The Black Widow (11 page)

“How did you know?” Miss Prestwich asked.

“Your aunt has not made much effort to hide her opinion of me or of my uncle. But you must not let her bother you. I am not exactly proud of everything my relatives say and do either.” He was thinking specifically about his mother, whose prejudice against the Prestwich family was almost as irrational as Miss Phillipa Prestwich’s opinion of his Uncle Humphrey.

“Well in any case, since it lacks only a few weeks until I am of age, I have decided it is high time I started ordering my own life rather than letting my aunt decide what I may and may not do.”

His curiosity thoroughly aroused, Demetrius inquired as to exactly what she had in mind.

“Well, to begin with, I hereby resolve never to do another stitch of needlework, which my aunt loves but which I have always detested. For my part, I much prefer raising plants, but she has always insisted that gentlewomen do not grub about in the dirt, so the most she has allowed me to do is supervise Bagwell, our gardener, and that is not at all the same as growing flowers and vegetables myself. When we return to Norfolk, I intend to alter that situation to my own satisfaction.”

Demetrius thought about his estate, where no one cared enough even to supervise the gardener, who tended therefore to be a bit lackadaisical about his work. Demetrius’s paternal grandmother had had a passion for growing things, and had laid out elaborate flowerbeds and had planted many varieties of shrubs, some quite exotic. But after her death, the grounds around Thorverton Hall had rapidly begun to show signs of neglect, which he had never made any attempt to correct after the estate passed into his hands. Like his father, his interest and attention had been restricted to the stables.

“And another thing,” Miss Prestwich continued, “I am quite determined to have a pet of my own. Once, when I was much younger, I found a kitten. So tiny and sweet it was, I could not help but love it. But my aunt called it a ‘nasty little beast’ and ordered the gardener to drown it in the pond.”

“How terrible for you!”

“Bagwell did nothing of the sort, of course,” she said quite fiercely. “He would never do such a cruel thing. Indeed, he is the only one who shares my interests in any way, and he was quite my best friend when I was growing up. At my suggestion, he took the kitten to Farmer Simpson’s wife, who was more than happy to give it a home. I am able to play with it whenever I visit their farm, and it has grown up to be quite a splendid mouser. Its kittens are in high demand in the neighborhood, and I am sure if I asked, Mrs. Simpson would allow me to have my pick of the next litter.”

Again Demetrius thought about his own home, where he had three house dogs, twenty couple of foxhounds, plus innumerable cats that kept both the house and the stables free of rats and mice, while producing the inevitable litters of kittens. In contrast, it seemed to him that Miss Prestwich had been cruelly deprived during her childhood and youth. He had a strong desire to invite her to visit him and meet his menagerie, which brought to mind his latest four-legged acquisition.

“As part of your push for independence, have you considered learning to ride?” he asked, trying not to sound too hopeful. After being so long under her aunt’s domination, he did not, on his part, wish to coerce Miss Prestwich into doing anything she did not truly wish to do.

“To ride? Oh, I would dearly love that, but ... where would I get a horse? And how would I take care of it? I am afraid my pin money would not stretch to cover the initial purchase price, much less the cost of feed and stabling. As frugal as my aunt is inclined to be, still she insists we must have our own carriage since her father—my grandfather—always maintained that a true lady would never dream of utilizing public transportation. Despite that, she complains mightily every time she receives a bill for hay or oats or straw. Under no circumstances would she ever countenance the added expense of a riding horse, of that I am sure.”

“A not insolvable problem. As it happens, I have recently purchased a mare—for my mother to ride when she is in Devon,” Demetrius said mendaciously. “You could borrow it while you are here in London, and I would be happy to teach you to ride. We can go to the park early in the morning, when no one except for an occasional groom will be on hand to witness your initial efforts.”

“I would love to.” Miss Prestwich started to accept, but then her face fell. “But I had not considered. I would also need a saddle—”

“I have a sidesaddle you could use,” Demetrius interrupted.

“But there is still the problem of a riding habit. And do not attempt to convince me that you
happen
to have a lady’s riding habit that just
happens
to fit me, for I shall not believe you.”

