Miss Lindel's Love (13 page)

“It is nothing more than friendship, ma’am. If so much.”

“I see. Well, if he has run mad, which is the other explanation that leaps to mind, at least I have very many sturdy footmen to place him under restraint.”

“Ma’am? Do you mean he is to be one of your guests?”

“Of course. He has attended every one of my little house parties. He and my son were army-mad schoolboys together. He even calls me ‘Aunt.’ I hoped at one time that he and my second daughter might do for one another but no man existed for her except the Reverend Mr. Ingilby. He is now serving in Canterbury and we have high hopes for his preferment.” She waved that digression aside. “Why do you look so distressed, my dear?”

“I’m not,” Maris began but couldn’t meet Lady Osbourne’s kind but slightly protruding blue eyes.

Lady Osbourne waited, her head to one side. She reminded Maris of a plump and wily robin anticipating the appearance of a furtive worm. Maris gathered courage and prepared to stick her neck out.

“I don’t wish for either Lord Danesby’s reputation or my own to suffer any further damage. To have both of us staying together at your home will surely raise more of a dust than even at present.”

“On the contrary. It is well known that I do not countenance any form of wicked nonsense under my roof. Only if I were entirely convinced of your innocence would I have invited you here. I have made a point of mentioning to my friends that I have done so. You are as safe here, as you would be in your own mother’s home.”

Maris could only say that Lady Osbourne’s kindness quite overwhelmed her.

But Lady Osbourne, mother of four girls, had a keener eye than Mrs. Lindel. Maris could not imagine her falling into the sort of absentminded reveries that were her own mother’s habit.

Even as it seemed inevitable that Lady Osbourne would ask more probing questions, a maid entered, followed by a footman with Maris’s luggage. She did not seem surprised to see her mistress there, Maris realized that the staff of a great lady must always know her precise location, if only to stay out of her way. “Mr. Breezes’s compliments, my lady, and the Delacortes are arriving. Miss Dalton begs a moment of your time in the nursery as well.”

“Thank you, Harbell.”

The maid dipped her knees in acknowledgement. Taking no further notice of her mistress, she directed the footman where to put the bags.

“Harbell will look after you, Miss Lindel,” she said, rising. “Oh, and if you should forget your map, the servants all carry one. You have only to ask.”

Before she left, however, she turned that nearly clairvoyant mother’s gaze on Maris once more. “Are you quite sure there’s nothing further you’d like to say to me?”

Maris felt that here was someone who would understand if she said without roundaboutation, “I’ve been in love with Lord Danesby half my life.” The impulse was strong. However, between the maid’s presence, however oblivious, and the calls on her ladyship’s time, the impulse withered. “No, my lady.”

“Well, then. Try not to worry too much. These things blow over quickly, leaving no trace behind them.”

Maris realized that Lady Osbourne probably would have said the same thing if she had confided her attachment to Lord Danesby. “These things blow over,” she reminded herself. Already the ideal image she’d cherished for so long was superseded by the reality of a mortal man prone to the same errors in judgment as the rest of fallible humanity. Lord Danesby was no nobler under the press of circumstances than any other harassed and confused male.

As Lady Osbourne had predicted, the young ladies of the party were much too excited by the events of the day to consider going to sleep anything but tame. There was much giggling as slippered maidens stole between one room and the next. A surreptitious feast was delivered by a yawning and grinning footman under the direction of a falsely stern nanny.

Though there were only eight young ladies, they made enough noise for forty. They giggled over their presentation gowns, their beaus ideal, the offers they’d received or believed they were sure to be receiving as soon as someone stopped being so unreasonable! One girl said she knew a clever way to make a delectable dessert of the macaroons and chocolate on the tray by toasting them at her bedroom fireplace, so they began to do that at once, while two others, complete with guitar, began to sing popular songs.

For the first time in weeks, Maris could relax and feel accepted by her peers. Just at first, there ‘d been some whispering and a fatally loud query of “Isn’t that the Lindel girl?” but when Maris showed no reaction, her pleased smile firm, her back straight, this embarrassment soon passed. Her hostesses, Cloris and her next sister in age, could not have been more generous, insisting that Maris sit beside them. It was quite the most pleasant evening she’d spent since her arrival in town.

