Amanda Scott (4 page)

“Oh, no,” Dolly said quickly. “This place has no special meaning to me. Indeed, I was sitting here thinking how very lonely it is here at Staithes.”

“But surely with your mama and Miss Lavinia, and now Oliver at home, not to mention Miss Brittan—”

“Oh, I do not count Miss Brittan. She has never been my governess, only Melanie’s, for she came to us out of Kent after Miss Jennings left in November, just as I was about to emerge from the schoolroom. Papa had even agreed to permit me to go to Woburn for Christmas, though Mama had said it would not be quite the thing since I had not been presented. But then I came down with a putrid sore throat, so those plans all came to naught, and Mama and Papa went to Broadlands instead. But then, to make it up, Papa took us to Robin Hood’s Bay, and then—” Dolly broke off and stared grimly at the lake.

“I’m sorry,” Emily said quietly, “but you must not dwell upon your sorrow, my dear. You ought instead to look about you for other things to occupy your thoughts.”

Dolly turned toward her then, her eyes perfectly dry and calm. “But do you not think it was all very unfair, Aunt Emily?”

“We must all feel that, my dear. Your father was very young to die.”

“I don’t mean unfair for Papa!” Dolly exclaimed. “I mean for me! Why cannot anyone else see how dreadful it is for me?”

She jumped to her feet and ran toward the house without a backward look, her dark-blue cloak billowing behind her, and Emily watched her go, making no attempt to call her back. A few moments later she got up and walked to the shore of the lake, where she sat upon her heels and drew off a glove in order to test the temperature of the water with her fingertips.

The lake was icy cold, and when she reached the northern end, she discovered why. It had been created by damming up the tumbling little brook, and the water in the brook was extremely chilly. A triple-arched stone bridge, much more elaborate than the wooden one she had crossed earlier, spanned the brook where it fed into the lake, making it possible to cross back to the western side and the white-pebbled road. On the east side, several paths led invitingly into the home wood, including one which seemed to follow the course of the brook, but Emily, deciding to postpone her exploration of the woods and the moors beyond them until another day, crossed the bridge, completed her round of the gardens, and returned to the house.

When she discovered that Meriden did not take a nuncheon with the family, she decided that nothing would be gained by putting off their meeting any longer. Directed by William, she approached the estate office, located at the rear of the house in a separate building near the stables, then hesitated when she saw Oliver rush precipitately out the very door through which she intended to pass.

The young man’s face was flushed bright red, and he looked to be both angry and on the verge of tears. When he saw her, he changed course abruptly and hurried away.

Drawing a deep breath, Emily squared her shoulders and went up the stone steps to the door. Finding it ajar, she pushed it open before she could change her mind, and stepped inside.

The office was warm and arranged in a utilitarian fashion with papers and books stacked neatly on the shelves that lined three walls. There were two desks in the room, one against the window wall that was piled high with ledger books, an example of which lay open with a quill thrown down across its pages. The other desk was larger and occupied space in the center of the room. Propped atop the welter of papers spread across it was a pair of large booted feet, crossed at the ankles. Although the door squeaked loudly at her entrance, the feet stayed where they were, and from behind the tall ledger propped open and upright on the knees beyond them came a deep, stern voice.

“I have said all I intend to say on the subject, Oliver, so I will be grateful if you will take yourself off again without subjecting me to more of your infantile whining.”

Emily said crisply, “I do not whine, Meriden, nor am I accustomed to being addressed by men from behind open books or with their feet rudely propped upon a desk. You will oblige me, sir, by attempting to behave in a more civil manner.”

The ledger fell as the chair’s front legs and the booted feet crashed to the floor, and Meriden leapt hastily to his feet, his hands scrabbling to adjust his coat and neckcloth. He was two inches over six feet in height, and he was dressed in a dark-brown coat, white shirt and neckcloth, buckskin breeches, and topboots. His darkbrown hair was tousled, not as though he had spent hours creating the fashionable look, but as though he had recently shoved a hand through the thick locks in frustration.

