A Regency Match (11 page)

“Perhaps she's not quite such a disastrous little zany as you thought!” Dennis called after him tauntingly.

The loudness of Dennis's voice caught Marcus up short. Good Lord, had the man no tact? He looked about for a glimpse of Miss Edgerton and spotted her halfway across the lawn. He couldn't help wondering if, from that distance, she could have heard the unfortunate remark. She was chasing the child who'd freed him, and she didn't appear to have paused in her forward movement, but her mouth was set in a straight, unlaughing line. Of course,
that
could be caused by the strain of running.
Disastrous little zany
. Dennis had been quoting Marcus's own words. Marcus bit his tongue. Had he really said such an unkind thing?

As far as the game was concerned, his ruminations were his undoing, for he had stopped running and had not noticed the boy who crept up behind him. He was tagged again, and he promptly found himself back at the prisoner's base. He sat down next to Dennis on the grass. “You gudgeon,” he muttered. “What if she'd heard you?”

“Who? Miss Edgerton? Don't be silly, she couldn't have,” Dennis said with a dismissive shrug.

A high-pitched, breathless cry caught their attention. It was Iris, fleeing from a determined Sophy across the lawn in front of them. “Good girl, Iris,” Marcus shouted encouragingly.

“
That's
the way, Miss Edgerton,” Dennis countered promptly. “Just put out your hand. You can reach her!”

Iris made a little turn to get out of the path of her pursuer and somehow tripped and fell heavily, face forward on the ground. Marcus thought he'd seen Sophy put out her foot right in Iris's path. It had been a quick little movement—he couldn't be sure. But in any case, Sophy toppled over on top of the prostrate Iris. Dennis and Marcus came running over, Dennis lifting Sophy to her feet and Marcus performing the same service for Iris. “Are you all right, my dear?” Marcus asked his betrothed.

“Yes, I … think so …” Iris answered breathlessly. “Just a bit … winded …”

“Let's make sure. Can you walk?” Marcus led her a few steps away.

Iris looked up at him with a wan smile. “I'm fine, really.”

“Thank goodness,” he muttered. Then he bent close to her ear. “It seems that our plan for keeping Miss Edgerton out-of-doors won't work either,” he said in a rueful undervoice.

Iris giggled and turned back to the group who were watching her with anxiety. “I'm really quite all right,” she announced. “See? I can walk quite well.” She looked down at her feet as she spoke, and for the first time noticed that her dress had been badly stained by the grass and ripped at the hem. “Oh,
dear
!” she said in dismay. “My gown—!”

Sophy gasped. “It's ruined!
Ruined
!” she cried in horror.

“Oh, never mind the gown,” Dennis said cheerfully. “So long as neither of you is hurt, let's get on with the game.”

“The
game
!” Sophy echoed, looking at him in disbelief. “I
couldn't
! Forgive me, Miss Bethune. Forgive me, everyone.” With a little sob, she turned, ran across the lawn and disappeared into the house.

With Sophy's disappearance, the jolly mood that had been inspired by the game quickly dissipated. Iris followed after Sophy, explaining that she had to change her dress. The other players, too, started to drift back to the house to clean up for luncheon. Only Marcus and Dennis remained. Marcus stood just where Iris had left him, staring thoughtfully ahead of him at nothing in particular. Dennis studied him moodily. “Dash it all, Marcus, you win,” he admitted reluctantly. “You were right—the girl is a veritable calamity.”

Marcus glanced at his friend but held his tongue. Yes, he was in complete agreement: Sophia Edgerton was a troublesome nuisance. But he was beginning to suspect that the disastrous occurrences which she seemed to generate with such accidental innocence were not what they seemed. Could it really be possible that the havoc she created was
calculated
? Could she be doing these things on
purpose
? If so, what
was
her purpose? What sort of game could the girl be playing? It made no sense at all.

But there was a luncheon to supervise. He had no time to meditate on the matter. He started toward the house, Dennis trudging alongside. They maintained a gloomy silence until they almost reached the door. “I suppose I shall be forced to continue my pursuit of the girl, in any case,” Dennis said finally, “since there are no other fish in this rural backwater. If you'd been a truly considerate host, you would have provided me with one or two other females on whom to exercise my wiles.”

