A Regency Match (9 page)

Charlotte dispensed with the entire matter with an airy wave of her arm. “Oh, pooh! It was nothing. I think the child is charming, absolutely charming.” She took her friend's arm and led her out to the terrace.

Marcus and Dennis had come up to the doorway in time to overhear the exchange. “See?” Dennis chortled in a mocking undervoice. “Even your mother agrees with me.” Without further ado, he headed straight for the champagne.

But Marcus remained staring after Lady Alicia with knitted brows.
Not afraid of dogs
? If the chit was not afraid of dogs, what was the meaning of the little scene she'd created? Marcus had no idea of what the girl was up to, but whatever it was, it boded no good. But there was no time to brood on the matter. He had to rearrange bedrooms, talk to the cook, and arrange for a governess to take care of five unexpected children. He squared his shoulders, put on a smile and went out to play the happy host.

Chapter Seven

B
ERTIE KNOCKED ANGRILY
on Sophy's door. As much as he would have wished to join the others on the terrace and fill his hungry stomach with a good share of the delicacies he'd glimpsed on the table, his curiosity had got the better of him and led him to her room. “Open up, Sophy,” he ordered firmly. “It's only me.”

“Are you alone?” she asked cautiously from behind the locked door.

“Of course.”

She opened the door and let him in. To his surprise, she looked perfectly composed. She'd removed her hat and pelisse and evidently (since she still held the brush in her hand) had been brushing her hair when he'd knocked.

Bertie glanced around the room. It was very pleasant, painted a cheerful white except for the window alcoves which were covered with a blue flowered paper in a style called ‘chinoiserie.' His own room, on the floor below, was somewhat more impressive with its walls of polished wood panelling and its red silk draperies, but this one was brighter and more feminine. The draperies were of a sheer white dimity embroidered all over with the Chinese blue flowers, matching charmingly with the bed hangings and the wallpaper. Sophy had drawn the draperies aside and opened the windows to let in the spring breeze. From far below, the sounds of laughter and gay conversation floated up to them. “Do you hear that?” Bertie asked. “Everybody's having a fine time at luncheon. If we had any sense, we'd be down there, too.”

“Well, why
aren't
you down there? I didn't ask you to come here, you know,” she responded sourly.

“I just came to find out what your game is. You don't fool me, you know, screaming about being terrified of dogs. You wouldn't be terrified of
tigers
! You're up to something smoky.”

“I don't see what business it is of yours.”

“Don't take that tone to
me
, Miss,” Bertie said with unwonted severity. “I'm related to you, you know, and you've made the whole family ashamed that you're one of us.”

“That is regrettable,” Sophy answered indifferently, turning to the little dressing table between the window alcoves and resuming her brushing.

“Do you mean to say that you don't
care
that you made a scene?”

“Not in the least. You'll see me make a few others before this visit is over.”

“A few
others
? What gammon is this?” he demanded, alarmed.

“Never mind.”

“What are you about, Sophy? Are you trying to ruin your reputation?”

“I don't care a fig for my reputation.”

“Well,
I
do. I don't want people saying my own cousin is addled in her wits.”

“That's not any worse than what they say of me now,” Sophy muttered sullenly to her reflection in the glass. “
One
person, anyway.”

Bertie looked at her sharply. “Is someone telling rappers about you?” he asked, taking her by the shoulders and pulling her around to face him. “Tell me.”

Sophy shrugged him off. “I don't want to talk about it.”

“You
must
talk about it,” he insisted angrily. “I won't have anyone telling whiskers about my own cousin!”

“It's none of your business, I tell you.”

“It
is
, if you're going to make a spectacle of yourself. I don't understand, Sophy. If someone
is
spreading tales about you, why do you want to provide him with more? If you insist on acting like a loony, you'll only make things worse.”

“I don't care! I swore to myself that I'd get even by making a catastrophe of his houseparty, and I will!”

Bertie stood stock still in shock. “What are you saying? That it's
Wynwood
who's maligning you? I don't believe it!”