Although Miss Wingrave had previously expressed her approval of his looks, she knew that his was not the sort of countenance generally described as handsome, for his gray eyes were set too deeply beneath his thick dark brows. His nose, though straight, was overlarge for beauty, and his chin was far too prominent and firm for his expression easily to appear conciliating. His breadth of shoulder, however, was unexceptionable, and his figure, though large, was trim and pleasing to the eye.

His lips were pressed together in a rueful grimace, but he recovered himself quickly and grinned at Emily, his teeth flashing white and even, his face changing dramatically. Indeed, she thought, he looked for a moment much like her brother Ned had looked when he had, as a boy, got into one of his frequent scrapes and hoped she would help him explain it all to Papa.

“Forgive my bad manners, Miss Wingrave,” he said, clearly assuming that there would be no difficulty about that. “I was out of sorts and, in fact, had no anticipation of receiving a visit from a member of the fair sex. This chamber rarely enjoys the privilege of serving as—”

“I saw Oliver,” Miss Wingrave said, seeing no good purpose to be served by submitting herself to long, windy, albeit polite periods and every reason for getting directly to the point. “I realize that the moment is not a propitious one”—she glanced around, noted a straight chair near one wall, and pulled it forward, dusting it with her lace handkerchief and sitting down, talking all the while—“but I have heard so much, you see, and since Sabrina wrote to request my assistance, which is why I am here, after all, I can see no advantage to be gained through procrastination. In effect, my lord, I have determined that the quicker we put our heads together, the quicker matters will be suitably resolved.” Noting that he still stood and that he no longer looked either apologetic or amused, she added graciously, “Won’t you sit down, sir? Perhaps you might begin by telling me what subject it was you raised with Oliver just now that put you both so much out of temper. If we discuss the matter thoroughly, no doubt we will soon discover where you went awry.” Folding her hands primly in her lap, she regarded him expectantly.

Meriden opened his mouth and shut it again. His brows snapped together and his eyes narrowed dangerously as he returned Miss Wingrave’s look with an ominous one of his own. For a long moment, silence reigned in the little office. Finally, in a commendably even tone, the earl said, “Would you mind explaining to me just what business this is of yours, Miss Wingrave? I seem to have missed a step somewhere.”

“Do sit down, Lord Meriden,” she repeated. “You are entirely too large to pace in an area so crowded as this is, and I shall not be the least bit intimidated by your looming over me like some predatory creature, I promise you.”

With no indication that he did so to oblige her, Meriden perched on the front corner of his desk, rather closer to Emily than—for all she had said to the contrary—was commensurate with her comfort. Firmly suppressing a desire to move her chair back a foot, she forced herself to wait for him to speak.

“You have not answered my question,” he said calmly.

“Nor you mine, sir,” she pointed out. “And I asked my question first.”

“Now, look here, my lass—”

“I am not your lass, sir, despite your obnoxious behavior at Woburn Abbey last Christmas, and I take leave—”

“So that still rankles, does it?” He grinned again. “I wondered. ’Twas only a wager, Emmy love, nothing more. You behaved as though you’d been stung, not merely kissed.”

Repressing an errant thought that the kiss had been anything but mere, Emily lifted her chin and said scathingly, “To sweep a lady off her feet and carry her under the mistletoe to steal a kiss before a roomful of jeering people, and all for the sake of a stupid wager, is not the behavior of a gentleman.”

“You had been behaving as though the rest of us had some dread disease—those of us who had the misfortune to be men, if not gentlemen. The temptation, Emmy love, was irresistible.”

“You were sadly foxed, Meriden, and so you would own if you had the least grain of truth in you.”

“Aye, so I was. I own it freely. Needed all the courage the lads could pour into me—”

“You did not. You’d have taken the bet stone sober.”

He chuckled. “Right you are, Emmy love.”

“Don’t call me by that detestable name!” She was remembering all too clearly how tempted she had been to slap him at Woburn, how pleased she had been with her self-control when she had not done so, and how much she had regretted the lost opportunity later.

“Right.” He frowned at her. “Suppose we get back to the subject at hand. Just what makes you think for a moment that I will permit you to interfere with my affairs here?”

