The Riddle of the Shipwrecked Spinster (2 page)

To that end, Mrs. Stansbury went in search of a footman, wrote a hurried note and, along with other instructions, ordered that it be delivered
at once!
Then, with a rare and triumphant smile curving her lips, Regina Stansbury returned to her sofa, from which she might watch the corridor, unobserved.

He was here tonight! She had seen him come in, accompanied, as always, by a jolly group of friends. Tall and dashing and—oh, so very handsome.

Miss Cordelia Stansbury, short and inclined to plumpness, with a regrettable tendency to throw out a spot when she was nervous, watched him from a distance. How becoming was the powdered wig concealing his hair, which she knew to be a softly curling dark brown. How enchanting the clear grey eyes, slim
nose, firm mouth and chin. If some named him a Dandy, it was no more than jealousy. Suppose he was fastidious about his dress, why should he not be? His valet was known to be proud of him, for he was tall and perfectly proportioned and had a fine pair of broad shoulders.

Miss Stansbury sighed and edged a little closer, thrilling to the sound of his deep laugh and noting every graceful movement. How immediate was the heightened sense of excitement in the ballroom now that he had arrived. And how hopeless her love for the man so sought-after for the very qualities she admired, and even more sought-after for the great Valerian fortune. It was believed that despite his estrangement from his father, Gervaise had not been disowned and remained the sole heir to Sir Simon Valerian. Much she cared for that, thought Cordelia sadly. But Mama cared. Mama never ceased to remind her that she was twenty now, and if she did not bestir herself to become less of a shy and colourless little dab, and master some of the tricks that even pretty young ladies employed to catch themselves a husband, she would be a spinster all her days. Mama had said—so often—that she did not propose to support her for the rest of her days, and that Cordelia owed it to her to make a good match.

She sighed. She’d always thought life would be easier once she left the schoolroom, but if anything, it was more difficult If Papa were in London, it would be different. But Mr. Nathan Stansbury, a renowned authority on antiquities and a gentle soul, had escaped his wife’s shrewish tongue by retreating to the less exhausting heat of the Egyptian sands, thus abandoning his only daughter to the machinations of her ruthless mother.

With a twinge of guilt, Cordelia glanced around. Mama had gone off somewhere, probably to find Lady Hall-Bridger and demand she provide a partner for her plain and timid offspring. How horrid that would be. And how humiliating. The other young ladies would giggle behind their fans, as they always did,
and she would wish the floor might open and swallow her.

“Miss Stansbury?”

A footman, making a far more elegant appearance in his livery than did she in the ornate ball gown Mama had insisted she wear, was holding out a note. A summons, she thought with sinking heart, but she nodded and he gave her the note together with the admonition that she was requested to destroy it as soon as it was read.

Curious, she broke the seal. The writing was an unfamiliar scrawl, and the message brief.

The green ante-room was unoccupied. Pushing the door wider, Cordelia started to call, but he had stressed confidentiality and she crept inside, bowing to convention by leaving the door open but crossing to the inner room where he might wait so as to be out of sight of the corridor.

She was a little flushed with excitement, her heart pounding madly. Of all people, in his trouble—whatever it was—he had turned to her! Had he guessed that she had adored him from the first moment she saw him? She’d been thirteen then, accompanying Papa to a dusty old bookshop. When Gervaise had strolled in it had seemed to her that the shop lit up. He had also been with his father, for this was before the terrible quarrel that had driven them apart. Sir Simon had spoken
briefly to Papa and Gervaise had made his bow, smiled on her kindly, then wandered about and not glanced her way again. Why should he, an already acknowledged prize on the marriage mart, glance at a chubby girl not yet out of the schoolroom? But if he’d been scarcely aware of her, she had never forgotten him or that dazzling smile. The altar in her heart that was built that day had remained, undimmed and unshakeable, so that, while knowing he would never choose her, having met the man of her dreams, she was determined to marry no one else. Never had she hoped for this evening’s wonderful turn of events; never had she dreamt he noticed her, much less judged her to be kind-hearted.

She was somewhat surprised to find that the inner chamber was empty also. It was her own fault, of course. She could never seem to master the little tricks of flirtation. Mama would likely box her ears again and shrill that a lady did not rush to meet a gentleman, but kept him waiting for a decent interval lest he judge her over-eager. “Cordelia,” she murmured, starting back to the outer room, “you are such a silly—”

“Where are you, little lovely?”

The soft call sent her heart leaping into her throat. For an instant she could not move, and her voice was unwontedly husky when she gulped, “In… here.”

“Aha!”

She heard his quick tread and knew she was pale and trembling.

He said lightly, “Discretion is, they say, the better part of—”

Then he was in the room, had taken two strides, checked abruptly and gasped, “What—the devil…?”

“I c-came as soon as I received your note, Mr. Valerian,” she stammered. “In—in what way can I be of assistance to—”

The flaring dark brows twitched into a frown. “I sent you no note, madam,” he said icily. “Be so good as to let me see it.”

Horrified, she gulped, “You asked that I destroy it, so I threw it in the fire.”

“If ever I heard such a silly—” Suspicion dawned then. He whirled about and ran to the outer room.

Bewildered, Cordelia followed. “What is it? Have I—”

The door to the corridor was closed. Groaning a curse, he sprang at it, but his tug at the latch was unavailing. “Treed!” he snarled inexplicably. “Devil take me for a fool!”

