Amanda Scott (7 page)

Emily sighed. The rules of proper conduct were so clear, so carefully laid out. Presumably all one had to do was to memorize them and act accordingly. The only thing not taken into consideration was the power of one’s own emotions. One thing was certain, however. Those rules of proper conduct nowhere allowed for the flinging of wine across a dinner table, no matter how great the provocation, no matter how deserving the victim. Such behavior was unacceptable.

Allowing Martha only enough time to soak up the worst of the water from her hair with a rough towel and to braid it into two plaits fastened in loops at the nape of her neck, Emily smoothed the skirt of the simple blue round gown she had donned and went downstairs in search of her sister.

T
HE ONLY MEMBER OF THE FAMILY PRESENT WHEN EMILY
entered the drawing room was Oliver. The young man had drawn an armchair up before the cheerful fire and was slumped in it, his long legs stretched out before him, his right elbow resting on the arm of the chair, his chin propped up in his hand. He did not notice her until she spoke his name, but then he turned sharply, getting quickly to his feet and feeling to be sure that his neckcloth was in place.

“Aunt Emily, how are you? I trust you took no hurt.”

“No, Oliver, I am perfectly stout, thank you, barring damp hair. I was looking for your mother.”

“She is in her sitting room.” He grinned. “She is studying the lesson for the service tomorrow, for she says old Scopwick bellows so that she cannot attend to what he is saying. He frightens her witless, if you want my opinion.”

“If that is your opinion,” Emily said sternly, “I do not wish to hear it.” Privately she knew Oliver was probably right. Everything frightened Sabrina witless. But Emily would certainly never encourage a young man to speak so rudely about his mother. She was pleased to note that he looked chastened. But still, what was it that he had said? “Services, Oliver? Goodness, I’ve lost count of the days. Tomorrow is indeed Sunday, is it not?”

“Oh, yes,” said Oliver, “but it needn’t be, you know, for Vicar Scopwick holds an evening service every day. I suppose you know that country families were used to have their own prayer service before retiring each night. Many still do, of course, but one of Scopwick’s pet causes is the lack of religious education for those servants and families in households where the custom no longer prevails.”

“But surely people do not simply give all their servants leave to attend daily services,” Emily protested. “How would one run one’s household properly?”

“Just don’t ask Scopwick that question unless you want your ears to ring for hours afterward with his reply,” recommended Oliver. “Our servants could go, I’m sure, simply because Mama is terrified of having him descend upon her in righteous wrath. I know for a fact that she has made generous donations to several of his private causes, for I once heard Cousin Jack taking her to task over the amounts. Scopwick has a clothing fund for poor children, another for the French prisoners of war at the detention camp at Stilington, one to provide postal costs for those prisoners who wish to send letters home to their families, and yet another to provide medical care for anyone who needs a doctor and cannot afford to pay one. I daresay Mama has contributed to all of them. Scopwick probably even pays the smugglers who carry the prisoners’ letters into France,” he added, chuckling. “I doubt that the post still crosses the Channel on English packets.”

“I believe neutral ships carry such letters,” said Emily repressively. “Does Sabrina go to these services every evening? She did not go last night.”

“Oh, no, only on Wednesday evenings. Many of the local gentry attend then, so she is sure of learning all the gossip as well as receiving her religious teaching.”

“Does Miss Lavinia go?”

“Occasionally, I believe, though she would scorn to make a practice of it. Says she reads her Bible every night before she puts out her candle, and that that plus Sunday ought to satisfy anyone.” He paused, regarding her searchingly. Then, his voice lacking its normal confident tone, he said, “I say, Aunt Emily, I do hope you ain’t still vexed with me about what I said earlier. Cousin Jack fair makes my blood boil, but I know I’m no match for him, and I could see nothing to be gained by putting my oar into the business and making him all the angrier.”

“Do not let such reflections prey upon your mind,” Emily advised. “When I told you earlier that I did not blame you in the least, I meant it.” Deciding not to seek out Sabrina for the moment, she pulled another chair close to his. “Sit down, Oliver. I wish to speak with you.”

