by Mary Balogh
She smiled eagerly from one to the other of them.
“And the most wonderful time everyone else will have had too, of course,” she added.
Miss Daniels looked pointedly at her.
“And, Charlotte?” she said softly, making a beckoning gesture with one hand. “Of what concern is this to Miss Huxtable and her sister and brother?”
“Oh.” Miss Wrayburn looked mortified and then laughed too-a light, youthful sound. “I want you to come, Miss Huxtable, and you too, Miss Katherine, and you if you will and if you do not have other more exciting plans, Lord Merton, though I daresay you do. I want you all to be among my houseguests. Will you? I would like it of all things, I do assure you. Please say yes.”
Jasper has said I may have a house party…
Was he deliberately luring her to a place where he would have plenty of opportunity to be tete-a-tete with her?
How very clever of him.
Or was she reading too much into this invitation?
“It sounds very delightful,” Margaret was saying. “But are you quite sure you wish to have us among your guests, Miss Wrayburn? Your aunt did not appear to consider us suitable companions when she saw us with you yesterday.”
The girl flushed.
“She did not even know who you were,” she said. “She wants to have me live with her now that I am almost grown up and no longer a nuisance of a child. She wants to control my fortune and have me marry Clarence. I would rather die.”
“Charlotte, my dear,” Miss Daniels said reproachfully.
“Well, it is true,” the girl said. “And you yourself said, Danny, that it was quite unexceptionable for me to walk in the park with the Earl of Merton and his sisters and Jasper himself. Besides, this party is to be held in the country. At Jasper’s home and mine. Nothing could be more respectable. Aunt Prunella has nothing to say in the matter. Please come.”
She looked as if she were almost in tears.
Elliott had turned from the window-Sam was fast asleep against his shoulder, his mouth open.
“Stephen is no suitable escort for Miss Wrayburn?” he said. “In a public park with her brother and his sisters in attendance? How very peculiar.”
“It is because I am not yet out,” Miss Wrayburn explained. “My aunt believes that I ought to remain hidden in the schoolroom until my presentation to the queen.”
“Well,” Stephen said, swinging Isabelle to the floor at her insistence-she came to sit on Katherine’s knee. “I do have exciting plans for those weeks in August, Miss Wrayburn. I plan to spend them at Cedarhurst Park in Dorsetshire-as the guest, I believe, of Baron Montford, my friend. And by happy chance it seems that you are to have a birthday while I am there.”
“Oh.” The girl clasped her hands to her bosom and beamed at him. “Oh, how splendid. Jasper will be so pleased. And I am too.”
“I believe,” Margaret said, “it is quite proper for Kate and me to accept your invitation, Miss Wrayburn. We would be delighted to come, would we not, Kate?”
The decision had been taken from her, then, had it? Katherine did not know if she was glad or sorry.
“Absolutely,” she said, smiling at Miss Wrayburn. “I shall look forward to it.”
And she knew she would even though she really ought not.
Miss Wrayburn beamed at them all.
“I am so glad,” she said. “Oh, thank you.”
A few minutes later Miss Daniels rose, and Miss Wrayburn followed suit and took her leave of them all.
“She is indeed a delightful girl,” Vanessa said when they had gone. “It is very kind of her brother to arrange a party in the seclusion of the country for her. It is a ridiculous notion that girls ought to be left in the schoolroom until the very moment of their come-out. Then, of course, they know no one and are gauche and blushing and uncomfortable. Miss Daniels told me which other guests have been invited to Cedarhurst. Most of them-both ladies and gentlemen-are very young indeed. Stephen is going to seem like an elder statesman. But of course it is right too that a few older guests be invited-for Lord Montford’s sake.”
She looked pointedly at Katherine and laughed.
Katherine busied herself with amusing Isabelle and pretended not to notice.
Mr. Seth Wrayburn lived in London all year long, even during the heat of the summer when the beau monde deserted it en masse for the greater comforts of the countryside or the relative coolness of the seaside.
He lived on Curzon Street, which was in a fashionable enough neighborhood for a gentleman of his rank. He had nothing to do with fashions, however, and nothing to do with the beau monde either. Or with anyone else for that matter except his valet and his butler and his chef and his bookseller.
The best company a man could ever desire, he had always said-when forced to say anything at all, that was-was his own. At least a man could expect a little intelligence and sense from himself.
