Those Endearing Young Charms (12 page)

"I am sure it was well meant," said Mrs. Anstey, unable to believe that her ascendancy over the Harrisons was crumbling.

Lady Harrison stood up and shook out her skirts. "It was merely told to you in friendship, Miss Anstey," she said. "That Cordelia Haddington -- who goes everywhere although she is not exactly _comme il faut_ -- is telling the world and his wife that Devenham means to have the marriage annulled."

After the Harrisons had left, Mary rounded up her parents. "_Now_ will you listen to me," she said.

"I told you and _told_ you that Emily was monstrous unhappy, that Emily said there was another woman in the case. If I believed Devenham meant to have the marriage annulled, I would not _care._ But it is Emily I am thinking of. Are you going to set social ambition above your daughter's happiness?"

"No," said Mr. Anstey, after a long silence. "It is strange, but I always thought that once I had the county eating out of my hand, so to speak, I would be a happy man. But I ain't. I prefer the city merchants and their wives, and that's a fact. And so do you, my love," he said to his wife. "You ain't enjoyed it one bit. Oh, it was fun when Emily put them all in their place, but you did say yourself you thought Emily was sad or she would never have behaved so. We've done wrong by our daughter and we must right it. If Devenham has not already taken steps to have the marriage annulled, then we must persuade him to do so. And we must go to this Maxton Court so that we can tell Emily there's nothing to be ashamed of. She can come back and forget she ever was a countess.

"You know, all these years we've stayed here, I've been bored to flinders. I want to get back to the city where I know my friends. I want to sit down in a chophouse and feel at ease without some jumped-up gentry sneering about trade."

"Let us leave for Maxton Court as soon as possible," begged Mary.

"We'll need to wait until the roads clear, my love," said Mr. Anstey. "Cheer up, mother," he said to his wife. "You'll get used to the idea of being plain Mrs. Nobody of Nowhere soon enough."

"No, I won't," sobbed Mrs. Anstey. "I was that proud of having a countess for a daughter."

Mary and Mr. Anstey tried to persuade her of the vanity of clinging to mere titles, but Mrs. Anstey wept on and would not be comforted.

To Mary's dismay, Mr. Anstey had changed his tune by the following morning. He was once more the Mr. Anstey who had sent penniless young Captain Tracey to the rightabout and yet had welcomed home the rich Earl of Devenham without a blush.

It seemed that people changed their characters in a day only in novels and in Haymarket dramas.

Winter began to give way to spring, with mist rising from the brown fields in the evening and birds chirping in the hedgerows in the morning, and still the Ansteys remained at Malden Grand. Emily's cheerful letters were no help to Mary, who thought she saw hidden misery and sadness beneath every line.

Mary had quite given up hope, when, one day late in March, Mr. and Mrs. Anstey arrived from their round of calls in great distress. The Harrisons had been entertaining their grand London friends, and, to the Ansteys' horror, Lady Harrison had urged those friends to impress on the Ansteys the peril in which their daughter's marriage stood. The friends, being lightweight, gossiping flibbertigibbets, were not loath to telling all and throwing in a great deal of fancy embroidery, besides. The result was that Mr. and Mrs.

Anstey had reeled from the Harrisons' mansion, finally persuaded that their daughter was in the hands of a lustful, rakish monster who had every intention of ruining her and casting her out in the kennel.

After much debate, they decided to inform the earl of their impending arrival, and it was just as well they did. After a week's impatient wait, a letter came back from the earl's steward to say that my lord and lady had gone to London.

"London!" said Mr. Anstey. "Poor Emily. She will find out for herself. We must be on hand to comfort her."

"Let us leave immediately," said Mrs. Anstey, ever hopeful. "It may be all a hum. It is best to see for ourselves."

Mr. Anstey recalled a merchant friend who was leaving for the Indies and who would be glad to lease them his home in Russell Square. Not the most fashionable address, but then Mr. Anstey was weary of being fashionable.

Mary bid a fond farewell to Mr. Cummings, and the Ansteys set out.

If this lustful earl had kept his lusts outside his marriage and if Emily were still pure, the annulment of the marriage should be very easy.