Lilah started to yawn at about one o’clock and excused herself. When Maris tried to go with her, feeling that two were less likely to get lost in this warren than one, Cloris would not let her go. “No, no. You must stay. We’re going to be dressing Alameria’s hair. I’m convinced that simple braids all around her head will suit her much more than those curls
à la Grecque
her dresser insists upon. They are far too old for her.”

Flattered, Maris stayed. After a short time, Lilah reappeared and tried to draw Maris to one side. ‘The most appalling thing has happened,” she murmured, but not quite quietly enough to escape notice.

“What’s amiss?” Cloris demanded.

“Nothing. I spilled a bottle of scent in my room and now it reeks to heaven. I left the maid cleaning the carpet but now I cannot sleep in there.”

“You may share my room,” Maris said at once,

“Yes, that’s the answer.” Cloris possessed much the same decisiveness as her mother. “But dear Maris will stay with me. I have two beds in my room because my sister used to share it with me.”

So it was settled with a shrug and a nod. Lilah left the party again, map in hand. “You are too kind,” Maris said to Cloris.

“Nonsense. We shall be bosom friends, I hope.”

But when they were alone, Cloris only wanted to talk about Lord Danesby. “Is it true you live in the same town?”

“It hardly deserves the name of town. It is more of a village. One church, one school, one shop. Yet it is a dear place to my heart.”

Cloris took no notice of Maris’s modesty. “You must have met him often before you came to town.”

“I’d never met him to speak to him. He keeps largely to himself when he is in Finchley, which isn’t often.”

“One hears so many stories.” Cloris said with an artificial laugh. “I know my parents consider him almost like one of the family but I have never had much to do with him. Mama believes in keeping the nursery girls strictly segregated from strange men’s society. One of her aunts made a runaway marriage when she was underage, you know.” Maris shook her head wonderingly when Cloris dropped her voice to declare dramatically, “He was an escaped Jacobite.”

“How thrilling! However did they meet?”

But Cloris wasn’t interested in
giving
information. By the time her interrogator dropped off to sleep, Maris felt wrung dry of information about Lord Danesby. Sensitive to the presence of her own emotions in others, she guessed that here was another victim of his lordship’s unconscious charm.

She actually knew very little about him and what she’d learned firsthand she managed, to conceal through motives of prudence. It was obvious she’d disappointed her new “bosom friend.” But greater mischief was waiting.

Cloris snored.

No ladylike sniffs or snorts issued from her bed but great hurricanes and typhoons. It started with a low rumble in her throat, which made Maris look to the window in fear of a thunderstorm. Then a snorting, growling, slurping sound arose, reminiscent of eager tigers hunting through a muddy jungle. Then there came, as breath blew out between her slack lips, a rolling tympanic chord that would have frightened the French into thinking that the entire Scots Brigade, drums, bagpipes and all, were charging down upon them.

Maris clapped her hand over her mouth as an all-but-uncontrollable giggle started. She lay, her white bed shaking to her laughter, and immediately realized that she’d far rather breathe scent all night than remain with Cloris. A smell could be dissipated by an open window but only by throwing a pillow over Cloris’s head could this snoring be tolerated.

She gathered up her clothing, but she could not dress in the dark in the complicated finery of an evening dress. Fortunately, Cloris had lent her a dressing gown as well as a bed gown so that she need not steal through the halls of Durham House quite undressed. She pushed her feet into her flimsy pumps and stole from the room. For an instant she paused, as Cloris’s blustery breathing halted, choked, and resumed.

Thanks to the multiplicity of windows in this, the Stuart part of the house, Maris did not need a candle. The moon shone in with enough strength to make even the spidery writing on the map clear. She needed it, having taken a wrong turn somewhere between the early and late Stuart periods.

The house was deeply silent, yet every now and then, especially near a staircase, she would hear a distant sound of voices, too far-off to be understood. Once, she could have sworn she heard a chorus of singing, rather dim and faraway, yet giving an impression of boisterousness. Somewhere a few choice spirits were making a night of it. Though glad that someone else was awake in the vast house, Maris thought she would be wise to avoid that company.

