The Waltzing Widow/Smith (21 page)

His poor appetite at lunch was undoubtedly due to his morning’s snacking, but Lady Sara had to wonder what accounted for Lucy’s pecking at a better meal than she herself had served the night before. As Avedon was footing the bill, no expense was spared. She soon figured out the cause of Lucy’s ill appetite and adopted a coy attitude after lunch, when Bishop Norris suggested she show the ladies the garden and let him get back to the manuscripts.

“You will be interested in this little knot garden, Miss Percy,” she said. “It is the particular domain of the mistress of Chenely. It was planted eons ago by one of my ancestors.” Lucy looked at a jumbled mass of herbs and small flowers, trying to find a pattern amidst the wilderness. “You can see the lack of the mistress’s hand. Soon it will be back in form. Do you garden, Miss Percy?”

“I tended the garden at home after Mama died.”

“Gardening is like walking. Once learned, it is never forgotten. You will have plenty to do here.”

What Lady Sara really wanted to do was sit in the shade and order a glass of lemonade, but she spared no exertion in pursuit of John’s promotion and soldiered bravely on through yew hedges and bowers of roses, misnaming five, according to Mrs. Percy’s reckoning.

Mrs. Percy was a real gardener and enjoyed the tour. When at last the rest in the shade and the lemonade were forthcoming, it was Mrs. Percy who asked, “Where
is
Lord Avedon today, Lady Sara?”

“He had to help Morton with some business matter,” she said vaguely.

“Gone to Hampshire, are they?”

“It may be necessary for them to take a quick jaunt to London as well. They tell me the banks there are easier to deal with.”

“Hampshire and London! Then they will be gone for some little time, I expect.”

“Oh, no! They will not be longer than two or three days. Adrian would not want to be away longer at this time,” she said, smiling softly on Lucy. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Adrian stops at the London residence and brings back a little something.” Lucy adopted an expression of the utmost disinterest, but Mrs. Percy looked a question.

“The family engagement ring,” Lady Sara said, nodding archly. “But we shan’t discuss that. Only see how we have set Miss Percy—Lucy—to blushing. It is time we dropped formality. I want to call you Lucy a few times before I must begin calling you something else.”

Lucy, already in a pelter at Avedon’s leaving without saying a word to her, found this the last straw. “If you are implying that you will be calling me Lady Avedon, I must correct you. I have not had an offer from Lord Avedon,” she said stiffly.

Lady Sara laid a white hand along her cheek to display chagrin. “Naughty me! I should not be revealing secrets. Not another word on that subject.” Of course a good many more words were said before the party finally returned to Rose Cottage.

Time hung heavy for Lucy over the next days. She had hours in which to review all her past doings with Avedon, and found an insult at every bend. And on top of it all, he had apparently told his sister he was marrying her without even consulting her on the subject or taking a minute to drop her a note.

* * *

In London Avedon and Mr. Carlton were in a whirlwind of activity. Avedon opened his London residence and entertained a vast number of influential gentlemen, not omitting any Tory friends or connections. The subject of party nepotism arose at every meeting. Really it was close to a scandal, the shameless manner in which Liverpool showered perks on his friends. One hoped they would at least appoint a Whig archdeacon in the new vacancy that had arisen with Nivens’s death, as Pritchards had recommended in the
Times.
Soon Mr. Wilson in the
Observer
and Mr. Parker in the
Morning Post
had taken up the same theme.

Mr. Carlton was not always present at these entertainments. He was on good terms with the Prince of Wales and endured an afternoon and evening of Prinny’s company, during which he made known his views of this “appointment scandal” brewing in the press and lost fifty guineas at cards. Not a hope of ever getting it back from old Rutledge or Sal, either, but he might hit Avedon up for it.

Lord Bigelow was very little bother. He met up with an old school chum who had a sister summering with him. A dashed pretty chick, if a man didn’t mind a good full figure, which Bigelow never minded in the least.