Gripping her hands together, Cordelia whimpered, “I don’t understand. Why would you have come if you had not sent for me?”

He rushed past her and threw back the window draperies, only to be thwarted by locked casements. Again he ground out an oath of frustration, then exclaimed, “Send
for you?
Why the deuce would I send for
you
, madam? A pretty web you’ve woven, thinking to catch me in parson’s mousetrap, is that it?”

Aghast, she cried, “No! No, sir! I swear—” She shrank back as he advanced on her, eyes blazing with wrath, hands clenched. Sure that she was about to be strangled, she gasped, “You—you are mistaken, sir. I—”

A shrill screaming put a stop to her desperate denial. The outer door was opened. Mrs. Regina Stansbury, the picture of outraged and vengeful motherhood, stood there, weeping hysterically and surrounded by a shocked and growing crowd.

Very white, Valerian said harshly, “Madam, you must know I did not think to find your daughter here! If truth be told—”

“Truth?” she shrieked. “Do you deny that you had locked yourself in here with my poor innocent child?” She looked pleadingly at the titillated but disapproving spectators. “Only see how wickedly he tries to deny what is all too obvious—”

Somehow regaining her voice, Cordelia half-whispered, “Mama! Mr. Valerian did not—”

“Trick you into coming here… alone?” wailed Mrs. Stansbury. “Oh, I am faint! My sweet little girl… so shy and—and
innocent. She would not know… He has
ruined
her…!”

“Nonsense!” snapped Valerian, but he read condemnation in the faces at the door.

The crowd separated suddenly. Lady Hall-Bridger, large and opinionated and a power in Society, pushed her way through and took in the situation at a glance. “Is this how you serve me, Gervaise Valerian? A fine scandal for my granddaughter’s come-out! Be so good as to explain.”

He met her eyes and read the stern warning that told him there was no explanation. He had been neatly trapped. Fuming, aware that there was also no escape, he thought savagely that it would have been bad enough had it been that saucy little hussy Angela Alvelley, at least she had some liveliness, but this plain and dim-witted creature had been born for spinsterhood! She was croaking something.

“It is—is not what you think, Mama. Someone must have—”

Her hostess hissed softly, “Quiet, you little widgeon!” And in a louder tone, “Well, Valerian? You are surely aware that you have compromised the gel. You must set things to rights.”

Helpless, he said in a voice that shook with rage, “I apologize, Mrs. Stansbury for my—impetuous haste in—in courting your daughter. And I—beg you will permit me the—the honour of—of offering for Miss Cordelia’s hand in… marriage.”

From the corridor came a chorus of relieved exclamations.

Mrs. Stansbury dabbed a tiny square of cambric and lace at her tearless eyes, and moaned that she accepted Mr. Valerian’s offer. “Though, it should have been made in a less scrambling fashion, you naughty boy.”

Valerian barely restrained a shudder.

Lady Hall-Bridger fixed him with a stern stare, then smilingly urged her guests to return to the ballroom. They drifted away, chattering happily over the juicy
on dit
they would be able to relate to those unfortunates who had not witnessed the
downfall of the popular but naughty young rake, who deserved just what he had come by.

Several people, excited, failed to keep their voices down. Their comments would haunt Cordelia’s nightmares:

“Poor Gervaise! Who’d have dreamt he would be snabbled by such a plain and dull chit!…”

“Gad, but London’s hopeful beauties will yearn to murder her!…”

“He was caught by her
mother
, my dear! That poor little mouse has neither the courage nor the wit to set such a trap. For trap it was, of that I am certain!…”

“Cordelia Stansbury! The last one I’d thought Valerian would look at, much less compromise so blatantly…”

“I feel for Gervaise. Only last week he told me he meant to remain a carefree bachelor till he reached thirty-five, at least.”

“The more fool he, to be so indiscreet. Well, he’s stuck with the chit now, poor fellow…”

Sick with shame, Cordelia wept, and longed for an early grave.

“Less than a month!” Mrs. Evaline Coffey tucked in her several double chins and poured her guest another cup of tea.

Comfortably seated on a rose velvet overstuffed chair in the private parlour of the Mayfair house the late Mr. Coffey had provided for his family, Miss Saphronia Aymer’s finely drawn brows arched higher. She was a thin lady on the far side of middle age, and her powdered wig, which was somewhat out of the present style, framed an angular face not improved by a very sharp nose and chin. “As the sister of a well-known clergyman,” she said in a fluttery high-pitched voice, “I should not really comment on the matter. But… one cannot help but ask oneself what on earth could have possessed the lady—especially such a lady as Regina Stansbury—to allow her daughter
to go off and visit friends and then leave the country with them so soon after the announcement of her betrothal. Has she given any explanation, Evaline?”

Mrs. Coffey refilled her own cup and stirred the tea briskly. “She tells everyone the gel was eager to visit her papa and obtain his approval of her betrothal. Stuff!”

Blinking at such vehemence, although she agreed with the sentiment, the clergyman’s sister was struck by a sudden thought. She caught her breath, leaned forward and half-whispered, “But—but surely, this was Mr. Valerian’s duty? Never say he accompanies the girl?”

“Gervaise? Certainly not! Lud, Saphy! That young scamp is in enough trouble with half the
ton
believing he was in his cups and really did try to seduce Cordelia!”