Cynthia Bailey Pratt (26 page)

He slammed the door and the entire house shook. “What time is it?”

Edward fumbled for his watch. “Half-past twelve.”

“Half an hour then. I’ll call on her at one, propose by one-thirty and have the banns up by quarter past two. And if that blasted great-aunt won’t give her consent, then I’ll steal Danita away. There’s a long tradition of that in my family, you know, Framstead. My great-grandmother ...”

MacDonald knocked discreetly at the door. Carleton snatched it open. “Where’s my hot water?”

“I beg your pardon. Sir Carleton, but Mr. Heaviside has called and requests to see you at once.”

“Who the devil is Mr. Heaviside? Never mind, MacDonald, send him away.”

“Sir!” the butler said, scandalized.

Edward signaled to his friend. “Mr. Heaviside is the present Master of Ceremonies. I’m sure he wants what I do.”

“What’s that? Miss...you-know-who?”

“I hope not, though she’s so charming, I wouldn’t be ... never mind. What about this duel?”

Carleton scratched his head, thoroughly, with both hands. “Yes, the duel. I was three parts foxed between brandy and frustration. I knew something wasn’t quite right and I went to Madame Le Clerk’s anyway. Oh, the bigger the man, the greater the fool, it seems.” He rounded on the butler, who waited with flexed ears to hear the rest of the tale. “Tell Mr. Heaviside I’ll see him directly. But bring up that water first.” Disappointed, the butler went downstairs.

“Where was I?”

“You went anyway ...” Edward prompted.

“Yes. I should have known better. It isn’t likely His Grace would invite me to another card party, conviviality not being his leading characteristic where I’m concerned.”

“He
invited
you to play cards?”

“Yes, just before he told me about your ‘engagement.’ I suppose he guessed...hell, he knew. Would I have brought a woman along at his first invitation if I never cared for her? Blast him, he guessed the way I felt before I did.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask you. Why...?”

Carleton met his friend’s eyes and knew words would not suffice to explain his superstitions about Danita. He went on with his story. “I wasn’t intending to go last night. When a man like that goes out of his way to be hospitable, one should walk in the other direction. I nearly did, and then...well, I went. The evening proceeded almost exactly as I feared. I won. But they made it seem as though I cheated.”

“That isn’t what they’re saying now. No one seems to know why you’re fighting. But if it’s that ... if the story gets out, you’ll be ruined.”

“And if I don’t fight, she’ll be ruined. If it were just me, I’d leave for Ireland today rather than kill the silly man. But he threatened Danita as well.”

* * *

Mr. Heaviside had reached his exalted, and lucrative, position through being affable, polite, and attentive. Today, however, his chief characteristic was profound anxiety. He fingered the medallion he wore about his neck on a red silk ribbon, flashing the brilliants with which it was studded in the sun coming through the window of Sir Carleton’s study.

“My dear, dear sir,” he said as soon as the two gentlemen entered. He bowed to Carleton and more profoundly, as befitting his rank, to Lord Framstead. “My dear, dear sir. Is there nothing I can say to dissuade you from this bloodthirsty enterprise? I will not trouble to conceal that I have already called this morning upon His Grace, the Duke of Lichoakes.”

“Indeed?” Sir Carleton seated himself at the desk. “And how is he this fine, fair morning.”

“Immovable, I regret to say. He will not tell me why you are fighting, so I cannot say who should apologize. But if you will but consider my position. Sir Carleton. I am charged with keeping the Bath Season a pleasurable and peaceful event. How can I discharge this grave responsibility if gentlemen render the streets hideous with the noise of their pistol shots?”

“Well, if it will set your mind to ease, I’ll offer His Grace the option of rapiers. That, at least, is a quiet death.” Seeing the Master’s face crumple. Sir Carleton laughed. “Come, now, I am only joking with you. You go to His Grace and tell him I’ll apologize as pretty as he pleases. There, that’ll make him a happy man, I’m sure.”

The Master of Ceremonies scurried away to try to pacify the Duke of Lichoakes. Though they are promised a blessing in heaven, peacemakers have a difficult time of it during their mortality. His Grace cursed Mr. Heaviside and called him a damned interfering fool. “And I shall not. Sir Carleton, sully my lips by repeating what he called
you,”
the wretched gentleman said on his return to Number 15.