“I could—”

“And you cannot possibly buy one for me, for that would be most improper. In fact, now that I think on it, I would likely incur the censure of all the high sticklers were I to ride one of your horses. My aunt would also be doubly against such an activity since it combines horses and men, both of which she detests.”

“I had thought you were determined to make your own decisions without worrying about her prejudices.”

When Miss Prestwich did not immediately respond, he continued, “I was about to say that I have a friend whose wife is approximately your size. She may have an old riding habit that you could borrow.’’

“I shall think on it,” was all that Miss Prestwich would say. But he did manage, before he returned her to her aunt’s house, to persuade her that they must see her father’s solicitor without delay.

* * * *

Descending the stairs, Meribe was pulling on her gloves and feeling a tingle of excitement at the thought of seeing Lord Thorverton again, even though their errand was of the most mundane. He had sent a note around that morning, informing her that Mr. Augustus Wimbwell was willing to see them that afternoon at two of the clock.

“And where do you think you are going?’’ Aunt Phillipa inquired, scowling up at her.

“Lord Thorverton and I are driving out again this afternoon,” Meribe replied calmly.

“Bah, I do not know why you persist in seeing that wretched man,” Aunt Phillipa muttered, turning aside to stalk into the library.

Instead of letting her aunt’s remark pass without comment, Meribe followed her, shutting the door behind them. “I see that ‘wretched man’ because he is the only person in London who is concerned about my happiness. Indeed, you are the one who is being totally unjust to condemn him solely on the basis of his uncle. People do not necessarily resemble their relatives, after all.” Taking a deep breath, she continued, “For example, you have a great talent for stitchery, and I have none at all.”

She paused, but Aunt Phillipa did not make any attempt to deny that Meribe was totally lacking in aptitude for all handicrafts. “Moreover, since I find as much pleasure in growing plants as you do in plying your needle, when we return to Norfolk you may embroider whatever you wish, and I shall grub about in the dirt to my heart’s content, and you will stop trying to turn me into a replica of yourself. Is that understood?’’

“I had not realized you felt this way,” Aunt Phillipa said, rather taken aback.

“Well, then, you have not listened adequately,” Meribe said, still feeling rather heated, “for I have told you over and over—”

“In your meek little voice,” Aunt Phillipa pointed out in a voice that was not at all meek.

Meribe smiled, but when she answered, her voice was just as firm as her aunt’s. “Perhaps you are right. I admit I have not always shown much resolution in expressing my likes and dislikes. But if I have not made myself clear on this occasion—”

“I believe I have understood you.” Aunt Phillipa eyed her as if estimating the degree of Meribe’s determination. Finally she said, “Very well, as much as it pains me to see you working like a common field hand, I shall not kick up a fuss if you engage in your chosen pursuit. Although I must insist that you wear gloves and a proper bonnet, for if I see even one freckle, I shall withdraw my permission. And you will not, of course, come into the drawing room reeking of compost unless you wish to give me spasms.”

“There is more,” Meribe said firmly, wishing to make full use of her present opportunity. “Lord Thorverton is going to teach me to ride. He is letting me use one of his horses, and can provide me with a saddle. In addition, he thinks one of his friends can lend me a riding habit—”

“No, no, it is not to be considered! I positively forbid it!”

Aunt Phillipa was so vehement, Meribe could feel her newfound self-confidence begin to erode.

“Do you think I want it bruited about London that I am too clutchfisted to provide my niece with proper clothes? Indeed, missy, if you insist upon perching on top of a horse like the rest of those witless fools, then Madame Parfleur shall make you a riding habit in the finest stare, and I shall not listen to any arguments on the subject.”

With great relief at her aunt’s unexpected capitulation, Meribe inquired, “And may I borrow Lord Thorverton’s mare?’’

“Well,” Aunt Phillipa said dubiously, “it is not exactly proper for a young lady to ride a horse provided by a man who is not a near relative.”

“But on the other hand, you know perfectly well that horses inevitably eat their heads off,” Meribe pointed out, being careful to suppress a smile at her victory, “and we would doubtless have to engage the services of an additional groom, who would be an unnecessary expense.”

