Miss Mischief - A Regency Romance (16 page)

Despite these dire thoughts, he had to admit he found Johanna Claybourn’s company refreshing. It was impossible to be annoyed with a female who was so cheerfully honest about everything, including her own looks. Circumstance should have made the girl full of vanity but instead she possessed a pragmatism about her beauty that was remarkably refreshing. He had no doubt that she would receive a mixed reception when she did make her debut but that delightful candor would find a following.

It was time to bring his attention back to the manner in which he might rid Miss Claybourn of her unappealing suitor and he knew he had to discover a way to do so as soon as possible. Cloverton Hall was a pleasant stopover, it was true, but the less time he spent involving himself in Miss Claybourn’s affairs, the better he sensed he would be. She had surprised him with her forthright honesty and he could not help but admire her. But the girl was everything he did not want to find in a woman; a beautiful heiress who was in need of a protector. He knew that there was a very real danger of lingering too long in her company. He might have strong views on the subject of heiresses, but only a fool would expose himself to a girl such as Johanna Claybourn for any length of time.

He was not such a fool.

As they walked up the steps to the terrace he saw Mrs. Howeth sitting at a table, a tea tray before her. She was rugged up as if she were expecting a blizzard to descend at any moment, a fur rug over her knees and a thick shawl draped over her shoulders. She eyed the pair coming towards her with speculative interest and Marcus wondered what the devil was going on inside the old lady’s head.

‘Good morning, Grandma,’ Miss Claybourn said cheerfully, moving forward to drop a kiss on her grandmother’s wrinkled cheek.

‘And so it is. I am pleased to see you in the open air. Lord Hathaway,’ she added, with a nod. ‘Sit down, why don’t you?’

‘Thank you.’ He sat down, wondering if they were going to be chided about walking unescorted. They should be, God knows. Even his mother would have taken a dim view of one of her daughters wandering in the garden with a virtual stranger. ‘I trust you slept well?’

‘No. I’m old and creaky, Lord Hathaway. Old women do not sleep well. It’s why we fall asleep during the day like bairns.’

He could see where Miss Claybourn had her candor from. ‘I’m sorry to hear it.’

‘No matter.
I do gradely enough – I’ve reached the fine old age of seventy, which is an achievement, let me tell you. I daresay I have a few more years in me yet. So now,’ she poured herself another cup of tea. It looked as black as treacle and likely to peel the lining off the delicate china cup. ‘Tell me what the two of you have been hatching between you. I know a couple of conspirators when I see them. Last I heard, you were heading on, lad and yet here you are.’

Marcus wondered what the most politic response was but he need not have worried; Miss Claybourn was more than happy to elaborate.

‘He is going to rid me of Lord Mordern,’ she said, with considerable delight.

Her grandmother raised a sparse eyebrow. ‘Is he now? And why is that?’

‘Need you ask, Grandma? Lord Mordern is a most unpleasant man. Papa doesn’t think so of course but then… Grandma, Papa is making up to Mrs. Gordon!’

Her grandmother regarded her for a moment, then looked at Marcus. ‘What do
you
think?’

Surprised at being asked so direct question on such a personal subject, he did not balk. ‘It seems to be true enough. Sir Antony seems very taken with the lady.’

‘Is she a schemer?’

He hesitated for a moment, then grimaced. ‘I think it very likely. But I hasten to add, I know nothing of the woman. In all fairness, I may have misjudged her.’ He met Miss Claybourn’s indignant look with equilibrium. It was true, after all. He did
not
know Celine Gordon. He could just surmise what her intentions were.

‘And here I was, fretting on Lord Mordern,’ Mrs. Howeth muttered. ‘I had na’ thought the female’d smittle to go after Antony, but there you are.’

Marcus wasn’t entirely sure but he thought that the old woman had accepted their surmise that Mrs. Gordon had set her cap at her son-in-law.

‘Yes, but what are we going to do?’ Miss Claybourn demanded, absently reaching out to take a crumpet off a salver set over a warming dish in the middle of the table and nibbling on it. ‘You’ll have to talk to him, Grandma. Tell him that Mrs. Gordon is not suitable.’

‘Aye, and I’m sure he’d be chuffed to hear it,’ her grandmother said dryly. ‘Nothing makes a man keener to kick up than to be told otherwise. Like as not he’d take them both off to Gretna if it means a dust up.’

Johanna Claybourn looked dismayed. ‘But he’s
serious
about her. If we don’t do something he might even… oh Grandma, he might ask her to marry him and then it will be too late! He always listens to you. Surely you could make him see that this is madness?’

‘I doubt I could and there’s no need to fratch on about it. Your father’s a grown man, an’ so he is,’ her grandmother said sharply, before shooting a look at Marcus. ‘But Mordern. Aye, he’s a worry. May I ask if you intend to help rid us of this pestilential creature, your lordship?’

Marcus was reminded of a certain king asking who would rid him of a troublesome priest. There was an element of the regal about the woman.

‘I am not certain, as yet,’ he admitted frankly. ‘But I must do something. Mordern is not a fit guest to be staying beneath the same roof as -’ he broke off, glancing at Johanna.

The old lady tilted her head a little and he was once again reminded of a bird. ‘Staying beneath the same roof as a young, innocent lass? Aye, you’ve got that right.’

‘It would be different if he were an acceptable suitor but Miss Claybourn feels the attentions of Lord Mordern are unwelcome,’ Marcus said carefully. ‘As he is an invited guest, it might be difficult to be rid of him in the usual course of events and I have offered to – ah – help your granddaughter see the back of him.’

Mrs. Howeth nodded approvingly. ‘You have my gratitude, then. Claybourn means well enough but he’s a barmpot when it comes to judging folk. An’ while the lad is fair enough in his dealings with me he’s a man all told, and sure enough in himself not to heed the words of an old woman.’

