Love & Folly (19 page)

Emily shook her head. She had tried to explain about the duchess's legacy and what it might mean.
As she was not herself sure what it would mean, her explanations had necessarily been foggy. Clearly Matt
had not understood.

"We'll probably have to live in one of Richard's houses. Or he may purchase an estate. In any
case, we cannot live at Wellfield."

"Where shall I live?"

"Oh, Matt, with us, of course."

"But I want to live at home, at Wellfield."

So do I.
Emily repressed the thought. "You shall when you come of age, of course. And
we'll make sure Wellfield is properly cared for."

"Grandpapa says a house that's not lived in can't be cared for properly."

Emily was silent. She agreed with her father. Only a resident householder could see to the
thousand and one small details that kept a house in prime twig.

"I want to live at Wellfield," Matt repeated mutinously.

"I wish you could, but would that be fair to Amy and Tommy and the others? Would it be fair to
me?"

Matt stared.

Emily cocked her head. "Hadn't you thought of that? I've been keeping Wellfield for you, but
when you marry it won't be my home either."

"You can live with me for the rest of your life, Mama."

Emily laughed, but she was touched. "Your wife would very properly object to that--and so
would my husband. Besides," she added on what she hoped was a practical note, "you're in school now
most of the year and you'll go down to Cambridge, too, as your father did. Wellfield will wait for you,
Matt."

They had reached the spinney. Sir Henry's saplings were budding out, and the established trees
made a misty show of lime green against the brilliant sky.

Matt cut a switch with his new penknife, a Christmas gift from his stepfather. His face was no
longer swollen with tears or, indeed, rage. He looked thoughtful.

He took a practice slash at a tuft of winter weed. "May we still visit Mayne Hall in the
holidays?"

"I'm sure your grandfather will always welcome us."

He heaved a sigh. "It's not the same as living at Wellfield, but it's better than nothing." A
promising sign of mental compromise, Emily thought.

She decided to leave the discussion at that. Her own feelings were too confused to admit further
probing. She did not want to live in Bath or, God forbid, London. Where Richard went she would go, but
she was afraid a piece of her stubborn heart would always remain at Wellfield.

* * * *

"We can't betray Owen," Jean insisted.

Maggie still had the headache, two days after her encounter with the brickbat. The physician had
clipped the hair over the swelling and the lump was going down, but she was sore all over and she knew she
looked a fright. She was half-glad Johnny Dyott had not seen her since the riot, though she longed to see
him
. She wondered, disconsolate, whether he would ever talk with her as comfortably as he had.
She missed their talks, and she longed to ask his advice.

"I promised. I won't say anything about Owen's poem, Jean, but I hate the pretence."

Jean sat on the foot of the bed. The movement sent a jolt through Maggie's skull. She bit back a
groan.

"I don't like it either," Jean said earnestly, "but Clanross would dismiss Owen if he knew of the
poem, and I should never see Owen again."

Maggie
did not particularly wish to see Owen, but she tried to enter her sister's feelings.
"Did Clanross say anything?"

Jean shook her head. Because of Maggie's head injury, neither of the girls had yet been called to
account. Jean, who had dined twice with the family, reported that the atmosphere was chilly. Maggie dined
on invalid fare from a tray. Apart from Jean, Elizabeth had been her only caller, and Elizabeth had so far said
nothing of crimes or punishments.

It was only a matter of time before the axe fell, however, and that meant the girls had to make
sure their stories jibed. Jean was repeating the tale she had foisted on Johnny in the hackney.

"...so we went to Greek Street to see Mr. Lawrence's house. Is he the one who painted
Cromwell's warts?" Maggie shifted on the pillows.

"Lord, no. Mr. Lawrence is still alive. I believe he painted Mrs. Siddons. He is a member of the
Royal Academy."

"It was Reynolds who painted Papa, wasn't it?"

"I think so."

Maggie brooded. "Which was his house?"

"Reynolds's?"

"No, daff-head. Lawrence's."

"I don't remember the number," Jean confessed. "Perhaps it won't come up."

Maggie closed her eyes. "Let's hope not. Have you got
Ivanhoe
?"

