The Merry Month of May (13 page)

“You should have brought them with you.” He smiled at this suggestion of maternal interest. Unnerved by that meaningful smile, she added, “But then we cannot hope to compete with driving a dog cart.”

“No indeed. Will Idle be joining us?”

“Swithin does not come so often now that the portrait is finished. He is busy making preparations for his ball, I believe.”

Every word she uttered bolstered the belief that Sara had come to terms with Peter. Cooling off the affair with Idle certainly looked like it. Again Haldiman smiled. “I know someone who will be happy to hear that,” he said, with a knowing look.

“We are all happy that he is finally getting down to serious work on his ball.”

“Misunderstand me if you wish. I think you know what I meant.”

Sara’s nostrils pinched and her lips thinned. In an effort to get away from this prickly subject, she spoke of other things. “I daresay the Hall is all at sixes and sevens today with preparations for Betsy’s ball.”

“Yes. Both the garden and conservatory are denuded of blooms. How is your garden?”

“We can spare a few bouquets, if it would help.”

He was about to deny the charge of hinting, when it occurred to him that this made a good excuse for a few moments’ privacy with Sara. “Shall we go and have a look?”

Sara cast a furtive eye on Betsy. “Perhaps Miss Harvey would like to come with us.”

“Let us not disturb her. She is involved in the life-and-death matter of making a grander appearance than anyone else tomorrow night.”

They rose quietly and slipped out to the cutting garden. “The carnations are doing well,” Sara pointed out. “And they make a hardy bouquet.”

Haldiman put a hand on her wrist. “Sara, you know I did not come here to cadge flowers. I want to tell you how happy I am that you and Peter have patched it up. I knew it was but a matter of time.”

She reefed her hand away from him. Her eyes flashed dangerously and she said, “You misunderstand the matter, Haldiman. Peter did not offer, and I would not accept if he did.”

“But yesterday ...”

“Yesterday we discussed the past and buried it. We are friends, no more.”

Haldiman was silent a moment, considering it. “I made sure you had accepted him. Peter seemed so—calm last night.”

“I doubt if you were paying much attention to
Peter,”
she snipped.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It is pretty obvious what occupies
your
mind these days.”

“You mean Betsy?”

“Who else should I mean? You never take a step that she is not at your side.

“You know we want to keep her and Peter apart,” he explained. A small frown gathered on his brow as he observed Sara’s emotional state. Why should his spending time with Betsy vex Sara—unless she cared for him herself? She had stated categorically that she was not going to marry Peter. A tendril of excitement curled in his breast. While he thought Peter and Sara were involved, he did not allow himself to think beyond having her as a sister-in-law. For years he had wished he could make Peter’s defection up to her, that Peter would come back and marry her. His brother’s return as a widower seemed the answer to his prayers. But perverse fate had made him minutely aware of her charms on the very day he told her of Peter’s return.

“Yes, and I think I have a pretty good notion
why
you are so eager to keep them apart, too,” she charged. “You are afraid of some honest competition. Miss Harvey is too outré for Lord Peter, but the eminence of being Lady Haldiman will cover all her sins.”

 Haldiman’s eyes widened in astonishment.

“You think you fool anyone by that nonsensical story of Betsy not being good enough for Peter?” she scoffed. “He has already been married to her sister. I don’t hear anyone disparaging Fiona and her twenty-five thousand. We know well enough that the Harveys are more than respectable. Betsy is lively and engaging, even if her manners are a little ragged around the edges. She has a cousin, a governor, and an uncle, a judge. Peter will do no better. Whom do you expect him to marry? One of the royal princesses?”

“I expected him to marry
you.”

“Yes, so that Miss Harvey would be left free for you. If you cannot win a wife honestly, Lord Haldiman, you must find some other unwitting accomplice to remove the competition for you.”

“I have no intention of marrying Betsy!” he howled.

“Then you are placing yourself in great peril, sir, for she certainly plans to marry you. And I might add that a gentleman who raises a lady’s expectations by behaving as a suitor
ought
to marry her, or he is no better than a scoundrel.”

