“I wish,” she complained, “that you would not fall in so readily with Bevis’s schemes! I have told you repeatedly, Timothy, that I am not particularly anxious to reenter the married state.”
“Your brother,” replied Timothy, “must be the judge of what is best for you. Why must you be so rebellious, Tilda? Why will you not allow yourself to be guided by older, wiser heads?”
“I am glad,” snapped Tilda, “that you grant me some choice in the matter!”
“But of course!” Timothy grasped her hands. “You must not think that I will be a cruel husband, for I promise you I shall not. I will indulge you in all things, except those with which I cannot agree.”
Tilda, wearing a long-suffering expression, freed herself. “I can offer you a good home,” Timothy continued, “the life to which you have become accustomed, yet you still will not agree. What more do you want, Tilda?”
“I want,” replied her ladyship in despairing tones, “my freedom. Can you not understand?”
“But that you will have,” Timothy protested. “You may have all the pin money you desire, nor will I prohibit you from engaging in any unexceptionable pastime. Tilda, I am not an unreasonable man.”
Surveying a tree with remarkable intensity. Lady Tyrewhitte-Wilson remained silent. “Or is it,” added her persistent suitor, “that there is someone else?”
“No.” Tilda studied him. “I see I must be frank, Timothy. It is that I have known you too long, and far too well. My friend, you must give me time.”
Clem, intrigued by this conversation, was nonetheless glad to see the strange tryst ended, for her position had grown exceedingly cramped. She considered Sir Timothy a poor mate for the dashing Lady Tyrewhitte-Wilson. Without another word, Tilda walked away. Timothy stared after her in brooding silence, and Clem wondered if she was to miss the stage.
* * * *
Maddy had no thought to spare for her troubled friend. She gazed about the Earl’s chamber with fascination; it was her first venture into so masculine a room. Her thoughts were not precisely ladylike as she moved cautiously toward the brass-inlaid bookcase, her glance demurely averted from the ornate oaken bed. She wondered, were she to marry the Earl, if she would share these quarters. Maddy rather thought she would prefer her own apartments, furnished in a less Sybaritic style.
It occurred to Maddy that she possessed a flair for intrigue. It had deserted her most lamentably in the matter of Chesterfield, though his awareness of her ploys was due to no fault of her own, but to Alathea’s malicious tongue. Alathea was fortunate that she had been banished to Bath, for Maddy would have exacted a terrible revenge. However, there was some satisfaction in the knowledge that Captain Huard had been induced to rejoin his regiment, belatedly, and was thus lost to Alathea evermore.
Deep in reflection, Maddy was unaware that the door behind her had opened. She slipped the key into the drawer where Clem had found it. “So, fair intruder, this is how you repay my hospitality.” Maddy swung around, but flight was impossible. The Earl had placed himself directly in front of the door.
“You misunderstand!” Maddy protested faintly. “It is not as it seems. Pray let me explain.”
“Certainly.” Wilmington did not seem disturbed by her invasion of his domain; he wore an expression of faint interest; but Maddy’s tumultuous pulse did not slow. “It is a pleasure of which I would not consider depriving myself.”
Maddy was not well enough acquainted with his lordship to recognize signs of wrath. Her inventive abilities had abruptly deserted her. “I was merely exploring the house,” she said lamely, “and when I saw the door ajar, I ventured within.” She cast him a beguiling glance. “It is such a lovely room!”
The Earl, who knew well that none of his servants would suffer an attack of absentmindedness so severe that it resulted in his chamber being left open for inspection by all and sundry, made no mention of the matter of the drawer. “Oh?”
Maddy was prompted to further speech. “Oh, yes! I could not help but admire it.” She demurely lowered her gaze. “Of course, I would not have ventured within had I realized this was your chamber.” Since these rooms had been the quarters of all the successive Earls of Wilmington, and were furnished in a suitably opulent style, this comment sounded unconvincing even to its utterer, Maddy went from bad to worse. “It would have been exceedingly improper of me.” She gasped as her shoulders were ungently grasped.
“When,” inquired the Earl, “have you behaved properly?” The hazel eyes were cold. “It is your chief charm. Now the truth, if you please! What has brought you here?”
Maddy could not consider that the truth would appease the Earl. She sought distraction frantically. “Very well, if you must.” A blush crept into her cheeks. “It’s true I knew these were your rooms. I merely wished to see them.” She was abruptly released.
