The Heiress Companion (19 page)

“I
can’t
listen now.
Lyn, I can’t tell what I’m feeling. I’m so angry, and so —” Her voice faltered,
died away completely. Her head drooped.

Lyn, watching her, wanted for a moment to touch her, hold
her, tell her that he was all manner of fools, that he loved her, wanted her,
and that his most pressing need at that moment was to take the desperate note
of confusion from her voice and banish it forever. But perhaps she was right.
This was not the time. He made himself stand away, ignored his own need to
touch her; his hand, poised above her dark hair, pulled back.

“Later,” he said quietly, and left the room.

Rowena, huddled in the chair, was barely aware of his departure.
“I’m just so very tired...” she said sorrowingly to her hands, folded before
her face; then, with a shuddering fury, she gave way to her tears.

“O for heaven’s sake, I cannot tell which of you is the more
foolish,” Lady Bradwell cried disgustedly to her son. “Of all the
mutton-headed, straw-witted, ham-fisted dimwits I have ever heard of, you take
the cake! And as for Rowena! I don’t know which of you is the worst. Here I
have assumed forever that
Jack
was the
stupid one in the family, and you must needs make a mull of your courting like
a seventeen-year-old, half mad with calf love!”

“Thank you, Mamma.” Lyn bowed ironically. “As a matter of
fact, I misdoubt there is anything you can say to me that I have not already said
to myself. But if I have come to my senses, can you suggest a way to bring
Rowena to hers?”

He settled himself dispiritedly at the foot of the lounge
and gazed at his mother with a glance as appealing as any he had trained on her
when a green boy. For a moment Lady Bradwell was oddly touched, longing to
comfort him now as she had that boy, and to assure him that everything would
come right in the end.

“Well, have you come to your senses?” she asked at last,
gruffly.

“I believe so. I still think it is folly to marry when I
have so little to put toward our establishment — I can keep her, but not in the
style I should like to do.”

“Lyn, my dear, do you think that Renna cares a particle for
your style? You know her history, don’t you? Think, boy: If Rowena was willing
to turn down a very advantageous offer of marriage because she disliked the man
who made it — not to mention several other offers I know of when she lived in
Brussels with her parents — and was willing to take a place as companion rather
than stay with her aunt’s family, surely she knows her own mind! And don’t you
think that you owe her the respect of believing her when she tells you so? No
—” She raised a hand to stop all possibility of protest. “Of course you cannot
know what Rowena will feel in five years, or even five months. A great deal can
happen in a day, let alone a year. Rowena seems to love you, my dear — I shall
not argue with her taste, but I sometimes wonder about her good sense. And of
all the fustian things to charge her with, a flirtation with Greavesey is
certainly the most —”

“I know, ma’am, I know. It was ludicrous, ridiculous, ill
advised, and addle-pated in the extreme. And I would still like to plant that
funereal bean pole a facer and show him the door, after which I would like to
take Mrs. Cherwood and —”

“Now, that is more to the purpose,” Lady Bradwell agreed. “We
must do something to rid Broak of Margaret’s mother, and as soon as possible;
else I see very little chance for you to pursue your romance profitably. I
wonder if we can contrive to send her back to London and keep Margaret here in
Devon? I shall have to think on that.” Straightening the disordered fichu on
her gown Lady Bradwell fixed her son with a glance of purpose. “Now, I suggest
that you go out and shoot at crows or do something, Lyn dear. You never have
dealt well with idleness. Any word from Kelvin yet? No? Well, I expect we shall
hear something soon. Go ahead now, and if you see Meg or Mr. Ambercot, send
them to me.”

“Your servant in all things, Mamma.” Lyn bowed over her hand
with a pretty flourish.

“If it were in
all
things, my dear, we should not be in this stupid fix now. Go ahead.” His mother
rapped dismissively at his knuckles with her tambour frame.

Margaret Cherwood and Ulysses Ambercot appeared in Lady
Bradwell’s room an hour later, located finally by Drummey, strolling in the
orchard counting green apples and laughing. Drummey, having delivered the
summons, returned himself to the house to ruminate on the distressing turn of
the young for levity.

“Lady B, you wished to see me? Us?” Margaret shot a
conscious look at her betrothed, standing just behind her.

“Come in, children. Close the door.” Lady Bradwell waved an
impatient hand. “Now, I am about to embroil you in plotting, and Meggy my dear,
you are not to take anything I say about...”

