“Which first,” Laura asked, “a bath or a meal?” Now was not the time for more searching questions.
Perry managed a shaky grin. “A bath. This muck is because I only had enough of the ready to take the stage to Kidderminster so I had to walk most of the rest of the way, apart from a few miles in a farm wagon. I haven't eaten more than a crust in two days, but Aunt Antonia would rake me over the coals if I came to table like this. She'll have my guts for garters anyway, sooner or later,” he went on gloomily, “if Gareth doesn't first. Oh, but you said she is ill? I'm sorry, I ought to have asked after her.”
“She is abed with an attack of rheumatics.”
“Don't tell her I am here,” he begged, “nor Cornie. I'll have to give my head to Gareth for washing but—”
“It needs washing long before Gareth sees it,” Laura said with a smile. “He is in London. I shall have to send for him, you know,” she added gently as his face brightened.
“I suppose so. I'm really in the suds, aren't I? Lord knows what old Woffle's going to say—our headmaster. You see, Gareth wrote to me every week with news of Priscilla, so when a letter didn't come I thought...I thought she must be ill and he didn't want to worry me. It must have been because he was on the way to Town. I've made a real bumble-broth of it, haven't I?” He sank his head in his hands.
Laura put her arm around his shoulders. “Gareth will sort it out,” she said comfortingly. “He will understand.”
“Gareth's a great gun, isn't he? One couldn't ask for a better brother. I wish you had married him instead of Cousin Freddie.”
So do I!
Laura cried silently.
So do I, but when I met him he did not even notice me.
* * * *
While Perry bathed, Laura wrote a quick letter to Gareth. A groom was sent off with instructions to ride straight through to London, pausing only to hire himself fresh mounts as needed.
Gareth reached Llys late on the third day. Laura, already in her nightdress and dressing-gown, had just fed Priscilla and was playing with her when he tapped on the door and in answer to her call came in. He was in riding clothes and looked deathly tired.
“Sit down,” she said at once. “When did you last eat?”
“Midday.” He reached for Priscilla. Laura put the baby in his arms and went to ring the bell to order a tray of food for him.
“You have not seen Perry yet?”
“No, that can best wait till morning. I want all you can tell me first.” He gave her a wry grin. “Your letter was written in haste and therefore minimally informative. You should have heard the tale I spun to old Woffle about a family emergency.”
“I take it 'old Woffle' was your headmaster, too. You came home via Rugby?”
“It seemed wisest to conciliate him in person. I daresay Perry will get six of the best for leaving without permission—”
“You mean he will be beaten?”
“He won't care for that, I promise you. You may be sure I shan't let him get away so easily. At least he will not be expelled, and no doubt he'll make a fine tale of it for his friends. It wouldn't do to tell them his real reason for decamping: He thought Priscilla was ill?” Gareth's voice rose in a question.
“You had been writing regularly with news of her, I gather, so when a letter did not arrive at the usual time, he feared the worst.”
Gareth groaned. “I was on my way to Town on the day I usually wrote, and when I arrived it slipped my mind.”
“Quite excusable,” Laura soothed him, “and no lasting harm done. Indeed he now looks back on his travels as an adventure.”
Her account of Perry's odyssey was interrupted by the arrival of the supper tray. At her command he started to eat while she changed Priscilla's napkin and put her to bed in the old cradle as she continued Perry's story.
“He was in a dreadful state when he arrived,” she concluded, rocking the cradle. “Both physical and mental. I must admit I cannot quite understand why he was so desperate.”
“My fault again.” Gareth pushed away the tray, his supper half eaten. Bowing his head, he covered his face with his hands. “All my fault.”
Laura's need to comfort him took the form of an overwhelming desire to stroke the back of his head. With a struggle, she confined herself to words. “You could not know that a missed letter would affect him so drastically.”
“I might have guessed. I warned him that new babies are fragile creatures and it's wisest not to let oneself grow too attached.”
“It did not work,” said Laura, disturbed. “Perry dotes on Priscilla.”
“I just wanted to preserve him from what I went through when.... I did not tell you, that day at Ludlow Castle. I didn't want to make you afraid for your own baby. But when Mama died, she left us a baby sister, and I...I suppose I turned to her for solace. I adored her.”
