The Fleeing Heiress: A funny flight into love. (19 page)

Cardiff threw back his head and laughed.

“But none of it was as bad as Papa’s reaction when he
found out we had lost you,” said Thomas plaintively.

Cardiff was insensitive enough to laugh again. His eyes
gleamed unrepentantly. “You’ve had a full plate of it since I
last saw you,” he observed.

“Just so!” exclaimed Philip, eyeing his lordship with dislike.

“Well, my sympathy is tepid at best. You must agree that
my own situation while in your company left much to be de
sired,” said Cardiff in an uncompromising voice.

“It’s all the fault of that Quarles fellow,” said Thomas
darkly.

“Yes and as though there hasn’t been enough trouble al
ready, our sister Tabitha insists that she will still have him,”
said Philip in absolute disgust.

Cardiff was so startled that his mouth dropped open. This
revelation he had not expected. “Do you mean to say that
your sister still wishes to wed Mr. Quarles, even after what he did?” he demanded.

“Oh, Tabitha thinks it highly romantic that Quarles made
off with Thea. She wishes he had done so with her and for
gives him for making a mistake in taking the wrong sister!”
said Thomas with heavy sarcasm.

Cardiff felt that he preferred not to delve much deeper
into the affairs of Miss Tabitha Stafford. She was obviously a lady of unusual thought patterns. However, he did feel
himself compelled to ask, “What does your father think
about this?”

“Papa growls and grouses, but in the end he’ll let Tabitha have her way. She has always been his favorite,” said Philip
gloomily. “He won’t be able to stand her squalling and beg
ging to be wed to her precious Quarles. As for Quarles, he
has made his pretty apologies and swears that he must have
suffered from a brain fever.”

“Brain fever! Why, he knew precisely what he was
doing,” said Cardiff, his eyes kindling with wrath. The in
dignation he felt had much more to do with Thea Stafford’s feelings on that occasion than his own. He could still recall
the fearful expression in her eyes when he had thrust open
the door.

“Yes, so I have said. But Tabitha will not listen,” said
Philip, scowling and thrusting his square hands deep into his
breeches pockets.

“What a fellow to have for a brother-in-law! It is enough
to persuade one to wash one’s hands of family altogether,”
said Thomas.

“Yes, and run off to enlist besides,” said Philip with feel
ing.

“You paint a vastly pretty picture, Philip. Pray don’t tease
me so cruelly,” sighed Thomas.

“I mean it, Thomas,” said Philip, throwing an intent glare
at his brother. “I mean it, dash it!”

Thomas stared at his twin; then a slow grin began to
spread across his face. “You’re not bamming me, Philip?”

Philip shrugged. With a complete lack of filial feeling, he
observed, “Papa isn’t going to die any time soon. Only recall how he rattled us down! He’ll be around long after the
war is over, I’ll be bound. Why shouldn’t we have a bit of
fun instead of kicking our heels at home?”

Thomas whooped, turning around in a circle on his boot
heels.

Cardiff had listened with growing amusement. The two
sounded like a pair of sulky schoolboys whispering plans to
escape from an over-stern headmaster. “Perhaps you ought
to discuss your future rebellion in private,” he suggested. “It
wouldn’t do to be overheard by just anyone.”

“We’ll do just that, my lord,” said Philip, nodding and ex
changing a look with his brother.

Cardiff had for several minutes realized that there was no immediate danger forthcoming from the Staffords, and so he
sat down in a satin-covered wing chair to await his host and
hostess. If Mr. Stafford was also a guest of the Owens, he
guessed that luncheon would be a vastly interesting meal.
Perhaps something on the line of being invited into the
French generals’ tent for interrogation, he reflected ruefully.

However, there was still something about which he was
curious. “You have not yet answered my question. What
brings you to the Owens’?” he asked. He crossed one knee
over the other, looking the picture of ease. “And how did
you get here in such deplorable weather?”

“Papa brought us,” said Thomas succinctly, apparently feeling that no other explanation was necessary.

His brother better understood the direction of Lord
Cardiff’s inquiry. “Papa wished to retrieve Thea and bring
you to account, my lord,” said Philip in reluctant amplifica
tion.