“Mamma.” Margaret supplied flatly. “I assure you that I have
no illusions about Mamma, Lady Bradwell. I must love her, I suppose, but that
don’t mean I cannot see when she is being impossible.”

“Well then,” Lady Bradwell continued, somewhat relieved by
this
carte blanche
. “I think the time has
come to return your mamma to London. A lamentably short stay of course, but
there are times when things cannot work out just to our satisfaction, can they?”
The polite regret in Louisa Bradwell’s voice was belied by the gleam of
amusement in her eyes.

“If you can get my belle-mamma to return to Town you have my
blessings, ma’am, and my fullest cooperation. But how do you prepare to do it?”
Ulysses asked.

“Very simply, my dear. I propose to send Margaret and Jane
packing off to Wilesby this afternoon. I know that it is still early for you to
be traveling, Margaret, but you have mended quite nicely, and I think you can
take half an hour in a closed carriage with no great ills attendant.”

“I’ll go anywhere you wish me to, ma’am, but will that not
mean that Mamma will only follow me back to Wilesby?”

Lady Bradwell smiled. “I am very much afraid that I am about
to have a relapse,” she said softly. “Margaret, has your mamma ever had the
scarlet fever?”

“I’ve no idea, but I can tell you,” Margaret’s eyes shone
with uncharacteristic glee, “Mamma don’t like to be around sick people. When my
sisters and I were ill she was used to retire to her room with a roast onion,
the laudanum bottle, and a box of pastilles which she burned ’til the air was
blue, and refused to see any of us until all of us had been sworn healthy by
the doctor. I should imagine that scarlet fever would work very nicely indeed.”

“Wonderful. Now then, Ulysses, may I ask you to take your
sisters and Margaret back to Wilesby at once? You had best tell Anne what we
are about — better, send her to me and I will make her part of the plot. And
then return to me here? I have further use for you. As for Jack — well, if you
see him, explain to him; perhaps he can help, else he’d do as well to join Lyn
at shooting. Now, Margaret my dear, if only your mamma will be so obliging as to
take her part correctly.”

“I think you may depend upon it, Lady B.” Margaret smiled. “But
Renna —”

“My dear child, this is mostly for your cousin’s sake! You
have Ulysses to take your part. She hasn’t a cavalier. Yet,” she added with a
slight smile. “Now, go ahead. We’ve a great deal to accomplish here.”

o0o

Jane Ambercot and Lord Bradwell were located in the stables
and apprised of Lady Bradwell’s sudden “relapse.” Jane smiled evenly: She had
no great affection for Margaret’s mother, who constantly suggested remedies for
her many faults of complexion, figure, and deportment. Lord Bradwell was not as
quick as his fiancée to understand the point of his mother’s plotting, but
years of trusting his mamma’s judgment, coupled with a growing dislike of
Dorothea Cherwood, ensured that he fell readily into the plan. It was he, in
fact, who suggested that he be the instrument to return Margaret and the
Ambercot sisters to Wilesby Hall, leaving Ulysses free to support Lady Bradwell
on the instant. There was a pretty leave-taking between Margaret and Ulysses;
Jane went in search of her younger sister and returned to the front hall with
Eliza rebelling strongly at this sudden banishment, and the party set off in
one of the Bradwell carriages.

Dorothea Cherwood had amused herself, since Greavesey’s
departure from the garden room, in discussing courtship strategies with Eliza Ambercot,
and in envisaging Rowena married to Greavesey and Margaret married to Ulysses
Ambercot, while cursorily continuing her work on an embroidered chair cover.
When Lady Bradwell appeared at the door, a trifle disarranged and rather
flushed, Mrs. Cherwood rose with great ceremony to greet her, pleased,
inwardly, that she presented a much better appearance than her hostess.

“My dear Lady Bradwell, how do you do?”

“Do?” asked Lady Bradwell vaguely. “O, yes, it’s Margaret’s
mother. How do you do? Dear me, I cannot seem to think straight today. I wish I
knew why I feel so distracted.”

“Pray do be seated and collect yourself,” Mrs. Cherwood
offered generously.

“Is it hot in here? No, no, how foolish I am; there is quite
a breeze. It is really quite chilly, is it not?” Lady Bradwell fluttered a
great handkerchief to no purpose and stared about the room as if it were
strange to her, “Have you seen Jack?”

“Jack?” Mrs. Cherwood asked blankly. She had no idea
what was the matter with her hostess, but was beginning to feel rather uneasy about
sitting so close to her. There was, after all, a breeze in the room.

