The Riddle of the Shipwrecked Spinster (20 page)

Awed, he asked, “Do you say your mother did
not
send you? That you ran away?”

“I did.” With a sideways glance at him, she said, “Are you greatly shocked?”

He was certainly taken off-stride, but he managed to say, “It must have taken a great deal of courage, I think. But—you never managed it alone?”

“My aunts helped me, the dear things. That was the worst part of it for me. Knowing how worried they must have been, and blaming themselves.”

‘Well, you’re safe home now, so they may be happy again. But if you won’t have me, what shall you do? Or have your aunts decided to confront Valerian and oblige him to—er—”

“Force him to honour his word, do you mean? Good gracious—no! That is the very reason I ran away in the first place. I have my pride, Mr. Cranford. I want no gentleman to marry me as a duty, and having no affection for me.”

“But—your pardon—if you care for him…”

“I do,” she admitted, her face saddened. “I always will. But—I know I am socially ‘beyond the pale’ now. And even if I were not, I would never condemn him to a loveless marriage. Or you to an even more loveless marriage, since in our case there would be love on neither side.”

“Then…you will live here? With your aunts?”

“For the time being.” She nodded, then said with one of Miss Mary’s michievous smiles, “Never look so troubled, Lieutenant Piers. I have—a Plan, and if all goes well, shall do very nicely.”

Whatever her Plan, it would almost certainly be judged brazen by most of the
ton
, but he could not fail to be impressed by her resourcefulness. He said, “I hope for your sake it does go well. But if it should not, my offer still stands. Arranged
marriages sometimes turn out to be the best, so they say. And you like my country home.”

“Indeed, I do. But—Oh my! Will you really lose it if I refuse you? Surely the General would not be so unkind?”

“To say truth, ma’am, I also have a Plan that may save Muse Manor for us. I am obliged to admit, though, that were you ever to consider me, I could not offer you all the elegancies that Valerian would provide. Our finances are at a low ebb at present, and we’ve to cope with several costly repairs.”

He looked rather grim, and she probed curiously, “We? Do you mean you and your twin?”

“Yes.” Scanning her face in sudden anxiety, he said, “If you should meet Perry again, I must beg you not to mention the little difficulties that—”

“That require ‘costly repairs’? The truth is that you’ve not told him of the flood, or your poor cow, or any of it, have you? Why not? I thought you said he was not badly injured, in which case you could have at least discussed the situation and asked his opinion. Or is he fumble-witted?”

Indignant, he exclaimed hotly, “Certainly not! If you’d been in England last year, you would know he was knighted for gallantry.”

“Ah. So he has become too high-in-the-instep to help with your difficulties.”

“Not so! Good heavens, ma’am, how you do take one up!”

“Do I? Perhaps. But I would have to be foolish indeed not to realize that there must be some reason why you won’t allow him to help, and shut him out as though he were a child.”

His temper flaring, he said, “If you must know, he’s had a miserably painful three years because of a war injury. He has found his lady now, and is soon to be married. God knows, he deserves his happiness.”

“And you mean to ensure that nothing spoils it. I see.” Her sudden smile beamed at him. “I think Sir Peregrine is a lucky man to have you for a brother, Lieutenant Piers.”

Her eyes were very kind, so that he said with a grateful but rather embarrassed smile, “Thank you. Now that you have evidently put me on a most undeserved pedestal, are you quite sure you won’t reconsider my offer?”

She shook her head. “’Twould be unkind to both of us. But I will very much like to have you for a friend—if you have any use for the friendship of a disgraced lady.”

“I would be honoured,” he said, and was mildly surprised to realize that he meant it.

Her aunts did not reappear, and soon afterwards he bade her good night and took his departure.

