Amanda Scott (23 page)

When Meriel drew a breath of angry indignation, his hand tightened at the small of her back imperatively, making her swallow the words that sprang to her lips.

“You must come in for refreshment,” Jocelyn said, including Carruthers in a gesture. “My late father’s cellars here contain some outstanding vintages.”

Shooting a rueful glance at Meriel, Mr. Carruthers opened his mouth as though to excuse himself, but before he could speak, Sir Antony said, “We’d be most grateful for a glass of something wet just now, Tallyn, thank you.” There was nothing for it then but for all of them to repair inside.

The exterior appearance of the house scarcely prepared visitors for the grandeur within, so Meriel was not surprised when both her traveling companions expressed astonishment at what they saw. The house had been designed some seventy years before by William Kent in a determined and highly successful effort to arrange the interior of a London terrace house in a palatial fashion. Into its square core he had fitted, with extraordinary ingenuity, a spectacular staircase which rose in a single flight to an apse, forming a landing from which two gracefully curving arms returned upward to the first floor.

As they climbed the first flight, Carruthers looked from the ornate ironwork railings by Benjamin Holmes to the high, domed stained-glass skylight and said, “By gad, Lady Meriel, considering the small space which confines it, this is as beautiful a piece of art as can be imagined.”

She smiled at him over her shoulder as her brother said proudly, “We believe the stairway is very fine, thank you.” Privately Meriel thought the staircase, and indeed most of the public areas of the house, to be theatrical and over complex. She preferred the vast, rustic spaciousness of Plas Tallyn.

They emerged upon the first floor, turned right, past a screen of Ionic columns concealing another flight of stairs that wound against the apse’s rear wall to an open gallery on the second floor, and entered the front drawing room through an ornate pillared and pedimented doorway. A spectacular chamber by any standard, the drawing room rose one and a half stories to a coved, tunnel-vaulted ceiling, coffered, gilded, and boasting small inset paintings designed by Kent himself in such a way as to produce a three-dimensional effect. His subjects had been the Greek gods and goddesses, whose figures were repeated in a collection of marble sculptures decking every chest and table in the room. Rich dark colors had been used throughout, and the plasterwork by Robert Dawson was as ornate as everything else.

As Mr. Carruthers expressed his pleasure at the grandeur and the three occupants of the drawing room exclaimed their delight to see Meriel, she shot an oblique look toward Sir Antony to see what his reaction would be to a chamber that had always made her feel as though she had entered an anteroom in a king’s palace. His expression was as bland as always, but she was sure a twinkle lurked in the hazel eyes. Satisfied, she turned quickly to greet her aunt and sisters. After hugging them all, she suggested that perhaps Jocelyn would like to entertain the gentlemen while she went upstairs with the ladies to refresh herself. She was promptly overruled.

“We shall certainly excuse you if you have personal matters to attend to,” her brother said, “but you will want to return immediately to see to our guests’ comfort.” He turned away then to present the two men to his aunt, leaving Meriel with nothing to say.

Eliza, having watched the exchange silently, now moved a step closer to Meriel. “Joss has been in a rare taking,” she said quietly, “even before war was resumed.”

“How long has he been here?” Meriel asked in an undertone, as her brother gave orders to a footman to see to the serving of refreshments at once.

“Two weeks,” Eliza murmured swiftly. “Auntie Wynne would have mentioned his arrival in her last letter to you, only that he wished to surprise you and thought you must return soon.”

Observing that Jocelyn was waiting for them to take their seats, Meriel moved with her sister farther into the drawing room, where a magnificent Oriental carpet and the upholstery of the comfortable chairs and glove-leather sofa echoed the rich dark colors of the paintings overhead. She stepped past the pair of tall, narrow, dark-red-velvet-draped windows overlooking the square to stand before the marble fireplace in the wall opposite the door. Though cold now, it was large enough to bring cheer and warmth to the chilliest day, but it was not the fireplace that drew Meriel’s attention. It was the painting above the chimneypiece, a haunting picture of the great house at Plas Tallyn, seen through a light mist and set against the magnificent peaks of Cader Idris. Staring mesmerized into the picture, she felt a sudden strong longing for the mountain.

“Meriel, do you intend to keep everyone standing indefinitely?” her brother asked sharply.

