A Regency Match (12 page)

“I'll talk to her, if you like.”

Alicia looked at her friend in pleased surprise. “
Would
you, Charlotte? You know, that may be the very thing! With your equanimity and composure, you'd make the
perfect
model for my wayward granddaughter!”

Charlotte smiled tranquilly, gathered her flowing skirts about her and rose gracefully. “Very well. Consider it done,” she promised, and moved with her fluid step toward the terrace.

“But, when?” Alicia asked insistently.

“Soon. Very soon.”

“Really, Charlotte, must you always be so vague? When, exactly?”

Charlotte was disappering into the dimness of the summer evening. Her voice came floating back to her impatient friend. “One of these days,” she said placidly. “One of these days …”

Chapter Nine

L
ADY ALICIA WAS
inclined to believe that Charlotte's advice had been sound when Sophia appeared at dinner time in a modest, demure little blue lustring gown and demeanor to match. She spoke when spoken to, her answers were pleasant and polite and her manners were unimpeachable. Another elegant dinner passed without incident, and the party was entertained in the music room with a few more songs from Mrs. Carrington without the least disturbance from the volatile Miss Edgerton. Sophy steadfastly refused to leave her seat or even unfold the hands clasped in her lap. When teased by the ever-present Dennis Stanford about her puritanical demanor, she merely smiled coyly and said she was taking no chances on causing any sort of upset.

Only one little incident occurred to mar the peacefulness of the evening. It occurred a short while after the music had ended and Lady Wynwood had ordered the card tables set up. Three tables were organized, with only Sophy, Dennis and the two Carrington girls refraining from the games. Dennis had brought his chair close to Sophy's and was entertaining her with a steady stream of flattering remarks. Fanny was standing at the window, throwing jealous glances toward the insensitive couple whose murmurings and giggles caused her such anguish. Cissy, oblivious to the entire drama, had her nose buried in a copy of
The Castle of Otranto
which she'd found in the library. Suddenly, there was a loud scream from Fanny. “A
face
!” she cried. “I saw a face looking in at us!”

Everyone turned to the window, but nothing was there. Fanny nevertheless kept insisting that she'd seen a man's face looking in through the window … a face she'd never seen before. “Balderdash, child,” Julian laughed boisterously. “Peeping Toms don't go peering into music rooms. There's nothing worth seeing. It's
bedrooms
they prefer, y'know.”

This made poor Fanny quite hysterical. “A Peeping Tom?” she shrieked, horrified. “Will he come looking in my bedroom, then?”

“Just because you were standing at the window don't mean he came to look at
you
, you know,” Bertie pointed out. But somehow Fanny did not find any comfort in that remark either.

Marcus and Dennis went out on the terrace and peered into the darkness, but there was nothing to be seen. After a while, Lady Wynwood calmed Fanny, and the games resumed. This time, however, Bertie convinced Dennis to take his place at the card-table while he sat down to chat with his cousin. “Was that one of your schemes?” he asked her in a disapproving whisper.

“What do you mean?” she asked, offended. “The man in the window? Don't be daft.”

“Well, how do I know what queer starts you're apt to concoct,” he muttered. “You've given me no reason to credit you with any sense.”

“I've enough sense not to do anything like
that
!” she declared haughtily. “Did you think I'd go out and hire a Peeping Tom?”

“I don't know
what
you'd take it in your noggin to do.”

Sophy made a face at him. “You know, Bertie, your eleven years in India have spoiled you. You used to be much more fun when we were children.”

“So were you,” he retorted promptly. “You used to
do
things, then. You'd race, or you'd ride, or you'd go exploring. You didn't spend your days making up wild schemes to embarrass yourself.”

“I
don't
spend my days making up wild schemes,” she declared outraged. “At least, not before now. It's only here and now … because of the special circumstances …”

“Well, you're spoiling a very good opportunity to have a rollicking good time,” he said sullenly.

“I'm not spoiling
your
good time, am I?”

“Yes, you are, in a way. Why didn't you come riding this morning? It was great sport, but I missed you. I had no one to joke with.”

