Elizabeth Thornton - [Special Branch 02] (21 page)

When it was over, Gwyn breathed a sigh of relief. Her eyes found Mark. He was the center of attention, and his sparkling eyes and flashing smile should have warmed her heart.

Luncheon was served in the informal dining room. Any awkwardness was dispelled when Trish’s young son, Chris, joined them. It took two minutes for he and Mark to size each other up, then they were
chattering like old friends and straining at the bit to be off and exploring. Much to Gwyn’s surprise, Grandmother Radley gave her permission, and the boys left the table so hastily it made everyone laugh.

Gwyn’s eyes met Trish’s across the table and they smiled knowingly. In their day, they wouldn’t have been excused until the last person had finished eating.

After luncheon, the gentlemen drifted away. Jason had business with his steward; Gerry wanted to see what the boys were getting up to; and since Judith could not be persuaded to delay her departure, Brandon offered to drive her to her mother’s house in Brighton.

“I wish you would stay on for a few days,” said Gwyn.

They were on the front steps waiting for Brandon to bring round the curricle.

“You make it sound,” said Judith, “as if I were going to the far ends of the earth. We’re neighbors, Gwyn. I could walk to Brighton and back again before dinner time. We’ll see each other as often as you like.”

“It’s not the same.”

Judith touched Gwyn’s arm. “If I stayed, you would use me as a shield to keep your Radley relatives away.”

“You mean Grandmother Radley.”

Judith laughed. “Precisely.” She pulled on her gloves, then said seriously, “Give her a chance, Gwyn. At least meet her halfway.”

“You should be saying those words to Grandmother, not me. I’m the guilty party here, remember? I was the one who eloped.”

“It’s my impression that your grandmother feels more guilty than you do.”

Gwyn looked sharply at her friend. Judith spoke as
if she knew Grandmother Radley intimately. Gwyn had known they were acquainted. They’d met in Brighton. Now Gwyn wondered just how friendly they were.

Brandon’s curricle rounded the corner of the house and pulled up beside them. Judith’s eyes roamed over it, then she gurgled with laughter.

“I had no idea,” she said, “that Jason collected antiques.”

“This is my curricle,” replied Brandon, tight-lipped.

“That explains it.” Judith approached the curricle. “If you married me, Brandon, you could have a dozen new curricles, and each one the envy of all your friends.”

He bared his teeth in a facsimile of a smile. “I would also have you, Judith, so you’ll forgive me if I decline the offer.”

“I’ll throw in a team of thoroughbred horses.”

Brandon lost his patience. “Will you be serious?” He leaned down, offered her his hand, and hoisted her none-too-gently into the curricle. “One of these days, some jackanapes will take you at your word. And when you tell him it was all a joke, he’s going to take matters into his own hands. Do you take my meaning?”

Judith lowered her eyes. “Yes, Brandon,” she said meekly.

He glared suspiciously at that bent head, growled something under his breath, then flicked the reins, and the curricle took off.

Gwyn was still smiling when she entered the house. A maid was waiting for her with a message from Grandmother Radley. Tea, she was informed, would be served in Mrs. Radley’s room. It was an invitation that had all the force of a royal command.

The maid led the way, but not upstairs as Gwyn expected.
What had once been the morning room had since been turned into a lady’s bedchamber.

“Because of my arthritis,” Grandmother Radley explained. “I’ll not have servants cart me up and down stairs like a sack of potatoes. And I want to be at the center of things, not confined to a sickroom like a cursed invalid.”

Grandmother Radley was reclining on a chaise longue, sipping tea; Sophie was staring out the bow window; and Trish was seated close to the tray of tiny cakes and macaroons, stuffing her mouth, then starting on another as soon as she’d swallowed what she was chewing.

When she saw Gwyn staring at her, she swallowed and grinned. “Yes, I’m in the family way again. The doctor confirmed it last week. Gerry and I thought we’d never have another one after Chris. But here we are. Isn’t it wonderful?”

Gwyn’s throat constricted. “You’re to be envied,” she said. She crossed to Trish and hugged her.

“Kindly remember, Trish,” said Grandmother Radley, “that your younger sister is present.”