This charge struck Haldiman as so farfetched that he did not even bother defending himself. He had been polite to a guest in his house and attentive to see she did not nab Peter. As he hastily considered his behavior, however, he acknowledged to himself that his actions might be open to misinterpretation. He must cool his attentions to Betsy. He knew he could not tarry much longer away from the tea party and rushed on to an item of more importance. “Are you quite firm in your decision not to have Peter?” he asked.

Sara’s wrath was with Haldiman, but she poured it into her answer about Peter. “I would not have him as a gift wrapped in silver paper. Upon my word, you are as bad as your brother. Not marry Betsy, indeed, after the way you have been courting her.”

“I have behaved like a gentleman!”

“Yes, a
Haldiman
gentleman, who scampers off at the last minute and leaves a woman in the lurch! I have not the least doubt Peter would serve me the same stunt again if I were fool enough to accept him.”

This slur on his family’s name vexed Haldiman to no small degree. “No danger of that, though.
You
would not have him, but Betsy Harvey is plenty good enough for him. Despite her dowry and eminent connections, I see you place yourself a few notches above her.”

“That is not what I meant. Peter cannot object to colonial manners, or he would not have married her sister in the first place. Indeed, I did not mean to disparage Peter. He has improved, but I don’t love him.”

“You accepted him before. What has so refined your sensibilities, Miss Wood? No doubt it is the attentions of Sir Swithin Idle.”

Sara was annoyed to have to defend Idle’s dilettantism. “At least he can speak of something besides farming,” she said angrily.

“Oh he can speak on any given subject, especially himself, ad infinitum—ad nauseam. Millinery, fashion, painting, poetry, drama—and no doubt love.”

Sara tossed her head angrily. “All the fine arts,” she said ironically.

Haldiman’s jaw tensed. His anger swelled till he was ready to do violence to someone or something. “It was Idle all along, I collect. Peter was your whipping boy, to make him jealous.”

“I am not so desperate, and Swithin is far too cagey to be taken in by such an amateurish stunt.”

“By God, it beats me that a sensible woman like you would give that rattle the time of day. Peter is head and shoulders above him.”

“In physical stature, of course. But I am not an Amazon, after all. Swithin is taller than I.”

Haldiman realized that belittling a neighbor was bad form, and he was uncomfortable in his posture. “So you are going to marry him?” he asked stiffly.

“I did not say so.”

“Your manner says it.”

“What would you know of manners!” She reached out and snapped off the head of a fine pink carnation and threw it aside without even smelling it.

Haldiman studied her, unable to believe that quiet little Sara Wood had suddenly turned into a termagant, scolding at him like a fishwife. What could account for it? His instincts told him that jealousy was the cause, as his jealousy had caused him to rail at Idle.

Sara turned aside and took a few paces into the garden, her breast heaving in turmoil. She was
so
agitated she wanted to cry. Forcibly restrained tears pressed at her eyes. Haldiman took an uncertain step after her. She peered over her shoulder at the sound of his steps. He read the confusion and dismay in her dove-soft eyes and was overcome with a need to comfort her. He reached for her hand. Sara twitched away.

“I don’t know what we are squabbling about,” he said. “If my manners have given you a disgust of me, I am truly sorry.”

He reached for her hand again. Sara let him take it this time. A quiver coursed through her when his fingers closed possessively over hers. “It is I who ought to be apologizing, I expect. It is really none of my affair how you behave.” Her voice was unsteady. The air felt close around her, scented with the spice of carnations and the perfume of nearby roses.

“I am happy that you show an interest,” he said leadingly, but his speaking eyes said more. He turned her toward him. “Sara, can we not be friends—kiss and make up?” he said, lightening the suggestion with an arch smile in case he was going too fast.

A pulse beat in her throat as he pulled her into his arms. It seemed impossible that this visit that had begun so wretchedly was going to end in the magic of a kiss. She gazed as his head lowered to hers, his dark eyes coming hypnotically closer, till his lips brushed her cheek. That was all he meant then, a neighborly peck on the cheek.

