Mally : Signet Regency Romance (9781101568057) (8 page)

Annabel smiled, but then her face fell. “That still means my awful
chaperone!
She will have to drive all the way to Breconshire with me and I could not bear it, I just could not bear it!”

Mally was up to each problem. “Then you shall come to Berrisford Court with me, Annabel. Mother would be
charmed
to have such an important guest, I'm sure.” She felt Richard's thoughtful eyes on her and stifled the urge to meet his gaze, for she knew that her own eyes would be uncomfortably triumphant at that moment.

Chris went to bring a decanter and four glasses to the table before them. “It is settled then. In two weeks' time we all sally forth to Castell Melyn. A toast would be in order, I fancy. The Lady Jacquetta, may she materialize and rattle her chains before our wondering eyes!”

Mally raised her glass. “To Lady Jacquetta,” she said, and this time she did meet Richard's eyes.

He smiled and raised his glass to her, but he said nothing.

Chapter 11

Mally closed the door of the Green Room behind her with a sigh of relief. Beyond the door she could still hear her mother fussing around over the supervision of the two harassed maids.

“No, gel! That lace must
not
be treated indifferently! Good heavens, how you have managed to cling to your position in this house I shall never
begin
to comprehend! That's a little better. Gently.
Gently!”

Mally took a long breath and counted slowly to ten. For someone who had rushed to London in an anxious hurry, her mother had managed to pack enough clothing for a whole season! Straightening her dainty lace mobcap, Mally descended the stairs, intent upon the sanctuary of the library.

Someone hammered on the front doors and she paused on the stairs, watching Digby come slowly up from the basement. Who could be calling?

The butler looked down his nose at the dirty boy standing there. “Back door for the likes of you!” he snapped, starting to close the doors.

“Got a message.”

“Back door.”

“Couldn't give a tinker's, I bin paid.” The boy dropped the folded paper he held and ran off, stopping at the foot of the steps to make a rude gesture at the quivering Digby.

Mally continued down the stairs into the hallway. “What is it, Digby?”

“A message, madam, brought by some—some flash-house brat!”

“For me?”

“Yes, madam.” The butler glanced at the writing and handed it to her.

Curious, she unfolded the crisp paper, which was marred by the boy's dirty fingerprints.

Mrs. St. Aubrey, I hesitate to write this note, but I feel that perhaps under the circumstances it would be wise for us to meet before you leave for Llanglyn, and most certainly before you come to Castell Melyn. There are matters which should be spoken of between us, as I feel you already know. I shall be riding in the park this morning should you be in agreement with me. Richard Vallender.

Mally folded the paper again very slowly. Matters which should be spoken of? It could only be Maria—“Digby, I wish the barouche to be at the front door in half an hour.”

“Yes, madam. Forgive me, but are you still expecting Sir Christopher to dine tonight?”

“Yes, there has been no change in that, Digby.”

The butler bowed and she turned to hurry up the stairs, calling for Lucy.

***

The barouche clattered along the crowded streets where the autumn sun was oddly warm. Bright summery gowns and colors were drawn out by this last brilliance, and as the barouche neared the park, the usual clutter of fashionable drags began to increase in volume. Dry leaves scuttered over the cobbles and grass, and above the gay gold, red, and green, the sky was a clear, endless blue.

Mally toyed with her yellow reticule and glanced down at her white muslin gown. The pearl buttons of her dark brown spencer gleamed against the rich velvet, and for the tenth time she retied the yellow ribbons of her bonnet, wondering if the chenille roses adorning it were looking as excellent as she had thought. She nodded and smiled as someone drove past, raising a hand to her. Again and again she acknowledged acquaintances, but all the while she searched for Richard Vallender. What had he to say to her? Was it another attempt to prevent her from going to Castell Melyn?

She saw him beneath the trees, a tall, lean figure in dull gray velvet and cords. He had not seen her and she saw the way he tapped his top hat against his leg. There was a tautness about him, she felt, and that notion was confirmed at the swiftness with which he turned when the barouche halted beside him.

“Mr. Vallender?”

His eyes went over her and then he smiled. “I trust you were not offended by my action in writing to you, Mrs. St. Aubrey.”

She climbed down as he opened the carriage door, and his hand was firm as he helped her.

The autumn leaves seemed to lie in drifts as they walked across the park. “I am not offended, Mr. Vallender, for I agree that we should perhaps speak.”

“Of your sister, Maria.”

“You speak familiarly of her, sir.”

“Because I consider her to be my friend. As I consider myself to be yours—at least, I like to
think
I am yours.”

She halted and looked at his lean face. “Come to the point, sir, for I am here at
your
instigation, am I not?”

