The Tudor Signet (10 page)

“Perhaps Lord Wareham is just envious. I daresay there is nothing so smart to be found in Plymouth. He does have a rather...rather toplofty manner. Is he a friend of Lady Lilian’s?”

“Not exactly a friend.” He frowned. “I’m not sure he’s not a suitor.”

“A suitor!” Mariette exclaimed, dismayed. Lady Lilian was too good for that arrogant wretch.

“My sister is a wealthy woman. Corycombe is not entailed so my brother-in-law left it to her free and clear, and she has a considerable fortune bequeathed by a relative, also. Not that I have any grounds but my own dislike to suppose Wareham is after her fortune! For all I know, he sincerely admires her and genuinely believes she needs a man to run her life.”

“I’m sure he must admire her. Who can help it? And even though she runs her own life quite successfully, perhaps she will marry him for companionship. Jenny says she is lonely.”

“Lonely? She has Emmie, and Miss Thorne for what she’s worth. I hope she won’t accept the fellow only for the sake...Dash it, I shouldn’t be discussing Lilian with you. Nothing is so tedious as the affairs of someone one barely knows. How are you enjoying Fanny Burney’s work? Or Madame d’Arblay as one ought to say since she married that Frenchman.”

Before Mariette could respond, either to disclaim tedium or to give her opinion of
Cecilia
, once again there came a tap on the door.

Lord Malcolm pulled a comical face. “If that is Lilian, I’m going to be properly raked over the coals.”

“You could hide under the bed. Ragamuffin finds it quite cosy. Come in,” she called in answer to a second tap.

Miss Farrar entered. “I just came to see...Oh, Uncle Malcolm, I did not know you were here.”

“He’s promised not to give you away, and no, you are not disturbing me, Miss Farrar.”

“How did you escape from the worthy vicar, Emmie?” Lord Malcolm asked.

She giggled. “You are naughty, Uncle! I did not escape, Mama sent me away because they started to talk about something I was not allowed to hear. I came to ask if you like the books I chose, Miss Bertrand, or shall I find something else?”

“I’m enjoying this one prodigiously,” Mariette assured her. “Thank you for lending it to me.”

They talked about
Cecilia
. Several times Lord Malcolm had to intervene to stop his niece divulging the end of story, and they were all laughing at his teasing when Lady Lilian walked in.

Lord Malcolm leapt to his feet with a guilty look. Emily--as she had invited Mariette to call her--clapped her hands to her mouth. Mariette suddenly felt immeasurably tired.

Lady Lilian’s expression changed from vexed to chagrined. “I have no wish to figure as an ogre,” she said.

“Oh no, Mama, you are not an ogre!” Emily ran to her and hugged her.

“Emily has been acting as chaperon,” Lord Malcolm said hopefully.

“I did not disturb Mariette, Mama. Uncle Malcolm was here already.”

“Was he indeed!”

“Very briefly.” His voice was contrite but Mariette thought his eyes were laughing. “At that point, the dog was our chaperon.”

“Well, I only hope you may not have set back Miss Bertrand’s recovery by a week.”

“Truly they have not,” Mariette assured her.

“I am glad to hear it. Nevertheless, off you go now, both of you, and let her rest.”

“Yes, Mama.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He was definitely laughing. “Come along, Ragamuffin. I’ll return him to you safe and sound, Miss Bertrand.”

He made his escape before his sister had a chance to forbid him to do anything of the sort.

She turned to Mariette. “I am sure you must be tired, Miss Bertrand.”

“A little, but none the worse for my visitors, I promise you. I’m sorry, I know he shouldn’t have been here without a chaperon, but I couldn’t order him to go.” Actually it had not crossed her mind to try. “He’s a lord, after all.”

“My dear, a lord is merely a mortal.” Her ladyship sounded amused. “More to the point, Malcolm is a young man and you are a young woman. For your own sake, you must not let him encroach.”

“He didn’t try to...to flirt or anything.” Though Mariette wasn’t very sure what flirting involved. Extravagant compliments? All he had said was that Lord Wareham must be blind to have forgotten her, and he was just teasing.

“I should hope not! He is a gentleman, after all.” Lady Lilian sighed. “But gentlemen are often heedless and I am responsible for your well-being while you are in my house. Still, I daresay there will be no harm in your permitting him to visit you, properly chaperoned, as long as you are out of your bed. Ragamuffin is not an adequate chaperon!”

