Amanda Scott (32 page)

The door to her bedchamber was flung wide just then to reveal her brother upon the threshold, his face creased in an angry frown. “What goes on here, Davies? I said you might come up and speak to her, not make love to her. Good God, man, turn her loose, I say! ’Tis not the thing, sir, and I don’t scruple to tell you so.”

Lady Cadogan, entering behind him, peered rather shrewdly at Meriel and Sir Antony, then turned to Jocelyn. “I think you need have no concern, my lord.”

“Do you not?” Jocelyn inquired with heavy sarcasm. “I suppose I will be the judge of that.”

“But your aunt is perfectly correct in her assumption, Tallyn,” Sir Antony said, looking down at Meriel. “Unless I am much mistaken, your sister has just agreed to be my wife.”

“Indeed? Is this true, Meriel?” Jocelyn demanded.

She looked up at Sir Antony. “Completely, sir,” she said.

To William Douglas, M.D., his dozen doughnuts a small price for life

“O
H, GWEN, F-FORGIVE ME
,” stammered the young lady in lavender sprigged muslin standing uncertainly beside Lord Tallyn’s stately butler upon the threshold of the front drawing room at Tallyn London House.

“Pamela!” Slender, flaxen-haired Lady Gwenyth Traherne threw her book aside and leapt up from the glove-leather sofa in the window embrasure to move with light, quick steps toward her visitor, her hands stretched out in welcome. “My gracious me, what are you doing in town?” Without waiting for a response, she said to the butler, “Marwyn, bring refreshments at once. Miss Beckley looks ready to faint from hunger.”

Self-consciously pushing a shining raven lock back under her fetching lavender bonnet with one hand while she released the ends of the lacy shawl she had clutched to her generous bosom in order to take one of Gwenyth’s hands with the other, Miss Beckley said anxiously, “I know I ought not to have come to you like this, but I could not think what else to do.”

“Don’t be a goose,” Lady Gwenyth Traherne said, giving Miss Beckley’s small lavender-gloved hand an affectionate squeeze. “I have been bored to distraction, for my aunt has long since deserted me to visit her widowed mama-in-law in Berkshire, and the last gala at Vauxhall was rained out on Friday. Even the Italian opera has closed, so with nothing of interest to do until the new theater at Covent Garden opens for the king’s Jubilee celebration next month, I am very glad to see you. But how is it that you are here without so much as a word to warn us of your coming? I had thought you still fixed at Miss Fletcher’s school, though why you should be, in summer and at your great age, I’m sure I don’t know.”

Glancing over her shoulder and clearly taking courage at finding the butler gone and the drawing-room doors firmly shut behind him, Pamela said dramatically, “I have run away! I came up to town on the common coach, and I depend upon you, Gwen, to stand my friend, for matters have come to a dreadful pass. Cousin Marcus has said I am not to make my come-out at all this year, even in the Little Season, though Papa promised, and”—she dissolved into tears—“and, oh, Gwen, he has said he will not consent to my m-marriage!”

Gwenyth, three inches taller, looked down at her in bewilderment. “Marriage? But how is this? You have written of no one for whom you feel even the slightest tenderness.”

Pamela’s violet eyes grew wide beneath their heavy dark lashes. “Oh, no. Why, how should I have formed an attachment when Miss Fletcher never lets us near any gentleman to whom we are not quite firmly related? I never had the courage to sneak out of school like you and some of the others did.”

“Hush, goose,” admonished Lady Gwenyth, her light blue eyes atwinkle. “My brother Tallyn is at home and you will confirm his worst opinion of me if you prattle such revealing stuff to him.”

“As if I would,” exclaimed Miss Beckley in consternation. “I would never … My dearest friend … And after you were so kind as to take me under your wing when I was so lonely and unhappy. But you have been gone two years now, and then Papa died, and oh, how I have missed you!” With these words she cast herself into Gwenyth’s arms, sobbing gustily.

Gwenyth made no immediate attempt to free herself, though she was certain her rose muslin morning gown would be drenched by the girl’s tears. At last, however, knowing that Marwyn would not be long in returning with the refreshments she had ordered, she said quietly, “That’s quite enough now, Pamela. You know Miss Fletcher would not approve of such a complete show of emotion as this. Take my handkerchief and dry your eyes.”

Obediently Miss Beckley straightened up, making a visible effort to stem her sobs as she accepted the cambric handkerchief Gwenyth extracted from beneath her wide embroidered sash.

