The Heiress Companion (20 page)

“With all my heart, ma’am.” He answered truthfully,
repressing an urge to make a caustic comment about his mother-in-law-to-be’s
maternal instincts.

“Well, then,” Mrs. Cherwood mumbled to herself, and set off
for her rooms to order her carriage and set her maid to packing.

And that, Ulysses Ambercot thought with satisfaction, may be
the best half-hour’s work I have ever done. He turned and went to join Lady
Bradwell and his mother in the lady’s boudoir.

o0o

“She believed me!” Lady Bradwell crowed. “I swear I haven’t
had this much fun in an age. I should have gone on the stage when I was young.
I see it now.” The shawls removed, Lady Bradwell and Mrs. Ambercot were
regaling themselves with ratafia and laughing over the scene in the garden
room. “Ulysses, dear, I beg you will apologize to Margaret if it made her
uncomfortable to plot against her mamma in such a fashion. I know it goes
against all propriety but —”

“I think everyone rather enjoyed it, Louisa, so stop
fretting,” Anne Ambercot scolded gently.

“And it has answered famously, ma’am,” Ulysses assured her
from the doorway. “She’s gone off in a pother to desire her maid to pack and
her groom to bring the coach round in half an hour. But I recommend that you
keep up the charade for an hour or so to be on the safe side. I’ll have Taylor
alert you when Mrs. Cherwood has actually taken her leave.”

“In that case, my dear Anne, I think I am going to have to
send you back to Wilesby as well — all for verisimilitude! I shall make your
apologies to Rowena, and when Mrs. Cherwood is gone, why, you may all come back
to Broak again if you like.”

Ulysses cleared his throat consciously. “To tell truth, ma’am,
I was rather hoping to show Margaret about Wilesby a bit and —”

“Show her her new home? Well enough, but I want your promise
that you will bring her back to visit often.”

“Of course, ma’am. I am convinced that Meg would not have it
else. You will make our apologies to Rowena, won’t you?”

“Good God, Rowena! I hadn’t even thought of her,” Lady
Bradwell whispered. “Goodbye, Anne. Goodbye, Ulysses. And ask Drummey as you go
if he can locate Rowena for me?”

o0o

Miss Rowena Cherwood, following her disastrous encounter
with John Greavesey and Lyndon Bradwell, had uncharacteristically retired to
her room to sleep. Now, some hours later, she was awakened by a peremptory
knocking on her door, and her aunt’s voice demanding admittance.

“Yes, Aunt?” She answered the door, patting distractedly at
her tangled hair with one hand.

“This is just to say goodbye, my dear. I cannot stay in a
house where there is sickness, Rowena, so do not think to ask it of me. I’m at
a delicate time in my life, and it cannot be expected of me, especially for a
stranger. Now, I am certain that you will keep an eye on Margaret for me, won’t
you? Good. My bags are packed, and although it means I shall have to sleep in a
posting house tonight, without my own sheets, too, I shall feel better so. And
do consider that Mr. What’s-his-name’s suit, will you? It may be your very last
chance.”

All traces of sleep were gone from Rowena’s voice. Ignoring
the last part of her aunt’s message, she demanded: “Who’s ill? What are you
talking about, Aunt?”

“Your Lady Bradwell, that’s who’s ill! Came wandering into
the garden room where I was sitting, spouting all manner of nonsense, entirely
about in her head. Mrs. Ambercot said she thought it might be a relapse of her
illness. I cannot stand a sickroom, you know that, Rowena,” Mrs. Cherwood
insisted querulously. “I am leaving. Write me when things get settled down — I
do hope Lady Bradwell don’t die of it. And do have that Ulysses Ambercot keep a
good watch on Margaret. I
knew
she should
have accepted Lord Slyppe.”

Mrs. Cherwood’s last few admonitions were spoken to empty
air. Rowena, with a sinking heart and clenched teeth, headed quickly for her
mistress’s room.

She began as she entered — “My dearest ma’am” — only to break
off again. Lady Bradwell was seated in her bed, wrapped in a robe trimmed in swan’s-down
and silver, reading the second volume of
Camilla
and drinking tea.

“Drummey found you, dear child?”

“Drummey? No, ma’am. My aunt did, to take her leave of me.
And she told me —”

“That I was perishing of the fever, I collect. And half out
of my wits as well. Well...” She spread her hands. “I
am
abed, as you can see. And if your
dear
aunt took it into her head to come and take
her leave of me, which I place no strong dependence on, I would certainly have
a relapse fast enough.”

Rowena sat heavily on the edge of the bed, nearly
oversetting the tea tray.

“It was all a sham, then?”

“My dear, I simply could not endure her presence here
another day, and since I felt that any direct request was likely to cause your
aunt to dig in her heels, and to harass you and dear Margaret — who has retired
to Wilesby with the Ambercots, by the by — I decided that the time had come for
a little mummery.”

Rowena regarded her employer respectfully. “My dearest Lady
B, I salute you. Obviously, I have been taking the wrong tack all these years
with Aunt Doro. When I told the truth to her, I would have been better served
to have feigned leprosy or smallpox.”

“I admit to using rather heroic measures, but it seemed
worth it at the time,” Lady Bradwell said calmly, sipping her tea. Watching
her, Rowena began to chuckle. “That’s the thing, my love. I think you need to
laugh as much as you need — Lyn, dear! Come in!”

Bradwell stood in his mother’s doorway, taking in the scene
before him: his mother drinking tea, muffled in swan’s-down to her chin, and
Rowena Cherwood, her hair fallen from its braided crown, laughing weakly to
herself.

“You don’t seem delirious with fever, Mamma,” he said
mildly.

