Never Doubt I Love (23 page)

She liked his kindly smile and gentle voice, and she said, beaming at him, “I believe that means you think I am not very wise, and you don't mind. But you should not restrict your criticism to females, my lord. I have listened to some of my Papa's friends telling him repeatedly how fortunate he is to have found my step-mama. Which is very silly, for I know they do not mean a word of it.”

Lady Julia disappeared behind her fan.

Lord Eaglund chuckled. “I think the man who wins your hand will not lead a dull life, little Miss Grainger. Most certainly my criticism does not apply only to the ladies. In fact, an you will cry friends with me, I shall take you to the House of Lords, where you will hear many learned gentlemen taking great pains to say what they do not mean.”

Lady Julia laughed and clapped her hands, and Zoe declared happily that she was making lots of lovely new friends. Two more guests were announced at this point. One was the Honourable Purleigh Shale, Lord Eaglund's tall and inarticulate heir, and the other, Lord Sommers, a big, bluff man of about forty, with a red face and an amiable manner.

The Honourable Purleigh bowed without grace and mumbled several half-completed sentences appearing to indicate his pleasure at meeting Miss—er, again; this less-than-scintillating performance earning him a pitying glance from his famous sire. Lord Sommers' bow was brisk, and, casting an unabashedly approving eye over Zoe, he said he had heard a good deal about Miss Grainger and was delighted to see he had not been misinformed.

“But you have only half the story, Ambrose,” said Lord Eaglund. “You are in for a treat, I promise you.”

Hackham appeared with wine for the gentlemen and ratafia for the ladies. The conversation swept along easily. Zoe's opinions of London in general and St. Paul's in particular were solicited, her frank replies often bringing laughter. The Honourable Purleigh let out some sudden and startling guffaws, and so far overcame his shyness as to stammer that he had met her brother “at school,” and trusted the “rascal” was well. Zoe was thus enabled to boast of her beloved Travis' accomplishments and his promising entry into the world of diplomacy.

Dinner was a lengthy procedure, with much earnest discussion of the street riots and nostalgic references to the “good old days,” and Lady Julia's father, who had, Zoe gathered, been an admired leader of the Tories as had his father before him.

“And before him, and before
him,
” said the viscount, smilingly. “I fancy you have learned much of this family during your stay here, Miss Grainger. 'Tis one of the oldest and proudest in all England. I'faith, but one can scarce think of England without thinking also—Yerville!”

Zoe nodded. “Lady Buttershaw has told me of many of her ancestors. They seem to have had a great deal to do with our history.”

“Till now,” said Lady Julia with a sigh. “Poor Papa. He did so yearn for a son. He would turn in his grave did he know that neither Clara nor I have provided a male heir to carry on our traditions. Uncle Faulkner does his best, but he will not live here, as he should, and insists upon remaining always at the Abbey.”

“Cannot blame the fellow for that, m'dear,” said Lord Eaglund. “One of the loveliest old places in the realm. Have you visited Sundial Abbey, Miss Grainger?”

“Not as yet,” Lady Julia put in. “'Tis our country seat, Miss Grainger. Very ancient and as full of history as it is beautiful. But too far from London to be the permanent residence of the Earl of Yerville, or to enable him to take his seat in the House as he should do. Of course, one must not be harsh, and the present earl does not enjoy good health.”

Lord Sommers asked, “Who will the title pass to, Julia? Not that ne'er-do-well boy of his, I trust?”

Lady Julia closed her eyes, and shuddered.

The viscount changed the subject hurriedly, and very soon afterwards Lady Julia and Zoe left the gentlemen to their port and nuts. They were alone for only a short while, and the tea tray was carried in at ten o'clock sharp. By half-past ten, as if by custom, the company departed. Zoe was sure Lady Julia would dismiss her, but instead the lady asked her to stay for a short while.

“At last, my dear,” she said, when Whipley and Phipps had led all the dogs downstairs, the cats trailing after them. “Now, we may be at ease, and you can tell me
all
about your visit to St. Paul's today. Was Mr. Cranford kind to you? I am told his temper is rather unpredictable.”

Zoe lost no time in coming to his defence, and launched into a spirited recounting of the day's events. Lady Julia listened with amused appreciation until Zoe mentioned Miss Benevento.

