The Riddle of the Shipwrecked Spinster (43 page)

The sound of galloping hooves brought Jane Guild running to the door Peddars was already swinging open.

“Perry!” she gasped. “Oh, thank heaven!”

Sir Peregrine dismounted, thrust the reins at Sudbury, who came hurrying to take them, and limped rapidly up the steps and through the front door. His face was grim as he demanded, “Where is he? Is it very bad? What happened? A relapse?”

“No, no.” Miss Guild caught his arm as he started to make his awkward way up the stairs. “He is not here, Perry!”

“Not here? But I thought—I was
sure
he is in much pain! Do you say he is no worse?”

“He is not… better. Exactly. But—oh, never look so afraid. Come into the morning room.”

He followed her and took the armchair beside her, saying impatiently, “For heaven’s sake, Aunt Jane. Tell me! Something is very wrong with my twin. I have felt it more keenly every day and should have come sooner, I know. Have I failed him utterly?”

“No, my very dear. There is nothing you, or anyone, can do to help him, though I believe you are right. The poor boy is suffering cruelly, but—it is worse than a physical pain. He loved her, you see. And—and she had given her heart to Gervaise Valerian.”

Sir Peregrine stared at her in bewilderment. “Cordelia Stansbury? But—Piers knew she loved Gervaise. Everyone knows. Why on earth—”

She shook her head helplessly. “Who can say why a man loves one particular lady? Or why he goes on hoping she will return his affection even when ’tis perfectly clear she is deep in love with another man?”

Baffled, he muttered, “He thought her plain…”

“He sees her now with the eyes of love. In truth she is no beauty, but she has—I suppose one could describe it as a—a sort of glow.”

“He offered for her, and she laughed at him. Heavens above, how could he love her after that?” Springing up, he began
to limp about distractedly. “I might have known! Always he has been the quiet one, comforting and caring for us all, shouldering our burdens, and never a word of his own hopes. I know—I
knew
that if he once threw his heart over the hedge it would be a forever thing with him. That notorious jade has broken his generous heart. And he let her, the idiot!” Pausing to look down at her, he said miserably, “My poor idealistic twin! Aunt Jane, whatever are we to do? How can we help him?”

She said sadly, “I think we cannot. We can only wait and pray he finds his own happiness someday.”

“Well, and did you find it, sir?”

The clear voice caused Piers’ heart to give a spasmodic leap. His head jerked up. He half-whispered, “Mary…!”

For an instant she was dismayed by the change in him, then she said cheerily, “Yes. I’m glad you recognize me.”

She wore blue today; a soft blue gown under a thick cloak of darker blue. Her curls blew softly under her hood, her cheeks were rosy, and her eyes held a warm smile. He forced himself to look away, and said lightly, “Of course I recognize you. If I appeared surprised, ’twas because I had understood you were in London, choos——Oh, Jupiter! You will have missed your friend! Florian and Laura came to—”

“To tell you their news. I know. They came here first.” She stepped closer and took his arm, then, noticing how he shrank from her touch, drew back and said in alarm, “Oh, how stupid of me. Have I hurt you?”

“Only by removing your hand. My arm is not damaged. Our apothecary is something of a tyrant and demands that I not use the arm for a short while.”

Smiling, she took his arm again, but very gently. “Is it not wonderful, Piers? I was quite worried for Laura. She is too softhearted and—”

“Not an Amazon like someone I could name,” he said, struggling to appear at ease and yearning to pull her close and kiss those rosy lips.

“As I was saying,” she said, giving him a stern glance, “Laura is easily crushed, and her father’s disgrace could well have sent her into a decline. Now—it has all worked out beautifully, do you not agree?”

“I do. She is—is very fortunate.”

“As is he! Your friend has won himself a gentle and kind lady who will make him a wonderful wife.”

“Oh, I agree. I did not mean—I only mean that—”

“That marriage will solve all her problems? One can but hope.”

