Gayle Buck (2 page)

Mr. Weston pursed his lips. “Indeed, I feared so at the time, my lord.”

The Earl of Walmesley sighed. “And so it has proved. Now only look at what has come of it.” He slapped the sheets of the letter with his free hand. “She means to see me firmly wedded this time, and to some chit I have never met, to boot! Listen to this, Weston. ‘Marie is a good, biddable girl who will do as I tell her. She will make you an admirable wife.’ Then there is some rubbish about the girl’s proper manners and delicate beauty and sweet quiet nature, before we get to the core of the matter, which I shall quote: ‘Marie will make you a father many times over. Her family has the reputation of breeding like rabbits, and it is true—I have myself investigated the genealogy. I am satisfied that you will find Marie acceptable in every way.’ “

Lord Trilby looked over the sheets at his secretary. His brows were raised in incredulous amazement. “Can you believe it, Weston? I am to marry this girl, if you please, because she will breed like a damned rabbit.”

Mr. Weston had difficulty swallowing the disrespectful laugh that unexpectedly rose to his lips. He changed it hastily to a cough. “The Grandduchess of Schaffenzeits is inordinately fond of you, my lord, and of her connection to you.”

“Aye,” the earl agreed gloomily. “ ‘Tis a pity I am the last of the English line. If there was another, I would not now be in this awkward position.” He reflected a moment. “Perhaps I should go into the army. It is pretty warm going in the Peninsular, so one hears, so I should probably find it lively enough. One could not very well leave a new bride behind, so there would be no question of marrying until the war was done. Of course, there is always the possibility of one’s luck turning at just the wrong moment; but there is the other side of that, as well. If I was killed, the Grandduchess of Schaffenzeits could not very well marry some rabbity chit to me, could she? What think you, Weston? Shall it be the army?”

“No, my lord,” Mr. Weston said firmly.

The earl sighed. “You are probably in the right of it. The grandduchess would follow me to hell itself, my unwanted bride in tow, and see that we were joined together over the fires of the pits whilst all of Satan’s dominions looked on.”

“My lord!” Mr. Weston was shocked by such blasphemous ramblings, even though he thought he knew the earl’s teasing character too well to take his lordship seriously.

“Have I shaken you with my nonsense, Weston?” Lord Trilby asked. He sighed a little. “I am so completely at point non plus that I cannot think what to do.”

“If I may suggest, my lord, that perhaps this once you might explain the matter clearly to the grandduchess and she will relent,” Mr. Weston said.

“Lay my cards on the table, do you mean?’’ The earl shook his head. “It won’t do, Weston. I have attempted it on several occasions in the past, all to naught; hence these later abortive maneuvers. Nothing will move the grandduchess from her determination to see me safely wedded. Dash it, Weston! I am but eight-and-twenty. I am not ready to saddle myself with a wife and a growing nursery. I know that my line dies with me, but why must the grandduchess insist that I wed just now?”

“I believe it is often so with the elderly, my lord. They feel great anxiety to have everything wrapped up and tidied,’’ Mr. Weston said.

“Oh, I realize that her grace is more than four-score years and she feels herself increasingly mortal. But is that good enough reason to hurry myself into leg shackles? I cannot believe that it is,” Lord Trilby said.

“The Grandduchess of Schaffenzeits is inordinately fond of you, my lord,” Mr. Weston said gently.

Lord Trilby sighed. “As I am of her grace, or otherwise I should have told her to go to the devil long since.” He reflected a moment. “Well, stands to reason, doesn’t it? I have not seen my German cousins upwards of half a dozen times in my life; but when I was a boy, and even later, the grandduchess spent nearly every summer with my parents and me here in England. I have many fond memories of the old lady. She is a grand lady in every sense of the words.”

He waved his hand, deliberately dismissing such sentimentality. “But that is neither here nor there. The matter at hand is how I am to extricate myself from this trap of my own making. Any notions, Weston?”

Mr. Weston spread his hands in a helpless fashion. “I am sorry, my lord, but nothing immediately comes to mind.”

Lord Trilby sighed again. “Quite all right, Weston. I suppose that I rely upon you too heavily at times.”

“It is a pity that your lordship does not at least have a tentative understanding with some lady,” Mr. Weston said regretfully.

Lord Trilby’s head whipped up, an arrested expression on his face. “What was that, Weston?”