“They are not entirely your affairs,” she said, wishing he would sit properly or at least move a little so that she might stand up and put some distance between them. “My sister has every right to confide in me and every right to request my help with the bumblebroth you have created here.”

She suddenly got her wish, for Meriden stood abruptly and walked away toward the shelf-lined wall behind his desk. “You may well call it a bumblebroth,” he muttered.

“Just so,” she agreed, getting to her feet and moving to stand behind her chair, placing her hands upon the chair back as she added, “You have turned everything upside down, sir, but I believe it has not been from lack of good intent. I daresay you never have had such responsibility thrust upon you before, which is why you have set up Oliver and Dolly’s backs and frightened poor Giles and Melanie out of their senses. As for dear Sabrina, you simply must realize—”

“Enough!” He turned to face her again, his hands on his hips, his gray eyes flashing fire from their depths. “Not another word,” he bellowed when she opened her mouth to protest. “I realize all I need to realize, Miss Wingrave, and despite any opinion you may have formed to the contrary, I know precisely what I am doing. Responsibility is no stranger to me, though I’ll confess that when my father passed to his reward, he did not leave me with such an unholy mess as that which my idiotic cousin left me to sort out.”

“Laurence was not an idiot,” Emily said sharply, “and it does not become you to speak ill of the dead.”

“Oh, forgive me, ma’am, for trampling on that precious convention, but if anyone has the right to speak ill of Laurence Rivington, it is I, who have inherited those responsibilities he never chose to shoulder. And under that heading, I must respectfully include his wife and his offspring.”

“You are insulting, sir.”

“I am truthful.” He glared at her. “Look here, why don’t you just pick up your skirts and get back to your sister’s drawing room. I don’t mind if she pours her megrims into your ears rather than to mine. In that respect, you
can
be useful.”

“Sabrina asked for my help,” Emily said angrily, “and I intend to look after her interests. She believes she ought to have been named guardian to her own children, and I—”

“And you, Emmy love?” His expression changed again. “You will have altered a good deal if you can look me in the eye and tell me in all candor that my cousin would have done better to have named Sabrina to act instead of me.”

She grimaced but remained firm. “He certainly ought to have named her co-guardian, at least, to her own children.”

“Nonsense, he’d have done us both a great disservice thereby. Your sister is incapable of making a decision. She thinks mostly of herself and is accustomed to depending upon others to look after her. She cannot even decide what gown to wear without discussing the point at length with anyone who will listen and advise her.”

“Perhaps there is some truth in what you say,” said Miss Wingrave, nettled but fair, “but you have treated Oliver—”

“Oliver is as self-centered as his mother without possessing an ounce of her charm,” said Meriden grimly, “and he’s a foppish wastrel besides. I’ll have you know that, not content with being sent down for his debts, he stopped in Cambridge long enough to run up a staggering account with his tailor, which he has just been informing me was necessary because he wishes first to cut a dash in Brighton before moving on to hire a neat little hunting box in Rutlandshire for the entire winter.”

“But surely that is what Laurence would have done himself and what he would expect his son to do,” said Emily, adding conscientiously, “Not that he would have expected Oliver to be sent down from school.”

“Now, there you’re out,” Meriden said sardonically. “It is precisely what he would have expected, though he would no doubt have insisted that Oliver return to Cambridge rather than chance having to look after the lad himself. Nonetheless, the estate will not tolerate such heavy claims upon its resources. ’Tis bad enough that Sabrina declares she cannot stand the odor of burning tallow and insists upon burning wax candles in every room of the house. There is little I can do about that, but I will not frank Oliver’s excesses. He will remain here until Michaelmas term, when he will return to Cambridge.”

“But Staithes has always—”

“The income has declined steadily over the past years,” he interrupted sharply. “Laurence cared only for his pleasures, nothing for his land, and one cannot consistently take from the land, Miss Wingrave, without giving something back. Certainly not when there is a war on. There have been tremendous demands made upon the estate, and it will take a great deal of effort if it is ever to be restored to its former level of productivity, and so I have told Oliver. I might add that he took the news as a personal affront.”