Lady John (5 page)

“I never knew John had a gift for words, Mamma.” Kit
sputtered off into fresh laughter.

“Quiet, Christopher!” his mother hissed, and, “Yes, or I
shall tell what he used to say of you!” Olivia threatened. She and the Duchess
exchanged smiles of perfect accord, and once the Duchess finished her last
cream she murmured that it was time to rescue poor Mrs. Martingale, and rose to
lead the ladies from the room.

Naturally, once Olivia had left the room all the gentlemen
could speak of was Lord John Temperer’s widow.

“I must say, Tylmath, I am agreeably surprised,” Sir David
began.

“Certainly a pretty-behaved little thing,” Lord Reeve
agreed. “And a fine looking damsel at that. Would show to advantage on the
hunting field, I should think. Does she hunt, Kit?”

Lord Christopher, involved in an intensive examination of
the bottom of his wineglass, winced and murmured that he believed she did.

“Well, Tylmath, you must see that she is properly mounted. A
very pretty little female, that.” Reeve finished his selection of a cheroot and
lit it from a taper with every evidence of satisfaction.

At the head of the table Tylmath drew himself up to his full
height to declaim; Lord Christopher slumped farther into his chair.

“I confess I was agreeably surprised,” Tylmath drawled at
last. “The girl is at least passably handsome, which is more than I expected,
knowing my brother John. But she is taking in a flashy sort of way. Not in the
least like her mother, and she has nothing of that gentility of manner and
demeanor which distinguishes her parent...” Here Tylmath stopped, bemused by
some angelic vision in his mind.

“Now, really, Tylmath, you cannot say that your new sister
is only
passably
handsome,” Sir David
protested. “As for her manner, I conversed with her for some minutes, and I
found her to be a woman of sense and some wit, with a niceness of mind which is
particularly pleasing. She has, I think, a tendency to levity, but that is
attractive rather than not in a female of her age.”

“If you ask me, Tylmath, you’re about in your head.” All the
gentlemen turned to regard Lord David Temperer, all but forgotten at the other
end of the table. The usually mild-tempered old man had risen, clutching his
ear trumpet in one hand and glaring at his nephew. “You’re being a bad-tempered
lout because John had the good fortune to marry a pretty, well-behaved girl,
and you haven’t the charm to wed a snake.”

Lord Kit, still silent behind his wineglass, looked from one
end of the table to the other watching the combatants with amusement.

Tylmath rose to the bait, but his remarks, largely
incoherent and full of epithets of which “senile old goat” and “sponger” were
the mildest, went unheard by his uncle, who had now deliberately put the ear
trumpet aside. Gaining no points in his attack on his uncle, Tylmath turned the
commentary to his new sister-at-law, making it plain that he would in no way
mount her, frank her, or otherwise shed his luminousness upon her. After which
he sat again, tossing back the contents of his glass and sputtering angrily.

After a few minutes of silence Lord Kit mildly suggested that
perhaps it was time to join the ladies. Oningham, Reeve, and Lord David, whose
hearing improved remarkably in an instant, rose with alacrity and made for the
door.

“Coming, Ju?” Kit asked lazily.

Tylmath’s mouth pursed unhappily. “Yes. But I wish it made
plain that I do not intend to brook any nonsense from this—this adventuress!”

“Or her mother?”

Tylmath stopped. “The mother is quite another case,” he
conceded at last. “A truly charming woman; had you noticed? Most handsome, most
affable. How it must pain her to have such a child!”

Wisely Lord Christopher said nothing, only holding the door
for his brother.

In the drawing room Lady Katherine Oningham was engaged in
telling an involved story of John Temperer’s youth to Olivia, with assistance
from the Duchess and her sister Bette. Mrs. Martingale and Lady Susannah sat
apart, conversing quietly, and Miss Weedwright tatted mousily in a corner.

His Grace cleared his throat.

The effect was decidedly not what he had anticipated. There
was a general pause in the conversation, then the Duchess nodded cordially at
the gentlemen and bade them make themselves comfortable. “Julian, are you
sickening for a cold?” she added solicitously. “No? Then do strive to rid
yourself of that rasp in your throat, dearest. Now, Olivia, as I was saying,”
and she continued onward in a lengthy correction of Lady Katherine’s story. Kit
was the only member of the party to study the effect this casual dismissal had
had on his brother: Tylmath turned a deep, dull red and scowled.