Mr. Weston was thrown off-balance. “Why . . . why, I was but thinking aloud, my lord.”

“And an inspired thought it was, Weston!” Dawning light entered the earl’s eyes. “I have only to present
a fiancée
to the grandduchess and she will have no choice but to take her rabbit back to the duchy with her.”

Mr. Weston stared at his employer in confusion. He faltered. “Your intended, my lord? But. . . you do not have an intended.”

The earl seemed not to hear him. “I do not know why I did not think of it before. It is the answer, Weston, I am certain of it. I have only to do the thing right, and with any luck at all the Grandduchess of Schaffenzeits can be cajoled out of this rut of wishing to marry me off to some chit or other.”

“But, my lord! You cannot be serious. Surely I need not recall to you that you have not got an intended and, what’s more, you do not want one,” Mr. Weston said.

“Quite right, Weston.” There was a bright gleam in the earl’s eyes. He sat down at his desk and pulled a sheet of paper to him. “But the first matter can be easily remedied, I fancy.”

Mr. Weston was thoroughly bewildered. “But you said not a moment since that you do not wish to wed, my lord.’’

“Nor do I. But what is that to the purpose?” Lord Trilby asked, dipping a pen in the inkwell. He began writing rapidly on the sheet of paper. “I shall call on the lady immediately to see whether I am able to arrange it.”

“My lord, you cannot mean to offer for a lady under false pretenses!” Mr. Weston exclaimed, horrified.

“No such thing. I hope I have a better notion of what is due my honor than that. No, I mean to cast myself upon the lady’s mercy and enlist her help in putting into motion a grand deception,” Lord Trilby said, still writing.

Mr. Weston’s facile brain instantly grasped the truth. “Lady Caroline!”

Lord Trilby glanced up at his secretary. “Weston, your percipience fills me with admiration. Yes, I hope to enlist Lady Caroline in this dark hour to enter into my little plot.’’

“My lord, pray reconsider!” Mr. Weston was beside himself with alarm. “You cannot possibly ask such a thing of Lady Caroline. ‘Tis rank folly!”

“Do not look so appalled, Weston. Lady Caroline knows me better than anyone. She will not allow me to get in over my head, I assure you. She don’t want to many me any more than I wish to marry her. We’ll do the thing between us, I am certain,” Lord Trilby said. He put aside his pen and perused the closely written sheet. Satisfied, he sanded it and handed the missive to his secretary, who had been rendered utterly speechless. “These are my instructions while I am gone, Weston. You must cancel my engagements for the next several days, of course. I shall keep you apprised of my progress with Lady Caroline, so that you will know what to do when the Grandduchess of Schaffenzeits and the rabbity chit arrive.”

As the earl was speaking, he had risen from his desk and sauntered across the study toward the door. A queer sound was uttered behind him, and he paused to glance back at his secretary, who stood statue-like with half-parted lips and a shocked expression. “Well, Weston?”

Mr. Weston appeared to gather himself. He held up the sheet that had been entrusted to him. The paper shook in his hand. “My lord, what exactly am I to tell the Grandduchess of Schaffenzeits?”

“As little as possible,” Lord Trilby said easily. “Now I’m off. Convey my regards to my great-aunt whenever she and her entourage should arrive. If you have not had word from me before my great-aunt descends upon the house, put her grace off as best you can until I am able to communicate with you in regard to my success with Lady Caroline.”

Before he went out the door, Lord Trilby regarded his secretary’s odd color and starting eyes. “You look damned queer, man. Weston, perhaps you should have a physician in to see you.” He left the study and the door closed gently behind him.

For several moments Mr. Weston stared at the spot vacated by his lordship. Then he roused himself with a shake. He went with stilted steps to the sideboard to pour himself a small amount of brandy from the decanter. He regarded the level in the glass and recklessly splashed in another measure. It was an unusual liberty, but he felt this one instance could be fully justified. Before touching the glass to his lips, he said morosely, “Disaster shall come of it, I shouldn’t wonder.”

He tossed back the brandy in a single swallow. Unaccustomed as he was to such reckless action, he immediately fell into a whooping, coughing fit. When he at last recovered, his eyes continued to water. Somehow the sheet of instructions had fluttered to the carpet, and it lay there in mute testimony of his failure in his duty, for he had been unable to sway the Earl of Walmesley from his mad course.