Sophy was touched. It was the first kind word she'd heard in a long time. “Did you really miss me? Well, I'll go riding with you tomorrow, if you'd like.”

“Do you think you can spare the time?” he taunted. “I wouldn't want to lure you away from your important ‘purpose.' Don't you have any mischief to concoct?”

She made another face at him. “If that's the lively sort of conversation I can expect from you this evening, I think I'll take myself to bed.” And without further ado, she did just that.

The gentlemen had already gathered in the stables the next morning when Sophy made her appearance there. Her dark blue riding costume, topped by a cocky little plumed hat worn at a rakish angle, gave a clear indication that she intended to ride. “I didn't know you're a horsewoman, Miss Edgerton,” Marcus said in some surprise.

“There's not much you
do
know about me, Lord Wynwood,” she retorted saucily.

“So it seems,” he said drily and turned to find a suitable hack for her.

The horse he chose, a mild little mare, was a well-shaped animal, but to Sophy's chagrin she proved to be completely spiritless. Try as she would, Sophy could not manage to push the horse into a gallop. She was forced to lag far behind the others, for the horse did nothing more energetic than to plod listlessly along the bridle path. Bertie soon came galloping back to see what had become of her. “Having trouble with the animal?” he asked sympathetically.

“Trouble?” she fumed. “I can't arouse any
movement
from this deplorable slug! Our irritating host didn't believe I could really ride!”

Bertie laughed. “He's probably afraid that you're too skittish to control a good horse. Can't say I blame him. A girl who's terrified of spaniels ain't likely to be able to handle a prime bit o' blood. He's afraid the horse'd run off with you.”

Sophy, who'd learned to ride before she could walk, glared at him, jabbed her spurs into the mare's side and wheeled her around. She would have loved to ride off in a burst of speed, but the mare would not respond. As she plodded off homeward, Sophy could hear Bertie's mocking cackle for much longer than she felt was at all necessary.

She returned to her room and threw off her riding coat furiously. She felt much abused. For one morning she'd attempted to behave in a normal fashion, to enact a truce, to put aside her grudge. And what was the result? His High-and-mightiness had insulted her
again!
How dared he assume that she was incapable of handling herself on horseback? That infuriating man had merely
looked
at her and judged her to be cowhanded. What was there about her that made him jump to the conclusion that she was a dotard at everything?

Bertie, if he'd been privy to her thoughts, could have answered her. He would have told her that if she insisted on
behaving
like a jingle-brain, she would be
judged
a jingle-brain. But Bertie was not there. And the turmoil of her feelings did not permit logical reflection. At the best of times, Sophy permitted her passions to rule her judgment, and as far as she was concerned, this was a far cry from the best of times. That she could be quite as much at fault as Lord Wynwood did not even occur to her. She paced back and forth in her bedroom like a caged tigress, fanning the sparks of her fury into a bright flame. She would get back at him! Just wait!

Marcus, who liked things to be orderly and well-planned, had organized an outing for the afternoon. There was a beautiful, fifteenth century church in a little village not very far away, and he announced at luncheon that he'd made arrangements to take those of the party who were interested to visit the place.

The children, as well as the not-quite-out-of-the-schoolroom Cissy, turned up their noses at the prospect of going out just to see a church, its impressive antiquity notwithstanding. Isabel, Cora Carrington and Fanny, however, expressed immediate interest. Uncle Julian just as promptly declined. “I'm for a nap, my boy,” he said without the slightest embarrassment. “A man like you, who
claims
to be civilized, ought to know better than to suggest such vigorous exertions in the
post-meridian
. Afternoons are meant for relaxation.”

“Hummmph!” Lady Alicia grunted, poking him meaningfully on his protruding midsection. “What fustian you speak, Julian. If you'd exert yourself a little more, either
post
or
ante-meridian
, you'd have a little less girth to carry about with you.”

“You're quite right, dear lady, quite right,” Julian agreed jovially, “but since it has taken me many years to acquire this impressive girth—”

“Impressive it certainly is,” Alicia assented with a snort.