“You may believe what you choose,” Sophy said coldly, turning her back on him.

“Dash it, Sophy, how
can
I believe it? His lordship ain't the sort to go about brewing scandal-broth like any gabble-monger!”

“No?” his cousin cried vehemently, jumping to her feet, her hands clenched in suppressed fury. “How do
you
know what sort he is? I tell you, underneath that veneer of smiling politeness, Lord Wynwood is a … a …”

“A what?”

“A … top-lofty, smug, stuffy, contemptuous, censorious
prig
!” Sophy burst out, her knees trembling and her cheeks paling. To Bertie's acute dismay and her own surprise, she burst into tears.

“
Sophy
, don't!” Bertie uttered miserably. “I didn't mean to … I wouldn't for the
world
make you cry!” He led her to the bed, sat her down and patted her back awkwardly. “If that man has done something unkind to you, I'll … I'll call him out!”

There was the sound of a hiccough as a little laugh broke through Sophy's sobs. “Oh, B-Bertie, don't b-be such a c-clunch!” she managed.

“I mean it!” Bertie insisted. “What did the blackguard
do
to you?”

Sophy took a handkerchief from her bodice and blew her nose, her sobs subsiding to little sniffs. “He … he called m-me a … a shatterbrained
hysteric
!”

Bertie blinked, nonplussed. “He
did
? Well, that was quite rude, I suppose, although I don't see that it's anything worth crying over. When did he say that to you?”

“He didn't say it to
me
. That's just the point. He's been saying it to everyone else behind my back!”

Bertie cocked a suspicious eye on her. “What rubbish! How can you think that?”

“Because I overheard him saying those very words to Mr. Stanford, the other night at the theater.”

“Overheard?” He narrowed his eyes shrewdly. “You mean you were eavesdropping.”

Sophy hung her head. “Well, I suppose I was. It was completely accidental, I assure you. And it doesn't alter the fact that he described me as a silly chit, melodramatic, hysterical and shatterbrained!”

Bertie shrugged. “And so you are.”

“
Bertie
!” Sophy jumped to her feet furiously. “If that's how you feel about me, you can take your leave!”

“Oh, don't get on your high ropes. You know you tend to be dramatic. But no one says it's a crime. I think you're making too much of all this. His lordship only said those things to his friend. I'd go bail he didn't say it to anyone else.”

“That he said it even
once
is too much for me,” she retorted. “Since he gave me the name, I'll give him the game!”

“Do you mean to say you're going to spend this fortnight behaving like a … an overwrought loon?”

“I intend to take every opportunity to make scenes, create disturbances, and cause havoc.”

Bertie shook his head helplessly. “You
are
shatterbrained. What do you suppose Grandmama will say when you begin turning things upside down?”

“Everything will look completely accidental. She won't be able to do anything about it. And if she
does
suspect—”

“
If
she suspects? I'd lay odds she suspects already, after that dog business. She ain't a fool, you know.”

“Even if she does, she won't be able to punish me until we return home. I'm quite prepared to face her wrath, once I've accomplished my purpose.”

“Well, your ‘purpose,' as you call it, is positively
addled
in my opinion. I've heard of a ‘woman scorned' but this is the first time I've seen one. It's enough to drive a man to
drink
!” He went to the door, shaking his head in disgust, “If you persist in going ahead with your idiotic scheme, don't look for any help from me,” he warned. “You can play your little game alone.” And he slammed the door behind him.

A party of sixteen sat down to dinner in the softly-lit, gracious dining room of Wynwood Hall that evening, the five youngest members of the assemblage having been fed earlier and taken by a maid (whom Marcus had assigned to act as governess) to play in the nursery. The dinner was a most enjoyable one for all but Bertie. The poor fellow could barely attend the conversation or savour his veal in his apprehensive anticipation of the catastrophe about to be generated by his vengeful cousin, although he had not a clue as to the nature of the disaster she was planning. For the others, however, the food was memorable and the conversation engrossing.