“It certainly will bring her happiness—and Florian also. When two people really love one another, as they do, I would think they’ve the chance for a joyous sharing through the years. Surely—you entertain such—hopes for your own future?”

She was silent, her lips pursed thoughtfully as they made their way higher up the softly undulating hillside. Then she said, “There is the barrow! Over there.”

He turned at once to look at the green mound she indicated. “Oh, Gad! Then there really is one! And it
is
on the river parcel! Small wonder old Finchley was so desperate to buy it!”

They approached the mound together and Cranford gazed down at the line that was visible in the turf. “To think people—centuries ago—buried their treasures here…”

“And their bones,” she said, twinkling at him. “I did not disturb those, but you may be sure Major Finchley would have felt no such qualms.”

“True. Did you really—dig here, Mary? It seems almost sacrilegious.”

“I suppose,” she said, firing up, “had you been a pirate and found bones and treasure hid on a desert island, you’d have been too noble to dig them up! However badly scorched you were!”

He could not restrain a grin. “Such terms you use, Miss Stansbury!”

“I am not Miss Stansbury at this moment, sir. I am the outrageous Miss Westerman, who dwelt with savages and flouted all the conventions with not a
soupçon
of shame!”

“There is no need for that Plan now, surely?” But reminded of Valerian’s now straitened circumstances, he asked, “And if you should stand in need of funds, will you be allowed to benefit from your treasure?”

She turned and they began to walk slowly down the hill. Joying in her nearness, and with a not very sincere mental apology to his absent cousin, he reached out and took up her hand, managing to restore it to his arm.

Mary watched this procedure with interest and replied, “Buried treasure belongs to the Crown, as you know. But our solicitor—we’ve a new one, by the bye—is disputing that ruling because he says it applies only to gold coins and golden objects—not to gems.”

“Does he entertain hopes of the outcome?”

“Yes. But I think ’tis rather in the way of splitting hairs, don’t you agree?”

“I’m afraid I do. But there is a reward—no?”

“Quite a large one. And if you do not betray me, I shall keep the ill-gotten gains I have accumulated thus far.”

“Rascal!” He patted her hand, his mind hoarding that pert little smile. “What does my cousin have to say to this?”

“Oh, you know Gervaise.” She glanced up at him from under her lashes. “He has not the least respect for the laws of the land. If he had his way we would dig up the entire mound at dead of night and have a boat waiting to carry us over to France!”

“Likely you’re in the right of it. But he has many—good qualities, and—and—you will be able to reform him, I’ve no doubt.”

“Good gracious me! Why ever should I wish to do such a
thing? The female who weds a man with the intent to change his ways is a widgeon! On the other hand, I have to admit that the lady who weds lieutenant Piers Cranford will
have
to change him to save her own sanity.”

Taken aback by this unkind remark, he said, “You must judge me a very vexing fellow, ma’am. What have I done to give you so poor an opinion of me?”

“You have a truly dreadful habit of flinging yourself into danger! Constantly! With no thought of how that trait distresses others!”

“No! You are unreasonable! Because I chanced to—”

“No one takes such chances! When you are not fighting Mohocks or charging into burning barns—”

He said hurriedly, “You know very well I had no choice in either instance! Truly, I am not such a fool as to court danger, Mary.”

“Perhaps not, but nor do you run from it. I vow your poor wife will live in terror that you are risking your ufe to save someone or something, without a thought for—”

“Yet knowing Valerian’s volatile nature, it does not concern you that he is—er, not exactly law-abiding?”

“Do not change the subject! However, I own that I wish he showed more sense, for I am very fond of him. But I have to tend to my own affairs, and cannot—”

“Mary!” Halting, he faced her and, heart racing, said, “I had understood you were in Town, choosing your bride clothes.”

She said mischieviously, “You have met my mama.”

“Yes. Is she—I mean, is there any hope she is—is mistaken?”

Resuming their much interrupted stroll, she said judicially, “Mama, you know, tends to live as though events that suited her were happening—regardless of whether they actually are.”

“Then—” He drew her to a halt again. “You were not in Town buying clothes?”

