A Chance Encounter (21 page)

Neville and Margaret solemnly promised not to allow the mummery to be forgotten overnight. Lady Cassandra put in her own oar. “There is nothing I enjoy more than a good staging,” she said.

“Yes, and we shall doubtless hear all sorts of outrageous plans for its denouement over breakfast,” said the earl resignedly as he saw everyone out of the drawing room.

Lord Dewesbury’s
prediction came to pass, but even he did not reckon on the scope of imagination that would be unleashed. The summer days were long and warm and granted the feeling of ease necessary for the formation of such an entertainment. At any time one heard talk of the mummery.

The mummery proved to be so popular a notion that it began to be realized that there would be far more players than there would be members of the audience. “But I do not begrudge anyone the opportunity to declaim a speech,’’ said Lady Dewesbury. “I am only glad that there is something to take attention away from your situation, Edward.” As she spoke, she carefully set a long-stemmed rose among a score of others already gracing a large vase.

“As to that, Mama, I should like to speak to you and my father privately,” Lord Humphrey said.

Lady Dewesbury threw him a surprised glance. “Do you, my dear? Is that wise? I mean to say, your father has been very disturbed these last few weeks.”

“I know that, Mama. I, too, have noticed the frequency with which we dine on fowl,” Lord Humphrey said impatiently. “It is partially for that reason that I wish to speak to you both.”

“Very well, Edward. But at least wait until after the mummery. You know that must put his lordship into a jollier frame of mind. It will go so much easier then,” said Lady Dewesbury.

Lord Humphrey agreed to his mother’s condition reluctantly, feeling restless now that his decision to clear the air had finally been made.

The door opened and Miss Ratcliffe breezed into the room. She paused and exclaimed prettily, “Oh! I did not realize that you were here, Edward.”

Lord Humphrey smiled a shade grimly. “Did you not, Augusta? Strange, I thought you were perceptive where I am concerned.”

Miss Ratcliffe’s lovely eyes smoldered. “Indeed! I was used to be, but matters have changed somewhat since, do you not agree?”

On her words, Joan entered. Her glance passed over Lord Humphrey’s look of mild amusement and rested for a thoughtful second upon Miss Ratcliffe’s expression of annoyance. Without a word to either, she turned to Lady Dewesbury. “My lady, I am the carrier of an urgent message from Lady Cassandra. She is making her way belowstairs now and her ladyship stated that unless you are able to speak reason to the cook, she will herself flay the woman alive.”

“Oh, my word! Cook has rebelled again. Well, is it any wonder that she resents an arrogant stranger taking charge of her domain?” Lady Dewesbury exclaimed. “I must go at once, of course. Edward, do not dare to laugh! It is not at all amusing, I can tell you. Miss Chadwick, pray do me the favor of finishing with these roses. I am certain that you shall know just how to go about arranging them.”

Joan’s eyes riveted on the gloriously shaded gold and pink roses. “No, I could not possibly. That is, pray excuse me, my lady. I have just recalled a task of my own that cannot wait.” Joan retreated hurriedly from the room.

Lady Dewesbury stared after her in astonishment. “What an odd start!”

Lord Humphrey was frowning. “Yes. I think that I shall go after her and attempt to discover the cause. I do not care to see Joan upset.” He strode swiftly out the door.

“And I must go at once to the kitchen,” said Lady Dewesbury. She still held the rose and she looked at it.

“I shall be happy to finish the roses for you, my lady,” Miss Ratcliffe said.

Lady Dewesbury smiled at her gratefully. “Why, that is most kind of you, Augusta.” She hurried out in her turn.

Miss Ratcliffe calmly and competently finished arranging the roses. When she was done, she stood admiring the effect for some time. “How odd it is that our Miss Chadwick does not care for roses,” she murmured to herself. Then she smiled and went in search of Margaret.

* * * *

Joan had escaped to the library. She spent a pleasant afternoon reading, and when the bell for tea rang, she reluctantly closed her volume. She emerged from the library and found herself instantly hailed. “Miss Chadwick! I have looked everywhere for you.”

Joan smiled in a friendly way at Margaret. She was surprised that the girl had approached her at all, considering how Margaret felt about her. “I was just coming to tea. Shall you come with me?”