“Pooh!” Sophie flounced from the window and flung herself into a stuffed armchair. “I’m not a child, Grandmama. I know all about the birds and bees.”

“In my day, it wasn’t considered proper—”

Sophie drowned out her grandmother’s words. “But we’re not living in your day, Grandmama. This is my day, my time, and girls are different now.”

Gwyn waited for the rebuke, but all Grandmother Radley said was “That’s what every generation thinks, but you’ll learn.” She looked at Gwyn. “So you see our dilemma.”

Gwyn took the chair beside Trish, and nodded when Trish held up the silver teapot.

“No,” she said. “What dilemma?”

“Why,” said Sophie, “my Season in London. Grandmother can’t chaperone me because of her arthritis, Trish is in the family way, and you are recovering from a gunshot wound and have to be pampered.” Her eyes were sparkling. “So the Season in London will have to be postponed for another year.”

Gwyn sipped her tea and said nothing. She remembered Jason mentioning that Sophie fancied herself in love with someone in Brighton.

Sophie went on, “There are as many balls and assemblies in Brighton. What can London offer that can’t be found here?”

“A change of scene,” snapped her grandmother.

Unconcerned, Sophie rose and stretched her arms above her head. “You worry too much, Grandmama,” she said. “Look at Gwyn. She married her dashing soldier, and though they were poor, they were blissfully happy. Now don’t get your nerves in an uproar. I’m not thinking of eloping. I just want you to give David a chance.” She paused to give her grandmother a very direct stare. “And stop playing matchmaker. Nothing can induce me to marry Mr. Hunter.”

“I don’t want you to marry anyone,” declared her grandmother wrathfully.

“Good, because when I marry, I’m going to be like Gwyn. I’m going to marry for love, and no one is going to stop me.”

She kissed the top of her grandmother’s head, then sauntered from the room, leaving a wake of silence that was almost palpable.

Gwyn took a sip of tea to clear her throat. “Who,” she said finally, “is David?”

“Lieutenant David Jennings,” answered Trish, “of the … I forget what regiment, and the most sought after officer in Brighton. All the girls are mad for him.” She looked at Gwyn. “But really, he won’t do.
He’s too hot-tempered, too wild. He fights duels at the drop of a hat. Jason would never allow Sophie to marry a man like that.”

Another silence. Then Trish said, “I think you’re worrying for nothing, Grandmama. Sophie is a sensible girl. And she thinks the world of Jason. She won’t go against his wishes.”

Grandmother Radley, who seemed to have sunk into the deepest gloom, rallied at these words. “She’s an incurable romantic! Gwyn is her idol! And Gwyn eloped, didn’t she?”

Trish said quickly, “We promised Jason we wouldn’t bring up the past.”

Gwyn felt as though she were being sucked into dangerous waters and she said abruptly, “The circumstances are different. When I eloped, everything at Haddo was in confusion. We were all in shock after George died. I had no one to turn to but Nigel. I’m not making excuses for myself or blaming anyone. It happened, and there’s no sense raking over old coals.”

“And everything worked out for the best,” Trish interposed, glaring at her grandmother.

Grandmother Radley looked as though she would argue the point, but after a moment she looked at Gwyn and said simply, “Will you speak to Sophie, Gwyn? I know she’ll listen to you.”

“Speak to her about what?” asked Gwyn, startled.

“Speak to her like a big sister. She won’t listen to Trish or me. She thinks you’ve led an exciting life. She admires you. Trish and I, well, what we have to say goes in one ear and out the other.”

A dozen good reasons for refusing this unreasonable request sprang to Gwyn’s mind, but they died unsaid when she saw the half-pleading look in the older woman’s eyes. “I’ll talk to her,” she said.

“Thank you.” Grandmother Radley sighed and
closed her eyes. “Would you ring for my maid? It’s been an exciting day, and I’m more than ready for my nap.”

When Glennings entered, Gwyn and Trish tiptoed out, and headed for their own rooms.

As they climbed the stairs, Trish said, “Sophie doesn’t know how lucky she is. When I remember how we used to tremble in our shoes whenever Grandmother raised her voice!” She gave a theatrical shudder.

“She never raised her voice,” said Gwyn. “She didn’t have to. And though we trembled in our shoes, we still did pretty much what we wanted.”

