Elizabeth Mansfield (22 page)

"Would it have made a difference if you had?"

"Probably not. But Cassie will not believe it."

"You can't be sure, can you? Why don't you drive to Dorset in the morning and ask—?"

He gave a snort of laughter. "Really, Mama, for someone who's promised never again to interfere, you are certainly making a great many suggestions."

"Oh, dear, I am." She glanced over at him guiltily. "I seem to be a hopeless case. You must do what you think best, of course."

"What I think, Mama," he said, rising, draining the last of his drink and making for the door, "is that I've had enough rejection for a lifetime. I shall never offer for another female. Your son will be a staid old bachelor. I know that disappoints you, but you'll get used to it in time. One gets used to everything... in time."

Chapter 31

Cicely was well aware that her mother, her aunt and everyone else would judge her harshly if they knew what she was planning. It was a decidedly shocking plan. Repugnant, even. It required her to lie, to trick and to cheat. But she could think of no other way to combat Charles's adamant resistance. Why, the man had never called on her, not even after the encounter at the opera. Not once!

It was obvious that something drastic had to be done, and, in the words of Macbeth when he was planning
his
evil deed,
"If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well it were done quickly."
So she set her plan in action.

First, she had to lay the groundwork. That required a promise from Clive to make himself available the following day to take her for a long ride. This she accomplished with little trouble. Next she had to free herself from the watchful eye of her aunt. That would be a harder task. She set about it the next morning. "Aunt Eva," she said casually at breakfast, "I think I'd like to make a quick trip home to see Mama."

Eva looked up from her teacup. "Why? Is anything amiss?"

"No, of course not. I just want to make certain she's well. I've not had a letter in several days."

"I had a letter just this Tuesday. Everything is fine."

"She always says everything is fine. I'd rather pop in and see for myself. It will only be overnight."

"Very well, dearest, if you think we should." Eva pulled her appointment diary from her pocket and consulted it.
 

"We can go next Monday."

Cicely, knowing her aunt, was prepared for this. "I'd rather not wait. Why not today?"

"We are invited to the Murchisons' dinner tonight. I've already accepted."

"Then you must go, of course. But you needn't have me with you. It is only your friends, with not a single young gentleman or lady my age in the assemblage. I'd much rather go home and see Mama."

"But how can you go without my escort?" her aunt demanded. "And, if I'm to have the carriage, what would you use for transport?"

Cicely made a great pretense of considering the matter. "Perhaps I can prevail upon Clive to take me," she said as if she'd just had a wonderful idea. "We could probably take his phaeton. We could leave early this afternoon and be at Crestwoods by sundown."

Eva looked over at her niece dubiously. "Just you and Clive?"

"Heavens, Aunt Eva, why not? He's quite reliable, and you know perfectly well that he treats me like a sister. You'd let me go with a brother to escort me, wouldn't you?"

"Well, I suppose ..."

Cicely didn't wait for another word. "Oh,
thank
you, dearest!" she exclaimed, flying round the table and kissing her aunt's cheek. "You are the best aunt in the world!"

The next step was the hardest of all—the letter to Charles. She worked on it for two hours, tearing up and burning three drafts before she was satisfied. The fourth version she folded and sealed. Then she sought out her aunt's second footman. "Martin," she whispered, giving him the note and a gold sovereign, "you must deliver this note to Lord Lucas in person. And it must be handed to him before seven tonight, but after five. You'll find him either at his rooms on Portman Square or at White's Club. Is that clear? You must place it
in his hand,
and it must be between five and seven tonight. And Martin, please don't fail me!"

By three that afternoon, sitting beside Clive on the driver's seat of his dashing high-perch phaeton, Cicely was so nervous and frightened she almost wished she hadn't embarked on this enterprise. But there was no turning back now; the note was out of her hands.

"I don't mind taking you for a drive," Clive said, "but I don't see why you insisted that we take this road. We're going due west, and the sun is in my eyes."

"I may as well tell you now, Clive. This is not just a drive. You're taking me home."

He gaped at her. "Home? To Crestwoods? Why on earth?"

