The Heiress Companion (10 page)

“All right, Lizzie, I’ll be with you in just a moment.”

“
Lully
.”

He regarded his sister with amazement. “Come on, puss.” He
rose from Margaret’s side and took Eliza’s hand in a firm — authoritarian — grip.
They left the room but went no farther than the corridor outside it. Closing
the door behind them, Ulysses Ambercot turned to confront his sister.

“Look here, what the devil do you mean by it, hey? We shall
leave in a short while — I don’t wish to tire Miss Cherwood. Or Jane, either,”
he added belatedly.

“O, certainly not,” Eliza hissed spitefully. “While I sit about
with no one to talk to and nothing to do, you and that hateful Margaret
Cherwood sit and make eyes at each other.” Her voice rose. “You know, she’s
nothing but the companion’s cousin, Lully. I don’t care who Rowena might be,
she’s the companion’s cousin, and a dependent here, and why you’re wasting your
time talking to her and listening to her stupid voice and —”

“Look here, Lizzie —” Lully broke in with a voice of steel. “Keep
your voice down, you silly chit. I don’t know what maggot’s got into your hat,
but you’d best watch what you say, both about Rowena and Miss Meg, for Mamma
don’t like to have her friends talked about in that fashion.”

“Mamma! Mamma ain’t even here!” Eliza squeaked. “And at
least your stupid old Rowena works for her keep. Why, that Margaret Cherwood
just came to visit, and not the family, either, and she’s made a May game of
the household with her starting that fire — I suppose you think she didn’t
try
to do something of the sort to catch your
attention? Why, I know her type of female! I’ve met them in Bath. She’s set her
cap for you, Ulysses Ambercot, and you’ve tumbled right into the trap. She’s
hateful, that’s what she is. Hateful, hateful, hateful —”

Eliza’s voice, rising to an hysterical pitch, was stopped,
suddenly, by a slap across her cheek. Jane Ambercot stood by the door, ruefully
holding a bandaged hand and glaring at her sister.

“Come on, Eliza, I’ll give you some cool water for your
face,” was all Miss Ambercot said to her, but in a voice that boded no good. “Lully,
you’d best go see to Margaret. We heard everything our sister said in there.”

“I don’t care,” Eliza wailed stubbornly. “It’s not fair.”

“Of course it isn’t, goose. Nothing ever is,” Jane answered
firmly, and took her sister’s arm gingerly.

Ulysses peered around the edge of the doorway. Margaret was
seated upright on her couch, her face pale and concerned.

“Is Miss Eliza all right, Mr. Ambercot?” she asked timidly.

“O, damn Lizzie —” he began. “No, I don’t mean that. Yes, I
suppose she’ll be right enough in a moment. I’m terribly sorry you had to hear
her, though. If I hadn’t told you already that she was the most fatiguing
little nuisance alive I’m afraid I should really have to apologize for what she
said. As it is — but you know what it is. Not a scrap of truth in her.” He
spoke as lightly as he could. Margaret’s eyes dropped.

“Is that what everyone thinks?” she murmured at last,
haltingly. “That I’m a — what is it? A hanger-on? And oughtn’t to be here? I
thought it was all right when Renna talked with Lady Bradwell, and that perhaps
I could help in the household somehow and do something to show Lady Bradwell,
and Lord Bradwell, and even Mr. Bradwell, how much I appreciated their
kindness. And then I had that stupid accident — but Mr. Ambercot, it really was
an accident. I couldn’t —”

“Set yourself on fire? Certainly you couldn’t, and only a
little nodcock like Lizzie would even hint at such a thing. As for being a
trial to the Bradwells, that’s the stupidest thing I ever heard.”

“No, it isn’t,” Margaret insisted bravely. She still had not
met his eyes. “I could have stayed in my room and caused no one any trouble,
and instead here I am, in a larger room, with all sorts of attention and the
loveliest food, and Dr. Cribbatt visiting here almost every day. I must be the
most horrible expense! I should have gone to my grandmother’s, I know. This
only proves —”

“Nothing,” Lully said flatly. He was at her side now, and
had knelt at the head of the sofa in hopes of making her look at him. “But if
you really feel this way, there is an alternative you might consider.” He
paused to clear his throat.

“Yes?” Margaret asked distractedly.

