The Mysterious Heir (19 page)

Lord Kingston was relating some dryly amusing tale of his deeds in the horse cavalry, which Elizabeth was listening to with a polite smile upon her lips, when he concluded by saying, amid the general laughter, “Lud, Morgan, you should have been there if you think the telling of it is humorous. For I have not done half justice to the expression on the lieutenant's face.”

“But I thought,” Lord Beverly said with puzzlement, after he had hastily maneuvered his mouthful of food to a place where he could speak coherently, “that you two served together. You did say,” he went on, his eyes narrowing suspiciously, “that you were Morgan's ‘comrade-in-arms,' when you arrived here. That's why I gave you leave to stay.”

“Never fear,” the Earl said on a laugh. “You haven't let in a bounder by mistake, Bev. Harry did not serve with me. Actually, we met in the field hospital. He was in with a wound in his arm, and I, as you know, with this confounded limb of mine. This incapacitating limb,” he went on, ignoring Elizabeth as she scurried for her napkin to hide her
sudden gasp behind. “We had several weeks with nothing to do but wait till we were robust enough for transport home. And I, at least, was glad of Harry's company. It was either that or the constant homesick ruminations of a captain from Yorkshire, as I recall.”

“What a convenient memory, Morgan,” Lord Kingston said sweetly, “for you to forget the kind attentions of Senora Vasquez, for wasn't it she who also took a great interest in your recovery? Actually, I never could be sure whether she wanted you to recover quite so rapidly as you did. And as I recall, she did not seem to think your medical problems incapacitating at all.”

The Earl flashed a warning look at his guest before saying quickly, and with less than his usual aplomb, “Ah, yes. I had forgotten. She was a good woman who volunteered to ease our long hours of recuperation,” he remarked casually to the company. “Her own husband had been lost at the front. She wished to fill her time, and she was very much like an angel of mercy, bringing delicacies for us, and books and papers and the like.”

“Was that all she brought to you?” Lord Kingston went on, ignoring his host's admonitory glances. “I seem to recall,” he continued, staring into his depleted wineglass, “a somewhat warmer relationship that filled more than her time.”

Lady Isabel battered her host with a tiny beringed hand and tittered. But he ignored her and said, “It was merely that I had a command of the language and could communicate with the poor woman.”

“Why, Harry,” Lady Isabel simpered, “I do believe you are jealous of Morgan's ease with another language.”

“The only language, save our own, that is worth speaking, my dear, is French, the language of love,” Lord Kingston said dismissively.

“Oh, I wasn't thinking of any spoken words,” Lady Isabel said sweetly, her blue eyes opened wide and innocently to belie the force of her speech. “There are other languages of love.”

Lord Kingston glowered at the seemingly oblivious Lady Isabel, and their host spoke quickly as he put his napkin down and made as if to rise. “I think it is time for us to adjourn. As I recall, you were always a dab hand at cards, Harry. And musical enough to enjoy a performance by Isabel here, who is our resident songbird.”

Several of the company spoke at once at the Earl's words. Owen's husky little voice rang out for the first time that evening. “But I haven't finished my floating pudding,” he complained.

Lord Beverly had already pushed away his chair and begun urging Anthony to join him in the salon so they could, as he put it urgently, “get the best seats, away from the curst fire.” Lady Isabel had begun to protest prettily that they must all be tired of her singing.

But their ears were commanded by Lord Kingston's cool voice, which rose above the general babble. “Are the gentlemen not to have port, Morgan? I confess to a small disappointment. I recall your constant yearning for your own cellars when we were away in Spain.”

“As there are but two ladies in our party, Harry, we have been forgoing that masculine conceit here at Lyonshall. After all, it would be poor stuff for them to languish alone in the salon whilst the supposed gentlemen present guzzled for hours in close male camaraderie. Should they be condemned to tapping their toes or raveling their knitting for hours?”

“Of course,” the fair gentleman said swiftly, “but as Owen here hasn't yet made a dent in his pudding, and the ladies are done, I'm sure they wouldn't object to us staying for a small space and enjoying some port.”