"I want to see Mama."

"But that's three hours from here! We won't be back till. .. till well past midnight!"

"We could stay the night at Crestwoods, couldn't we?"

"Yes, I suppose we could. But, good God, Cicely, you could have asked me properly. Why didn't you?"

She shrugged. "I was afraid you'd refuse me."

"And so I might!" he snapped. "What if I'd had an engagement tonight?"

"Well, do you?"

"No, but—"

"Then I don't see why you're raising such a dust. Do you
mind
taking me home?"

He glared at her. "Well, I mind being tricked into it."

"Then you can turn back. Go on, turn back. We're only a short way from town. You'll only have wasted an hour or so."

"No, I'll take you," he growled. "But you've a strange way of treating a fellow."

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "I'll make it up to you someday."

He sulked for the next hour, but his normal good spirits reasserted themselves after that, and to Cicely's relief, he actually whistled to himself as they tooled along.

When they gone about halfway to home, just past the town of Swallowfield, Cicely began to watch for a particular inn she knew could not be far distant. As soon as she spotted its thatched roof, she began to moan. "Oh, dear me," she said in a weak voice, "I suddenly don't feel very well."

Clive cast her a look of alarm. "What is it?"

"I don't know. I feel... faint..."

"Faint? Oh, good Lord!"

She wavered on the seat. "I think I'm... going to... swoon!"

"Cicely, no! Don't do that. I wouldn't know what to do! Please,
please,
don't swoon!"

She put a trembling hand over her face. "Water..." she croaked.

"Look, there's an inn just ahead!" He whipped up the horses, getting to his feet to do it, like a charioteer of old. "See it? The sign there says the White Falcon. You'll have your water in a trice. Hold on, old girl, there's a dear!"

She peeped at him through her fingers, smiling behind her hand. She felt very pleased with her performance. Things were going exactly as planned.

Chapter 32

It was just growing dark in London, a time when most of the members of the ton were gathering at various distinguished homes for festive dinners, for late May was the very height of the social season. But in the Inglesby town house no one was preparing for a gala evening. Lady Sarah was standing in her front hall sniffing into her handkerchief, while all around her the servants were bustling about carrying Jeremy's baggage out to his carriage.

Jeremy came down the stairs pulling on his driving gloves. Seeing her in tears took him by surprise. "Come, come, Mama," he said affectionately, patting her shoulder, "it's not like you to turn on the waterworks just because I'm taking off for the Park."

She dabbed at her eyes. "I shall never understand you. Why won't you stay for a while? You have friends here! There are all sorts of fetes and galas to attend—the opera, the theater, your club! Why do you want to rusticate now, when there's no one of any consequence anywhere near the country house?"

"Don't fret about me, Mama. I like it there. Charlie has promised to come for a long stay. And if you come out for a visit now and then, that will be all the consequential company I'll need."

His mother shook her head sadly. "I don't think it at all salubrious for you to cut yourself from society. I have a writing table full of invitations, all of which include you. You could have a rousing good time if only you'd stay."

He cocked an amused brow at her. "Are you matchmaking again, Mama? I thought you'd given up—"

He was interrupted by a pounding on the door. Hickham, who was about to carry out a portmanteau, opened it at once. Charles came bursting in. He was in evening clothes, but his top hat and neckerchief were both askew, and he was so out of temper that his face was darkly flushed. "Ah, Jemmy, you're still here!" he said in relief, taking his friend in an excitable embrace. "Thank the Lord I caught you in time. Here!" He thrust a crushed paper into Jeremy's hand. "Read this, and tell me what you make of it."

Jeremy took a quick look at the missive. Lady Sarah, meanwhile, not accustomed to being ignored, fixed a disapproving eye on the visitor. "Do I not deserve a how-de-do, you rudesby?"

"I'm sorry, Lady Sarah, but my mind's not on trivialities right now."

Jeremy looked up. "I think, Mama, that I may not be leaving for the Park just yet, so there's no reason now to wait about to see me off."