“I
do
wish you’d look at
me, Margaret.”

She raised her eyes slowly, as if the motion were difficult.

“You might — hum. Well, could you think of being — uh — engaged
to me?” It was out, and now Lully was the one who had difficulty meeting her
eyes.

“Just being engaged?” she asked doubtfully.

“Well, I’d prefer that you do the whole thing and marry me
completely, of course,” he answered solemnly. “Of course, if you really couldn’t
stomach that, I wouldn’t
insist
.” Busy
regarding the carved feet of the sofa, Ulysses missed a leap of joy in Margaret’s
eyes, and then a slight, mischievous smile that passed across her face.

“But how would that help my position here?” she asked
blankly.

Now he looked up, to find her smiling shyly at him.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t make me explain that far.”
Smiling back at her, he noticed that he had somehow taken hold of both her
hands. She watched him; he regarded her nervously. Without warning, both of
them began to chuckle.

“O, come on, Meggy, don’t make me wait.” He implored her
through gasps of laughter. “If — if — you don’t care for me —” His voice
settled into a more sober tone. “Well, send me about my business and I shan’t
bother you again. But I did think —”

“If you think that you like me half as well as I —” Margaret
began, and was stopped when Ulysses so far forgot himself as to envelop her in
a painful, but highly satisfactory embrace. It was not until Margaret let a
small squeak of discomfort escape her that he released her, apologizing
ferociously for hurting her, and reviling himself as the greatest monster on
the earth.

“But how long, d’you think, until I can — hum — hold you
without hurting you?” he asked at last.

“Well, as long as you don’t squeeze me too dreadfully tight,
I imagine it can’t be very long.”

“Margaret,
will
you
marry me? I mean, do I have to wait until you’re well again before I can ask?
To tell truth, I don’t think I can wait that long.”

“Lully, you aren’t asking me because you feel sorry for me,
are you?”

“Not for that reason, nor any other that my idiotish little
sister may have put into your head. I’m asking because I should dislike to end
as a bad-tempered old bachelor of eighty, the terror of my family and the
regret of every matchmaking mamma for sixty years.”

“And you think I can help to avert that?”

“Margaret, little love.” He looked squarely at her. “I think
you are my only hope.”

“O, Ulysses!” she breathed. “What an utterly perfect thing
to say!” And was again taken into a strong, but very gentle embrace.

“And just think how you will put my Aunt Dorothea’s nose out
of joint!” Rowena’s voice came from the doorway. “Congratulations, Lully, for
finally
realizing what I’ve known for above two
weeks. I shall not excuse myself for walking in, children; if you
will
leave the door open —”

“And what is it you have known for above two weeks?” Mr.
Ambercot asked interestedly, from over the top of Margaret’s ear.

“That you two were head over ears in love with each other. I
dislike to interrupt you, and I’ll leave you to make your
au revoirs
in private — yes, you see that I do
have some sense of decency. But Jane suggests that you take Eliza home as soon
as possible. She won’t tell me what happened, but it seems that Eliza is still
crying, and Jane says —”

“Spare us what Jane says, and tell her that — I shall take
Lizzie home in just a moment.”

“And in the meantime I should leave you to your wooing and
take my intrusive presence elsewhere?” Rowena asked good-naturedly.

“Exquisitely put,” Mr. Ambercot agreed.

“All right then. But remember, Lully, that you don’t want to
tire Meggy too much.”

“And Meggy would like to make it known that she is perfectly
able to take care of her own welfare,” Margaret said with dignity, from a
vantage point tucked into Ulysses’ shoulder. “And that she dislikes to be
spoken of as if she were in another room.”

“Meggy is very right.” Rowena sketched a curtsy in her
cousin’s direction. “I’ll be up with your supper in half an hour, coz. That is,
if you can think of anything so unromantic as food.”

“Certainly she can. Your business is now to mend yourself as
quickly as possible, sweetheart —” Ulysses began. By the time he had finished
explaining the whys and wherefores, with satisfactory demonstrations of his
concern, Rowena had closed the door behind her.

Standing in the hallway, she smiled. Perhaps Lady Bradwell
was right after all; this matchmaking business, when handled correctly, was a
greater amusement than she would have thought. With a shrug, she went to find
Jane and the very damp Eliza, with word that Lully would shortly be ready to
return to Wilesby House.

