A Banbury Tale (26 page)

“I doubt,” commented the Earl with utter callousness, “that anything serious will befall the fair Clemence. She doubtless found life at the Hall too dull for her tastes.”

Maddy’s eyes flashed. Motley, in her comer, dropped all pretense of industry, and wondered how she was to prevent her tiresome charge from enacting a shocking scene. But Miss de Villiers exercised remarkable self-control. “You are unfair,” she replied.

“On the contrary,” interjected Motley. “I am inclined to agree with the Earl. You must admit, Maddy, that Clemence has not behaved well. She should at least have informed the Duchess of her intentions, instead of stealing away like a thief in the night.”

“How can you!” Maddy’s rage was so great that she rose straight out of her chair. Motley cursed her wandering thoughts, which had led her to precipitate the outburst she’d hoped to deter.

Maddy, seeking words of sufficient harshness to adequately convey her opinion of Motley’s lack of sympathy, found her wrist caught in an iron grip. “No,” said the Earl. “You will not enact us a Cheltenham tragedy.”

Maddy stared at his lazy smile with outraged astonishment, an emotion that changed rapidly to consternation as her gaze fell upon the fashionably indolent figure that graced the doorway.

Claude de Villiers regarded his daughter with an almost approving air. He knew Wilmington only slightly, but the Earl was sufficiently well heeled to be acceptable as an entrant into the de Villiers family. Wilmington had a bad reputation, but his immense fortune more than compensated for what was doubtless the result of a few youthful indiscretions. “So this is the rascal,” he observed, advancing into the room, “who has taken my daughter’s fancy to such an alarming degree.” He raised an ornate gold quizzing glass.

A man of less complacency might have been taken aback by the reaction his appearance caused. Motley dropped her needlework; Maddy snatched her hand from Micah’s as if she’d been heedlessly holding a hot brick. Wilmington retained the greatest composure; he merely examined the newcomers with vague interest.

“It is customary,” Claude remarked, “to first seek permission from a young lady’s father before paying such particular addresses to her.” Maddy flushed and Claude smiled benignly. “However, I shall disregard the lapse, having once myself been the victim of love’s impetuosity.” He beamed upon his wife, who regarded him impassively, then went to press a kiss upon her daughter’s hot cheek.

“Papa mistakes the matter,” Maddy murmured. “I am not going to marry Wilmington.” Lady Henrietta surveyed the Earl, who exhibited little interest in the conversation.

“You may marry whom you please,” she commented, and seated herself. Maddy noted, with no small surprise, that her mother’s elegant traveling costume was new, as were the exquisitely matched pearls that encircled her throat.

Claude’s brief benignity had vanished with Maddy’s uncompromising words, but he was not one to abandon game so easily. He awarded the Earl a conspiratorial look. “She was always a fine one for fits and starts,” he said, “but she’ll come around. Pay no mind to these missish airs! You may not know that females are prone to imaginative quirks.”

“Oh?” commented the Earl.

Claude was not dismayed. “You’ll overlook it, I’m sure. Maddy is a good, obedient girl, and will make an excellent wife.”

“Papa!” wailed his daughter, with every sign of intemperance.

“Claude,” interjected Lady Henrietta, “you are going a great deal too fast.”

“Nonsense!” The Earl received a comradely wink. “There’s no sense delaying until tomorrow what may be done today. Wilmington knows how it is. No doubt he’s anxious to have these formalities out of the way.”

“I believe these, er, formalities might best be postponed until another time.” The Earl showed no sign of impatience as he moved toward the door, “I’m sure you and your daughter have many things to discuss.”

Claude was not undeterred by his quarry’s determined, if polite, escape. He watched the Earl depart with every indication of satisfaction, then frowned at his daughter. “I’ll hear no more of your nonsense, miss. You’ll wed Wilmington without further argument.” Maddy glared at him. “You look burnt to the socket. It’s what comes of too much frivolity. I told your mother how it would be.”

Since Maddy threatened to succumb to one of the tantrums that had enlivened her childhood, Lady Henrietta intervened. “You told me,” she said, “nothing of the sort. This entire reprehensible scheme was your idea, and I had little faith that Maddy would prove sufficiently unscrupulous to bring it about. I am glad she did not, for it would be unthinkable that she must atone for
your
folly.” She gazed upon her startled audience, and smiled at her daughter. “I wished only for Maddy to be given an opportunity to take her place in Society, and would never have countenanced a marriage made for the reasons that my husband proposed.”