Marcus grinned. “You are forgetting Fanny Carrington. You should have an easy time there, you know. As you yourself pointed out, she has designs on you already.”

“Fanny Carrington!” Dennis snorted. “You are
too
generous. Only
think
how delightful it will be. I can spend my evenings playing at spillikins with her in the nursery. Thank you, my lord. Thank you very much.” With an ironic bow, he stalked off to his room.

Lady Alicia did not learn of Sophy's latest mishap until tea time. The fact that Sophy had not joined the guests here in Lady Wynwood's favorite sitting room didn't trouble her unduly—the girl often skipped her tea. But when she heard Fanny Carrington (who had followed Dennis Stanford all around the room and finally accosted him just behind the sofa where Alicia was seated) refer to the morning's game “which had so disappointed me when it was spoilt,” Alicia couldn't help but perk up her ears. Fanny Carrington amused her; the girl's pursuit of the very sophisticated Mr. Stanford was beginning to provide an entertaining diversion for one or two of the more perceptive observers.

“I
so
enjoyed it,” Fanny went on. “I would have liked to play all afternoon.”

“I'm sure you would,” Dennis answered, his dry tone not lost on the eavesdropper. “You children have so much energy. We
old folks
were quite glad to call a halt.”

Fanny giggled flirtatiously. “Oh, Mr. Stanford,
really
! Old folks, indeed. You know very well that you yourself begged Miss Edgerton to go on with the game.”

At the sound of her granddaughter's name, Alicia stiffened. But Dennis did not reply. The only sound that reached her ears was the irritated clink of his spoon against the cup as he stirred his tea. Fanny, however, was not daunted. “Wasn't it dreadful,” she chattered on, “the way Miss Edgerton ran off crying like that?”

Alicia was startled. Had there been another scene? She sat frozen in her place, straining to catch every word of Stanford's answer.

“It was not dreadful at all,” Dennis responded coldly. “Miss Edgerton was quite naturally agitated because of having damaged Miss Bethune's gown. I'm sure that any tenderhearted young lady would have behaved in the same way.” With that reproof, he turned on his heel and sauntered away.

Under ordinary circumstances, Lady Alicia would have found much to amuse her in observing the flirtatious child's response to Stanford's setdown, but now she could only feel keen agitation. Her granddaughter had made another scene. It was almost more than she could bear. She rose unsteadily and started toward the door. She would march up to Sophy's room this instant and give the girl the dressing-down of her life.

But before she could leave the room, she was stopped by her hostess. “You are surely not leaving already, Alicia?” Lady Wynwood inquired from her place behind the tea tray. “Come and sit down beside me for a moment. Everyone seems to have wandered out to the terrace and I am quite deserted, even by Lady Bethany or whatever-her-name-is, who has been dogging my steps all day. I've been longing to find a moment to chat with you, and now is our chance.”

Alicia couldn't gracefully refuse such a request. Reluctantly, she pulled a chair close to Lady Wynwood's and perched on it. “Very well, Charlotte, if you wish,” she said distractedly, “but only for a moment. I must soon be on my way. I have an urgent matter to take care of.”

“Is something wrong, my dear?” Charlotte asked affectionately.

“Yes. My maddening granddaughter. I've just learned that the child had made yet
another
scene!”

“Are you referring to the incident on the south lawn this morning? A mere trifle, I assure you.”

“To you, a raging
hurricane
would be a trifle!” Alicia grumbled. “I have never known anyone like you, Charlotte, for imperturbability. A wild wind could rage around you, and you'd call it a zephyr.”

“Well, you know, dear, that I've always been even-tempered. It seems to make life so much easier,” Lady Wynwood said complacently.

“Hummph! That's probably what an ostrich would say to justify its tendency to avoid facing up to the dangers around it,” Alicia said bluntly. “A hurricane is a hurricane, and your calling it a breeze doesn't keep the roof from flying off.”

Lady Wynwood laughed. “If you're comparing the incident this morning to a hurricane, you quite off the mark. The only thing that happened was that Miss Bethany's dress was torn.”

