Carola Dunn (29 page)

“Fiddlesticks! Don’t be so poor-spirited, Neville, I beg. I shall bring you around yet. Matilda must seduce Miles...”

“Me?” Matilda croaked in alarm.

“Really, Euphemia,” cried Jane, “you cannot expect my poor girl to sacrifice herself.”

“Besides,” Aubrey pointed out, “as you yourself once said, Cousin Euphemia, Miles is accustomed to the most beautiful of Paphians.”

“But he has not seen any in five months.”

Neville put his foot down. “Impossible. Should Matilda succeed, she would lower herself to Nerissa’s level.”

“Worse,” said Sophie hotly. “Nerissa is no bit of muslin.”

Everyone stared at her and she blushed.

“Wherever did you learn such a vulgar phrase?” Effie enquired witheringly. “From Miles or Nerissa, no doubt.”

“Cousin Sophronia meant no harm,” said Raymond, to his dead uncle’s astonishment. “And if you intend, Cousin Euphemia, to suggest next that I must seduce Nerissa, I take leave to tell you that it is out of the question. I was prepared to take part in legitimate efforts to defeat the interlopers but I am, after all, a clergyman.”

Effie glared at him. “I hope Neville will remember your uncooperative attitude when he inherits Addlescombe. It is all up to Aubrey, then.”

“Not I,” said Aubrey hurriedly. “You know I’ve never been in the petticoat line.”

“What a parcel of milksops!” Euphemia exploded, practically tearing her hair. “I wash my hand of you. You will just have to marry them. Come, Sophie.” She stormed out.

“Oh dear,” said Sophie, scurrying after her.

Sir Neville sighed. “She is right, it’s the only solution. Aubrey, Matilda, you have a little over a month to persuade your cousins to the altar or we shall all moulder away in Bath, where baronets are two a penny, for the rest of our lives.”

“I daresay you will not dislike it excessively,” Jane said anxiously. “If Sophie is right, Aubrey, and Nerissa is not a doxy, then marrying her will not be a complete disgrace. You might even be able to continue to conceal her background and...”

“Come, Jane,” said her husband, and tore her away before she drove her son from discouragement to despair.

Sir Barnabas regarded his three remaining relatives with amusement. Aubrey stared at himself in the mirror over the mantelpiece, smoothing his dyed hair, straightening his elaborate neckcloth, and turning his head this way and that to study his profile. Raymond hooked his thumbs into his lapels and started sermonizing on the subject of celibate clergy, apparently unable to make up his mind, now, whether he was in favour or against. Matilda sat sunk in an uncharacteristic apathetic dejection.

Raymond suddenly noticed her. He went to sit beside her and gently took her hand. “Do you not wish to wed Miles, cousin?” he asked. “You need not, you know.”

“I daresay I should like it well enough,” she answered gruffly. “He’s turned out to be a sporting chap after all, not afraid of a rasper. But he’s not in the least interested in me and I’m damned--dashed--if I have the least notion how to go about flirting with him. Do you want to marry Nerissa?”

“I have come to believe her a virtuous young woman,” he said with caution, “and she has the interests of my parishioners at heart. However, like you I am aware that she has no interest in me and I find the prospect of a probably unsuccessful pursuit distasteful and most undignified.”

“I shan’t do it,” said Aubrey loudly, still at the looking-glass. “Dash it, I
want
to live in Bath. It may not be as fashionable as London, but there are plenty of people there who appreciate a fellow’s efforts to keep up with the mode. It’s here among the undiscriminating yokels I’m mouldering away.”

“That is all very well for you,” Matilda told him, “but it’s a decent hunt I want and all my hunting friends are here.”

Raymond took a deep breath. “Then marry me,” he said.

Matilda gaped at him. Aubrey swung round, creaking, and gaped. Sir Barnabas gaped.

“It makes sense,” Raymond defended himself, pink-cheeked. “Uncle Barnabas left you a dowry, besides your hundred a year, so we could refurbish the vicarage and live more comfortably than I can on my own. And you would remain within reach of the Blackmore Vale.”

“Do you mean it?” Matilda asked, her voice husky, her leathery face as pink as his.

“I do. I expect we should go on well enough together.”

“Then damned if I don’t do it,” she roared, and wrung his hand. “It’s a deal.”

Raymond winced but smiled bravely and even kissed her cheek.

