Lord Dearborn's Destiny (13 page)

For one thing, there was Miss Winston-Fitts to consider. He had noticed, and approved, his mother's attempts to become acquainted with Rosalind, but had noted, too, her singular lack of success. What he had first taken as praiseworthy modesty and reserve in her manner, he had by now come to realize was, in fact, paralysing shyness. He also had begun to suspect— disloyal thought! —that his lovely Rosalind did not possess a first-rate intellect. These were flaws that might become severe disabilities in a future Countess of Dearborn.
 

Forrest thought of all of the duties his mother took upon herself— social, charitable and managerial, both here and in Town —and, try as he might, he could not imagine Rosalind Winston-Fitts one day assuming them.

Shaking himself free of such disturbing thoughts, he saw that the rest of the party had gone on some distance ahead. Hurrying to catch them up, he thrust his introspections aside for the time being.

"... far superior to dried herbs, I assure you," the Countess was saying as he rejoined the group. "Did you not notice how savoury the sauce for the sole was last night? Cook says he could never manage it without this garden."

"My daughter has a light hand with herbs, my lady," Mrs. Winston-Fitts put in quickly. She, too, had noticed the Countess's efforts to draw Rosalind out, and could have shaken her daughter for her lack of response.

"Does she?" Lady Dearborn turned towards Miss Winston-Fitts with a smile. "That is certainly what is needed."

"Yes," went on Rosalind's mother, "she used to help in our herb garden when she was younger." She forbore to add that she herself had forbidden her to continue once she turned sixteen, deeming it an unladylike pursuit. As the Countess obviously did not consider it so, Mrs. Winston-Fitts was only too willing to change her opinion on that head.

"I hope you remember to keep some of your rosemary planted at the doors. 'Tis very lucky to do so. What other talents is she blessed with?" asked Lady Dearborn, apparently deciding that the mother was a more likely source of information than the daughter.

"Oh! She does the most exquisite needlework imaginable," responded Rosalind's proud parent. "Why, even Elinor here has said that her work is like that of fairies."

"Very true, my lady," concurred Ellie eagerly. "My cousin can make nigh invisible stitches. Her patience and precision amaze me, for I can never sit still long enough to do a piece of work to even my own satisfaction, much less anyone else's." Despite her own conflicting feelings regarding the forthcoming match, Ellie very much wanted Rosalind to get on with her future mother-in-law. Unfortunately, however, the Countess seemed less than impressed.

"I fear needlework has never been one of my strengths," said Lady Dearborn. "I, too, find myself unable to sit at something so mindless for very long." Then, seeming to realize what she had implied, she quickly added, "It is a most admirable and feminine accomplishment, however, and one to be commended."

"Quite so," agreed Mrs. Winston-Fitts with a barely perceptible sniff.

"Here we have our little apple orchard," said the Countess, plainly eager to change the subject. "The blossoms are past their prime now, but they were quite spectacular a fortnight ago, I assure you." She was interrupted at that moment by an unearthly wailing from above.

Looking up, Ellie saw an orange tabby cat far out on the limb of a nearby apple tree. He had apparently gone out farther than he had intended and was now fearful of retracing his route, although he was actually no more than six or seven feet from the ground. As she watched, the cat emitted another pitiful howl.

"Oh, gracious!" exclaimed Lady Dearborn. "It would be Red Devil. Forrest, I don't suppose you would..."

"That monster took a swipe at me just last night," protested the Earl. "He's a foul-tempered beast. Oh, all right, Mother," he relented at the pleading look she sent him. Reaching up to where the cat clung just over his head, he crooned, "Come, puss, puss. Come on, then."

The cat, unappreciative of Lord Dearborn's charitable intentions, hissed menacingly and let go one forepaw to swat at the outstretched hand, claws extended.

"I've no intention of letting this brute injure me," the Earl informed his mother, withdrawing his hand. "He may stay there till he starves, with that sort of attitude."

John Willoughby stepped forward. "I'll give it a try, m'lady, if I may," he said confidently. "Watch this, Miss Winston-Fitts," he added to Rosalind with a wink. Easily topping six feet, he was an inch or two taller than the Earl and his face was nearly on a level with the cat when he stood on tiptoe. "Now you just come down, Mr. Red Devil," he ordered loudly, reaching up with a quick motion to seize the animal by the scruff of the neck.