Maddy was stricken dumb by this show of independence, and by Claude’s silent, if sulky, acceptance of his wife’s new role, but Motley smiled appreciatively. It was evident that Lady Henrietta had taken advantage of her daughter’s absence to establish firm control over her tiresome spouse.

“I was not to divulge the information,” she remarked, “but I can see no harm in making you aware that Emile has agreed to dower Maddy. But he will go no further in resolving the current difficulties.”

“How enterprising of you, Motley!” Lady Henrietta looked speculative. “But there was no need: Claude has made a comeabout, and our situation is now secure.” She smiled. “He has also come to a realization of his responsibilities and has foresworn gambling except in the most modest degree.”

Claude, who had not come to this realization without the application of threats, curses, and annihilating arguments delivered by his lady wife, and whose temper was further exacerbated by the knowledge that Lady Henrietta held, most firmly, the pursestrings, looked for an object on which to vent his wrath. He glared at Motley. “I heard my brother’s name. What has Emile to do with this?”

Motley was not dismayed by this indication that Claude was on the verge of a distempered freak. “The situation grew so muddled,” she explained, “that I thought it necessary to consult him.”

If Claude had ever known of Motley’s past association with the Comte, he had forgotten, but Lady Henrietta’s memory was more reliable. She raised a delicate eyebrow. “Fiend seize you, woman!” bellowed Claude. “Who gave you permission to interfere in my affairs? Highty-tighty behavior, to be sure! I trust Emile sent you off with a flea in your ear, as you so richly deserved.”

“Not at all,” Motley replied. “He was most courteous, and indicated a strong interest in Maddy’s circumstances.” Lady Henrietta’s eyebrow climbed a further fraction of an inch.

“Altogether displeasing!” Claude glowered. “I’ve a strong notion to turn you off without a character.”

Nothing in Motley’s demeanor indicated that she perceived the seriousness of this threat, or even that she suffered the slightest unease. Nor did Lady Henrietta evince any dismay at the thought of losing her long-time friend, but surveyed her husband with an expression that one might direct toward a child in the midst of a tantrum. Claude shrugged irritably and turned his back on them.

“We departed immediately we had your letter.” Lady Henrietta studied her daughter. “I had meant to make the journey in any case, to tell you of the happy change in our financial affairs. Such tidings were best not expressed on paper, or so I thought, but perhaps I should have taken the risk. Child, you look shockingly worn down.”

Briefly, all else had been forgotten in the light of Claude’s surprising good luck. But Clem was missing, Kenelm in danger, and there was the puzzle of Alastair Bechard. And Lionel, despite the Earl’s comment that his wrath had cooled, had made it quite clear that he had no great opinion of Maddy. Miss de Villiers considered that she had made a fine muddle of her affairs.

“All the same,” growled Claude, in the tones of one determined to be adamant, “Maddy is going to marry Wilmington.”

Chapter Fourteen

Letty Jellicoe was in high spirits. The news of Clem’s disappearance had acted as a tonic, and this, coupled with the knowledge that her mother had arranged an eminently suitable match for the disappointing Alathea, had proved more beneficient to Letty’s spirits than even her favorite patent remedy. Such was her sense of well-being that parental commentary on her inept handling of the situation, and the numerous flaws in Alathea’s character, had no adverse effect. Alathea’s intended was comfortably established, a man of great character who, being twice his intended’s age, might be expected to keep her firmly in hand. So pleased was Letty with this development that she had come to believe that it had evolved solely through her efforts. She allowed Eunice to place a pillow behind her back, and smiled languidly upon Timothy Rockingham.

And now, with Claude’s arrival, she was no longer responsible for her niece. Letty frowned, forgetting momentarily that such exercise led to the premature advent of racial lines, and considered the catastrophe that Maddy had wrought with her ambitious schemes. It would serve the girl well if she were to remain unmarried, though with Claude’s determination to bring Wilmington up to scratch, this seemed unlikely.