Carleton looked at his friend. “I did try, Framstead. He’ll have my head, if he can.”

“Are you a good shot?” Edward asked, hoping he did not sound ghoulish.

“I’ve shot many a grouse, but never a man yet. We shall see. There’s but one thing. I shan’t be calling on anyone this morning. Wouldn’t be fair to obtain a promise, only to be carried home on a hurdle. As my second, if the worst happens, I’ll expect you to smooth over that section of my affairs.”

Embarrassed beyond words. Lord Framstead thrust out his hand to seal their bond.

Mr. Heaviside twisted his medallion until he nearly strangled in his red ribbon. “If only you gentlemen would consider my position, you wouldn’t do these things.”

Chapter Fourteen

Immediately upon his entrance, Roger Clively took the situation in hand. Coming into the dining salon, his daughter clinging to his hand, he spoke kindly but firmly to his mother. “Now, Mother, I’m sure these ladies will excuse you. The strain of entertaining so soon after my father’s death and all ...”

“I’m sorry,” Danita said. “I was thoughtless to invite my friends at this time. Miss Millicent Massingham and her sister, Miss Lucy. Mr. Clively.”

“Yes! It’s her fault!” exclaimed Mrs. Clively, forgetting to greet her son, so occupied was she in glaring at Danita.

Miss Massingham said, “I quite agree that we should be going. Danita,” she turned toward her. “If you find you require refuge, I pray you will come to us. Goodnight. Come, Lucy.”

“But, Millie,” she whispered as she was ruthlessly dragged out. “I want to see what they will do next. And I never finished my mutton.”

While Mrs. Clively was put to bed, dosed with a measure of laudanum, Danita waited in the morning room for her newly arrived cousin. “There wasn’t time to introduce myself, Mr. Clively.”

“You are, of course, Cousin Danita. I’ve heard of little else save you from Berenice, and from, I must say, my mother.”

Danita bowed her head. Mr. Clively had his mother’s blue eyes, curiously clear, though that might have been merely the contrast with his tanned face. He was lean and short like his father, his sandy hair thinning. Yet Danita found it easy to believe that he had resolutely shaken off the ties his mother would have bound him in and set out to make his own way in the world. Not knowing her mother, Danita thought Berenice’s determination and cheerfulness must come from him.

Lifting his coattails, Mr. Clively sat down. “You may wonder to see me in England.”

“Yes, I had rather. The letter from Mr. Kitson cannot have reached Barbados so soon.”

“My father wrote to me. He wished me to come home, to take up my position as his son and heir. I came at once to be reconciled to him and to my mother, but I will be returning home shortly, or at least as soon as I can once the matter of my father’s estate arranges itself. I have seen Mr. Kitson in London and he tells me the matter should present no difficulties now that I am in England.”

“It must have been a great shock, to hear of your father’s passing.” All at once, and to her horror and surprise, she felt the hot sting of tears. Quickly, she turned her head. “I ... I was fond of him myself,” she added when she could trust her voice not to break.

“You are distressed, and no wonder. My mother...well, you may as well know the worst, if you do not already suspect. My mother has had strange fancies for most of her life. Ideas of persons dear to her, who are, to her mind, trying to betray her. The only person she truly trusts is her maid, Simmins.” Danita could see what it cost him to speak in this way.

“If you don’t want to talk about this. Cousin Roger ...”

“No, I believe in facing the truth. Kitson told me about this business of my father’s will and of the summons he received to Roselands the day before my father’s death. Berenice gave me this.” He reached into his breast pocket and brought out a very crumpled letter. “She did not know what to do with this letter, which she abstracted from my mother’s reticule. Mother had left orders that she was to be informed at once, should Father send for his solicitor on any pretext. This letter ...”

“Then that is why she was in such a hurry to return to Roselands that day!”

“Yes. Not knowing of the existence of the second will, she was determined to keep you from inheriting anything from my father. Cousin, I wish to make restitution for my mother’s hardness toward you. I will be taking her back with me to Barbados, though,” a quirk of wry humor twisted his mouth, “though I cannot expect a peaceful household. If you wish to stay in England, I will make provision for you as I believe my father would have, if he’d been granted time.”

Danita said, “Thank you. But Uncle Lemuel gave me all I could want. Not only the money, though I’m grateful for it, but a sense of belonging to someone. I wish I’d known him for a longer time. He was a very kind man, I think.” With a smile, she rose to her feet. “You’ve had a long journey and a difficult homecoming. I will not keep you longer from your supper.”

