Anne Barbour (10 page)

Her lips pressed tightly together, Chloe turned and followed the housekeeper into the hall. Thorne accompanied them.

“Perhaps,” said Hester with the merest tremor in her voice, “it would have been better if on this occasion you had consulted your relatives as to your plans.”

“Yes,” said Chloe shrilly, “there was no need for Aunt Augusta to be so hateful.”

“Nonsense,” replied Thorne. He turned to address Hester. “Aunt Lavinia expressed herself to me before I left for Overcross that she was delighted that you were coming. As for Gussie . . .” He drew a deep breath. “Well, Gussie is always against any plan in which she has not first been consulted. Just leave her to me. I shall send her on her way with a flea in her ear and the next time you see her, I promise she will be all cordiality.” He smiled warmly. “Do come downstairs again when you are ready, for we have much to discuss.”

Once again, Thorne felt that the smile on which he had relied for all of his adult life to melt the steeliest of female hearts, was in need of an overhaul. Miss Blayne said nothing, merely staring inscrutably at him for some moments before nodding shortly. Whirling about, she moved up the stairs after Chloe and Mrs. Murray, her back stiff as a steeple.

Thorne turned angrily to rejoin his aunts, recriminations boiling on his lips. Gussie, however, was experienced in dealing with her nephew, with whom she had brangled more as a sister during their growing-up years, and she was already taking the offensive.

“Bythorne, how could you?” she cried in accusing accents as soon as he entered the room. “I could not believe my eyes when I read Lavinia’s letter to me telling of your plans to introduce a notorious firebrand into the house.”

“Really, Thorne,” said Lady Lavinia apologetically, “I had no idea Augusta would fly up into the boughs over this. I merely mentioned—

“But how could I not be overset by such news?” queried her ladyship in high indignation. “What in the world possessed you to invite her here? What will people say when they discover that one of the most scandalous females in the country has taken up residence in Bythorne House?”

Thorne suppressed a surge of irritation. “Gussie, Miss Blayne can hardly be considered either notorious or scandalous. She has gathered some attention to herself, to be sure, with her writings, but that is hardly cause to brand her as a scarlet woman. Besides, I need her help in controlling Chloe,” he concluded simply.

“Well!” said Lady Bracken with an affronted gasp. “If you were having such difficulty in controlling Chloe, I would have been glad to have her at Summerlea.”

Thorne smiled mirthlessly. “You know very well that you and Chloe do not deal well together. Do you recall the incident at Lady Pantron’s ball?”

Lady Bracken shuddered. “Still, Bythorne,” she returned sharply, “to invite a person of the lower orders into your home as an honored guest is bound to give rise to the most—

“She may be possessed of some rather odd ideas,” interrupted Thorne, “but I wish you would stop speaking of her as though she were some drab I hauled in off the streets. She is of perfectly respectable birth, you know.”

Lady Bracken shot a glance at Lady Lavinia. “You did not tell me this.”

“Yes,” continued Thorne. “She is from Shropshire, I believe.”

“Really?” This time Lady Bracken’s brows rose nearly into her hairline. “The Shropshire Blaynes? Theirs is one of the oldest and most respected titles in the country. Are you sure about this?”

Thorne shrugged. “Her brother is Sir Barnaby Blayne.”

“Mmm,” said Lady Bracken thoughtfully. “To be sure, he is only a baronet, but still . . . Well, I wonder that Sir Barnaby allows his sister to make a public spectacle of herself.”

“I gather he has little to say about it,” replied Thorne dryly.

“But he is head of the family.”

“Miss Blayne seems to care little for that. She is financially independent of her brother and she is most definitely of age. She can cry her ridiculous theories from the top of St. Paul’s, if she so desires.”

“How perfectly disgusting,” said Lady Bracken with a sniff. “Well, be that as it may, she is an unattached female and you know what the rumor mills will do with that situation.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Gussie. Did you look at her? The woman is practically an ape-leader. She wears caps! And she dresses in gowns an impecunious governess would scorn.” He declined to mention that it was his impression that the slender body concealed beneath those very plain gowns might prove well worth investigating. “I hardly think the
ton
is going to leap to any untoward conclusions about her presence in my home. In addition, with Aunt Lavinia in the house any talk of seduction and/or rapine— at least on my part—is simply ludicrous.”

