Elizabeth Mansfield (4 page)

"We should have stayed at home, as I wished," Lady Isabel remarked as they warmed themselves at a smoky fire. "We could have come down with Percy on Saturday. He prides himself on the excellence of his carriages. He'd have taken us in his barouche. He would not have broken a wheel."

"What do you mean?" Kate asked in surprise. "Has Percy been invited?"

"Yes, for the weekend."

"But they hardly know him. Whatever possessed Uncle Charles to invite him?"

"Perhaps it was Madge who did it. There will be a ball, I suspect, and single gentlemen are an asset at a ball. Besides, she probably felt she was doing it as a favor to you."

"As a favor to me? Good heavens, why?"

"Your aunt is convinced that Percy is your last, best chance."

Kate stiffened in offense. "Are you suggesting that she enticed him all the way to Claydon so that he'd be near me? He lives
next door
to us! Does my aunt imagine I'll find him more attractive at the castle than I do at home?" Disgusted, Kate rolled her eyes heavenward. "May God forgive her, for I won't."

It was hours after dark when they finally arrived at their destination. As the coach drew up to the entrance, the heavy doors swung wide, and Charles and his wife ran down the stone steps to greet them. "We've been worried sick," Madge cried, .embracing her sister-in-law warmly. "Your man arrived with your baggage hours ago. He was certain you were right behind him!"

"Hush, Madge," Uncle Charles said, putting an arm about his niece's shoulders and kissing her cheek fondly, "let's get them inside, out of this chill."

As an army of servants descended to deal with the baggage, the host and hostess led the ladies up the huge stone stairway and into the hall. Madge Quigley, large in both height and girth, was panting from the effort of climbing the stairs, but that did not still her tongue. "You'll be glad to... know, Isabel," she informed her sister-in-law between deep breaths, "that some of your... friends are... coming for the weekend. Miss Gladmore, your old... friend from school ... and Lady Stockmore. And the Gerards ... and the Tyndales are already here." She paused, pressed her hands against her heaving chest, and, having caught her breath, went on. "They've been waiting to greet you all afternoon, but they're all dressing for dinner now."

"Then we'll go up at once and change," Lady Isabel said.

"Good idea," Charles agreed. "We don't want to keep everyone waiting to dine."

The two visitors started up the stairs. When they were out of earshot of their hosts, Lady Isabel asked her daughter, sotto voce, "Who on earth are the Gerards and the Tyndales?"

Kate, who'd felt a strange clench of the muscles of her stomach at hearing the name Gerard, managed to shrug. "I haven't the faintest idea," she said, throwing her mother a glance of bland innocence, "but isn't Lord Ainsworth a Gerard? He wouldn't be... couldn't be... related to these guests, could he?"

"Ainsworth? The rake?" Lady Isabel wrinkled her brow, trying to remember. "Oh, yes, I think he is a Gerard. But I doubt if he'd be here. Not the sort of party for a rake."

Kate, climbing up ahead, was about to answer when a movement on the landing just above her caught her eye. A man sauntered by. One quick glance was all she got of him, but it was enough to make her gasp. Could it really have been Lord Ainsworth himself?

Almost at once he was gone. There was a sound of a door closing. She could not be sure whom she'd seen. But the mere suggestion that it might be he, froze her to the spot.

Her mother came up behind her. "Is something wrong, Kate? You look pale."

She shook her head. "No, nothing," and she proceeded up the stairs. "But perhaps this
is
the sort of party to attract a rake."

Alone in her room, she stood stock still in the center of the floor, as if in a trance. Her cloak slid unheeded from her shoulders.
It couldn't be!
she told herself. What could Ainsworth possibly be doing in this house? It was a trick of her mind. Hearing the name Gerard had made her imagine him. But it was foolishness. Gerard was not a particularly uncommon name. She should give herself a proper scolding for allowing herself to see him at every turn.

But what if it really
were
he? What would it mean? Would she have to smile at him in the sitting room, sit across from him at the table making polite conversation, play silver loo with him in the evenings? It was all too dreadful to contemplate.

What on earth,
she wondered,
was his connection to the family in this house?
Was there a painting that Uncle Charles owned that he'd come to see? She knew the artwork in this house, and she could not think of one that resembled
Girl with Persian Shawl.
It wasn't likely that he was a friend of Aunt Madge. The only answer seemed to be ...
Deirdre!