"Yes. Shall I read you more of it?" Colonel Falk had given them a copy of Mr. Scott's new work as
a cheering up gift. It was quite enthralling, though Maggie's headache had cut the first reading short.

"Go ahead," she murmured. "I like Rebecca."

Jean had been reading for ten minutes or so--just long enough for both girls to lose themselves, in
the Middle Ages--when Elizabeth rapped on the door and entered.

Jean laid the book on the counterpane. "I thought you were going to the theatre."

"I decided not." Elizabeth came to the head of the bed and looked down at Maggie. "Are you
feeling more the thing?"

Maggie nodded.

"Good. It's time the three of us had a talk."

Maggie caught her twin's eye. Jean grimaced.

Elizabeth touched the vase of flowers on the stand by the bed, then drifted to the window. It was
dark, but the street lamps made a soft glow and the reflected gaslight sparkled in the rain.

With a sigh, Elizabeth pulled the curtain to and took her seat by the hearth. In deference to
Maggie's condition a small fire burnt. "I have been trying to decide what to do about your
presentation."

Maggie and Jean exchanged glances but said nothing.

"At Christmas," Elizabeth continued, "you persuaded me you were ready to enter society this
year. When the May levee was announced, it seemed that the Ton meant to go on much as usual despite the
king's death, so I determined to do the thing properly. I spurred Anne to procure tickets for you at
Almack's and I asked the housekeeper to set things in train for a formal ball. Your presentation gowns will
be ready for fitting next week."

"We know we've caused a great deal of bother," Maggie muttered.

Elizabeth sighed again. "Oh, Maggie, I don't grudge you the effort. It's your due. The thing is, I
can't be sure of your conduct any more. Jean is suddenly indifferent to the fripperies that sent her into
transports a few short months ago, nor am I convinced
you
should be undergoing the exertion of a
Season in your present state."

"I'll be all right," Maggie muttered.

"Believe me, tumbling from one ball to the next until two and three in the morning every week
night and twice on Saturday can be exhausting. I believe we'd be wise to wait for the June levee. What say
you?"

"May we go home to Brecon first?" Jean was white with suppressed tension.

"
I
certainly intend to. I mean to see the babies." Elizabeth gave her a searching look.
"You insist that Owen Davies hid nothing to do with your excursion to Greek Street. Unless Maggie offers
me another tale, I'm constrained to believe you."

Jean inclined her head but said nothing.
Maggie's
head ached.

"I'll take you home with me for the rest of this month and most of May. I warn you, though, Jean,
I shall watch you like an eagle."

Jean's mouth compressed.

"Maggie, what is
your
word?"

"We drove to Soho on a lark," Maggie lied glumly. "Jean thought of hiring the hackney and I
came up with the disguises. We only went into Crown Street to find another hackney. We didn't mean to
be caught up in a riot."

"Very well." Elizabeth stood up. "We'll return to Brecon as soon as your gowns are fitted, and
delay your presentation until June. We shan't stay in London after the June levee, and I'll wait until the
Little Season to give your ball. Perhaps by then you'll have a clearer idea of what is owing to your
name."

Jean made no protest. Maggie's eyes filled with tears. She blinked them back, but it seemed unfair
to her that their come-out should be curtailed.

Perhaps Elizabeth saw her disappointment, for she added in a gentler voice, "Anne and I mean to
bring you out properly, my dears. You may make your curtseys to the king and try out your feet at
Almack's this season. When autumn comes you may count on spreading your wings." She rose. "Now I'll
leave you to your book. The new Scott, is it not? You must be sure to thank Colonel Falk for his
kindness."

When she had gone, Jean made a face. "Treating us as if we were babies again. 'Be sure to thank
Colonel Falk.' Good heavens, does she think we have no manners?"

"It might have been worse," Maggie said philosophically.

Jean stared.

"She might have made us wait until next spring." Maggie closed her eyes. "I want to go to sleep,
Jean. My head aches."

* * * *

Tom poked his head in the book room. Richard was standing at the wide table at a sort of lectern,
scribbling away. "How goes the history?"

"It marches." Richard scratched out a line. "Blast you, you broke my train of thought. The world
has lost a masterpiece."