“Beth
une
, Charlotte, Bethune. Why can't you remember the name of the girl who's about to become your daughter-in-law?”

Lady Wynwood waved aside the interruption indifferently. “Yes, of course, Bethune. Anyway, the dress is nothing to trouble over. My dressmaker is repairing it.”

“It's not the dress,” sighed Alicia, troubled. “It's my Sophy. I don't know what's come over the girl. She's always been skittish and impetuous, and to an extent which gives me some little concern, but she's never been like
this
!”

“Now, Alicia, are you sure you're not making too much of all this? Perhaps you are my opposite. While I make zephyrs of hurricanes, you make hurricanes of zephyrs.”

“Three disquieting incidents in less than two days do not make a zephyr,” Alicia said glumly. “They feel like the beginning of a hurricane to me.”

“Oh, rubbish! I have eyes in my head, even if I
am
imperturbable. Your Sophy is a lovely child. You've nothing to worry about.”

“Haven't I? I wish you were right. But you see, I suspected the silly chit was up to something even before we left London. I think she took it in her head that Marcus …” But thinking better of the matter, Alicia decided not to go on.

Charlotte gave her friend a long, piercing look. “What about Marcus?”

“I'd best not discuss it. It probably doesn't signify.”

“Come now, Alicia, it won't do to poker up now. Had my son any dealings with your granddaughter? Was there some difficulty between them?”

Alicia shrugged. “I'm not quite sure. There was a rather amusing misadventure at the Gilberts' ball, when Sophy mistook Marcus for her cousin Bertie—too silly to bother to explain the details to you—and I believe they've met once or twice since. But nothing to explain her taking him in dis …” She stopped herself again and bit her lip.

“In dislike? Sophia disapproves of my Marcus?” Charlotte inquired with unruffled interest.

“I think so. She called him a … well, let's say that she didn't describe him favorably.”

Charlotte leaned back in her chair, her eyes thoughtful. “What you were about to say was that she called him a prig, or words to that effect.” There was a brief pause, during which Alicia watched her friend's face with awakened interest. “She was quite right, you know.”

“Sophy?” Alicia blinked in surprise. “In saying Marcus is a
prig
? How
can
you, Charlotte? You cannot mean it. Marcus is everything fine and proper, and you know it!”

“Yes, of course he is,” Charlotte agreed, but there was the merest ghost of a cloud in the serenity of her expression. “However, I've been noticing of late that he has a tendency to withdraw from life. And a … certain rigidity … He gets it from me, I expect. It's that reticence, you know. That tendency to cling like a barnacle to one's privacy. It makes one seem priggish when one finds one's self under public scrutiny. But I cannot like the tendency. A man like Marcus shouldn't hide himself away forever from the crowd. He has the brains and ability to do something useful with his life …”

“Yes, I know what you mean,” Alicia said with quick understanding. “He's the sort who should take an active role in Parliament one day.”

“Exactly. But I don't know how he's to accomplish that unless he overcomes his reluctance to take chances … to face the limelight … to do so many things he is loath to undertake. Every decision he makes seems to be in the direction of … withdrawal. Even his choice of bride …” She shook her head. “But I go too far. I should not have said it.”

Lady Alicia gave her hand an affectionate squeeze. “Never mind. I understand completely. But I think you are mistaken if you believe that Miss Bethune would not make a suitable wife for a man in public life. She is as lovely and well-bred as one could wish.”

Charlotte eyes lowered. “Yes, of course she is. But she won't be the one to shake Marcus from his … No, I mustn't talk like this. It doesn't matter that
I
find her somewhat colorless. It's Marcus's choice, of course, not mine.”

“Whatever you may feel, you at least may console yourself that she is so well-behaved. I wish my Sophy were more like her,” Alicia said, sighing in the sudden recollection of her
own
troubles.

“No, I don't agree with you. Your Sophy is full of vitality, excitement, exhuberance. You mustn't spoil that.” She leaned forward and took her friend's hand. “Promise me that you won't scold the girl.”

“Do you expect me to ignore the matter? Say not a word to her?”

“Yes, I do.”

Alicia shook her head dubiously. “But … then there will probably be more of the same.
Something
should be said to the wretch—”