The Savage Miss Saxon (32 page)

Then it was time to go. Alix was just beginning to direct the pair toward the door when Nicholas belatedly arrived on the scene—all his senses alive to any mischief. He had seen the small party leaving the chamber, and some sixth sense alerting him to the idea that something havey-cavey was about to occur, he had unceremoniously dumped Sir Alexander down on a nearby bench and gone off to investigate.

“What’s going on here?” he asked as he took in the scene in front of him.

“Oh, oh,” Billy blurted. “The cove is fly! We must brush!”

For once no one needed to wait for a translation of Billy’s cant. In the twinkling of an eye the three boys had pushed Helene and Lady Lovewell (who was having the devil of a time with his skirts) through the outer door, leaving Alix behind to face Nicholas with a brave grin and a small wave. “Hello, Nicholas,” she cooed. “You aren’t thinking of leaving yet, are you? It’s still quite early.”

“Stow it, Alix,” he spat at her. “Who was that odd lady, and where are those three idiots going? Something’s up, girl, and I mean to get to the bottom of it.”

As Mannering began advancing on her, determination etched in every line of his face, Alix began to talk—and talk fast. “That lady was no lady,” she said, grimacing as Nicholas responded with a shake of his head and an admonition to her not to be so cutting in her judgments. “Only listen, Nick,” she pressed on, holding him away from her with her outstretched hands. “That lady was Reginald Goodfellow—
the man Helene loves!
”

Nicholas shot a look toward the empty doorway where Reginald had just disappeared. “She picked that quiz over me?” he said in some amazement. “By God, I think I should be insulted!”

Alix giggled, relaxing a bit as she saw that Nicholas wasn’t about to fly out the door and put a stop to the elopement—at least not yet. “You have every right to be insulted, love, The man’s an absolute turnip-head, although he isn’t a bad sort. Just the man for Helene, actually. They are on their way to Gretna, you understand.”

Nicholas immediately climbed back on his high horse. “They’re what!” he shouted, his words bouncing off the stone walls and echoing about their heads. “Have you completely lost your senses? Whose wild work is this?” He took a step toward the door, then whirled around to point a finger at Alix. “It can’t have been the boys as they haven’t the wit. It has to have been you. How very
enterprising
of you, Miss Saxon,” he sneered. “Not content to singlehandedly destroy that girl’s reputation, you have simultaneously put my brother and his friends in the position of having to meet Helene’s brother on a field of honor.”

“Oh, I seriously doubt that,” came an amused voice from the doorway to the Great Hall. Rupert then sauntered into the room and, taking up Alix’s limp hand, gave it a languid shake. “My compliments, ma’am. You have certainly tweaked Mama’s nose with this one. I only wish I had thought of it.”

“Why?” Alix shot back, for she did not like this oily creature even a little bit. “You wouldn’t have had the backbone to get the thing done if you
had
thought of it.” She smiled nastily. “Would you, Rupert, old sport?” Turning to Nicholas, she said, “Rupert’s a pernicious little monster, you know, and loyalty is definitely not his strongest suit.”

Rupert did not take offense at Alix’s words, but only bowed again, saying, “You are an astute judge of character, ma’am, but you erred on one point. I am extremely loyal—to myself.”

“You certainly are a cold fish,” Nicholas said in disgust. “Don’t you have the least feelings for your sister?”

“Why should I?” Rupert returned offhandedly. “She don’t care a fig for me, you know.”

“Now
that
I can understand,” the Earl interposed before dismissing Rupert with a sneer and rounding once more on Alix (who had just then been trying to blend in with the ornate woodwork). “And as for you, you scapegrace,” he grated, “I can only hope you don’t live to regret your part in this night’s work. Although I applaud your motives—if indeed they are as altruistic as you say—I heartily condemn your methods. Do you have any idea of the tragedy scene Mrs. Anselm is going to enact once she discovers that Helene has flown the coop?”

A purely delicious smile lit up Alix’s face. “Oh, yes, Nick,” she cooed. “I have a very clear picture of the scene in my mind.” She held out her arm to Mannering. “Come, love, and we shall see if her reaction lives up to my expectations.”

