Amanda Scott (22 page)

“Oh, I don’t believe that, sir. Lavvie is a perfectly charming girl. If her imagination is a bit overactive, then one simply must realize the fact and work to keep her from believing something merely because she wishes it to be so. I’ll admit I never expected her to carry—” Sylvia broke off quickly, realizing that her impulsive tongue had carried her into deep waters. “Would you be so kind as to ring for more tea, sir?” she added hastily.

But he was staring at her now. “No, I don’t believe I shall. You are going to explain that last statement in full, my girl. It occurs to me that Miss Mayfield never showed the slightest interest in me when she was in town last year. It has only been since my little sojourn in Oxfordshire.”

“Oh, but perhaps she had not realized before how charming you can be, sir,” Sylvia said sweetly.

“Enough of that. I believe you were about to say that you never expected Miss Mayfield to carry matters so far. If that is indeed the case, I want a full explanation, and I’d suggest that you enlighten me immediately, before I begin to think I shall have to shake the information out of you.”

She knew him quite well enough to know that his last words were spoken more in the nature of a promise than a threat, and she could not make herself believe that he would not dare to lay a hand upon her. The only problem was that he might well be even more inclined to use her violently when he knew the truth. There was nothing for it but to tell him, however, and to her surprise, she was not at all afraid to tell him. Indeed, she rather looked forward to it.

“’Tis a simple-enough matter to explain,” she said, still in that saccharine tone of voice. “I merely repeated to Lavvie the fact that you thought her a pretty girl.”

“I never said any such—”

“Oh, but you did, sir. You said she was pretty right here in this house, when I was here before. Perhaps you do not recall, but you did say that.”

“Pretty is scarcely a raving compliment,” he pointed out dryly.

“No, I suppose not, but then I just told her you thought her pretty. She probably drew more from that than I meant.”

“Nonsense, you meant to pay me back for the way I treated you here in London. Clearly, forcing me to pledge my watch as payment to that dreadful innkeeper was not enough to satisfy your need for revenge.” His eyes narrowed, and the look on his face dared her to contradict the statement.

She grinned saucily at him. “So what will you do now, my lord? Will you tell her she is mistaken, that after further consideration you find that you do not think her pretty?”

“Of course not. No gentleman could do such a cruel thing, but now that I know how I got into this mess, I daresay I shall think of a way for you to help me out of it.”

“Oh, I think you will manage nicely on your own,” she said airily. “Besides, I don’t think we ought to make any more pacts to help each other until you have fulfilled your earlier obligation to me.”

“And what obligation is that?”

“Why, my book of course! You promised to make arrangements with Mr. Perceval for me. Surely, you have not forgotten, Greyfalcon.”

“No, but I thought that since your father has agreed to frank your stay in town, there was no longer any need.”

“Five thousand pounds is need enough, sir. Good gracious, surely you didn’t think I should no longer be interested in such an amount. Only a zany—”

“All right, Sylvia, you have made your point. I did write to Perceval some time ago, but since even my worst enemies have never accused me of being political, let alone of being a Tory, he has shown no interest in setting an appointment. I did nothing further because I did not see any urgency, but if you insist, I shall see what can be done. Not today, because it is Friday, and I am quite sure he will not see me. But Monday I will go to the House and see him, willy-nilly. Fair enough?”

“Fair enough, sir.”

After that, just to show him that she harbored no hard feelings, she accepted his invitation to drive that afternoon in Hyde Park, and at the opera that night, she not only waved to him from the Reston box, but she forbore to allow her companion, Mr. Lacey, to flirt outrageously with her. In spite of that, she discovered during the intervals that Greyfalcon’s eye was on her every time she looked his way. And when Lavender Mayfield rested her hand lightly upon his lordship’s arm, Sylvia discovered that her own slim hands had curled into claws at the sight.

The weekend passed quickly, for there were several amusements planned, and on Saturday Greyfalcon accepted an invitation from Lord Reston to join them for a jaunt to Hampton Court. He nearly turned back at the last minute when he discovered that Miss Mayfield and Mr. Lacey had been included in the party, but when Sylvia grinned at his look of horror, he grimaced, shrugged, and set himself to behave agreeably.

