Laura Matthews (9 page)

The boy reached him first and stopped abruptly in front of Alvescot. “How do you do, sir?” he asked politely, looking up to where the earl still sat his horse.

“Just fine, John. Will you ride your pony for me?”

As he scampered off to get Rollo, Vanessa came up to the earl. “And how did your afternoon go, my lord? Was Paul able to answer all your questions?”

Alvescot started to dismount, but she insisted he not stand on formality. “Mr. Burford,” he said with studied equanimity, “was extremely helpful. Not only did he show me over the entire estate, but he explained what he had been doing and what he plans for the future.”

“Good. And you have the ledgers to go over. One or the other of us should be able to answer any questions you may have.”

“I’m sure you will.”

Vanessa reached down to pick up her daughter so the little girl could pat Alvescot’s horse. Instead, Catherine held out her arms to the earl and declared, “Want to ride.”

His face was a picture of bewildered consternation. Catherine looked very small and fragile to him, despite her energetic roundness. He didn’t know how to hold her so she wouldn’t wriggle from his arms and take a desperate fall.

“No, no, love,” Vanessa admonished with a laugh. “You can only ride with Mama, or Mr. Burford, and I’m not dressed for it now.”

“Want to ride,” insisted the little girl, turning her large brown eyes on Alvescot. “Pease,” she added, to propitiate this giant.

If Burford could do it, so could he, Alvescot decided. There couldn’t be anything all that difficult about holding on to a two-year-old, for God’s sake. And he wouldn’t have Mrs. Damery laughing at him, either. “I’m perfectly willing to let her ride with me,” he said firmly. Catherine beamed at him as he reached down to claim her.

Reluctantly, Vanessa allowed him to swing her up in front of him on the saddle. “She doesn’t sit still,” the anxious mother cautioned. “You’ll have to keep one arm firmly about her waist.”

Catherine giggled and bounced up and down as he did so, crying, “Go! Go!”

There was an unnerving moment when his high-strung horse took exception to her little heels thumping into his flanks with such exuberance. The horse took an abrupt step backward and prepared to buck while Alvescot one-handedly reined him in with cool determination. “Young lady, if you wish to ride with me you will behave yourself,” he ordered. “I will decide when we’re ready to go.”

Though he couldn’t see her face, Alvescot soon became aware that his harsh tone had frightened the child. She became limp in his arm and her little body shook with sobs. “Oh, for God’s sake,” he muttered, aware that Vanessa was regarding him with troubled eyes. In his exasperation he demanded, “Don’t either of your children have any concept of discipline, Mrs. Damery?”

“I’ll take her,” Vanessa replied softly.

Alvescot ignored her. Instead, he turned his attention to the little girl. “Catherine, look at me, please.”

Hesitantly, she twisted around, lips quivering and eyes brimming, slowly raising her gaze to his. Alvescot, still holding her securely, asked, “Do you realize that you could have caused an accident, Catherine?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t know my horse, and he certainly isn’t used to little girls who bounce about on his back without any respect for his nerves. He’s used to people who give clear, firm instructions, and he responds to them. He’s not a toy; he’s an intelligent animal, and I expect him to be treated that way. Is that clear?”

Catherine bowed her head. “Yes, sir.”

“Excellent. Now we’re going to ride around the stable yard and I expect you to sit quietly on Satin.” His tone changed slightly as he urged the horse forward. “Do you know what the different paces are?”

Alvescot never glanced at Vanessa during the ensuing lesson. Until John came out of the stable on his pony he rode around with Catherine, letting her call out the changes in pace. John looked momentarily taken aback when he saw his sister with Alvescot, but the earl’s steady gaze warned him not to make a fuss about it.

The earl brought his horse to a standstill to pay strict attention to John’s performance, praising him and offering one or two pointers. The boy really was quite good for his age, Alvescot thought. Fearless, and remarkably in control for a four-year-old. And his pride in his pony was touching.

“Isn’t Rollo wonderful, Lord Alvescot? Tomorrow you’ll see what good bottom he has, too. He can go forever.”

Catherine plucked at Alvescot’s sleeve. “Can I go tomorrow?”

“I’m sorry, my dear. You’re too young.” She looked as though she would dissolve into tears again and he said sternly, “Catherine, behave yourself.”

With a tragic sigh she said, “I want to get
down
now.”

