A Kiss in the Dark (11 page)

It had been understood when Miss Wantage was taken on that she would perform as Cressida’s dresser. Until the present, her poor health had prevented it. She made a token offer now.

“Would you like me to try to do something with your hair, dear?” she said, looking uncertainly at Cressida’s raven tousle of curls. “The sea air is so hard on it, is it not? I really don’t know what could be done with it. A turban, perhaps.”

“I look a quiz in a turban.”

“I agree, it takes a well-proportioned face to do justice to a turban. I have a few spare caps with me, if you would like to borrow one.”

Cressida refused to take issue on the caps. “Jennet usually helps me dress.”

“Oh, the simpleton. That accounts for it,” Miss Wantage said, and walked languidly up to her room.

Beau grinned. “Now that Jeremiah has completely demoralized you, I want to say that I think your hair looks dashed nice, Sid. How do you keep your patience with that creature?”

“I try not to listen, but on this occasion I have been amusing myself by wondering how Dauntry will take to her slights. He was quick to condemn us for speaking ill of Miss Wantage. Let us see how much forbearance he has.”

“She’ll not blister him with that tongue of hers. She likes a marquess very well. He comes right below a duke. If she tries her stunts on him, he will give her a set-down in short order.”

Cressida’s mirror told her that her hair looked fine. She had Jennet brush it out and pinned a pearl brooch in the curls above her left ear. For a simple country party, she wore a crepe gown in pale green with a simple strand of pearls. Jennet brought her a perfect white rosebud, which she pinned at her bodice.

“Oh, so you are wearing that. It is no matter. No one will see us,” was Miss Wantage’s forgiving speech when Cressida entered the saloon.

Lady Dauntry delayed dinner until eight for her party, but her guests began arriving at seven. The party from the dower house arrived at seven-thirty, to find the saloon well populated. Allan Brewster and his parents were there, as were the vicar and his wife and a sprinkling of country neighbors. Lady Dauntry introduced Lady deCourcy’s party to them. If Beau found the few young ladies present objectionable, one would never have guessed it from the way he went haring after them.

Lord Dauntry was present to play host. He was on good terms with his neighbors. The gentlemen spoke of farming and politics while the ladies caught up on the local gossip over a glass of sherry. Miss Wantage requested water.

“Have you heard from the honeymooners, Lady Dauntry?” Mrs. Simmons, the vicar’s wife, inquired.

“Not a word! I expected Tony would write from Haslemere, where they were to rest the first day after the wedding.”

“They have better things to do, hee-hee,” the vicar said.

Miss Wantage stiffened. “Indeed they would have,” she said. “There is a fine church there, if memory serves.”

The talk turned to other neighbors, finally hitting on another name Cressida recognized, James Melbury.

“I hear Melbury is off to Bath, Lady Dauntry,” a Mrs. Forrester said.

“I believe he mentioned something of the sort at the wedding.”

“Yes,” Mrs. Forrester continued, “the Anglins saw him at the Assembly Rooms there the night before last, chasing after Miss Addams.”

Dinner was soon called. Cressida had the place of honor at Lord Dauntry’s right side. She said in a low voice, “Melbury was seen at Bath the night before last. He could not possibly have been home by yesterday, when that man visited me, could he?”

“Only if he rode
ventre à terre,
which suggests someone was after him. That is not uncommon.”

“He could scarcely do it, even on horseback. Is it possible my caller and the man who was staying at the cottage is not Melbury?”

“I have been wondering the same thing. Brewster tells me Melbury did not attend the assembly in Beachy Head this week. If he were in the neighborhood, he would no more miss an assembly than he’d fail to show up on quarter day with his palm out. We must speak of this in private later.”

Although the dinner was only for a few country neighbors, it was conducted in an elegant manner, with several courses and removes. Miss Wantage had escaped the turbot in white sauce at the dower house, only to find it waiting for her at the castle, but as she said to Cressida later, “At least the sauce was not full of lumps.”

What she was saying to her neighbors could not be heard from the head of the table, but their glum faces told Cressida she was in her usual Job-like mood, scattering gloom in all directions. As a kindness to the rest of the company, Cressida sat beside her in the saloon after dinner, while awaiting the gentlemen. Lady Dauntry, who treated her noble guest with great consideration, shared the sofa.