Tom closed the door behind him. "Sorry. I'm off to the City. Do you need a ride to the Middle
Temple?"

"Not this morning, thanks."

"What the devil is that contraption?" He peered at the lectern. "You look as if you meant to
deliver a sermon."

Richard set his pen aside. "Lady Clanross found me scrunched over the escritoire the other day
and decided I ought to compose standing upright. So she rummaged in the attics and came up with this. It
does the trick very neatly. You're married to a woman of resource."

Tom inspected the lectern. "I wish I might have seen Elizabeth sweeping through the attics. The
lumber up there has probably not been disturbed since the reign of George II."

"It was kind of her ladyship to think of it. I'm working faster now. How are your equally
resourceful sisters-in-law?"

"Maggie still keeps to her bed. I understand you lavished Walter Scott's latest on them. Is it wise
to reward felonious misconduct with three-volume novels?" He pulled a chair and sat on it
backwards.

Richard looked mildly guilty. "I thought Lady Jean seemed downhearted at dinner the evening of
the great debacle. Do you object?"

Tom raised his eyebrows. "I? No, though I hope the twins conduct their next adventure in a less
publick arena. I wonder why they aimed for the stews of Soho? Can they know...?"

"Nonsense. They're innocent as a pair of downy ducks."

"Then I fear for the nation when they feather out." He squinted at his friend who was leaning on
the lectern. "I think you're taken with them."

Richard flushed. "They remind me of Isabel."

"I see." Doña Isabel was Richard's first wife.

"She was not much older than they when I wed her."

Or very much older when she died,
Tom reflected. He had admired Doña Isabel. "Do
you think of her often?"

"Every time I see her face in Tommy or her spirit in Amy," Richard said quietly. Both men fell
silent, remembering.

"What a long time ago it seems," Tom said at last. "How do your legal affairs progress?"

Richard grimaced. "Slower than a commissary's waggon. My solicitor holds out hope of avoiding a
chancery suit."

"At what cost?"

"At whatever cost. I cannot keep Emily in limbo forever." Richard's mouth eased in a slight smile.
"Not that Mayne Hall is the antechamber of Hell, but she can't be comfortable sparring with her father all
the time."

"Bring her to Brecon," Tom said impulsively. "Oh, not just yet. In the summer, when you've
finished your history. I'd like to show Emily an estate in the neighbourhood."

Richard looked doubtful.

"If
you
don't find a place for her, your father-in-law will."

Richard grinned. "He has already found four. 'Not a day's ride from home,'" he quoted in
palpable imitation of a gruff country squire, "'and everything handsome about them.'"

Tom laughed. "Then spirit Emily off to Lincolnshire. She'll like Hazeldell--that's the estate I mean
to show her--and your Harry and Sally may bump noses with my boys in the nursery."

"A brigade of infantry," Richard mused. "It's a thought, Tom, but I'd not like to burden Lady
Clanross. She has her hands full as it is."

Tom rose. "She does, but as you pointed out she is a woman of infinite resource."

As he rode to the City through the noisy but no longer riotous streets, Tom wondered what he
had wrought. Elizabeth would be working at her telescope. She always did so in summer, and he disliked
interrupting her scientific endeavours. Thrusting total strangers upon her would not be a kindness, given
her uneasiness about the girls. But he thought Elizabeth would take to Emily Falk, and Emily, he was sure,
would find the twins enormously entertaining. Both sets.

Johnny and Colonel Falk had been pent in the book room for a week, the colonel working away at
his history and Johnny bringing correspondence for the Canadian charity up to date. Colonel Falk tossed the
letter he had been reading on the table and walked to the book room window. "Emily and her father have
come to cuffs over McGrath." He raised the sash and a draught of balmy air disturbed Johnny's
papers.

Johnny laid a book on the stack of letters. "McGrath? Is he drinking again?" McGrath had struck
Johnny as a hardened toper. Scarcely the manservant for a genteel household.

Falk leaned against the frame of the window, staring down into the Square. The weather was
exceptionally fine. "It seems McGrath and Dassett--that's Sir Henry's coachman--have been testing each
other's capacity for Blue Ruin belowstairs every night. Sir Henry wants McGrath's head on a platter."