The Tenacious Miss Tamerlane (24 page)

She quickly shed her bonnet and pelisse,
shushed the curious maid, and tiptoed to the slightly-ajar door to
shamelessly eavesdrop on a conversation she had an idea would prove
most entertaining. She was not disappointed.

The first words Tansy heard were from Aunt
Lucinda, who groaned piteously, “‘I pray thee let me and my fellow
have a haire of the dog that bit us last night.” Heywood.”

“Stuff and nonsense, Lucinda, you bird-witted
creature,” the dowager’s voice returned, a bit feebly. “Such a cure
is only for seasoned drinkers, which by our joint performance last
night is a title we cannot and certainly should not covet. Farnley
is bringing us some camphorated spirits of lavender that he swore
on his hopes of Heaven will ease our discomfort, for I must own to
feeling as miserable as you do physically. Which is not to mention
suffering from emotional agonies of remorse and humiliation that
have so overset my nerves.”

“‘It is a consolation to the wretched to have
companions in misery.’ Syrus,” Aunt Lucinda admitted with a
sigh.

At this the dowager gave a snort of bitter
amusement. “Just do not make the mistake of counting Horatio as one
of our company. The only reason I dragged myself from my bed was to
render aid and comfort to what I thought was a poor innocent puppy
fallen afoul of our debauchery. And what did I find? A hound
prostrate on the floor too enfeebled to lift his little head? I did
not! The dratted mutt was down in the kitchens gulping down some
horrid slop of meat and gravy and looking to be in fine high
fettle. I tell you, Lucinda,” she confessed crossly, “if I weren’t
so fond of that scrap of fur I would have choked him on the spot.
You would have thought he was weaned on brandy,” she trailed off in
wonder.

While Tansy hastily stuffed a glove in her
mouth to keep from giggling aloud. Aunt Lucinda observed, ‘“Perhaps
some day it will be pleasant to remember these things.’
Virgil.”

There was a pregnant pause before the dowager
could find voice enough to answer this ridiculousness. “Lucinda,”
she finally returned most cordially, “if I were to be marooned on a
desert island for the remainder of my days and must needs choose
between your company and that of an organ-grinder’s flea-bitten
monkey, I should not hesitate a moment before opting for the
latter. If I could not be assured of intelligent conversation, at
least I would not be subjected to your aping recitations that
ceaselessly roam between the boundaries of the Land of Idiots and
the Kingdom of Twits. Besides,” she added glibly, “if pressed, at
least I could eat the monkey.”

Tansy stumbled away from the room, her face a
flaming red and her eyes streaming with the effort to keep a leash
on an inevitable explosion of hilarity that thankfully held off
until she was out of earshot.

She was supporting herself against the newel
post when Emily descended the stairs, cautiously looking about for
any person or persons liable to feel bound to deliver her a lecture
on her latest lapse from propriety. Just as her slippered foot
reached the landing, Aunt Lucinda erupted from the sitting room
like a gale in full force, her draperies clutched convulsively
about her pudgy frame and looking to be in a raging temper.

As she swept past the two girls she charged
in an injured tone, ‘“I would not have borne this in my flaming
youth when Plancus was consul.’ Horace.”

Emily was bewildered. “Plancus? Not her late
husband’s name, I don’t think. Is this Plancus another relative, do
you suppose? I do hope not, for it is such an odd name, to be
sure,” she concluded, a puzzled frown marring her marble brow as
she directed her query to Tansy.

Lady Emily was destined not to be answered,
however, as Tansy had given up all pretext of ladylike behavior,
plopping herself on the bottom stair to rock back and forth,
howling with unalloyed glee.

Time has a way of dulling the edges of anger
and fading unpleasant memories, as was the case with this latest
upheaval to hit Avanoll House. Two weeks went by and the grateful
dowager’s gift to Tansy for her help in protecting her
grandchildren from scandal arrived on a splendidly fine day, to the
delight of everyone—except, perhaps, the Duke, who manfully
withheld the majority of his objections.

“I do not wish to question your judgment, and
I certainly am not dull-witted enough to doubt your skill with the
ribbons, but if my grandmother wished to present you with your own
transportation for the Promenade I am convinced a conventional
ladies equipage would have been more, er, fitting,” he did say,
this slight censure having been impossible to suppress.