“I must look a sight,” Pamela said a moment later, dropping her shawl onto a nearby chair and, with a singularly graceful gesture, lifting her hand to twist a dusky curl as she peered anxiously at Gwenyth.

Stifling a sigh of envy, Gwenyth said, “Not at all, my dear. Come, sit with me on the sofa, and we will have a talk.”

When Pamela continued to regard her uncertainly after they had sat down, she chuckled. “It really is too bad of you, you know, that your eyes do not even grow red when you weep.”

“But you would not wish them to do so unbecoming a thing as that, would you?” Pamela asked, staring at her in surprise.

This time Gwenyth’s sigh was audible. “Tell me why you came to London, Pamela.”

Dabbing her eyes one last time, Pamela settled her hands in her lap and drew a long breath, only to let it out again—whether in frustration or relief, Gwenyth couldn’t tell—when the doors to the drawing room opened and Marwyn entered. He was followed by a tall footman in the Tallyn green-and-silver livery, who bore a silver tray containing a pot of tea, a bowl of fruit, buttered toast, elegant china plates and cups, and silver cutlery.

“Will there be anything more, m’lady?” the butler inquired.

“No, thank you.” When the servants had gone, Gwenyth turned back to her guest to discover that Pamela was now looking about the opulent drawing room with visible awe.

“Theatrical, is it not?” Gwenyth said with a smile. “My sister Meriel hates it. She cannot decide if it looks more like the anteroom to a king’s palace or to a Greek bordello.”

Pamela gasped. “What a dreadful thing to say! One doesn’t expect such elegance, you know, when approaching Tallyn House from the street. It looks like any other house on Berkeley Square, except for Landsdowne House, of course,” she added conscientiously. “But one enters the beautiful stair hall—so much magnificence in so small a space—and then ascends to this.” She held her arms wide, shaking her head in wonder.

Gwenyth followed her gaze with amusement. The front drawing room at Tallyn House was indeed spectacular, rising one and a half stories to a coved, tunnel-vaulted ceiling, coffered and gilded, and bedecked with inset paintings depicting, in a three-dimensional effect, Greek gods and goddesses whose figures were repeated in a collection of marble sculptures of various sizes decking every chest and table in the room. The plasterwork and furnishings were equally ornate, and the chamber’s splendor was reinforced by a magnificent Oriental carpet, its rich dark colors matching those of the paintings overhead.

Pamela stood up, pulling off her gloves as she stepped toward the white marble fireplace opposite the door and gazed curiously at the large painting above the chimneypiece. It showed, through a light mist, a huge sprawling stone house set at the base of a lofty snow-capped, twin-peaked mountain.

“That is Plas Tallyn,” Gwenyth told her, “our home in Wales.” There was softness in her voice, and she found herself gazing at the painting with an unexpected surge of longing. “I never think I shall tire of London,” she said, “but sometimes I surprise myself. I do love the mountains so.”

“That place looks a bit lonely,” Pamela said, turning back and setting aside her gloves in order to help herself to a plate from the tray. “Would you like me to pour out?”

“No, I’ll do it,” said Gwenyth, moving to suit action to words. “You just sit down again, my girl, and spill your tale, as my little brother, Davy, would say.”

Pamela sat, but shot Gwenyth a look of curiosity. “You have told me about your brothers and sisters before, and though I tend to get them mixed up in my head, I should have supposed Davy to be rather larger than you are by now.”

Gwenyth laughed. “Indeed he is, for he is eighteen now and presently enjoying the long vacation from Oxford.”

“Then he is here?” Pamela’s voice vibrated with interest.

“No, he is not,” Gwenyth said more sharply. “He is with a friend somewhere in the Lake Country on a walking tour. Enough of this, Pamela. Tell me about Cousin Marcus and this marriage he will not allow, and with no more roundaboutation, if you please, for my patience is no longer now than it ever was.”

Pamela took a bite of toast, but upon seeing the gathering annoyance in her hostess’s face, she chewed and swallowed quickly. “I told you,” she said, lifting her chin. “Marcus has said I am not to come out. But Papa promised me I should do so in my seventeenth year, and now I am past seventeen. Why, I shall be eighteen next May, and quite upon the shelf.”

“Thank you very much,” Gwenyth said with a wry look.