He obeyed, watching her warily, and not looking the least bit reassured when she frowned, collecting her thoughts. When she looked directly at him and smiled, however, she had the satisfaction of seeing him relax. “I shan’t eat you, you know. I daresay your position is a most difficult one at present.”

“Ain’t it just!” He leaned toward her eagerly. “You cannot imagine what a fix Papa’s death put me in. For a time, I had my first quarter’s allowance, of course, but when that was gone and I applied to Cousin Jack for more, instead of sending me a draft like Papa always did, he wrote telling me I must learn to practice economy. I’d certainly never taken him for such a sobersides, I can tell you that. I was dished. Went to the money lenders, of course, so by second quarter my allowance was already spoken for, which meant I just got in deeper, which anyone ought to have known would be the case. Same thing happened when I received my third quarter’s allowance, which is when the proctor discovered the whole. I must say he put the wind up the Shylocks, for he’s a great gun when all’s told, but he made me write a full account of my debts to Cousin Jack and he wrote to him also, and then I was sent down. There was the most awful row when I got home,” Oliver added, shuddering at the memory. “Cousin Jack don’t seem to understand how it is, but Lord, I’ve never heard anyone accuse him of being stiff-rumped or tight with a shilling.”

“No, I don’t think he is either of those things,” Emily said. “Has he ever discussed the way matters were left here at Staithes when your father died, Oliver?”

“Lord, no. He don’t want me plaguing him to death with impertinent questions, either.”

“Have you tried asking pertinent questions?”

Oliver shook his head. “Wouldn’t want to vex him. He don’t heed what I say, and he don’t care about my pleasures, so here I sit, kicking my heels. I’ll be glad when Saint Just and the others arrive. Ted Bennett’s a quiet sort, and Harry’s always got his eye on the proprieties, but Saint Just’s always ripe for fun and gig.”

“Oliver, you are Baron Staithes now. I think you ought at least to express an interest in your estate.”

“And do you think for one moment that Cousin Jack won’t snap my nose off and send me to the roundabout?”

“Pray do not take that sarcastic tone with me,” she said sternly. “Meriden can scarcely refuse to explain to you how matters stand with your own property, and I think he will be pleased if you show an interest.”

“Well, I do not have any interest, since I have no power to change anything, so I cannot think for a moment why I should make an ass of myself.”

“You are a very intelligent young man,” Emily said casually. “I saw that right off, of course, so I am persuaded that you will know the exact course to follow. And I suspect that you can see for yourself that if you were to pretend an interest, even if you do not truly have one, and were to continue to ask about things even if your cousin puts you off at first, that eventually you will learn a great deal. But perhaps what you really mean to say is that you do not want the responsibility of running this great estate, not now or ever.”

“Well, of course I want it. It is my privilege, after all. It just seems pointless …” He paused thoughtfully, then said, “Do you really think he would tell me such things?”

“I do not know,” replied Miss Wingrave, ever truthful. “I should think he would. And I will tell you something else, Oliver. You are neglecting your duty toward Dolly, and that is something Meriden would never encourage you to do.”

“Dolly? Good Lord, ma’am, what have I to do with Dolly?”

“She is your sister. At present she is lonely and feeling greatly put upon. She does not understand all that has happened, and she may do something foolish out of her frustration. You, being close to her in age, are more likely than anyone else to comprehend her feelings and to guide her.”

“Much she would listen to me,” snorted Oliver. “Why, Harry Enderby—he’s my best friend and he don’t have a sister of his own like Ted Bennett does—he always notices what Dolly’s doing, and though he don’t approve of her above half, she pays no heed to him or to me either when we criticize her behavior.”

“Then you must exert yourself to win her trust. Truly, Oliver,” Emily went on earnestly, “you can do it, and it will keep you from being bored. I believe Dolly is starving for attention, and you certainly seem to me to be clever enough to bring her round your thumb in a trice if you wish to do so.”

She knew immediately that she had been right to appeal to his vanity, for he stirred and straightened in his chair. He did not agree with her in so many words, nor did he say he would attempt to do as she asked, but when she left him, still staring into the fire, Emily felt as though she had accomplished a good deal. Really, she told herself as she went back up the stairs, Oliver was no more difficult to manage than Ned or John, not nearly so difficult as Papa.