“And she died.”
He nodded, wordless. Laura's heart was too full for speech.
After a moment's silence, Gareth came to kneel beside the cradle, gazing down at Priscilla. In her sleep, she blew a bubble and smiled.
He broke the silence with a hollow laugh. “Perry did not heed my warning,” he said, “but neither did I. I confess, I adore her.”
Chapter 17
Perry returned to school with a promise from Laura to notify him at once if Priscilla so much as sniffled. She didn't. She was the healthiest baby Mrs. Barley had ever seen, the nurse vowed.
A conspiracy between Laura, Gareth, and the sympathetic servants kept Perry's unauthorized visit from Aunt Antonia and Cornelius. Even George, Henry, and Arabella were sworn to secrecy. Uncle Julius was left out of the plot as Gareth considered it highly unlikely he had the least idea which of his nephews he had seen.
Gareth had mixed feelings about his uncle at present: he admired the push-cradle, but the weather-glass remained stuck at Stormy despite sunshine and heavy frosts.
Aunt Antonia took a turn for the better and left her bed. Laura knew she ought to be making plans for her return to Swaffham Bulbeck, but somehow the days slipped by. She could not leave before the boys came home for Christmas, she told herself. It would not be fair to them, especially Perry. Besides, they would all bring friends to add to those Gareth had already invited, and Aunt Antonia, still infirm, would need her help, especially with the Twelfth Night party.
Twelfth Night was second only to St. Wigbert's Day in the Llys calendar. The season precluding outdoor festivities, a supper and dance were held for servants and tenants in the Home Farm barn, for guests and neighbours in the Great Hall and Long Gallery. So that no servant need miss the party, the gentry's supper had to be set out beforehand for people to help themselves. It all took a great deal of organizing.
Laura was glad to hear that Lady Frobisher never attended since such informality did not suit her notions of consequence.
Rupert came home on leave, then Lance, then Perry. Their friends were all male, of course, but Gareth had somewhat redressed the balance by inviting three married friends with their wives and children.
Once again the manor was filled with noise and bustle. Holly and fir boughs sprouted from every wall-sconce, picture-frame, beam, and banister. The children, every age from two to twelve, practised Christmas carols. The kitchens smelled deliciously of cinnamon and ginger and orange peel.
With several new gowns—lilac and willow green and pearl grey—to lend her confidence, Laura enjoyed the company, particularly that of the three married ladies. If not unaware of her scandalous history, they kindly refrained from mentioning it. In fact, they tended to treat her as their hostess, and several times she had to refer them to Aunt Antonia, whose position she had no intention of usurping.
Priscilla, now three months old, loved all the people and activity about her. She slept through the night and stayed awake most of the day now, apart from a long nap morning and afternoon, but when Laura was busy there was always someone ready and willing to entertain her. In spite of his friends' teasing, Perry often offered to play with her or hold her; and in spite of his duties as host, Gareth managed every evening to dress for dinner in time to amuse her after her feeding while Laura changed.
Christmas Day was a delight to Laura, from carols in church in the morning to a last uproarious game of charades before the ladies retired to bed. The Christmases she recalled from before her marriage had been schoolroom affairs kept strictly separate from her parents' house-parties. The last two years she had been allowed to join the adults, only to find their diversions so ruled by formal etiquette that she would rather have been back in the nursery. At Llys Manor, the children were part of the celebrations, and the grown-ups had almost as much fun.
She expected the same pleasure from the Twelfth Night party. The first hint that she had set her sights too high came after breakfast, when Perry stopped her on her way to the housekeeper's room and begged her to save the first dance for him.
“Oh no, Perry,” she exclaimed.
“I may be young but I can dance, you know,” he said, sounding injured. “At least, I've had a few lessons, even if I've not tried it in public. Actually, I was thinking, I wouldn't mind making a cake of myself with you, and then if I wasn't too dreadfully bad I could ask some of the others. But if you think I shall embarrass you—”
“My dear, you've forgotten I am still in mourning. I shan't stand up at all tonight.”