Lady Katherine, glancing at her brother, murmured; “Very
like Lord Byron, Ju, but I cannot say it becomes you,” and returned her
attention to her mother.

“Ought you all to bait your brother so?” Mrs. Martingale
asked, aghast.

“O dear, yes ma’am.” Lady Susannah fanned herself lazily. “Julian
expects it. If he weren’t such an odious toad we should not do so, but he is
determined to be disagreeable, and so he must pay the price. We none of us heed
his Ducal air when we are just family.”

Tylmath was faced with a peculiar dilemma. His natural
impulse was to fetch his sister a stinging box on the ear. Equally strong was
his wish to improve himself in Mrs. Martingale’s eyes by doing nothing of the
sort.

“My dear Susannah,” he managed at last, his tone
approximating amusement. “She is a shocking quiz,” he assured Mrs. Martingale. “If
you listen to her you will believe that the whole lot of us belong in Bedlam or
Newgate. Or both.”

Mrs. Martingale was happily spared the necessity of an
answer; Olivia, having heard the tale Lady Katherine and her mother had wished
to tell, rose now to suggest to her mother that perhaps they should retire
early.

“Her Grace urged me to take you off, Mamma, for if you are
as tired as I, I vow you must be half-asleep already.”

“But you cannot wish to leave so early,” the Duke protested.
He aimed a look of pointed dislike at his sister-at-law, then turned to smile
effusively at her mother.

Mrs. Martingale looked hopelessly at her daughter: it was no
more possible for her to snub a Duke than it was for her to fly, and she dearly
wished for her bed and a cup of hot milk. Before either she or Olivia could say
anything, however, the Duchess had come up behind them, admonishing the Duke to
be kind to his guests.

“If you wish to stay below you are more than welcome, of
course. But,” a look of understanding crossed the Duchess’s broad face as she
regarded her guests, “if my Kit has led you anything like the dance I suppose
he has, you must be longing for your beds, and thinking pretty poorly of anyone
who would keep you from them.” She aimed a meaningful glance at Tylmath.

It took no more than that; instantly Tylmath urged Mrs.
Martingale to retire and recover her strength. Olivia he as good as ignored,
but since all the other members of the party affectionately bade her goodnight
she did not feel his lack. Lady Bette offered to see them back to their
chambers, and when they arrived she left them there with the reassurance that
the worst was over, and that things at Catenhaugh would be simply delightful
henceforth. Parties were planned for the hunting. Julian would by no means be
allowed to rule the roast. And all the plans to be made! Leaving them to dream
of plans and parties, she returned to the drawing room.

There, all was not so quiet, as his Grace took the opportunity
to reiterate to his family that he would not brook any more undermining of his
authority; nor, he continued, would he countenance any long-range support of
his sister-at-law, whom he characterized as No Better Than She Should Be.

“I suggest, Ju,” Lady Susannah advised quietly when he had
at last finished his diatribe, “that you contrive to control yourself on a
subject which is likely to make you most unattractive in Mrs. Martingale’s
eyes. After all, you don’t suppose any of us are really terrified by you, do
you?”

Since there was no longer an audience to be impressed, his
Grace permitted himself the luxury of a fuming tantrum, which was attended to
by no one.

Fortunately for Olivia’s peace of mind, Tylmath heeded his
sister’s warnings, and after his initial tantrum tempered his expressions of
displeasure to an occasional sneer or heavy-handed sarcasm. Lady Katherine and
Sir David left Catenhaugh within a few days of Olivia’s arrival, but it was
plain to his Grace that Lady Susannah, Lady Bette, and, most formidably, his
mother had constituted themselves Olivia’s guardians. Further, his infatuation
with Mrs. Martingale continued unabated, and he found it politic to say nothing
disparaging about her daughter. For her part, Mrs. Martingale liked nothing
better than to see her child petted and spoilt by her new relations, and
submitted patiently to Tylmath’s cow-handed attentions in an effort to maintain
peace; after all, it was not in her upbringing to rebuke peers of the realm, no
matter how odiously rude.