He was not pleased to be presented with a visiting card the very day after being bothered with another. He had been forced to admit Clarence Forester the day before because that fool had sent up the verbal message with his card that it was a matter of life and death concerning Charlotte Wrayburn, who happened to be not only Seth’s great-niece, but also his ward. He had never been pleased with that latter connection, but he had not contested the terms of his nephew’s will when he might have done so with some success immediately after his death-a man surely could not be forced to take on the guardianship of a girl in whom he had no interest whatsoever, after all. But it was probably too late now.
He had admitted Clarence, albeit reluctantly, expecting to have his ears assailed with an affecting story about how his great-niece was at her last gasp on her deathbed or a lurid tale about how she had eloped with the groom after climbing out of the schoolroom window down knotted sheets while her governess slept-or some other such dire event over which he supposed he would be expected to exert himself.
Though what he could be expected to do to stop the girl from dying or to set her back in the schoolroom when she had been wed and bedded by the groom he could not imagine. Nor did he want to imagine.
As it turned out, Clarence had bored him exceedingly and at great length and had confirmed him in his long-standing conviction that he himself had been born into the wrong family-and a parcel of nincompoops at that-more than seventy years ago and had been made to suffer for it ever since.
But since Clarence had demanded action in that pompous way of his and had raised some issues that probably could not be ignored much longer, Mr. Wrayburn sighed deeply when he lifted Jasper’s card from the butler’s tray and read the name written there.
“There is no message to accompany the card?” he asked. “No life-and-death situation? No warning that the sky is falling or the great trump of doom blowing from the heavens to summon us all to judgment?”
“None, sir,” his butler assured him.
“Show him up, then,” Mr. Wrayburn said with another sigh. “At least he is no blood relation. That is some consolation. Small enough, it is true, but some nonetheless.”
His nephew’s stepson strode into the room a minute or two later, looking fashionable and virile and altogether too full of energy for his own good. He held up a hand as he came.
“Do not get up, sir,” he said. “No need to stand upon ceremony. Do remain seated.”
Since Mr. Wrayburn had made no move to rise to his feet, and never did when in company, he snorted, especially as he detected a gleam of amusement in the younger man’s eyes.
“Impudent puppy,” he muttered. “Still raking your way through life, I hear?”
“You hear?” Jasper raised one eyebrow as he helped himself to a seat. “From the lips of Clarrie, I suppose?”
“You would call him a liar, then?” Mr. Wrayburn asked him.
“Probably not,” Jasper said, grinning, “though he always had an impressive gift even as a boy for embellishing every story he told-to his own aggrandizement and my debasement. He wa
s and is a weasel-apologies to you, sir, since he is your great-nephew.”
“Through an unhappy accident of birth,” the old man said. “You must help yourself to a drink if you want one, Montford. You will dry up like a desert if you wait for me to get up to pour it for you.”
“Sounds painful,” Jasper said. “But I am not thirsty. I daresay Clarrie informed you that I am a shockingly unsuitable guardian for Charlotte?”
The old man grunted.
“Did you or did you not know that she was cavorting about the park with young Merton the day before yesterday when she ought to have been in the schoolroom reciting the multiplication tables?” he asked, not without irony.
“Charlotte can recite even the thirteenth times table without pausing for breath or making one mistake,” Jasper said. “I know. I worked it all out on paper one day-and she was right, by Jove. She is not still in the schoolroom. She is seventeen years and ten and a half months old, and her governess has acquired the new name and expanded duties of companion. And yes, I knew she was in the park with Merton. I was with them, and so were his sisters, both older than he.”
Mr. Wrayburn snorted again.
“I suppose,” Jasper said, “Clarrie conveniently omitted those pertinent details?”
“And did you or did you not,” the old gentleman continued, “observe Prunella fainting dead away at the sight of such impropriety involving her beloved niece? And gashing her head open as she fell so that traffic was held up for half a mile behind them?”
Jasper chuckled aloud.
“I almost wish I had seen it,” he said. “Dash it all, it must have happened when I turned my head or blinked.”
“And is it or is it not true,” Mr. Wrayburn continued, “that Merton’s sisters are no better than they ought to be?”
Jasper sobered instantly.
