The Mysterious Heir (24 page)

“I'm sorry,” Lord Beverly said as he perched nervously on a chair and watched her. “Didn't mean to excite you. As it happens, might all be a hum. Might be nothing to it. For here we are, and there's no one else about. I came down immediately I heard the noise at my door and saw the note. Didn't even bother to draw my trousers on,” he complained, and then, horrified, said quickly, “That is, didn't get my slippers on right. Forget my trousers, will you, Elizabeth?”

“I've forgotten them.” Elizabeth giggled in spite of herself and her worry.

“My slippers,” he said again with emphasis as he bent to change them to the right feet. “Would you mind,” he asked imperatively, as Elizabeth watched him, “turning your head? Got no hose on,” he explained as he completed his task.

Elizabeth was smiling as he said, “There. Right as rain. You can look now.”

“Do you think we ought to wait here?” she asked nervously.

“Think we ought, don't know if we should,” Lord Beverly said slowly. “For we're all alone, together in our nightclothes, you see.”

He eyed her. There was no doubt, he thought, she was a ravishing-looking female even in her disarray. Especially, he amended, in her disarray. Although the night robe covered her, its thin material clearly hinted at the curves on her body beneath. Her honey hair lay soft upon her shoulders and her eyes were bright with emotion. There was nothing seductive in her attitude, he knew, but everything deliciously promising in her aspect.

But she looked upon him as a brother and trusted him as one, he knew. And she was an innocent. Further, he had his own ideas as to his dear friend Morgan's emotions toward the chit. He sighed softly. It was a good thing, he thought, tearing his gaze from her, that he wasn't in the petticoat line after all. When he glanced back at her, she was looking at him expectantly.

“Very nice peignoir, by the by,” he said as Elizabeth's hand flew to her neck to button the last button she had left undone. “You might go up, and I'll wait,” he thoughtfully concluded. “Nothing amiss with a chap as near to naked as nothing, if he's sitting alone in a house at night.”

“How can I go up, even to dress properly, when Anthony may come in, needing my attention?” she demanded. “And you are dressed, Bev. I've forgotten your trousers, remember?”

They sat in silence, listening to the mantle clock ticking for a few minutes. And then Elizabeth said, “How long do you think we ought to wait?”

“Depends,” Lord Beverly said, cudgeling his brain. “I checked Anthony's room, but I didn't check Morgan's. Still, I'd hate to wake the poor fellow over nothing if he is in there. It was a damp day and I know he has the devil of a time getting to sleep with that curst leg of his when the weather's lowering. Hate to roust him for nothing. I'd say we ought to wait an hour, and then forget it as a prank if no one comes by then. Still, I'll keep my door open, don't you worry, till Anthony toddles in.”

“Who would play such a trick?” Elizabeth asked wearily, pulling back her heavy hair with her hands.

“Owen might, the lad's too stuffy by far. Perhaps he's been aching for a bit of mischief.”

They sat quietly, each thinking of who would send such a summons for a jest, till Lord Beverly stretched and said in an offhand manner, “Long as we have to wait, Elizabeth, would you care for a game of cards to pass the time?”

“Yes, yes, fine,” she answered, still troubled by thoughts of the possible dangers Anthony might have fallen heir to.

Lord Beverly rummaged in a drawer and came back with a deck of cards, but he scarcely looked at his first hand when he said thoughtfully, “I could do with a spot of something, couldn't you, Elizabeth?”

“No,” she said distractedly, thinking of Anthony and trying to concentrate on the cards in her hand. “I told you, I don't care for any brandy.”

“Not spirits,” Lord Beverly replied, his shocked blue eyes widened, “but something to eat. When we were boys, Morgan and I often crept downstairs at night for a little feast in the kitchens when all the others were asleep,” he said nostalgically. “There might be a leg of fowl, or a bit of that excellent pudding, or even a slice of cheese left over for us. What say I just nip out to the kitchens and bring us back something?”

“I'm sure Morgan would be thrilled with us gorging in his salon at two in the morning,” Elizabeth said depressively. “Really, Bev.”