“Very well. Knowing full well that Maria was betrothed to Thomas Clevely, I more than aided and abetted her friendship with my wife's cousin, Andrew York.”

“Your wife's cousin?”

“He was. Mrs. St. Aubrey—oh, dear God, may I call you Mally, for to be polite takes rather a long time.”

“I do not know yet whether I wish to be on such intimate terms with you, Mr. Vallender.”

“You are splendidly haughty when you wish. I connived at your sister's
affaire
with Andrew, and partly on account of that dabbling on my part, I am very
out
with your mother. Very out.”

“That I know, for she is not hesitant in passing her opinion on you, Mr. Vallender.”

“No doubt.”

“Where is my sister, Mr. Vallender?”

“I don't know.”

She looked at him. He was lying, she knew that he was. “Have you brought me here merely to play cat and mouse, sir? Because if you have, then I shall leave you right now.”

“In high dudgeon?” He was smiling, and he drew her hand through his arm and walked on. “Mrs. St. Aubrey, I have not brought you here on a fool's errand. It is merely that I wished to admit to you my part in Maria's association with Andrew. I have no desire to be at odds with you over such a matter, for I value my friendship with Chris too much to cross swords with his future wife.”

“Mr. Vallender, if Maria put Mr. York before Mr. Clevely, that is her prerogative, and I would not be at odds with anyone over it. But Mr. York is now dead, and my sister has disappeared. So, I must ask myself if you—being so friendly with her that you may term her merely ‘Maria' and not ‘Miss Berrisford'—know the name of the man she has gone off with?” She halted again and looked up at him. “Do you, Mr. Vallender?”

“I know of no one in your sister's life apart from Andrew York.”

“Then why was it that when Dr. Towers came from Castell Melyn and spoke with her, by the next morning she had gone from my mother's house?”

“I know nothing of anything else, Mrs. St. Aubrey.” He smiled again with that easy charm which marked everything about him. “It is solely on account of this that there may have been any hesitation on my part over your coming to Castell Melyn, a hesitation which I feel certain you detected.”

She kept her eyes firmly on the path ahead and the sun on the grass in the distance.
Was
that his sole reason? He was clever, carefully covering each track, but he planned without the tenacity lent to her by anxiety. She said nothing, waiting to see what reaction her silence brought.

“Mrs. St. Aubrey, if you still feel that you wish to come, then I should be more than delighted, but if you think you would offend your mother—”

He still wants me away from his lair
— The conviction was strong and would not be denied. The invitation had been issued—albeit under duress of one sort or another—and it had been accepted. And would continue to be accepted. She turned her head to meet his sharp eyes. “Mr. Vallender, you are laboring under a most certain misapprehension. I am my own commander, not under my mother, and I have given my word to Lady Annabel that we shall come to Castell Melyn. She is looking forward to it so much that I should be a positive beast to deny her now. Unless
you
would prefer me not to come. That would, of course, be entirely different.”

A quick light passed through his eyes and he raised her hand to his lips. “Mrs. St. Aubrey, nothing was further from my mind, I assure you. Let us consider the matter closed then, and please forgive my clumsy handling of so delicate a conversation.”

“Clumsy? Mr. Vallender, I would not say that you were clumsy, not in the slightest.” She smiled innocuously, knowing a sleek satisfaction at his having to hide his annoyance. Short of being outwardly rude, he had done all he could to turn her from her purpose. He knew more about Maria than he was prepared to say, and Mally was determined to find out what that something was. But why was he so concerned to keep her away? She pondered the unease which he had displayed when he realized that she was a Berrisford. His subsequent talk of not wishing to further tread on her mother's toes or of not wishing to be at odds with Chris's future wife was all a screen. There was some other reason for her not to come to Castell Melyn—

They began to walk slowly back toward the barouche and she glanced up at his profile. There was something very attractive about Richard Vallender, something in his dark knowing eyes and quick smile, and the way he moved and spoke; something which would catch the interest of most women— Perhaps even Maria. She walked deep in the drift of her thoughts, glad that the brim of her bonnet hid her face from him. When Andrew York had died, where might Maria turn for comfort? To Richard Vallender?

“What was Andrew York like, Mr. Vallender?”

“Like all the Yorks. He had bright blue eyes and fair hair. And an appealing air of vulnerability.”

That's how Mother described him
—“What a strange way of describing him. Or are you describing all the Yorks in that last phrase?”

“All of them? Yes. It was her vulnerability which first drew me to Gillian. Her father was strict, cloistering her in that damned house week in and week out. She was pathetically delighted when he relented sufficiently to allow her to drive out with me. It is fatal, Mrs. St. Aubrey, to allow your feelings to have the better of your common sense.”