“So now I find myself the subject of a maiden’s dreams.” Wilmington appeared amused. “It is a novel experience. It is also. Miss de Villiers, unworthy of you.”
“Pray accept my apologies,” Maddy said in a muffled voice as she moved toward the door. “I will take my leave of you.”
“Nonsense!” Micah barred the way. “You have taken great risk in coming here. Since you are so curious about my chambers, stay and inspect them to your heart’s content.”
Maddy’s heart hammered in her throat till she could barely speak. “I cannot.” She did not care for the Earl’s expression, which put her forcibly in mind of a dangerous marauder. “My absence will be remarked.”
“That it will not.” The Earl’s gaze was hard. “You are thought to have retired to your quarters.” Maddy wondered afterward at her lack of will, for she went without protest into the Earl’s embrace. Perhaps she had expected loverlike professions and gentleness, but this was not what she found: Wilmington was harsh and demanding; he held her so tightly that she feared her ribs would crack; and his hands wandered over her body in a most embarrassing way. Nor could she free herself, but was forced to tolerate this rough embrace until the Earl pushed her away.
“I tell you, sir,” Maddy gasped, “that this treatment is not what I am used to!”
“No,” agreed Micah, “but it is what you deserve.”
“Wilmington!” Lionel stood in the doorway, his face a study in outrage. “You will answer to me for this!”
The Earl sighed. “Try not to be more of a nitwit than you can help,” he remarked with patent boredom. “I have yet to force my attentions on an unwilling maid.”
Crimson with mortification, Maddy gasped. Lionel must think the worst possible of her, and Wilmington’s opinion could be little better. Strangely, Maddy found that she cared little for the Earl’s sentiments.
Neither of the gentlemen had any thought to spare for the cause of their confrontation. They regarded each other, one taut with suppressed emotion, the other with no emotion at all. Witness to the ruin of all her plans, Maddy fled.
Chapter Thirteen
“Dear heaven!” cried Tilda despairingly. “Was there ever such a coil?”
Micah, who had sought refuge from the histrionics that prevailed in the Hall at an early hour when one might safely assume that Bevis would still be engaged in the arduous task of attiring himself properly to meet the day, quirked an eyebrow, as if he wondered at his companion’s excessive concern. “It is not so bad,” he soothed, “for all Lionel is determined to make a fool of himself, or a villain of me. On the brighter side of matters, Kenelm has been so obliging as to make an offer for Clemence.”
“Will she have him, do you think?” inquired Tilda, diverted.
“This is the question that occupies my entire household.” The Earl shrugged. “I should confess myself mightily surprised if the chit turned away a fortune.”
“Has
Kenelm a fortune?” Tilda asked. “Is he not dependent upon the Comte’s favor?”
“I will acquit you of vulgar curiosity.” There was twinkle in his lordship’s eye. “Kenelm stands in no need of the de Villiers wealth. He has sufficient of his own.”
“Clemence has not accepted his offer?” Tilda was perplexed. “I had thought she would do so without delay.”
“She has followed Maddy’s example, I fear, and is brooding in her room.” Micah’s tone was exasperated. “Such a vexatious pair of females I have never hoped to see!”
Tilda peered at him. This was hardly a loverlike sentiment, but then, the Earl had cause to be annoyed. Maddy had a lamentable tendency to arouse his wrath.
“And Agatha?” she inquired, hoping to turn the conversation to a less inflammatory subject.
“Flourishing.” Micah was amused. “She thrives on situations such as we find ourselves in. Lionel is determined to call me out. Maddy, as I have said, has locked herself in her chamber and refuses to see even her woman, who is behaving in an exceedingly odd manner. Were it not so ludicrous, I would swear she has fallen in love.”
“Motley?” Tilda was startled, and wondered what might have unsettled that paragon.
“Is that her name? Agatha is busy contriving and discarding schemes for Alastair’s comeuppance, for which I am grateful, since it prevents her from becoming fidgety.”
Tilda frowned. “All the same, Micah, it is not like Alastair. He is an extremely vengeful man. I had expected some move from him long ago.”
“Alastair went his length when he abducted you.” The Earl’s expression was harsh. “He will dare no further impudence.”
