“I have never heard anything resembling reason issue from your lips so far. I doubt I will hear it now, but by all means deliver the lines Miss Hermitage has rehearsed for you.”
“Sally don’t know I’m here. I’m not under her thumb.”
“And not letting her ride you into the ground, either,”
Monstuart snapped. “She’s going to bankrupt you, and you, like a maw worm, let her do what she likes with your money.”
“Now see here, Monstuart, Sally has nothing to say to anything. I spent the blunt myself.”
“I haven’t seen any new horseflesh or carriage or even a new jacket all season, but I’ve seen several fancy gowns.”
“Well, I ain’t paying for them.”
“Then what have they done with your money?”
“I spent it myself. Sally didn’t even know it was gone till I told her, just before I came here.”
“Spent it on what?”
“I daresay you’ll hear it anyhow. You can’t sneeze in this town without the world knowing it. Peacock won it from me.”
“And Miss Hermitage—did she know you were playing with Peacock?”
“Lord, no! She warned me from him—not that I ever would have met him if it weren’t for her!”
“Don’t hide behind a lady’s skirts. It is even more odious than being a gudgeon. This took place at Brody’s parlor, I assume?”
Derwent nodded sheepishly. “After urging brandy on you?”
“Exactly. I say, Monty, did they fleece you, too?”
“No, and they shan’t fleece any other innocents either. It’s time to—”
He batted his hand impatiently. “If Miss Hermitage wasn’t even aware of your loss, why is she marrying Willowby?”
“Eh?”
“I thought it must be a shortage of funds that catapulted her into this hasty wedding.”
“What the devil are you talking about, Monty? Melanie’s
mother
is
marrying him. They’ve been close as inkle weavers forever. He was her flirt years ago, before the family ever left London. Not that I mean to say there was anything irregular in it.”
“Miss Hermitage has been running all over town with Willowby, with no sign of her mother.”
“Mrs. Hermitage has gone to Ashford to sublet their house, and Sally is helping Sir Darrow arrange the wedding and buy the ring and all that. Good lord, you didn’t think Sally would have that old bleater! I mean, she’s a bad-tempered shrew, but she’s too good for
him.”
Monstuart picked up the blue velvet box from the desk, looked at the ring, and snapped the box shut. As he folded his fingers over it, an assessing light lit his eye, and over his lips there came an unsteadiness.
“I say, Monty, is that the family engagement ring you have there?”
“No,”
Monstuart lied easily. “It isn’t.”
“It certainly looks like it. Well, about the money, Monty—if you could see your way clear.”
“Sue me.”
His uncle grinned. Then he put his head back against the throne-like back of his chair and laughed till his nephew thought he had run mad. When sanity and a feeling of peace returned to Lord Monstuart, he resumed speech.
“On second thought, perhaps I can do a little something for you. I am most eager for you and Lady Derwent to repair to Gravenhurst, and it would look bad for you to be walking so far. We’ll discuss it tomorrow morning, Derwent.”
“I will be home this evening, if—”
“No, I think I’d best give her the evening to simmer down. And I have a little business to attend to on Poland Street.”
“Mellie won’t be in a temper. She is very docile.”
“I wasn’t talking about Mellie.”
“I see. Are you
sure
that wasn’t the family engagement ring?”
“Things aren’t always what they seem. I’ve just learned that lesson myself. Run along now, Derwent. I’ll speak to your man of business and call on you tomorrow morning. You may tell Miss Hermitage I shall be there.”
Derwent left. “May tell”
didn’t necessarily mean “must tell.”
Why should he suffer another bout of Sally’s tongue?
Sally took dinner in her room that evening. It was Derwent and Melanie who greeted Mrs. Hermitage upon her arrival from Ashford and related all the incidents of Monstuart’s visit. “First he refused point-blank to give us my money, but I was in touch with him later, and he
is
reconsidering,”
Derwent explained.
“He always likes to reconsider everything, does he not? I hope he will do something for you, Ronald, but if he doesn’t, I shall speak to Darrow. He will arrange something. Where is Sal?”
“In her room, breaking vases and throwing books.”
“Oh, dear, she is in one of her tempers. I suppose I should go up to her,”
Mrs. Hermitage said, and sat down to fan herself.
It was half an hour later when she went upstairs to change and peeped in at Sally’s door in passing. It was clear at a glance that Sal was in one of her tempers, which rose higher as she recited her tale of Monstuart’s visit. Her mother listened, then said, “Ronald heard from him, and he is reconsidering giving him some money.”
