Miss Mischief - A Regency Romance (22 page)

‘I gave your grandmother my word,’ he sighed. ‘And I can leave when I return just as well, I suppose.’

But the trip into town, not entirely unwelcome as he was able to purchase some desperately needed items, took a great deal longer than he had anticipated. Miss Claybourn seemed to have all manner of things she needed to do, including a fitting for a gown at her dressmakers. It was getting on for six o’clock when they returned to Cloverton Hall and somehow, he found himself agreeing to stay for dinner. Traveling at night was not unpleasant, especially as the rain had cleared and it promised to be a fine night. But after dinner, when he was taking coffee and brandy in the drawing room once again, he felt his eyes grow unusually heavy and a deep drowsiness descend and was once more persuaded to stay the night. He slept profoundly and woke feeling more or less refreshed, even if he was rather heavy headed.

‘The devil was that all about?’ he muttered, rising to dress. He must have been wearier from his time on the road than he had imagined. Certainly, he could not recall being so tired since his recovery from his wound in France. ‘Breakfast and then I am gone.’

For he was becoming suddenly, uncomfortably aware of an unexpected desire to stay, if only so he could spend more time with Johanna. Indeed, Miss Claybourn was entirely at fault for she was alternately intriguing, charming, exasperating, mischievous or alarming, sometimes all at once. One was never sure, from one minute to the next, what she would say or do but, his three sisters aside, he had never met anybody who was so easy – or so enjoyable – to converse with. And it wasn’t just that he enjoyed her company. There had been more than a few times when she paused to look up at him, face raised, lips slightly parted and he had known a sudden, almost overwhelming desire to sweep her into his arms and kiss her. The sudden desire had been a hot lick of flame through his blood and he had been taken aback by its intensity.

It would be delightful to kiss Miss Claybourn, to experience the singular pleasure that he knew instinctively he would find when he took her into his arms. But it would be a mistake to do so, for she was not the kind of female one engaged with lightly. He only hoped that whoever she did settle on would be kind and gentle, for beneath that ebullient exterior he sensed a girl who was extraordinarily sensitive. It would be a tragedy if whoever did win her heart did not value what he had.

Not that it had anything to do with him, he reminded himself in what was fast becoming a personal mantra. These people were incidental to his journey, damn it.

He intended, once again, to leave after breakfast but descending the stairs, he found Sir Antony haranguing a footman in the hallway to ‘get a move on!’ Miss Claybourn was also hovering, her hands clasped together tightly, face anxious. Marcus raised an eyebrow and looked at her and she bit her lip.

‘Oh Lord Hathaway! Grandma is feeling unwell and has asked to see the surgeon.’

He frowned. ‘What is the matter?’

‘I am not sure. She says she feels dizzy and… and faint. She has remained in bed, of course.’

‘I’m just sending for the fellow now,’ Sir Antony said gruffly. He looked ruffled.

‘Would you like me to go? If you give me his direction, I will leave immediately.’

‘Oh no, Sir,’ Miss Claybourn demurred. ‘You have had no breakfast. We will send for Mr. Moreland who attends her occasionally. I am sure it will not take long.’

‘Nonsense,’ he said briskly. ‘Just let me saddle Hermes and tell me where to look and I will have him here directly.’

Sir Antony fell upon the suggestion with obvious gratitude, although Miss Claybourn still expostulated. He swept gratitude and objections aside and hurried out to the stables. Astride Hermes, he went swiftly in search of the surgeon, finding his house without difficulty and rousing him from his breakfast. The man came immediately and, happily, it seemed Mrs. Howeth was suffering from nothing more than one of the many ailments of old age.

‘The years pass,’ Mr. Moreland, a portly individual with enormous mutton chop whiskers opined, ‘and we all of us are subjected to the travails of age. Mrs. Howeth is approaching eighty and generally enjoys excellent health, all things considered.’

‘So you do not think we have any reason to be alarmed?’ Miss Claybourn inquired gravely, pouring tea for the gentleman who had agreed to join them for a little sustenance, as he had been wrenched rather abruptly from his own morning’s repast.

