The Arrangement (7 page)

“Do you know, Nicky, I suspect that your mama is worried about leaving you here with the Macintoshes,” Savile surprised me by saying suddenly. “I have tried to reassure her that an eight-year-old boy can survive for a few days without his mother, but I do not think she is convinced.”

The earl’s tone was humorous and colored with just the sort of odious “we males together” condescension that a young boy was guaranteed to find flattering.

Sure enough, Nicky lifted his chin and, for the first time since we had sat down, looked at me directly. “I shall be perfectly fine, Mama,” he said. “I’m not a baby anymore, you know.”

“Those were my exact words,” Savile said in the same odious tone he had just used.

Nicky basked in the light of the earl’s approval. He sat up taller in his seat.

“You will have plenty to keep you busy,” I said. “I’ll want you to keep an eye on Tim to make certain he does what he’s supposed to do with the horses. And you have your schoolwork for Mr. Ludgate as well.”

“Yes, Mama,” Nicky said with commendably superior male patience.

I forced myself to smile at him as I said, “I suppose you
are
growing up.”

He looked so small and slight as he sat between Savile and me at the large dining-room table. My heart shivered with love and fear as I met his innocent blue gaze across the dinner plates.

“Yes,” he returned with surprised pleasure. “I rather believe that I am.”

* * * *

I left Savile with the dregs of the sherry bottle and went upstairs to pack. The will was scheduled to be read on the nineteenth, which was the day after next. I reckoned that I would arrive at Savile Castle on the afternoon of the eighteenth, hear the will read sometime on the nineteenth, and depart on the morning of the twentieth. This meant that I would be eating two dinners at the castle, and, unfortunately, I owned only one decent evening dress. This was the gown I had purchased in December to wear to the annual Christmas party the squire always hosted for the neighborhood.

I removed the gown from my closet and laid it out on my bed. It was made of celestial-blue silk, the exact same color as Nicky’s eyes, and it had a fashionably deep, square-cut neckline, short, puffed sleeves, and a scalloped flounce along the hem. The dressmaker in the village had copied it from a picture I had picked out in the
Ladies Magazine.
It was the first new evening dress I had purchased since Tommy’s death, and I loved it.

The blue silk would not be an embarrassment at the table of an earl. The same could not be said for my two other evening dresses, however. I took out the better of them, a yellow muslin done in the plain empire style that had been popular during the war, and laid it on the bed next to the blue.

In addition to its being a dress for a very young girl, the yellow looked tired and dowdy and out of fashion. I decided it would be better to wear the same gown twice than to make an appearance in the pathetic yellow. I picked up the blue, held it up against myself, and looked in the mirror that hung over the old walnut dressing table next to the window.

Except for the short feathery hair that had once been a long ripple of ebony, and an expression of gravity in the dark blue eyes, the girl who looked back at me did not appear very different from the “witch’s brat” who had married Lady Saunders’s youngest son nine years ago.

“Witch’s brat” was the name that had been bestowed upon Deborah and me by some of the more unkind denizens of Hatfield. It had not been earned by any activities of our own, but was due to Aunt Margaret, who was famous throughout our part of Sussex for her many herbal concoctions.

Let me hasten to assure you that Aunt Margaret was
not
a witch. She never cast spells or foretold the future or any of the other silly activities one associates with the witches in
Macbeth.
Aunt Margaret was an herbal healer, which is a different thing altogether.

About some things, however, I have to admit that Aunt Margaret was very peculiar. For example, she was incapable of leaving her house and garden. I do not mean that she didn’t wish to leave; I mean that she
could not
leave. It made her physically ill to attempt to do so.

As we grew up, this infirmity proved to be a serious problem for Deborah and me. All of the other Hatfield girls had mamas to chaperon them, but Deborah and I had nobody. Deborah, who was by nature a serious and dignified person, managed to rise above this social handicap, but I freely confess that I was something of a hoyden.