She looked around at the others vaguely to see that although Gwenyth, Eliza, and Lady Cadogan were already seated, the gentlemen and Davy were not. “I beg your pardon. I didn’t realize—”

“Come, sit by me,” recommended her aunt, patting the place beside her on the wide claw-footed sofa. “I wish to hear all about your adventures.”

“Tell us first how you managed to escape from Boney,” said Davy. “I’ll wager that was something like.”

“Yes,” agreed Jocelyn, casting an enigmatic glance at Sir Antony, who stood patiently beside a wing chair near the empty fireplace. “Do tell us about that.”

Meriel moved to sit beside her aunt, her thoughts speeding as she tried to think how best to describe her escape, but once again, before she could speak, Sir Antony forestalled her.

“’Twas nothing very alarming, you know,” he said blandly, sitting and arranging his coattails to his satisfaction as he spoke. “The Lady Meriel was fortunate enough to have made the acquaintance, through your sister, the Comtesse de Prévenu, of one of Napoleon’s ministers of state. Monsieur Deguise appeared to have a fondness for both your sisters, my lord, and was kind enough to warn Lady Meriel of her impending danger and to provide identity papers to see her safely to the coast.”

“I see,” said Jocelyn, looking at him searchingly. “Then just how did you figure in her escape, sir?”

Davy and Gwenyth, who had clearly thought Sir Antony’s explanation rather flat, stirred excitedly, and Davy said, “Yes, there must have been something else. Meriel said you got her out.”

Sir Antony shrugged gently. “Mr. Carruthers and I, not being fortunate enough to have been granted safe conduct by the French ministry, took a rather more circuitous route to the coast, but once there, we encountered Lady Meriel and her maidservant, who would no doubt have experienced a certain amount of difficulty, despite their papers, in finding a boat to bring them to England. As my yacht was awaiting me offshore, I was able to accommodate them.”

While Jocelyn was digesting this glib explanation, Meriel cast Sir Antony a look of gratitude. She did not understand why he was attempting to protect her from her brother’s displeasure, but she had no doubt that that was precisely the case. Why else had he not mentioned that the magic papers he described so casually had been entirely false and might well have resulted in arrest rather than escape? Considering that he had been incensed with her himself and had scolded her fiercely for what he had callously described as idiotic behavior, he ought by rights to be siding with Jocelyn, not intervening on her behalf. She glanced at Mr. Carruthers and discovered a gleam of amusement in that gentleman’s eyes. She hoped Jocelyn would not see it. Her brother was no slowtop.

He was speaking now. “I must assume that my sister Nest decided to remain with her husband’s family. Is she reasonably safe, do you think?”

“Entirely safe,” Meriel replied, seeing no reason why Sir Antony should answer this question as well. “André is home again, and the Depuissant family has taken her entirely under its wing. She has the full protection of their power.”

“Power is a sometime thing,” said Jocelyn, frowning.

“Well, that hasn’t been so with them. Monsieur Deguise said the Depuissants are like cats, always landing on their feet.”

He nodded, then seemed about to say something else when Carruthers said mildly, “Our adventures must seem tame beside your own, my lord. The Lady Meriel has told us that you have been for some time in America. Indeed, she said she had been unable to reach you through the medium of the post, so you must have traveled well into the interior, unless of course you were captured by those wild savages we hear so much about and rendered incapable of communicating with your family.”

“Yes,” said Meriel, straightening as she favored her older brother with a glare, “just where have you been, Joss, and why did you not have the goodness to respond to any of my letters?”

To her surprise, his expression changed to a rueful one, but he did not respond immediately, for the butler chose that moment to usher in a footman and a maid with a selection of excellent wines from the late earl’s cellar for the gentlemen, tea and lemonade for the ladies, and platters of tiny sandwiches and iced cakes for all.

“Gracious,” Meriel said appreciatively, “’tis a prodigious fine spread, Marwyn, thank you.” But the moment the servants had departed, she turned to her brother again. “Now, Joss, tell us. And your tale had best be a good one, sir.”