“My son. Named him after my father. No, it was Lyndon we
named after Papa. You haven’t seen him, have you? No.” She answered before her
guest could make a sound. “I rather thought not. He’s probably in Naples again.
No, that’s Lyn. Drat, you’d think I could keep my two boys apart in my mind,
wouldn’t you? Do you not think it terribly hot in here?”

Mrs. Cherwood stared at Lady Bradwell in amazement. Then
began to edge a little away from her. Lady Bradwell stubbornly moved closer.

“I haven’t seen Lord Bradwell,” Mrs. Cherwood offered after
a minute.

“Why would I want — O, that’s right, Jack has the title now,
don’t he? Dear me, I do feel so queer!” Lady Bradwell continued to fan herself
with the huge kerchief, fluttering it now and again in Mrs. Cherwood’s
direction.

“Perhaps I had ought to ring for something to drink?” Mrs.
Cherwood suggested uneasily. “Or perhaps Rowena — yes, certainly, Rowena will
know what to do.” Whatever her feelings in the past regarding her niece had
been, Dorothea Cherwood had a healthy regard for Rowena’s ability in the
sickroom. “Yes, certainly, I shall desire for Rowena to attend you, Lady
Bradwell.”

“Rowena! O yes, the dear child. What a pity she means to
leave me,” Lady Bradwell murmured. “Well, that is the way of the world.
Children grow up and they leave you.” Her voice trembled on the edge of tears,
then brightened. “I am terribly thirsty. Did you say tea? Or perhaps lemonade.
Yes, I think lemonade. We used to have lemonade at the nursery picnics, and —”
Lady Bradwell’s voice dropped into a murmur, then faded artistically to a sigh.

Mrs. Cherwood rose, purpose in every step, and rang for a
footman. “There now,” she said apprehensively, watching her hostess with a
distracted eye. “You see, someone will be along directly.”

But it was not the footman who entered. It was Mrs. Ambercot,
followed closely by Ulysses.

“My dearest Louisa, what are you doing out of bed?” Anne
Ambercot fretted. “Lully, you are certain that Dr. Cribbatt has been summoned?”
Seemingly, she was too taken up in wrapping a shawl about Lady Bradwell’s
shoulders to acknowledge Mrs. Cherwood’s presence.

“He’s been summoned right enough, Mamma, but there’s word
from the village already that the fever is about, and if Lady Bradwell is come
down with it again —”

Mrs. Cherwood let out a muffled shriek. “Fever!”

Mrs. Ambercot turned to face the guest for the first time. “My
dear Mrs. Cherwood, I beg that you will not alarm yourself. It is only a small
chance that the scarlet fever has returned, but I should hate to see Lady
Bradwell fall victim to it again.” Indeed, Lady Bradwell grew more feverish by
the moment, unwrapping the shawl from her shoulders each time Anne Ambercot
secured it there, murmuring distractedly that it was
so
hot! “Now Louisa, why don’t we take you back
to your room, and Taylor will tuck you into bed, and we will fetch you some tea
—”

“Lemonade,” Lady Bradwell announced defiantly. “I
will
have lemonade. And Mrs. — Margaret’s mother,
shall come too. Don’t you wish some lemonade?”

Mrs. Cherwood blanched.

“Certainly you shall have lemonade,” Mrs. Ambercot agreed
soothingly, and together with her son contrived to lead the older woman out of
the room.

“But — madam, Mrs. Ambercot —” Mrs. Cherwood called after
her. “What shall
I
do?” Mrs. Ambercot had
passed out of hearing, apparently concentrating upon guiding Lady Bradwell back
to her room. Ulysses Ambercot appeared in the doorway for a moment.

“Do, ma’am?” he asked blandly.

“If she’s — if Lady Bradwell is truly ill, I really ought
not to trespass on her hospitality — it wouldn’t be civil at this time, and —”

“In that case, I would suggest that you return to London for
a time, ma’am,” Lully answered baldly. “Lord Bradwell has already removed my
sisters and Margaret to Wilesby House — I hesitate to advise you to remove Meg
from there, as she is still not wholly recovered from her accident in the
kitchens. And there is always the chance that one of us might have been
exposed...” He let his voice trail off suggestively. “As for yourself, I see no
reason why you should expose yourself to the sickness, do you?”

Mrs. Cherwood regarded him with positive affection. “No, no,
I would only be in the way. You will take care of my Margaret, won’t you?” she
added in afterthought.