“Did I hear you say you are from Bath, Miss Wantage?” she asked.

“I spend the winter months there with my cousin.”

“Not as an invalid, I hope?”

“At my age, madame, one cannot expect good health.”

“Why, you are young!” Lady Dauntry exclaimed. “I could give you a decade, and I do not call myself old.”

“Yet your liver gives you considerable grief, I think?” Miss Wantage said, examining the lady’s complexion. “That sallow tinge to the skin usually indicates a bad liver. And those mottled marks on your hands. My aunt Agnes had sunk into such a complexion just before she passed on.”

Lady Dauntry looked at her hands in dismay.

“Wine, of course, is slow death,” Miss Wantage continued. “Not to speak out of turn, but I noticed you emptied not less than three wineglasses at dinner, and two of sherry before you sat down. I take only water. A pity you could not get to Bath. The waters there would do wonders for your condition, I could recommend an excellent doctor. He handles all the elderly ladies.”

Lady Dauntry soon rose, saying she must just speak to Mrs. Brewster. She cast a glance of deepest sympathy on the baroness as she went.

Before long, the gentlemen arrived from the dining room, smelling of port and cigars. Dauntry would not satisfy Cressida to dart to her side. He stopped for a word with Mrs. Simmons, but was soon working his way to the empty chair beside Lady deCourcy and her companion.

“Miss Wantage,” he said, “although I have been to the dower house a few times, I have not had much opportunity to become acquainted with you. How are you liking the seaside?” He sat down.

“I can understand now why all your neighbors have such rough complexions,” was her reply. “It is the salty wind that accounts for it.”

He made an effort to turn this unpromising opening into a compliment. “It must be the more clement air of Bath that accounts for your own youthful color,” he said.

Marquess or no, she did not let him get away with implying she was in good health. “I am flushed. I am not accustomed to taking such a heavy dinner. A little gruel or bread and milk satisfies me. Much healthier.”

“Feeling peaked, are you? Let me get you a glass of wine.”

“Wine!” she said as if he had offered her hemlock. “There has been more than enough wine served. I would appreciate a glass of water, if it is not too much trouble.”

Dauntry lifted his finger, and his butler came to receive his order. He was back in a minute with a glass of water.

“What a very odd taste the water has here,” Miss Wantage said after sipping it. “I wonder if it is the salt from the sea seeping into the ground water, or rotten fish that accounts for it.”

“I shall ask Eaton to get you a fresh glass,” Dauntry said, his patience growing thin.

“Oh, pray, do not bother about me. The water at the dower house is the same—unpotable. I have asked Mrs. Armstrong to boil it before serving, but I doubt she does it. She is an irascible old lady. You were wise to palm her off on Lady deCourcy, milord. She must be a scourge to your dear mama, but of course, one cannot turn off old retainers. It would be unchristian.”

“I insist on getting you fresh water,” he said, using it for an excuse to leave.

“Dauntry seems very agreeable,” Miss Wantage said to Cressida when they were alone. “Breeding will always tell. A marquess. Pity he could not take a liking to you, but I noticed he hardly glanced at you the whole time he was here. A very obliging gentleman.”

Vicar Simmons had not sat beside Miss Wantage at dinner, and thus did not know what he was getting into when he joined her and Lady deCourcy. Cressida left at once, using the excuse of meeting the neighbors. She had a word with Brewster, who was concerned at learning Melbury had been spotted in Bath.

“You cannot think of anyone else it might have been?” she asked.

“It could have been some wandering thief reconnoitering the house to rob it. You want to make sure you lock up your doors at night.”

“But how did he know your name? And he seemed familiar with the family and house as well—and the servants.”

“ 'Praps Melbury coached someone.”

Dauntry did not take Miss Wantage her fresh water in person. He had Eaton deliver it. Miss Wantage took one sip, screwed up her face, and set it aside. Even Eaton, that perfect model of a butler, allowed a flash of impatience to darken his brow.

Before long, Dauntry worked his way over to Brewster and Lady deCourcy.