Fortunately, they traveled by boat on the river, so neither he nor Sylvia was forced into intimate contact with their escorts. Indeed, Sylvia found herself paying little heed to any of her companions while she compared the bursts of scenery with those at home. The arched bridge at Richmond was certainly noteworthy, and there were any number of magnificent houses perched high on the banks there as well, but for the most part she preferred the river below Oxford to the traffic-congested route between London and Hampton Court.

They enjoyed a nuncheon at the Toye Inn, which dated, according to Lord Reston, from the reign of Henry VIII. “In those days,” he explained to the rest of his party as they gazed out the bay window of the dining room across the river at the magnificent palace, “the flow of the river was entirely uncontrolled, subject to every drought and spate. Thus, travelers arriving at the ford here on the Surrey side might well discover that there would be no possibility of continuing their journey until a flood had subsided. They would find warmth, good food, mulled wine, and comfortable beds at this very inn. You all know the history of the palace, of course.”

“Yes, darling,” said Joan, smiling at him. “You told me yourself, and with all the books poor Sylvie’s father has made her read over the years, I am sure she knows as much about Henry the Eighth and Cardinal Wolsey as you do, if not more, and she has probably told dear Lavvie, too.”

Noting Reston’s look of disappointment as well as the blank stares on both Lavender’s and Lacey’s faces, Sylvia took pity on her host. “I am sure I do not know so much as you think, Joan. Only that as the building of that palace progressed, the king began to inquire why the cardinal should set up a court even more royal than his own, and that finally, with Wolsey’s fall from grace—rather a common occurrence for gentlemen under that particular Henry—the cardinal presented the palace to the king. Hampton Court has been royal property ever since, except, I daresay, for that bit of time when nothing was royal, under Cromwell, you know. But I promise you, that is all I know about the place.”

“Well, I shall not attempt a history lesson, of course. Nothing could be more boring.” Reston glanced quickly at Greyfalcon, who coughed just then, but that gentleman’s expression was bland enough to suit him, and he went on, “I daresay you did not realize that the cardinal stayed at this very inn quite often while the palace was under construction across the river.”

“Hadn’t thought about it,” Lacey said dryly, “but I daresay we’d have figured it out, since this was very likely the only place a man might have taken decent shelter. Oh, don’t poker up like that, man. History is all very well in its place, but I am dashed hungry, and the servants are only waiting for your signal to serve us.”

Recalled to his duties, Reston nodded to the innkeeper, who was personally overseeing their service, and the rest of the meal passed without incident, Sylvia having had the presence of mind to ask their host to explain to them the business going on in Parliament regarding the Prince Regent.

“So now we know,” Greyfalcon said later as he arranged a rug to cover her legs against the chill wind that had descended upon the river. “No wonder Perceval has been too busy to attend to such trifling matters as ours. Prinny must be leading him a merry dance.”

“Well, if Mr. Perceval did indeed promise to see the Prince’s debts settled when Prinny pledged himself to switch his party loyalty from the Whigs to the Tories, I think he is honor-bound to do so.”

“But Perceval claims to have no recollection of such an agreement,” Greyfalcon pointed out, taking his own seat beside her. “He has always seemed to be an honorable man, though I cannot agree with his politics.”

“Are you really a Whig, sir?”

“Certainly, and for the same reason that Prinny has always before now claimed allegiance to that party; that my father was a Tory.”

She laughed. “Hardly a matter of principle, then.”

“Indeed, solid principle, and never doubt it.”

“Well, I think the Prince cannot be very solid in his principles, if he would change parties merely in order to see his debts paid.”

“Have you the slightest notion as to what sum those debts amount?” Reston inquired. She shook her head, then gasped when he told her. “Moreover,” he added with a smile, “according to Perceval, Prinny agreed to switch his allegiance to the Tory party for the simple reason that Perceval threatened to name the Queen Regent instead of him if he did not. They have been bickering since the end of last year, when his highness presented a bill for five hundred fifty-two thousand pounds plus a separate reckoning for one hundred fifty thousand more for what he called ‘regency services,’ to the cabinet. They refused to pay, of course, saying they had never heard of such an agreement. Yesterday, Prinny presented the bill again, personally, to the prime minister in front of the gathered House of Commons. Perceval laughed at him, and though I did not witness the exchange for myself, of course, others who did say that Prinny was nearly in tears. I daresay we shall not have heard the end of it.”

