Reluctant Bride (14 page)

“Good for what? Is the boy interested in politics?” Edmund asked.

“Oh, no. An
interesting
spot was all I meant. Glandower is not keen on politics. He will take over here soon. He is enjoying his last days of freedom, while he is young.”

Maisie bridled up at this speech, but it was for Edmund to issue the verbal insult. “He is not all that young. It seems to me you could use him now to give you a hand about the place, Mr. Braden.”

“So I could,” Uncle admitted sadly.

“We'll call on him while we are in London. I am taking the ladies to town for a bit of shopping. In fact, since you are not interested in buying the necklace at this time, we shall leave today, as soon as my carriage and the trunks arrive.”

“Leaving so soon? Why, you just got here!”

“I cannot be long away from my estate. We shall make a more extended visit another time.”

“I hope so indeed. We don’t see enough of Lizzie and her aunt. About the necklace—if you could find the original stones, I am still interested to buy it, Lizzie. The present time is not the best for me. I find myself a trifle short. If you are in dire need of funds . . .” His eyes went quizzically to Sir Edmund.

“The situation is not desperate,” I assured him blithely, though it was certainly acute. I had not been allotting a proper amount of worry on that score.

We chatted on for a while. “You will stay for luncheon at least,” Weston insisted. As there was no sign of Blount’s carriage, we agreed to this.

“What would you like to do this morning?” Uncle asked politely.

It was settled that I would stroll through the park, Maisie would write Jeremy a letter about our adventures, but Edmund said nothing of his plans. I thought he might accompany me, but he went to the study with Uncle instead. He was amazingly stiff with me today. No more show of being the loving fiancé. I could not imagine what was bothering him. Even Maisie noticed it.

“What ails Sir Edmund?” she asked bluntly.

“I have no idea, unless he is unhappy to have to take us to London.”

“You did nothing last night to offend him?”

“Certainly not. I am going to fetch Mitzi from the kitchen to walk her. We don’t want her too frisky in the carriage.”

In midmorning, the carriage and trunks arrived, allowing us to make fresh toilettes. I was happy to get into clean clothing and make a more decent appearance. I put on my blue morning gown, then returned to the garden to await luncheon. Mrs. Weston’s one contribution to Rusholme was a sort of replica of Ophelia’s garden, to add her mite to the Elizabethan theme. She had planted rosemary, pansies, daisies, all bordered by the original roses. As I strolled about trying to identify other flowers, Edmund came to join me.

“Where’s the dog?” was his welcoming speech. I had turned Mitzi loose when I went to change. His using the generic term for her indicated he was still in the boughs.

“Chasing rabbits, I believe.”

“It is a pity for us to be cooling our heels here. If we had left early, we might have got to London by nightfall.”

His traveling mood had left him. There were definite traces of a sulk around his lips. Nothing is less pleasant than being cooped up in a carriage with a surly companion. I decided to cajole him back into humor.

“Cheer up, Sir Edmund. You might have excellent luck at whatever inn we stop at tonight.”

“Meaning?” he asked, with a haughty stare.

“You know what I mean.”

The haughty stare was pushed perilously close to anger. “I am not an
inveterate
libertine, you know.”

“Of course not! It is only beyond the precincts of Woldwood you behave like one. Come now, leave off sulking. Maisie has rung a peal over me for putting you out of humor. If I am to be held at fault, you might at least tell me what I have done.”

He made no immediate reply, but I noticed his eyes were resting on the stupid little tin ring I wore. “I am sorry if I have inflicted my rude temper on you. I shall try to behave better in future. Pretty garden,” he said, as a peace offering, but remnants of pique remained.

“Is it that you want to get home? You did not plan on such an extended leave when you set out for poor Willie’s wedding.”

That chance phrase, for some reason, brought a smile back to his face.

“Poor
Willie! I
do
pity him after all. You women are the very devil,” he said, then laughed reluctantly.

“You didn’t answer my question.
Are
you eager to get home?”

“No, I am eager to meet Glandower Cummings. He is a wretched fellow, you know. I have been chatting to your uncle about him. The man holds him in high esteem, but it seems to me he is nothing but an expensive worry. On top of it all, your uncle wants to adopt him legally. Your brother may kiss this estate goodbye.”