Passing through another endless hall, she heard snoring the equal of Cloris’s and she wondered, stifling another giggle, if the man was single. Surely here was Cloris’s ideal mate. Why ruin the sleep of two innocent people when they could marry each other? Of course, the plaster on their bedroom ceiling would probably collapse.

After what seemed an eternity, Maris finally recognized a bronze nymph shyly offering a bowl of fruit that stood at the entrance to her own hall. Now more tired than even before, Maris dragged herself toward the sanctuary of her bedchamber. It didn’t matter if the room stank of worse things than Lilah’s lavender scent. All she wanted now was a bed, or even a reasonably flat surface, and quiet.

“Miss?” someone called from behind her. Wearily, she turned about to find that same sturdy footman, holding high a branch of candles. An empty birdcage dangled from his other hand. “Are you lost, miss? And no wonder if you are, such a place as I never saw.”

“No, thank you.” Maris remembered to be polite. “My room is just here.”

“I’ll light your way, then.”

“Thank you. I beg your pardon,” Maris said on an afterthought. “I thought I heard ...are there still people awake downstairs?”

His impudent grin flashed. “That there are. The young master’ll sleep all day tomorrow and so will most of the others. You young ladies will have to do without ‘em till nuncheon.”

“I doubt many of us will be awake any earlier.”

They reached her door at last. “Good night.” She was far too tired to ask about the birdcage. She noticed with vague relief that there were no birds in it.

“Good night to you.”

He held up his branch of candles just far enough so that she could see a foot beyond the open door. She noticed that Lilah had left a candle burning in her room and so dismissed the footman.

Hardly had she stepped on her own carpet than she realized that the light flowed over the gleaming naked chest of Lord Danesby, standing beside the bed, his fine linen shirt in his hand. “Miss Lindel?” he said, pure shock turning his voice husky.

Maris closed the door. “You know,” she said, a laugh trembling in her throat, “when I
saw a similar scene on the stage last week, I thought it highly improbable. “

He raised his arms to pull his shirt over his head once again. Maris glanced away in haste but she noticed that the shirt was marred. It had a thin red stain over the heart. His voice, though muffled by the folds of the shirt, could still demand a response. “What are you doing here?”

Maris felt surprise but no embarrassment at having him in her room. She couldn’t very well start screaming after they’d already exchanged civilities.

“I was warned that one could easily become confused in this house. Are you certain you did not lose your way, my lord?”

“On the contrary, I think it is you who are lost, Miss Lindel. And what, may I ask, are you doing wandering the halls at this hour?”

She could not betray Cloris’s secret. “I
don’t believe that is any of your concern,” she said, raising her chin defiantly.

“You made it my business when you walked through that door.”

“But this is my room.”

“No, it’s mine.” He picked his black coat from the bed and felt in the pockets. “Look. My room is clearly marked on this map.”

Perforce, she took the paper he flourished at her. It was the work of an instant to compare it with her own, still showing her former room. They were cheek by jowl. “But I’m certain . . .” The lingering fragrance in the air gave her an argument. “Miss Paladin spilled that scent earlier this evening. Surely you don’t use it?”

“No.”

“Well, then. Does this look like the room you were shown to when you arrived?”

His breath smelled slightly of alcohol but he didn’t seem at all off balance. “I didn’t see it. I arrived only a few moments before dinner was to commence. Fortunately, I had planned to arrive then and journeyed down in my evening attire.”

“Then who gave you this?”

“The butler.”

They stood close together, puzzling out the mystery. “It’s a well-run household,” Maris said. “Though I suppose mistakes happen even here.”

“I’ve often been a guest here and nothing of the sort has ever happened before. Don’t distress yourself.” He brushed her cheek gently with the backs of his fingers, pushing a loosened lock of hair over her shoulder. “I’ll go at once.”

She caught his sleeve. “Where will you sleep?”

“I’ll return to the youngsters downstairs. They’ll be up for hours yet. If I grow too weary for cards and dice, for I’m no heedless youth anymore, there are sofas and rugs enough to house an army in luxury.”