“In a moment, but first I must tell you that I am the bearer of a gift,” said Margaret. She was holding her hands behind her back. “It is to be a surprise, so you must close your eyes.”

Joan laughed. “Very well. I am ready. May I look now?” Something was thrust toward her. Joan caught an unmistakable scent. Her eyes flew open and she stared horrified at the pretty nosegay of roses. “Oh, no!” She stumbled back, but it was already too late. A violent sneeze shook her. “Take them—” Another sneeze, and another. Joan reeled away, fleeing, her eyes streaming and still racked by continuous sneezing.

Margaret stood rooted to the spot, absolute shock and consternation upon her face. Above her, a light laugh floated down. “Did not Miss Chadwick care for the posy, Margaret?”

The girl whirled swiftly, her face flaming. She stared at the beautiful young woman standing on the stair landing. “You knew! You used me,” she accused baldly.

Miss Ratcliffe laughed again. “Come, Margaret. It was but a small joke. Surely you must see that?”

“I, for one, do not see the amusement.”

Miss Ratcliffe’s laughter was cut short. She looked down swiftly and met the twin gazes of the Earl of Dewesbury and her mother, where they stood outside the drawing-room door. Miss Ratcliffe was held by momentary consternation, but then she tossed her head. She turned on her heel and sped swiftly to the top of the stairs, disappearing as she turned into the upper hall.

“Come, Margaret. It is time for tea,” Lady Ratcliffe said quietly.

“But Miss Chadwick! I did not know. Papa, I truly did not.”

“No, you did not. I am sure that Miss Chadwick must realize that. She will undoubtedly accept your apology later. Now come into the drawing room.”

* * * *

Neville and Margaret appointed themselves stage managers and assigned each of several parts of the mummery production. Several days later the players pronounced themselves ready to tread on the makeshift stage that had been set up in the grand hall of the Tudor portion of the house. It was a felicitous stroke to produce the mummery in that location, for the large and ancient-beamed room contributed wonderful atmosphere to the endeavor.

Surprisingly, Lady Cassandra had loudly insisted that she was to play a part, and she did so with a consummate grace that won general admiration. When she was done, she regally left the stage and took a prominent seat among the audience, which consisted of Lord and Lady Ratcliffe, Lady Dewesbury and the earl, and Lady Athene and her small family.

Miss Ratcliffe was naturally cast as a breathtakingly beautiful and suitably virtuous princess. Vincent Dewesbury seemed at first to have been miscast as the prince, but his saturnine presence gave perfect effect to his poetic and futile attempts to persuade his lady to her downfall. Joan was content with her own small part, as it was played opposite Lord Humphrey. Neville and Margaret played a noble couple on pilgrimage to the Holy Land. Sir Thomas astonished everyone by rendering a lengthy and moving speech as a Roman centurion.

“I never knew the man actually possessed a tongue,” said Lady Cassandra caustically. She was loudly shushed.

After the mummery, refreshments were served to the players and audience alike.

The mummery had concluded with a bloodcurdling account by Lord Humphrey of the headless Tudor ancestor that had held Lady Athene’s progeny wide-eyed and awed to the end. Candles had been set about to aid the shadowy appearance of the main rooms of the Tudor section and the boys dashed here and there in search of the headless moaning ghost. The rest of the younger set sauntered off on their own explorations of the old rooms, which had all taken on a shadowy life of their own with the setting of the sun.

Mr. Dewesbury joined in the general fun, seemingly moving at random, but always with a purpose. He had desired for some time a few private moments with Miss Chadwick, and with the mummery had come his opportunity. He finally cornered Joan in the gallery. She was still wearing her mask, as most of the players were, but there was no mistaking her figure. He put a hand on each side of her shoulders where she had pressed herself against the wall. “Ah, a fair masked maiden! You have been fairly caught, my pretty one, and now you must pay the price.” His lips came down to hers.

Joan swiftly turned her face to one side. “No! Pray do not!”

“What, this?” His hand caught her chin, and as he spoke, he kissed her lightly. “Why, I hope to do much more, Miss Chadwick, and with your willing permission.” There was a laugh in his voice.

Suddenly he was plucked away.

