Libbetty lent her support to George, who limped badly.

“I’ll draw the hound after me,” Freddy said. He waited,
then ran as the dog closed in, calling, “Here, doggie.”

For some reason, the hound chose to follow him, baying
menacingly, giving the others more time to get away.

George leaned on Libbetty as she pumped her legs
frantically. Her heart pounded and her breathing rasped in her ears, along
with George’s gasps. A gun fired behind her. She couldn’t tell at whom it had
been aimed but did not hear any outcries. Hoping the shot had missed, she ran
on, towing George. After an eternity, she lost the sounds of the others’
flight and the pursuers.

She paused to catch her breath, holding her side against a
sharp pain. George collapsed onto the ground. “How bad is it?”

“Don’t know. Hurts like the devil.” His voice was raw.

“What a despicable thing to do.”

“Should have listened to you. Never knew you were a
Cassandra.”

“I’m not. I swear I didn’t know anything would go wrong.”

After a while, she asked, “Can you walk now?” and upon his
assent, helped him to his feet. They walked the best pace he could to Alonso’s
house. Libbetty did not know if the others would gather there, but they would
have to ask Dr. Hayes’ to treat George’s leg.

Alonso and Catherine waited for them at the back of the
house. Freddy had not come, and Libbetty feared he had been caught. Alonso
said, “You girls go on. I’ll take George to my father. If Freddy has got
home, have him come here.”

Libbetty nodded, anxious to see Catherine home safely.

Freddy had not arrived. The girls undressed and climbed
into bed, careful not to awaken Isobel. Libbetty lay awake, aware of Cat, also
awake, beside her. She did not hear their brothers return, and at length
Catherine’s deepened breathing indicated she had fallen asleep. Libbetty
watched the dawn arrive, and finally achieved a fitful doze.

When she awoke later in the morning, the boys were home.
Freddy said, “I finally escaped that Hound of Hell by running in the stream and
climbing directly from the water into the branches of our willow. I didn’t
dare climb out until I was sure the hound had given up. It took hours.” A
sneeze punctuated this.

George reported his leg was not broken, merely macerated and
bruised. He found it painful to walk but concealed the fact from his parents.
He spent a few days indoors, pretending he had come down with Freddy’s cold to
give him an excuse.

With the twins curtailed, Libbetty passed time with Alonso
and Catherine. Without Freddy and George, they were quieter, often walking to
their brook, Alonso bringing a book, which he read out loud to the sisters
after they reached their objective.

The time they shared had a curious peace to it that was balm
to Libbetty’s clouded spirit. The friendship growing between Alonso and
Catherine sometimes shut Libbetty out. She made no effort to breach the gap,
gripped by an unusual lassitude.

Alonso expressed his admiration for Catherine’s bravery
during the raid, although she’d confided to Libbetty that she did not ever want
to feel that scared again.

“Nor do I,” seconded Libbetty.

*

A few days later, Sybille and Irene Bassett called at the
vicarage. Miss Bassett’s eyes sparkled, and Irene’s complexion flushed with
excitement. “Guess what?” the younger woman said, scarcely waiting until she
and her sister were seated in the drawing room. “Sybille’th getting married!”

“Hush, Irene. I told you to let me tell the news,” said
Sybille, and Irene clapped her hand over her mouth, giggling. Despite her
words, Sybille’s wide smile showed she wasn’t really annoyed at Irene. She
wore a deep red Spencer over a dotted white gown, which was outmatched by her
glowing complexion.

Libbetty still stood by the pianoforte which she had been
idly playing at the Bassett sisters’ arrival. A vast emptiness gaped inside
her at the news. She tried to school her face not to reveal her alarm.
Please, not Lord Neil. He would surely marry some day, but not this soon,
before she had overcome her feelings for him, and not Sybille.

“What good news.” Mrs. Bishop looked up from stitching
narrow lace onto a baby frock. “Tell us, who is the lucky man?”

“It’s Mr. Colton, Lord Cauldreigh’s cousin.”

Libbetty drew a breath and sat back on the piano stool, her
legs shaking under her.