“Yes, as he reconsidered allowing the match in the first place. We’ve heard that story before! How dare he think I was marrying Sir Darrow!”
“You used to tease him about Mr. Heppleworth at Ashford. Perhaps he thinks you have a taste for older gentlemen. I don’t see why that should put your nose out of joint. The important thing is that he is rethinking Derwent’s money.”
“When did Ronald hear from him? No message has come here.”
She had left her bedroom door ajar on purpose to monitor the front door messages. Of course, it was not any message to Ronald she had listened for. Monstuart must have learned his error by now. Surely he would apologize to her.
“Perhaps Ronald picked up the note at his club. He mentioned he had gone out. He told me definitely Monstuart is reconsidering. You are in such a pelter, Sal. Why do you not stay home this evening?”
“I feel fine, Mama.”
“We are only going to a concert of antique music. I shall be so very busy tomorrow, preparing my wedding, that I want an early evening.”
“I shall go with you,”
Sally said firmly. A concert of antique music suited her very well. The people there would not be Monstuart’s close friends, but word would seep back to him that she had attended the concert with Sir Darrow. As her supposed engagement bothered him so much, she was eager to prolong his error.
During the concert she could be as morose as she wished, without looking any different from the rest of the audience. But when Sir Darrow took them for dinner after at the Pulteney, Sally came to life again. She laughed and chatted inanely while watching the entrance to see if Monstuart came in. He did not, and by the time Sir Darrow took them home, her head was splitting.
Mrs. Hermitage had one consolation from the evening. Just before she went up to her room, Sally said, “Would it be possible for us to cancel our ball, Mama? We are so busy at this time with the wedding that I have not attended to all the details. The cards haven’t gone out yet, and as Mellie and Derwent are in a hurry to leave, it seems pointless to detain them two weeks for the ball.”
“That’s a good idea, Sal,”
Mrs. Hermitage said blandly.
“We’ll have a ball later, Mabel, you and I and Sal,”
Sir Darrow added.
After Sally left, Sir Darrow said, “Sal seemed a bit off tonight.”
“She had a terrific set-to with Monstuart.”
“I noticed the black clouds hovering around him as he was calling on her. Money again, was it?”
“No, Darrow. It was you. The idiot took the idea it was Sal you were marrying.”
“Ho, that explains it. Told me to go to hell. Jealous, then, is he?”
“Jealous?”
Mrs. Hermitage looked shocked at the idea. “Good gracious, no, there was never anything between those two. They are too much alike to ever rub along. It is an old grudge, dating from Sal’s arranging to nab Derwent for Melanie.”
“Why should that consign me to hell? The pair of them were smelling like April and May at the Engleworth ball. Several people mentioned it. Thought a match might be brewing. Not a bad idea to get her bounced off, Mabel. I mean to say—are we to honeymoon
à trois?”
“No, we are not to honeymoon at all. We cannot leave Sal unchaperoned. Derwent and Mellie don’t want her at Gravenhurst, and I most surely do not want her on our honeymoon. I thought after the Season is over we might billet her on some relatives for a month and dart to Paris.”
“She couldn’t do better than Monstuart,”
Darrow said pensively.
Mrs. Hermitage took a deep breath and girded her loins to duty. “She is my daughter, and I love her, Darrow, with all her little faults. I would not condemn her to Monstuart’s keeping, not if she has to stay with us till she dies.”
“Just a thought,”
he said. The thought stayed with him. A man didn’t tell you to go to hell because he despised the lady he thought you were courting. “Sorry for your trouble, old chap,”
he’d say. Or “You’re making a terrible mistake, old man.”
Wouldn’t say “Go to hell.”
No point. “We’ll be asking him to our nuptial soiree?”
Mrs. Hermitage drew a deep sigh. “We must, for Derwent’s sake. That is exactly what I dislike so much about Monstuart. I am always having to be polite to him. If I could cut him for once, I would not dislike him so very much.”
“You’ll drop him a card, then.”
“I shall give it to him tomorrow morning when he comes to give Ronald his verdict.”
After a moment’s consideration she added more brightly, “Perhaps he’ll have a previous engagement!”
“Very likely,”
Sir Darrow said, but he thought otherwise.