The Grandduchess of Schaffenzeits was undoubtedly already on the way to England. Brooding upon that, Mr. Weston felt strong pity for himself.

Naturally, Lord Trilby was to be pitied for the horrible situation in which he found himself, but, Mr. Weston thought, the earl would not be the one who must greet the formidable grandduchess upon her arrival. Mr. Weston had had occasion to meet the Grandduchess of Schaffenzeits once before, and the event was most vividly imprinted upon his memory. His ears still rang with her grace’s strongly worded opinion regarding the qualifications required in one so privileged as to be the Earl of Walmesley’s secretary.

It occurred to Mr. Weston that perhaps the individual to be most pitied was the lady who was expected to provide a shield for the Earl of Walmesley.

Chapter Three

The object of Mr. Weston’s pity, Lady Caroline Eddington, was at that moment herself wondering at the vagaries of life.

The morning had begun auspiciously enough, having dawned bright and clear after the previous night’s thunderstorm. Lady Caroline had perforce risen early and in possession of a mild mood that perfectly matched the splendor of the day. She had gone downstairs to enjoy a solitary breakfast, a common occurrence, since only she and her maternal aunt presently shared the house, and Mrs. Burlington preferred to take her daily chocolate and toast in bed.

Lady Caroline skimmed the morning papers for the war news over her coffee, as was her habit, before she went to the study to begin the day’s labors on the stack of paperwork that awaited her attention. Halfway through the morning, the groundskeeper requested a few moments’ speech with her ladyship to discuss a small estate problem. The groundskeeper was gratified by Lady Caroline’s attentive and knowledgeable questions and eventually he went away satisfied that the matter would be adequately resolved. The housekeeper was waiting to bring in the household accounts for the upcoming quarter, and she and Lady Caroline dealt with them together to their mutual satisfaction.

When luncheon was announced, Lady Caroline felt the personal gratification common to all who have accomplished much. Lady Caroline smiled as she rose from the desk. “You come in good time, Simpson. I am famished. There is nothing so like worthwhile employment to make one appreciate a good luncheon.”

“It has been a productive morning, then, my lady,” Simpson said, making of it a statement.

“Indeed it has. I shall finish up the most pressing items this afternoon, I feel certain. His lordship shall have nothing to complain of upon his return,” Lady Caroline said as she allowed herself to be ushered out of the study.

“His lordship naturally placed every confidence in you, my lady,” Simpson said. There was the faintest note of censure in his tone.

Lady Caroline turned to the butler with a laughing look in her eyes. She was well aware of the butler’s disapproval of the arrangement that existed between herself and her brother. Lady Caroline’s brother, Lord Eddington, now the Earl of Berwicke, had always preferred the amusements and pleasures of London over the estate in Sussex and its attendant responsibilities. Since the death of their father, the old earl, Lord Eddington’s tastes had not changed and he had been content enough to leave the running of the estate in his sister’s capable hands.

“Indeed, and as always. But we shall not speak of that, if you please,” she said in gentle reproof. “Has my aunt come downstairs?”

“Yes, my lady.” The butler’s face became, if possible, a shade more expressionless. He coughed delicately. “It is my understanding that Mrs. Burlington spent an indifferent night.”

Outside the closed door to the dining room, Lady Caroline paused. She threw the butler a glance in which dismay mingled with resignation. “I see. My aunt’s indifferent nights have become all too frequent of late. Unfortunately, one cannot cry craven, can one?” It was at that moment that she wondered about the vagaries of life and how one was unwillingly compelled to see them through.

She sighed and nodded to the butler. “Thank you, Simpson.” The butler executed the briefest of bows as he opened the door for her. Lady Caroline entered the dining room with a firm step. Her countenance was serene and an amiable smile curved her lips. However, the expression in her deep blue eyes, though friendly enough, was cool. “Good afternoon, Amaris. It is a lovely day, is it not? A pity that it is still so damp, or otherwise one might have enjoyed a leisurely walk after luncheon,” she said cheerfully as she seated herself across the table from her maternal aunt.

Mrs. Burlington eyed her niece with disapprobation. “That is so like you, Lady Caroline. You blithely assume that everyone about you holds the same opinion. Walk, indeed! Only peasants resort to such unhealthy exercise. What is wrong with ordering out the carriage, pray?”