Elizabeth Mansfield (17 page)

If Percy were the sort to read omens, he would have found Pruitt's opening remarks to be a warning of bad news to come. "Miss Deirdre is still asleep," the butler informed him. "If you wish to wait, I'll tell her maid to inform her of your presence as soon as she wakes."

But Percy could not read omens. He chose to wait. He was kept waiting for more than an hour. And when Deirdre did appear, her greeting was far from meeting his expectations. She looked so delectable in a diaphanous dressing gown covered with flounces, with her hair hanging about her shoulders in enticing disarray, that he'd immediately attempted to take her in his arms, but she held him off. "Good heavens," were her first words. "What's that dreadful stuff on your face?"

"It's a cosmetic plaster," he replied sullenly. “To cover a discoloration."

"It makes you look ridiculous."

"Does it, indeed?" he snapped, offended. "And who's fault is it that I had to apply it? If you'd informed your hot-headed betrothed of our attachment as you'd promised, I wouldn't have been subjected to—"

She cut him off with a gesture. "Please sit down, Percy," she said, pointing to a chair some distance away. "I have something to tell you that I fear will cause you pain."

He eyed her suspiciously. "I'll stand, thank you. What is it now?"

"I think I've made a mistake," she said, dropping her eyes. "I don't believe I love you after all."

"How can that be?" he asked, outraged. "Only yesterday you said—"

"I know. I'm sorry, Percy. But, you see, my heart has belonged to another for a great while. You made me forget for a time, but—"

"Good God!" His hand went instinctively to his swollen chin. "You aren't going back to that pugnacious monster, Tyndale, are you?"

"No. It's someone else."

"Someone
else?"
It was almost a shout. "What sort of hubble-bubble female are you?"

She drew herself up proudly. "If you're going to be insulting, Percy Greenway, you'd better go. This conversation is over."

"It's not over! Who's the fellow who's superceded me?"

"That's none of your affair."

"It's very much my affair. After all I've been through, I deserve to know. I shan't leave till I do."

She blinked at him, nonplussed. But how else, she wondered, could she be rid of him? "Very well, if you must know," she admitted reluctantly, "it's Lord Ainsworth."

"Ainsworth? I don't believe it. He ain't in the petticoat line."

"Whether he is or not," she said coldly, "I've told you his name. Now keep your word and go."

"Very well, Miss Quigley," he said, tightlipped, "I'll go. But you ain't heard the last of me!"

Kate, meanwhile, had walked as far as the Assembly Rooms and was ready to turn back when she came face-to-face with Lady Ainsworth. Harry's grandmother, dressed somberly in black lace, looked more frail than she'd seemed at Claydon and was leaning heavily on a cane. But when she recognized Kate, her whole aspect brightened. "My dear girl!" she exclaimed with genuine pleasure, "I've been longing to see you."

"And I you," Kate said, making a bow. "I was planning to call on you this very day."

"Then this meeting is a most fortunate chance. Have you some time now? There's a rather quaint little tea-shop just round the corner on Alfred Street. Do come and have some tea with me."

Kate willingly agreed. Soon they were settled at a small table near the shop's latticed window. The conversation was politely conventional until the tea was poured and the blueberry scones served. Then Lady Ainsworth glanced over at Kate, her eyes twinkling mischievously. "My grandson tells me he's quite taken with you, my dear."

Kate shook her head. "It's nothing but a schoolboy infatuation, your ladyship. He's probably cured of it, now that he's back at school."

Lady Ainsworth laughed. "Oh, my dear, I didn't mean Benjy. I'm speaking of Harry."

Kate almost choked on a bit of scone. "Harry? Taken with me?" she managed.

"Very much so," the old woman said.

"He couldn't..." She felt herself redden. "He didn't tell you that, did he?"

"He didn't have to. It's plain as pikestaff." She lifted a pince-nez that was hanging from a chain round her neck, placed it on her nose, and peered at Kate through the lenses. "But you don't like him much, do you?"

Kate expelled a troubled breath. How should she answer? She couldn't lie to this perceptive, straightforward old woman whom she found so admirable. "How could I not like him?'' she said, nervously crushing a piece of her scone into crumbs. "Everyone agrees that he's handsome and charming."

"But you're not everyone," Lady Ainsworth said, her tone of voice questioning.