“He already has. It is his own he will be kissing goodbye if I don’t find the diamonds.”

“How bad is the situation? Is Westgate actually in jeopardy?”

“I would not be selling my jewelry if it were not.”

“How does it come
you
are bailing Jeremy out? The necklace, I assume, is your dowry?”

“There is no need for a dowry when one does not intend to marry. Maisie and I live at Westgate; it is only fair I contribute to its upkeep. But my plan is to pay the mortgage installment; not the whole thing. I shall put the remainder in the funds.”

“If the place cannot carry itself, you are throwing good money after bad.”

“It could, if it were properly managed. We cannot let it go under. Where would we live, Maisie and I?”

“I take it the door to Eastgate is not irrevocably closed to you?”

“Is it possible you are suggesting I should marry Beattie?”

“Could, not should.”

“Oh, really, Edmund! He is old as the hills—older.”

“That is exactly the match to suit you, if you dislike marriage as much as you intimate. A gent who will pester you for a minimum length of time. He cannot have more than a few years left in him.”

“There are other impediments to the match,” I said, making light of it. “Maisie is fond of him, you see. I would not want such stiff competition under my own roof.”

“Do you think she is fond of
me?”
he asked, with a strange little smile.

“Very much so. You stand second only to Beattie.”

“I shall try if I cannot dampen her ardor. Do you suppose the luncheon meat is burned yet? I am hungry enough to eat even the cinders your uncle considers edible.” Taking hold of my elbow, he led me indoors, with his humor restored.

The loving fiancé was highly evident over luncheon. Edmund ate up the cinders without a complaint. Many a solicitous inquiry for my preference between a pineapple and berries was heard, and soon a caring question as to when I would be ready to leave.

“Right away. We must eat and run, Uncle. I hope you can forgive our shabby manners.”

“Sir Edmund has promised to stop by on your wedding trip, Lizzie, so we shall have a better visit then.” Blount smiled blandly when I turned my astonished gaze on him.

“One-thirty already,” he said, drawing out his watch. “We can make London tonight if we go hard at it. I’ll keep fresh teams before us. We may have to drive past dark, but it will be worth it to have the trip done.”

The trunks were repacked, the carriage brought out, and we were off in a fine clatter of hooves, wheels and whip.

“We’ll have an early crack at Glandower in the morning, Lizzie,” Edmund said. “The more time we lose, the greater is the chance he will have unloaded your diamonds.”

“How should we approach him? We cannot barge in and accuse him of theft, with no evidence,” I pointed out.

“We require another plan, or another version of the same plan. Tell him Weston bought the necklace from you. If he still has it, he will be in a hurry to have a closer look at it. Maybe you could tell him you were carrying a copy in your reticule. That will make him look sharp.”

“This man is a genius,” Maisie informed me, vastly impressed with his ingenuity.

“Thank you, Maisie,” he smiled, then looked to see if I shared her enthusiasm.

“Maisie is becoming remarkably fond of you,” I cautioned.

“I better watch my step, eh?”

My aunt was as curious as anyone would be to hear meaningful remarks flung about her head, when the meaning was not clear to her. “Edmund has taken the notion you are planning to wed him,” I said, to give some explanation. She is not the stiff sort who would object to bantering. She took it in good part.

“I might not say no if you offered, Sir Edmund,” she answered.

“Here, give her the tin ring,” I suggested, drawing it off, to reveal a green circle about my finger, but more importantly, an uncomfortable redness where its sharp edges were leaving their mark behind. “Next time you become engaged not to be married, don’t be so cheap, Edmund. Pay more than a crown for the tie that binds.”

“We’ll get something better in London,” he answered matter of factly, sliding the ring into his pocket.

Maisie’s eyes, bright with interest, flew to mine. His way of speaking was so settled-sounding that I too misunderstood him, and made a flaming jackass of myself. “The charade is over now. I no longer require the ring. We are not really engaged,” I told him.

