Amanda Scott (5 page)

“I daresay you were not tactful,” Emily said vaguely, her mind rapidly processing this new information. She was well aware that Meriden would not have told her so much if she had not caused him to lose his temper. When she looked at him to discover that he was glaring at her again, her own last words echoed through her mind. She said firmly, “You are never tactful, so do not look at me as though I have insulted you. You may have some excuse for your handling of Oliver if he has behaved as you say he has, but there can be no excuse for bullying Dolly or for frightening Giles and poor little Melanie.”

Meriden snorted. “Your niece Dolly is a pretty pea-goose with a head full of romantic nonsense and an amazing lack of consideration for anyone but herself. Young Giles is a scamp whose school reports teem with such phrases as ‘lacks application,’ ‘will not try,’ ‘inattentive to studies,’ and ‘insolent to his masters.’ Need I continue?”

“No, but I am certain he is not the first child in his family to receive such reports. Indeed, I daresay you received your share of them if the truth were known.”

“I did, and Giles ought to be grateful that my forebearance is greater than my noble sire’s was. Since my father didn’t see humor in misbehavior at school, I quickly came to see the error of my ways. Giles will do likewise.”

“Not if he goes to Somerset, he won’t,” Emily said, “or did you not know that he intends to spend his long vacation there?”

“I knew. He extended his insolence to the point of addressing a letter to me, informing me of that fact. I have already dispatched a carriage and a good stout servant of mine to collect him. I also took the precaution of writing to his headmaster and to the father of the boy he meant to visit. Master Giles will come home, and when he does, he will be placed, as promised, in the hands of a good strict tutor, hopefully one who will make him smart. I have already set inquiries in train to find just such a suitable young man.”

“You might at least have asked Sabrina for her opinion of that course of action,” Emily said tartly.

“Why should I?” he demanded. “The children and the estate are my responsibilities, and I will manage them perfectly well without Lady Staithes’s interference or yours. And before you fling young Melanie’s odd behavior in my teeth, let me assure you that whatever your sister may have told you, there is no immediate cause for concern. Melanie is merely suffering from an overreaction to her father’s death. Time will heal her wounds much more effectively than well-meaning interference will. So if that is all, Miss Wingrave—”

“Well, it isn’t,” retorted Emily. “You will not tell me, I hope, that there is no cause for concern about Miss Lavinia’s missing jewelry, and certainly you must own that you ought to have asked Sabrina’s permission before calling in the Bow Street Runners, as you did. She is distraught.”

“And would she have been less distraught to see her servants leaving
en masse
? That is precisely what would have happened had I not called a halt to her foolish whining and complaining and suggesting to one servant that another might be the guilty party. Bringing in professional help was the only course that made sense. And now, Miss Wingrave, since you have discovered all there is to discover, I must ask you once again to refrain from interference. I will manage everything perfectly well on my own, so if you will excuse me now so that I may return to the work you interrupted, I will be grateful.”

Once again she was conscious of a strong desire to box his ears, and her knuckles whitened with the increasing tension of her grip on the chair back. But he still stood across the room, his arms folded now across his broad chest, his expression utterly implacable. Since she could hardly fling the chair at him, she smiled instead and said, “I do hope you will find it possible to forgive my intrusion, sir. Had I known you were feeling bilious this afternoon, I would have been glad to postpone my visit to a more propitious occasion. We will discuss this matter more thoroughly, no doubt, when you have recovered your equanimity.” And with that Parthian shot she took dignified leave of him, carefully ignoring the leaping flames of wrath in his eyes and the two purposeful steps he took in her direction before the bulk of his desk impeded his progress.

E
MILY FOUND HER SISTER
and Miss Lavinia in the drawing room, occupied with their needlework, and passed the rest of the afternoon comfortably in their company. When they retired to change their clothes for the evening meal, she found her tirewoman awaiting her in her bedchamber.

“I shall wear the gray silk, Martha,” she said. “Since Sabrina still wears her blacks as often as not, I must take care not to offend her by wearing brighter colors just at first. I’ll wear my gold bracelet, however, and carry my pink cashmere shawl. The dining room was chilly last evening.”

“Pure affectation, if you ask me,” said Martha with a sniff.

“What, Sabrina’s mourning? Nonsense. I am persuaded that she was much attached to Baron Staithes, just as she says.”

