Lady Elizabeth's Comet (17 page)

I blinked. "Do you waltz?"

"At the moment, no. I have been known to do so, however."

I gathered my wits. "Then it's hopeless. One must never waltz until the Patronesses
approve one's
ton.
Your credit is irreparably damaged."

He contrived to look downcast. "A pity."

Bevis gave a crack of laughter. "What about the
fandango?"

Miss Bluestone leaned forward. "Is that a Spanish dance, my lord?"

Clanross smiled at her. "Yes. One stamps one's heels to the music and looks solemn.
Shall we persuade Bevis to demonstrate?"

Bevis looked modest. "I was never more than passable."

Clanross laughed. I deduced Bevis was an exponent of Spanish dances--and probably of
Spanish damsels as well. Could I doubt it? I did not, but I was surprised at the notion of Clanross
in that role, and oddly displeased. I daresay because he had shown himself immune to Cecilia's
charms I had begun to think him monkish.

My bridegroom-to-be was entertaining Miss Bluestone with an account of a ball Lord
Wellington gave at Ciudad Roderigo shortly after he reached Spain. Bevis had written me a
description of it at the time, in which his sourness at being shipped off to the Peninsula had
coloured every detail. I found it diverting to see how this selfsame ramshackle affair had taken
on retrospective glamour, even to the shell-hole in the dance floor.

"I think, in the spirit of scientific enquiry, we ought to hear Clanross's version of the
ball," I said.

Bevis snorted. "Tom wasn't among the Elect."

"I didn't move in such exalted circles," Clanross agreed without rancor. "Your point is
well taken, however. When I start bestowing the complexion of Drury Lane on regimental
theatricals, I'll know that my brain has finally softened."

Bevis was indignant.
"My
brain hasn't softened."

I affected shock. "Do you mean to say that your alterations of fact were deliberate?
What will Miss Bluestone think of you?"

Miss Bluestone said placidly, "I'll think Lord Bevis used poetical license."

We all laughed at that, and she added, "All impressions of eyewitnesses have a peculiar
interest, however. One may rely on letters and journals writ at the moment. Memory is most
fallible."

Clanross smiled. "Best burn your journals, Bevis."

Bevis smirked.

I ignored him. "Have you burnt
your
journals, Clanross?"

"I'm free to lie at will. The French did the deed for me."

"Good heavens."

"I was a dogged diarist until the Corunna campaign, but our baggage was captured in the
retreat. Three years' worth of journals full of fascinating observations like 'July 5, Ens. X is a
coxcomb,' 'Oct. 8, Raining,' and 'Nov. 22, Ship's biscuit again.' The thought of all that deathless
prose lighting French campfires disheartened me," Clanross admitted. "I gave it up."

"A great loss to history," Willoughby drawled. He had listened to the interchange with
barely concealed boredom and now turned the subject to Town gossip, neatly excluding Clanross
and Miss Bluestone from the conversation.

For the first time, I was genuinely angry with Willoughby. Clanross had finally begun to
shed some of his reserve, and now it would probably be another three months before he felt in a
forthcoming mood.

He listened to Willoughby politely, smiling in all the right places, but I could feel him
withdraw. As for Miss Bluestone, Willoughby had no consideration for her feelings at all, and I
found I disliked that very much. I would have given him a setdown had Charles and Cecilia not
rejoined us from their billing and cooing over the musick rack and announced that it was time to
sing. I wished Willoughby would leave Brecon. In fact, I determined to tell him to do so if
Clanross did not.

As things turned out I did not have to think up a scheme to get rid of Willoughby. Two
days later, as I was writing a letter to Anne in the withdrawing room, there was a ruction in the
hall and Willoughby stormed in unannounced.

"Good God, Willoughby, what is it?"

"You're responsible for this, Elizabeth."

"For what?"

"Cecilia has run off with your pet chirurgeon."

"With Charles? If she did you must have provoked her. What have you been doing,
tying her to the bedpost?"

"Clearly, I ought."

We stared at each other. Willoughby was ruffled, his cravat awry and his hair mussed.
As I had never seen him with a hair out of place my fascination may be forgiven. Perhaps he
sensed my amusement.