Spun roughly around, Vincent Dewesbury came into direct contact with a hard fist, well-placed and powerful. He crashed into the wall and slumped, shaking his head to clear his senses.

When Mr. Dewesbury saw who had hit him, he straightened abruptly. His eyes narrowed and his lean face flushed with temper. “My dear cousin, you are definitely
de trop.
The lady and I were just beginning a most pleasurable acquaintance.”

The viscount stood with his fists bunched at his sides. “You will keep your damnable hands off of my wife.”

Mr. Dewesbury’s face turned ugly at the viscount’s challenging tone. “If it is a mill you desire, Humphrey, I am most willing to oblige.” Then the significance of the viscount’s words struck him. “Did you say your wife, cousin?” There was a strange undercurrent in his voice. His eyes went from the viscount’s hard face to Miss Chadwick’s and back again. His whole countenance changed. “If that is true, I offer my sincere felicitations and apologies. An unavoidable misunderstanding, I am sure you will agree, since the lady is reputed to be only your betrothed.”

“Pray say nothing to anyone, Mr. Dewesbury,” appealed Joan. “For reasons quite unexplainable at present, we do not wish it known.”

Vincent Dewesbury regarded her with an unfathomable expression. Then he turned his glance to the viscount. “I sense a heretofore unsuspected side of your character, cousin.”

“Yes, well, that is neither here nor there,” Lord Humphrey said. His eyes were still hard and bright. He flexed his hands suggestively. “You had no business dallying with the lady at all.”

“None whatsoever,” said Mr. Dewesbury promptly. “The picture unfolded to my wondering gaze rapidly assumes untold possibilities. Again, my deepest apologies, my lady viscountess. Never fear, I shall not spill the ready.” He sketched a bow and was gone.

“Well! He is a very strange fellow,” Joan observed, her alarm already fading to memory.

“And hardly one that an unattended lady should be off alone with,” Lord Humphrey said in a scolding fashion.

“So I have gathered, and much to my chagrin,” said Joan with a spark of humor. She looked up at the viscount’s still-frowning expression. The mask she wore seemed to grant her a boldness that was not ordinarily hers. “And you, Edward? Must a lady be on guard against you as well?”

Lord Humphrey regarded her in astonishment. If he did not know better, he would have sworn that she was flirting with him. He saw the flash of her smile and a light leapt suddenly into his eyes. “Oh, as to that, I am a most-feared rascal.” He swooped down upon her.

Trapped comfortably in his arms, Joan was breathless as she gazed up at him. “My lord?” she questioned.

“What, no pleas or protestations, my lady?” he asked.

Joan cocked her head to one side and thought about it. “No, I do not think so,” she announced.

Lord Humphrey grinned. He bent his head to kiss her. It was to have been a lighthearted salute, but the instant his lips touched hers, heat sprang between them.

The kiss deepened, became more insistent. His mouth possessed hers. Joan’s head whirled. Without awareness that she did so, she slid her hands about the viscount’s solid neck. Her lips parted softly, inviting him.

On a groan, Lord Humphrey crushed her against him. One of his hands slid roughly down her slender spine, fitting her to him. He tore his mouth free of her lips to seek the soft point between her neck and shoulder. She arched into the searing sensation. It was quite incredible and quite unlike anything she had ever experienced. The thought fleeted through her mind that she had not known Edward’s kisses would have this effect on her, but then he was doing something else with his hands and his lips and she forgot everything else.

Slowly, he released her. They stared at each other, shaken.

The viscount swore. “I do not wish to be chaste with you, Joan. Do you understand, my dear lady? I want more than anything in this world to take you to my bed and love you until the sun rises.”

His voice shook with his barely reined passion. Joan trembled in response. She could feel the heat rising in her face, in her body. She pressed her hands to her hot cheeks. Her confusion was startling to her. At one and the same time she was both frightened and thrilled by the viscount’s declaration. “I do not think you should say such things, my lord.”

“If I cannot say them to my wife, then to whom?’’ he asked sharply. He caught her wrists, but gently. He turned one hand and kissed the palm, then did the same with the other. He folded her hands against his chest. “I can feel you tremble, Joan. And I know that you must feel my heart pounding,” he said in a low vibrant voice.