It would be difficult to determine who was the more
delighted at the news of Margaret’s engagement to Ulysses Ambercot: Lady
Bradwell or Mrs. Ambercot. Of course, Ulysses himself protested that his
delight must take precedence over theirs, but he was immediately shouted down
by the dowagers, and told to mind his manners. Margaret, who was privy to a
great deal of this rejoicing from the vantage of her sofa, smiled and dimpled
prettily no matter
who
was delighted,
nursing a secret surety that no one could be as happy as she. Together with
Rowena, Margaret summoned up the courage to compose a letter to her mother
informing her of her engagement; when it was done Rowena regarded the document
with pride and a touch of malice, remarking that
this
would put a crimp in her Aunt Doro’s bonnet for sure.

“She can’t object, surely,” Margaret protested fearfully.

“Mind it? Lamb, if I know your mamma she will be
aux anges
— only furious that she had no part in
engineering the coup!”

Jane Ambercot professed herself ready and willing to welcome
her new sister into the family at any time, and she and, Margaret were happy to
spend hours closeted together discussing Ulysses’ talents and vagaries. Both
the Bradwell men congratulated him and felicitated Miss Margaret, and Lyn
Bradwell privately assured a somewhat apprehensive Ulysses that there were no
hard feelings cherished on the matter. Anne Ambercot rode over from Wilesby
House practically every day, as much to gossip happily with Lady Bradwell as to
further her acquaintance with her daughter-to-be, and privately assured Rowena
that, short of herself, there was no one in the world she could better like for
Ulysses than Margaret.

The only person, in fact, who was not delighted was Eliza
Ambercot. The worst of it was, in her eyes, that she had brought it all about.
While she was publicly all that was sweet and sisterly, in private she would
have gnashed her teeth had she not feared for the effect of such a practice on
her teeth. It was these Cherwood women, Eliza decided, who had caused all the
mischief With very little effort she found herself growing to hate the sound of
her soon-to-be-sister’s voice. As for Rowena Cherwood...

Suddenly Eliza began to recall ills done her in times past
by Rowena. The fact that Rowena twelve years before had been rather less aware
of her than of the stable boy, and much less likely to have deliberately done
her a mischief did not weigh with her. Moreover, Lyndon Bradwell, who had
treated her so infuriatingly on their last meeting, had taken to chatting
quietly with Miss Cherwood after dinner until the tea table was brought in.
Clearly, now that Margaret was to be treated, perforce, as a sister, her cousin
was left to become the enemy.

Rowena was aware of none of this.

Jane had been at last released entirely from the sickroom,
although her lace mitts still covered light bandages, but with an almost-sister
to minister to, it was not considered strange that she opted to remain at Broak
awhile longer. Lord Bradwell insisted that she was not fit to travel (although
he offered more than once to show her ’round the stables: A short, refreshing
turn in the close air and noise of the stables could clearly do her nothing but
good, he reasoned). Mrs. Ambercot put up no resistance to her daughter’s
protracted visit; Lady Bradwell confided to Rowena that she and Jane’s mother
had made wagers as to when Jack would
finally
come to himself and offer again. Since Anne Ambercot was at Broak nearly as
often as her son, and Jane was practically in residence there, it was not
strange that Eliza should spend a good deal of time at Broak as well. It was
not strange, but it was often awkward.

When Mr. Greavesey called one afternoon to deliver balm for
Margaret’s healing burns and Lady Bradwell’s ubiquitous drops, he found no one
on hand but Miss Eliza available to take them from him. After some pointed
queries it was revealed to him that Jane Ambercot, Lord Bradwell, Miss
Cherwood, and Mr. Bradwell had gone for a brief drive; that Miss Margaret
Cherwood was fast asleep, and that Lady Bradwell and Mrs. Ambercot were
closeted together, “talking of weddings, I suppose.” Eliza finished with
dissatisfaction.

“Surely you should be with your mamma, Miss Ambercot?” Mr.
Greavesey observed in his first flush of disappointment in Miss Cherwood’s
absence.

“I am not a child, Mr. Greavesey, at the end of my mamma’s
leading string,” Eliza informed him loftily.

“Well, it is a shame that Miss Cherwood is not available,
since I most particularly wished to give her advice on the administration of
this salve.” Greavesey pouted.