Lacey, who was thoroughly tired of hearing about the matter and who had no qualms about letting the others know it, suggested that they sing a song. Miss Mayfield quickly agreed, and so it was that the rest of the journey was spent in more pleasant pursuits than the pursuit of political knowledge.

Sylvia accompanied Lady Greyfalcon to Saint George’s Chapel in Hanover Square on Sunday morning, and then spent the afternoon at an al fresco picnic alongside the Serpentine in Hyde Park, given by the Earl and Countess Cowper for their many friends. On Monday morning she awoke to a gloomy day, for the sky was overcast, and it looked very much as though it might begin to rain at any moment.

“Good thing this weather didn’t descend yesterday,” said Sadie when she brought her mistress’s chocolate.

“This is the sort of day to spend curled up by a fire with a good book,” Sylvia agreed. “I was going to go to Bruton Street to have a gown fitted this morning, but I think I shall just stay quietly at home instead.”

“Be nice if others did the same,” said Sadie, “but they won’t. Shall I tell Merrill that you are not at home today?”

“No, there is no need. I daresay no one will come this morning.”

She soon discovered the error of such thinking, however, for several people called before noon, thus showing that they considered themselves practically members of the family. Among these, curiously enough, were the Mayfield ladies and Mr. Lacey, who arrived at very nearly the same moment.

“I did not dare put this business off any longer,” Lacey said when he noted Sylvia’s surprise at seeing him so early. “I know I ought to have waited until this afternoon, but I realized only while I was being shaved this morning that I have not put my name down for any dances with you at the Carlton House ball, and the date is nearly upon us.”

He looked so appalled that she could not help laughing. “Really, sir, ’tis not till a week from Tuesday. You might just as well have waited.”

“Well, I like to be beforehand. Might I hope for a minuet, or perhaps a country dance?”

Laughing, she agreed to save the first set of country dances for him. He made her a little bow and then seemed to realize for the first time that she was not the only young woman in the room. With a remorseful smile he turned away to pay his respects to Lady Greyfalcon and to Mrs. Mayfield, then made his bow to Miss Mayfield.

“I hope you will also honor me,” he said, according her his most charming smile.

“It shall be my pleasure, sir.”

Sylvia left them to exchange pleasantries and saw them off together twenty minutes later. There were other callers, but not many, and none came after noon, for the sky opened while she and Lady Greyfalcon were enjoying a nuncheon, and the rain poured down, beating so hard against the windows and upon the pavement outside as to make conversation difficult.

After expressing the hope that neither Lord Arthur nor Greyfalcon would drown attempting to get back to Curzon Street, the one from the British Museum, the other no doubt from Brooks’s, Lady Greyfalcon announced that she was going to lie down upon her bed, and Sylvia considered ordering a fire lit in her own bedchamber, but then decided that Greyfalcon would not consider it an invasion of his privacy if she took her book into his library. One of the footmen lit the fire there, and she curled up in one of the big wing chairs with a thoroughly unacademic romance to while away the afternoon.

It was necessary before very long to light several branches of candles so that she could see to read, but after that, nothing disturbed her until there came a clattering in the street, as of the wheels of a fast-drawn carriage.

When the vehicle drew up outside Greyfalcon House and men could be heard shouting in the street, Sylvia tossed her book aside and hurried to look outside.

Pulling the curtains aside, she peered out through the rain-streaked window to the scene below. There were several men gathered around the carriage, but the rain and gloom made it impossible to recognize any of them. Only when they pulled another man from within the carriage and began to carry him up the steps did she realize what was happening. Not for a moment did she mistake the man they were carrying for Lord Arthur.

Running into the front hall, she saw that the porter already had the door open and that two of the footmen had gone to assist the men with their burden. As the rain-dampened group crossed the threshold, she recognized Lord Reston.