“Not at all,” Lady Isabel said huffily, gathering her skirts together. “Come, Elizabeth, we shall retire to the salon. But mind,” Lady Isabel declared, looking very fetching in her anger, Elizabeth thought, like some disgruntled little cat that had its fur rubbed the wrong way, “if you linger too long, you will find us gone altogether.”

The Earl's eyes narrowed for a moment and then he said in a calm, conciliatory voice, “We shall only remain for so long as it takes Owen to complete his dinner and have one glass of the vintage Harry so covets. After all, it is not only a potable wine, it is portable as well. And will taste just as well in the salon, if not better in your delightful company, Isabel,” he concluded with a warm smile which seemed to mollify the lady.

There were too many currents here tonight, Elizabeth thought, too many stated and unstated undercurrents. Lord Kingston and the Earl seemed to be friends, but also to be vying with each other about something the other guests knew nothing about. She nodded to her host, and only thought once, as she left to follow Lady Isabel, that it was only a little disappointing that he had mentioned the wine would taste better in Isabel's company and had not mentioned herself at all.

But she had no sooner reached the door than she gave herself a silent cautionary shake. Whatever had transpired between them today, she must not let her desires lead her into thinking he owed her preference. He had not declared himself in any manner; in fact, he had joked over the matter of declarations. He was still the great Earl of Auden and she had changed in no way since the afternoon, except for the small matter of having inadvertently, somehow irrevocably, lost her heart. But she was still an impoverished spinster from Tuxford, and would do well, she chided herself, not to forget it, lest she make a fool of herself.

Elizabeth was relieved when Lady Isabel settled herself upon a divan and patted the seat next to her to signify that Elizabeth should sit down and be audience to her outraged running commentary on the contrariness of some gentlemen. For the first time since they had met, Elizabeth was glad of Isabel's company, for her endless prattle served to drive some of the lowering thoughts from her own head. So she nodded in all the right places and filled up the appropriate pauses and wished that the gentlemen would soon abandon their most superior port and join them.

When at length, the gentlemen did enter the room, Lord Beverly barely attempted to hide his bad temper. He swung down into a chair and looked broodingly at the fire. He seemed especially agitated as he watched a strangely elated Anthony, sitting by Lord Kingston, hanging on his every word, and encouraging him to speak more of his adventures in the world.

“For he's been everywhere,” Anthony said enthusiastically in an aside to Elizabeth, “and had the most ripping times.”

The evening did not rise to any great heights of enjoyment. It was as if Lord Kingston had brought the winds of discontent to swirl about the house, although it was a pleasant, mild evening. It was nothing he seemed to do overtly. For he divided his attention expertly throughout the evening. He chatted with Anthony, tried to bring Lord Beverly out of his sullens, passed reminiscences with his host, applauded Lady Isabel's singing, and played cards with Elizabeth with courtesy and a flattering amount of subdued flirtation. He ignored Owen. But then, since the boy sat, stuffed and half-asleep on a couch, as was his general wont to do in the evening, no one would blame him for overlooking the lad.

It was as they were all beginning to suppress yawns and Owen's steady little snores began to penetrate their consciousness that Lord Kingston made a suggestion.

“A delightful evening,” he said coolly, “and I do wish I could share many such with you. But alas, I am only stopping off here for a short space. I am making my way back to Heron Hall to set up residence again at last. I have been remiss and it is time for me to set my estates in order. Soldiering is over, and loping off about the globe is delightful, but a man must eventually settle down.”

He paused and let his eyes linger on Elizabeth for a small moment, and then went on blithely, “You did say I should stop whenever I was in the vicinity, Morgan, to stay awhile, and so I shall. And I do thank you for your hospitality. Still, I intend to make the most of this last respite before I take up my duties again. I was surprised, in fact, to find you in residence here with such charming company. Since it is my last fling, so to speak, I should like to make the most of it. And as we are all together, I hope you will all join me. What I am getting to, in my roundabout way, is to ask whether there are any subscription dances or fetes or theaters in the neighborhood? It would please me very much to have some jollity, and so far from London I am at a loss for what to do. Are there any such refinements hereabouts, Morgan?”