Letty’s thoughts were not the only ones that centered on Miss de Villiers. It was Motley’s opinion that her recalcitrant charge was behaving in a most unsatisfactory way. Maddy was, in fact, exhibiting all the classical symptoms of one rapidly sinking into a decline. Her volatility was dampened, she jumped like a startled rabbit when spoken to, and she tended, at the least provocation, to fly into the boughs. It was very odd that she should behave so now, when her ambitions were close to realization, for the Earl would not easily escape parson’s mousetrap. Motley regretted that she’d sworn silence to Emile, who wished to take steps in private, without his interest in Kenelm’s affairs being known. Her sympathies were with Kenelm, who scoured the countryside ceaselessly, and could only by force be made to rest. Motley wondered just what Emile’s private investigations might entail, but the Comte’s intentions had not been revealed.

Nor had his intentions concerning herself. Motley smiled dreamily, then realized that this expression was not, perhaps, the most suitable under the circumstances. She found Lady Henrietta regarding her with conjecture. “Motley,” murmured her employer, “you greatly intrigue me.” Motley blushed. Were the Comte so heedless of the dignity of his station that he again asked for her hand, she would not be so chuckle-headed as to refuse. But that was a matter for the future. One’s first thought, now, must be for the missing Clem.

“I think very poorly of the chit,” Agatha remarked. “What must she do, after all our efforts on her behalf, but run away at the first opportunity? And to do it in such a shabby manner! I vow, I am tempted to wash my hands of the minx.”

“And well you might!” agreed Claude, for Clem’s disappearance was interfering grievously with his plans. The Earl was damned elusive, and the confusion of his household gave him an excellent excuse to be elsewhere precisely when Claude wished to speak with him.

Motley eyed her charge, who was fidgeting. Maddy could not be persuaded that Clem’s abrupt departure was not her responsibility, though such concern was excessive. Motley, who knew neither of Wilmington’s somewhat brutal advances nor of Lionel’s threat to reveal the de Villiers’ stratagems, wondered what other matters might occupy that damsel’s thoughts.

“I can see,” commented Wilmington, “that the chit’s unconventional leave-taking must be a source of considerable chagrin.”

“You are devilish out of humor!” barked his godmother. “I find you a dead bore.”

Rather than exhibiting discomposure at this sharp speech, its recipient grinned. “Cut line, Agatha,” he advised. “You shan’t come to cuffs with me.”

Wilmington had dutifully joined the searchers but, when their efforts had proved fruitless, had announced that there were countless other pursuits on which he might more profitably waste his time. When the Duchess took him to task for an obligation so lightly discharged, his lordship had unfairly pointed out that Clem’s presence in his home had been no doing of his. Nor did he consider Lionel an inspiring example, for all that young gentleman aided Kenelm’s efforts most zealously. After all, a young man must grow tired of the Hall’s rustic delights, and the girl’s disappearance led to excellent sport. What better excuse for riding pell-mell about the countryside?

“And no matter what you say”—the Duchess turned her fire on the silent Tilda—“you cannot stay in that great barn of a house without a suitable female companion! You had best remain here until I can arrange matters satisfactorily. Surely among my various indigent relations there must be one who would suit.”

“It is good of you, Agatha,” Tilda replied, “but there is no need.”

There was a light in Agatha’s eye that foretokened battle to come. “There is every need! If you’ve an ounce of sense in that carroty head, which I’ve had occasion to doubt, you’ll listen to me.”

“Bravo!” applauded the Earl, and earned stormy looks from both ladies. “It is a well-taken point, Agatha, for the whole world would be shocked to learn that Tilda has chosen to dwell in virtual isolation, but I must point out that the Hall is already filled to the rafters.”

“You forget Bevis,” Timothy pointed out. “Surely Tilda’s brother and her housekeeper provide her with sufficient countenance.”

“Bevis!” The Duchess grimaced ferociously. “Were Mathilda in need of protection, he would doubtless cower beneath his bed.”

Since the Duke of Abercorn had suffered, as a result of his sister’s unrepentant tongue, a fit of the gout so severe that it necessitated his confinement to his quarters, with a large portion of the household staff in constant attendance, Tilda could offer no argument.

“Should Tilda stand in need of protection,” Timothy replied, “she has but to call on me.”

“Oh?” inquired the Duchess. “Are you now in residence at the Abbey? An unconventional arrangement, to be sure!”