Authors: Strange Bedfellows
At this point, Lady March would have appreciated an embrace. She frowned at the impediment that stood—or swooned— between her and this relief. His lordship did likewise.
As if in response to this concentrated attention, Lady Amabel, opened one blue eye. “Hallo! I’m dashed glad to see you, Nell! Maybe you can convince Lady Katherine that when Marriot said I was under his protection, he meant under his
roof!”
Lady Katherine, too long overlooked, brandished her walking stick. “Hah!” she barked.
Now that Mab had removed herself from Marriot’s arms, Nell appropriated one of those appendages for her own use. Soberly, she regarded Lady Katherine, who wore a quantity of mohair fabric, and with it a somewhat incongruous bonnet of white muslin tied under the chin. “You have been misled by Henrietta, I conjecture,” Nell charitably remarked. “Not that Henrietta would deliberately mislead you, or at least so one hopes, but she has a definite tendency to overstate the case.”
That failing, thought Lord Parrington, Eleanor did not share. He was astonished and touched by her trust. Only the noblest of ladies, greeted by the spectacle of her husband clasping another female, would be put off by so very lame a tale.
“I’ll say Henrietta overstates the case!” muttered Lady Amabel, who had withdrawn to the oriel window from which vantage point she had an excellent view of Fergus gazing like a mooncalf at Nell. “I never engaged in a ‘bacchanalian scene’ in all my life! Or a ‘squalid little debauch’! Nor do I intend to do any such thing. But I have noticed that the misdeeds persons accuse you of are most often the ones they would like to commit themselves!”
Everyone was silenced by the suggestion that Henrietta secretly yearned to disport herself in a bacchanalian manner. Lady Katherine elevated her scowling attention from her walking stick, Lord Parrington lowered his gaze from the ceiling. Lord and Lady March ceased to look ruefully upon one another; and all stared astonished at Lady Amabel. Mab shrugged. “This is all fudge!”
“Fudge?” Having caught her breath, Lady Katherine was prepared to go another round. “I for one am glad this happened, miss! We have seen you in your true colors. Scant chance now that you may lead my lamb astray.”
Though Lord Parrington was out of charity with Lady Amabel, Fergus could not permit his mama to subject her to a rake down. In point of fact, Fergus also felt out of charity with his mama. “You are coming it much too strong, Mama!” he said.
Lady Katherine reared back in her chair, horrified. Here was strong proof of Amabel’s influence. “Plague on’t, I’ve done no such thing!” she cried, inhaling deeply of her vinaigrette.
“Oh yes, you have!” Mab departed the window and approached Lady Katherine. In so doing, she passed the tall steeple hat that she had worn earlier, retrieved it, and clapped it on her head. “You have kicked up the most dreadful dust over the merest trifle, just like Fergus said you would!”
“Fergus
said—” Lady Katherine craned her head to observe her offspring, who was thoughtfully watching Lady March. Lady Katherine could not approve this open admiration of another man’s wife. “Young man, explain yourself!”
“Hmmm?” Fergus adjudged, very correctly, that his mama would not care to hear his sentiments concerning Eleanor, whose nobility of character enabled her to calmly accept not only the intelligence that her husband was prone to peccadilloes, but the young lady whom he had been openly intriguing with. Or perhaps it was true, as Mab insisted, that they had been deceived in what they saw. Mab certainly looked a treat in that absurd tall hat, trimmed with fringe and braids and plumes. Fergus smiled.
Nor did Lady Katherine approve her offspring’s open admiration of the young woman who had so recently, and before their very eyes, been trifled with by another man. “I wish you would tell me,” she said sternly, “why you told this chit that I kick up dusts!”
“I don’t know why he shouldn’t have told me so,” inserted Lady Amabel. “You
do
kick up dusts! You’re kicking up one now!”
Lady Katherine’s glance would in itself have been sufficient to quell a less dauntless damsel. Lady Amabel met it with pugnaciously outthrust lower lip. Lord Parrington retired to the oriel window, clearly wishing no part of the scene.
At this point, Lord March regretfully unclasped his wife, deeming it time for diversion, before Lady Katherine and Mab resorted to actual fisticuffs. “It is Mab who should be kicking up a dust,” he observed. “Since it is her reputation that has been compromised.”
Lady Katherine did not remove her basilisk stare from Mab’s rebellious face. “You compromised the chit;
you
make reparations!” she snapped.
