“Poor Tilda. And so you seek amusement in the company of Alastair Bechard. The only diversion you will find with gentlemen of Alastair’s stamp is such as must ruin you. You would not like that, I think.”
“This is a tempest in a teapot.” Lady Tyrewhitte-Wilson was feeling considerably battered. “Do have done with recriminations, Micah! I shan’t repeat that particular folly.” She glanced up at him. “I suspect your anger was more strongly provoked by my choice of escort than by my intended destination.”
“A palpable hit.” Micah’s mood did not appear sanguine. “But my opinion of the gentleman is not without foundation. Are you forgetting my long acquaintance with him? You could not have provoked me to a greater wrath had you tried.” Long fingers rested under Tilda’s chin, tilting her face so that her eyes must meet his. “Or was it deliberate?”
Tilda frowned. “Why should it be?”
“A question that I asked myself.” The Earl showed no inclination to let her go. “I also ask myself precisely why my godmother is so enamored of the de Villiers child that she must bring her into my home.”
Tilda, distracted, grasped the hand that cupped her face. “Micah, something is amiss. She asked me about Cassandra earlier today—Maddy, I mean. Someone has been filling her head with nonsense, I fear. I gave the chit a shocking set-down, but I don’t think it will serve.”
“It doesn’t signify.” Micah’s tone was bemused.
“Micah, of course it does! It will do you no good to have that old scandal raked up again.”
“Nor will it do me great harm.” The Earl moved the hand that remained on Tilda’s shoulder to wind his fingers in her hair. Tilda thought fleetingly that she was allowing him to behave in a most improper way. “But should you dislike it, I shall take the proper steps.”
Tilda found herself in the strange predicament of being totally unable to move. “What has it to do with me?” she asked faintly.
“Another question I have asked myself.” One arm moved to encircle her shoulders; the other tilted her face to his. “I suspect—everything.”
Quite some time had elapsed since Lady Tyrewhitte-Wilson had been kissed so ruthlessly, and it was understandable that she found herself very short of breath. “Micah!” she gasped. “This is shocking behavior in both of us!”
Micah laughed, and showed every indication of repeating his reprehensible conduct. “That will teach you to speak rashly. Confess that it is pleasant to allow yourself to be guided by me.”
Lady Tyrewhitte-Wilson was, for once, without words. The Earl laughed, hazel eyes dancing, and proceeded to kiss her again. Tilda made no noticeable protest, but, in the midst of an ardent embrace, suddenly broke away.
“Micah!” she wailed, pressing her hands to her burning cheeks. “I’ve just remembered: Bevis!”
The Earl seemed to find nothing in this disjointed speech to indicate a disordered mind. “Yes, your brother’s a nasty piece of goods,” he soothed, “and I’m grateful he’s departed these green shores, for he’d do his damnedest to queer my pitch.” He surveyed his disheveled companion. “But I hope you don’t mean to make it your practice to think of him each time I kiss you! It would make ardor difficult to maintain.”
“Idiot!” Tilda chuckled. “But he’s not, Micah! Oh dear, what I mean to say is that Bevis is coming here.”
“Curse the man!” Micah’s smile was slightly awry. “His timing could not be better—for
his
purposes.”
Tilda’s glance was shy. “You must not think that Bevis’s word will weigh with me.”
“Once it did.”
“Once,” snapped Lady Tyrewhitte-Wilson, “I was very young!” She smiled ruefully. “What is it about you, Micah, that makes me want to rip up at you?”
“Yes, and just when things were going so nicely, too.” Tilda grimaced and the Earl laughed. “But I have it on good authority that I am extremely provoking, so you must not blame yourself. Come here.”
“I must go,” Tilda said reluctantly, into his shoulder. “Agatha will be expecting me.” Micah swung her onto her horse. “Will you ride with me?”
The Earl shook his head. “I will leave you to the pleasure of your frivolous feminine pursuits.” He smiled at her outraged expression. “I must think of some way out of this coil. Not only has my godmother saddled me with an actress for whom some provision must be made, but I suspect she plans to marry me off to the de Villiers chit. Then there is the matter of your brother, who has no doubt been regaled with rumors concerning your friendship with myself. Past experience indicates clearly enough that he has no great love for me. He no doubt plans to save you from my fell designs.”
“If that’s an improper proposal,” said Lady Tyrewhitte-Wilson, smiling down on him, “I believe I shall accept.” But before Micah could react, she had ridden away.