“Well, then,” he said, “why don't we both go to the kitchens and have a quick bite? We can leave a note here, saying where we are. It beats sitting here and fretting ourselves to pieces, don't it?”

Her fair-haired companion wrote a note in letters so wide a blind man could see them, and propped it up on the mantel.

“There!” he said in satisfaction. “That'll do it. Come along, Elizabeth.”

He paused at the door.

“You haven't any slippers. Would you like to borrow mine?” he asked gallantly.

It might have been the lateness of the hour or the vision of
herself pounding along in his slippers, but Elizabeth gave out a clear, ringing laugh.

“You could just say no,” he admonished her, “without bringing the house down upon us.”

Lord Beverly remembered the back way to the kitchens very well and they made their way there with exaggerated stealth. Once they had achieved their destination, with not a stubbed toe nor an alerted footman to interrupt their progress, Lord Beverly lit some candles and waved Elizabeth to a seat at a long wooden kitchen table. She waited there while he bent to start a fire ablaze in the huge fireplace, and then sat patiently as he hummed while he foraged. Soon the table was littered with bits and pieces of a magnificent late-night repast.

Elizabeth busied herself with ladyfingers and the remains of a bowl of syllabub, while Lord Beverly happily concocted a dish of ham, fowl, and cheeses on bread for his sustenance.

“Do you know how to make cocoa?” Lord Beverly interrupted his praise of their capital idea of a feast to ask hopefully.

“Shame,” said a deep voice, and both Elizabeth and Lord Beverly startled with guilt at the sound.

The Earl, in a dark blue dressing gown sashed with gold, stood watching them, his eyes hooded, gripping his walking stick.

“Shame on you, Bev. Putting a lady to work for you. Do I not sustain you well enough during the day, that you need to make inroads upon the kitchens in the night? And with an accomplice to make cocoa with you as well?”

“Where is Anthony? What has happened to him?” Elizabeth cried, rising from the table as Lord Beverly started toward the Earl.

“Why, here he is,” the Earl said casually, and Anthony, shamefaced, came out of the darkness behind him.

“We went to the Rose and the Bear for some fun,” he said with boyish embarrassment, “and the time flew by. Sorry to give you a start. I'll be off to bed now,” he said lamely.

“And I as well,” said Lord Kingston, who appeared at his side. He sounded curiously aggrieved. He looked toward Elizabeth. “It seems that as I have had little luck during the day, I must remember to call on you some night when I am in
need of nourishment, at least,” he said silkily, eyeing her robe and bare feet.

And then he bowed and left with Anthony.

“But why did you send us that note?” Lord Beverly asked the Earl as soon as the other two had left.

“What note?” the Earl asked, standing quite still and watching them.

“Why,” Lord Beverly said, fumbling in his pocket, “dash it, I must have left it in the salon. Show him yours, Elizabeth.”

“Do,” the Earl said softly, investing that one syllable with such innuendo that Elizabeth colored up.

“I left it in the salon as well,” she said.

“All I saw was a hastily scribbled note, in letters a yard high, that said cryptically that you might be found in the kitchens.”

“Well, both Elizabeth and I received the same note after we went to bed. We went to bed separately, that is,” Lord Beverly said in desperation, as he looked into his friend's stern visage, “but we met in the salon in our nightclothes, even though I was half-dressed….”

“We received identical unsigned notes summoning us at once to discuss Anthony in the salon. I feared some accident, so I came flying as I was. As did Bev,” Elizabeth said, putting up her chin. “And we waited for him. Or for you, for we thought it was you that had sent the note.”

“I see,” the Earl said, his lips twitching. “And you thought nothing of the impropriety of the situation?”

“We did not care, we were so worried,” Elizabeth said defensively.

“I cared,” Lord Beverly yelped.

“What a seductress you are, Elizabeth,” the Earl said on a laugh, limping forward to inspect the table. “Within a day, I find you holding hands with Cousin Richard in the morning and cozening up to Bev by beguiling him with cocoa at night. No wonder Harry was scandalized by you.”