“Marriot did not compromise Mab!” protested Nell, thus elevating herself even more in Lord Parrington’s opinion. Fergus had never before met a female who could confront adversity without becoming indisposed.
“Certainly I did not.” Lord March picked up the lute. “I merely sought to comfort her. It was your son, ma’am, who besmirched Mab’s good name.”
“Gracious!” Lady Amabel turned an amazed look on Marriot.
“Has
my name been besmirched?”
“We must hope it has not—but that depends on Henrietta, and how far she’s spread the tale.” Lord March strummed a mournful, and most untuneful, chord.
At this suggestion that the better part of London might soon be apprised that Lord Parrington had been caught embracing Lady Amabel, the occupants of the solar were unanimously appalled. Lady March hastened to her husband’s side, there to be patted and soothed; Lady Katherine muttered nastily beneath her breath. Lord Parrington, less accustomed to giving vent to his feelings, stared out the window.
Thus granted opportunity to do so without attracting attention, Mab studied him. Fergus looked as correct as usual in light blue merino trousers and a dark brown frock coat—and as handsome to behold.
Mab walked toward him, pulling off the tall hat. “I truly am sorry for all this fuss and botheration,” she said. “Let us cry friends, Fergus! You know that what you saw wasn’t what it seemed, I think.”
Lord Parrington looked down into Amabel’s pretty face. He did not
want
to believe he had been so deficient in good judgment as to have favored a damsel prone to run wild over other gentlemen. Still, Mab
had
treated him very coolly, which he could not help but resent, even while admitting she had not lacked provocation. “I don’t know what I saw!” he confessed.
Though Lord Parrington might vacillate, his mama possessed no such doubts. “Stab me, but the boy’s a clunch!” she remarked to the room at large, as with the assistance of her walking stick she struggled upright. “If her behavior was so innocent, why did the chit have recourse to fainting fits? Misunderstood, is she? Paugh! Depend upon it, things were exactly what they seemed— if not worse!”
“Oh!” Mab gazed beseechingly at the baron, her blue eyes filled with tears. “You cannot believe such things of me, Fergus—even though I perfectly comprehend why you do not care to do or say anything that will set up your mama’s back!”
Not surprisingly, this statement had precisely that effect. “Baggage!” uttered Lady Katherine, and for emphasis brought her walking stick down sharply on the floor. Unfortunately, her foot was in the way.
“Mama!” protested Lord Parrington, unaware that his parent’s outcry was not furious, but pained. “Already too much has been said. Pray do not make a further exhibition of yourself.”
“A—” Lady Katherine clenched her teeth against additional vituperations, an act of forbearance that deceived no one, due to her countenance of dreadfully gathering rage. “Consider, son! Is this chit worthy of your championship? Why, when we first called on her, she couldn’t even be bothered to put in an appearance.”
“Well, I like that!” protested Mab inaccurately. “I didn’t even know you were here. Henrietta
might
have informed me of your presence, but did she? Oh, no!”
“Henrietta couldn’t have very well informed you, Mab!” pointed out Lady March, determined to be fair. “As I recall, you were in the attics with Marriot.”
“With Marriot!” Lady Katherine pounced. “What’s this? I thought he was in Cornwall!”
“So I was.” Lord March wished that he might duplicate his famous disappearing trick. “Nell has gotten confused. If Mab was in the attics, it must have been with you, puss.”
“You are correct, of course!” Eleanor blushed. “I can’t imagine what I was thinking about!”
If Nell lacked acquaintance with her thoughts, few other occupants of the solar were similarly unblessed. The better to pursue those thoughts—to the secret relief of all those occupants—Marriot set aside his lute. Before he begged his wife to speak her mind, he must ensure their privacy. “Which brings us back to the inescapable fact that Mab’s good name has been besmirched.”
“Quiet, Mama!” Lord Parrington saw his duty clear— he could hardly fail to do so, so frequently had it been pointed out. “There is but one honorable resolution. I know you will not like it, but Lady Amabel and I must wed.”
“She
will not like it?” So very indignant was Mab’s tone and demeanor—blue eyes ablaze, fists on her plump muslin-covered hips—that Fergus fell back a pace. “
Your mama
will not like it? I shall tell you something, Fergus: neither would
I!”