“Bring me to account?” Cardiff looked his surprise, his brows slowly rising in an expression of disbelief. “I fail to
understand what your sire can be thinking.”

“No more than the rest of us,” muttered Thomas. His
brother gave a short laugh in appreciation.

“I trust we have already agreed amongst the three of us
that I shall not be a party to your father’s plans,” said Cardiff
in a hard voice. He wanted his position perfectly under
stood. He would not be coerced into marriage. When he
wedded, it would be of his own will and of his own timing.

Thomas shrugged. “I am perfectly content to let you do
as you will, my lord.”

“And I,” said Philip, nodding. “It’s perfectly plain Thea
will have none of you. So I can see little point in attempting
to force you to wed her.”

“Your magnanimousness unmans me,” murmured Cardiff.

The two brothers regarded him, frowning and uncertain
how to interpret his meaning. Cardiff smiled in a friendly way, wiping the sardonic expression from his face. The
Stafford twins were too easy to make light of, and he regretted the impulse. They were only a pair of overgrown
boys, after all, and not particularly bright.

“In light of our agreement, let us put aside any lingering
animosity or ill feeling,” he said. He grinned up at the pair.
“Tell me, what did you think of my hot punch?”

There was nothing more certain of breaching the brothers’ defenses. Thomas and Philip instantly gave his lordship
their opinion that he had served them a vile trick, but the hot
punch had been the best they had ever tasted.

Cardiff chuckled and agreed that he had treated them
shabbily. “But what else could I do, short of bludgeoning
you in your beds?”

Thomas and Philip laughed and before many minutes
passed were chatting with Lord Cardiff as though he was an
old and valued acquaintance rather than someone they had met only a few days before and had treated with such scant
respect.

The irony was not lost on Cardiff, and as he sprawled in
the wing chair listening to his youthful companions, he felt a hearty measure of amusement. His enjoyment was en
hanced when the brothers, apparently all unpleasantness
faded from their collective memory, began plying him with
questions about his experiences in the army and the war
with the French. He saw then that he had been elevated to the level of hero worship, and he chuckled to himself.

The pleasant interlude ended when the door to the parlor
opened and Mr. Stafford stepped across the threshold.
His stocky frame seemed to fill the doorway. The older
man’s heavy frown blighted his sons’ easy discourse before
he leveled it on Lord Cardiff. “My Lord Cardiff!” he uttered
with loathing, his face at once darkening with swift anger.

Cardiff calmly regarded the outraged patriarch, his ex
pression chiseled in impassivity. His tone civil, he said,
“Good day, Mr. Stafford. It appears that we were destined to meet again.”

“Aye, and no doubt you wish me to the very devil,” said
Mr. Stafford with a martial light in his pale eyes.

“There is some truth in what you say,” admitted Cardiff.
He ignored the choke of laughter that broke from Philip, but
Mr. Stafford did not. The father rounded on his son, about
to deliver a blistering setdown, but Cardiff forestalled him by the simple expedient of drawing Mr. Stafford’s attention
back to himself. “Would you care to sit down, sir?”

Mr. Stafford turned back to Lord Cardiff, breathing
heavily. His expression was set in hard, uncompromising
lines. “I would not! My lord, you have played fast and
loose—”

“Come, Mr. Stafford. I am persuaded that as reasonable
men, we may discuss this matter in a cool manner,” said
Cardiff with a polite smile. “It is but for you to acknowl
edge your error and we will become the greatest of friends.”

“His lordship is right, Papa. There’s nothing to be gained
by berating the poor gentleman,” offered Thomas. He
earned for himself a scorching glance from his sire. He
hunched his broad shoulders, and his stolid features became obstinate. “Well, there
isn’t
any use in it. Thea has made up
her mind.”

“We’ll see about that!” said Mr. Stafford, grinding out
the words.

Cardiff sighed. “Am I the only one who feels a certain degree of déjà vu?”

The paneled door opened again and Mr. and Mrs. Owen
entered, accompanied by their niece. They had met Thea on
the landing and all had walked downstairs together to the
parlor.

Thea had at once taxed her aunt and uncle about why she
had not been informed of her family’s arrival over break
fast. “If we had done so, my dear, your interesting morning with Lord Cardiff would have been quite ruined,” said Mrs.
Owen with immense practicality.