Before she reached the door, Mr. Clively said, “Berenice is very fond of you. My mother is not well; you mustn’t let what she says upset you. That is fatal. I know.”

The next morning, Danita rose early. To her, upon Mrs. Clively’s sudden illness, would fall the running of the household. Mrs. Figgs would soon approach with the day’s menu, and she must be prepared to answer any questions.

“A plain scone, miss, that’s all he asked for. A plain scone and a cup of coffee. Not that our coffee is what he’s used to. He made that clear enough. His servant, a handsomely spoken fellow, even if he is as black as the grate, came down and asked soft as you please if he couldn’t make the coffee for his master. Well, I’m ever willing to learn, you know, and as it happens I’ve been grinding the beans wrong all this time.”

“I don’t think Mr. Clively will be staying more than a few weeks. I’m glad you’ve taken so to his valet.”

“It’s Figgs who likes him. He’s always wanted to travel to them islands, and farther still to hear him. Right here’s good enough for me, and always will be. I don’t even care to leave Bath for as much as a day. Goodness knows what can happen to a body out there.” Mrs. Figgs gestured to take in the whole world, or at least that part of it outside her own experience.

“Thank you, Mrs. Figgs. If I could see the menu...?”

Danita did not really look at it. Her thoughts were busy with what she had seen of the world, and with wondering how much more of it she must see before finding a place of her own. It might be a long time before Uncle Lemuel’s estate was settled. She knew she could not stay with Mrs. Clively, not after what had passed last night. She was not used to being so hated and yet so needed by anyone, not even by the most recalcitrant schoolgirl she’d ever taught.

“It seems very well,” Danita said, nodding at the carefully written page. Mrs. Figgs could be trusted to see that each dish complemented all the others. She said as much.

“So all my ladies have said, miss. I’ve always given satisfaction, as has Figgs. But then it helps to be careful who one chooses as employer. You’ll never catch Figgs and me working for someone like that Sir Carleton, in Number 15. What are they to do tomorrow when he’s shot down dead? Who’s going to give them a reference? They never thought of that, I’ll be bound.”

Danita crushed the menu to a sticky ball. “When Sir Carleton is what?”

“Excuse me. Miss Wingrove, I worked half the night on that.” Mrs. Figgs took it from the girl’s unresisting fingers and spread it out, smoothing down the wrinkles with one strong hand.

“Please forgive me, Mrs. Figgs, I was thinking of something else. What did you say about Sir Carleton?”

The housekeeper-cook’s expression was one of complacency. There is something very heartening in seeing one’s betters acting like a common lot of fools.

“It’s this here duel,” she began, but then the bell began to jangle. “Never you mind, I’ll send them away. Comin’ round here to gawk at this hour of the morning.”

But it was only Mr. Newland bearing a posy for Berenice. Mrs. Figgs, cherishing the memory of a flirtation as a tweeny with an underfootman who Mr. Newland resembled strongly, permitted him to wait until Miss Clively could attend him. With a languishing look and a giggle ill-suited to a sober matron of fifty, she showed him into the morning room. “Will that be all, Miss Wingrove?”

Waiting impatiently for the housekeeper to return and tell her of Sir Carleton’s duel, Danita looked around and, try as she might to control her features, her face fell. “Yes, thank you. Good morning, Mr. Newland. I’m sorry Berenice is not ready to greet you. We had a hectic evening.”

“Then it is true? What I have heard?”

“I cannot say. What have you heard?” Her mind raced, imagining pistol smoke dissipating on the morning breeze, blood-splashed grass, and a broad, dark figure stretched out lifeless beneath the rising sun. He could not have fought so soon. Mrs. Figgs had said tomorrow. She was always a reliable source for gossip. At least Mrs. Clively had found her so.

“Why, that Miss Clively’s father is home from the islands. I’m very glad of it Now I can at last pay my addresses to the proper person. It is very hard for me to put forward a proposal in writing and have it looked favorably upon when arrived.” A color came up into his manly cheeks. “On subjects other than the law, of course.”

Nearer to liking him than ever before, Danita said, “Yes, Mr. Clively is here. For some little time, I fancy,” she added in answer to his eager question. “Mrs. Clively is not well.”