“Maria Benevento?” she asked with a lift of her brows.

“Yes. Do you know her, ma'am? I think she must be the most beautiful lady in London Town, and with such charm and liveliness.”

“She is most attractive, I grant you. But I believe Miss Katrina Falcon is the acknowledged Toast, although quite ineligible, unfortunately. You say Lieutenant Cranford asked Miss Benevento to join you at the Piazza? That was not very wise. But he may not know…” The words trailed off and she stared rather blankly at the hearth.

Zoe asked curiously, “Is she not accepted, ma'am? Am I not permitted to know her? I was so hoping she would be my friend.”

“Poor child.” Lady Julia said kindly, “You are lonely, and small wonder. What does Cranford say of her?”

“Oh, I think he finds her fascinating. In fact, he was meaning to leave London, but now he says he will stay on a little longer.”

“That is not surprising. From what you tell me, you have taken his mind off his—troubles. I rather suspect 'tis
you
he finds fascinating, my dear.”

Zoe felt her cheeks burn, and stammered that she was sure Mr. Cranford had no least interest in her. “Not in
that
way. 'Tis just that we find the same things amusing, you know. And when I get him to talk about his home and his family, he looks younger and so happy.”

“Even so, I cannot think why my sister sees him as a favoured applicant for your hand.” Lady Julia looked dubious. “He is in some way related to her, of course. But Clara tends to become extreme enthused about people, and very often later finds to her sorrow that her confidence was misplaced. In truth, we know very little of him. I sincerely hope he does not mix with unsuitable companions. Have you met any of his friends? Are they of good
ton?
”

Zoe was bound to admit that she had small knowledge of Mr. Cranford's acquaintances, but said she would attempt to learn more of the young man, and pleaded to be allowed to accompany him if he should call to take her driving tomorrow.

“Very well,” said Lady Julia. “But you must tell me whatever you learn of him, child. I do not want Lady Clara to fly into a pucker without due cause.”

Zoe thought about their chat as she lay in bed that night watching the moonlight send pale fingers across the polished boards. So now Lady Julia was not quite so sure of Lieutenant Cranford. Faith, but her ladyship was quick to change her mind! Only yesterday she had said she judged Cranford to be “a most commendable young gentleman.” Come to think of it, not until Miss Benevento's name had been mentioned had Lady Julia seemed to entertain doubts, and she had been evasive when asked if Miss Benevento was accepted by the
ton.
Was there something in the exotic beauty's background to put her on the outer fringe of Society, perchance? Her looks, certainly, would cause many ladies to take her in dislike. But Lady Julia was so kind and gentle; surely the last one to be jealous. Drifting towards sleep, Zoe yawned, and wondered which of her lovely new gowns to wear when she drove out with Lieutenant Cranford on the morrow …

Her eyes shot open, and suddenly she was wide awake. Almost, she could hear Lady Julia saying playfully, “… my cousin's youngest child was to have come as companion to me … I do not blame Hermione at all for refusing such a glorious opportunity…” But Gorton had said distinctly that Miss Hermione was
very fat.
If that was true, then the new gowns could not
possibly
have been intended for Miss Hermione! Modest as she was, Zoe could not help but know she had a pretty figure and an unusually tiny waist, and some of the new gowns fit so snugly that before the stomacher could be set in place Gorton had to lace her stays to the point she could scarce breathe.

Perplexed, she stared at the bright square of the moonlit window. Why on earth would Lady Julia have said that all those lovely gowns had been meant for her cousin's daughter? And, more disquietingly, came the inevitable following thought: ‘If they were really made for me, then my coming here must have been planned for some time. But—why? Why would they especially want
me?
'

*   *   *

“That foolish Caesar's coming after us, Miss,” said Gorton, clinging to the spaniel's lead and glancing back over her shoulder.

“Hold on tight,” urged Zoe. “If Cromwell sees him, he'll very likely—”

Her warning came too late. As if sensing that his cat followed, Cromwell barked, swung around and tore back down the street, with Gorton hanging on for dear life and uttering shrill and ineffectual commands that he stop at once.