“We are both going to live at his house,” broke in Irene.
“It’s a big place, but not as big as a castle. Not quite as big as Bassett
House, either. But it’s big enough for me to live with them.”

“Yes, Jonathan has kindly offered to have Irene live with
us—after we return from our honeymoon. The wedding will take place this
winter at Sandstone Hall in Dorset. Papa will travel there soon with Jonathan
to consult on refurbishing his home.

“Irene and I will go to London to stay with Mrs. Colton.
Jonathan’s mother has been so gracious. She has offered to help me choose my
trousseau. We have so much to do before we leave, but I knew I must call on
you and tell you our good news.

“Papa is closing up Bassett House for now. e plans to
return here later, and we will visit him from time to time. We will see each
other in the future, I am sure.”

During their brief visit, Sybille and Irene scarcely gave
Mrs. Bishop and Libbetty an opportunity to speak. Then they left in a flurry
of farewells and good wishes from the Bishop ladies.

Mrs. Bishop looked shrewdly at Libbetty. “Well, I must say,
that was a surprise.”

Libbetty studied the keys before her, afraid her mother saw
more than she wished to reveal. “I am surprised also. I have seen Miss
Bassett in Mr. Colton’s company several times lately, but I did not attach any
importance to it. I understand Mr. Colton’s fortunes are in disarray, and Mr.
Bassett has a fortune to settle on his daughters. Miss Bassett wished to marry
well, and though Mr. Colton has no title, he is grandson to a marquess. It
seems they have both found what they wished for.”

Carefully, she picked out a tune, her fingers light and
dexterous as a merry air formed beneath them. She should not feel so happy,
she thought. The fact that Sybille had not enticed Lord Neil into her trap did
not make him hers. Still, her heart lifted from the weight it had carried for
a long time.

*

The next day, Freddy and George, nearly recovered from their
misadventure with Farmer Beddoes, announced their intention of taking a long
hike across country before returning to school. Privately to Libbetty, Freddy
explained their purpose of strengthening George’s injured leg.

Libbetty and Catherine were helping their mother make her
pear preserve when Mrs. Berkfield announced Lord Cauldreigh’s call.

“Show him to the drawing room, Mrs. Berkfield. We shall
join him there immediately.” Mrs. Bishop took off her apron and tidied her
hair.

Libbetty wished she could hide. Why hadn’t her brothers
taken her with them? “You greet him, Mama. I will watch the pears so they
don’t burn.”

“Indeed you will not. Mrs. Berkfield will see to the pear
preserve. We do not deny callers at the vicarage, Elizabeth. It is our duty.
We never know when they may be in need. Catherine, you may help Mrs.
Berkfield. You are still too young to receive callers.”

Tom already lounged in the drawing room. The marquess stood
when the ladies entered, and Tom belatedly remembered his manners, also.

“Mrs. Bishop, Miss Bishop, how good it is to see you. It
has been some time since I have called upon you, and I must apologize for my
dereliction. No doubt you have heard our news.”

“About the betrothal of Miss Bassett and Mr. Colton? Yes,
Miss Bassett called upon us yesterday to inform us of it.” Mrs. Bishop sat in
her favorite chair. “Please sit, Lord Cauldreigh.”

“I shall not stay but a minute. I’ve come to deliver
invitations for a ball to celebrate the betrothal. It is short notice as the
couple will leave for London quite soon.”

“Splendid,” said Tom, his face aglow with pleasure.

A cold chill swept through Libbetty. Hearing her voice as
though from far away, she said, “Oh, no, I could not go.”

Instantly she became aware of the shocked expressions of the
others, and at the same time realized the effect of her own overhasty words.
Attending the ball was perhaps her last chance to see Lord Neil. Tears pooling
in her eyes, she dashed from the room, hearing Tom exclaim, “What the devil is
wrong with her?”

A short while later, her mother sought her out in her
bedchamber. “Do you wish to tell me what is wrong?” she said, standing beside
the bed upon which Libbetty had thrown herself to indulge in a hearty bout of
crying.