Thea had colored instantly, leading Mr. Owen to chuckle
at her.

Mr. Owen was still chuckling as he ushered his wife and
niece into the parlor. His cheerful expression underwent in
stant transformation upon discovering certain occupants of
the room. His brown eyes chilled as his gaze fell on his late
sister’s spouse. “Stafford.”

Mr. Stafford bowed a stiff acknowledgement of his
brother-in-law’s cold greeting. His voice was equally
frosty. “Good day, Owen.”

Cardiff had risen to his feet upon the ladies’ entrance and
he civilly greeted his hostess first, before turning to address
Miss Stafford. However, she did not immediately take notice of him.

“Papa! And Thomas and Philip!” No matter what her
thoughts had been a few minutes past, Thea discovered that
she was genuinely pleased to see her father and brothers. De
spite all that had happened, she felt a rush of affection for
them all. Thea went forward to greet the members of her family. Her brothers were obviously glad to see her and
each gave her a hug,

Mr. Stafford contented himself with patting his daughter
on the shoulder. “There, lass. How are you?” he said fondly.

“I am very well, Papa,” said Thea, smiling with misted eyes at her father.

“I was not aware that I had formed a winter house party,”
announced Mr. Owen irascibly to no one in particular.

Mr. Stafford was seen to stiffen again, and he turned his head towards his brother-in-law. His bushy brows were so
drawn that it appeared as though he had a solid line above
his wrathful eyes.

“Hush, Thatcher! We must be civil with our guests,” said
Mrs. Owen hastily, trying to avert the inevitable disagree
ableness.

However, the pungent bait had already been cast and
caught. “If it were not for the snowstorm, I would not have
remained more than a moment more than I had to under
your roof,” said Mr. Stafford at once, utterly ignoring his sister-in-law’s attempt to smooth things over.

“It is a pity that you did not respect my roof enough to
stay outside and freeze to death last night,” snapped Mr.
Owen.

“Now, my dear, that is not at all true. You could not have
turned anyone away in such weather and, indeed, you did not! So let us have no more of that sort of nonsense,” said Mrs. Owen, sternly addressing her spouse. She turned her
surprisingly steely gaze on her brother-in-law, “As for you,
Carter Stafford, I shall not have my hospitality abused, so
you will keep a civil tongue in your head, if you please!”

In the face of Mrs. Owen’s unexpected severity, Mr.
Stafford stood abashed. He muttered something under his
breath which sounded much like a reluctant apology. Rous
ing himself, he added, “I only wished to assure myself that
Thea—”

Mrs. Owen threw up her hand. “That will be enough,
Carter. I will not allow discussion about Thea’s misadventures over luncheon. Thatcher, pray lead us in.”

Philip and Thomas Stafford watched with boggling eyes
as their sire once more fell into near silence, only mutter
ings from under his breath coming to their wondering ears. They exchanged glances and both regarded their aunt with awed respect.

As for Thea, she let out her breath slowly. She did not
understand, any more than her brothers, what power their
aunt held over their father, but it was a relief that there was
not going to be a loud scene enacted.

Cardiff regarded the company as though he were watch
ing a play. It amused him to see how Mrs. Owen ruled her
house, no matter what the circumstance. Obviously the lady possessed an unexpected rod of steel as a backbone, and her
husband and brother-in-law were aware of its existence
from past experience, for Mr. Owen did not glance at his
unwelcome guest again but instead calmly escorted his wife
out of the parlor.

Following the Owens’ lead, Lord Cardiff at once offered
his arm to Miss Stafford. She accepted his escort gratefully,
willing to leave the storm clouds in her father’s face behind
her. Mr. Stafford and his sons had little choice but to trail behind the two couples into luncheon.

Mrs. Owen gently but with ruthless intent steered the
conversation away from dangerous waters whenever she
felt it to be necessary. In this she was ably assisted by Lord
Cardiff, who threw out a few gambits about the war and the
army which were guaranteed to capture the interest of Mr.
Owen and Philip and Thomas Stafford. Mr. Stafford was
not immune to the ensuing lively discussion and entered his
own strong opinions concerning the conduct of the war.
Luncheon was therefore a very polite, though unexpectedly
animated, function, at the end of which Mrs. Owen suggested that the company repair back to the parlor for a
much-needed talk.