He smiled then, and the expression altered the planes of his face, showing him to be a ruggedly handsome young man, rather than the harsh disciplinarian he had looked before. The smile reached his blue-gray eyes, lighting them, softening his entire demeanor. “I knew when I saw the dates on the letters I did receive that I’d be giving my head to you for washing. You sent them to Philadelphia, Meri, and I had not been there since the first year. Mr. Carruthers is right. I went into the interior at the first opportunity, to a place called Kaskaskia, in point of fact, in a part of the country then known as the Northwest Territory. Now, of course, it has been divided into what they call the Indiana and Illinois territories, and indeed, what with negotiations being in train when I left to acquire a much larger block of land from France, the interior of that great continent will no doubt soon be entirely in American hands. ’Tis vastly exciting, I can tell you, and I suffered more than one qualm at leaving it all behind.”

“When do you mean to return?” Meriel asked with a grimace.

“He doesn’t,” said Gwenyth brightly.

To Meriel’s astonishment, Jocelyn flushed like a guilty child and would not meet her gaze. “As to that,” he said, “I haven’t precisely decided.” Then, straightening and unconsciously smoothing the sleeve of his well-cut coat, he said in a rather more lofty tone, “I believe my duty lies here for the moment, certainly.”

“It took you a precious good time to remember that,” she said tartly.

He shot her a warning look from under this thick brows. “Less of that, my girl, if you please. I tell you I learned only five months ago of Papa and Mama’s deaths, and crossing the Atlantic in winter is no easy thing to arrange. For all that, getting to the east coast wasn’t simple. I was back in Kaskaskia, after nearly three years of exploring unmapped territory to the north with a Welsh expedition, and found your letters awaiting me. They’d been brought to Kaskaskia by a fellow who’d picked them up in Kentucky. That won’t mean much to you, I daresay, but I can tell you he’d brought them the devil of a distance. When I left Philadelphia, I traveled south to Virginia and through the Cumberland Gap. Then, one way and another, I made my way up the Mississippi River until I got taken up by the French as a spy, of all devilish things.”

“How perfectly thrilling for you, dear,” said Lady Cadogan placidly, “but I thought you were quite friendly toward the French. Seems to me that’s what all the fuss was about between you and your dear father, unless I’ve got my facts mixed. Surely they must have been kind to you.”

He snorted. “They took me for a damned Englishman, of course, no matter that I told them I was Welsh and that even if I weren’t, no person of quality would involve himself in something so underhanded as spying. But of course, thanks to that fellow Fouché having sent spies all over the place like he did before Bonaparte got rid of him, the French don’t see the matter as we do. It was all quite beyond their understanding.” He glanced at Meriel then, and the irritation she had seen earlier was back in his eyes. “That’s why I was in such a taking when I learned you were in France, my girl. With the political situation in such a turmoil, as it was, I should have thought you’d have had better sense than to go flitting across the Channel. The French don’t seem to recognize their allies when they fall over them.”

“I cannot say I was ever a particular ally of theirs, you know,” Meriel said thoughtlessly.

Sir Antony spoke rather more quickly than usual. “How did you manage to convince your captors of your good faith, my lord? I confess to a quite unbecoming curiosity on that point.”

Jocelyn, glaring at his sister, turned to him and said curtly, “Oh, I didn’t do anything. A lawyer in Kaskaskia, name of John Rice Jones—fellow Welshman from Merioneth, in point of fact—spoke to the commandant on my behalf. Being just across the river, they had come to know one another, and the commandant was perfectly willing to take Mr. Jones’s word that I was the deuce of a fine fellow. It was Jones who kept your letters for me, too, Meriel.”

“He sounds to be a kind gentleman,” said Lady Cadogan. “Do have some more of these little cakes, Mr. Carruthers.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” As he leaned forward to help himself, Carruthers caught her ladyship’s shrewd, somewhat thoughtful gaze and smiled mischievously at her. Meriel, intercepting that smile, grimaced, thinking the last thing she needed to have added to her dish was to see her aunt succumb to the man’s fateful charm.

Sir Antony asked another pointed question just then, turning the conversation back to Jocelyn’s sojourn in America and adroitly keeping it there for the next twenty minutes, at which time Marwyn opened the tall double doors to the drawing room and announced, “Captain Halldorson, my lord.”

A fair, wedge-shaped young man in the bright red-and-blue jacket and pale gray trousers of the King’s Dragoon Guards entered the room, carrying his brass-trimmed black helmet under his arm. His gaze swept over Meriel and the others to come to rest upon Eliza, who sat blushing in a chair beside her elder brother. With a dazzling smile the gentleman turned to make his bow to Lady Cadogan and Lord Tallyn.