Emily could consider herself well out of it. Mr. Anstey privately thought that any man who could live in celibacy with a beautiful young bride was strangely depraved.

But he did not voice his thoughts.

--------

*Chapter Eight*

It was the cat who had ruined the pleasure of setting out for London.

My lord had been adamant. The cat had to stay behind at Maxton Court.

If Emily did not want to leave the cat, then Emily could stay as well.

Emily was in a state of misery. Relations between herself and her husband had slowly improved.

Although he had not kissed her again, he had been charming and friendly. Gradually, they began to ride out together and talk in the evening until the candles burned low in their sockets. Both of them were enthusiastic about the new improvements to the estates.

The earl often kissed her hand when he said good night, and there was an increasing warmth in his eyes when he looked at her. But he still spent a great deal of the day on his own business or hunting with the local farmers or shooting with friends, and Emily was often left for long hours to her own devices.

When the weather was too bad to make calls, she contented herself by playing in the Long Gallery with the cat, Peter, while the portraits of the haughty Devenhams looked down in surprise.

Emily often had to admit to herself that Peter had not exactly grown up into a handsome cat. He had grown very large, muscular, and heavy. His fur gleamed with health, but his fixed stare and torn ear gave him a sinister look.

He was devoted to her and tried to show his devotion by laying dead mice, voles, and other horrible trophies at her feet. But he had developed a nasty sense of humor, and it seemed as if his favorite sport had become earl-baiting. He loved to lie along ledges and the tops of wardrobes and wait for the earl to pass underneath, at which point he would lean down and swipe the earl with one paw.

Perhaps the earl would have allowed Peter to travel to London, for he was secretly amused at the horrible creature's devotion to Emily, but two days before they were to depart, Peter committed the worst crime of all.

The earl had decided to go into his wife's bedroom to say good night as part of his campaign plan.

He had noticed the way Emily's eyes had begun to glow whenever she looked at him, but he still did not plan to rush his courtship. He was content to wait and take things one step at a time.

Emily looked very pretty sitting up in bed, reading a book, her golden curls covered by a frivolous lacy nightcap.

"Why ... Peregrine!" exclaimed Emily. "Is anything the matter?"

"It is rather odd, don't you think," smiled the earl, coming to sit beside her on the bed, "when a man cannot enter his wife's bedroom without that wife thinking something is wrong."

"Oh, no ... it's only ... well, this is the first time."

"Don't look so alarmed," said the earl. "I am merely here to give you a good-night kiss."

Emily blushed rosily.

There was a soft thud as the large cat leaped on the bed. Its fur slowly rose and it green eyes glared.

All of a sudden, the earl lost his temper. A male rival was one thing, but he was damned if he was going to compete with a cat.

He seized Peter by the scruff of the neck, carried him to the door, hurled him out into the corridor, and returned to his wife.

"Now," he said, "where was I?"

He leaned over her. A miserable yowl rose from the passageway.

"Oh, Devenham," said Emily. "The poor animal."

"You had begun to call me Peregrine."

Yowl, yowl, _yowl._

"He is only a cat, Peregrine. You mustn't treat him so badly."

"My lady, I am here to kiss you good night. Does that mean nothing to you?"

Emily smiled up at him and held out her arms. His lips had nearly reached hers when there came the sound of a heavy body throwing itself against the door.

Emily winced. Her lips were cold and chaste.

The earl drew back disappointed. Emily smiled at him tremulously, knowing she had failed him, but what else could she do? The yowls were increasing along with the desperate thuds on the door.

"He'll knock his head senseless," she moaned.

The earl stood up. "I leave you to consider your ridiculous behavior, madam," he said stiffly. He stalked to the door and flung it open, and the cat hurtled into the room and straight onto the bed. The earl's lip curled in disgust as he went out and slammed the door.

But that was not the worst of it.

The following day, the earl had been helped into his clothes by his Swiss and had then noticed a speck among the snowy folds of his cravat.

He decided to find a new one and opened the drawer where the clean linen was kept. He was searching about for a length of cloth that was already starched when he became aware of the horrible smell arising from the drawer.