“Harry doesn't know a thing about Elizabeth and me,” Lord Beverly said angrily.

“No, he doesn't, unfortunately for him,” the Earl answered absently, as though lost in thought.

“It was likely that sneaking little Owen making a maygame of us all,” his friend grumbled.

“Doubtless,” the Earl said. “But then, he keeps shocking hours, since I, only a few moments past, received the same sort of note as well. I met Lord Kingston and Anthony quite by what appeared to be accident as I was entering the salon. It's a good thing you two weren't there then, in your dishabille. That might have been hard to explain away, but as few ardent lovers carry on midst the mutton and savories at this hour of the night, there was more of gluttony than passion apparent in your meeting. I congratulate you, Bev, on your interesting choice of trysting spots. Few Romeos have hit upon the idea of kitchens for their secret amours. But so long as I am already here, why are you being such a selfish lout?” the Earl continued more lightly. “Can't you pass some of that beef over here?”

Elizabeth, suddenly conscious of her flimsy attire, rose to leave. But the Earl caught her by the hand.

“Do stay, Elizabeth,” he said sweetly, “and finish your syllabub. Although,” he said consideringly, “I believe there's more left about your lips now than in the bowl.”'

As Elizabeth sat and scrubbed at the sticky residue on her upper lip, Lord Beverly carved some meat for his host. “Just like old times, eh, Morgan?” he chortled.

“Not quite,” the Earl replied with a gentle smile, watching Elizabeth. “Some things improve with age.”

13

Elizabeth arose oddly refreshed after far too few hours of sleep. Her first waking thought was of the previous night. It had been a strange affair. She had spent hours in the kitchens with the Earl and Lord Beverly, and had delighted in the close camaraderie that seemed to have sprung up among the three of them. The lateness of the hour had made it seem as if they were the only people left awake in the universe, cast away on their kitchen island, making their conversation light and almost childish in tone. They had laughed immoderately through the small hours of the night.

Yet it had been a curious time. For while she had been quite comfortable in her unorthodox attire before Lord Beverly, the mere presence of the Earl caused her to feel almost as a wanton. She had become acutely aware not only of her night rail and the thin robe covering it but also of her body beneath. Where Lord Beverly's garish robe had been amusing and the thought of his trouserless state only endearing, she had been unsettled by the Earl sitting next to her in his long dark blue dressing gown. When, between jests, she had found herself wondering just what lay beneath his garb, and startled even herself by her sudden blush, her eyes had caught the Earl's and the wicked glint in them hinted that he knew the reason for her confusion. Even after she had gone to her bed, intrusive thoughts of him had kept her awake longer than they ought to have, and had quite banished the mystery of the notes themselves from her mind.

But the Earl and Lord Beverly had not forgotten. And
when they broached the matter to Owen at breakfast, his eyes had grown alarmed and then shuttered. He denied knowing a thing about any missives. Still, he had seemed troubled and guilt-stricken, at least to Elizabeth's practiced eye. But before she could frame a question for him, his mother had pooh-poohed the whole matter and only said coquettishly to the Earl that she might never forgive him for not inviting her to their night's revels as well. Then she had told Elizabeth not to tarry over breakfast, for the ladies were arriving at noon. Only then did Elizabeth remember the tea party at all and she made a hasty retreat to her room to change her dress.

Lady Isabel had persuaded the Earl to agree to her having a small tea for the local ladies. Isabel had pouted quite prettily that as she was becoming a hermit here at Lyonshall, did the Earl not think it would be a good idea for his two monstrously outnumbered female guests to be permitted to have some of their own sex for company? It seemed quite natural then for her host to smilingly agree. But Elizabeth now realized, her spirits sinking, his acquiescence did put Lady Isabel in the nominal position of hostess at Lyonshall, as it was she who had arranged the party and invited the guests. And perhaps that was the purpose of it all, Elizabeth decided glumly, as she checked her appearance in a small gilt mirror in the hall.