Maggie MacKeever (18 page)

Tabby suspected that swoon was no more genuine than the color of her mama’s curls, was instead a ruse to prevent further conversation taking place. Tabby, however, had a great deal yet to say. She glanced around the room. Her glance fell on the feather boa. With a certain grim satisfaction Tabby removed it from her mama’s neck and approached the fireplace.

As Tabby bent to her task, the door was flung open, and two gentlemen entered the room. Lambchop, freed by Margot’s swoon from her command to remain seated, sped to greet the visitors enthusiastically. The gentlemen swore. Tabby bit her lip, caught off guard. Vivien’s sudden appearance in this setting left her both angry and confused. As for his companion— “Perry!” she gasped.

Perry lowered his quizzing glass, through which he had been inspecting a certain large and, he suspected, misbegotten hound. He was very uncomfortable at finding himself in a lady’s boudoir. But he had agreed to speak with Mrs. Quarles on Vivien’s behalf, and the sooner he put the ordeal behind him, the quicker he could go away.

“You
don’t
look like a ladybird!” he said therefore to Tabby in very severe tones. “Yes, and I distinctly recall you told me you was nothing of the sort. It’s not the thing to go about telling clankers, my girl! It gives people a very poor sort of opinion. Although I daresay it’s even
less
the thing to put oneself in a gentleman’s keeping. Dashed if I can think what old Tolly would say!” He paused to contemplate this matter. Tabby made a strangling sound. Perry thought she looked very pathetic, crouched there on the floor.

“Daresay it ain’t your fault!” he said generously. “Doubtless it’s all to be laid at the door of this Quarles fellow, who sounds like a cursed bad fish! But blackmail— who’d have thought it? I tell you, it just won’t do!” He somewhat spoiled his lecture, then, by wrinkling his nose. “What the deuce is that smell?”

Tabby snatched her mama’s boa away from the fire that she had lit, burned feathers being considered an excellent restorative for a swoon. If ever Tabby had felt like swooning, it was now, with Vivien standing in the doorway and scowling at her like a thundercloud. Of course she could allow herself no such luxury. Instead, she stood up awkwardly, the burned boa in her hand.

Unlike Perry, Vivien felt no pity. He had been very worried when his rage abated and he realized he’d left this young woman to walk unescorted all the way back to town. Now he was perversely very angry to see her safe. “Yes,” he said impatiently. “What have you to say for yourself—Mrs. Quarles?’’

Mrs. Quarles had a great many things to say and a great curiosity about this invasion of her bedroom. Additionally, it pained her that her daughter should be so extravagant as to bum a boa for which Margot had not yet paid. “I said sit, you wretched beast!” she uttered, in tones so disapproving that poor Lambchop immediately slunk beneath the bed. Gracefully, Margot rose. “Can a lady have no privacy even in her own bedchamber?” she inquired.

“Your
bedchamber?” Vivien swung round to stare at this second female. His experienced gaze moved over golden curls and muslin dressing gown, cashmere shawl and pearls. An appreciative gleam lit his eyes. “Oho!” he said.

Tabby understood that tone. She contemplated the burned feathers. A restorative would definitely be in order if she was forced to watch Mr. Sanders flirt with her mama. Perry, on the other hand, understood nothing, except that he was in the presence of a female in a state of undress. “Dashed if I know what’s happening here!” he muttered. “Who is this Quarles fellow, anyway?”

Margot was much more interested in this handsome green-eyed devil, who was obviously in a temper, and what had brought him into her boudoir. But she was not one to treat any gentleman caller ill. “Quarles was a mistake,” she admitted. “His mind was of a mean and little structure, and his pockets were to let, both of which unfortunate circumstances I discovered too late. He died of an apoplexy not long after, upon seeing the size of my mantua maker’s bill. I fear my heart ruled my head.” She glanced at Perry. “You will understand.”

Perry took this comment personally and blushed brighter still. “No! That is, I ain’t in the petticoat line!”

Margot looked interested. “How very curious. You must explain to me why not, someday. But first, do you gentlemen think you might explain to me who you are?” Her curious glance returned to Vivien. “And why you have invaded my boudoir? Not that you aren’t perfectly welcome! I am never more comfortable than when there is a gentleman in the house.”

Vivien spared Perry an answer. “Perhaps it will simplify matters if I explain that I am Lady Grey’s brother, Mrs. Quarles.”

“Ah.” Margot supposed it had been too much to hope that so very attractive a gentleman would not have impediments of some sort. With a charmingly rueful expression, she sat down at her writing desk. “So this is in the way of being a business call.”

