The Tudor Signet (21 page)

Blount awaited her at the bottom. Gravely bowing, he enquired after her health as he escorted her across the hall. His impassive face softened in a pleased look when she said she had never felt better. She grew more confident of her welcome at Corycombe.

The butler opened the drawing room door. “Miss Bertrand,” he announced.

“Mariette!” Emily deserted Miss Bolger and sped to hug her friend. “I have missed you so!”

“It is only two days since I left, Emmie.” Over Emily’s head, Mariette scanned the room for Lord Malcolm.

Though she had never seen so many people in Lilian’s drawing room, there was space for plenty more. If he had been present she could not have missed him. Perhaps he had fled on the arrival of the vicar and his wife, or the Bolgers. Of none of them was he fond, still less of Lord Wareham but he’d never turn tail and leave his sister at the baron’s mercy--unless he considered Captain Aldrich sufficient protection. The two gentlemen sat on either side of Lilian. Though Mariette’s entrance forced them to rise, it did not hinder for more than a moment their glaring daggers at each other.

Was Lord Malcolm even now at Bell-Tor Manor? She wondered how soon it would be proper to enquire after him.

As she curtsied to the company, Lilian rose and came to greet her. “Will you stay to luncheon?” she asked in a low voice. “I hope to rid myself of all...most of the rest before then.”

“Thank you, I should like to.” She didn’t even need to think up an excuse to stay!

Lilian returned to her guests, seating herself between the captain and Lady Bolger. Emily drew Mariette to a sofa at a little distance from the rest and chattered away about how Miss Thorne had taken to her bed with the sniffles. Above the girl’s voice, Mariette heard Lady Bolger’s.

“I daresay we shall see Lord Malcolm in Town,” said the squire’s wife hopefully. “We are going up at the end of the month to order my daughter’s gowns to be made. Can you recommend a good modiste, Lady Lilian?”

“Wasting good money on fripperies and frivolities,” snorted Sir Nesbit.

“Such is London life,” put in Lord Wareham with a sneer. “Lord Malcolm did not long honour us with his presence in our rustic backwater. No doubt he was eager to return to the dissipations of the Fashionable World, and to visit his tailor.”

A cold hand clutched Mariette’s heart, robbing her of breath. “Is your uncle gone?” she asked in a choked whisper.

“Yes, he left as soon as he returned from taking you home,” said Emily. “He rode instead of driving, so he must have been in a great hurry to return to the Fashionable World. I hope he tears himself away and comes to stay again soon, do not you?”

“Yes,” she said, but she was not sure if it was true.

He had departed without warning, without a word. He could at least have told her he was going! She had feared to mistake friendship for fondness, yet now it seemed he did not even consider her a friend.

Chapter 13

Pride came to Mariette’s rescue. Concealing her hurt from Emily, she suggested that they both go and talk to Miss Bolger, who sat alone now looking a trifle disconsolate.

Emily wrinkled her nose but assented. Though Miss Bolger seemed to have got over her positive alarm at the sight of Mariette, she was a tongue-tied young lady. No doubt she rarely had a chance to squeeze a word in edgewise at home, to judge by the way her mother was rattling on to Lilian and her father holding forth to Lord Wareham and Captain Aldrich.

In her company, Emily at once became prim and bashful. Mariette struggled to keep up an innocuous exchange on the recent storm, but she was not sorry when Mr. Bolger joined the young ladies.

“I hear Riddlesworth won a mint t’other day,” he said to Mariette. “At that club near Peverell, wasn’t it? Dashed if I can see how he managed to become a member!”

“A member?” she asked uncertainly.

“Only members can play there, and you have to be invited to join. Wouldn’t have thought Riddlesworth sported enough blunt to be admitted, the lucky dog. They play deep. M’father’d throw a fit if I went within a mile of the place,” he added with a resentful scowl at Sir Nesbit’s oblivious back.

Mariette would have liked to know more, but Emily and Miss Bolger were all agog and she was sure a gambling hell was no fit subject for their young ears. “Your father is Master of Fox Hounds, is he not?” she said. “Do you enjoy hunting?”

Mr. Bolger brightened. For several minutes he held forth, very much like Sir Nesbit, on raspers, oxers, bullfinches, doubles, and in-and-outs he had cleared on his galloper. Mariette understood not one word in three and Emily’s blank face suggested she was no wiser.