Laura was slightly surprised to feel a pang of regret. She had hated balls during her Season, always feeling that her partner of the moment would rather be with her sister. In fact, they had almost always talked to her about Ceci, which did not make for an enjoyable dance. Then on St. Wigbert's Day, she had been not only in mourning but far too pregnant to wish to cavort about.
Now, among friends, she would have liked to take to the dance floor, and the only reason she could not was Freddie's stupidity in breaking his neck. On the other hand, had he not, she would never have come to Llys. Poor Freddie! Her feelings towards him were as ambivalent in death as they had ever been in life.
“Cheer up, Cousin Laura.” It was Lance. “Is this puppy trying to bag the first set? You need not feel obliged to let him prance about the floor with you. If you will do me the honour, you and I will cut an elegant figure and show him how it should be done.”
“Puppy!” said Perry, without heat. He was used to his brother's friendly insults. “I'd rather be a puppy than a popinjay, at all events. Why should Cousin Laura want to stand up with a man-milliner?”
“Boys! I was just reminding Perry, Lance, that I cannot dance because of being in mourning.”
“Oh, shame!”
“What's a shame?” Now Rupert joined them.
“We both wanted to dance with Cousin Laura tonight,” Perry explained.
“Stands to reason she don't want to stand up with a couple of young scrubs.” Rupert preened his moustache. “It's a scarlet coat all the ladies fancy. Beg the pleasure of the first dance, Cousin.”
“You are old enough to know better, Rupert,” Laura snapped, and flounced away, leaving the young officer staring after her, to be enlightened by his brothers.
Later she apologized to him. With his usual good-nature, he apologized in return. “You're quite right, I should have realized what's what,” he said, then added with a grin, “and having to turn down a dance with a scarlet coat's enough to make any female cross as crabs.”
Though glad he had not taken offence, Laura was still filled with remorse for her bad-tempered outburst, and with discontent for having to miss the dancing. Cornelius's well-meant sympathy made it no easier to bear.
“For unlike some of my, hm, brethren in the church, I consider dancing an innocent amusement,” he said in his ponderous way. “Though this German dance, the waltz, which I observed in Town last summer, is certainly, hm, indecorous. Still, I see no harm in a, hm, man of the cloth taking part in a country dance now and then, do you, Cousin?”
Laura agreed, holding back with difficulty a screeched demand as to what was the harm in a woman nine-months widowed taking part in a country dance. The harm, as Aunt Antonia anxiously reminded her, was in the eyes and tongues of the beholders.
“I don't mean to stand up, Aunt,” Laura reassured her, “though I should dearly love to.”
The old lady patted her hand. “There will be other times, my dear,” she said.
But there would be no other times. Laura's resolve to leave Llys was fed by dismay at her resentment over the dancing and her rudeness to Rupert. Once again she feared becoming as spoilt and petulant as Maria. Her hurt when Gareth neither asked her for a dance nor wished she might stand up with him made it plain she was growing much too dependent upon him emotionally. It was useless to tell herself he did not realize how much she wanted to be his partner...
And that, of course, was the crux of the matter. She would not mind missing a thousand glittering balls if Gareth were not there.
That evening, for the most part Laura managed not to watch the dancing. Though Aunt Antonia was officially Gareth's hostess, Laura found plenty to occupy her. She introduced guests to neighbours, found partners for young ladies, kept an eye on the supper tables and, in the absence of servants, called on the younger Wyckhams to remove emptied platters. In her moments of leisure there was always someone wanting to chat with her. Once she went up to the nursery to make sure the nurses who had gone first to the other party had returned to relieve their colleagues.
She was coming down again after this when from the gallery she saw Gareth whirl the pretty daughter of a neighbour into the Great Hall. The girl laughed up at him, he smiled down at her, and a shaft of pure jealousy struck Laura. The pain stopped her breath; her hands clenched white-knuckled on the banister rail.
There were others in the hall, of course. Gareth helped the young lady—he had known her all his life—to a plate of food, seated her with friends, and returned to the Long Gallery to find his next partner. He was just being a good host.
But Laura had recognized the dreadful, consuming emotion she had lived with in the days when Ceci had everything she had not. She could not live with it again. She had to go.