Aubrey at last wiped the stunned expression off his face and felicitated them. “But don’t tell anyone,” he warned. “Not until April or Cousin Euphemia will do her best to embarrass us again.”

“True,” Raymond said. “In fact, we had best all three at least try to make friends with Miles and Nerissa.”

“I shan’t mind,” said Matilda. “On the whole they are both pretty good chaps.”

And, exchanging a glance, Raymond and Aubrey agreed.

* * * *

April 1st, April Fool’s Day, Sir Barnabas thought with glee. He could not have managed it better if he had chosen when to die.

Once again Harwood had covered the library desk with papers so that the late baronet was forced to perch on the inkwell. He did not really mind. In fact, he could quite easily have hovered in mid air. His substance had thinned and he was more tenuous now than on that day six months ago.

The clock in the front hall chimed nine.

The tubby lawyer, his only close friend for so many years, glanced at the inkwell. “Are you there, Barnabas?”

“Yes.” His voice was a whisper of stirring leaves. “You were right, William--most of the time.”

Harwood beamed. “I’m glad you have been able to stay to get to know your granddaughter.”

“And it’s just as well she never got to know her crabby old grandsire.” Dry as the rustle of dead leaves tossed by the wind. “Here they come. I am going to enjoy this.”

Euphemia took the lead, even in defeat, her face sour with the taste of black bile. Neville and Jane followed, sullen, their titles no compensation for loss of the wealth they had always coveted. After living at Sir Barnabas’s expense for thirty-five years, they had saved plenty on which to live in modest comfort in Bath.

Aubrey, at least, was anticipating Bath with pleasure. The delight his painted face was unable to express showed in his exuberant violet coat and primrose waistcoat. Very seasonal: a vase of violets and primroses picked by Nerissa stood on the far corner of the desk.

Matilda, on the other hand, had escaped the narrow restrictions of Bath society. She and Raymond came in together, looking well contented with each other. Silently their uncle wished them happy.

He was less sanguine for poor Sophie. The prospect of life in a small cottage with Euphemia was enough to daunt the most resolute. Sophie’s mouth drooped in her round, sweet face, usually so determinedly optimistic. Sir Barnabas cursed himself for not making better provision for her.

“Come and sit beside me, Sophie,” commanded Euphemia.

Sophie turned back and whispered to Nerissa, “I am so very glad for you, dear.” Reaching up, she kissed Nerissa’s cheek, patted Miles’s arm, and scuttled to join her sister.

Nerissa, a graceful, elegant figure in deep rose, trimmed with white lace. Still the living image of Anthea, yet how changed from the timid mouse of six months past, afraid of entering a room full of people. His granddaughter had metamorphosed into a gracious young lady quite capable of presiding over a house-party of blue-blooded guests.

And Miles was largely responsible for the change. The care-for-nobody scapegrace had patiently taught her, built her confidence, protected her from plots and conspiracies, while at the same time learning to manage the estate. Given the chance to use his energies in a constructive manner, the boy had come through with flying colours. Sir Barnabas had no qualms now about entrusting his precious Addlescombe to his godson.

As he seated Nerissa in the back row of chairs, Miles’ irrepressible grin of triumph called forth a smile from Sir Barnabas. Yet a hint of puzzlement lurked in those blue eyes, an undefined dissatisfaction. Released from an impecunious life on the fringes of Society, master of a fine estate, Miles was not entirely happy.

Nor was Nerissa. In fact she looked downright unhappy, though she had won a fortune and was about to return to her beloved parents.

Her doting grandfather glared at Miles.

Nerissa glanced up as Mr Harwood cleared his throat. The lawyer was another friend she was going to miss. Right from the first he had done his best to smooth her way insofar as his instructions permitted.

But she would willingly consign all her new friends to oblivion in exchange for the love of that dear, infuriating, crooked-nosed gentleman seated at her side. How was she to live without him?

“Ahem.” Mr Harwood settled his gold-rimmed spectacles on his nose and picked up a single sheet of parchment. He peered over his spectacles. “Are we ready? Then first let me enquire as to whether anyone present believes that either Miles Courtenay or Nerissa Wingate has failed to observe the terms of Sir Barnabas’s Will, as disclosed in this room six months since.”

The only response was a snort of utter disgust and loathing from Cousin Euphemia.