His mouth thinned. "Why did you suddenly set your cap for Bevis, Elizabeth, dear? He
was ready to offer for Cecy. I laid odds on it. You failed to bring Bevis up to scratch five years
ago. Do you fancy you can do the trick at eight-and-twenty?"

I went cold, but a thread of common sense held my wrath in bounds. I said in a carefully
level voice, "I don't follow your drift, but your tone is insulting. I presume you're foxed. Good
day, Willoughby." I rang for Agnew.

"Oh no, you don't." He took a step toward me, hand raised. I stared, widening my eyes
deliberately. And his violent demeanour did surprise me. If this were the Willoughby beneath the
masque, then Cecilia's subdued behaviour--one might even say idiocy--in his presence was
understandable.

"Did you ring, my lady?"

"Mr. Conway-Gore is just leaving. Show him out." I kept Willoughby's furious eyes
locked on mine. "I know nothing of Cecilia. Take your Banbury tale elsewhere,
Willoughby."

"She's gone to the border!"

Agnew looked from Willoughby to me.

"Never mind, Agnew. Mr. Conway-Gore has decided not to go after all. Bring the sherry
tray, if you will."

"Sherry!" Willoughby's voice rose.

Ever tactful, Agnew withdrew.

"Sit down, Willoughby." When he remained obstinately standing, I sat, rearranging my
skirts with nice attention. "Sit
down."

He sat.

"Explain. And a little less rodomontade, if you please."

Suddenly he buried his head in his hands, which were shaking. "Oh God, Elizabeth, I'm
done up for sure."

"You're
done up? I thought all this was in aid of Cecilia."

"You don't understand."

"No. I understand that Cecilia thought herself enamoured of Bevis--and that she has now
changed her mind."

"She had to marry him--or Clanross."

"My word." My mind raced over Cecilia's appearance. She couldn't be with child, silly
wench. Absolutely not. Light began to glimmer.

"Do you mean that you're in real difficulties, not just a temporary shortage of funds, and
that you intended to marry off Cecilia advantageously in order to stave off your creditors?"

"I've been living on my expectations ever since your father's death. When you told me at
Christmas that Clanross was ill..."

"You told your creditors 'any day now.' I see. How injudicious of you. Does Clanross
know?"

"No! That canting Methodist."

I fear I laughed.

"He don't play and he ain't fashionable, and what's more he don't care to be. He wouldn't
understand."

"That's as may be, but I think you should lay your trouble before him. You'll admit he
has a head for figures."

"Well, I don't," Willoughby said bitterly. "If he weren't such a care-for-nobody..."

"Clanross?"

"And such a monk."

"My dear Willoughby, if you expected him to be bowled out by Cecilia's charms..."

"Clanross or Bevis, it didn't matter which. Dash it, Liz, she's a diamond of the first
water!"

"That may be--indeed, it is--but neither man is a green-head, and Bevis, at least, has
been avoiding matrimonial schemes since he first came on the Town."

"He was attentive to her at Christmas. M'mother said so." I didn't wish to speak ill of his
mother's understanding. No doubt she was desperate to marry Cecilia off, if only to uphold her
reputation as a matchmaker. Bevis was almost as much a Catch as Clanross.

Perhaps Willoughby was thinking the same thing, for he said crossly, "It was working
until you took a hand."

I lied without shame. "I did not take a hand. Bevis knows his own mind."

"He's a gazetted flirt."

"Exactly." I smiled at him. "As you--and Cecilia--well know."

"I told her it must be Bevis or Clanross."

I contrived to control my mirth. "It seems she has a mind of her own." Who would have
thought it?

"What's that to the point?"

I clucked my tongue. "Too gothick, Willoughby, even in your present mood."

He was forestalled in the hot answer he might have made me by Agnew's reentry with
the sherry. I poured a glass for Willoughby and another for myself.

"That will be all, Agnew. Thank you."

Agnew slid out the door.

"Why trouble Cecilia?" I sipped sherry. "Why not marry an heiress yourself?"

"I ain't in the petticoat line."

"I know, but the debts are yours. Why should Cecilia--or Cecilia's future husband--frank
you?"

"It was a good scheme, and it's done all the time."

"In the best of families," I agreed, suddenly sour. "What Papa would say..."

"If he hadn't kept me on such a dashed tight rein."

"What!"