“No, ma’am. Is...is Miss Farrar?”

“Emily?” She looked disconcerted. “I had not intended...”

Hesitating, she sighed again. “Well, yes, I suppose she is. Now it is time you went back to bed. It is your first day up, after all. I shall send Jenny to help you.”

Mariette willingly retired to bed. She was not to lose her two new friends after all, not at once, anyway. Two new friends! It was almost worth being shot.

* * * *

As it was a windy day even in the valley, Malcolm took Ragamuffin down to Cory Brook and let him roam. Emily went with them, chattering about Mariette as they strolled through the leafless woods, along a streamside path. He scarcely listened, though his thoughts were on the same subject.

Mariette’s comments on the book had been intelligent and astute. She was not slow-witted. Her mistakes were due to ignorance, to inexperience, not to stupidity. Of course he had guessed that from the first, or he would not have fallen in love with her. He didn’t want to marry a woman without a rational thought in her pretty head.

She was kindhearted, too, and not only towards her scapegrace cousin. With what concern she had spoken of Lilian’s loneliness, when her own was ten times greater! And she had made excuses for Wareham: he was just envious, his manner rather toplofty.

Yet she had seemed dismayed when Malcolm suggested Wareham was courting Lilian, he recalled. Devil take it, never say she was jealous! Did she admire the coxcomb? He was tall, handsome, and very likely the only gentleman--besides her uncle and cousin--with whom she was acquainted.

Malcolm tried to remember what she had said about meeting Wareham. She’d been evasive, he thought. On the other hand, she doubted the fellow would recognize her.

Gammon! How could any normal male forget her? Malcolm dwelled lovingly on glossy black hair, lustrous brown eyes, kissable lips, a slender but well rounded figure with a neat little--no, he had promised Lilian to put that attribute out of his mind. Still, there was plenty for a man to admire, though he’d take his oath Mariette’s modesty was genuine. No doubt neither her uncle nor her cousin had ever told her she was lovely, damn their eyes.

“Uncle Malcolm, I don’t believe you have listened to a word I have said!” Emily reproached him.

“Of course I have. You’ve been talking about Miss Bertrand.”

“That was an age ago. I asked whether you will stand up with me at Almack’s when I make my come-out.”

“Good gad, that’s not for years yet.”

“Only two years. I shall be sixteen in March. Though I must admit two years sometimes seems like forever.”

“I may be too old and decrepit by then to dance.”

“Oh, fustian! I know you are much younger than Mama.”

“Or Almack’s may burn down.”

“Do stop teasing, Uncle. Will you?”

“If you have room for me on your dance card.”

“Do you think I shall take?”

“How can you doubt it?” If pretty face and sweet nature failed, her fortune would make her popular, but there was no need for her to know that yet.

“Shall I tell you what I should like? I should like to invite Mariette to go with us to London and share my come-out, even if she is too old. It would be wonderful to have a friend with me. I do believe I should not be shy at all.”

Startled, Malcolm asked, “Have you no other friends who will be in Town for the Season?”

“No one I really know well,” Emily said wistfully.

“You scarcely know Mariette!”

“But I like her immensely already. Do not you?”

“Yes.” He smiled. “Oh, yes, I do indeed. But Emmie, if I were you I should not mention this to your mama until a good deal nearer the time. Give her time to become better acquainted with Mariette.” No need to worry Lilian since he had every intention of marrying Mariette long before Emily’s Season!

He would take her to London himself. The trouble was, she was by no means up to snuff. Thrown willy-nilly into Society she’d feel like a fish out of water, and he was not at all certain of his competence to teach her--

“Take care, Uncle!” Emily squealed as he tripped over a root and stumbled to the very edge of the stream.

Catching at a sapling, he managed not to measure his length in the shallow but undoubtedly icy water. Pellucid brown, Cory Brook chattered over its pebble bed, swirling round rocks and gurgling under overhanging banks. Just ahead it foamed over a stone shelf into a pool.

A charming pool, doubtless clear and still and a haven for fish--when not being used as a swimming-bath by Ragamuffin. He paddled vigorously about, lapping the water as he went.

“He will drown!” screeched Emily. “Oh, save him, save him!”

“Nonsense,” Malcolm snorted. “He’s happy as a lark.” His niece, he decided, had led a great deal too sheltered a life. A friendship with Mariette could do her nothing but good.