“In that case,” Mr Harwood continued, “it gives me great pleasure to confirm that all the late baronet’s ‘worldly goods and chattels, including the manor and demesne of Addlescombe and all monies whatsoever not hitherto accounted for,’ shall be divided equally between Miss Wingate and Mr Courtenay. I am further instructed to inform you that had both Miss Wingate and Mr Courtenay failed to qualify for their inheritance, Sir Barnabas’s entire fortune was to be bequeathed to the Society for the Suppression of Vice.”

In the stunned silence which followed his announcement, a curious, rusty chuckle whispered around the room.

A babel of indignation arose, and Nerissa was sure she had imagined the strange sound. Miles leaned over and said in a low voice, “It’s All Fools’ Day! Anyone would think the old man had planned to die at the end of September.”

She smiled wryly. “I would not put it past him. He has had us all dancing to his tune for half a year.”

“But at last we are free. Can you be ready to leave for London tomorrow, or shall we wait till the day after?”

“Tomorrow will do.” What a hurry he was in to see the last of her! He was free--free to return to his lightskirt actresses--but he held her heart captive.

He stood up and moved forward, hushing the uproar. “Nerissa and I shall leave for London tomorrow,” he announced. “I shall return in a fortnight. I trust that is sufficient time for you all to remove to your new homes.”

They all started arguing at once. Nerissa slipped away and went to talk to Mr Harwood. In expectation of the outcome, he had already drawn up papers detailing the rent Miles would pay her for her share of Addlescombe and the division of the rest of their joint assets.

She must be practical, though she felt more like running away to hide in a corner and weep.

“Come, Sophie!” Cousin Euphemia’s peremptory voice cut through Nerissa’s heartache. “We shall not stay where we are not wanted.”

Miss Sophie followed her sister towards the door, despondency in every line of her small, plump figure.

“Wait!” cried Nerissa. “Pray wait, Cousin Sophie.”

“Come, Sophronia!” Effie marched on.

Miss Sophie paused, gazing after her, then turned and pattered back to Nerissa. “Yes, dear? Can I do something to help?”

“You can indeed, dear cousin. I know you are independent now with your two hundred a year, but I shall be so very glad if you will agree to come and live with me. Mama and Papa will always be so much occupied with the theatre, I shall need your companionship. Do say you will consider it.”

“Oh, my dear!” Tears of joy sparkled on Miss Sophie’s lashes like raindrops after an April shower as she beamed up at Nerissa. “I need not consider it. If you truly want me, of course I shall come.”

Nerissa hugged her. Miles, having ushered out the last of the family, turned to see Mr Harwood nodding benevolently.

“Miss Sophie is coming to York with me, Miles,” Nerissa explained, her expression and her voice guarded. “If Lady Haverford does not wish for another guest, we shall stay at an hotel in London.”

“Lady Haverford will not mind,” he assured her.

London! At last he was at liberty to return to the pleasures of the city. The luscious redhead of his last night--what was her name?--would have found a protector by now, but with money to add to his personal charms he might entice her away. If not, there were plenty of others. The theatre greenrooms were full of deliciously flamboyant, voluptuous actresses looking for liaisons.

The gaming tables awaited him, too. He’d never risk losing Addlescombe, that went without saying, but he had money to spare, now. Not that there would be much thrill in wagering if his livelihood did not depend on the turn of a card. He might as well bet imaginary palaces; mere guineas would be dull in comparison.

Still, he had every intention of spending a good deal of his time in London in future, though Addlescombe would be his home. Setting up a mistress in the country was simply not the thing.

His gaze returned to Nerissa, talking soberly with Miss Sophie and Harwood, serious, even sad. In his memories she was more often cheerful, laughing, teasing, riding with him, indulging wild flights of fancy over the cards, warm in his arms... She was tall, slim, elegant, gracious, as different as could be from the Cyprians he had always favoured. Perhaps his tastes had changed and a different kind of mistress would suit him better now.

Desire stirred. Whoever he found, he’d keep the girl abed for a week after six months’ abstinence!

Of course, he’d steer clear of both females and gambling hells as long as Nerissa was in Town. Once he had seen her off to York...

A hollow, sinking feeling expanded within him. See her off? How could he let her go? Unthinkable to come back to an empty house, bereft of the constant delight of her presence! It wasn’t a slim, elegant, gracious mistress he wanted, it was Nerissa. How thoroughly he had persuaded himself he regarded her as a little sister!