Twixt Two Equal Armies (71 page)

“My lord.”

“Miss Tournier.”

Baugham found his puzzlement over Mrs Tournier’s reticence was forgotten as soon as her daughter spoke to him. He pasted a smile on his face and set about his task. He would act as if everything was as it had always been between them — and that called for playful insult and flattery.

“What are you doing here, skulking alone by the fireplace?”

His voice was warm and soft. Despite herself she felt her stomach flutter and she involuntarily blushed and looked away.

“Sir,” she said, squaring her shoulders and gazing out over the room, “I absolutely never skulk.”

“Of course you don’t. Perhaps you are just prudently waiting for me here so I can tell you how much I have missed your company.”

“Is London really so dull, my lord?”

“Frightfully. No one has scolded or abused me for an entire week. Just look at Darcy! I held high hopes for him to perform when I finally arrived at his doorstep, but all he can think about is his bride and for some reason his docility is quite frightening.”

Holly smiled, but still did not meet his eye. “I think you don’t miss my bad temper as much as you miss your library at Clyne. I am very happy to report it is coming along very well. So you have absolutely no excuse to pick a quarrel with me, however much you feel you need one.”

“I’m glad to hear it. But what on earth shall we do with one another if there is no dispute to be had?”

“How about a stab at some civil conversation? I’m sure we can manage it if we try.”

“Hm. And what if we grow unspeakably bored very soon? Will you abandon me to the tedious admiration of other people’s blatant happiness straight away again?”

“No,” Holly smiled, “I suppose I will just return to my skulking and leave you to fend for yourself, as you always do so well. But, have you truly grown tired of bearing witness to so much bliss?”

“Bliss is, in itself of course, all good and well, but it does not make for very exciting conversation. So you see, I have missed you.”

“Sir, that is the second time you profess such personal sentiments to me. Are you fishing for me to express reciprocal feelings?”

Baugham’s smile faltered and he began to grow desperate as she met each of his attempts at humour with mere polite conversation. He struggled to keep the bitterness out of his voice when he replied. “Oh no. You may lie to me as much as you like.”

Her eyes darted to his immediately. “Lie?” A wave of relief washed over him as he saw a familiar spark of defiance in her expression. “You mean you wish for me to tell you that for the past fortnight, life in Clanough has been just as dreary as life in Town has apparently been? I should flatter you that, without your presence, nothing whatsoever of interest could ever happen?”

“That would be a very good start, Miss Tournier. But would that be a lie?”

Once she finally met his eyes, it was hard to look away. He was very beautiful, she found herself thinking. Just as he was, bordering on impertinence, his blue eyes twinkling and his smile widening. It was a dangerous and foolish time and place to do so, but she so wanted to give in to the temptation to let go of the tight control she had held over herself for so long. Each word he spoke cut sharply, but she had to admit that she preferred the pain over the deadness of feeling she had been left with lately. She dropped her defences and strode bravely into the line of fire.

“I think I must leave that up to you to determine. Am I being truthful, or merely taking advantage of the liberties you have just offered me? What say you, my lord? Will you call me a liar?”

If it was possible, his smile grew even bigger, his eyes even more blue as he stepped closer. Leaning in, he said almost in a whisper: “Liar.”

He was so close; it was hard to breathe, hard to think. One of them should move back, she thought, if he would not, then she ought to. They should maintain a proper space between them, but at the same time she had to fight the almost irresistible urge to close what little space was left between them and . . . what? Swallowing the silly lump that rose in her throat, she drew herself up with dignity and smiled shakily, teasing back as best she could.

“Sir! Is it really gentlemanly to rise to every bait that is laid before you, even when it is most imprudent?”

He was now impossibly close to her, his voice was soft, almost intimate. “Oh, Miss Tournier, I think we both know that as far as you are concerned, self-control is not an option.”

As soon as he said it, he regretted it. He watched her staring in confusion for a moment; she moved forward, then blushed scarlet and turned quickly away, only managing to utter a confused, “Oh . . . ” before suddenly bolting away. As he stood, kicking himself for going so far, for judging her and their meeting so falsely, for stupidly pushing what should have been a friendly greeting between acquaintances into flirtation and embarrassment, he could feel the eyes of Mrs Tournier boring into his back from across the room.

His sense of failure was complete, there was no denying it. He decided there and then to abandon all pretence of equilibrious relations with the Tournier family and tread very, very carefully instead.

Taking refuge the only way he could and inflicting suitable punishment on himself in the process, Lord Baugham hastily engaged Mrs Bennet in conversation. He was engaged in a long discussion on the trials of providing a house full of girls with an appropriate education, with the youngest Miss Bennet called upon by her mother to provide an example for his lordship of how well she had succeeded in preparing her daughters for
any
social sphere.

Thankfully, a first meeting cannot, in all politeness, be dragged out for the best part of the day, however much the hostess does not mind and the other guests would have it so, and so the gentlemen were forced to leave. Tomorrow they could come early and make a day of it.

Baugham, being faced with the prospect of freedom again, was all smiles and said everything that was right and proper in taking his leave. He looked across the room and tried to catch Miss Tournier’s eye, but she appeared to be deep in conversation with her cousin, Miss Mary, and would not look up. The goodbyes between the engaged couples dragged out and he stood alone waiting for Mr Bingley to have the glove on his right hand buttoned carefully by his fiancée.

“My lord. A quiet word if you please.”

Mrs Tournier’s low voice made him give her a surprised look as he found her suddenly standing beside him.

“Certainly, madam! How may I be of assistance?”

“You can stop indulging yourself at the expense of others inferior and dependent upon you, and you can exercise a little good sense and honour for a change.”

Her voice was still low, but it held an ice-cold tone that Baugham had never heard her use before. No sarcasm, no mocking — just pent up anger and barely controlled contempt.