“Miss Sabrina,” said the henchwoman who had known both of them from the cradle, “only knows that black becomes her better than mauve or gray would do. You ought to dress as you please, Miss Emily. Not that that gray silk don’t become you a treat, for it does. Things be in a shocking way here at Staithes, I’m thinkin’,” she added abruptly.

“Well, you needn’t think I mean to sit gossiping with you, for I don’t,” Emily said. “I daresay you have learned no more since our arrival than I have, unless”—she glanced sharply at the woman—“unless you have learned something to the purpose regarding Miss Melanie. Have you, Martha?”

The tirewoman shook her head, frowning. “That I haven’t, miss, for no one don’t know nothing about it. They say Miss Melanie just went quiet all of a sudden and that she don’t talk ’less someone speaks to her direct. Mrs. Crake—she’s the housekeeper—she thinks Miss Melanie be frightened of something.”

Emily looked at Martha, frowning. “Frightened? What sort of woman is Mrs. Crake, Martha? Do you believe her?”

Martha shrugged. “Could be she’s puttin’ on airs to be interesting, Miss Emily. For certain sure, she’s in a dither over this business of Miss Lavinia’s jewels as has gone missin’, and having Bow Street Runners in the house. But that sort of thing would put most any respectable woman in a fret. Not but what,” she added militantly, “I’d like to see that Mr. Tickhill nor yet his fat assistant, Mr. Earswick, try to get round me with their impertinent questions.”

“Well, they won’t bother you because you weren’t even here when the thefts took place,” Emily said, hiding a smile at her tirewoman’s look of disappointment at being denied the treat of giving not one but two Bow Street Runners a sharp set-down.

Downstairs, Emily met Oliver at the entrance to the drawing room, and it quickly became apparent that the other members of the family had only been waiting for the two of them to arrive. They went directly across the gallery to the dining room. Neither Melanie nor Miss Brittan was present, but Meriden was there, wearing the same clothing he had worn earlier, although his hair was brushed and he looked a good deal tidier.

Emily nodded graciously at the earl, and he returned the nod with punctilio. Since the meal was being served well before six o’clock, she decided she could not really cavil at Meriden’s lack of proper evening attire. Nor would she have done so aloud in any case, for it was certainly not any part of her duty to tell him what he should wear to dine with four ladies and another gentleman. Oliver, she was pleased to note, was dressed with care albeit with an eye for bright colors.

“What the devil is that thing you are wearing?” Meriden demanded as the younger man moved past him to take his seat at the head of the table.

It occurred to Emily to hope that Oliver was paying particular heed just then to Meriden’s masterful use of his quizzing glass. There could not be the slightest doubt in anyone’s mind as to his opinion of Oliver’s choice of attire.

The lad bore up staunchly. “Since you refused to countenance my driving down to Brighton with my friends, sir, I made sure you would not object if I wore my new clothes here at Staithes.” He looked down at his pale-pink pantaloons and shiny red-tasseled Hessians, smoothing the gaily embroidered red silk waistcoat and tugging gently at the rolled lapels of his tightly fitting dark-purple coat. When he looked up just as Meriden’s eyebrows snapped together, Oliver’s right hand groped for his high, heavily starched neckcloth, and the tugging fingers became less gentle. Indeed, his neckcloth appeared suddenly to be too tight for comfort.

“You thought wrong,” Meriden said grimly, taking his own seat opposite Emily. “Those colors are an affront to your father’s memory. Indeed they are offensive to anyone with an ounce of sartorial taste. When next you present yourself at your mother’s dining table, I trust you will dress as a proper gentleman dresses.”

“Like yourself, perhaps?” Emily suggested, her eye-brows arching slightly as she looked him over with an air of gentle reproof.

Meriden returned her look. “Yes, if he chooses. But something tells me, Miss Wingrave, that I am meant to infer from your tone that you do not approve of my choice of attire.”

“Buckskins are scarcely what a gentleman wears to dine with ladies, sir,” she said, “though I had certainly not intended to comment upon the fact.”

“Somehow, I doubt that.” His mouth turned down at the corners. “Are you honestly going to try to make me believe that your father and brothers don full evening rig every day to dine at Wingrave Hall?”

“Not likely,” observed Miss Lavinia.

Sabrina cut in swiftly, placatingly, “They don’t, you know, Emily. Why, it was used to be all anyone could do to get John or Ned to wear evening dress at all, though Thomas revels in it. They all wore riding clothes at home, however, unless we dined in company, and well you know it.”