Vivien sat down also, on the black-lacquered chair. “Regrettably, yes.”

How could Tabby be jealous of her mama? Still, she took consolation from the fact that Vivien’s smile did not reach his eyes. He glanced at her then, and Tabby looked quickly away. “The business of blackmail,” he added. “Apparently I have been asking the wrong person for your price.”

Margot glanced also at her daughter, who was clutching the feather boa as if it were a lifeline of some sort. Tabitha was acquainted with this devilishly attractive rogue? He certainly was astute. She had not yet posted her letter. “Ah, yes. One must be practical.” Margot prepared to negotiate.

Perhaps some members of the group had achieved enlightenment from this latter exchange, but Perry was still feeling very much in the dark. Nor was he certain he craved enlightenment. He followed Tabby across the room to stand by the parakeet’s gilded cage. She seemed to have an affinity for feathered creatures, he thought, watching her clutch the singed boa. “What did you do with the rooster?” he asked, by way of making polite conversation. She looked blank. “You know, the one that was following at your heels like a tantony pig!”

Tabby was in no mood for polite conversation. Her attention was fixed on her mama and Mr. Sanders, embarked on an animated exchange. “I wish I’d never met you or that rooster,” she said rudely. “No, nor your friend.”

Sat the wind in that quarter? Perry was stunned to discover that, despite the benefits of a classical education, Tabby was no more prudent than less learned members of her sex. He could not help but pity her folly. Clearly, she and Vivien would not suit. For one thing, Vivien would never forgive a female who’d boxed his ears. “You should have said your name isn’t Minchin,” he retorted. “It’s caused the devil of a lot of a confusion, your not telling me your name was Quarles.”

Tabby didn’t correct Perry’s error. She wasn’t at all certain about the business of her name. If her mama’s name was Quarles, then did not that name also apply to Tabby in some wise?

The same point had occurred to Vivien. “If
you
are Mrs. Quarles,” he said now to Margot, “then who the devil is
she
that she goes about using your name and negotiating in your place?’’

Margot, too, was curious. “Who, indeed?”

“I did not!” retorted Tabby, defensively. “It was Vivien—er, Mr. Sanders who insisted on trying to buy me off. All I ever wished to do was speak out on Sir Geoffrey’s behalf, because I believe he has been treated very shabbily.” She gazed defiantly at her mama. “Both by Lady Grey and by you, Ma—”

“Margot!” supplied that lady smoothly. She was not in the habit of admitting that she was old enough to have adult offspring. “So you must also call me, gentlemen;

I’m sure we shall become great friends.”

“Certainly we shall!” said Vivien. “Do you but let Elphinstone off your hook.”

Perry roused from contemplation of the parakeet. “I don’t understand!” he said to Tabby. “If you ain’t Elphinstone’s fancy piece—which you obviously ain’t, because
she
is!—then why should you care a button whether or not he’s in the suds?”

“Yes.” Vivien, too, turned to look at Tabby. “Why should you?”

It was the perfect moment for explanations. Tabby found herself tongue-tied. Vivien’s brooding glance moved from her to Margot. There was a faint resemblance between the two women. The resemblance would be even greater, he realized, if the younger of the ladies were to age a good ten years and dye her hair gold. How foolishly disappointed he was to realize she was what he’d thought her, after all. And she had dared accuse
him
of double-dealing! If she was no high-flyer herself, then she was related to one and additionally involved in the very nasty business of blackmail.

It was that business, of course, which was his main concern here. “So you are kin. You have done yourself no good with your charade.” His chill gaze moved to Margot. “The pair of you do not appear to agree on the subject of Sir Geoffrey Elphinstone. Your sister has assured me repeatedly of his kindness, whereas you, ma’am, seem to hold him in very low regard.’’

“Fiddlestick!” retorted Margot, curious about Tabby’s association with Sir Geoffrey and pleased that the discriminating Mr. Sanders should think she and Tabby of an age. “I hold none of my, er, friends in low regard, even after friendship runs its course; and I’m sure I’d remain as fond of Sir Geoffrey as anyone had he not acted so callously.” She looked misty-eyed. “We were wondrous great together once. He would have done anything for me.”

Tabby could no longer remain silent. “So this is how you repay him? By throwing a spanner into his romance?”

Margot was very hurt by these accusations. She picked up Sir Geoffrey’s love letters and clasped them to her breast. “I’m sure I meant to do no such thing. I wish Geoffrey every happiness. You do not believe me. You think me cruel and callous, I can see it in your eyes, but the truth is that I had a great regard for Geoffrey before he gave me a disgust by putting me on notice to—well! That’s neither here nor there. But there is no use arguing with me on this head because I shall not change my mind!”