“I suppose that is true,” said Lady Bracken grudgingly, “but, have you thought of the effect on Chloe of having a person in the house with such dangerous ideas as Miss Blayne?”

Thorne laughed. “I would hardly qualify her ideas as dangerous, Gussie. All this talk of female rights is merely that—talk. If it amuses Miss Blayne to spend her time on such a futile pastime, I see no real harm in it. I have given her permission to invite her friends here, but I hardly think the maunderings of a parcel of wooly-witted intellectuals is a threat to the fabric of society.”

“But, Thorne dear,” interposed Lady Lavinia with a glance at her niece, “Miss Blayne’s writings have attracted quite a large audience—not just in London but throughout the country, one hears.”

“Mmp,” came a grunt from Thorne. “The bearded lady at Bartholomew Fair draws in the multitudes, as well, but I would hardly consider her a force for social upheaval.”

Lady Bracken cleared her throat delicately. “But what will Barbara think?”

“Barbara?” Thorne echoed in a carefully toneless voice. “I should imagine Lady Barbara will wonder at the situation, just as you have, but she’s an open-minded sort, and—  What has her opinion to say to anything?”

“Why, her opinion must be of great consideration to you. After all, you and she—”

“Gussie,” Thorne said softly. “We will leave my relationship with Lady Barbara out of this. Now, listen to me, please. Miss Blayne is a guest in my house, and if you insist on inserting yourself into this situation, I really must insist that you treat her with all the courtesy you would any other well-bred young woman.”

“Well,” said Lady Bracken. She glanced at her nephew from under her rather sparse lashes. “At least you agree, I hope, something will have to be done about her appearance. She dresses like a tinker’s daughter. Not that we wish to have her gowned in high fashion, but... A simple wardrobe, I think, but one of quality.”

Thorne waved a hand dismissively. “I shall be happy to leave that in your hands, Gussie, although you may get an argument from her on the subject.”

Which proved to be the case when Hester descended from her chamber some minutes later. Thorne had hoped Gussie would have departed the premises before Hester made her appearance, but his aunt had remained, chatting determinedly.

“Why, there you are, Miss Blayne,” murmured Lady Bracken.

Hester’s heart sank. She, too, had hoped that she would not have to face the intimidating Lady Bracken again that day. Noting, however, the disdainful gaze that swept over the gray muslin round gown into which she had changed, she lifted her chin and advanced into the room.

After that first brief encounter with her ladyship, Hester’s impulse had been to sweep out of the house, never to return. How dare Lord Bythorne let his aunt speak to her in that fashion, as though she were a scullery maid come to apply for a position! If either his lordship or his insufferable relative thought she was prepared to be treated in such a fashion, they were both very much mistaken. She had come here, after all, out of the goodness of her heart, and to be so insulted—well, it was not to be brooked.

After several more minutes of this sort of reflection, pacing the thick carpet of her bedchamber in affronted indignation, Hester’s anger finally wore itself out to the point where she was able to take in her surroundings. Her accommodations consisted of a sitting room and a bedchamber, each furnished with an elegance that suggested it was one of the premier guest suites in the house. Her attention was caught by a writing desk set before the window. It was a little larger than one might expect in such a room. It looked as though it belonged in a man’s study, in fact. Gracious, had the earl moved it here especially for her? Opening the drawers, she discovered paper and an ample supply of pens, pen knives, wipers, blotting paper, and several bottles of ink.

Somewhat mollified, she moved into the bedchamber and bounced experimentally on the bed. A soft scratch sounded at the door and she leaped hurriedly to her feet. A young chamber maid slipped into the room, carrying a pitcher of water.

“Good afternoon, miss,” she said softly. “I am called Parker and I am to be your maid while you are here. If that is all right with you,” she added hastily, a shy smile curving her lips.

At Hester’s smile of acquiescence, Parker moved to the luggage, brought up earlier, and consisting of a single bandbox and a smallish portmanteau. If the girl thought it odd that a guest of the house should arrive with no more clothing than would outfit the poorest serving maid residing in the house, she made no sign. After pouring the water into an exquisite porcelain basin, she busied herself putting away the several gowns that Hester had brought with her. They hung rather forlornly in the splendid wardrobe that occupied nearly one whole wall of the bedchamber. Underclothing, shawls, and other accessories were likewise whisked into the capacious drawers of a nearby commode and Hester’s brushes and combs were laid out on a dainty rosewood dressing table.