"He did. And he kept raising false hopes. You know he did. When the uncles died there
was every reason to think I'd succeed. He increased my allowance, dash it. What else could he
mean?"

"He married again--and there was always Thomas Conway." I began to feel real disgust.
"Were you counting on his convenient demise also?"

"Not counting on it," Willoughby said sullenly. "It was likely merely in the course of the
war."

As I had reason to know how likely, I could not contradict him. Nevertheless, I did not
care for Willoughby in the role of carrion eater. "How much are you in for?"

"Ten thousand pounds."

That was about four or five years' income for Willoughby. The sum, though large, was
not unheard of. How Willoughby could have lost it in the short time since Papa's death was a
matter for wonder. I said, in what I hoped were unaccusing tones, "You can't raise the
wind?"

"No, dash it. I've gone to the Greeks already."

"Tell Clanross."

"No."

"Yes." I rose abruptly. "Cecilia is of age, and you can't bind her legally. The worst you
can do is withhold her portion."

Willoughby gave a hollow laugh.

"Have you squandered her portion, too? Upon my word, Willoughby..."

"I told her exactly where she stood. How will she figure with your beggarly surgeon if
she hasn't a dower, eh?"

That was a very good question. Charles is the reverse of mercenary, but it seemed unfair
to burden him with Cecilia without some compensation. I might injudiciously have said so had
Agnew not at that moment reentered bearing a note on a salver.

It was for me, in Clanross's strict hand. I broke it open, reading hastily.

"What is it?"

"Your sister is safe with Aunt Whitby. Charles took her to Briarlea directly."

"Oh, no!"

"Oh, yes. You have expectations from Aunt, too, haven't you, Willoughby? She's been
an indulgent relation, but she'll not look kindly on your squandering Cecilia's portion."

He turned white. I suspected he had touched Aunt before. He could not want her to
know how badly he had bungled his affairs.

"Clanross wants a word with you. Come along, if you want my help."

The faint gleam of hope brightened his face. "Liz..."

"I ought to abandon you to your fate but I haven't the heart." He had the wit to say
nothing.

* * * *

Clanross awaited us in the withdrawing room looking stern and rather baffled. When he
saw me he raised his brows.

"Willoughby needs moral support."

"For what?"

"For what he is about to receive."

Clanross's mouth quirked but he refused to bandy words. "Do I take it I'm to be
enlightened?"

"Dash it, you know what happened," Willoughby interjected.

"I have Wharton's version. I must confess it strains my credulity. For Godsake, sit down,
both of you." He pulled a chair for me.

We sat, Willoughby tugging at his already disordered cravat and trying to smooth his
hair with a hand that was definitely shaking.

"Wharton lured my sister..."

"He has made an offer for her."

"To you?"

"Yes. I told him to make it to you, but he was, er, somewhat moved. I thought you
would prefer not to be milled down in the drawing room, so I suggested that he retire to
Hazeldell to cool off."

Willoughby bridled. "I'd like to know what cause he has to be angry."

"He has formed an attachment for your sister, and it seems you've been dealing with her
like a figure out of Restoration drama."

"Lady Wishfort?" I suggested. "Squire Western?"

Willoughby was too offended to reply.

Clanross avoided looking at me. I had the feeling he was trying hard not to laugh. I
noted a suspicious absence. "Where's Bevis?"

"I sent him to Lady Whitby to assure Miss Conway-Gore of my protection."

"Your protection!" Willoughby shouted.

"She won't have yours, and you seem to object to Wharton's. We needn't entangle Bevis
in family matters, so that leaves me."

Willoughby's eyes narrowed. "What kind of protection?"

Clanross raised his brows. "She appears to believe you mean to constrain her in a
distasteful marriage. Why? Or perhaps whom?"

Willoughby had the grace to flush.

Clanross regarded him in thoughtful silence.

I felt it was my turn to speak. "Make a clean breast of it, Willoughby."

"You said you'd help me."

Clanross looked at me, startled.

"Help him explain," I snapped. "Very well. Willoughby is under the hatches, Clanross,
to the tune of ten thousand pounds. Your persistence in living has deprived him of what he chose
to regard as his expectations, so he decided to cast Cecilia in your path. Or in Bevis's path. It
didn't matter which."