She found Sabrina preparing for bed in her dressing room and stayed only long enough to apologize for causing her distress and to promise faithfully to make amends to Meriden on the following day. Then, her conscience clear, she took herself off to her own bedchamber to read two chapters of a book borrowed from Miss Lavinia before retiring to her bed to sleep peacefully through the night.

The following morning, Emily arose early and decided to enjoy a brisk walk in the gardens before breakfast. She followed the drive around the dew-dampened lawn to the lakeshore path, past the knot garden, across the wooden footbridge and past the temple, around the far side of the lake to the triple-arched stone bridge. From the center of the bridge, looking back, the little temple resembled a miniature Pantheon, while the house on the hill to her right looked like a child’s large dollhouse. The prospect was a pleasing one.

On the other side of the bridge, the lakeside path joined the pebbled drive. One could continue around the lake, back to the house, or one could enter the home wood, where the drive became a roadway leading farther up the dale. Sunlight danced in golden, dust-laden beams among the leaves and shrubbery of the lush woodland, beckoning Emily to explore.

She had walked for only a few minutes along the narrow road before her sharp ears noted the sound of approaching hoofbeats. The voices of the woods continued undiminished, however, which told her that the approaching rider was no stranger to the denizens of the place. The rhythm of the hoofbeats was steady, but her heartbeat was not, for her pulse quickened erratically. A firm believer in doing what had to be done as quickly as possible, she stood her ground, peering ahead through the overhanging tree branches and encroaching shrubbery, as certain as she could be of the oncoming rider’s identity.

Nor was she mistaken. Looking powerful and dominating astride a large chestnut gelding, Meriden hove into sight out of the shady gloom into a patch of sunlight. As soon as he saw her, he reined in and dismounted, his quick smile flashing welcome as he said, speaking more rapidly than usual, “I am very glad to encounter you, Miss Wingrave.”

“I, too,” she replied, returning his smile. “I meant to look for you directly after breakfast. I have something of a decidedly important nature to say to you, sir, though I must confess it goes sorely against the grain with me.”

“Please, for once you must let me speak first,” he said. “I am a poor hand at apologies and if you interrupt me, I shall be sure to lose my thread.”

“But ’tis I who must apologize to you!”

“What? Have you been ordered to do so, Emmy love?” He grinned at her. “Who would dare to command you, I wonder?”

She stamped her foot. “Do not call me by that odious name, sir, or by heaven I shall—”

“I am sorry, Miss Wingrave,” he said contritely, taking a step toward her, his hand held out. “I ought not to have offered provocation now or last night. It was very ill done of me. Will you forgive me?”

“Goodness,” she said, hardly noticing when he took her hand in his. “For someone out of practice, you do the thing prettily, Meriden, though I perceive that you have apologized only for provoking me, not for throwing me in the lake and ruining a practically new gown.”

“Well, you see,” he said gently, looking down into her eyes with an impish smile tugging at his lips, “it is first your turn to apologize for the wine. By my reckoning, we can exchange apologies with each other for quite some time before we run short of subject matter. At least I did not tell lies to you.”

“Nor I to you,” she retorted. “I never tell lies.”

“You said you couldn’t swim.”

“No, sir, only that I couldn’t touch bottom. I couldn’t. Not without going underwater, at all events,” she added conscientiously.

He laughed. “I beg your pardon.” When she tried to withdraw her hand, his tightened. “Friends, Miss … Look here, I won’t go on being so dashed formal all the time. If I agree to try very hard to remember not to call you ‘Emmy love,’ which I freely admit I do only to get a rise out of you, and if I add to my other apologies one for behaving like a schoolboy at Woburn last Christmas, will you allow me to call you Emily?”

“I will, my lord. It does seem foolish to remain so punctilious with each other when you are practically a member of the family.”

“I
am
a member of the family, and both the family and my friends call me Jack, Emily.”

“Well, but I cannot call you Cousin Jack, and—”

“You are quibbling. I distinctly heard you cry out my name last night. If you can do so to make me look foolish, surely you can do so when I particularly request it.”