‘Oh no, my dear. Bed rest for the remainder of the day and possibly tomorrow, as well. I shall call again tomorrow to see how she is going.’

‘Ah,’ Sir Antony sighed. He looked a deal more relaxed at the news and Marcus realized that the man had been genuinely alarmed by his mother-in-law’s illness.

He cares for her a great deal, despite the fact that he cannot quite rid himself of the stigma of trade and all that dreadful, delightful, shameful money…

Instead of taking his leave, as he had intended to do, he lingered to ensure that neither daughter nor father was too distressed. When Mrs. Howeth asked to see him once again, he was almost resigned to whatever new demands she might place on him. Almost, but not quite.

She was resting against a pile of heaped up pillows, looking very old and fragile among so much fine linen and lace. Not that she appeared any different than usual; at such an age, Katherine Howeth must look fragile. Certainly her dark eyes were as sharp as usual and she waved a thin hand to the chair that had been drawn up to the bed.

‘There you are,’ she said. ‘Good.’

He sat and looked at her. ‘Are you all right?’

The old lady huffed out a laugh. ‘At my age I’m chuffed just to open my eyes in the morning. Don’t fratch on my account, lad. But I do have one more boon to ask of you. It’s a lot, I know but it’d ease my mind some.’

‘Of course,’ he said, wondering what form this particular ‘boon’ would take and for how long. Seriously, if he continued on like this he wouldn’t be back in time for Audrey’s birthday even if he didn’t continue on to Northumberland. If he wasn’t careful he’d be lucky to be back by Christmas.

She gave him a smile and once again, he reflected that Katherine Howeth must have been a very good-looking woman, once upon a time. There were still signs of it in her face, in the high cheekbones and delicate brow. It was obvious where Miss Claybourn had her good looks from.

‘There is a dance tonight,’ she began.

‘Oh, no!’ The words were out before he could stop them and he paused and gave a wry smile. ‘My dear Mrs. Howeth, I could not possibly attend. I have no evening clothes that would be suitable.’ It was one thing to go about Cloverton Hall with a limited wardrobe but quite another to turn up at a social function where evening dress would be considered essential.

‘Bless you lad,’ she gave him a smile. ‘Neither could you. But I’ve thought of that. Arthur’s duds should do you nicely.’

‘Arthur?’ he repeated uneasily.

‘Johanna’s cousin. Well second cousin, truth be told, on her father’s side. I believe he left a set here when he stayed last December.’

‘Did he?’ Marcus repeated blankly. Seriously, the Claybourns seemed to have an answer for everything. Even so… ‘But there is no certainty they will fit me.’

‘Won’t be far off,’ she said, eyes running over him assessingly. ‘And my lass Thadie is a dab hand at sewing and can fit you out just right. You’ll be gradely.’

He tried to protest. He produced any number of objections as to why he should not escort Johanna Claybourn, including pointing out he would be superfluous as Sir Antony would undoubtedly provide an escort.

‘He’s a little poorly himself, poor lamb,’ Mrs. Howeth told him with a shake of the head. ‘He’d not say so but he’s taken a knock with that female. It unsettles his stomach when he’s twitchy.’

‘He is upset about Mrs. Gordon?’ Marcus hazarded.

‘Aye. Just as well the creature took herself off. She’d a had herself installed in a month if she’d stayed.’ Mrs. Howeth grimaced. ‘I must thank you truly for that, lad. It was well done.’

‘It was more your granddaughter’s work than mine,’ he murmured. ‘If she ever wishes a change of scene I daresay she can take to the stage.’

Katherine Howeth chuckled. ‘She’s a rare one, and so she is.’

In that, at least, they were in complete agreement.

No matter how many excuses he found not to attend the wretched dance, by eight o’clock that evening he found himself seated in a smart carriage next to Johanna Claybourn, being spirited to the Leythams’ dance. Johanna had taken his inclusion with a certain amount of sympathy.