The campaign took a little longer than planned. Rutledge’s appointment was not in the bag for four days. Avedon even made the sacrifice of spending two beautiful summer afternoons at Whitehall, listening to dull speeches. It was Lord Castlereagh who got him aside after a session to slip him the word. Gossip from such an unexceptionable source was taken as fact.

“About your brother-in-law, Avedon, you can ease up on the scandal-mongering. That matter is taken care of.”

“My
scandal-mongering?” Avedon asked, his brows lifted up to his hairline. “I can’t imagine what you mean, sir.” They both laughed. “Can I consider that positive?” Avedon asked. “I am eager to return to Chenely.”

“It’s not for me to say. I’m only a cabinet member, but I think you can go home with a light heart. Rutledge hounded you into this unusual summer visit to London, did he?”

“No, Lady Sara.”

“Ah—of course. She is up to all the rigs. Give her my regards.”

By leaving the next morning Avedon and Mr. Carlton reached home late in the afternoon. Bigelow left a little later. He invited his friends down to Milhaven for a few days, and you couldn’t ask a lady to set out at first light.

At Chenely Lady Sara took one look at her brother’s smiling face and threw herself on his chest.

“Adrian, you have done it! You are the best brother in the world.”

“Morton was a great help. Prinny bit his ear to the tune of fifty guineas. Cheap at the price.”

Lady Sara blissfully ignored this talk of guineas and said, “I have not been idle while you were away, dear. You will find a certain young lady on thorns, waiting for you to call.”

“You’ve seen Lucy?” he asked eagerly.

“Oh, my dear, seen her! We have virtually lived in each other’s pockets. I like her tremendously. She is not one of those bold, forthcoming chits, and even if the family is only genteel, she has such a good fortune. Sixty thousand, I learned from Norris. Not many noble ladies bring that sort of blunt with them—and an uncle who is John’s bishop.”

“Lucy is expecting me to call?”

“You have time to speak to her before dinner, if you move quickly. You’d best wash up and put on a clean shirt.”

“And my best jacket.” Avedon laughed, already darting for the stairs.

Lady Sara made a run to the pantry to select a ham and have it placed in her carriage, for she would leave tomorrow early to take the news home to John, before he heard it through official channels.

Lucy, loitering near the parlor window that gave her a view of the road, saw a yellow curricle dashing toward Rose Cottage. It’s reckless pace led her to believe Tony was holding the ribbons, and her heartbeats did not accelerate unduly. His coming, however, suggested that Avedon, too, might be home. Naturally
he
did not come galloping to see her.

The curricle made a wild, reckless turn into the entrance to Rose Cottage. Tony was going to fall right into the ditch if he didn’t slow down. Lucy mentally prepared a lecture for him. As the curricle drew closer, she saw that the head and shoulders belonged not to Bigelow but to his uncle. She gasped and fled from the window. She had no intention of being caught in such flagrant spying. When Higgs admitted the caller, she sat leafing desultorily through the latest issue of
La Belle Assembleé.

She looked up with every evidence of disinterest when Avedon was announced. “Oh, you are back,” she said. “We did not expect you so soon. Lady Sara mentioned you might have to go to London as well. I hope your meetings were successful.”

He advanced into the room, smiling warmly. “Entirely successful.”

“Good.” She reached for the bell cord. “I shall ask Higgs to bring us some wine, and call Mrs. Percy.” But she didn’t do it. Her hand hovered on the cord, not moving it an inch.

“No!” he exclaimed, and hurried forward. Lucy assumed a haughty expression. “You can have nothing to say to me that my chaperon might not hear, Avedon.” Her hand remained motionless.

Avedon took it and removed it from the cord, then closed his fingers firmly over it. “You’re right, of course. This time I mean to do the thing properly. The bishop himself would find nothing to object to.” His voice was warm, and his eyes were hot. He took her other hand, drew her to her feet, and proceeded toward the door.

Lucy thought he meant to go in search of her aunt, and was furious with him. He closed the door, and turned back to her. “I don’t think we want Higgs listening, however,” he said.

There was a crackling feeling of tension in the air and a very determined light in Avedon’s eyes. Lucy lifted her chin and said, “What is this great secret we must keep from Higgs?”