Chapter Eleven
Maddy frowned at the paper before her, then took a resolute grip upon her pen.
I
fear I am the most undutiful
wretch in nature,
she wrote,
and cannot doubt that Papa wilt be all out of patience wi
t
h me.
She thought wryly that the last remark might well qualify her as a mistress of understatement. Upon learning that his inconsiderate daughter had involved herself in an adventure that removed her from the vicinity of her most serious swain, and thus made impossible his anticipated proposal of marriage, Claude de Villiers would undoubtedly raise the devil of a fuss. It was entirely his fault, however, for running so monstrously into debt.
This is a very grave matter, dear Mama, of which I must inform you. You will wonder why I wrote to you from this address instead of from Aunt Letty’s home.
Maddy absentmindedly chewed her pen, much to the detriment of that instrument, and wondered how best to explain to her long-suffering parent Clem’s reappearance in their lives. Lady Henrietta had been kindly disposed toward her daughter’s school friend, but Maddy did not anticipate that her mother would be pleased with the circumstances of their reacquaintance. The lady, however, was fair-minded, and Maddy was possessed of a great need to unburden herself. First, however, lest Claude foam at the mouth with impatience, it seemed prudent to point out the advantages of her current situation.
The Duchess is kin
d
ness itself, and Wilmington has shown the utmost consideration for our comfort.
This was not precisely true; the Earl appeared in a very distracted mood; but Maddy had no doubt she could soon induce the required frame of mind.
Indeed, we are so co
z
y at the Hall that I shall soon come to consider it home.
Having thus subtly titillated the interest of her readers, Maddy pondered how best to introduce Clem. It would not do to intimate that she might become a Countess until she was more certain of the fact. But her parents, surely, were entitled to a hint:
I
cannot but believe Wilmington has been greatly maligned. He is the most
f
ascinating gentleman, with a lively intellect, but he is unfailingly courteous and flatteringly anxious to please.
The Earl might have been startled by this description of himself, but Maddy, unrepentant at her lavish use of poet’s privilege, smiled in anticipation of her impending triumph.
Motley considers that I have acted with a lamentable lack of discretion, but. Mama, I do not see what else I could have done, for Clemence was in the greatest peril. I fear I may have made a sad botch of it, yet the Duchess believes she can set things right. I must confess that, were my part in this to become known, I would be severely criticized. Pray assure Papa that I have not forgotten he depends upon me to make an advantageous match. Soon, dear Mama, you will live in utmost luxury!
Upon rereading this last paragraph, which might have been designed to drive the most sanguine of parents wild with apprehension, Maddy thought she might strive for greater clarity. Her head had begun to ache; in deep thought, she rose and paced the room.
“Hsst!” Clem beckoned from the doorway. Maddy thought it unfair that one who was the direct cause of so much turmoil should be in such obvious high spirits. Clem ignored her friend’s ill-tempered frown and triumphantly produced a large old-fashioned key. “I have but a moment, come with me.”
Puzzled, Maddy stepped into the hallway. With exaggerated and, Maddy considered, unnecessary stealth, Clem led the way down the corridor. She stopped before an indistinguishable doorway, glanced in both directions, inserted the heavy key in the lock, then quickly pushed Maddy inside.
“What,” demanded Maddy crossly, as Clem made a great show of closing the door, “are you about?”
“But how unadventurous you are!” Clem was busily inspecting the room that, though pleasant, was unexceptionable. It had obviously been a lady’s dressing room, for the furniture was light and graceful, the predominant color a faded green. Though cared for, the room had a feeling of disuse, as if its occupant had been absent for some time. A connecting door led to a bedchamber, furnished in the same style.
“Bah!” said Clem, and sank into a chair. “Were this a gothic novel, one would find dust and cobwebs covering all, and perhaps a gold plaque above the door that reads ‘Lady Cassandra’s Room.’ I tell you, I am greatly disappointed!”
“Console yourself,” Maddy retorted. “We may yet find a body in the other room.” Clem, undaunted, rose to inspect the bedchamber. Maddy moved to idly touch an elaborate dressing table. “Nothing,” reported Clem, in tones of deep disillusionment. “It seems I have undertaken a grave risk for the smallest of rewards.” She inspected the key. “Now I must return this to its hiding place and pray that I am not apprehended in the act of doing so.”