Sally had been informed that Monstuart was to call the next morning. She was in two minds regarding her own presence at that visit. “I will never willingly darken your door again”
sang in her brain. When Derwent said, “Monty told me to let you know he would be here,”
her decision was made. He was hinting her away during this one necessary visit. A trip to Hatchard’s for some books was her unimaginative errand. Unsure at what hour Monstuart was to call, she left at nine forty-five and prolonged the visit till after twelve by stopping at the shops.
She saw Monstuart’s curricle drawing away from the house as she arrived home. Monstuart raised his curled beaver and called, “Good morning, Miss Hermitage. Lovely day.”
He was not overly dismayed when she lifted her chin in the air and purposefully turned her head the other way without replying. With the invitation to the nuptial soiree in his pocket, he knew he would see her soon.
Sally knew by the three smiling faces awaiting her in the Gold Saloon that Monstuart had opened his pockets. “What happened?”
she asked eagerly.
“He got it back for me!”
Derwent crowed. “Went straight to Brody’s parlor and had it out with Peacock—in public.”
“What do you mean? He got your money back?”
“Absolutely. By Jove, I wish I had been there,”
Derwent continued disjointedly. “Monty sat down to cards with Peacock and caught him red-handed, pulling an ace out of his sleeve. He let on he was bosky, you know, to fool Peacock, He grabbed up the shaved cards for evidence as well. He challenged Peacock to a duel—naturally Peacock weaseled out of it, after all his boasting of having killed three men. He gave back my money, and I repaid Mrs. Hermitage. Monty has reported the establishment to Bow Street, and it is to be closed down.”
Miss Hermitage refused to be impressed by this feat of daring. “Then he didn’t actually give you any of your own money?”
she asked haughtily.
“He’s raised Derwent’s allowance to seven thousand and paid Mama,”
Mellie told her. “And when Ronald is twenty-five, of course he will come into the whole thing.”
This sensible plan received cool approval. Mrs. Hermitage added that Sir Darrow was agreeable to subletting the Cavendish Square house for the Season, so everyone’s financial difficulties were straightened out. Sally disliked to ask the matter of greatest interest but was not long in doubt as to Monstuart’s attendance at the nuptial soiree.
“I shan’t mind having him here tomorrow evening, now that everything is straightened out.”
Mrs. Hermitage smiled.
“He accepted, then?”
Sally asked without so much as a trace of pleasure. It seemed he had rescinded his intransigent stance regarding willingly entering the house. His presence was by no means necessary. If he came, it was because he wanted to. And if he felt safe to come, obviously he no longer considered her a threat to his freedom. She had lost the power to attract him.
“Most eagerly. He said he would not miss it for a wilderness of monkeys.”
“What would anyone want with a wilderness of monkeys?”
Melanie asked.
“What is a wilderness of monkeys?”
Derwent added. No one, including Sally, could enlighten him.
“Could I speak to you a moment in private, Mama?”
Sally asked.
They went into the study. “I have been thinking about your honeymoon,”
Sally said. “I cannot remain here alone, and naturally I do not mean to intrude on that private trip. Gravenhurst is not so very far away. I shall go there with Mellie and Derwent till your return.”
“Oh, no!”
her mother gasped. “They would not want—that is, we are not going on our honeymoon just yet, Sal. We have decided to put it off awhile. Sir Darrow is very busy right now.”
Sally knew she was no favorite with Derwent, but to hear it blurted out so emphatically pained her. “They would not want you.”
That’s what her mother meant, and she was right. They didn’t want her. Her own mother couldn’t possibly want her on her honeymoon. She had become an albatross around the necks of her family. This Season in London, so long anticipated, had become a punishment. The rest of her life seemed to offer no surcease. She was still a solicitor’s dowerless daughter, and thanks to Monstuart’s efforts, her reputation as an expensive woman was also well known.
“Perhaps I could visit friends in Ashford,”
she said, but half-heartedly.
Mrs. Hermitage was quick to scotch this plan. “You will never catch a husband there. Heppleworth has taken up with Nora Crosby’s cousin—they are quite a twosome. The thing to do is for us to take you to all the balls and hope that someone will offer. Mr. Parkes speaks of you often. He is well to grass. The lack of a dot wouldn’t bother
him,
Sal! Our wits are gone begging. I could speak to Darrow. He might be agreeable to my giving you the money I have left as a dowry. He is not at all clutch-fisted. Fifteen thousand—that is a perfectly respectable dot. It would open up new possibilities for you.”