“My word, do they start that young?” he demanded of a grinning Vanessa.

“Of course,” she said, taking the child from his arms. “It’s the only real power females have, as a rule.”

“Well,” he said, disgruntled, “I hope she learns to use it with discretion.”

“She will. She already does.”

Alvescot wasn’t at all pleased with the way Catherine kept her face turned away from him when her mother told her to thank him. But what could he say, when the child did obey her, in a sad, disillusioned voice? He wasn’t going to let some two-year-old mite twist him about her finger. These children of Frederick’s needed to learn that you couldn’t have everything or do everything you wanted, just because you were well-born and people felt sorry that you’d lost your father. Or because your mother doted on you, he firmly reminded himself. Mrs. Damery wasn’t doing them a favor by indulging them. So he merely said, “You’re welcome,” to the little girl’s back, and sternly repressed the desire to promise her some other treat in exchange.

As John and Alvescot were about to return their mounts to the stable, Edward rode into the stable yard on Captain Lawrence’s horse. The beast was lathered and winded, his eyes rolling with fatigue and pain. Vanessa regarded him coldly.

“The captain won’t let you use his horse again, Edward. That’s a criminal condition in which to return him.”

Nonchalant as ever, Edward swung down from the saddle. “Oh, he’ll let me use the nag again, Vanessa. Have I seen that dress before?” His eyes wandered over her figure. “It’s enormously becoming, you know.”

“Please see that the horse is taken care of immediately.” She turned away without another word to him, asking Lucy to stay and wait for John.

“I’ll bring him,” Alvescot offered.

“Very well. Thank you.” Her quick smile barely disturbed the anger in her eyes. As she walked off with Catherine and Lucy, Alvescot was reminded of his intention of the previous night to discover the source of Edward’s blackmailing of the captain. He couldn’t think why the matter should have escaped his memory all day.

* * * *

Mabel had not stopped complaining since the ladies left the table. “I don’t understand you, Vanessa. I spent hours devising a perfect menu, and what did you do? Serve
half
of it is what you did. What good is half? You might as well have put your usual fare on the table! We’re a party of eight sitting down to meals. There can’t have been enough left over to provide for the servants! Do you want to look positively shabby in front of the earl?”

“I thought it was a delightful meal,” Vanessa said quietly. “Cook did your choices proud, and everyone seemed to enjoy them.”

“But there weren’t enough!”

Hortense Damery glared at her sister and grunted, “Fiddlesticks! You’d have everyone stuff himself until he couldn’t rise from the table, Mabel. I sat beside the earl.” Her nostrils flared at her own reminder that she’d been displaced from her seat at the foot of the table, but she continued in icy tones. “He found more than enough to eat, I assure you. Two servings of the
tendrons de veau
and peas. I don’t know how he managed to enjoy the braised ham after that. And he remarked that the nesselrode pudding was the best he’d ever had.”

This slight word of praise did nothing to ameliorate Mabel’s disgust at Vanessa’s underhanded scuttling of her culinary plans. The full glory of her menu had been destroyed, corrupted, and she wasn’t impressed that Lord Alvescot had two servings of the veal or especially liked the pudding. She turned to Vanessa with undaunted anger. “Well, you shall not have my services in future, young woman, to prostitute in this manner. Devise your own menus if you can! I wash my hands of the whole affair.”

Her mention of prostitution and affairs apparently struck a chord in her own mind, for she immediately added, “You won’t believe what I heard in the village today. It is whispered everywhere.”

Vanessa mentally groaned. Mabel was about to relate the latest gossip, one of her favorite activities. At least, Vanessa thought with some gratitude, this time she was not indulging her habit in front of the gentlemen. Ordinarily, Mabel seemed to relish their discomfiture and would probably have waited until the gentlemen joined them, except that she was so eager to impart the latest scandal.

“You won’t credit this,” Mabel assured them with a coy look about the assembled women, “but Mr. Tormarton and Miss Clevedon are to be married!”

Her audience did not seem at all surprised by this announcement. Mr. Tormarton, the local innkeeper, had been courting Miss Clevedon, only daughter of the village greengrocer, for several months.

When there was no gasp of astonishment, Mabel said with some asperity, “You don’t understand! They were found in a Compromising Position!”

Her daughter regarded her blankly. For a woman of thirty, Louisa was remarkably naive, Vanessa thought, watching Louisa’s brow pucker in confusion. “What’s a compromising position?” Louisa wondered aloud.