She shut her eyes in agony as the horrible idea burst upon her.
Harry Gerard, Lord Ainsworth, was Deirdre's betrothed!

SIX

Megan, a green brocaded-silk evening dress over her arm, stood with elbows akimbo, watching her mistress stare at herself in the dressing-table mirror. "There's somethin' amiss," she declared firmly. "I cin see it in yer face."

Kate tossed her a frown. "I tell you, nothing at all's amiss."

"You needn't pitch me your gammon," the maid sneered. "I know ye too well. I cin tell when some-thin' s eatin' at ye."

"It's nothing," Kate insisted, getting up from the dressing table. "I just don't know what to do with this hair. We've no time to put it up, and it's too unruly to leave it hanging down like this."

"Sit back down. I'll tie it back with a pretty ribbon. It'll be fine," the maid assured her.

Kate sighed again and let Megan deal with her hair.

The few moments it took to brush and tie back the unruly brown locks—an irritating thatch that was neither smoothly straight nor charmingly curly—helped Kate to get hold of herself.
Somehow,
she swore to herself,
I
will manage to behave with composure. When the shocking news that Deirdre has betrothed herself to that bounder Lord Ainsworth is announced tonight, 1 will applaud with the same enthusiasm as all the others.
There was no reason for her to feel such agitation. Neither Lord Ainsworth nor the betrothal itself had anything to do with her.

She stood up and let Megan help her into the gown. This green brocade was a favorite of hers. The ruffled lace at the neck and the slim, long sleeves made her feel stately. Being dressed with such restrained dignity would help her get through the ordeal of this evening.

Megan had just started on the back buttons when a knock sounded at the door. "Kate?" came a voice from the corridor. "It's Deirdre. May I come in?"

Kate ran to the door and threw it open. "Deirdre!" she exclaimed, opening her arms.

The girl in the doorway threw herself into them. "Oh, Kate! I'm so glad you've come! I couldn't
wait
to tell you—"

"Stop, my dear," Kate laughed, holding her at arm's length. "First let me look at you! I haven't seen you these six months."

"Never mind that!" the girl cried, grasping both Kate's hands, "I must tell you my news!"

But Kate was already studying her. Deirdre looked lovely, the sparkle in her blue eyes adding zest to the sweetness of her face. Her nineteen years had brought her to full bloom, her figure slim and yet softly rounded. She'd braided her fair hair in a coronet that emphasized her full cheeks and dimpled chin. Already dressed for dinner in a bare-shouldered, light-blue crepe gown that shimmered with silver threads, she veritably exuded joyousness. "Heavens," Kate exclaimed admiringly, "you are breathtaking!"

"Per'aps you should've worn yer lavender Florentine with the bare shoulders," Megan muttered to her mistress, eyeing Deirdre's gown enviously. "Seems dinner'll be more poshy than I thought."

Kate glared at her. "You may
go,
Megan," she said pointedly.

"But I ain't finished buttonin' ye," the maid objected.

"I can do it," Deirdre offered at once.

Megan, defeated, shrugged and took herself off.

Deirdre, who hadn't dropped hold of Kate's hands, drew her to the bedstead and pulled her cousin down beside her. "You won't believe what's happened, Kate," she exclaimed breathlessly. "I'm in love!"

Kate felt her fingers clench. "Are you, sweetheart?"

"Head over heels! Oh, Kate, wait till you meet him! He's
glorious.
As handsome as a dream prince, with a lovely smile and the broadest shoulders. And he's so clever and sweet-natured, and he has the most divine eyes!"

"My!" Kate said, forcing a grin. "He sounds too good to be believed."

"You'll believe it when you meet him."

"I'm sure I will. Though I hope you don't expect me to fall at his feet. It's enough that you are top-over-tail. It wouldn't do for both of us to feel that way."

"You're teasing me, I know. But he really is just too magnificent for words! And, Kate, the very best part is, he feels the same toward me. He's
offered
for me!"

"Has he?"

"Yes! And Papa has accepted him. They're to announce the betrothal
tonight!
"

“Tonight?" Kate lifted the girl's chin and smiled at her fondly. "No wonder you're glowing like a midsummer moon."

"Am I? Well, I suppose I am. Tonight is special, after all, even if it will only be a small family dinner."