He blinked in amusement, looking from one to the other of us, reading on our faces as clearly as if we had spoken what we both thought, that the engagement had mysteriously become not a farce, but genuine. “Surely you will not tell Glandower a different story than you told his stepfather? Till after we have met him, I must continue as your fiancé. Only for another day, Lizzie. Don’t panic.”

If my face was not bright red, I would be much surprised. “You don’t have to go to the expense of buying a real ring for that,” I answered, trying to appear unconcerned.

“Buying? I had no idea of wasting my blunt. There are a couple of old rings floating around the London house somewhere. I seem to remember both my mother’s and grandmother’s are there. Of course, I shall want it back, as they have sentimental value to me.”

“Of course,” I answered airily.

He regarded me, the knowledge in his eyes confirming my fears. To set the cap on it, he shook his head in a disgusted way, as though to say—I am not caught, my girl. Don’t think it.

I was obliged to make some fuss over my dog to divert attention from the awkward contretemps. “I don’t believe you bribed her with a beefsteak today, Edmund. She is not sitting on your knee, as I feared she would be,” I said, lifting her from her comfortable spot between our feet. She was not happy to be disturbed from her nap. She growled angrily.

“Let sleeping dogs lie,” Edmund suggested. It was good advice on more than one score.

It was not a particularly pleasant trip. Any innocent comment I made sounded as though I were harking back to the damnable subject of engagements. “You hear that, Mitzi?” I asked my pug. “He is through with you, fickle creature.” The instant it was out, I realized the double edge on the words. The look Edmund gave me fairly fulminated. After a few such unhappy starts, I sank into silence. My companions too, while not actually dour, were not talkative. An occasional comment on some item of interest passed on the road was our only conversation.

It began to seem, after a few hours, as though we were all consigned to a traveling eternity in the oppressive quiet of the carriage. We stopped every few hours to change horses, usually taking advantage of it to stretch our legs, and once to refreshen ourselves with wine. At six-thirty, we were still several miles from London.

“We must be nearly there,” Maisie said hopefully, while her head wilted on her chest.

“Twelve or so miles yet,” Edmund replied. “We'll take some dinner here for a break. My servants don’t expect me, and will not be ready for company.”

Dinner was about the only pleasant interlude in the whole trip. We had a private parlor, small but very elegant. “You will want to order a raw cow, Edmund, after being forced to eat cooked meat at Rusholme,” I mentioned.

“The hind quarter will do me. What would you ladies like—other than a comfortable bed I mean. For that we must wait a few more hours.”

We made our selections, and drank wine while awaiting delivery. We got through the entire meal without a single embarrassing word arising. We discussed current events, plays, books, music, like any civilized group out for an evening’s pleasure. Edmund got the latest newspapers from London to see what entertainment offered in the city, after we had completed the business that was our main object. I could not feel we would be in a mood for much enjoyment if the outcome were not successful, but our host refused to consider that possibility.

“We’ll get him, never fear. If he has already hawked it, we’ll get it back from the culprit he sold it to. It has to be there. He knew you were traveling with it, he had left Rusholme in time to intercept you en route, and he has a walleyed valet.”

“I wonder why he had the copy made,” Maisie said. “He knew from Weston’s copy what it looked like. Why make a copy, only to take to a pawn shop as soon as he stole the original?”

“He didn’t have a copy made. Weston had two. Did I not mention it?” Edmund asked. “It came up during our chat in his study. I told him we had seen a copy in Reuben’s window—just casually mentioned it as a curious incident, and he explained how he thinks it came there. Six months ago, he took the idea to have all his Elizabethan jewels duplicated, as he is frequently asked to loan them to museums and things and dislikes to send out the genuine articles. He packed them up in a chest and took them to Hamlet in London. The copy of your necklace was in with the rest. Hamlet apparently thought he was to make a copy of the copy as well, and did it. Of course Weston had no need for two copies, and gave the second to his housekeeper for a trinket. The housekeeper is Greenie’s aunt. I found an opportunity to speak to her about it before we left. She gave it to Greenie. He hinted for it, pretending he wished to give it to some girl he was chasing. He went to see her, according to the story, while Glandower was visiting at Rusholme. But instead of giving it to his girl, he obviously hawked it at Winchester.”