“I don’t see why you or my esteemed brother-in-law
should be present,” said Mr. Stafford belligerently. “I am
quite capable of having speech with my daughter.”

“I have a vested interest in keeping the peace,” said Mrs.
Owen with a pleasant smile. “And since it is our house, I
may preside over any meeting in it that I wish.”

Mr. Owen gave a bark of laughter. “You may as well
give way, Stafford. Mrs. Owen orders all just as she likes in
the house.”

Mr. Stafford muttered some more, but he offered no fur
ther objection.

Mrs. Owen smiled across the table at her nephews as she rose from her chair. “I am fairly certain that this matter con
cerns you to only a very small degree since you are not principals. Perhaps you would care to be shown to the bil
liards room instead?”

Thomas and Philip agreed that their aunt’s suggestion suited them very well and went off in the attentive foot
man’s wake.

Mrs. Owen led the rest of the party into the parlor and requested that everyone be comfortably seated near the fire
to take advantage of its heat. “I suspect that we shall all deal
better together if we are comfortable,” she said with an
other serene smile. She sat down gracefully in a wing chair
and gestured everyone to follow her example.

Thea obediently took a chair near her aunt, instinctively
seeking the protection of the lady’s authority. Cardiff seated
himself at an angle where he could observe all of the gathered company. Mr. Stafford chose a wing chair as far away as possible from his in-laws, which naturally set him apart
from his daughter. This was unsatisfactory to him, and he
pulled the chair closer.

Mrs. Owen looked around, satisfied, and smiled up at
her spouse. “Now we shall hold a very civil discussion
about Thea. My dear Thatcher, I give up the floor.”

“Thank you, my dear,” said Mr. Owen, bowing to his
wife. He had elected to stand at the polished mantel rather
than sit down. He turned to stare under bushy lowered
brows at his brother-in-law. “Naturally you must have your
say, Stafford, since Thea is your daughter.”

“There is nothing to discuss! Thea is going to wed Lord
Cardiff,” said Mr. Stafford trenchantly. He glared around the circle of faces, daring anyone to contradict him.

Thea sighed. She shook her head, regretting the necessity
of denying her father in company but feeling that she had
been given no other alternative. “Papa, I dearly love you, but
you
are
an idiot. I am
not
going to be married to Lord
Cardiff. You have mistreated his lordship shamefully and—-”

“The shame is yours, daughter!” thundered Mr. Stafford,
becoming red in the face. It embarrassed him that his
daughter could speak so disrespectfully and plainly in the
present company. He was particularly aware of his brother-in-law’s smothered guffaw, which incensed him to no small
degree. He glared up at Mr. Owen.

“Her shame, as you call it, is not at my hands, Mr.
Stafford!” exclaimed Cardiff in a loud, hard voice. Mr. Stafford started and swung his surprised gaze to his lord
ship. Cardiff held Stafford’s eyes with his own demanding
gaze. “Have I ever behaved dishonorably towards your
daughter, sir?
Have I?
”

Mr. Stafford started to bluster. “I am calling you to account, my lord! I demand that you do right by my daugh
ter!”

Cardiff cut the gentleman short by flinging up his hand.
His eyes narrowed, he warned, “Be careful what you say,
sir! There were witnesses at the inn to what happened. And
you have witnesses here to your dealings with me! If you persist in this nonsense, you lay yourself open to a suit of willful malice.”

Mr. Stafford looked startled. His eyes wavered under
Lord Cardiff’s blazing gaze and slid away. He mumbled,
“No, my lord. It was not you who dishonored my daughter.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Cardiff in an uncompromising voice. “I am glad that we have that straight. Now perhaps we may move on.”

“Papa, you know very well that Lord Cardiff is not re
sponsible for anything which has happened,” said Thea
gently, feeling sorry for her father because he looked so deflated.

Mr. Stafford gave a reluctant nod. “It is true. I own it.”

              A collective sigh went around the room as some of the tension was released. A flicker of a smile touched Cardiff’s
face. Whenever the opposing force began to give way, he thought, victory could not be long in coming.

“I have offered to have Thea for a long visit and to bring
her out this season,” began Mrs. Owen.