“Where did you find it?” Maddy asked, and opened a delicate drawer. As she had anticipated, it was empty. “I hardly think our host would appreciate our inquisitiveness.”
Clem giggled. “In his lordship’s chambers.”
Maddy swung around, and her elbow hit a protuberance with a force that made her wince. “Clem!”
But Clemence was not abashed by her friend’s reaction; instead, she stared wide-eyed at the dressing table. “By all that’s famous!” she gasped. “Maddy, you’ve found a secret drawer!”
Maddy was briefly distracted from Gem’s disgraceful behavior. Her gaze fell upon the small opening. She reached inside and drew forth a small book. “It’s a diary,” Clem whispered in awe. “Who knows what it may contain?” Maddy kept firm hold of the book, and ignored her friend’s obvious curiosity. If this was Cassandra’s diary, as she believed it to be, it was of paramount interest to her.
“You are angry with me,” Clem remarked astutely. “But I have news that will cheer you immensely.” She drew forth a letter. “Your so-charming cousin took advantage of the chaos generated by our departure to attempt an elopement with Captain Huard!”
Maddy stared. “Alathea?”
“Surely you do not think Kenelm of a disposition to run off with the captain? Although it is said that some gentlemen’s tastes lie in that direction, which is a matter to me incomprehensible.” Noting Maddy’s baffled expression, Clem shrugged. “Alathea has been banished to Bath, where her dragon of a grandmother will take her in hand. There will be no more elopements for that one for a good long time, I think.” Clem’s tone was smug. “Kenelm escorts her there, and will do himself the pleasure of calling to see how we go on, upon his return.”
Maddy could not but feel that Alathea had received her just reward. “And was it Kenelm who also thwarted this elopement?”
“But of course!” Clem’s attitude indicated a belief that there was nothing this young man might not achieve. The idea of Kenelm as a shining, perfect knight was a novel one; Maddy repressed a smile. Unaccountably, Clem blushed. “He has,” she added, “things of a most particular nature to discuss with me.”
Maddy frowned. “And will you tell him,” she inquired, “of your visit to the Earl’s chambers?” She was awarded an innocent stare.
“But it was for your sake!” Clem wailed. “I wished you to have something to occupy yourself with, for it is my fault that you are stuck away in the country. What better than an old mystery?” Maddy stiffened at the suggestion that her thoughts were not gainfully employed. “Anyway,” Clem added, “there was no one there.”
Maddy ignored the disloyal suspicion that her friend’s tone conveyed disappointment. “If you are in any way considering an affirmative response to the question that Kenelm is undoubtedly going to ask you,” she said primly, “you must straightaway mend your ways! Give me that key. I’ll see to its return.” Clem made no protest, but an imp of mischief danced briefly in her eyes. She cast a last longing glance at the journal that Maddy so obstinately retained, surreptitiously opened the door, peered into the deserted corridor, then waited while Maddy locked the door behind them. There was no indication that further conversation would be welcome and Clem departed, an almost-perfect lady’s maid.
Safely in her room, Maddy frowned at the journal and squelched a desire to defer her epistolary efforts until a more advantageous time. She reluctantly placed the book in an empty bandbox. It would doubtless prove interesting reading, and perhaps shed some light upon the mystery of Cassandra’s demise; more important, it might afford knowledge invaluable in future dealings with the Earl. Maddy wondered how she might safely return the purloined key. The thought of a surreptitious visit to his lordship’s chamber caused a deliciously wicked sensation to shiver along her spine.
Things
could
not have fallen out better,
Maddy wrote, then stared with perplexity at the pages scattered across the desk. Surely she had left them in a neat stack? Perhaps a breeze from the open window was responsible for the disarray.
* * * *
Tilda considered herself doubtfully in her looking glass. The pale yellow gown, with its high neck and simple lines, was one of the least frivolous that she owned, its only concession to fashion being the double sleeves, but she doubted that her appearance was dowdy enough to allay her brother’s qualms. Her nose was decidedly sunburned despite faithful applications of an ointment made of the oil of sweet almonds, wax, and camphor, and would be taken as further indication of her depravity. Tilda sighed, and then smiled as she recalled her unwilling stay at The Cat and the Fiddle. The Duke of Abercorn would be scandalized to learn that his sister knew of Mother Murphy’s existence, and the intelligence that she had spent an entire night in the company of that genial abbess would doubtless render him hysterical. It was a thought to bear in mind, should Bevis show signs of making a prolonged visit.