Red Devil, however, had other ideas and twisted round like lightning to sink his teeth into Mr. Willoughby's wrist. The young man let go with a howl not unlike those that the cat had been uttering before.

"Bloody ungrateful beast!" he cried. "Hang there, then!" The cat flattened his ears and hissed again.

"Oh, dear," said the Countess. "I should have warned you, John, that Red Devil tends to be a bit nervous around strangers."

Her son guffawed at this understatement. "Nervous? Vicious is more like it, and
I'm
certainly no stranger to him!"

"I suppose we should let him calm down a bit. Perhaps he'll come down on his own if left alone," said the Countess worriedly. The group obligingly moved away, but Lady Dearborn glanced backwards several times to where the cat had resumed his cries.

"Might... might I try, ma'am?" asked Ellie diffidently. She very much feared that she might appear to be showing off, and she knew for certain that her Aunt Mabel would not approve, but the animal's distress bothered her nearly as much as it plainly pained its mistress.

"He really is a most intractable pussy, Miss O'Day," Lady Dearborn cautioned her. "And however would you reach him?" Like the Countess herself, Ellie stood barely over five feet tall.

"If one of the gentlemen would be so kind as to pull that chair over, I could stand on that," she replied, nodding towards an ornamental wrought-iron bench that stood against the hedge. Timothy Willoughby moved with alacrity to do her bidding, though Lord Dearborn was obliged to help him before the bench was properly positioned beneath the tree.

"I really must advise you against this, Miss O'Day," said the Earl earnestly as she prepared to step onto it. "My mother found that cat running wild when he was half-grown, and he's never been quite tame. I would never forgive myself were he to injure you."

"Nor I, my dear," agreed the Countess. "I'm not at all certain that naughty kitty deserves such a risk on your part."

"Certainly not!" chimed in Mrs. Winston-Fitts. "I pray you will refrain from making a spectacle of yourself, Elinor, and come away at once!"

"You needn't watch, ma'am," Ellie informed her sweetly. "In fact, I will no doubt go on much better without an audience." Lady Dearborn's concern for the cat was evident, and Ellie had resolved to do what she could. "I promise to be careful, my lady," she assured her hostess, climbing onto the bench.

Mrs. Winston-Fitts, incensed to have her orders flouted by her niece but unable to do anything more while the Countess supported this mad scheme, turned to go back to the house. "Very well," she said tightly. "If it is as you say, we had best leave you alone with the beast, I suppose. Come, Rosalind."

Rosalind followed her quite readily, only too willing to leave the cat's vicinity. Accordingly, the two Willoughbys and their mother came along, as did Lady Emma, Prudence and Lady Fenwick. The Countess and her son remained behind, however, much to Mrs. Winston-Fitts's vexation.

Ellie waited until the majority of the group had left the orchard to turn her attention to the cat, now less than a foot above her. Making little chirrupping noises, she reached up very, very slowly, pausing anytime the cat reacted by so much as twitching an ear. "Goood Devil, sweeet Devil," she crooned softly, advancing her hand until she could stroke him between the ears. Still he did not flatten them, so she stroked further, smoothing the ruffled fur along his spine. As she felt him relax, she reached up with her other hand until she could cradle him between them. He clung to the branch for a moment, but then apparently decided to trust his weight to her and came away easily enough. Ellie stepped down and handed him to the Countess.

Lady Dearborn set him down quickly after a brief hug caused him to struggle. It appeared that even his mistress had little control over Red Devil. "I don't know how to thank you enough, Miss O'Day. He might very well have got down on his own, but I would have fretted about him all day. You have quite a knack with cats, it would seem."

"I used to play with the barn cats all the time when I was a girl, and most of them were at least half wild," explained Ellie, suddenly shy. "I learned that avoiding any sudden movement was the surest way to win their trust."

"I'll certainly remember that the next time I have dealings with the Devil," said the Earl, laughing. "Why did you not warn me of that earlier, Mother?"
 