The Bolgers departed, followed shortly by the vicar and his wife. Lord Wareham stood up, but only to move to the fireplace where he leaned against the mantel, looking down at Lilian and Captain Aldrich.

“I suppose you don’t hunt, Captain,” he said with a sneer, his gaze on the empty sleeve.

“We sailors are not noted for our horsemanship,” the captain responded calmly.

“I marvel that you are able to ride at all.”

“You find you need two hands to control a horse, do you, my lord?”

Mariette grabbed Emily’s hands as she raised them to applaud.

Lilian looked most uncomfortable. Captain Aldrich leaned towards her and said something in a low voice. She smiled and nodded. He stood up, bowed over her hand, then came over to Mariette and Emily.

“I am invited to lunch,” he said softly, “as I gather you are, too, Miss Bertrand.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Wareham will never leave as long as I’m here, so I’ll retreat to the morning room until he’s gone. It goes against the grain to let him think he has bested me, but I will not have Lady Lilian distressed.”

“We shall help her get rid of him!” Emily whispered with glee.

Grinning, he patted her cheek in a decidedly fatherly way. “Good girl! I rely upon you.”

As he strode from the room, Lilian in turn rose to her feet. “Emily,” she said, “it is time for you to practise your music. I daresay Mariette will be good enough to turn the pages for you. Lord Wareham, may I beg you to excuse me? My cousin is ill abed and I must go and see that she wants for nothing.”

Common courtesy allowed the baron no choice but to take his leave--he did, after all, claim to be a gentleman. The moment the door closed behind him and her mother, Emily clapped her hands.

“Famous! I should have known Mama would need no help.” She started towards the door. “Let’s go and release Captain Aldrich from durance vile.”

“Wait, Emmie, until we can be sure Lord Wareham does not linger in the hall. In fact, you had best play upon the pianoforte for a few minutes at least.”

“Oh yes, loudly. It would be simply dreadful if he guessed he has been tricked. He is horrid enough without making him angry.”

“I thought you wanted to flirt with him?”

Emily shuddered. “Not any more. Uncle Malcolm was right, flirting with someone one dislikes would be horrid.”

But flirting with someone one loved must be delightful, Mariette thought, especially if he loved one, too. She was not likely ever to have a chance to find out. Sighing, she helped Emily open the pianoforte.

* * * *

The second time Mariette rode over to Corycombe, she wore her new riding habit. It was a splendid garment, far finer than she would have purchased had Uncle George not gone with her to Plymouth. Emerging from the spectacle-maker’s shop with a pair of steel-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, he had joined her at the draper’s. The drab cloth she was examining had not met with his approval.

She did not dare guess what he had paid the dressmaker to make up the habit in half a day.

So she was decked out in burgundy velvet trimmed with black braid, and on her head a new hat, black with burgundy ribbons--”Fine as fi’pence,” as Jim said, and no Lord Malcolm to see her.

As she and Jim rode up to the front door, around the corner from the stables came Lord Wareham’s dogcart. Driven at a trot by a tall, skinny groom with surly, lantern-jawed face, it pulled up nose to nose with Sparrow in a flurry of gravel. Firmly suppressing the gelding’s attempt to rear, Mariette called to Ragamuffin who was barking his head off at the unmannerly vehicle.

Lord Wareham ran down the steps. “Keep your dog away from my cattle,” he said curtly, “if you know what’s good for him.”

Emboldened by her dashing habit, Mariette gave him a haughty stare without deigning to answer. He responded with his usual sneer. Jumping into the dogcart, he slashed at Ragamuffin with his whip, missing as the dog dodged, then whipped up his pair and swerved around the two riders in another flurry of gravel.

Jim Groom stared after him. “Blacker nor thunder over the moor,” he said. “I’d give a groat to know what’s put yon fine gentleman in a passion.”

“I hate to think,” said Mariette, sliding down onto the mounting block and giving him Sparrow’s reins. Her train over her arm, she hurried up the steps.

The door opened as she reached it. “Come in, miss, come in,” the footman invited her urgently. “Her ladyship’ll be that glad to see you.”

“What has happened, Charles?”

“I’m sure I don’t know, miss, but I was told to make sure his lordship went off right and proper, and Mr. Blount’s pouring Madeira for her ladyship, who don’t never touch a drop. In the morning room, miss.”

Decorous pace forgotten, Mariette sped to the morning room. The butler came out as she arrived. His shaken expression lightened at the sight of her. He stood aside and held the door for her.