The table talk centered on the news from abroad—of the French reverses since Napoleon's fatal withdrawal from Russia. Even the women were fascinated by the lively argument in which Julian and Horace Carrington supported Dennis in his sanguine expectations of a British victory before this year of 1813 had passed; while Sir Walter and Marcus, on the other hand, contended that Napoleon's victories at Lutzen and Bautzen proved that the French general still had surprising strength and recuperative powers, and that even the outstanding strategies of Wellington could not lead to a quick or easy victory.

The latter argument drew support from two of the ladies. One was Iris, whose remarks, while not especially insightful in themselves, nevertheless drew admiring smiles from the listeners because of the devoted loyalty they revealed to the man whose intimate relationship to her had not yet been announced officially. The other speaker in Marcus's behalf was Lady Alicia, whose spirited comments about Napoleon's shrewdness at the battle of Bautzen showed her to have a surprising understanding of modern warfare. “Are you interested in military strategy, Lady Alicia?” Marcus inquired in some surprise.

“My late husband encouraged my interest years ago,” Alicia explained.

“Yes, my father was considered quite an expert,” Walter added. “He even wrote on Marlborough, you know. Made us all read history when we were small.”

“So your interest has persisted during all these years, Lady Alicia?” Horace Carrington asked. “I must say, I find that admirable in a woman. I cannot seem to make Cora take an interest.”

“Well, I'll have to admit that my interest lapsed after my husband's death. It was Sophia who roused it again. She has a positive fascination for the subject.”

“Is that so?” Julian asked, directing a smile at the girl. “That's quite unusual in a young woman, is it not?”

“Her grandfather had her reading history in the schoolroom. She quite hangs on news of Wellington, these days,” Alicia said proudly, grateful for the opportunity to present her unpredictable granddaughter in a good light after the turmoil of the afternoon.

“How very interesting,” Marcus remarked, his eyebrows raised. “I had no idea, Miss Edgerton, that a fashionable young lady like you would occupy herself with such pursuits.”

Sophy had been biting her lip in chagrin throughout her grandmother's encomium, but at his lordship's remark she glanced up at him, her eyes glinting coldly. “My grandmother exaggerates, my lord,” she said. “Military strategy is much too complicated for a shatterbrained ninny like me.”

For a moment there was a shocked silence. Marcus stared at the girl in surprise. Her tone made him feel that he'd been given a sharp set-down. What on earth had he done to anger her?

Before he could frame a rejoinder to her challenging remark, his mother rose from her chair. “
All
the ladies are shatterbrained for remaining here at the table during this talk of warfare and battles. Come, my dears, let us withdraw and leave the gentlemen to their port and their arguments.
We
shall have music.”

But after the ladies had gone, Marcus did not re-enter into the discussion. He found himself brooding about the Edgerton creature. The chit had an unfathomable talent for disconcerting him. Marcus had an uncomfortable feeling that the girl harbored some deep resentment towards him, but he couldn't imagine what he'd done to inspire it. Despite the fact that she'd subjected him more than once to deeply humiliating experiences, he had treated her with impeccable politeness. Why had
she
taken
him
in dislike?

The matter continued to irritate him as the gentlemen left the table to rejoin the ladies. They found them gathered in the music room. Mrs. Carrington was singing a charming Dutch lullaby, with Iris accompanying her on the piano. The gentlemen tiptoed to their seats, Marcus taking a place on the piano bench beside his betrothed, to help her turn the pages. Iris looked up at him with a thankful smile. She looked particularly lovely in the glow of the eight-branched candelabrum on the piano. He was a fortunate fellow indeed, he realized, to have won so beautiful and gracious a girl for his bride. Suppose it had been Miss Edgerton to whom he was betrothed—what an ordeal
that
would be!

The song ended to enthusiastic applause and appreciative comments. Mrs. Carrington blushed with pleasure but would not be cajoled into an encore. “Perhaps Miss Edgerton will sing for us,” Dennis suggested with what Marcus thought was insidious flattery. “Do you sing, Miss Edgerton?”