“Mama, I cannot tell you,” Libbetty managed between sobs.

“You have not been offered some insult by someone at The
Castle, have you?” Libbetty heard the threatening note in her mother’s
voice—the tone of a mother ready to defend her child.

“No, Mama, it is the other way around. I insulted Lord
Neil, and I cannot face him.” A fresh burst of tears sprang up.

“How did this come about?” Mrs. Bishop leaned her belly
against the bed.

Libbetty could not share all the events that had led up to
the insult. This was becoming worse and worse. “I can’t exactly say, Mama.
He, well, sometimes he makes me uncomfortable, and then I blurt out words
without stopping to think.” She could feel the heat of her blush, but hoped
that her face was already so reddened from crying that her mother could not
detect it.

“I see.” Mrs. Bishop brushed a hand softly over Libbetty’s
head. “I hope you will learn to curb that impulsive streak, such as just now
when Lord Cauldreigh issued his invitation.”

“Yes, I hope so too. I really want to go to the ball, but
now I have ruined it by refusing.”

“Matters are not ruined. I assured Lord Cauldreigh that it
was merely a fit of vapors and that you would attend. You have the blue
sarcenet that you have not had occasion to wear.”

“Oh, Mama.” Libbetty leaped up and threw her arms around
her mother. “Do you suppose it will be all right to go?”

“I am certain that it will.” Her arms went around her
daughter, and Libbetty’s world tipped back into place.

*

Once again Neil stood in a reception line with his nephew
and his cousin. This time Sybille Bassett stood beside Jonathan Colton,
blushingly accepting the felicitations of the guests.

Anticipation thrummed icily in Neil’s veins despite all his
efforts to quash it. Trevor had assured him Elizabeth Bishop would attend the
ball.

He didn’t want to want her but didn’t know how to stop.

With the houseguests, save Jonathan, gone, the company was
thinner. To make a respectable turnout for a betrothal ball, they had cast
their nets wider, inviting others besides the local gentry. They included some
of the landowning farm families, such as Mr. and Mrs. Perkins, and merchants,
such as the Sidneys, who would not normally expect an invitation to Cauldreigh
Castle.

He greeted the guests to the ball abstractedly, all the
while picturing Elizabeth as he had last seen her. Her hair tumbling about her
shoulders, the jacket of her riding habit partly undone, giving him a
tantalizing glimpse of creamy flesh.

He had carefully unfocused his gaze as he refastened her
jacket. All the same, he had seen, could still see, the freckle on a curve of
her breast exposed to his view. The memory had come to call at inopportune
times in the past fortnight, causing an inconvenient reaction with each
visitation. He yearned to expose every inch of flesh on Elizabeth Bishop’s
body, and find all the freckles.

If only she were not who she was, the daughter of a vicar,
of good birth, virginal and untouchable. If she could have been of a lower
class, a widow, or even a wife, someone he could make love to just once, then
he could forget her. That last nearly made him laugh. No, once would not be
enough, a thousand times would not be enough.

He had waited until the advanced age of thirty-three to fall
in love, and then it was with a woman he could never have, could only ruin if
he even allowed his desire to show.

Then she appeared, speaking to Jonathan and Sybille,
offering her wishes for their happiness. In her gown of pale blue overlaid
with some kind of nearly transparent silvery material, the virginal vanquished
the temptress of his visions. Her hair, which outdoors in sunlight reflected
golden lights, looked nearly pink in the soft glow of candles—a soft, angelic
pink cloud.

The previous, disarrayed version appeared, superimposed on
the real one, and his body hardened in response to both Elizabeths. Ruthlessly
he stamped down the impulse to step out of the receiving line, take her in his
arms and kiss her breath away.

Her complexion, as she approached Neil, almost matched her
hair, and when she greeted him in a low voice, she did not fully meet his
glance. He smiled, knowing she shared the same memory—and perhaps the same
wish.

“I’m glad you could be here tonight,” he said, hearing the
echo of the words he had spoken at the first party the Coltons had hosted in
Peasebotham.