"Indeed?" She looked with raised brows from one gentleman to the other. "Very well, I shall leave you, then. I know when I'm
de trop."
She started up the stairs with unhurried dignity. "Please inform me when you
are
ready to make your departure."

"Well?" Charles asked anxiously as soon as her ladyship had disappeared. "What do you think?"

"I don't know what to think. Let me read it again." He carried the paper closer to a branch of candles burning on a side table and went through it once more.
"Dear Charles"
the letter said,
"When you Read this I shall be Embarking on an Adventure completely Inspired by You. I shall be at the White Falcon, an Inn just beyond Swallowfield, engaged in a Tryst with your Nephew Clive Percy. The reason I write to tell You of it is because You, in a sense, Brought this about, having—in your Desire to push me into a Connection with a Man close to my own Age—been the one who Brought us Together. Even at the Opera you indicated your Approval of my Continuing Connection with him. I have no Intention of Wedding him, of course, having my Heart set on Another, but I thought you might be Pleased that your Efforts to bring Clive and Me Together have Not been for Naught. I Trust you will not Reveal what I have told you to my Aunt or any Member of my Family, for they would Not Understand, not being as Worldly as You are. In Gratitude and Affection, I remain Most Sincerely Yours, Cicely Beringer."

"What I think," Jeremy said, shaking his head over it, "is that this is the silliest letter I've ever read."

"I quite agree with you," Charles said in disgust. "Having a tryst with one man while her heart's set on another! Did you ever hear of anything so ridiculous? And thinking I'm worldly enough to
approve
of this nonsense! What sort of rotter does she think I am?" He took a turn about the hall to vent his spleen, and then he threw Jeremy a worried glance. "But what do suppose she means by all of this, eh? Do you think she truly intends to... to do what she says?"

"Engage in a tryst, you mean? I haven't the least idea. I know less than nothing about the minds of young females. But I suspect she had a reason for warning you of it."

"Because she's so clearly given away her whereabouts, you mean?"

"Yes, exactly. She means you to prevent her."

"But it makes no sense. Why would she embark on such an escapade if she wants to be prevented?"

"I don't know. But she ought to be stopped if she's serious about this. If anyone should learn of it, the girl would find herself in a devil of a fix."

"I should say she would!" Charles began to pace about again, biting his lip. "I suppose there's nothing for it but for us to go out to this inn in Swallowfield and stop her."

"Us?
What have
I
to do with this? It's you she wrote to."

"Yes, but if I went alone, it would be like admitting that I have some responsibility for this. And after all, your connection with the chit is as strong as mine."

"Is it?" Jeremy gazed at his friend with a look of amused speculation. "I have the strangest notion ..."

"What? What are you thinking?"

"Never mind." Jeremy clapped his friend on the shoulder and gave him a wide grin. "Very well, Charlie, I'll go with you. I have a feeling it will be an entertaining adventure."

"And
I
have a feeling we're engaged in a wild goose chase. I don't know why you're grinning in that fatuous way, except that you think this is some sort of joke. And you're probably right. When we get to that inn, there won't be a soul there."

Chapter 33

Clive Percy, sportsman and bon vivant, was having one of the worst nights of his life. He'd started the day in his customary good spirits, anticipating a pleasant little afternoon riding in Hyde Park with Cicely and then an evening of high-stake billiards with his friends at Warkworth's (the club he preferred because the wagering there was more intense than at the other clubs). Instead, here he was, captive to a sick girl in a dingy, low-ceilinged, dormered room in the attic of a dull little inn located in a place at the back of beyond.

Cicely had fainted away when they arrived at the inn that afternoon. He was terrified by her swoon; he had no notion of what to do for her. The innkeeper's wife had brought her round by holding a bottle of sal volatile under her nose, but then the girl said she felt too weak to go on.

"Shall I get you a doctor?" Clive had offered worriedly. "There must be one in the vicinity."

"No, no," she'd said a bit hysterically. "All I need is a little rest. An hour, no more." She'd then turned to the woman, who was still holding her. "You do have a bedroom I may bespeak for a while, don't you?"