“That I have subverted the entire government. Rutledge is going to be the archdeacon,” he announced.

“Avedon! Is that all you have to say?” she exclaimed angrily. “Is that why you left? To sneak around, scheming to get a job for your brother-in-law?”

“We don’t want Sal around our necks when you come to Chenely.”

“Why should I be going to Chenely?” she asked, with studied obtuseness.

Avedon looked around the little parlor. “Because I don’t think we would be happy here, and you have already sold Fernbank.”

A flush crept up her neck and tinged her cheeks to rose. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“I think you do.”

“I made the error of mistaking you for a gentleman on former occasions,” she reminded him. “This time I shan’t have to walk home at least.”

“You didn’t walk the last time. You stole my curricle.”

“It served you right! How dare you come here without even apologizing! And telling Lady Sara I would weed the knot garden,” she charged.

“Knot garden?” He frowned. “We’ll forget that non sequitur for the time being. I confess I have behaved abominably, Lucy, and so have you. Had you not led us to believe you were a widow, none of those things would have happened—the arguments, the carte blanche, the tiling of the meadow.”

“The ultimatum regarding the garden party, the brawl at the cathedral,” she added helpfully.

“Really quite a litany of my sins you have prepared. And I used to be considered a very proper gentleman.”

“Well, you aren’t! You’re a proud, conceited, arrogant—lecher!”

“And you have been, within the space of two weeks, a war wife, a widow, a runaway bride—”

“And a victim,” she added.

He smiled at her temper tantrum. “There’s only one thing left for you to be.”

“A corpse, I suppose.”

“Eventually, but meanwhile, it was my fiancée I had in mind.”

“You sound as if I have been everyone else’s.”

He drew her into his arms and gazed at her upturned face. He watched, entranced, as she tried to stop her lips from trembling by pulling the lower one between her teeth. “I don’t give a damn if you have. You’re mine now,” he said, and lowered his head to claim his prize.

Lucy’s lower lip eased free and was crushed against the assault of his embrace. Her frustrations melted into acceptance as the kiss continued. No memory of Ronald Pewter marred the sublimity of that kiss. It was enhanced by a foretaste of pleasure to come. When he released her, she looked dazed.

“You might have asked me first,” she said, pouting.

“I was afraid you’d say no, for spite.”

“I’m not talking about that kiss. I mean, to be your wife.”

Avedon lifted her hands and kissed her knuckles. “You have to marry me now. You’ve spoiled me for anyone else. What would I want with some prim and proper bride, when I have gotten accustomed to a delightful baggage like you? I love you so much, I turned into a raving madman when I thought you and Morton—”

The last vestige of opposition dissolved at his earnest declaration. “Oh, Adrian.” She laughed. “How can you be so foolish? I only went to show you a lesson. I have been wanting to give you one ever since you cut up so stiff at me in the village, before you even knew me.”

“I knew even then you were going to be trouble. Too pretty by half. Perhaps I was already a little jealous of Tony.”

“Only a little?” she asked with a smile.

“Yes, I saved my major fit for Morton. A lucky thing your uncle didn’t recognize me. Shall we tell him the news?”

“Oh, yes. He will want to perform the ceremony.”

“So will Archdeacon Rutledge,” Avedon said, with a leery look, and went to the door.

“You mean Lady Sara will want him to.”

“If worse comes to worst, we can always elope,” Avedon decided. “A dash to Gretna Green, an elegant match over the anvil... All the crack.” He turned a startled face to Lucy. “Good Lord!”

“Don’t look at
me
like that. It was
your
idea.”

“That’s what amazes me,” he said, and laughed in surprise. “And what amazes me even more, I
meant
it. You’ve depraved me, Lucy Percy. How can I ever thank you?”

Certainly Higgs, peering in through the keyhole, thought them both past reclaiming. And with a bishop in the house, too!

Copyright © 1991 by Joan Smith

Originally published by Fawcett Crest (ISBN 0449217299)

Electronically published in 2014 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads

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