"Small? Your mother said there would be two other families. Tyndales and Gerards, she said."

"Yes, but only two Tyndales and three Gerards," she explained. "With the five of us, that makes only ten for dinner."

"Ten is quite enough to make the occasion special," Kate assured her.

"Yes, of course. Quite enough." Deirdre threw her arms about Kate's neck and held her tightly. "Oh, Kate, I'm so happy! And you, you know, are my best friend in all the world. Your being here with me tonight makes everything perfect!"

Kate, trying to overcome her conflicting emotions, returned her cousin's embrace. "Dearest Deirdre," she whispered into the girl's ear, "it all sounds wonderful. I wish you the greatest happiness."

SEVEN

After Deirdre floated out of the room on her blue-and-silver cloud, Megan came back in, the lavender Florentine silk gown with the low decolletage over her arm. Kate frowned at her. "Really, Megan, you are a nuisance. I don't want to change my gown."

"Yes, ye do," the maid insisted. "Ye don' want t' go down lookin' like Miss Deirdre's maiden aunt, do ye?"

Kate was appalled "Is that what I look like? Her maiden aunt?" She stared at herself in the dressing-table mirror for a moment. Then, with a shrug of defeat, she began to unbutton the green long-sleeved gown.

Because she'd taken the time to change to the lavender gown, Kate was the last to join the group assembled in the drawing room before dinner. Pausing in the doorway, she glanced round the room There were not many familiar faces. Of course she knew the elderly butler, Pritt. He'd been in the family since long before Kate was born. He was now serving glasses of sherry to a trio of ladies sitting near the fire—her aunt Madge, a tiny but distinguished-looking elderly lady in a purple velvet half-cape, and her mother. Kate noticed that her mother had dressed for this occasion in a puce-colored lace gown and, instead of her widow's cap, had placed a jeweled comb in her hair. Aunt Madge must have warned her that the evening would be special. It pleased Kate to see her mother looking so stylish and enjoying lively conversation without her ever-present needlework in her hands.

On the far side of the room she spied Deirdre, seated in an armchair. Perched on the arm was Lord Ainsworth. But Deirdre was not conversing with him. Her head was turned toward another young man, a bushy-haired fellow who was leaning over the back of her chair. Ainsworth seemed to take notice of Kate's arrival, but she, though she would have liked to know if he recognized her, found herself unable to meet his eyes. She knew full well, as she dropped her eyes from his, that her act was cowardly. This behavior—quite like a simpering miss—was not her usual style.
What's wrong with me?
she asked herself.

She had no time to analyze this distressing reaction, for her uncle spied her at that moment. "Ah, Kate," he cried jovially, "there you are at last!" He rose from the sofa where he'd been sitting with an impressive looking gentleman and came across the room to her. "Let me make you known to everyone."

Uncle Charles put an arm about her waist and led her to the group at the fireplace. Addressing the unknown lady in the purple cape, he said, "Your ladyship, may I present my niece, Miss Kate Rendell? Kate, this is Charlotte, Lady Ainsworth."

Kate, wondering if this might be Lord Ainsworth's mother, made a bow. Her ladyship was a tiny, wizened woman who nevertheless sat up straight as a queen, the majestic effect enhanced by her bright eyes, her abundant white hair tucked under a widow's cap, and the velvet cape that covered her narrow shoulders like a royal mantle. In the manner of a benign monarch, she smiled up at Kate and held out her hand. "I'm delighted to meet you, my dear," she said warmly. "I've heard much in praise of you."

Kate felt herself blush as she took the wrinkled hand. "You shouldn't take my mother's word for my character, your ladyship. She's bound to be partial."

"It was not from your mother that I heard it," her ladyship said with a twinkle.

"Oh?" Kate responded with real interest. "Who could have—?"

"Come Kate," her uncle cut in rudely, "you must meet the others."

Kate could do nothing but bow again and follow where he led.

She was next presented to the elderly gentleman who'd been conversing with her uncle, Sir Edward Tyndale. His dignified manner, overly formal attire, and powdered hair showed him to be determinedly old-fashioned. Sir Edward rose and kissed her hand gallantly, just as he'd probably done for half a century. Yet there was something in his expression—a livery brightness in the eyes—that made Kate like him at once.