Outside, it was dark and cold, but he felt the need of some exercise and, refusing the footman’s offer to call up a chair, he set off at a brisk pace. A chill wind moaned between the buildings and whipped the flambeaus that blazed beside most doors. He scarcely noticed the lowering temperature; his thoughts were on the house he’d just left and the incredible story Miss Stansbury had told him. She was a courageous little lady, but he wondered if she fully comprehended the enormity of what she had done and the inevitable judgment of a Society that could be merciless. In his opinion, Mrs. Regina Stansbury was responsible for her daughter’s rash action, but for a young and pretty girl to be, as she herself had said, ‘beyond the pale,’ was a sad fate. The kindest of the
ton
hostesses would not invite her to their parties or pay her morning calls. She would be shunned and avoided and all Society’s doors would be closed to the poor girl. There would be only two avenues open to her: she must either wed someone of good family, or a powerful
ton
hostess must defy public opinion and take the outcast under her wing.

He chuckled to himself, recalling the way her eyes had flashed when she’d stormed at him and labelled his offer for her hand as being “disgusting, immoral, and indecent.” As he turned onto the New Road to Kensington, he could almost hear her saying she would not condemn him to a marriage in which
there would be love on neither side… Surely, most ladies caught in so unenviable a situation would have jumped at the chance of a respectable alliance, and have given not a button about saddling a gentleman with a “loveless marriage.” A
rara avis
was Miss Mary…

The gust of wind was so strong, it broke through his introspection and sent his cloak billowing. He pulled it closer, finding that he was shivering with cold. Hoofbeats were coming up behind him and he turned sharply, hoping to find a hackney coach. This coach, however, was large and far from being a vehicle for hire. By the light from a flambeau he saw that the coachman was holding his team to a walk. Briefly Cranford had a strong impression that he was being watched, then he had to leap back as the coachman cracked his whip and the carriage plunged past so close that it brushed his cloak. He caught a glimpse of the man inside and his instinctive shout of anger died away. It was a brief glimpse and the passenger jerked back at once, but Cranford’s eyes were keen and he stared after the fast disappearing carriage curiously. The likeness had been truly remarkable. If he didn’t know better, he’d have sworn it was the pedlar fellow who came so often to Muse Village.

He shook his head and scolded himself for such foolishness. As if an impoverished pedlar could have ridden in that fine coach—or even be in Mayfair.

A hackney carriage approached, the jarvey slowing his horse and peering hopefully at a possible fare. Cranford waved his cane and the coach was turned smartly and pulled up alongside. Directing the jarvey to the Madrigal Club, Cranford settled back against the worn squabs. At once Miss Mary again occupied his thoughts. Did she really intend to strike out on her own? Surely, such a daring course was unlikely. It was also unlikely that she would be “on her own” for long. She was a taking little creature, and if a match in her own strata of Society was not forthcoming, she would probably win the admiration of some worthy Cit and be perfectly happy living in obscurity.
For some reason that solution irritated him. He shrugged impatiently and turned his thoughts to Muse Manor.

Not until he was enjoying a fine supper in the Madrigal Club did he recall Tio Glendenning’s reaction to the pedlar, Joshua somebody, they’d seen in the village. Tio had been markedly uneasy. “Be wary of him,” he’d warned. His own efforts to cope with the various calamities that demanded his attention had driven that warning from his mind. Now, in the act of lifting a forkful of succulent roast beef, his hand stilled. If Joshua Pedlar was in truth an Intelligence officer, he might very well have been in that carriage just now! And if he had been ordered to monitor Piers Cranford’s activities, he was likely aware of the close friendship that existed between him and the hot-at-hand viscount. A chill shivered between Cranford’s shoulder-blades. He’d thought they were clear of that terrible threat. But if the Horse Guards and Bow Street were still on Tio’s track, then they all were at risk. Dimity and her fine young husband, Perry; Aunt Jane; and himself; for each one of them had given aid to a man they knew to have followed Prince Charles Stuart and would share his cruel fate if that fact were proven.

Cranford lowered his fork slowly. The roast beef had lost its flavour.

“Mathieson?” Comfortably settled on the sofa in the drawing-room of his flat, Peregrine looked up at his twin curiously. “I knew he was back in Town, but you didn’t say you’d met him.”