‘Grandma!’

‘Oh, whist away!’ Mrs. Howeth retorted. ‘If he fancies himself with the Gordon woman then like as not he’s not clear in the head. We do well enough in the general course of things but tis better to slide around this particular problem sideways, I’m thinking.’

‘Very sensible,’ Marcus agreed, trying to keep his face straight. The more he knew of Katherine Howeth, the more he was inclined to think she was as sharp as a nail. ‘Now all we need is a way to rouse the fellow into making a misstep.’

‘Aye, he’s a bad ‘un,’ his hostess said sourly. ‘An’ careful to boot. All sweet words and smilin’ face but there’s a look about him. If he were a horse I’d have him out of the stable quick smart.’

‘We would never buy such an animal,’ Miss Claybourn said with a sniff. ‘I trust I am a better judge than
that
.’

Marcus grinned. He could not help it. ‘You chose the horseflesh, Miss Claybourn?’

She gave him a look. ‘And what is wrong with that? Papa would fill the place with showy pieces that would be blown at the first gallop. I’ve been overseeing the horses for several years.’

He raised his hands, palms outwards. ‘I am all admiration,’ he assured her. ‘But if we could return to the subject at hand -’

‘I have been thinking about it -’ Miss Claybourn began, but she broke off at the sound of voices. Raised voices from close by. Rising to his feet, Marcus walked to the end of the terrace and looked down into the garden. Two figures were standing on the lawn, swatting at each other with almost comical inefficiency. One was familiar to Marcus, the other, a rather plump youth who was obviously trying to grow a mustache to no great effect, was not. Beside him he heard Johanna Claybourn sigh.

‘Mr. Warrington, Mr. Duffy, kindly stop that and stay away from the garden beds,’ she said, tone imperious. ‘Clavers was very displeased when you stood on his petunias during your last display of foolishness.’

Both lads had stopped at the sound of her voice, as still as statues. It reminded Marcus of a childhood game he used to play with his sisters called Giant’s Treasure. Anybody who wasn’t the nominated giant would make their way forward to try and steal the ‘treasure,’ whatever that may be, that lay at the giant’s feet. When the giant turned around the others would be have to freeze. If the giant caught them moving so much as a muscle he would give chase. By the look on Miss Claybourn’s face, she seemed likely to start chasing somebody very soon and he doubted they would enjoy being caught.

Both boys (he had trouble calling them men, although he supposed they must have been seventeen or eighteen) more or less came to life at once and hurried over to stand at the foot of the terrace, their eyes fixed worshipfully on Miss Claybourn’s slight figure.

‘How fortunate that I have caught you at home -’ Mr. Warrington began.

‘I was just passing by and I had hoped -’ Mr. Duffy said at the same time.

They turned to glare at each other.

‘Miss Claybourn,’ Mr. Duffy said, a little more loudly than was strictly necessary. ‘I have come to ask you to go riding with me this afternoon.
Do
say yes,’ he added, tone wheedling.

‘
I
had come to ask if you would care to go on a picnic with me this afternoon,’ Mr. Warrington inserted hastily. In the daylight, Marcus could see that he was rather more prepossessing than Mr. Duffy, being a good six inches taller and with a decent set of the shoulders. Unlike Mr. Duffy, who affected a rather dandified air with his high, pointed shirt collar, Mr. Warrington was dressed unexceptionally but he still reminded Marcus of a large, over enthusiastic puppy. ‘I was thinking of making up just a small party.’

‘What, just the two of you?’ Mr. Duffy sneered. ‘How dreary
that
would be. You can dazzle her with your wit.’

‘It would be a jolly sight more amusing than going riding with you,’ Mr. Warrington snapped back. ‘You look ridiculous on the back of a horse!’

‘Is that so?’

‘Everybody says so.’

‘I’d like to -’

‘Gentlemen!’ Marcus raised his voice, just a little. If he didn’t intervene he felt as if it might revert back to slapping and there was only so much entertainment that one could take so early in the day. ‘That is more than enough. You are behaving very discourteously. Miss Claybourn will not be able to go with either of you this afternoon. She has a previous engagement.’

He felt Johanna Claybourn’s sideways glance but his announcement did have the salutary effect of silencing both the combatants. Instead, they transferred their hostile glares from each other to him, as if noticing him for the first time. Which, he reflected wryly, they probably had, their attention being all for the beautiful girl at his side or for each other.

‘And who are you, Sir?’ Mr. Duffy demanded, raising a quizzing glass and peering through it. Like the rest of his outfit, it appeared completely incongruous, especially on one so young and he recalled Miss Claybourn mentioning that the boy liked poetry, which might have explained the loosely knotted silk kerchief at his neck. Marcus sternly repressed his urge to smile.

‘I am Lord Hathaway,’ he said, with what he hope was creditable haughtier. It wasn’t something he practiced very often. ‘A guest in this house.’

‘Oh,’ Mr. Warrington muttered, before his gaze sharpened. ‘I say, didn’t we meet last night?’

‘What were you doing here last night?’ Mr. Duffy demanded.

Mr. Warrington flushed. ‘Uh… nothing. I was just…’ He blew out a breath and turned his gaze back to Miss Claybourn who was standing silent. ‘Miss Claybourn, I am awfully sorry for disturbing you,’ he said in humble accents.

Marcus felt her stir and sigh again. ‘It’s all right Arnold. But you and Percy, yes
and
Hugo and James really must stop running about the garden like this. It is very trying. Just… go to the front door like anybody else.’

‘I was going to,’ Mr. Duffy muttered. ‘But then I spotted Warrington heading up from the lake and I went after him.’