Miss Mischief - A Regency Romance (8 page)

Chapter Three

There were seven people gathered, all of them seated around a large, low table while an elderly woman in black presided over an enormous teapot, pouring cups of tea which were taken from her by a hovering footman and distributed accordingly. A rather good spread had been laid out, Marcus was pleased to note. If he must socialize then he would not say no to a decent feed. Of Miss Claybourn, there was as yet no sign but he expected it would take her longer to emerge. A female’s toilette could not be hurried. Sir Antony rose and came forward the moment his unexpected guest walked in; clearly, he had been waiting for him.

‘Here we are, then,’ he said jovially. ‘Sir, let me once again bid you welcome. You’re looking much more the thing.’

‘Bring him over here, Antony,’ an unexpected voice said. Unexpected, because it was not the cultured accents that he had come to take for granted in the drawing rooms he usually attended. Instead, the voice, strong and resonant, sounded pure Yorkshire. ‘Let’s get a look at the lad who rescued our Johanna.’

A faint flicker of something – discomfort? – appeared briefly on Sir Antony’s face but he smiled and nodded. ‘Yes indeed, Mother. As soon as I learn the young man’s name, introductions will be made.’

‘Lord Marcus Hathaway,’ Marcus said, knowing that it would be just as easy to get it over with now. He had no idea who was staying at Cloverton Hall but it would be just his luck that somebody would know him, or at least his name. Discarding his title was probably not the best idea and, while he could always adopt an entirely new sobriquet, that might very well trip him up as well. The surprise on his host’s face was unmistakable but it quickly became apparent that it was not recognition that put it there, but astonishment that a peer might be traversing the byways hip deep in mud. Clearly, he had not thought that the dirty fellow who had returned his daughter to him would be a lord.

‘Is that so? Well, well, now. I’m sure it’s very good to meet you, Hathaway. Ah… are you visiting family in the area?’

‘No, Sir Antony. Just traveling through.’

‘I see,’ the man said, although clearly he didn’t. Turning, he led Marcus to the little old lady dressed from head to toe in the black silk crepe of a mourning gown. Her hair was as silver as the teapot before her but there was no denying the sharp intelligence in her bird-bright black eyes. She looked him over thoroughly. It was difficult to judge if she approved of what she saw but at least she didn’t look too unkindly by this new arrival.

‘So you’re the lad that fetched Johanna home,’ she said, nodding her head to the empty chair beside her that had been occupied by Sir Antony. Marcus deduced that he was to sit and he did so, offering a vague smile to the others who were loosely gathered around the table. Introductions needed to be made but clearly, the little woman was presiding over the affair and would direct proceedings as she saw fit. Sir Antony stood watching, eyeing his mother rather as a mouse might eye a cat. There was certainly a nervous gleam in his eyes.

‘I am indeed. Marcus Hathaway, at your service Ma’am.’ He gave her a half bow, restricted in this movement by the fact he was in a chair.

‘How de do,’ she returned. ‘I am Katherine Howeth, Mrs. Howeth to you, young man. Johanna is my granddaughter and a handful she is, to be sure. Not that I don’t like high spirits in the young and she’s got a good heart in her. Can’t abide these prissy young things but the lass is a cracker. Isn’t that right, Antony?’

‘Yes, Mother,’ Sir Antony agreed glumly. ‘Johanna is certainly headstrong. If only her mother had survived -’

‘Oh, enough of that blather,’ the woman said impatiently. ‘Our Oliue would ha’ no more luck than anyone else in teaching the child to mind. Soft as soap, she was.’ The black eyes shifted to Marcus once again. ‘Not that the lass isn’t fair enough; there’s no gainsaying that. What say you, your lordship? Have you ever seen a girl prettier than my Johanna?’

He stared at the woman, taken aback. She was certainly an interesting character and her voice indicated that her origins were not those of her son. Or son-in-law? Whatever the case, there was no doubt that she was the grande dame of the family. Marcus was mildly intrigued for the house and its occupants were as gentrified as he had been expecting and yet this lady was anything but. Not that this would be the first family that could lay claim to what his estimable peers liked to refer to as ‘trade.’ They might curl their lips at such people but there were plenty that weren’t too proud to accept the money that such class mergers usually brought in.

‘Well?’ she demanded impatiently after a moment. ‘She’s a diamond, wouldn’t you say?’

It was quickly becoming obvious that Mrs. Howeth was all for brazen honesty, a little too much so if the looks on the other guests’ faces were any indication. He glanced around the table and it was immediately obvious his fellow guests were finding this conversation equally uncomfortable. Along with the lovelorn James and the fair-haired duo that had greeted his arrival, there was a middle-aged lady in fawn velvet and a younger female bedecked in an alarming quantity of apricot cambric and lace – the mother and sister of James, that had come to take tea.

Marcus looked back at his hostess. ‘Well I’m sure that she -’ He was spared more by a soft, amused voice behind him.

‘That’s hardly a fair question to ask a gentleman, Grandma. What can he possibly do but agree? If the poor man finds my looks not to his taste, he is honor bound to pretend otherwise. Although perhaps our guest does not scruple to use honesty?’ He looked up and met a pair of dancing dark eyes. ‘What say you, Sir?’ she inquired wickedly. ‘You seem like a well-traveled man. I am sure you have seen no end of pretty women. How do I measure up?’

‘Johanna!’ Sir Antony expostulated. ‘Really, my child, that is… that is not the kind of question one asks a gentleman.’