The earl had not taken his eyes from Emily, and she saw their twinkle even before he spoke. “Trying to give me a set-down, Em—Miss Wingrave—or merely taking up the cudgels on Oliver’s behalf?”

Emily caught Dolly’s eyes upon her just then and felt warmth creeping into her cheeks. She wished, not for the first time, that she did not change color so easily, but her voice remained admirably calm when she replied, “I had no right to take you to task for such a thing, sir. You may certainly wear what you choose upon this or any other occasion.”

“Very prettily said,” Meriden told her approvingly.

“In my opinion, Aunt Emily,” Oliver said, signaling for wine, “it was not at all necessary to apologize to him.” He looked at Meriden. “Pretty cool to take me up over my attire when I daresay you scarcely ever care a pin for your own. No one has ever called you Beau Meriden, and that’s a fact. And what’s more,” he added, clearly taking courage from his position at the head of the table, from Emily’s support, or from both, “I suppose a man can wear what he likes at his own table, and you certainly cannot pretend to be up on what’s all the crack when you’ve scarcely set foot out of Yorkshire these past six months or more. I assure you, sir, everything I’ve got on is just the style at Cambridge now, and I ain’t even one of the out-and-outers. Only wait until you meet my friend Saint Just. I hope you’ll have better sense than to take him up on what he wears.”

“You are impertinent, Oliver,” the earl said with a look that made the young man flush deeply and fall silent.

“Is Mr. Saint Just coming to visit us soon, Oliver?” Dolly asked lightly.

Her brother turned to her gratefully, his enthusiasm returning in full measure. “He will arrive within a sennight, as soon as the long vacation begins. He is meeting Harry Enderby and Ted Bennett at Leeds and traveling the rest of the way with them. You will like him, Doll. He’s a great gun, up to every rig and row.”

Sabrina said blankly, “You have invited a friend to stay here, Oliver? Now?”

“Well, and why should I not?” Oliver demanded. “I am certain I have every right to do as I please in my own home.”

“Men,” observed Miss Lavinia, nodding to the footman to serve her some spinach soufflé, “generally do do as they please, in their own homes or elsewhere.”

Meriden paid her no heed, turning a stern eye upon Oliver instead. “Regardless of what you seem to think, lad,” he said, “you are not the master of Staithes just yet, a fact it would behoove you to remember. Until that day comes, you will oblige me by asking your mother’s permission, and mine, before you extend invitations to persons unknown to us, or in fact before you do anything else that affects this household.”

“Well, really, Meriden,” protested Emily, more hotly than she had intended, “you do take a great deal upon yourself, indeed you do.”

The earl turned to face her, his look still hard but his words carefully mild. “Keep your oar out of my waters, Emmy love.”

“Don’t call me that,” she said fiercely, glancing at Sabrina and then at Miss Lavinia, both of whom were clearly intrigued by the sudden endearment.

Wide-eyed, Sabrina said, “I am certain that no one ever called her Emmy at home. Did they, my dear?”

“Never mind about that, Sabrina.” Emily rounded swiftly on the earl. “You are behaving abominably, sir, and I do not scruple to tell you so to your head. I daresay that if poor Dolly should have been so misguided as to express more interest than she has already expressed with regard to this visitor, you would have taken her to task just as you have Oliver.”

“Very likely,” agreed the earl, his tone grim and the look in his eyes a clear warning.

Emily ignored both. “You take too much upon yourself, Meriden,” she said. “You dare to criticize Oliver for bringing a friend home from school, a young man, I daresay, with a perfectly respectable background, and you say it is because Oliver has done so without first begging his mama’s permission. That, may I tell you, would come better from one who had not already introduced a pair of low, bumptious Bow Street Runners into this house without extending to Sabrina that same courtesy.”

“I wish you will be silent,” muttered the earl, glancing pointedly at the hovering servants.

“I daresay you do wish it,” Emily replied, awarding those same servants a look of studied indifference, “but I should think myself very poor-spirited to fall silent merely to indulge a whim of yours, my lord, when the need for a little plain speaking is so clearly indicated.” She paused long enough to allow William to fill her wineglass; then, Meriden having clamped his lips tightly shut, she continued with airy calm, “I daresay that because no one here ever dares to go counter to your wishes, sir, you have become entirely too confident of the rightness of your every action. I daresay also—”