“Your enthusiasm is a little crushing.”

“I didn't love her. I felt protective, oh, so very protective—but it wasn't love in the true sense necessary for happiness.”

“Poor Gillian.”

He smiled enigmatically. “Gillian was never aware of being deceived. You see, she had never known love before and was therefore content with what I gave. But then you do not wish to hear about that. Do you? Never, Mrs. St. Aubrey, make the same mistake—never marry when your heart is less than completely given. It is not worth the heartache.”

She stared at him. “I would never make that mistake, Mr. Vallender,” she said softly.

“Of course not, I was merely alluding to my own error. Thank you for coming here today—I look forward to enjoying your company again soon at Castell Melyn.”

“And I yours. Good day, Mr. Vallender.”

“Good day, Mrs. St. Aubrey.” He kissed her hand again and then helped her into the barouche.

She did not look back as the barouche drew away into the throng of carriages and horses. The rattle and noise of London was deadened as she stared at the coachman's back.
Never marry when your heart is less than completely given. It is not worth the heartache.
He had guessed. Had she been that obvious then, that after one evening in her company he could put his finger so unerringly on the pulse? She leaned her head back and closed her eyes wearily.

Chapter 12

“But why didn't you tell me about Maria before?” Tenderly Chris put his hand to Mally's cheek, his brown eyes bright in the flickering firelight. The shadows danced over the library and the air was warm.

“I promised Mother, she feared so for Maria's reputation. She was hoping beyond hope that my sister had run away to me here.”

“But Maria is with some unknown gentleman, having gone all the way back to Hereford.”

“Yes. Mother doesn't know that last piece of information, though. I just wanted to stop her worrying and upsetting herself, and so I glossed over the country gentleman who asked about Maria at the Swan with Two Necks, and refrained from mentioning that the trail led back to Hereford. Oh, it's too bad of my sister, really it is! She hasn't given a single thought to the misery she's causing by her selfishness! One little notelet would have been sufficient.”

“Well, it's done now, and when the Clevelys are informed, I fear your sister's name will be maligned from one end of the county to the other.”

“I know. I've promised Mother that we will say Maria is with relatives, but we cannot keep that up forever. She just hopes that in the meantime we will hear from my sister.”

“I'm surprised at Maria really. Your mother and the late Mrs. Harmon were such close friends, it doesn't really seem like Maria to be so heartless.”

“I know. Anyway, whatever the ins and outs of all this, Maria has gone. Oh, Chris, she has been leading a busy life—being betrothed to Thomas, spending too much time in the company of Mr. Vallender's late cousin, and then scurrying off with yet another man. I cannot comprehend her versatility.”

Chris smiled. “Well, she must be all right, for she went willingly enough, it would seem. I'll warrant Richard nearly choked when he realized who you were!”

“Yes. Anyway, this morning we met in the park and spoke of it. He doesn't know where Maria is now.” Mally stared at the flames as they lapped around a holly log. She couldn't bring herself to tell him about her suspicions concerning Richard Vallender. There was no point anyway, for she had nothing tangible to say, merely a collection of notions and convictions, feelings and intuitions. And he would laugh them away, for he felt warmly toward his old friend—

Chris drew her down to the rug before the fire, stretching forward to pick up the poker and setting the sparks and flames leaping as he plunged it into the heart of the fire. His hair was burnished as he turned to look down at her as she lay beside him.

“Mally, do you
really
think the man at the inn here in London and the man who broke into this house are one and the same?”

“I think so, but I cannot be sure. I just feel that someone else is looking very earnestly for Maria and I am more afraid of that than of anything else in all this.”

“There is nothing you can do, you know.” He stroked her hair softly, making the little diamond pin holding the curls flash and twinkle in the firelight.

“I know.” She caught his hand. Richard Vallender's words echoed around in her head.
Never marry when your heart is less than completely given. It is not worth the heartache
— But she
did
love Chris, and all her fears and doubts were foolish and groundless. When she was with him like this, everything was certain and true. She pulled his fingers to her mouth and kissed them. “I love you, Chris. I was thinking—I shall be twenty-nine on the fifteenth of December. It would be an excellent day to marry, for Lucy says it is always sunshine on my birthday.”

He bent down to put his lips over hers. “I would not care if it blew a hurricane, sweetheart. The fifteenth of December it is then.”

She put her arms around him and held him close, her eyes closed. He laughed then. “There is a problem though.”

“What is it?”

“I have asked Richard to be my best man—I cannot think that your mother will be too pleased.”