“I’m sorry, madam,” he said and looked at her, puzzled, “I really have no idea what — ”

“Oh, I think you have a perfectly good idea. And should you be even more adept at self-delusion than I give you credit for, I suggest you find yourself a deep and comfortable chair at Netherfield tonight, where you can give that sharp mind of yours some well-deserved exercise and dwell on what you owe to yourself and to others.”

Of course he knew to what she was alluding. What confused him was her turn of phrase. ‘Self-delusion’? ‘What he owed
himself’
?

He tried to catch her eye, but she was still looking out over the room, tea cup in hand and refused to give him the attention.

“My daughter, strange as it seems to some, and most probably due to the effects of a rootless existence as a child ending in disappointment, has a morbid appreciation for the truth in all its wretched form. It is what she wants and, through it, she can perhaps attain what she deserves.”

“Yes,” he said simply and sheepishly, “I should. I . . . I apologise . . . But . . . ”

That was when, with a quick flick of her head, she looked at him. “I cannot quite decide whether you are a thoughtless coward or a lazy fool, but I
have
quite decided that neither my daughter nor I need put up with either any longer. Do I make myself clear?”

Even if she had not, Baugham felt he needed to escape the scorching heat of her disapproval. “Indeed, madam, crystal clear,” he mumbled. As she replaced her cup on her saucer and prepared to walk away from him, he managed to send her a pleading look.

“Am I . . . am I too late?”

After letting him linger in his obvious shame and misery, Mrs Tournier let her fingers briefly brush over his sleeve in a corrective, but protective gesture. “You don’t deserve to know that through me,” she said and then he was left by the door to wait for Darcy and Bingley.

H
OLLY LOOKED OUT INTO THE
hall, where her mother and Lord Baugham were talking. She could tell, both by his lordship’s sheepish demeanour as he put on his hat and gloves alone by the door, and her mother’s severe face when she returned, that the one thing she dreaded had indeed taken place. She abandoned her place by the door and hastily made her way to her mother back in the parlour.

“What did you say to him, Maman?” she whispered sharply.

Mrs Tournier gave her daughter a calm look and emptied an extra spoon of sugar into her tea as a reward for a job long overdue and now well done.

“I told him to stop being such a presumptuous, blundering fool.”

“Oh no!” Holly whined. “Oh please, Maman. Really. I told you it is all well. Over and done with.”

Mrs Tournier gave her daughter a contemptuous look. “It is not well and it is not all over. He needed a slap to his head, and if you are incapable or unwilling to give it, it was necessary for me to do so. Let’s hope he finally uses his sense and takes note of the foolery he’s been indulging in, which is causing more misery than he is even aware of.”

“I still wish you had not set him down here and now,” Holly said quietly, unable to deny her mother’s words. “It is of no great consequence. After all, after the wedding we will hardly see him again. Surely.”

Her mother snorted, gave Holly a scornful look, and stalked off to enjoy her tea out of the presence of fools.

M
RS
B
ENNET WAS AN EXTREMELY
happy woman. Had she been any happier she would have purred in her chair. Sir William Lucas might hold a knighthood and his daughter might regularly be on the receiving end of singular condescension in the drawing rooms of an Earl’s daughter and a great lady, but for the second day in a row, Mrs Bennet had an Earl and a fine lord in her own parlour.
Her
own parlour! If she progressed in this thought and contemplated the fact that he was unmarried to boot, there would have been a real danger she might have swooned on the spot from excitement! Instead, she smiled benevolently at Lord Baugham again. As if his presence was not fortune enough, he was standing beside his friend, Mr Darcy — practically a lord himself! — who was betrothed to her dearest Lizzy! Mrs Bennet sighed once more in her happiness and felt her heart nearly burst at the seams.

On the sofa sat good, dear Lizzy, her other good, sweet daughter, Jane and her odd niece, Holly. The girls kept up the conversation, reminiscing about Elizabeth’s recent Scotland trip, walking in the north and walking in the south and what was to be missed and what appreciated in the different corners of the Kingdom.

Suddenly Elizabeth clasped her cousin’s hand and jumped up.

“Oh Holly!” she said. “The tree house! Do you remember the tree house?”

Her cousin laughed. “How can I forget? Is it still there?”

“Let’s go and see!” Elizabeth pulled her out of her seat. “Let’s go now!”

Mrs Bennet felt her contentment with the magnificent scene in front of her eyes threatened by her second eldest’s appalling lack of judgment.

“Lizzy!” she said. “Really! With such fine visitors! You cannot be serious? You’ll catch your death of cold! And only two days before your wedding? Do you want to be married with a red nose?”

Elizabeth still held on to her cousin’s hand, but sent Lord Baugham a poignant look. It took a moment for his lordship to realise he was being appealed to.

“Oh!” he said and gave Mrs Bennet his most brilliant smile. “Really ma’am, far be it for me as a guest to come between Miss Elizabeth and her fondness for the outdoors in any manner of weather. In fact, I must say it sounds like a delightful scheme and I wholeheartedly embrace it.”

“Holly?” Elizabeth said pleadingly. Her cousin laughed.

“Oh!” said Mrs Bennet grasping for straws. “Well! Ah! Mr Bingley . . . ?”

“I should love to!” Mr Bingley said hastily and grabbed Jane’s arm to pull her up from the sofa, too.

“A small stroll before dinner, Mama,” Jane said and smiled at her mother.

“The way you keep your table, Mrs Bennet, I am sure we will need a vast deal of exercise in order to do it justice,” her betrothed went on.

“Oh!” Mrs Bennet said, suddenly well pleased. “Of course! By all means!”

Kitty Bennet had left her sewing at the table and quickly got up when everyone else did.