“Forgot.” Piers concentrated on the stubborn shell from which he was struggling unsuccessfully to extract the nutmeat. He had originally intended to ride straight to Glendenning Abbey and warn Horatio of his misgivings concerning the alleged pedlar. It had dawned on him, however, that if he was indeed under surveillance, to rush down to Windsor would surely add weight to whatever suspicions of Tio already existed. He had
therefore penned a very carefully worded letter and sent it off to Windsor via a fast messenger. He had left the club directly and walked to a coffee-house from which he had a clear view of the club. The messenger had left without so much as a hint that anyone had followed. Relieved, he had settled down to enjoy his breakfast, and when some acquaintances had arrived and looked about for a table, he’d been only too glad to invite them to join him. His enquiries about the forthcoming race had given rise to eager questioning, and when he’d confirmed that he hoped to be allowed to enter, there had been whoops of excitement. Several of the avid young sportsmen had accompanied him to White’s, and Roland Mathieson, who was on the Steeplechase Committee, and had afterwards shared a boisterous celebration of his acceptance as a rider.

He had not intended to share any of this with Perry, and could cheerfully have throttled Travis Grainger, who had just come breezing in, unannounced, and advised his prospective brothers-in-law that he’d stopped in at White’s earlier. “I’d have joined you, Piers, but you and Mathieson were surrounded, and there was so much uproar I could not reach you.” Perry, of course, had pounced on it at once.

He carried his uncooperative nut to the hearth and smashed it with the poker. “Where did your man find these things?” he grumbled. “’Twould be easier to peel a one-minute boiled
egg!”

“Never mind about that,” said Peregrine. “What’s all this about ‘uproar’? Is Roly ill again?”

Grainger remarked with a grin, “He don’t look it. As elegant as ever, despite the loss of his eye. What a remarkable fellow. Did you notice that eye-patch of his, Piers? Dashed if it don’t have a sapphire in one corner!”

“It was a diamond the last time I saw him,” said Peregrine. “Trust Roly not to let his injuries throw him into despair. He’s a good man.”

“Good-looking, certainly,” put in Grainger, appropriating a
nut from the bowl. “A bit of a rascal, wasn’t he? Tony Farrar told me that half the damsels in London were mad for him before he fell into the hands of a jealous Army captain. Is that why he was almost beaten to death? Jealousy?”

Well aware of his brother’s apparent lack of interest in the subject, Peregrine said, “Something of the sort. Much good it did Captain Lambert, eh, Piers? Mathieson is quite recovered and the ladies seem to find him even more attractive, though we don’t see him in Town very often nowadays.”

In an attempt to change the subject, Piers said, “Can’t fault him for that. Fiona presented him with a fine heir, and gentlemen tend to dote on their first-born, as you’ll likely discover, twin. Speaking of which—”

“Rather, let us speak of this alleged ‘excitement,’ interrupted Peregrine sternly. “What’s Mathieson about, Travis?”

“He’s on the Steeplechase Committee,” said Grainger. “The talk is that he has a grand horse himself.”

Peregrine nodded. “Rumpelstiltskin, better known as Rump. A sizeable purse, is there, Travis?”

“Roly don’t need a purse,” Piers interjected, striving. “He’s Marbury’s heir, and—”

“Sizeable, indeed,” exclaimed Grainger, his youthful face alight with enthusiasm. “A small fortune! I heard ’tis in the neighbourhood of a thousand guineas!”

“Is it, now?” Peregrine’s narrowed eyes searched his brother’s expressionless face. He said, “You mean to ride Tassels!”

“That’s the rumour,” confirmed Grainger. “Is it truth, Piers?”

Abandoning his efforts, Piers admitted that he had applied to and been accepted as a rider in the forthcoming steeplechase. “So many fellows tried to buy Tassels, and were convinced she could win, that I decided to ride her myself.”

“And the purse was of secondary interest, of course,” murmured Peregrine sardonically.

Piers laughed. “I’d be a liar if I agreed. It was of
some
interest.”

“Well, I think it’s jolly good, and I hope you win,” said Grainger. “Whether or not you need the lettuce.”