Amanda Scott (47 page)

She nodded. It was larger than the one she had occupied previously, with rose-colored hangings and warm, colorful rugs, and she liked it very much. Why did your stepmama take the other room in preference to this one, sir?”

“I don’t know precisely,” he said. “I was a child at the time, but I believe the decision was my father’s. He married her for her money, you see, and to secure the succession. He was not an affectionate man, but I think he cared for my mother. Perhaps the comparison between them, here, was too stark for him.”

Maggie’s bath was soon ready, and he left her to the ministrations of Tilda, who had come at once, delighted to welcome her back to London and saying she could imagine no good reason for anyone else to wait upon her.

“We arrived three days ago, my lady,” she said cheerfully, “but no one thought his lordship would be here. What a surprise he’s got for them, to be sure.”

Maggie hoped Lydia had not yet managed to fall into any scrapes, but she forbore to question Tilda further, being certain the woman would not divulge such information, if she knew of any.

Both men were in the library when she returned, and rose to their feet at her entrance. They too had changed out of their travel dress to more elegant attire, and Rothwell raised his quizzing glass and looked her over from top to toe in very much his old manner, but she detected a twinkle when he drawled, “That rig is becoming, sweetheart. I do not recall seeing it before.”

Maggie looked down at the wide-skirted blue dimity gown and smoothed the lace ruffle on one sleeve. “It is one of those that was ordered made for me before we all left, and Tilda said when Lydia learned it had been delivered, she meant to have it sent to me. I’m glad she did not do so the minute they arrived,” she added as she sat down in a chair near the desk.

James said thoughtfully, “I’d like to know who was Ryder’s source of information. He appears to have been deuced accurate.”

Rothwell said, “No doubt it was one of your mama’s friends—Lady Ordham, perhaps, if they are dining with her tonight.”

“But Mama don’t correspond with that old trout,” James protested. “She don’t even like her much. Says she’s the sort to put sugar in her tea,” he added with a mocking grin. “Makes me think the better of Lady Ordham, myself, but I know you won’t agree. Might not Lydia have told someone?”

Rothwell shrugged. “She might, but I cannot think who she knows who would have confided such information to Ryder.”

Frederick and a maidservant entered with the refreshment the earl had ordered, and conversation became desultory until sounds of impending arrival were heard in the courtyard.

Rothwell got up to open the library door, and in the brief moment before he blocked her view, Maggie glimpsed Lady Rothwell and Lydia as they swept into the hall, attired in elaborate gowns and wearing ostrich plumes in their well-powdered coiffures.

Lydia was saying, “But I don’t understand any of them, Mama. That absurd chit is quite dreadfully bookish and not even—” She broke off, gaping at Rothwell.

“Welcome home, ladies,” he drawled. “I trust you have enjoyed a pleasant evening.”

Lady Rothwell stared at him but collected herself swiftly, saying in a sharp aside, “Close your mouth, Lydia,” then adding smoothly, “I must suppose you are a trifle surprised to find us in town, Rothwell, but finding country life insupportable at this dismal time of year, we decided to return. And not before time, I might add, for Lydia has already learned that in her absence another young woman has taken the eye of the most eligible gentlemen in London. She is most put out with you. Indeed, I cannot say how delighted we are that you have returned.”

“In truth, I must suppose you cannot,” he replied suavely, “but perhaps you can think of something more appropriate to say when I inform you that you are to wish me happy. May I present my countess.” He stood aside, revealing Maggie.

She found herself looking directly at the dowager. For a long moment the woman stared at her, stunned, before anger flamed in her eyes and, turning to Rothwell, she said furiously, “Have you taken utter leave of your senses?”

“I have not,” he replied calmly.

Lydia, too, had been staring at Maggie, but she smiled now and said shyly, “Is it true? Are you really married?”

Maggie nodded, still watching the dowager, who said suspiciously, “Even from the wilds of Scotland news of such an event as the wedding of the Earl of Rothwell must have been thought worthy of publication. Why have we not heard so much as one word of a wedding, being either planned or celebrated?”

James stifled a choke of laughter, but Rothwell said calmly, “Since you have no idea when we were wed, madam, I do not know why you think the news ought to have preceded us, but if you will step into the library, we can certainly discuss the matter.”