His cousin, who had been staring at her
high-perch phaeton and superb pair of Welsh-bred bays and had only
been listening to her cousin’s attempt at tactful criticism with
half an ear, replied to this homily vaguely and then repeated her
thanks to Avanoll for his kind gesture of personally selecting her
horses for her at Tattersall’s.

This diverted the Duke into reiterating the
features of the horses. “They are a prime bang-up pair of blood and
bone at that,” he preened, “with grand hocks and their forelegs
well before them. Your choice of tan and black for the phaeton
makes for a natty turnout to astound the populace privileged to see
it this afternoon in the Park. But I still say a perch phaeton is
too dangerous for a —”

He was cut off by Aunt Lucinda’s cheerful cry
of, “‘Steep thyself in a bowl of summertime.’ Virgil,” as she
stepped onto the flagway and with twinkling eyes implored the Duke
to hand her up into the phaeton.

Tansy hastily preceded her, unaided, and as
the older lady ooh-ed and rolled her eyes in fright at the great
elevation of her seat, Emily scrambled up to make a completed, if
somewhat overcrowded, party.

“You are too many for this vehicle,” Avanoll
pointed out. “Why crowd yourselves like that when you can take the
carriage?”

“‘An agreeable companion on a journey is as
good as a carriage.’ Syrus,” his aunt told him with a childlike
grin. Ever since her disastrous descent into drunkenness. Aunt
Lucinda had taken on a devil-may-care air that confounded and
astonished her family, who were at a loss to explain this change in
personality. When questioned, she merely smiled and cooed, ‘“When
the sunne shineth, make hay.’ Heywood.”

And so the Duke had to console himself with
the knowledge that his own groom was standing up behind the ladies
on the perch provided for a tiger, and could only warn, “Leo, take
care of the ladies,” in a tone that hinted of dire consequences
should one hair of their heads be put out of place.

Avanoll had decided Tansy would consider it
an insult to her ability if he were to shadow her around the park,
so he moved off down the flagway to meet some friends at Brook’s.
As he turned for one last peep, Tansy snaked out her whip, handily
caught up the thong, and moved out into traffic with admirable
finesse.

The Park being quite well attended on this
pleasant day, Tansy and her party were much looked at and commented
upon, while she was hard pressed to move more than a few feet
without someone hailing them to talk.

Emily was almost purring, such was her
delight in her popularity, when she spied a lone horseman fast
approaching them. “Oh, Lud,” Emily hissed none too softly, “It’s
that gawky infant, Digby Eagleton. Can’t you get past him, Tansy?
He’ll embarrass me by staring at me like a love-sick puppy, his
tongue clove to the roof of his mouth, and behaving for all the
world like a turnip-headed bumpkin,” she complained nastily. “If he
were the least bit presentable I would be flattered, but there is
no consequence in being the object of adoration if the adorer is a
piddling nobody like Digby.”

Aunt Lucinda, glimpsing from underneath her
drooping bonnet the crestfallen expression on Mr. Eagleton’s face
and knowing he had heard at least a part of Emily’s nasty tirade,
rounded on her and said, “‘I only wish I may see your head stroked
down with a slipper.’ Terence.”

Tansy only had time to warn from between
clenched teeth, “I am heartily sick of your behavior, missy,”
before pinning a bright smile on her face and endeavoring to put
Mr. Eagleton at his ease with some inane reference to the fine
weather. She succeeded to some small extent, but Emily—wretched
child that she was—refused to do more than bestow a frigid nod in
her erstwhile swain’s general direction before waving excitedly to
a gloriously uniformed Hussar who raced at once to her side.

“Isn’t Lady Emily in high good looks today,
Miss Tamerlane?” Mr. Eagleton asked in a choked voice before
lapsing into a muddled clarification of his statement, hoping it
not to be thought that the estimable young lady was not always sure
to appear as a diamond of the first water.

Aunt Lucinda sniffed. “‘She looked as if
butter would not melt in her mouth.’ Heywood,” she offered
facetiously.

Tansy was at last able to grasp a moment—when
Emily was deep in conversation with the small multitude of bucks,
dandies, and military gentlemen now surrounding the phaeton—to
crook her finger at Mr. Eagleton and draw him down to hear her
conspiratorial whisper. “If you were to call in Grosvenor Square
tomorrow at half past the hour of ten, Lady Emily will be out of
the house and we can discuss one or two matters of mutual interest
in private.”