“I see.” Vivien stood, “so you are determined to publish, then.”

“Publish?” Margot glanced at the ribbon-bound packet. A look of immense satisfaction settled on her pretty face. “What a splendid notion! Perhaps the threat of recrimination may persuade Geoffrey to adopt a more reasonable stand. He will pay me
not
to publish, and thus I may fulfill my ambition to be beforehand with the world. How fortunate it is that you came to call on me! I am not of a managing nature, so I would never have thought to take so direct an approach.”

Vivien looked as though he wished to gnash his teeth. “I am sorry to hear you say so,” he snapped, “because I cannot permit you to do such a thing. I fear our next meeting will be under even less pleasant circumstances, ladies. Perhaps, if you may not be dissuaded from your purpose, in a court of law. Perry? Do you go with me?”

With alacrity, the unhappy Mr. Smithton detached himself from the parakeet’s cage. In his opinion, something about this business was very queer. Indeed, he wouldn’t have been surprised to learn Vivien had taken a nest of bees in his head.

He followed his friend out of the room. “Well, Viv, that’s that! It went off fairly well, don’t you think? That is, you have everything under control. Which is a very good thing, because I’ve just recalled that I have urgent business elsewhere—m’aunt, the one who’s forever threatening to cut me out of her will! You know what my memory is! Won’t hold no more water than a sieve! So I’d best off and do the pretty, don’t you know?” His voice faded as the gentlemen moved down the hall.

Tabby moved to stand at the window of her mama’s boudoir. “What a pickle!” she said bitterly. “Have you no conscience. Mama?”

Margot winced. “Must you call me that? I understand that you might be a teeny bit angry with me for running off all those years ago, but I had good reason. Or so it seemed at the time. Your father was impossible to live with. He was jealous and neglectful, and peevish to boot, which is a dreadful combination for a woman of my temperament to be married to. The truth is that we didn’t suit—which is obvious, is it not, because if we
had
suited, I would hardly have run away! And it is just as well I did, because at least I was spared seeing myself widowed because he
would
ride that accursed horse!” Her tone softened. “I read of your uncle’s illness. You have my sympathy. He was all that his brother was not.”

Tabby’s main concern now was not her parents’ ill-fated marriage. “Sir Geoffrey offered me a place when my uncle died,” she said. “As governess to his daughters. I am in his debt.”

“And you say
I
am in a pickle!” Margot moved to join Tabby at the window. “Not that Vivien Sanders isn’t a deucedly handsome sort. Cursedly ill-tempered, too, a quality which I personally admire in a gentleman.’’

Tabby didn’t wish to hear her mama sing Vivien’s praises. “I ask you, as your daughter, that you leave Sir Geoffrey in peace.”

Margot gestured toward the post-obit bills strewn across her desk. “I would like to oblige you, child. Truly. Unfortunately, I cannot ignore these.”

“I see.” How disappointing it was to discover that her mama was selfish and conscienceless. “I am here as Sir Geoffrey’s emissary. He wishes you to tell me what you want from him.’’

But Margot was not entirely without conscience. “Lud!” she said. “As if I would involve you in such business, child! You may tell Geoffrey that he must speak with me himself.’’

“Then we have nothing more to say to one another,” responded Tabby, and turned toward the door. Politely, Margot requested that she leave behind the feather boa. Tabby laid the boa carefully on her mama’s dressing table. Margot had turned to gaze out the window. Tabby tucked the ribbon-bound packet of letters into her reticule, then speedily exited her mama’s house.

Chapter Twenty

Lady Grey was in her drawing room, which had taken on the atmosphere of an invalid’s chamber. No smell of burned feathers fouled the air, but on the table at Gus’s elbow were numerous bottles containing every restorative remedy known to man. Servants tiptoed in and out with a procession of delicacies intended to tempt the invalid’s appetite: barley water, chicken panada, broth of eel. At this particular moment, she was sipping Dr. Ratcliff’s restorative pork jelly, seasoned with nutmeg and salt and mace. In her lap was a newspaper, in which she had been reading an account of a phantasmagoria that had recently taken place at the Pavilion, complete with a Storm of Thunder and Lightning and Rain, and a Ghastly Phantom of Death. Lady Grey had done a great deal of reading these past few days, seeking to divert herself with such light fare of
The Lady’s Magazine,
intended for the use and amusement of the fair sex; and, alternately, the works of Chateaubriand.