The Earl stood near to the fire and watched his guest with a measuring look. But then his face cleared and he said smoothly, “Oh, yes, Harry. But we had our sheep-shearing contests a month or so past, and I fear you have missed it entirely. We do have a tinkers' fair in a fortnight, and they have a Punch and Judy show, and if I am not mistaken, the ladies' social for the benefit of foreign orphans is to be held on the twentieth of the month in the rectory. But,” he went on, ignoring Elizabeth's suppressed giggle, “all is not lost. We have to make much of our own festivities in these parts, and I would be a poor host not to attempt some pleasures on our own. I am glad you have brought it up, for I have been remiss too. I am out of practice. Indeed, I fear it is too late in the day to throw up a ball or any other such glittering fete. But I can and will engineer a dinner party for us. No,” he went on, deaf to Lord Beverly's murmured “Dashed impertinence,” “I should have thought of it myself. Nothing too elaborate, I fear, no orchestras or waltzes, neither can I scare up jugglers and party tents. But sixteen or twenty of my neighbors, and perhaps some country dances after, why, yes, that I can and shall do. I had thought,” he went on over Lord Kingston's polite denials about not wishing to be rude or encroaching, “I had thought this house party to be a purely business affair, but have found it to be quite different. It's an excellent idea,” he said decisively, “and I shall put it in train tomorrow. In a week's time, I think, for then Cousin Richard will be back with us.”

After peeking to be sure of her host's mood, Lady Isabel allowed herself to be delighted with the idea, and volunteered to be of all the help she could. Elizabeth murmured that she would be glad to help, as well. But Lord Beverly only sat and muttered darkly about mixing business with pleasure, and “curst man-milliners,” and making such a skeleton at the feast of himself that all were generally glad when the Earl announced that it was time for them to retire for the night and take their cue from Owen and join him in easeful slumber.

“Tomorrow morning, then Tony,” Lord Kingston said lightly as he went up the stairs. “Be early, for if we're to make a day of it, we'll have to have an early start.”

Anthony nodded happily, made a perfunctory good night to the others, and followed Lord Kingston up the staircase. Lady Isabel summoned a footman to carry Owen and then quietly and thoughtfully made her way up to her own bed.

“Actually,” the Earl said, delaying Elizabeth with a slight touch upon her arm after the others had gone, “I could give a ball, but I shan't. Are you thinking it is mean-spirited of me? Or because since I seem to waltz when I am only trying to navigate a straight line, I am not overeager to spend an evening watching my guests in each other's arms?”

“Oh, no,” Elizabeth breathed, “but does the thought pain you that you cannot dance?”

“No.” He laughed. “Not at all. I did not care for it one way or the other before the wars. But I thought from your frown that is what you were thinking.”

“No,” she said, “only that I was surprised at your agreeing to a dinner party at all. For we came here, Anthony and I, with the expectation that there would be only an interview, and then we would be off home again. I was surprised to find that we were staying even for such an extended visit. And,” she went on, thinking aloud, “Bev is right, you know. We were all assembled here for purely business reasons, to settle the matter of the succession. You need not feel that you must entertain us lavishly as well.”

They seemed to be alone in the great hall, the sounds of the other, departing guests receded far abovestairs. She saw his face only partially in the light of the candles, and it seemed to her to be secretive, composed only of planes and shadows.

“I do not feel I must indulge you,” he said slowly, taking a step closer to her, “but Bev was right in one way at least. A mere interview is a poor, cold way to discover another being's heart. Only by learning to know my cousins well can I hope to make the right decision.” He paused and then went on in a lower, gentler voice, “The getting of an heir, you know, should not be a dispassionate business. No matter how one decides to go about it. Do you agree?”