"I must confess, I had not thought of it," replied the Countess. "We may have to keep you with us, Miss O'Day," she said teasingly. "You are quite too useful to be without."

"Indeed," agreed the Earl, smiling down at Ellie, who suddenly felt herself blushing furiously. "I can't imagine what we ever did without her."
 

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A
UNT
M
ABEL
had been right, thought Ellie, alone in her room a short time later. She should never have put herself forward so. Why, any observer could be forgiven for assuming that she was trying to supplant Rosalind in the Earl's affections —or at least in his mother's affections —as Aunt Mabel most assuredly must.
 

And was she, she wondered? Could she truly be so despicable as to deliberately try to ruin dear Rosalind's best chance at a happy marriage? She devoutly hoped not.

She had
tried
to make her cousin appear in a more favourable light to Lady Dearborn, and indeed, what she had said about Rosalind's embroidery was perfectly true. Somehow, though, whenever she tried to help, her efforts seemed to backfire and draw that much more attention on herself. She could not be completely sorry for helping that poor cat, of course, and she knew that the Countess had been sincerely grateful, but Lord Dearborn had seemed more amused than anything else. What had he meant by agreeing with his mother that they should "keep her with them?"

Had Rosalind perhaps suggested to him that she stay on as her companion after their marriage? As much as Ellie loved Huntington Park, the cats and even the Countess, she knew she could never bear that. No, when the Earl had looked down at her with an almost tender smile in his eyes, she had realized once and for all that she could never regard him merely as a friend. And where did that leave her? Sighing, she seated herself at the pretty pink and gold dressing table to tidy her hair before nuncheon.

It was a pity that none of her especial admirers had been invited to the house party, she supposed, although the idea of marrying any one of them did not much appeal to her, particularly now. Still, what else was there? Timothy Willoughby had shown her some attention, she thought dispiritedly. Perhaps she ought to encourage him. Of course, that would still mean living in the neighbourhood of Huntington Park, if not on the estate itself.

"You're being a very poor sort of cousin," she told her reflection aloud. "You should be focusing your energy on ensuring Rosalind's happiness, not on your own wretched future! There will be time enough for that later." A sudden vision of the empty years stretching ahead almost made her quail, but she straightened her back and raised her chin defiantly. "Perhaps I
could
induce Lord Dearborn to fall in love with me— though I doubt it," she said to the image in the glass. "But I would hate myself forever for it. Whoever else may share my future, I shall always have to live with myself!"
 

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Nuncheon was a lively meal, in spite of Mrs. Winston-Fitts's marked coolness towards her niece. Timothy Willoughby was frankly impressed, and his brother even more so, at the Earl's recital of Ellie's rescue of Red Devil.

"Are you certain you are not hiding bites and scratches beneath your gloves, Miss O'Day?" asked John. "If not, you must be quicker than I."

Ellie repeated what she had told the Countess, that slow movements rather than quick ones were what made the difference. As she spoke, she glanced at Lady Dearborn, who had been listening to another recital of Rosalind's accomplishments from Mrs. Winston-Fitts. At Ellie's words, however, she turned.

"Yes, Miss O'Day was quite wonderful. We must think of a way to keep her with us, I think," she said, echoing her words in the orchard, as Ellie had half feared she might.

"Oh, you must have her to stay on as Rosalind's companion, then, should a certain happy event take place," suggested Mrs. Winston-Fitts quickly. "My daughter has quite come to depend upon her, as well, you must know, for Elinor has often proved herself useful." Her tone put Ellie firmly in her place as a poor dependant.

"An excellent notion," agreed Lady Dearborn, with a sidelong glance at her son. "Don't you agree, Forrest?"

Daring a glance at the Earl, Ellie saw him frown as he replied, "If Miss O'Day can contrive no better situation, she would certainly be welcome here."

Ellie dropped her eyes, flushing scarlet with mortification. Between them, her aunt and Lady Dearborn seemed conspiring to force her into precisely the impossible situation she was determined to avoid! In desperation, she said, "I'm certain Rosalind can get along perfectly well without me. Indeed, I hope she can, for I plan to accept my grandfather's offer to live with him in Ireland in the very near future." With great effort, she managed to keep her voice steady.