He rang the bell and stood rigid with fury until his Swiss came running in.

"Was that cat in here?" demanded the earl.

"Yes, my lord," said the servant. "Very amusing he is. He was watching me put away the clean linen, just like a human."

"Indeed. Well, when you turned your back, this is the result. Smell this."

The valet moved cautiously forward and then looked at his master in dismay.

"Exactly," said the earl grimly. "Cat's piss. Here and now I want it known that that animal is not to be allowed in my quarters or anywhere near my person."

Emily found the resulting scene blistering and painful. The end result was that Peter was to be taken out to the stables and left there until her return.

And so, instead of setting out cheerfully with her husband to London, a bit of Emily's heart was left behind in the stables. The fact was that Emily was sure of the cat's love. She was not at all sure of her husband's. She still sensed a woman somewhere in the background of his life in which she had no part.

She was ashamed of her own fears and the timidity that kept her from her husband's bed. She felt the earl was waiting for her to make the first move rather than be humiliated by her rejection. But every time she thought of making that move, her fears returned to plague her.

Sometimes, Emily fervently wished she had driven on and left Peter to his own fate in the ditch.

She had gone to the stables to say a tearful farewell to the animal and although the head groom had assured her the cat would be well looked after and fed, she sensed an underlying contempt in his manner which she felt boded no good for the hapless Peter.

She was waiting in the carriage for her husband to join her. Their relations were still strained.

But it was with a queer lightening of her heart that she saw the smile on his face as he climbed into the carriage to join her. He stooped and kissed her warmly and quickly on the mouth, and she gave him an enchanting smile. He sat down beside her and took her hand in his. Emily's heart soared, and they were several miles on the road before she even thought about the cat or wondered what was happening to it.

* * * *

The cat was much nearer than she realized. Behind her, at the back of the carriage, crouched down at the feet of the footmen in the rumble, among the folds of the bearskin rugs which were piled at their feet in case my lord or my lady should require them, crouched Peter. He was terrified at first by the motion of the carriage, but, after a time, the heat from the rugs made him feel drowsy. His eyes closed and he slept.

* * * *

The posting inn lay some twenty miles from London in a market town called Shapphards. It was a spacious, pretty inn, built in the modern style with a porticoed entrance and a blue-and-gold coffee room, with a brass and walnut tap downstairs and well-appointed bedrooms with private parlors above.

Emily told herself she was glad her husband had taken a separate bedroom and fought down that niggling little wish that he would by _forcing_ her to join him in his bed beat down her timidity. It would all be so simple, Emily felt, if he would kiss her and go on kissing her.

He looked splendidly formal with the diamond pin she had given him blazing among the snowy folds of his cravat. The parlor in which they sat down to dinner was light and charming, with a small bright fire, oak furniture, and pastel walls of nile green. The food was savory, and both fell to with a good appetite.

When the servants were dismissed, the earl drew a small black box from his pocket and passed it to Emily. "For you, my sweeting."

Emily colored slightly at the endearment and opened the box.

An emerald, as green as spring grass, as green as Peter's eyes, flashed up at her from its gold setting.

"It's a ring, Peregrine," said Emily. "It is very lovely."

"You never did get an engagement ring, Emily." He came around the table and lifted the ring. Her hand trembled slightly as he put it on her finger. He raised her hand and kissed it.

Her eyes, lifted to his, were soft and brown, with little flecks of gold. Her lips were pink and beautifully shaped. Her ...

"It reminds me of Peter's eyes," said Emily, turning the ring so that the green fire flashed in the candlelight.

The earl made a sound like _gerrumph_ and stalked back to his seat. Emily looked at him nervously and cursed her unruly tongue. She longed to say something light and warm and affectionate. If only she had the courage to tell the truth, to face this husband of hers and say: I want to love you, I think I could love you, but you scare me to death. Please help me.

But instead, she said, "I cannot help worrying about the cat. Will they be kind to it, do you think?"

The earl poured himself a glass of wine and said in measured tones, "They have instructions to take care of the animal. They are not in the way of being disobedient or they would not be in my employ. They will treat the cat more like the animal it is and less like a lover."