“Of course not, darling. Come drink a cup of tea with us.”

Rowena moved nervously at the foot of the bed. At the sound
of his voice, her laughter had stopped immediately. Now she sat studying her
knuckles and wishing fervently that she were elsewhere.

“Perhaps later, Mamma?” Bradwell suggested.

“Now,” his mother said with finality. “I have a question to
put to you.”

Lyn answered with more composure than he felt. “Anything,
Mamma.”

“Do you love Rowena?”

“Mother!” Bradwell regarded his mother with amazement.

“Lady Bradwell, please,” Rowena begged in tones of anguish.

“Do you love Rowena?” Lady Bradwell asked again, and sipped
at her tea. “I am past the point of subtleties today, as you may well imagine.
I have heard both sides of your stories, and I am tired of waiting for the two
of you to make me happy by coming to your senses. Do you love my companion,
Lyndon?”

He stood very straight, like a soldier being interviewed on
the field. “I do, ma’am.”

“Thank you.” Lady Bradwell nodded dismissively. “Rowena?”

“Ought I to stand at attention, ma’am?” Miss Cherwood asked
irrepressibly.

“No delaying tactics, child; do you love my son?”

“Of course I do, ma’am, but —”

“No buts, please. There, now. It has been said, with a most
reliable witness. I see no reason why you cannot resolve your difficulties past
this point, as you are agreed on the most important matter.” As simply as that,
Lady Bradwell put down her teacup and raised up her book again. Rowena and
Bradwell stared at her for a moment.

Lyn recovered first. “The worst part of Mamma’s character is
how alarmingly often she is right,” he said lightly. “Rowena, you know this isn’t
how I’d planned to talk to you?”

“I know it isn’t how I’d planned to talk to
you
,” she admitted.

“Then you will listen now?”

“O Lyn.” Forgetting completely where she was, forgetting
that her mistress sat not five feet away, Lady Bradwell’s companion rose and
moved toward him. “I’m sorry for all this brangling to no purpose and — for
everything that went wrong. Don’t we have more to talk about than our pride?”

“I shouldn’t much mind,” Mr. Bradwell began, taking Miss
Cherwood into his arms, “talking about setting up a nursery, or planning when
we are to be married. But later, I think.” He bent his head to kiss her. “Yes,
later.”

For a moment the two of them were so involved in each other
that Lady Bradwell was able to raise her eyes and admire the sight of them,
lost in love and completely unaware of her. With a shake of her head she
returned to her book.

“But Lyn, love,” Rowena began when she had her breath back. “About
my money?”

“What about it?” he asked, smiling. “I was a pompous idiot.
If you want to tie it up for the children, sweetheart, that’s fine with me. If
you want to set up that salon of yours, you have my blessings. For myself, I
would prefer to rise in the party according to my own merits, if such a thing
is possible in these days —”

“No selling kisses in the street like the Duchess of
Devonshire and her sister?” Rowena teased. “Not even one
tiny
little pocket borough?”

“My dearest love, you are enchanting and delightful and
wicked and beautiful — and as many other flattering things as I can say. But if
I find you kissing tradesmen in the streets, I will not be pleased.” He ran a
caressing finger across her cheek.

“Very well then, I suppose we shall just have to go on as we
go on. After all, Lyn, I’m used to making do with a little. Broak has been no
challenge at all! At last, I can show off my talents as a housekeeper. Did you
know I once fed seven hungry marines and their lieutenant, not to mention Mamma
and Papa and myself, with one very old and tired chicken! This will be fun!”

Lyn judiciously silenced his betrothed with a kiss. “I’ll
eat boiled mutton for weeks on end if it makes you happy, darling, but I doubt
it will come to that. God, I’m glad we’ve quit fighting. Another day and I
think I would have stormed the office and carried you away by force.”

“Which would probably have scared Aunt Doro away as
effectively as ever that false fever did.” Rowena chuckled into his collar. “And
if you hadn’t spoken, I imagine I would have simply languished at your door
until you came to your senses. That would have been dreadful work, for I’m
really very poor at languishing.”

“Then I’m glad you were spared it.” Another smile, another
kiss. “Think,” he said a little unsteadily, “of how happy we shall make your
aunt!”

“She’ll be furious,” Rowena disagreed happily. “I believe
she wanted me to marry Mr. Greavesey so that she could be certain that I
understood the error of my ways in refusing Lord Slyppe’s offer. Aunt Doro will
be positively livid, and so revoltingly polite that I shan’t know how to deal
with her.”

“Simply feign illness, my love. Or else, we can send her
Eliza Ambercot to matchmake for, and that ought to keep them both out of
trouble for a time.”

“And keep Eliza from importuning you with her sighings?”
Lady Bradwell asked from the bed.

The lovers sprang apart as if shocked.

“Good lord, children, back as you were. You’ve forgotten
about me for this long, I can stand to be ignored for another five minutes or
so.”

And when Rowena, conscious of her duty as Lady Bradwell’s
companion, would have broken from Lyn’s embrace to plump her pillow or pour out
more tea, anything, in fact, to demonstrate her gratitude toward her employer
for her generosity, Mr. Bradwell had other ideas. Reaching out with one arm, he
neatly caught her about the waist and spun her back to face him.

“We’ve five minutes, sweetheart,” he said, kissing her
lightly. “And after that...” Another kiss at the corner of her mouth. “After
that, we’ve our entire lives.”

“But not in my bed chamber!” Lady Bradwell murmured from the
bed. Oddly, no one was listening just now.

The Heiress Companion

Madeleine Robins

Copyright © 1981 by Madeleine Robins

ISBN: 978161138 111 5

Book View Café eBook Edition November 2011

v20111010vnm
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