Mr. Eagleton looked slightly taken aback, but
a concurring nod from Aunt Lucinda convinced him he could be no
worse off than he now was and had nothing to lose by listening to
whatever Miss Tamerlane had to say.

The next morning, just after Emily left for a
day-long picnic outside London, Mr. Eagleton was ushered into the
second withdrawing room and settled into a comfortable chair facing
the two ladies who had desired his attendance.

In the silence that fell while Tansy poured
tea and Aunt Lucinda meticulously arranged her ruffled skirts,
Digby ran a trembling index finger around the inside of his neck
cloth and cleared his dry throat half-a-dozen times. When Tansy
held out a brimming teacup, he clutched at it gratefully and took a
huge gulp of the liquid without regarding its temperature before
sputtering as the tea scalded his tongue.

A sprinkling of tea-colored spots quickly
appeared on his disheveled neckcloth, prompting Tansy to exclaim,
“Mr. Eagleton, it would simplify matters if I could address you as
Digby. You may call me Tansy. Whatever are we going to do with
you?”

“I—I beg your pardon, ma’am, er, I mean
Tansy?” Digby questioned while scrubbing at his stains with the
napkin Aunt Lucinda had helpfully supplied.

Tansy took a deep breath and, as was her
nature, baldly laid her cards on the table. “I am assured that you
genuinely care for my loose-screw cousin Emily, though I cannot for
the life of me see why, and as the dowager agrees that you are a
very well set up young man, we—Aunt Lucinda and I—have decided to
help you to press your suit if we can.”

Digby first blushed, then grinned, and at
last stammered his thanks. “But I fear it is a hopeless cause, dear
ladies, as Lady Emily is completely out of charity with me, not
that I can blame her. I am nothing out of the ordinary way and do
not command either her respect or admiration, but inspire in her
only cold indifference and at times, her rather heated
condemnation.”

Delivering himself of this self-deprecating
speech, Digby lapsed into silence.

Tansy would not be satisfied that Digby was
as nondescript as he painted himself, and proceeded in the next
minutes to turn him inside out like a sack with questions about his
home, family, upbringing, interests, talents, and prospects for the
future. These were all found to be quite unexceptional, indeed. The
only real stumbling block in his make-up appeared to be his
inherent shyness and, as Tansy rather indelicately put it, his
“wishy-washiness.”

“But, ma’am, I mean Tansy, I was never so—as
you say—wishy-washy before. It is only in the presence of exalted
persons such as I have met since coming to Town, and when within
sight and sound of dear Lady Emily, that my wits seem to desert
me,” Digby said as he tried to justify himself. “Then all at once
my brains seem entirely to let and my foolish mouth spouts only the
most mundane, silly, and mawkish platitudes, until I make a
complete cake of myself.”

Aunt Lucinda deposited her teacup on its
saucer with a slight rattle. “‘There is no greater bane to
friendship than adulation, fawning, and flattery.’ Cicero.”

Digby was momentarily diverted by this
pronouncement. “Does she always speak in that way?” he asked Tansy
innocently. “It sounds real educated-like, if a bit hard to follow
sometimes.”

Tansy, her eyes twinkling, informed him that,
yes, famous—and not so famous—quotes were Aunt Lucinda’s solitary
method of communication.

“Well, to each his own, I say,” Digby allowed
generously. “We had a great uncle who nurtured a wish to trod the
stage, and he always ran on and on like Kean or somebody performing
in Drury Lane, talking from somewhere deep in his stomach and
shaking the chandeliers with his boomings. I remember he rumbled
off words like rather and really like they was shot from a
cannon.”

He paused a moment and then could not resist
asking, “Ain’t never opened her mouth just to talk, huh? I mean, to
say ‘good morning’ or ‘shut up’ or ‘I’m hungry’?”

Tansy shook her head. “Perish the thought,”
she intoned with mock effrontery.

The young gentleman was amazed. “I say!” he
said, casting a look of great awe at Aunt Lucinda. “If that don’t
beat the Dutch, and m’uncle, for that matter.”

Oh, my, thought Tansy, this boy is still so
painfully young. No wonder Emily cannot see him for dust. “Digby,”
she queried cautiously, prizing his attention from the preening
Aunt Lucinda, “are you at all at home in Society, or do you think
you still need some town bronzing before Emily finds you up to
snuff?”