“—I should be loath to lose it capering about in an old church tower,” he concluded, quite without having taken the least offense.

Sir Walter guffawed. “Well said, old man, well said. I'll stay behind with you, if our host has no objection. We'll have a game of chess before
siesta
.”

Marcus had not the least objection. He turned his attention to those who had not yet responded to his invitation. Lady Bethune and Mrs. Maynard had hesitated. Secretly, they were in complete sympathy with the sentiments expressed by Julian Harvey. Taking a nap in the afternoons was a favorite pastime of both sisters. But as soon as it had become clear that Lady Wynwood was to be part of the expedition, Lorna Bethune couldn't resist going along. To become an intimate of the illustrious Lady Wynwood was an ambition dearly cherished in her bosom, and she would lose no opportunity to accomplish that goal. Mrs. Maynard, being by nature a follower, couldn't bear to be left to her own devices, so she joined her sister in expressing willingness to go. Deep down, however, she took no pleasure in the prospect of climbing towers and marching down sleepy village lanes in the heat of the afternoon.

As for the others, they all assented to making the trip. And if the enthusiasm of their response was somewhat less than Marcus had wished, he could console himself with the hope that, since their expectations were not overly great, the fulfillment of those expectations would more easily be achieved.

Marcus had made very careful plans—so careful that he was sure nothing could go amiss. The party would be taken (in three carriages driven by his own coachmen) to the picturesque little village of West Hoathly, only an hour's distance. There they would disembark. They would wander freely down the village's one street, visit the Church of St. Margaret with its fifteenth century tower and its graceful, shingled spire, walk through the gardens of the half-timbered cottage called the Priest's House (considered one of the loveliest buildings of its type in the country), and, in short, drink in the atmosphere of a Sussex locality which had been in existence for the past twelve centuries.

After they'd all taken in the sights, admired the flowers along the lane and rhapsodized over the lovely, rural cottages roofed with the Horsham slabs so characteristic of Sussex, they would all climb back into the carriages and return to Wynwood in plenty of time for tea. He didn't see how anything could go wrong. But of course, he had reckoned without Sophia Edgerton.

From the very beginning, matters did not proceed as planned. Marcus had arranged for the first and largest of the carriages to carry five passengers and the other two to carry four each. But the maneuvering for “advantageous” seats threw his plans awry. First, Mrs. Bethune and her sister (who could not be separated) requested seats with his mother, who had already taken a place beside Lady Alicia and Isabel. And since Lady Alicia had specifically saved a place in the carriage for Sophy (who had not yet made her appearance) the large coach would be overcrowded. Then Fanny refused to be coaxed into a carriage until she saw where the waiting Dennis would take his place. And Bertie begged to be allowed to sit on the box with one of the coachmen, in the hope that he would be permitted to handle the ribbons.

Sophia finally emerged, looking calm and restrained. She wore a becoming little walking dress of pale green cambric and a modest straw bonnet tied with a green ribbon. No one, not even Bertie, could detect behind her shy smile and discreet manner that she still seethed from the morning's “insult.” Marcus, by promising Bertie that he could take the ribbons on the trip home, inveigled the boy into escorting his cousin to the third coach (where he and Iris would be seated and where he could keep an eye on his troublesome guest) and to keep her company there. Thus the harried host was able to assure Lady Alicia that her granddaughter was properly taken care of, and room could be made for Lady Bethune and Mrs. Maynard in the first carriage.

With the first carriage full, and Bertie, Sophy, Iris and Marcus taking up the third, it was obvious that Dennis and Fanny would have to take their places with Mr. and Mrs. Carrington in the second. Dennis threw Marcus a number of looks of indignation and appeal, but Marcus could do nothing but shrug and grin. Dennis desperately walked about checking the bridles of all the horses, trying to delay the inevitable, but since the girl trailed after him while he procrastinated—a situation every bit as distasteful as being forced to sit beside her—he at last surrendered and took his place in the carriage.