He lifted his head and studied her. Was he imagining her air of disappointment, of dissatisfaction with that light touch? He had always thought Sara a very cool lady, but this afternoon told him he had misread her. There was fire beneath her calm exterior. His arms tightened, and he kissed her again, full on those soft lips that yielded eagerly to his. A flame seemed to burn through him as she responded. Her arms went around his neck, and her lips firmed in passion beneath his. Giddy at the unexpected thrill of her ardor, he tightened his grip ruthlessly, crushing her against him. For a long moment they clung together in a heady embrace.

They were interrupted by the sound of the door opening, followed by Betsy’s strident voice. “That sly sister of yours is off flirting with Rufus,” Betsy said, and laughed.

They jumped apart with a guilty start. Haldiman’s hand went to his cravat in a nervous gesture as the voices and footsteps came closer.

“There you are, sly dog!” Betsy exclaimed.

“I was just cadging some flowers for your ball,” Haldiman explained.

Betsy cast a bored eye over the blooms. “We have more than enough flowers, Rufus. Mary tells me I shall look a quiz in
la frisure.
Come and tell me your opinion of it. We have nearly decided on
la victime
do instead. You don’t mind if I borrow Rufus, Sara?” She put her hand on his elbow.

Sara noticed that proprietary hand and thought Haldiman ought to be less biddable if he did not plan to marry Betsy. “If you’re sure you don’t want any of our flowers, then let us all go in,” she said, with tolerable composure.

They entered, and Betsy flirted outrageously with Haldiman under the guise of discussing a hairdo. Haldiman, cheered by his success in the garden, almost seemed to be encouraging her. The guests soon left, with Betsy still clinging to Haldiman as if he were a raft in a stormy sea.

“Well, it is to be
la victime,”
Mary announced. “What do you think, Mama?” She took the magazine to get her mother’s opinion on this important matter.

It gave Sara privacy to think about the visit. What had that interlude in the garden meant? “Kiss and make up,” he had said. That had obviously been his original intention. He only pecked her on the cheek. The rest of it ... She had practically invited his advances. A man was easily carried away in such a situation. She had let Peter kiss her in those old days, and enjoyed it, too, but she had not really loved him. Haldiman was not as nice as she had always thought. His flirtation with Betsy told her that much. He said boldly he had no intention of marrying Betsy. Why should she imagine he had any intention of marrying
her,
only because he had been carried away for a moment in the garden?

He had come to push forward Peter’s suit. Obviously making her an offer himself was the farthest thing from his mind. But he had seemed awfully jealous of Swithin. She took what comfort she could from that and waited eagerly for the ball.

Lady Haldiman, earphone firmly in place, spoke to her elder son at breakfast the next morning. “I have had a very clever idea, Rufus. I have asked Kevin Moore to the ball.”

Haldiman lifted a questioning eye. “I see nothing particularly clever in asking a handsome rakehell to our party, even if he is a second cousin. We must be sure to count the silver after he leaves.”

“He is welcome to a few spoons so long as he takes Miss Harvey with him when he goes. You see my intention? There will be a match in that quarter certainly. He is handsome as can stare and chronically in the basket, while she is forever bleating about her twenty-five thousand pounds. I hope she takes him back to Canada and her papa’s tall timbers. It seems the proper place for a wolf like Moore.”

“That was not necessary. I especially invited Sir Stafford Grimes for Betsy.”

His mama pulled her lips together and shook her gray head. “And to think, they gave you a degree at Oxford. Grimes is too plain and too gentlemanly to appeal to her, and she too vulgar by half to appeal to him.”

“He was under secretary to the minister of thecolonies. I thought they might have something incommon. In fact, as he has no fortune of his own,he might even be willing to return to Canada withher. Some minor appointment might be arrangedfor him to give him a touch of distinction when sheleads him home.”

“I am sorry to disappoint you, Rufus, but Sir Stafford has written me that he cannot attend. No matter, Moore or one of the other bucks I have invited will attach her. So long as she finds someone to her liking at the ball, it will have been worth all the bother.” She set down her earphone and attacked her gammon.

“If only it were that easy,” Haldiman sighed. After Sara’s hint the day before, he had paid particular attention to Betsy’s manner and realized her behavior was troublesomely proprietorial.