‘Was it Grandma? I’m sorry. She is awfully hard to resist, isn’t she?’

Never, Marcus reflected grimly, had a truer word been spoken. ‘Is your father really feeling unwell?’

‘I expect so. He needs to eat plain food for a few days but only Grandma can bully him into it. She’ll probably start tomorrow.’ A small, gloved hand patted his arm soothingly. ‘I know that we have delayed you dreadfully, but I can’t tell you how much I have enjoyed your company over the last few days.’

Marcus looked down at the hand, and then into her eyes. In the dim interior of the carriage the heart shaped face was almost unbearably lovely. Sometimes she made him blink, abruptly taken aback by all that beauty. It was strange that he could forget how very breathtaking she was much of the time, for she had a way of distracting one from focusing on anything but what she was saying. Self-defense, he thought ruefully. The girl kept him on his toes with her quick mind and extraordinarily unconventional outlook on life. He had decided that it was a good thing to be distracted. If he were thinking about whatever ridiculous suggestion she was making next then he wasn’t thinking about kissing her; because more and more, the urge to do so was becoming a preoccupation that he was finding hard to banish.

And he had absolutely no intention of kissing the girl.

The Leythams’ house, Thorny Mede, while not quite as fine as Cloverton Hall, was lovely enough in its own way and it did possess a very impressive ballroom. In his borrowed finery, which fit surprisingly well, he felt that he at least blended in, although he might wish that either Sir Antony or Mrs. Howeth – or some other suitable chaperone – had accompanied them for it must have looked damned odd, a perfect stranger squiring a young lady to a ball. A stranger who was not familiar with any of the families in the area. It was hardly a surprise when their arrival caused a stir but he gave a mental shrug and reflected that it hardly mattered, as he would not be likely to be facing any of them in the near future. Miss Claybourn, on the other hand, would have to for the other guests must make up her circle of friends and acquaintances. He gave his companion a sideways glance but she seemed oblivious to anything amiss.

She would be. It probably didn’t even enter the minx’s head that arriving without a suitable chaperone – he could not be thought of as a suitable chaperone – might be considered a social
faux pas.
Why would she? Miss Johanna Claybourn, shielded as she had been by her devoted family, would not even consider that his presence might somehow reflect badly on her. And if it did, would she care? It didn’t seem very likely.

She looked dazzling tonight in a silver gown of some filmy material with a fine overlay of opaque pearly pink. Small silver slippers peeped out from beneath the gown and her hair had once again been simply dressed, loose curls tumbling down her back, threaded through with silver ribbon. It was hardly a surprise that she was the focus of attention; the expression on most of the men’s faces one of admiration, the expression on quite a few female faces anything but.

Jealousy coupled with something a little less definable, an unpleasant twist of the lips that suggested disdain. They don’t like the girl’s antecedents, Marcus reflected grimly and the knowledge made him move just a little bit closer, as if he could protect her from such petty injustices.

They made the rounds, Miss Claybourn introducing him to her host and hostess first, as was only proper and she exchanged cheerful greetings with everybody, seemingly oblivious to the attitude of others. She might be overindulged but she had been taught very nice manners and he could not fault her behavior. With one or two notable exceptions – several middle-aged fellows that were as malicious as any female and were clearly the cronies of the dowagers – the gentlemen in the room seemed singularly charmed by Johanna Claybourn. As expected, her four swains presented themselves with astonishing alacrity and breathless enthusiasm and he sensed, rather than saw, Miss Claybourn brace herself as they hurried over to express their unalloyed joy at seeing her. None of them seemed equally pleased to see Marcus at her side, but that was probably not surprising.

With one or two exceptions, the women were
not
charmed by Miss Claybourn although they were, for the most part, perfectly polite to her face. It wasn’t until he was allowed to claim a dance, a considerable achievement considering her popularity as a partner, that the subject was raised. He had not been going to mention it, not wishing to distress her but she commented on her mixed reception herself.