"No, I'm not."

"Harry tells me you think him a rake."

Kate's eyes met the older woman's direct gaze. "I do have that impression," she admitted.

"You're quite wrong about him, my dear," Lady Ainsworth said firmly. "A rake is a licentious bounder who resorts to trickery and lies to get his way with women. Harry, on the other hand, is the most honest and honorable man I've ever known."

Kate smiled at her. "You're his grandmother. What else can you think of him?"

"It's true that I can't be objective about him. He is very special to me. As I am to him, no doubt, for he lost both his parents at an early age, you know."

"No, I didn't know."

Kate's obvious interest encouraged Lady Ainsworth to go on. "His mother, you see, died giving birth to Benjy. And his father died in the very same year, victim of a dreadful coaching accident. Harry was only sixteen when he inherited his titles. At that age, he had to become father to his baby brother. And I tried to be a mother to him."

"How very sad," Kate murmured. "But he was fortunate to have you."

"And I've been fortunate to have him. Harry does everything to see to my health and comfort. Why, just yesterday he rode all the way to Cheltenham to see a painting I've been wishing to find. It was painted by my grandfather, and it means a great deal to me."

So it was for his grandmother's sake he came to Rendell Hall to see our painting,
she thought. Aloud, she said, "He's been searching for it for a long while, I understand."

"Yes, but he succeeded this time."

"Did he really?"

"Yes, and I'm delighted with it. I've just this morning sent it out to be reframed. I can't wait to hang it over the mantel in our library as soon as we return to Ainsworth Park. You must come one day to see it."

"I should like that very much," Kate said.

Her ladyship took a sip of her tea before returning to her subject. "So you can see why I would naturally think Harry the best of men, but truly, Kate, I'm not alone in my view. It's shared by everyone who knows him."

"Not everyone, I'm afraid," Kate blurted out. As soon as the words left her lips, she regretted them. She stretched her hand across the table. "Forgive me, your ladyship. I shouldn't have—"

"Of course you should." Lady Ainsworth patted the outstretched hand comfortingly. "I want you to be honest with me. You had someone in mind when you made that remark. Who was it who finds such serious fault with my Harry?"

Kate withdrew her hand and rubbed her forehead with it. She was angry with herself for letting this conversation go so far. "I don't wish to malign the man who means so much to you," she said gently.

"Please!" Lady Ainsworth begged.

Kate winced, but surrendered. "I was thinking of a certain Gussie Landers," she mumbled.

Lady Ainsworth's eyebrows drew together in surprise, causing her pince-nez to fall from her nose. "Gussie Landers? I'd heard that the chit had taken ill, but what has my Harry to do with it?"

"I was told," Kate related reluctantly, "that he raised her expectations at a dance and then ignored her in the most humiliating way."

"Good heavens!" her ladyship exclaimed. "Is
that
what's eating the girl? Then this whole
contretemps
must be my fault."

"Your fault? How can that be?"

"Because I made him do it." Her ladyship sat back in her chair, wrinkling her brow in her effort to remember the details. "It was at Almacks, if I recall. I'd forced Harry to accompany me, and, because he didn't wish to be there at all, he was lounging about, sulking. I was quite annoyed with him, I can tell you, and I ordered him to dance with someone. 'Since you're giving me orders,' he grumbled, 'you may as well choose my partner.' So I saw poor Gussie sitting there behind her mother, looking utterly miserable, and I told him to stand up with her. Never saw a face brighten up so quickly as Gussie's did when Harry approached her." She leaned forward anxiously. "I thought we'd done a good turn for the girl."

"But what about afterward?" Kate prodded.

"I never gave it another thought afterward," Lady Ainsworth said bluntly. "And neither did Harry, I'd wager. No reason why we should, is there?"

"I don't know," Kate admitted.

"As I understand the rules, dancing with the same young woman
three
times in one evening does have significance, but only as a sign that the gentleman is interested in her, not a commitment to wedlock. Therefore, it seems clear that standing up with a young woman only once has no significance at all. It certainly doesn't oblige the fellow to woo her. Gussie Landers must be a very foolish girl."

"I suppose you're right," Kate said in a small, shamed voice.