Ragamuffin sighted a floating stick, swam to it, grabbed it, and headed for the bank. Scrambling out, he brought it to lay at Malcolm’s feet. His tail wagged and he looked up hopefully. Then, inevitably, he shook himself.

Malcolm had reflexively stepped back, so Emily took the full force of the shower.

“Oh,” she wailed, “my pelisse! It is ruined.”

“Nonsense, it’s only water.”

“Why did he do that?”

“Because he didn’t bring a towel with him.”

Tired of waiting, Ragamuffin picked up the stick again and laid it at Emily’s feet.

“What does he want?”

“He wants you to throw it, so that he can bring it back to you.”

“Really? Me?” Emily looked pleased. “But it is dirty. My gloves will be ruined.”

“Take ‘em off,” said her uncle.

“A lady always wears gloves out of doors.”

“For pity’s sake, Emmie, stop being a lady just for a few minutes. No one would believe your mother was a bit of a tomboy.”

“Mama?” Her eyes were round with wonder.

“Only a bit! Inevitable with four elder brothers. Swear you won’t tell her I told you.”

“I swear.”

Ragamuffin gave a short, demanding bark. Emily stripped off her gloves, stuffed them in her pocket, and picked up her stick. At first her throws were feeble but the dog was patient and she improved. Finally she threw the stick into the pool, deliberately, and laughed when Ragamuffin shook all over her again.

When they returned towards the house, her hands were grubby, her pelisse was splotched with damp, her bonnet was awry, and beneath it her hair was tousled. But her cheeks were pink, her blue eyes glowed, and she was smiling.

They took the dog to the stables to be thoroughly dried by Jessup before he was allowed indoors. While Malcolm spoke to the groom, Emily scampered ahead into the house.

When Malcolm followed, he met Lilian in the front hall. She stood gazing up the stairs, a faint smile on her lips.

“I have not seen Emmie so happy since she was a little girl,” she said, turning to him. “What have you been doing?”

“Throwing a stick for Ragamuffin. Lilian, it’s not my place to interfere, and I know it must be difficult bringing up a daughter without her father, but don’t overrestrain her.”

“Do I?”

“She didn’t want to take her gloves off because a lady always wears gloves outdoors! You are an independent person yourself, or you would have gone back to Ashminster years ago. You were the one who taught me to fish, and to climb trees, and to play cricket. The others were all too grown-up to bother. Don’t you remember when we climbed that apple tree in the orchard and gorged on green apples till we were sick as dogs?”

“I had rather forget that particular occasion! You may be right about Emmie, Malcolm. I shall have to think about it. But I suspect this is all an attempt to persuade me to let her make friends with Miss Bertrand.”

“I rather fear you are too late to stop it. She tells me she likes her immensely.”

“Malcolm, did you by any chance intend to present me with an accomplished fact?”

He grinned. “All’s fair in love and war.”

“You encouraged Emily to defy me?”

“Lord, no! I had nothing to do with Emily’s presence. That was her own notion. You told her not to disturb Mariette, I collect, an insufficiently precise prohibition. Are you going to issue another more precise?”

“I should,” said Lilian, exasperated. “But I have already told Miss Bertrand--and it is most improper for you to call her Mariette!--that Emily is sufficient chaperon when you visit her.”

“Bless you, m’dear.” He kissed her cheek.

“I take it you still hold to your ridiculous resolve to marry her?”

“I do. Lilian, I have a favour to ask. I want her to be perfectly comfortable in our world. When she is stronger, when she has been downstairs a few days, will you offer to teach her how to go on in Society?”

She smiled wryly. “I seem to recall the reason why I taught you to fish and climb trees was that you could always twist me around your little finger. All right, Malcolm, I will think about it, but if I do offer, don’t be surprised if she resents it.”

“She won’t,” he said with confidence. “I’m sure she’s aware of the deficiencies in her upbringing and she’s far too intelligent to turn down the opportunity to learn.”

“My dear,” said Lilian, “she really has bewitched you, has she not? I hope she appreciates what she has won.”

“I’ll make her,” Malcolm said, and silently prayed that the abominable but handsome Wareham would not turn out to be his rival.

Chapter 7

Stiff, wobbly-kneed, but triumphant, Mariette clung to the finial globe at the top of the staircase. She had walked all the way from her chamber, leaning on Lord Malcolm’s arm only for the last few yards.