Nor me, I won't be pleased either
— The thought was there. Instant and plain. She did not want Richard Vallender there when she married Chris, standing with his smiling face and inward disapproval of the decision she had made. But she said nothing of the sort as she smiled at Chris. “If you have asked him then that is the end of it.”

“The next week or so until I reach Llanglyn will seem like a lifetime. I cannot look forward to your leaving tomorrow.”

She laughed quietly. “And then when we
do
meet again we shall all be searching for Annabel's infernal ghost!”

“Poor Annabel, she seems quite in a tizzy over the spectral Lady Jacquetta.”

“She is. I've met her twice since that evening and each time she's rattled about the ghost and nothing else. Still—” Mally looked up at him. “Rattling about ghosts is safe enough, isn't it? I think the excitement stems more from the prospect of being under the same roof as you for a while, Chris.”

“And does the thought worry you?”

“Any woman who didn't regard Annabel with a healthy respect would be a fool indeed. She's very set on you still, Chris.”

He kissed her. “But are
you
set on me, Mally?”

“Yes.” She gazed up into his face. “I am.”

“Then that is all that matters,” he whispered, pulling her even closer. “All that matters in the world.”

The fire shifted and the shadows were set spinning and gyrating over the rows of books. Digby knocked at the door, and when his knocks were ignored, he went away again.

***

Annabel's eyes shone with anticipation as she climbed into the landau, pulling the traveling rug over her knees. “I can hardly believe it! Freedom! No chaperone! No heavy father! Nothing! Just perfect, perfect peace.”

“And Chris Carlyon,” said Mally dryly.

“Ah, well, even
I
am permitted my hopeless dreams.” Annabel smiled.

Mally made herself comfortable and then looked up at the porch of the house where Digby was waiting patiently by the doors for Mrs. Berrisford to come down. The landau lurched as the final trunk was strapped into place.

Annabel leaned forward. “I know that this Lucy person always turns you out to a tee, but are you sure she can cope with me as well? I mean she must be eighty if she's a day!”

“She's not that old, and she's more than able to take care of you, Annabel.”

“I note the way you said that. Have you made certain your good lady mother has supped something good and sleepy before this journey, for I warrant I will
die
if she rattles all the way to Llanglyn.”

“Then
you
will rattle instead, I suppose.”

“I shall console myself with my daydreams.”

“You do that small thing.”

“Why so acid this morning, didn't you sleep?”

“Not much.”

Annabel looked curiously at her, but at that moment Mrs. Berrisford bustled from the porch and down the steps. “Did you pack that necklace, Lucy?”

Lucy tied her mantle firmly beneath her chin and spoke wearily. “Yes, Mrs. Berrisford.”

“And the pattens I brought just in case?”

“Yes, Mrs. Berrisford.”

“And—”

“I packed everything, Mrs. Berrisford.
Everything.
”

Annabel huddled further in the traveling rug and groaned dramatically. Mrs. Berrisford clambered in and searched immediately for the warmed brick to put her feet on. Then she gathered together a mound of rugs and furs and packed herself carefully under layer after layer.

“There,” she said at last, “now I shall be quite comfortable. Good morning, Lady Annabel.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Berrisford.” Annabel smiled sweetly.

Mrs. Berrisford wriggled a little more, and Lucy still waited patiently on the pavement for all the squirming to cease so that she too could take her place. “Marigold,” said Mrs. Berrisford suddenly, “I do think that the new name for the house is splendid. Such a touching remembrance of dear Daniel.”

“Yes, Mother.”

Mrs. Berrisford sighed. “Two years ago this month. Oh, dear, it only seems like yesterday sometimes.”

“I know.”

Annabel glanced at Mally. “Still, Mally, it is all
past
now, isn't it?”

“Of course.” Mally avoided Annabel's gaze.

Lucy climbed in and settled herself carefully in the small place Mrs. Berrisford had left. Mrs. Berrisford looked disapprovingly at her daughter. “Yes, it is all past now and there is Sir Christopher. Which brings me to the disgracefully late hour that gentleman left this house last night. Four o'clock in the morning! What
will
be said of you, that's what I must worry over.”

Mally smiled. “Let them say what they will, for I'll be an honest woman on the fifteenth of December.”

Annabel's eyes flinched, but her smile hardly faltered. “I congratulate you, Mally.”

Mrs. Berrisford beamed. “A date at last! Splendid. Oh, now I can begin to plan everything—oh, how excellent, something to take my poor mind away from all the woes and worries of the last weeks.”

Annabel looked out of the carriage as the team pulled away from Vimiero House, and Mally thought she could see tears glistening in her green eyes.