“Oh, yes. I have quite a sum, for I was able to sell one of my beads. Never say you are going to object?”

He put his available hand on her shoulder, and looking deep into her lovely eyes said firmly, “For mercy’s sake, stop teasing me and tell me the truth. Are you or are you not betrothed to Gervaise?”

Her brows arching, she said, “Oh, no.”

He gave a gasp and his own eyes closed for an instant, so that he missed the tender smile that was bestowed on him.

“I had thought you understood,” she said, all innocence, “that I have a Plan. I have already looked at two small houses. In Kensington Village. And—”

“Kensington Village? You little scamp! Do you say you intend to move there and write your shipwreck book?”

“But of course. Aunt Celeste means to be my chaperone.”

“My dear God! If ever there was a lady unsuited to—”

“Be so kind as to not speak unkindly of my aunt, sir!”

“No—I should not, I don’t mean—Mary, Mary! Have you even
started
this famous book of yours?”

She walked on, taking his arm uninvited. “Well… not exactly. But I have written to my papa asking him to advise me about life on a desert island. When I receive his reply I shall be able to begin.”

“But—surely you know more of the subject than does he?”

“How should I? I have never so much as set eyes on one!”

“But—you said—I understood—”

Mary smiled, and lifting one hand, touched his cheek gently. “Poor boy who looks so haggard and ill.”

It was very hard, and he could not resist kissing those caressing fingers, but he said sternly, “Never mind about that. Cordelia Mary, I want the truth. Were you ever shipwrecked?”

She folded her hands demurely before her and shook her bowed head, looking, he thought achingly, like a little girl knowing she is about to be spanked.

“Then—good heavens! Where were you during the year you were believed to be on your desert island?”

“In the New World.” She looked up, her eyes dancing. “And do you know, Piers, it is the nicest place, full of the most friendly and kind people! You would—”

“Never mind what I ‘would’ or ‘would not,’ Miss Sauce! What were you doing in the New World?”

“Well, I had decided to run away, you see, so Mama put it about that I had gone to Egypt to find my papa. But actually, I chanced to meet a very pretty lady from a place called Boston, and she had two darling children but no governess, so I—”

“Lord above! You became a
governess?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, dimples peeping.

“In Boston.”

“Yes. And it is a most interesting—”

“If it is so nice and interesting, why did you come home?”

She opened her eyes very wide and said an astonished, “I am an English lady! Where else should I go? Oh, I see what you mean. Well, Piers dear—”

He started. “What?”

“No, pray do not interrupt. The thing was—the children were very pretty but—so indulged and
naughty!
And their silly mama would not permit—What are you doing?”

“I am about to kiss you. If you are quite sure you do not still love Gervaise.”

“But I do. I always will.”

He drew back and the arm that had slipped around her waist was withdrawn.

“That,” she said, “is why I could not come to see you again while you were ill.”

He said dully, “I think you are playing a very unkind game with me, Mary. You said you rejected his offer.”

“Well, of course. How could I marry him unless I loved him in that—very special way?” Peeping at his white and drawn face, she went on, “But I had been so silly, do you see? As a
young girl I fell in love—not with Gervaise, but with his beauty and charm and debonair ways. I lacked the sense to know I had fallen in love with a handsome face and a gentleman I did not begin to know. And by the time I found a gentleman who was—everything Gervaise was not… I had made such a cake of myself…”

He looked up at her, scarcely daring to hope.

Sudden tears sprang into her eyes. She said huskily, “Oh, my dear. I am so conceited as to be sure you love me and—No, wait! You must allow me to finish while I still have the courage. I began to love you, I think, when I saw you jousting that ugly warning sign. Through Laura I learned much more about you. I found out how you had struggled with your problems. I saw how bravely you fought those horrid ruffians in the park. If you knew how my heart was wrung when, needing desperately to win the steeplechase, you ruined your chances so as to help your friend. No! Do not tell me any man would have done the same. They did not, did they?
You
were the one to aid him.”