But although she swept haughtily past him into the room, followed quickly by Lydia, she had not missed James’s reaction; and Maggie, feeling fire in her cheeks, was aware of a shrewd glance cast her way as well before Rothwell shut the door. She looked imploringly at him even as the dowager said imperiously, “There is something odd about this, for all you pretend there is not. There was nothing loverlike in your behavior before you went to Scotland, Rothwell. If one was concerned about this woman’s trapping anyone, it was James for whom we feared; but now you expect us to believe a wedding had taken place. I don’t believe it. Indeed, I daresay the truth is you seduced the wench and brought her back to London, thinking us safely in Derbyshire; and now, astonished to find us here in town, you have simply said the first thing it entered your mind to say in hopes of sparing Lydia’s blushes. Fine doings, sir! Find doings indeed.”

“That will do,” Rothwell said, the ice in his tone chilling even Maggie. “I will not tolerate any insult to my wife.”

“If I truly insult you, show me your marriage lines, sir, for I shan’t believe in them until I have read them for myself.”

The silence that fell then was a pregnant one. Maggie’s cheeks burned, and she could see that neither James nor Rothwell was anxious to reply. With an odd sense that she was putting her head into a hangman’s noose, she said, “You must tell her the whole, Edward. Maria or Chelton will do so if you do not.”

He nodded and proceeded to do so; however, if he had hoped to calm his stepmother’s fury with an explanation he soon discovered his error. Although she heard him out in stony silence, when he had finished she said flatly, “I have never heard anything so disgraceful in all my life. Such a marriage cannot be legal, but if it is, it must certainly be annulled.”

A frisson of fear shot through Maggie, but Rothwell said, “No, madam, it will not be annulled, and you do yourself no service by taking this attitude, I promise you. I can allow for your shock, but I suggest you retire at once and give thought to your position. I will not allow you to treat my wife unkindly.”

The dowager folded her lips tightly together, but it was clear that his words had only increased her fury. When he opened the door for her, she stormed from the room, head held high, skirts arustle, and ostrich plumes flailing.

Rothwell, still holding the door, looked at Lydia, but though she bit her lower lip, she made no move to obey his unspoken command. When it became apparent that he meant to wait, she said, “I know you are vexed with us, Ned, but indeed, it was horrid in Derbyshire, for Mama was cross with everyone and I missed my friends, and now everything is in a mess, so please don’t be too angry with me. I … I’m glad you married Maggie, however it came about.” She looked at Maggie and smiled through unshed tears. “Now I have a sister. Brothers are very nice, in their own way, but a sister will be much nicer.”

Rothwell’s expression softened, and as he closed the door again, he said, “If you can find it in your heart to be kind to Maggie, puss, I might even be glad you came back. As I recall the matter, however, I had excellent reason to send you home.”

“You did it out of temper, sir,” she said with a sigh, “and indeed, I suppose you had cause to be vexed, but it has spoiled everything now, or very nearly.”

James said lightly, “Did I hear Mama say your star had been eclipsed? Who is this diamond who dares cast you in the shade?”

She grimaced. “I don’t understand it, for Ophelia Balterley has not got the least sense of fashion and actually reads books—not the sort one likes to read, but fusty ones written in Greek and Latin, for she was educated with her brother, of all dreadful things. Yet they are, all of them, quite mad for her.”

Rothwell drew a chair forward for her, saying as she sat down, “May we take your dismay to mean that Lord Thomas Deverill has turned his eyes in the paragon’s direction?”

Lydia tossed her head and said, “I’m sure I don’t care what Thomas does, but considering that he once tried to hang himself with my hair ribbon only because I failed to wear a posy he’d sent me, Ophelia
must
have cast a spell over the awful man.”

“What is her portion?” James asked, glancing at Rothwell.

“Balterley is extremely well to pass, certainly, but he does have a son,” the earl replied.

Lydia sniffed. “They say Lord Balterley has arranged to divide his private fortune equally between them. ’Tis very odd.”

“Damned odd,” Rothwell agreed, “but therein lies the reason for her extreme popularity, my pet. She will inherit a fortune much larger than any portion you will receive, so there must be any number of men in London clamoring to get their hands on it.”