Mabel regarded her daughter with long-suffering exasperation. “You cannot be that stupid,” she insisted. “The vicar came upon them behind the church—the church, mind you!—in a most embarrassing posture. Miss Clevedon was not,” Mabel announced with relish, “fully clothed!”

“I don’t approve of gossip of that nature,” Vanessa remarked. “There is doubtless not the least foundation to it. No vicar worth his position would spread such a tale, and you may be certain the couple involved would not. More likely the couple has simply announced their engagement and the local gossips had to make some sensational news out of it.”

“But,” Louisa interjected, “if it were true, why would they have to marry just because Miss Clevedon was not fully clothed?”

A stunned silence followed her question. Louisa, hard as it was to believe, actually did not understand, as was evident by her bewildered expression. Vanessa took pity on her, praying that the gentlemen would not choose that moment to erupt from the dining room into the Saloon. “Because of the possibility they had been intimate, Louisa, that they had behaved as a married couple.” This explanation did not wholly clear Louisa’s face, and Vanessa struggled on. “Married people engage in intimate behavior responsible for making babies.”

“Oh,” Louisa said, just as Vanessa glanced up at a movement near the door to find Lord Alvescot observing her with a spreading grin. Drat the man! she fumed inwardly. If he’s not embarrassing himself, he’s embarrassing me. To Louisa she muttered, “If necessary, I’ll explain more to you later, Louisa. The earl is here now.”

Alvescot made no mention of the subject under discussion, politely seating himself next to his aunt, the grin gone and a civil demeanor replacing it. Hortense, however, growled a few semi-coherent phrases about dim-witted females before she managed to divert her acid tongue to the matter Alvescot introduced.

It was some time before the other gentlemen joined them and Vanessa could see they were, as usual, at outs with one another. Edward immediately excused himself for the rest of the evening, while Captain Lawrence continued a diatribe apparently begun at the table about Edward’s treatment of his horse. This went on long after Edward left the room, and was attended to by almost no one.

William Oldcastle sought out Louisa, who regarded him with a peculiar expression that caused Vanessa a certain amount of alarm. But when Louisa suggested that they walk in the shrubbery, William declined on account of his feeling sure that he had a cold coming on.

Mabel Curtiss, obviously annoyed by Vanessa’s strictures against her gossip, urged her daughter to play for the company. On this occasion she approached Lord Alvescot to learn of his particular favorites and the earl, remembering that Louisa was quite an accomplished musician, did her the honor of being frank.

While he sat mesmerized by the music, Mabel speculatively eyed him, turning over in her head the possibilities of a match between her daughter and the Earl of Alvescot. There was no denying that he was enchanted with her accomplishment. Mabel wove a tidy daydream of the earl and Louisa in the evenings at St. Aldwyns, his country seat, where her daughter played for the appreciative fellow, and Mabel herself, as mother-in-law, sat in splendor regarding the whole with an indulgent eye.

Why not? Though Louisa was thirty, she had lost little of her looks, and surely the earl was a few years older. Louisa was still capable of having children—though it was possible she didn’t understand the mechanics of conceiving them, since Mabel had never bothered to instruct her. Alvescot was by far a better match than William Oldcastle, and Mabel felt sure she herself would enjoy Sussex a great deal more than Suffolk.

“Her talent is remarkable, is it not, Lord Alvescot?” she asked while Louisa played.

“Yes,” he agreed, annoyed at her lack of consideration for her own daughter.

Undismayed by his brevity and his blatant concentration on the music, Mabel continued, “Louisa is so fortunate to have both looks and talent. So few young women have both, you know. And some, of course, have neither.” A pitying glance at Vanessa accompanied her words, which fortunately were not loud enough to reach her hostess.

Alvescot didn’t deign to make a reply.

“And her age, too, is in her favor, I think. So many gentlemen marry misses just out of the schoolroom and find them irritatingly immature. It’s a great mistake to be taken in by the first blush of youth, for it’s accompanied by a lack of polish which takes years of experience to acquire. If it ever can be. Some gentlemen see promise where there is none, alas. You mustn’t think Louisa has spent her life in the country! No, no, that is not the case at all. We lived exclusively in London from the time she was fifteen until last year when my husband . . . passed on. So regrettable.”