This time it was Lady Ainsworth who stretched her arm across the table. "Open your mind to my Harry, if not your heart," she said, squeezing Kate's hand affectionately. "What you learn might change your life."

Later, walking back to Queen's Square, Kate thought about Lady Ainsworth's words. Perhaps it
was
time for her to open her mind. As for her heart, that was opened long ago.

TWENTY-NINE

Deirdre was pacing about her bedroom like a caged tiger. Several hours earlier she'd sent a note to Harry's room asking to see him but now the sun was setting, and there was no sign of him. For the fifth time that afternoon, she sent for Pruitt. "Has he come yet?" she asked.

"No, Miss, not yet," Pruitt said patiently.

"Well, when he does, don't put him in the sitting room if anyone else is in there. If it's occupied, put him in the morning room. Or any room that's unoccupied. And come up for me at once."

"Yes, Miss," the butler said with a barely suppressed sigh of annoyance. "So you've told me, Miss. Several times."

It was dark when the butler knocked at her door again. "A note for you, Miss Deirdre."

"Did Harry—Lord Ainsworth—bring it?"

"No, Miss. A footman delivered it."

"Very well, Pruitt," she said, her eyes on the note. "Thank you."

She closed her door, sat down on her bed, and tore the note open.
 

Dear Beautiful Deirdre,
it read,
throw on your cloak and come out at once. I have a surprise for you. My carriage awaits you. H.G.

With a cry of delight, she jumped up, snatched a cloak from the wardrobe, and ran down the stairs.

Pruitt heard her and came to the door. "Are you going out, Miss?" he asked. "Lady Madge has ordered dinner in half an hour."

"Yes, Pruitt, dear Pruitt," she chirped happily, kissing his cheek. "I am indeed going out. And if I'm not back for dinner, tell Mama not to worry."

"You'll need a warmer cloak, Miss," the butler called after her. "It's blowing up something fierce."

But Deirdre paid no mind. Pruitt, shaking his head at the impulsive ways of young women, watched as she ran out the door and down to a carriage that stood waiting just outside the gate. A gentleman (whose wide-brimmed hat was pulled down over his eyes so low that Pruitt couldn't see his face) emerged from the carriage as if to help her in. But Deirdre stopped short and seemed about to turn back. The gentleman, however, put a hand on her arm and, to Pruitt's eyes, seemed almost to shove her inside. The carriage set off at once.

Pruitt stood staring after the disappearing equipage, puzzled. His young mistress had left the house so eagerly, and yet, if his eyes didn't deceive him, she'd been less than eager to climb up into the carriage. She appeared to be pushed into it against her will.

The butler didn't know what to do. He didn't wish to cause an unnecessary scene, but if Miss Deirdre became the victim of some sort of chicanery, he would surely be remiss for not reporting it. Reporting the matter to Lord Quigley, however, would certainly lead to an explosion of temper. His Lordship would surely find fault with him. "What sort of yellow-livered coward are you?" he'd shout. "Couldn't you have stopped the child?"

Perhaps relating the incident to Lady Madge might be the wisest thing to do.

A short while later, Madge tapped on Kate's door. Although Megan explained that Kate was dressing for dinner, Madge brushed past her. "Kate, my love, I think something's amiss. I must speak to you alone."

Megan didn't need to be told to take herself off. As soon as she'd gone, Madge handed Kate a crumpled note. "Pruitt thinks that Deirdre may have been abducted," she said in a choked voice.

"Abducted?" The very word made no sense to Kate. "That's insane!"

"Perhaps it's not so insane. I checked her room and found this note."

Kate scanned it quickly. "H. G.? Who can that be?"

Madge wrung her hands. "Can it be our Harry? He is a Gerard."

Kate shook her head. "This wording doesn't sound like Harry. Nor can I imagine him ever even
thinking
of abducting an innocent girl. I have it on excellent authority, including your own, that he is the most honorable sort."

"Then who can it be?" She wrung her hands in helpless agitation. "It couldn't be Leonard. Certainly not Leonard."

Kate sank down on her bed and studied the missive carefully. "I think I recognize the hand," she said at last. "After all, I've had notes from him all my life."

Madge's eyes widened. "Not... not your Percy!"

"Yes, Aunt Madge. As you well know from the scene enacted in your sitting room yesterday, 'my' Percy has been mooning over Deirdre for quite a while/'