Always excepting Tylmath, Olivia was delighted to find
herself in a household of kindred spirits. She could exchange cheerful nonsense
with the Ladies Susannah and Bette, then give her mother-at-law joy by speaking
of Lord John for half an hour. There was riding of course, and walks and
picnics concocted for her pleasure; in the evening, if no other company dined
at Catenhaugh, there were cards or music or some amusing stunt. The activities
of the family were limited still: the year of mourning for John Temperer was
not yet done. But whatever the Temperer family engaged in they engaged in
wholeheartedly, and in a quiet way the first weeks Olivia spent at Catenhaugh
were the most lively and delightful she had spent in a very long time.

Always excepting the behavior of his Grace.

And perhaps the inquisitiveness of the Duchess. “I shall
corner you sooner or later,” she remarked to Olivia one afternoon.

“I beg pardon, ma’am?”

“You have been patient with your aged belle-mamma, child.
But I’ve the oddest feeling there was more to your marriage than the foolish
pranks you’ve told me of. Olivia, were you happy with my son?”

“Ma’am?” Olivia blinked. “Happy? Why of course, your Grace.”

“Meaning it’s none of my Ducal business, I collect,” Judith
deduced without rancor. “There’s a mystery to the way you speak of my boy,
child. I shall not press you for it, however. Sooner or later it will out.” And
the Duchess returned her attention to the ’broidery in her lap, effectively
closing the subject.

As Bette had promised, Catenhaugh became livelier as the
weeks went by and parties for hunting came and went. Olivia was introduced to
all the guests, spent some of each evening belowstairs in the drawing room, but
was careful to withdraw after an hour or so, reasoning that it was understood
she was still in mourning and would not be expected to join in all the
festivities.

“Honestly, Liv, I think you refine too much upon it,” Lady
Susannah chided her one evening. “Your mamma is still playing whist in the card
room. Surely there is no harm in staying below with us for an hour more?”

“Would you believe that I am taking my leave because I’m
tired, Sue? We rode a good distance this morning, and played croquet all
afternoon. Propriety has precious little to do with it.”

“Faugh, propriety! If, in the house of your husband’s family
you cannot be cajoled to stay up at least until the tea table is brought down,
I think it is a very foolish refinement.” Susannah scowled irritably at her
sister-at-law.

“I’ll tell you what it is, Sue,” Lord Kit joined in. “I
noted it when I had this lady’s acquaintance in Brussels. For all she’s quite
the handsomest female in this room—that’s right, Sister,
do
blush for us; a very interesting effect with
your coloring, I can tell you!—it is my suspicion that our Olivia is shy as the
Devil among strangers.”

Olivia glared at her brother-at-law as if the accusation was
too absurd to consider. Lady Susannah, however, turned to regard her
critically.

“No, I do not credit it,” she said at last. “Aside from the
fact that she handles herself quite suitably among strangers, at least when I’ve
seen her, what on earth is there to be shy of? Kit, I think that we must bore
her,” Susannah finished in tones of deepest mortification.

“You may bore her if you like, Sue, but I prefer to think of
Livvy as a
timid little flower.”
Kit’s
expression as he posed theatrically in a gesture of adoration, was so
maliciously like Mr. Quincy Haikestill that Olivia found herself choking
horribly over her laughter. Lord Kit regarded his sister-at-law in this fit. “There,
you see, she is afraid what the
ton
will
think of her, as mad as a hiccupping loonie.” He patted her on the back
unhelpfully and wandered off.

“I wonder, sometimes,” Lady Susannah said repressively, “that
none of our nursery maids ever saw fit to strangle Kit.”

“And I think,” Olivia returned when her breath had been
recovered, “that I had best retire in dignified and un-hiccupping silence
whilst I may. Good night, Sue. Will you bid your mamma good night for me as
well?”

Lady Susannah promised to do so, and Olivia started away. At
the door she met again with Lord Christopher.

“Hi, then, Livvy, I didn’t upset you, did I?” He stared
nervously at her hem. “No? Good.” He raised his eyes to her face again and
smiled. “Good. And I’d forgotten, I have some news for you. We shall have a
visitor at Catenhaugh whom you may remember from Brussels.”

“Not
Mr. Haikestill, I
trust,” Olivia asked sweetly.

“Good God, no,” Kit spat, horrified. “Not that bag-wit! Just
an old acquaintance you may remember from the balls in Town that spring. A
friend of John’s. Good night, Sister.” Kit turned with a tantalizing smile and
would say no more.