“There is that to consider. I could wish that it was a female friend who was providing you with a mount. Still and all, I think my consequence is adequate to keep people from talking too much.”

“Besides which, with four deceased suitors to my account, what can the loan of a horse signify?” Meribe wished she could tell her aunt it was four
murdered
suitors, but she remembered Lord Thorverton’s admonition to reveal to no one what they had discovered so far since more than one person might be involved in the plot.

Aunt Phillipa sighed deeply. “I cannot help but wish your father had not been so determined that you should have a Season every year until you are one-and-twenty, although now that I think on it, when I was younger, he was continually trying to persuade me to go to London or even to Bath. But ever since my first Season, it has remained a puzzle to me why any woman would wish to tie herself to a man.” She eyed Meribe speculatively. “And I think it is high time you told me what Lord Thorverton’s purpose is in pursuing you. Are his intentions honorable?”

For a moment Meribe was tempted to lie, but in the end, when Lord Thorverton did not come up to scratch, that would only make her aunt think the worse of him. “He has told me quite openly that he is offering nothing beyond friendship.”

Her aunt’s countenance brightened, but only for a moment since Meribe continued, “But if he should offer for me, however, I fully intend to accept, and you shall
not
refuse me permission.”

“Or I suppose, as determined as you appear to be, that you would elope?’’

Meribe nodded, knowing all the time that she could never do anything so shocking. And knowing also that the chances of Lord Thorverton ever offering for her were virtually nonexistent.

“Then if such is the case, I suppose I shall have to become better acquainted with your young man. I must say I would prefer it if he took Hester off my hands, but then, I suppose he is no more fond of her sharp tongue than I am.’’

Meribe was finding it increasingly hard not to blurt out all her dreadful suspicions concerning her sister. But surely at the solicitor’s office they would discover that her fears were totally ungrounded. When they were children, Hester had been so kind to her, and they had played so contentedly together. Of course, that had been before Hester had cancelled her betrothal and had begun to use her tongue like a rapier.

There was a tap on the door, and Smucker stepped in to inform them that Lord Thorverton was waiting outside.

* * * *

“You are looking remarkably pleased with yourself,’’ Demetrius commented when Miss Prestwich was seated in the carriage. And you are looking extraordinarily pretty today, he added to himself. He was not sure of the cause, but every day he saw her, she seemed to grow more beautiful.

“I
am
quite pleased,” she replied. “I have had a discussion with my aunt—or an argument if you prefer—and for the first time in my life I have emerged a winner from the confrontation. She has given in on all points. Henceforth she will be civil toward you, I may work in my garden, and you have her permission to teach me to ride.”

“Then I shall speak to my friend’s wife at once.”

“That will not be necessary,” she said with a gleam of mischief in her eyes. “My aunt was most adamant that if I wish to ride, I must purchase a proper habit from Madame Parfleur. In fact, now that I think back on our conversation, I suspect that it was the mention of borrowing clothes from a total stranger that so incensed my aunt, she forgot to protest as vigorously as she might have about the riding lessons.”

She looked so delighted—and so delightful—that Demetrius was almost overcome by the impulse to seize her in his arms and rain kisses all over her face. Unfortunately—or perhaps fortunately—a carriage being pulled through crowded London streets by two fresh horses was not the best place for such activities.

Nor, now that he thought about it, would such rakish behavior be consistent with his offer of friendship. Still, he could not help wondering if her lips would taste as sweet as they looked.

It took considerable effort to pull his eyes away from her charms and force his mind back to his driving, especially since moments later she trustingly tucked her hand in the crook of his arm.

* * * *

“Do you know, in all the months I have been in London, this is the first time I have ever been to the City,” Meribe commented when they had turned off Fleet Street into a narrow lane where Mr. Wimbwell had his offices.

“And what is your opinion of it?” Lord Thorverton asked.

“Everyone seems to be in such a hurry. Or perhaps ‘hurry’ is not the right word—‘purposeful’ would be a better way to describe them. No one is strolling along aimlessly.”