It took some little time to locate Mrs. Anselm—they at last found her half sliding under one of the tables, a small alcohol-spiced apple half stuck in her mouth. Alix leaned down to whisper something in the woman’s ear.

“
What!
” Mrs. Anselm shrieked as she sat up with a jerk, the apple dropping from her mouth. “My baby! Where is she? What have you done with my baby?”

It was Rupert who answered her. “Helene and Reginald are on their way to Gretna, Mama, and have been this last half hour or more.”

The enraged woman whirled to poke an accusing finger in Alix’s face. “This is your work, missy,” she shouted as her ostrich-feather headdress slipped down to cover both her eyes. Shoving the thing back up high on her head, she went on hysterically, “And don’t tell me my Helene went willingly, for I shall not credit a word of it. You’ve kidnapped her!”

All this fracas served to wake Sir Alexander from his happy slumbers, and he stood, wiped at his eyes, and called across the room to Nicholas, “
Now
, Linton? Is it now?”

“Oh, shut up!” Matilda Anselm screeched back at him. “I know what you’re about, old man, and don’t you think I don’t. You mean to shackle your granddaughter to Mannering before he finds out he doesn’t have to marry the chit. Well, sir, you shall not succeed. It is my Helene who will be Lady Linton—you mark my words!”

Rupert reached out and grabbed his mama’s wrist before she could bolt across the room and take a swing at Sir Alexander. “Oh, cut line, Mama,” he drawled. “You have lost. Helene has escaped you. Now stop making a cake of yourself and let’s go home. You still have me, you know.”

Mrs. Anselm looked up into her son’s thin face, and her features assembled themselves into a sneer. “And what good are you, Rupert? Whatever good are you?”

Rupert only smiled. “Why, Mama, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten that pretty little Miss Frobisher who took such a fancy to me last season? That sweet, pretty—
rich
—Miss Frobisher?”

Magically, Mrs. Anselm smiled. Giving her errant headdress one last shove, she slipped her hand through her son’s arm and began to walk toward the door. “I hear the Frobishers have a magnificent mansion in Wimbledon. The city is so bare of company during the winter months, Rupert. I’m sure they’d be more than happy to have us visit with them for a while.”

Rupert patted his mama’s hand. “Trust my mama to see the advantages of having a son such as me. You know I’d never forsake you.” The smile on Rupert’s face was nearly angelic. “Of course I shall be needing some additions to my wardrobe if I am going to pay my attentions to Miss Frobisher—some rather
extensive
additions, you understand.”

“Naturally, my pet,” Mrs. Anselm assured him. “You shall be so handsome you shall have dear Miss Frobisher fair fainting with admiration.”

Alix folded her hands against her stomach and pulled a face. “I think I’m going to be sick. It’s like Helene never existed! All she can think about now is how best to marry Rupert off to money.” She shook her head. “And you want to know the worst of it, Nick? I think she’ll find a way to do it.”

“I don’t know, sweetings,” Nicholas replied. “My blunt’s on Rupert, personally.”

Then the three boys reentered the chamber and ran to join them. “Nick! “ Jeremy exclaimed, a huge smile creasing his face. “You’d never believe it! We just passed Mrs. Anselm outside and we told her how we had helped Helene and her Reggie on their way to Gretna and you know what? That daft woman didn’t even turn a hair! We thought sure she’d try to murder us. Ain’t any way of figuring out a woman, is there, Nick?”

Cuffy, who had been standing some ways off waiting to see which way the wind was blowing, now saw that Nicholas didn’t appear ready to knock their heads together for their part in the elopement and decided it was safe to approach the man. “Before he climbed in the carriage, Rupert handed me this to give you, my lord,” he said, holding out a large envelope. “He said he ‘discovered it someplace’ and thought you might want to have it. It does have your name on it. Wonder where he found it.”