‘Oh that’s quite all right,’ Marcus assured him. He had turned in his seat and looked up at her. She had changed into an afternoon dress of pale blue muslin with long sleeves that clung to her slender arms and that was adorned with only a thin satin ribbon that was worked into the material, drawing in to tie beneath her breasts. In truth, she looked stunningly lovely. The dewy fresh skin was flawless, the small, straight nose entirely perfect and, while her full lipped mouth might be a little too lush for classical tastes, there was no doubt its shape might lead most men to sinful thoughts. Her silver hair had been arranged into an artful tumble of curls, threaded through with blue ribbon that matched the one on her dress. Those large brown eyes, with their ridiculous fringe of sooty lashes, regarded him challengingly, as if daring him to meet her taunt. He collected his wits and continued on smoothly. ‘I am all for honesty and I have to say that, while you are certainly a beauty, Miss Claybourn, you are quite correct. I have travelled extensively and have seen many lovely women. You certainly measure up favorably,’ he allowed, ignoring the small gasp that came from somewhere around the table. ‘In fact, in a year or two you will probably be quite remarkable. But it takes more than a fair face to make a beautiful woman, don’t you think? There are so many other qualities that contribute.’

‘Is that so?’ Far from being put out by this outrageous observation, Miss Claybourn was obviously entertained. ‘And what, in your excellent estimation, might I do to increase my
cachet
in that area? I will allow that I am inclined to follow my impulses -’

‘Certainly something you should curb.’

‘ – and occasionally I allow my temper to get the better of me -’

‘Certainly an area to work on.’

‘ – but generally,’ she said, raising her voice a little, ‘I have not had many complaints!’

He met her eyes. ‘People are very kind, are they not?’

This surprised a gurgle of laughter out of her. ‘Oh! How unkind you are.’

He tilted his head and pretended to give the matter his consideration. It was an absurd conversation and he knew he was overstepping the lines of propriety in leaps and bounds, but the ridiculous chit was in no way offended and he found it all too easy to participate in the farce. Perhaps she reminded him of Millie, with her outrageous attitudes and obvious enjoyment of the absurdities of Polite Society but those sparkling eyes were hard to resist.

‘You
did
ask my opinion. All I’m suggesting is if you cultivated a more restrained manner – you are quite forward, you know – and considered before you spoke -’

‘Very difficult,’ she assured him. ‘For I have never been able to do so.’

‘Restraint, Miss Claybourn,’ he returned gravely, ‘must be learned. Few women are born with it.’

To which she gave a peal of laughter and came forward to drop a kiss on her grandmother’s cheek. ‘Is he not outrageous, Grandma? I swear, if he had not behaved in such a gentlemanly fashion by rescuing me from the mud I would be quite overset.’

‘You’re a shocking flibbertigibbet,’ her grandmother said, but there was a soft gleam in her eyes as she looked up at her granddaughter. ‘I don’t know what our guests must be thinking of such a jaunty piece o’ goods as you.’

‘Oh, they know me well enough,’ Miss Claybourn said, glancing at the group who were staring at her, expressions reflecting their opinions all too well.

‘And I must protest at Hathaway’s extremely unkind summation,’ the fair-haired gentleman spoke up, still with that undercurrent of weary amusement in his voice that grated on Marcus’ nerve ends. ‘Having traveled extensively myself, I can attest to the fact that Miss Claybourn far outshines any of the ladies I have so far encountered. Having come to know something of her, I can assure you that she is as sweet natured as she is lovely.’

The lady herself seemed far from pleased with this compliment but she said nothing, merely giving a small shrug and a smile.

‘Very nicely said,’ Mrs. Howeth said dryly. ‘And now, if we’ve got nobody else waiting in the lobby, perhaps we can get on with tea. It’s past three and I’m in need of a cup of something to sustain me.’

‘Quite right,’ Sir Antony said hastily. 

Before Miss Claybourn went to find her own seat, Marcus met the girl’s gaze and was disconcerted to see a new, speculative gleam in those brown eyes. His uneasiness returned. The last thing he needed was a chit like that taking an undue interest in him.

He was not looking for romance. Indeed, he had taken to wandering because he wished to postpone all thought of his future. Marcus had no desire to marry a girl he could give nothing to, so marrying for money was out of the question. He would become the worst kind of cliché. More than that, such a union would be so far away from what he had once envisioned for himself that it was easier to reject it out of hand than to explore the possibility. The truth was, Marcus had no idea how he was going to come about but he was determined to do so by his own means, not somebody else’s. He owed his heritage an heir but that same heritage had been so badly eroded that he was at a loss to know how to regain ground. It was easier, for the moment, to simply wander. He could not lose himself forever but he was young enough to know that the future could surely wait for a time.

It must. His time in France had taken more from him that he had originally thought and, while the dreams might fade, the experience itself still had a hold on him. It would not be that way forever but it was that way now.

As Johanna Claybourn took a seat, he comforted himself with the knowledge that this was only a brief interlude and soon, he would be on his way. He had met some curious characters in his travels but the Claybourns certainly ranked among the most unusual and Johanna, with her glorious looks and demented suitors probably took the prize. He wondered if the silly fools understood that, in their enthusiasm for gaining her favor, they might very well injure themselves
or
the object of their desire.

It has nothing to do with me
, he told himself firmly.
Johanna Claybourn is the kind of girl that will always find herself embroiled in peculiar situations, either through her own doing or somebody else’s. But I will be gone within the hour and this meeting will become nothing more than an amusing encounter. Mock stick ups and pistols at dawn? Millie, I daresay, will be delighted by the whole thing.

‘Good afternoon, Mrs. Esk, good afternoon, Pricilla,’ Johanna said politely, finally greeting the two other guests who were sitting around the low table. Finding one of the local families present was not unusual, for her suitors often badgered their mothers into paying a social call. James, drat him, must have pleaded half the morning to make Mrs. Esk agree for the lady did not really care for Johanna and would be quite happy if her son’s suit was rejected, no matter how large a dowry she might possess.