Miss Thorne’s censorious voice came from the room beyond. “Really, Lilian, that was no way to treat a gentleman.”

“Gentleman!” Lilian exclaimed, her tone near the edge of hysteria.

“You were splendid, Mama,” said Emily as Mariette went in. On her knees beside the sofa where Lilian reclined, she looked round and scrambled to her feet. “Mariette, I am so glad you are come! Lord Wareham has been most shockingly rude to poor Mama.”

“His language was a trifle intemperate,” Miss Thorne allowed, “but you have sorely tried his patience, Lilian. Why, from your conduct towards them, no one would guess Lord Wareham to be a peer and Captain Aldrich to be a penniless cripple.”

“Enough!” said Lilian sharply. “I believe you are not quite recovered from your indisposition, Cousin Tabitha. Perhaps you ought to lie down upon your bed for a while.”

“Humph! I can see where I am not wanted.” With a sniff as she passed Mariette, Miss Thorne marched out, every rigid inch vibrating with affronted dignity.

Emily sped to shut the door behind her. Mariette went to Lilian and without a word pressed her hands. Despite her firmness to Miss Thorne, they quivered pitiably.

Noticing the disregarded glass of Madeira wine on the table at the end of the sofa, Mariette picked it up. “Here, do take a drink of this, my dear,” she said soothingly. “Boult seems to think it will fortify you, and I daresay he knows best.”

Lilian ventured a shaky smile. “I suspect butlers always know best,” she said, and sipped the wine. “You must be wondering what on earth happened.”

Mariette managed to restrain her burning curiosity. “Do you want to tell me? I saw Lord Wareham drive off in a prodigious miff.”

“He accused me of playing coy with him and of...of coquetting with Captain Aldrich to make him jealous.”

“No!” Mariette burst into peals of laughter. “I am sorry,” she gasped, seeing Lilian’s and Emily’s bewildered faces, “but how can he have so mistaken you? Now, if you had coquetted with him to make the captain jealous it might be understandable, but you have no need, have you?”

A delicate colour suffused Lilian’s face and she smiled. “Do you think not?”

“I am sure not.”

“If only he does not let false modesty deter him,” Lilian said wistfully. “How I wish he had been here this morning! He is a match for Lord Wareham.”

“You were splendid, Mama,” Emily insisted. “She said only a coward insults helpless females, Mariette, and then she rang the bell and told him he was no longer welcome at Corycombe, and Blount came to show him out.”

“He went without demur, but I confess I was quite frightened for a moment. I have never seen him in a passion before. In fact, I always thought him a very cool and collected man. I wish Malcolm had not gone away!”

“Are you sure he did not say in his letter when he will come to stay again, Mama? I shall write and tell him we need him.”

“No, don’t do that, Emmie dear. Your uncle has his own life to lead. I received a letter yesterday, Mariette. Malcolm desires to be remembered to you.” She hesitated. “He asks me to convey his apologies for leaving without a word of farewell. He was called urgently away and I would not let him write to you, so you may hold me to blame. Perhaps I have not told you before that a private correspondence between a young man and an unrelated young woman is not at all
comme il faut
.”

Mariette’s hurt was assuaged, though her heartache remained. At least he had not forgotten her but he was still far away, with no suggestion of returning soon to Corycombe.

She missed him! She wanted to tell him about Uncle George’s new spectacles and his dismay at his own unrealized shabbiness; how he had gone to a tailor, only to recoil in horror on being offered trousers instead of breeches. With Lord Malcolm, Unmentionables were perfectly mentionable--she did not have to try to impress him with her ladylike manners.

But she would have liked a chance to impress him with her new habit.

At that moment both Lilian and Emily noticed her finery. As compliments flew, Boult and Charles came in with a tea-tray, Mrs. Wittering and Cook having agreed that a nice cup of tea would set her ladyship up much quicker than any amount of wine.

Lilian’s composure restored, the rest of Mariette’s visit passed pleasantly, uninterrupted by any further callers. She had lots of questions on etiquette for Lilian, questions which had not crossed her mind while immersed in the busyness of her stay at Corycombe. For the most part, learning kept her distracted from the fact that every little thing her gaze alighted on reminded her of Lord Malcolm. She simply had the wrong temperament to let blighted love send her into a decline like the heroine of many a novel, she decided, half regretfully.