“Oh, but I did not mean to imply anything about you, dearest Gwen. I know you must be nearly twenty by now, but surely you are unwed by choice, not for lack of suitable offers! You always said you meant to take London by storm and be a lady of fashion, but that you meant never to surrender your freedom to a husband.” She sighed. “I have never had any freedom to speak of, you know, although darling Papa nearly always let me do as I pleased.”

“Except when it came to sending you away to school,” Gwenyth pointed out with a smile.

“Yes, but that was the only time, and he did it so that I might make proper friends,” Pamela said with a toss of her head. “I could nearly always manage Papa otherwise.”

“But your cousin is different? I collect that he must be your guardian now that your papa and mama are both deceased.”

“Oh, yes, and my trustee as well, and it is the most dreadful state of affairs, for he hasn’t got a penny of his own, you know. Here he has inherited a stupid earldom, which one might think to be a good thing, but the estates that go with it are all encumbered and things are in a tangle, so he says he hasn’t got time to look after me and I must simply stay at school until he can be bothered to arrange my life for me. Only I don’t want him to arrange my life! I want to make my come-out and meet all the eligible young men in London and choose my own husband from amongst them.”

“You seem certain that you will have your choice,” Gwenyth said, seeking to bring her back down to earth.

“Oh, but don’t you think I shall?” The violet eyes opened very wide. “I was always the prettiest girl at school. You know I was. And that hasn’t changed, Gwen, I promise you, so I am certain I shall find a dashing, eminently suitable young man.”

“You certainly haven’t learned the worth of modesty,” Gwenyth said tartly, “and I must tell you, Pamela, you sound exactly like my sister Eliza used to sound before she met her husband and settled down to raise children in Shropshire. She lived in the pages of the idiotish books she was used to read, and tumbled head over ears in love with every unsuitable young man who passed before her eyes. She was Lydia Languish to her toenails. I should hope you have better sense.”

“I never can keep your family straight in my head,” Pamela said. “Is Lydia Languish a cousin?”

“She is from a play,” Gwenyth said, gritting her teeth. “A character so foolish as to be ridiculous. My family doesn’t enter into this matter at all.”

“Well, I know one of your sisters married a Sir Something, here in London, but didn’t your other one marry a Frenchman? How can she live in Shropshire?”

“You forgot one. My sister Nest married the Frenchman. Meriel—the one married to Sir Antony Davies—is the eldest, and she lives more in Maidenhead now than in London. Then comes Nest, then Eliza in Shropshire, then me. Joss—that is, my brother Tallyn—is the eldest of all of us, of course, and Davy the youngest. But again you change the subject, Pamela, and I warn you, it will not do. I mean to have the whole tale out of you. You did say you need my help, did you not?”

“Yes, for Marcus will surely come after me once Miss Fletcher tells him I have left school. I think,” she added with a grimace, “that he means to marry me himself, Gwen. For my fortune, you know.”

“Are you such an heiress, then?” Gwenyth asked with a smile, certain the young girl must be exaggerating.

But Pamela replied complacently, “Oh, yes, for there is no one else, you know. All of Papa’s money came to me. I think Marcus expected to get some of it, for his mama was my Aunt Margaret, Papa’s sister, only Aunt Margaret displeased Papa through some cause or other, or Marcus did—I am not certain which it was—and then of course Aunt Margaret died of the consumption before ever Papa did, only he did not die of consumption, of course, but of an apoplectic seizure, even though he had the mildest of tempers, except of course—”

“Pamela!” Gwenyth cut in sharply. “I promise you that I shall indulge in an apoplectic seizure of my own in a minute. I do not know when you draw breath. Where is your cousin now?”

“Why, I don’t know,” Pamela said. “His new estate is an abbey or castle or some such thing, located in Berkshire somewhere along the River Thames; however, I believe—”

“An abbey on the Thames?” Gwenyth frowned, attempting to capture an elusive memory.

“Yes, I do remember that much, though I never can remember the name of the place, but I think he is somewhere else just now on business, anyway, maybe even here in London.” She shivered dramatically. “Only think if I should have encountered him! He did write to me, but his letter was not at all amusing, only telling me that I must be patient and do all I might to help Miss Fletcher when the new girls arrive, just as if I were a junior mistress or some such odd thing, so I paid no heed to the rest.”

“His wanting you to stay at school does seem odd,” Gwenyth agreed. “Could you not have gone home to Beckley Hall with a lady chaperon instead?”