In my more honest moments, I also have to confess that Lady Saunders had reason to object to Tommy’s and my marriage. There was nothing she could do about it, however, as Tommy was twenty-one and I had the approval of Aunt Margaret.

I stood in front of my mirror now, contemplating the twenty-seven-year-old woman who was reflected in the rather tarnished glass. A short lock of black hair had fallen across my brow and I tossed my head to flick it away.

I
love this dress,
I thought, as I turned this way and that, holding the gown up against me. The blue of the dress picked up the blue of my eyes, which were so dark that they often looked black.

I was profoundly grateful that I had decided that this was the year I absolutely had to have a new dress. The thought of appearing at Savile Castle in the old yellow was appalling.

Not that I wanted to impress the Earl of Savile, I assured myself hastily. Rather, it was a matter of pride. I did not wish George’s relations to know how poor I really was.

* * * *

I was carrying my portmanteau toward the stairs early the following morning when Savile called to me from behind, in the passageway. I stopped, and he came to take the bag from my hand. I opened my mouth to protest, then closed it again. If the man wanted to carry my portmanteau, let him.

Tim Haines was down at the stable doing the morning chores, so Nicky and Savile and I sat in the dining room and had breakfast. Nicky was remarkably cheerful, and I tried not to let either him or the earl see how dreadfully apprehensive I was about leaving him.

It wasn’t until we went out into the cold morning air, and the coach steps were let down for me, that I saw a flicker of uncertainty on my son’s face.

“I shall be home on the twentieth,” I said to him, and reached out to give him a brisk, reassuring hug. In return, his arms came up to hold me tightly. I kissed the top of his head, closing my eyes as I felt the silky texture of his hair under my lips. Then I forced myself to relax my grip on him and step away.

“Take care of him, Mrs. Macintosh,” I said lightly.

“You need na fear for Master Nicky, lass,” my faithful housekeeper said firmly. “He is as dear to me as if he were my verra ain bairn.”

I think that the only thing that enabled me to get into the coach was that I knew she was speaking the truth.

I scarcely registered the fact that the Earl of Savile had entered the coach after me and was sitting on the cushioned seat at a distance of barely a foot.

We pulled out of my stable yard and onto the road that would take us to the village of Highgate and thence onto the highway to Kent.

I didn’t say anything, I just stared blindly at the empty seat opposite mine, trying desperately not to cry.

At last Savile spoke. “He really will be all right, you know.” His voice was surprisingly gentle. “Most boys of eight are packed off to school, separated from their mothers for many months at a time.”

I knew this was so.

I said in a constricted voice, “It is just that since my husband’s death, Nicky and I have been rather on our own. It has made us very close.”

“I can understand that.” His voice was, if possible, even gentler. “But you cannot smother him, Mrs. Saunders. He must learn to stand on his own.”

A jolt of healthy anger shot through me. “I have always been of the opinion that it is extremely easy for those who have no children to give advice to those who do,” I snapped.

“Doubtless you are right,” came the serene reply. “I did have a son once, but both he and his mother died two days after he was born. I can only assure you that I have two nephews and a niece whom I am often called upon to entertain, and so my knowledge of children is not totally theoretical.”

Well, of course I felt utterly dreadful. The poor man—to lose a wife and a child like that!

“I am so sorry, my lord,” I said with genuine contrition. “I did not mean to stir up an old wound.”

“It happened eight years ago,” he returned. “I can assure you that though the scar is still there, it no longer aches.”

I had lost Tommy six years ago. “I know exactly what you mean,” I said.

We sat in sympathetic silence for perhaps ten minutes.

Then I began to be aware that we were shut up together in the coach and that his thigh was not a foot away from mine. I felt a flush of heat course through me.

What is the matter with you, Gail?
I asked myself in agitation.
You never feel like this!

I cleared my throat and asked, “Who is likely to be at the reading of this will, my lord?”

He leaned his shoulders against the rather worn blue velvet squabs, slid down a little on his spine, closing infinitesimally the space between us, and folded his arms across his chest. “Harriet will be there, of course, draped in her new blacks. She was not pleased that I refused to have the will read at Devane Hall and instead forced her to make the trip to Savile Castle.”