By this abrupt volte-face, Lord Parrington was confused. “But, Mab, you said—”
“The devil with what I said!” Lady Amabel stamped her own pretty little foot, without adverse result. “Whatever I said, it was before I realized that you
are
a dull stick! And a popinjay, just as Papa said!”
“A
dull stick?”
Lord Parrington was saved from the disgrace of descending to an exchange of insults by the reappearance of the butler.
“Milady,” said that haughty individual, whose impassivity had begun to fray, “there is A Person desirous of speaking with you downstairs.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Henrietta paced the solar, from the great staircase to the carved and wainscoted screen and then back again. Throughout these perambulations, her keen gaze remained fixed on the caller, a nondescript female in a shabby black pelisse. With that pelisse, the woman wore a red silk bonnet trimmed with black velvet and a feather. As result of that red silk bonnet, Henrietta’s vast instinct for mischief was hard at work. “You have been following us!” she observed.
The shabby individual dropped an awkward curtsey. “That I have, mum. I was wishful of speaking to Lady March. In fact, since you tell me you ain’t her ladyship—not that I thought you was—I still
am!”
This frank hint reminded Henrietta that since Benson had already gone to fetch Eleanor, her own time was short. Determined to make the most of her opportunity, she approached the stranger. “You cannot simply walk into a house and demand to see its mistress, my good woman! What did you wish to speak to Lady March about?”
“I’ll tell her ladyship that!” responded the visitor, looking stubborn. “Tis personal-like!”
On closer inspection, discovered Henrietta, the woman was no less nondescript. Everything about her lacked definition—hair, complexion, figure, eyes. She was the sort of person who would blend perfectly with any crowd. “What is your name?” Henrietta inquired.
Again that awkward curtsey, which may have been meant to mock. “Jane Verney, mum,” the stranger replied.
“How d’ye do, Jane?” Henrietta was not averse to hobnobbing with the lower orders—for the sake of good gossip, Henrietta would probably have been willing to rob shoulders with the Great Fiend himself. What reason could such a creature have for seeking out Eleanor? she again asked silently. Then she sat smack down on a chest carved in a checkered pattern. “Marriot!” she gasped.
The visitor looked cautious. “Beg pardon, mum?”
“You need not come the innocent with me, my girl!” Hot on the scent of scandal, Henrietta was even more anxious to learn all she could before Eleanor’s arrival set her interrogation awry. “You are here because of Marriot. The rogue! To think that a relative of mine— the shame of it! I told Eleanor what would happen— not that I knew about
you—
but I
did
know she shouldn’t trust him one inch!”
To these observations, the visitor responded with discretion. “Lawks!” she said.
Here was scandal enough to satisfy anyone, thought Henrietta; a pity she was under obligation to protect the family name. Now she must hasten to discover the precise nature of the scandal before Eleanor intervened. “I knew he wasn’t in Cornwall!” she muttered. “Or
was
he? You can tell me that, I’ll wager! Speak up, miss!”
Jane Verney was no such obliging creature. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, mum!”
“And you don’t know either why Marriot and Eleanor quarreled?” Henrietta shifted on the wooden chest, which made no comfortable seat even for a lady so well-supplied with flesh. “Poppycock! Do not try and gammon me. Anyone must see you are here because of Marriot.”
As it turns out, Jane had indeed come to Marcham Towers in regard to its master, a fact she was not disposed to point out. “Is that so?” she inquired.
“You know it is.” Henrietta glanced at the great staircase, upon which Eleanor had not yet appeared. Hopefully, Lady Katherine’s vaporing would keep Nell safely abovestairs. “Let us have the word with no bark on it! I might be useful to you, you know—were you to confide in me, I might help you present your case.”
“Useful, mum?” This suggestion sparked a gleam in Jane’s pale eye. “How’s that?”
“You are a stranger. My word, as a member of the family, will carry more weight.” That she was the least favored of the family, Henrietta didn’t feel obligated to confide. “We are wasting time! Come, tell me what you know of Marriot.”
“It don’t seem right, mum. To be talking about a person behind his back.” Jane did not deem it politic to admit how very little she knew of Lord March. “But if you say I should—”
“I do say it! Did he tell you
not
to speak of him? You mustn’t regard that!” Henrietta coaxed.
Jane’s pale glance moved around the great hall, flickered over racks of spears and suits of armor, lowered to the marble chessboard floor. “He didn’t exactly say I should be as close as oysters!” she muttered with perfect truth.