Mannering took the envelope, quickly seeing that it must contain the information he had been waiting for. Now at last he would have his answer one way or another. Damn that Matilda Anselm, he swore silently, somehow sure it had been she who had pilfered the letter in the first place. He made a quick wish that Rupert married a nabob’s daughter and forced his mama to move to Bombay. Then, his anxiety warring with a reluctance to know once and for all that his lands really belonged to Sir Alexander, he moved closer to a brace of candles on one of the tables and began to read the letter.

‘Dear Nick,’ he read quietly, his good eye rapidly skipping along the lines, ‘I have just finished checking out that document you sent me. It reminds me of the time Byron got his friend Scrope Davies into a muddle over just such a technicality. (You remember Scrope, don’t you, Nick? George was always telling him he should marry so that he could raise a covey of little Scruples.) Anyway, Byron, being a minor, needed a guarantor in order to borrow money—a minor needs a guarantor for any monetary dealings, be they loans, wagers, etc. In Byron’s case, Scrope went bail for George and nearly landed in the Fleet when our handsome bard took himself off to Italy. Your ancestor was, it seems, kinder to his friends. He didn’t bother with a guarantor at all. Didn’t have a valid document then either, because he was a minor at the time. I checked. Perhaps the whole thing was only meant as a joke between friends in the first place and never meant to be taken seriously. In any event, my dear friend, you may unpack—your estate is safe. Come up to Cambridge soon, chum, and we’ll split a few bottles. Yrs., etc. John.’

Although his hands were shaking, so great was his relief, Nicholas turned the paper closer to the candle so as to read an addendum his friend had scrawled at the bottom. ‘Marry the chit, Nick, and have done with it. You have my permission to name the first son after me in gratitude.’

Throwing the paper high into the air, Nick let out a whoop that would have done any Lenape proud—succeeding in waking any revelers who had nodded off. Grabbing Alix about the waist with both hands, he then twirled the pseudo Fanny Fandango—
his
Fanny Fandango—about the large chamber, circling the blazing yule fire in an abandoned waltz that had the onlookers cheering and clapping their hands in encouragement.

Sir Alexander clumsily climbed up on one of the tables, an overflowing goblet in his hand. “Now, Linton?” he shouted above the din. “Is it
now?
”

Nick lifted the bemused Alix clear off the floor and into his arms, uncaring of her dangling bare ankles, and smiled down into her eyes. Not quite understanding just what had happened to make Nicholas look so suddenly happy, so
carefree
, but totally enraptured by the look on his dear face, she wrapped her arms around Nicholas’s neck and smiled back at him.

As she was carried off toward the privacy of the antechamber, she turned her head to see her grandfather looking after her in some confusion. “Now, old man,” she called to him over her shoulder. “Yes, dear, sweet, Grandfather—
now!
”

Epilogue

T
hey were in the sweat house. It had become one of their favorite spots—long before Nicholas had had a chance to live out his fantasy with his adored wife, and certainly ever since. While Harold stood lookout at the top of the hill (his back discreetly turned), they spent many an afternoon between the squat hut, the stream, and one particularly comfortable bower beneath the trees.

It had been three months since their marriage—a marriage that had taken place on Alix’s twenty-first birthday. It was her way of proving to Nicholas that she was wedding him because she wanted to, just as he was taking her to wife because he wanted to.

“We will be married,” Alix had told her grandfather the night of the pantomime after the last of their happy guests had been dragged off to their carriages.

“O’course you will,” Sir Alexander had replied, not understanding Alix’s belated acceptance of what he had known all along to be an established fact.

“We’re in love,” Nicholas had explained while looking adoringly into Alix’s bright eyes.

“Well, what is that to the point?” the old man had shot back before Harold took his arm and steered him away.

“Come with me, old one,” Harold had said in perfect English. “Our work here is done.”

Sir Alexander had halted in his tracks, suddenly very sober. “
English?
The savage speaks English?” he exclaimed in astonishment.

Still looking at Nicholas, Alix had replied, “He always did, Grandfather. Harold is a man of many talents. I do hope you’ve never insulted him when you thought he couldn’t understand what you were saying. Indians have a fine way with revenge, you know. Now, Grandfather, as you love me,
palli aal
.”