After being assured by Hester that she required no further service of the maid, Parker left the room with a graceful curtsy, leaving Hester to her own devices. Realizing that she could not hide up here for the rest of the day, she resolutely scrubbed her face and combed her hair into the severest knot she could manage. Affixing to it the plainest cap in her possession, she drew a deep breath and left the room to make her way downstairs. Now, facing Lord Bythorne and his ladies once more, Hester was surprised to note that Lady Bracken wore an expression of wary affability.

“Do join us, my dear,” said Lady Lavinia. “I have had fresh tea brought in. And try some of these lady fingers. They are one of Cook’s specialties.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Hester entered the room and seated herself in the chair indicated by Lady Lavinia.

“I understand,” said Lady Bracken, opening negotiations, “that you are of the Shropshire Blaynes. Your father was Sir Reginald?”

“Yes, my lady,” replied Hester, accepting a cup of tea from her. “Although he passed away several years ago, and my brother Barnaby now holds the title.”

“Do you have a sister named Mary?”

“Why, yes. She is a few years older than I.”

“I thought so. I went to school with her.” Lady Bracken nodded her head as though this fact conveyed an obscure significance. Hester smiled politely.

“Well,” continued Lady Bracken, “what are your plans for your sojourn in London?”

Hester stiffened. Good heavens, the woman’s manner suggested that she was hatching some sort of monstrous scheme against Lord Bythorne and/or his family. Her hands clenched in her lap.

“Why, I thought I might begin by inviting the Society for the Overthrow of the Monarchy to hold their meetings here.”

Thorne uttered a bark of laughter, and now it was Lady Bracken’s turn to bridle.

“No need to fly up into the boughs, Miss Blayne. I was merely—“

Hester relented. After all, Lady Bracken could be forgiven for viewing with suspicion the entry of a notorious radical into her nephew’s home. She smiled.

“Do forgive my wretched tongue, my lady. Truly, my only purpose in being here is to act as a sort of companion to Chloe. She and I seem to hit it off rather well, and Lord Bythorne thought—”

“Lord Bythorne thought,” interrupted Thorne, “that Miss Blayne must have been sent to him by the gods.”

Lady Bracken said nothing, but subjected Hester once more to a swift but minute scrutiny. After a moment, the older woman relaxed slightly and drew a deep breath.

“Well, it appears I cannot argue with a fait accompli, but”—she fixed her nephew with a meaningful stare— “what in the world are we to tell people?”

Chapter Eight

“Tell them about what?” asked Thorne blankly.

“Good God, Bythorne,” retorted his aunt in some irritation. “You cannot import a strange female into your home without explanation. Even,” she added hastily, “a female of impeccable breeding and even with the most excruciatingly proper chaperonage.”

“Oh, for God’s sake!” Thorne expostulated.

“Your aunt is right, my lord,” Hester said softly, and two pairs of dark eyes swung to her in surprise.

“If your purpose in bringing me into your home is to see your ward settled properly, you must see that it is essential that there be nothing untoward in my presence here. I should have thought of this difficulty myself.”

Thorne snapped his fingers. “We told the Wendovers that you are a distant cousin. Could we not continue that pretense?”

“Don’t be absurd, Bythorne,” interposed his aunt. “Everyone in the
ton
is quite conversant with your family background. They will recognize such a hoax instantly.”

“Actually . . .” They whirled at the sound of the soft voice. Lady Lavinia, who had not spoken since Hester had entered the room cleared her throat. “Actually, I believe we are related to Miss Blayne in truth.”

“What?” Lady Bracken’s cup rattled in her long fingers. ‘That’s impossible,” she snapped.

“No, no, my dear. Do but think,” replied the older woman. “When I was a child, I used to play with a little girl named Matilda Renfrew. I was told she was my third cousin. Later, I heard that she had married a Matthew Byrd.

Their son married Squire May field’s daughter, and the squire’s wife, I am quite sure, was the daughter of a man named Christopher Blayne.”