“Dashed odd about Melbury,” Brewster said to him. “We were just discussing it. It cannot have been him who visited the baroness using my name. Does he have any other cousins who look something like him?”

“The family is large. It is possible,” Dauntry said.

“Brewster thinks the man might be conniving with Melbury in a break-in,” Cressida said. Naturally, this was a concern, the more so as the valuables in the house were not her own.

“I shouldn’t think so,” Dauntry said. “I would have heard if Melbury had turned ken smasher. In that unlikely event, it would be the castle he invaded. There is not much worth stealing at the dower house.”

“There is the silver plate, and my jewelry,” she pointed out. “I brought some of my smaller pieces with me.”

“Leave them in my safe here if you are concerned,” he offered.

“That is not very convenient.”

Brewster wandered off to join Beau. Before long, they were deep in nautical terms, vis-à-vis the
Sea Dog
and Brewster’s
Stella Maris.

Dauntry wore such a serious face that Cressida thought he was concerned about Melbury, but when he spoke, it was about something else entirely.

“I owe you an apology, Lady deCourcy, and compliments.”

“What have I done now?” she asked, scurrying around in her mind to find the sting in his words.

He shook his head. “You did not hit me over the head with the poker when I read you that presumptuous lecture on the manner in which you and Beau spoke of your companion. Now that I know her, I can only wonder at your forbearance.”

“Why, you have not heard anything yet. She likes you. She thinks you are an extremely obliging fellow. Ask your mama what she thinks of her.”

“It is not necessary. I met Mama in the hall. We were both begging Eaton to fetch us a headache powder. Mama plans to call her doctor tomorrow to get a diet for her liver. How do you put up with that woman?”

“It is only for three months. The family shares the trial. That is what families are for. You have that scapegrace Melbury. I have an active member of the Clapham sect.”

“I know which I would prefer! I was certainly wrong about you. I thought you were a spoiled beauty, but I see you are nothing less than a saint—as well as the best horsewoman in England.”

“I do not claim to be the best horsewoman in England, or even in London. Lettie Lade outshines me. My hands and arms lack the strength to handle a team of four, as she does.”

“There was gossip of another pending engagement last spring, I believe—Lord Saintbury ...”

“He did offer. I liked him, but... It was my first Season, although I was older than the other debs. I could not like to accept an offer so soon, for I had no experience with such lively doings as a London Season. It seemed like a dream. I kept thinking that if I accepted Saintbury, I would have to go to live in Somerset with him, and I could not bear to think of giving up all the balls and parties and concerts and plays.

"We lived in a very retired manner at home. Papa was an invalid for several years. I attended a few small local parties, but was never allowed to have one at home. I was a regular greenhorn when I first went to London, Dauntry. When Saintbury asked me to marry him, I asked for a week to think it over, for I was very fond of him, you know. I believe he took it for mere coyness on my part, but it was not that. Such an important decision should be carefully considered. It would not be fair to him or me to marry him if I was not sure I loved him. And it seems I did not, for I soon forgot all about him.”

Dauntry listened and found himself reassessing his opinion of Lady deCourcy. She had taken London by storm; what he had not considered was that her first Season had also taken her by storm. Her age had suggested broad experience in society, but in fact she was a greenhorn, as she had said. What had seemed like pertness bordering on brashness to society had been country manners, unpolished by contact with the ton.

“Saintbury recovered,” he said. He found it easy to forgive her for not rushing into marriage with the first man she found congenial. As he considered it, he thought Saintbury had tried to rush her into an engagement too quickly.

Lady Dauntry appeared at their side and said, “Some of the youngsters are going to dance in the ballroom, if you would like to join them, Lady deCourcy, but I believe your companion wishes to return home.”

Cressida first looked eager, but when Miss Wantage was mentioned, her enthusiasm faded. “I had best go with her,” she said. “She will not like to drive home alone in the carriage.”

“Let Montgomery take her,” Dauntry said, and strode off to enlist Beau’s help.

Cressida went to bid Miss Wantage adieu. “Tory will attend to your posset. I shan’t be late, Miss Wantage, but don’t wait up.”

“I never can sleep until all the house is tucked into their beds,” she replied, “for I feel the responsibility of my position.”