Zoe laughed and called that she would wait in the park. Viking showed no inclination to join the rout, and she unlocked the gate and took the big dog inside. It was a glorious morning, the sky darkly blue even at this early hour, the sun brilliant, the air cool and stirred by a brisk breeze. There was no one in the little park, and Zoe sat down on a bench, removed the lead, and allowed Viking to wander about freely for a while.

All was quiet and peaceful. In fact, she mused, were someone to be magically conveyed to this small oasis, they would never dream they were in the middle of a great city. How quickly she had become accustomed to living here. She could scarce believe that two weeks ago Peregrine Cranford had not entered her life. Or that their ladyships, Gorton, Maria Benevento, and the guests who visited Yerville Hall had been unknown to her. So many interesting people to have met, so many fascinating places to have seen, and so very much more to—

A shout and a deep bark broke her reverie, and she started up in alarm. It would appear she was not as alone as she'd supposed. A man knelt by the fence opposite Yerville Hall; a gardener, apparently. He was brandishing a trowel defensively at Viking, who crouched, clearly about to attack.

“No!” cried Zoe, hurrying to the rescue. “Viking! Bad dog! Down, sir!”

The hound curled his lip at the gardener, then pranced over to Zoe with wagging tail and his best playful-puppy grin.

Zoe attached dog to lead.

The gardener scrambled to his feet and snatched off his hat. He was a broad-shouldered, ruddy-complected individual, probably in the neighborhood of forty, whose features bore the evidence of some desperate encounters. In fact, she thought, he looked more like a pugilist than a gardener. “I am sorry if my dog annoyed you,” she said kindly.

“'E didn't annoy me, Miss,” the gardener answered, his accent pure cockney. “I thought 'e was of a mind to 'ave me fer breakfast!”

Viking growled, and the hair on his back started to lift again.

Zoe suggested, “I think it might be well for you to stop pointing your trowel at him like that. He probably thinks you mean to attack him. Don't you like dogs?”

“Dogs, yus, Miss. Great 'ounds wot's 'alf-way to being a pony—them I can do without, thankee kindly! I knows another wot might be 'is bruvver, 'cept 'e's all black! Name of Apollo. Nasty? You wouldn't believe! Apollo—wotta name fer a dog!
I'm
more of a Apollo!” He grinned suddenly. “Which don't flatter the 'ound, do it, Miss?”

Smiling back, she said, “Your eyes are much too kind for me to think you would ever hurt an animal. Have you been working in this garden for very long?”

“On and orf.”

“Do you ever work after dark? I mean, as late as nine o'clock?”

“Not me, mate! Er, I mean, ma'am! Can't see no weeds at night, canyer now?”

Elsie called, “Are you in there, Miss Grainger?”

“Coming,” answered Zoe, and with a smile to the gardener, walked back to the gate.

He was shorter than the man she'd seen watching the house the evening before the accident. And more craggily built. And besides, as he'd said, you cannot see weeds at night …

*   *   *

“You look confounded green about the gills, Perry.” Having offered this considered opinion, Mr. Cyril Crenshore scooped a pile of cards, bills, and letters from the windowseat in Cranford's parlour and occupied it himself. He was a large young man with a bronzed face that attested to his preference for the outdoor life. An ardent sportsman and much admired amateur boxer, he was well liked, and of a generally amiable disposition. “Burning the candle at both ends, eh, dear boy?” he murmured, settling his muscular legs across the cushioned seat, and balancing a tankard of ale on the window-sill. “I saw you going into the Piazza yesterday with that little beauty. Don't believe in letting the grass grow under your feet, do you?”

“If you spill that on my correspondence, I'll grass you!” said Cranford, feigning indignation though he was far from displeased by the latter remark.

“I'd think you would be grateful to have me wash out a few of these bills. Though I see you've some invitations among 'em.” Crenshore took up a card addressed in a fine copperplate hand. “The
Eaglund
musicale!” He whistled, and his brows went up. “Wasn't aware you moved in such exalted circles! Be dashed if I received an invite. Not that I'd waste an afternoon listening to scraping fiddles and screeching sopranos. Do you mean to take the new Fair? Who is she, by the way?”

“If you refer to Miss Maria Benevento—” said Cranford loftily.