“Speak for yourself!” retorted Trish. “I even married the man Grandmother picked out for me.” She added hastily, “Of course, it all worked out for the best, but that’s not the point. I should have had a choice. I think that’s Grandmother’s worst failing—she always has to play matchmaker. I’m sure I would have fallen in love with Gerry on sight if Grandmother hadn’t kept on singing his praises. It’s the same with Mr. Hunter and Sophie. If Grandmother would only leave well enough alone, I’m sure Sophie would see that Mr. Hunter is twice the man Lieutenant Jennings is.”

“Yes, but Grandmother wouldn’t be Grandmother,” said Gwyn, “if she stopped meddling in all our lives.”

Trish chuckled. “That’s true.”

At Gwyn’s door they halted, and Trish said, “Grandmother had no business asking you to speak to Sophie. What can you say to her that hasn’t been said before?”

“I don’t know. But what I want to know is how Sophie came by all these highly exaggerated notions about Nigel and me. He was a soldier. I was a soldier’s wife. There’s nothing glamorous in that.”

“Well, she didn’t get that from me. All I did was
give her your letters to read.” Faint color ran in Trish’s cheeks. “I gave them to Grandmother, too. There weren’t that many letters, Gwyn, and Gerry said it was the right thing to do. Did I do wrong?”

“No, of course not. There was nothing in those letters that could embarrass anyone.”

The worry lines cleared from Trish’s brow. “No, indeed. They were very amusing. It was a great relief to us all to know that everything had turned out so well for you.”

Gwyn’s smile faded the moment she entered her chamber. Maddie was there, bustling about, putting away the clothes that had been unpacked and were now spread on the bed and chairs. All the boxes had been removed and the only place to sit was on the dressing-table stool, so Gwyn perched on it.

“Miss Glennings is ever so nice,” said Maddie. “She’s going to teach me how to be a real lady’s maid. There’s ever so much to learn. No, no, I don’t need any help. I’ve got to do this by myself.”

The reference to Miss Glennings aroused Gwyn’s interest. She remembered the old days when Haddo was full of guests and their maids, maids who would disappear into cracks in the wall whenever Miss Glennings was in one of her takings. A most superior servant, Miss Glennings, and she never let anyone forget it, least of all visiting maids.

“She said,” Maddie went on as she reverently placed Gwyn’s one and only red evening dress in the wardrobe, “that she was sure your cousin, Mrs. Churchill, would be happy to lend you some of her garments until the rest of your boxes arrive.”

“So Miss Glennings has gone through my boxes, has she?” asked Gwyn, torn between amusement and indignation.

“No,” protested Maddie. “She was showing me how
to unpack, that’s all. But, never fear. I didn’t tell her that all the clothes you own was right here in the boxes we unpacked. What do you want me to do with this?”

Draped across Maddie’s arms was the beautiful blue coat that had been left at the library. Until that moment, Gwyn had forgotten all about it. It took her a moment to recall the name of the young woman who had left it there.

“Gracie’s coat,” she said. “Well, Gracie will just have to wait till I return to London before she gets her coat back.”

“Miss Glennings was ever so impressed when she saw it,” said Maddie. “See those buttons?” Gwyn looked at the distinctive buttons on the coat. They were made of jet and each bore the design of an oak leaf. “This coat,” Maddie went on, “was made by Madame … Carry something or other. I can’t say her name ’cos it’s French, but she’s a modiste who has a shop in Bond Street. Miss Glennings told me Madame only makes the best quality garments for the best quality people.”

The same thought had occurred to Gwyn when she first examined the coat, but so much had happened since then that Gracie and her coat held little interest for her now.

“Wrap it in tissue and put it in the wardrobe,” she said.

Maddie’s eyes twinkled. “I didn’t tell Miss Glennings that the coat didn’t belong to you.”

When the clothes were all put away, and Gwyn was alone, she rose and began to move around the room, touching first one thing then another. This had always been her room, ever since she and her mother had come to live at Haddo. The same flowery chintz curtains were at the windows, with their matching
chintz counterpane on the bed. The carpet was a green Axminster, a perfect compliment to the green walls and flowery upholstery. A garden bower, her mother had called it, and that’s exactly how it seemed to her still.