There was a dry note in the earl’s voice when he spoke of Lady Devane that one could not miss. I said nothing, however. Harriet Melville, Lady Devane, could be the most angelic person in the world and I would still have hated her.

Savile continued, “Harriet will, of course, be accompanied by her father. She is always accompanied by her father. His name is Albert Cole, and he made his money working poor wretches to death in the cotton mills of Manchester.”

Savile did not even attempt to disguise his dislike of George’s father-in-law. “It was Cole money that bought Harriet her position as George’s wife, of course. My uncle’s pockets were all-to-let; poor George had no choice about whom he could wed. It was marry money or flee the country.”

He spoke in a soft, even tone, clearly conscious that he was treading on very precarious ground.

I could feel how my whole body had stiffened. “If George had resisted, I am convinced that another way out of the family financial difficulties could have been found,” I said coldly.

“I really do not think there was another way,” Savile said. “My uncle should never have put poor George in such a position to begin with, of course. But a gambler is a gambler, and by the time Uncle Jack had finished, the entire estate was mortgaged to the hilt.”

I did not want to hear this story. I did not want to hear anything that might cast George in a sympathetic light.

I said, “Will anyone else be there besides the grieving widow and her father?”

Savile agreeably followed this change of topic. “My cousin, Roger Melville, will be present. Roger is the new Lord Devane.”

I thought that it would not be easy for Lady Devane to be in the company of her husband’s successor.

All those daughters and no son,
I thought piously, thinking of George and Harriet’s family. For all the money that Mr. Cole had paid for Devane Hall, he would not be able to retain it after all. His daughter had not provided George with a male heir.

“My elder sister will undoubtedly be present as well,” Savile went on. “Not because she expects anything from the will, but because she is incurably nosy.” His voice sounded half amused, half exasperated.

“What is your sister’s name?” I asked.

“Regina.”

“I meant, by what title should I address her?”

“Oh. She is married to a commoner, so her name is still Lady Regina. I doubt that her husband will come with her. He is Gervase Austen—you know, the fellow who discovered that new comet everyone was talking about last year. Gervase is far more interested in the stars than he is in people.”

I had heard of neither Mr. Austen nor his comet. I smiled faintly to indicate my interest and wisely said nothing.

“My cousin John Melville will be there as well,” the earl went on. “John lives at Savile and is kind enough to act as my steward. I really don’t know how I should go on without him.”

“And who is the attorney who has charge of the will?” I inquired.

“Old Middleman of Middleman and Ambrose. He resides in London, of course, and that was another reason to have the will read at Savile Castle. We are much more convenient to London than is Devane Hall.”

I said carefully, “Do any or all of these people know that George has left money to Nicky?”

We were so close that I could actually feel him stiffen. “No,” he said in a clipped voice. “I have not confided that delightful news to anyone but you.”

I had insulted him.

“I wasn’t sure,” I said. “If what George told you is true, then they will all know it soon enough.”

“I am the executor of George’s will, not the town crier.”

He was
really
insulted.

“I beg your pardon, my lord,” I said softly. I truly had not meant to offend him.

He gave me a swift, eagle’s glare and said nothing.

I turned my head to look out the window. The sun had turned the snowy landscape into a sparkling scene of crystal splendor. The world was eerily quiet; even the horses’ hooves were muffled as they fell on the packed snow of the roadway.

I drew in my breath with an audible catch.

“It is beautiful indeed,” Savile said quietly. Evidently he had gotten over his ill humor.

I said with a forced laugh, “And when it melts we shall be knee deep in mud!”

Silence descended on the coach.

“How long before we arrive?” I asked at last in a muffled voice.

“It depends upon the road,” came the reply. “From what we have experienced thus far, I should say another five hours.”

Five hours!
I could not possibly remain cooped up with him there in that coach for five more hours, I thought.