“If you had not sent me away,” Lydia said, “this would not have happened.”

“If that is true,” he replied, “you will soon have them all at your feet again, including young Deverill.”

“Well, but though I wrote to say we were coming, he did not seem cast into transports to see me tonight,” she sadly, but when the full meaning of his words struck her, she perked up at once. “Do you mean to say you won’t send me back to Derbyshire, Ned? Oh, pray do not! I promise I won’t do anything you don’t like.”

“To quote my dear stepmother,” Rothwell said dryly, “I cannot tell you how reassuring I find those words, puss.”

Maggie and James chuckled, but Lydia took no offense, saying earnestly, “I know you don’t believe me, but I mean it, and oh, Ned, if you are disposed to be kind, please say we can go to the winter ridotto at Ranelagh on Friday. Mama said I could go, but the moment I saw you, I was certain you’d forbid it. Everyone will be there. Please,
dearest
Ned, say we may go.”

Rothwell looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, “I think we all ought to go. I’ve a mind to see this heiress for myself.”

Lydia laughed. “You will see her, that’s certain enough, for Mama has already decided that James is to marry her, so she is certain to present him to her notice. Lady Portland’s niece has gone home until February, so there is no hope for you there at present, dear James, but Mama believes you can easily cut out all the others with Ophelia.” She sighed a little forlornly, adding, “I only hope you can.”

“The devil fly away with Mama,” James snapped.

“James!” Lydia’s hand flew to her mouth.

Rothwell’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “Easy, lad. You have shocked your sister. Apologize to her, if you please.”

“But, Ned, if Mama is determined, it will make it much more difficult for me to—” He broke off, looking quickly at Lydia.

Her eyes widened. “More difficult to do what, James? Tell me.” When he remained silent, she turned to Maggie and said, “Do tell me! I hate it when people keep secrets!”

Maggie looked at Rothwell, who said smoothly, “There are no secrets to tell you, puss. James is only fretting because he promised to help smooth the way for Maggie with your Mama, but I can look after my own wife perfectly well. At all events, I begin to look forward to this ridotto of yours. I daresay we shall all enjoy it very much indeed.”

H
AVING SENT MAGGIE UPSTAIRS
with Lydia, Rothwell poured more wine for himself and for James, and said casually, “Might your friend Deverill be acquainted with Ryder, do you think?”

James’s thoughts had clearly been elsewhere, but as he took the glass Rothwell handed to him, he said, “They know each other, certainly, but I should not have said they were particularly well-acquainted. Why do you ask?”

“Because Lydia said she had written to apprise Deverill—most improperly, I might add—of her return to London.”

“Naughty of her, I agree, but what—Egad, you think he might have been Ryder’s informant. I suppose it’s possible, but I can’t think why Dev would confide such information to Ryder, and it don’t signify anyway. What’s done is done. My only concern is to keep Mama from trying to foist that damned heiress onto me for a bride.”

“I should think she would have trouble trying to foist any bride onto you, dear boy, and certainly the young woman’s family will have something to say about it.”

James shrugged. “One might think so, but you know as well as I do, Ned, that Mama makes life damned uncomfortable for me whenever she thinks I’m running counter to her wishes.”

“Just now she ought to have her plate full, just trying to get used to the notion of my marriage.”

“Well, you don’t know Mama as well as you think you do if you believe she can think of only one thing at a time. I can just imagine what that ridotto will be like, with her determined to fling me under the nose of this damned heiress just when I wanted to cozen her into seeing things my way for once.”

“I will help all I can with your mother, James, but when we are at Ranelagh, I want you to watch Lydia and keep your ears cocked for information about any Jacobite activity, or the lack of it. I want to hear that some new scandal has taken the public mind off the notion of spies in our midst, for I’ll not rest easy until I am convinced that damned Primrose masquerade has been forgotten. I mean to see Ryder tomorrow, and I’ll discover from him just how much danger still exists, but even if he should tell me there is none whatsoever, I want you to make certain Lydia keeps silent about her presence there.”

“Maggie and I were also at the masquerade,” James reminded him soberly. “Dev was, too, for that matter.”