“Perhaps.” Tilda was doubtful, for her long acquaintance with Alastair Bechard did not leave her with any conviction that, bested on the field of honor, he would engage in a graceful retreat, but she had no wish to quarrel with Micah this day.
“Have I omitted anyone?” Micah queried. “My guests have risen to such alarming numbers that I tend to overlook a few. If anyone else’s well-being concerns you, you have but to ask. My housekeeper, perhaps? Or the cook?”
“Are you determined to provoke me?” Tilda idly stroked her purring kitten. “Micah, seldom have I seen you in so quarrelsome a mood.”
“Can you wonder at it? When I have apprehended one of my uninvited guests rifling through my belongings, in her possession the key to Cassandra’s room? Of course I am not so unaware of the proprieties as to box one of my guest’s ears, but the temptation was very strong.”
“I am sure Maddy meant no harm,” Tilda soothed. “Her curiosity must be a natural thing. No one will speak of Cassandra. Perhaps Maddy merely sought to solve what was, to her, a mystery.”
“Maddy,” growled Micah, “is bold as a brass-faced monkey. She had the temerity to tell me she was engaged in exploration and just happened upon my room.”
“And what was your reply?” asked Tilda, fascinated.
“I intimated strongly,” replied the Earl, with no small satisfaction, “that she was too forward by half, and that, were she in my keeping, she would soon learn to mend her ways.” He grimaced. “Since she fled from my chambers in tears, I was denied the opportunity to further vent my spleen.”
“So you came here, that you might pick a quarrel with me instead?” Tilda remarked. “Micah, you leave me without words.”
“Never that.” The Earl smiled.
“I know.” Lady Tyrewhitte-Wilson wore a wise face. “It is not that you precisely
wish
to quarrel with me, it is just something that happens when you are in my company over half an hour.”
Tilda, treated to the pleasant sound of Micah’s laughter, cast quickly about in her mind for a suitably innocuous topic upon which they might converse. She knew that the Earl had undertaken the unpleasant task of informing her that his sentiments had altered, and she was determined to eradicate the necessity of this speech. He was plainly besotted with Maddy, despite the extreme anger he professed.
Wilmington had spent an interesting few moments watching the play of emotions across Tilda’s expressive face. “What troubles you?” he asked. “Has Bevis become too much to bear? Shall I dispose of him for you?”
Tilda was visited by an enchanting vision of her brother being bundled willy-nilly into his traveling carriage and sent speedily on his way; or, more likely, considering Mi-can’s extreme antagonism, dumped summarily into the nearest river. “No,” she protested. “Although I daresay Bevis will be excessively displeased when he learns that I have refused poor Timothy again. It is merely that I sometimes find my spirits oppressed by this pretty hobble that we are in.”
“Timothy?” inquired the Earl. “Shall I speak to him?”
Tilda, considering that words between Micah and the good Timothy concerning herself were likely to result in pistols at dawn, hastened to dissuade his lordship from that course. “Timothy must come to realize that I am serious when I say that I cherish no ambition to wed.”
“Never?” Micah exhibited interest.
“Never,” repeated Tilda firmly, but with no great pleasure in the conviction.
“So I told Agatha, but she would not attend. She will not be pleased.”
“What has Agatha to do with the matter?”
Micah was saved the necessity of answering this not unreasonable question by the unmistakable sound of the Duke of Abercorn’s voice in the hall. He moved quickly to the tall windows, then paused, with a rueful smile. “It seems I am not to be given time to discuss the matters that I wish.”
“The fault is mine,” replied Tilda, with an apprehensive glance at the closed door. “There is no need to trouble yourself. I understand perfectly how it is with you.”
“Do you?” inquired the Earl, with laughing eyes. “I think not, but there is no time to discover what maggot has got into your pretty head.” With a courtly bow, he vaulted through the window, and was gone.
“Mathilda!” Eunice Scattergood stared at the open window with consternation. “You’ll catch your death of cold.”
“Don’t trouble yourself, Eunice.” Tilda moved to the window. It was unlikely that so terrible a fate would overtake her on a balmy summer’s mom.
“What’s this I hear?” Bevis demanded, striding purposefully across the room. “You have told Timothy that you will not marry him?”
Tilda closed the offending window with an audible thwack and turned to face her brother. “I have,” she replied, “and I do not intend to change my mind.” Eunice collapsed with a moan.