“Now that is a baseless lie,” he said with uncharacteristic grimness. “And if Clarrie is spreading such vicious untruths about them, then-”
“Spare me.” The old man held up a hand. “If you are fool enough to slap a glove in the face of that idiot, Montford, and to ruin your own life by putting a period to his, then have the goodness to do it without feeling the necessity of giving me a full preview, if you please. The thing is that according to that infernal will of my nephew’s, you were not to take Charlotte anywhere beyond the bounds of Cedarhurst without the express consent of either Forester or myself. You have done it anyway. And people like Prunella are bound to cut up vaporish about such things as the girl wandering in the park on the arm of an earl for all the world to see when she has not yet been fired off into society-even if her brother and his sisters were with them. It was all the provocation she needed to orchestrate an assault on my peaceful haven here. It is all a parcel of nonsense, of course, and tries my patience to the utmost limit, but if I ignore the complaint and Charlotte ends up flying off to Gretna Green with this earl or someone else less eligible, then I am going to have to endure another visit from Clarence-and probably from Prunella as well. And I am going to be made to feel that I have neglected my duty to make sure that both Charlotte and her fortune are delivered safely to some suitably sober and worthy and dull husband when the time comes.”
“Clarrie,” Jasper said.
“Eh?”
“I am convinced of it,” Jasper said. “Lady Forester has not cared a tupenny toss for Charlotte all these years. But now her eighteenth birthday and her fortune are looming on the horizon, and Forester senior died with a veritable mountain of unpaid gaming debts, and Clarrie is fortunately still single and in a position to recoup the family fortunes by marriage to the right woman.”
“His own first cousin,” Mr. Wrayburn said in open disgust. “It makes perfect sense, though. One could not expect any other woman to have him, after all, could one? I will exert myself to deny my permission for such a match, Montford, as I am sure you will. Devil take my nephew for naming me as guardian to the girl. As foolish as every other member of the family, is she?”
“Not at all,” Jasper said. “I am inordinately fond of her.”
Mr. Wrayburn grunted. “At least she can recite the thirteenth times table,” he said. “I doubt Clarence can say the second without using his fingers and toes and wondering why he has run out when he arrives at eleven times two.”
Jasper chuckled.
“Here is the thing,” the old gentleman said. “I’ll state it once, Montford, and then you may do with it as you will. It is time for my luncheon and my nap and I never postpone either. You may keep the girl with you over the summer and winter-you have my vote on that. But you are not in any position to bring the girl out next spring, if Clarence is to be believed-your other sister, whose name I cannot recall at the moment, is married and breeding often enough to decline the honor of organizing and supervising young Charlotte’s come-out. So Prunella is going to have to be the one for the task.”
“But, sir-”
Mr. Wrayburn held up a hand again.
“There is a solution,” he said. “It is as clear as the nose on your face, Montford, but I am not going to advise it. I never took that road myself and would not wish it upon my worst enemy. It would be a solution for Charlotte, though, if you are determined to offer her one.”
“You are suggesting,” Jasper said, “that I marry?”
“You do not listen well,” the old gentleman said. “I am suggesting no such thing.”
For once Jasper was speechless.
“You have the summer and the winter with Charlotte-with my blessing,” the old man said. “Provided, that is, you do not force my hand. Your excesses and debaucheries, all enumerated in lurid detail by my esteemed great-nephew yesterday, are of no interest to me, and I am fully aware that more than half of what I was told was exaggeration or baseless innuendo or outright fabrication even if I am not sure which half. But be careful nevertheless. I am Charlotte’s guardian, and if something about you surfaces that suggests it would be downright irresponsible to leave the girl in your charge, I may be forced to act. Don’t force me, Montford. I would not be amused. Close the door quietly behind you as you leave, will you? I abominate loud noises and sudden drafts.”
Jasper got to his feet.
“You would deliver Charlotte into their clutches-” he began.
“What I would do,” Mr. Wrayburn said testily, “is have my home back to myself, Montford. I like you. You stood up to my fool of a nephew all through your boyhood though some of your exploits almost made even my hair stand on end. And you are no namby-pamby, sniveling idiot. It always seemed markedly unjust to me that you were not my relative instead of all the others. But like it or not-and I do not like it, I assure you-I am one of Charlotte’s guardians. And when I am called upon to assert my third of the guardianship, I shall do so according to what I consider to be her best interests, even if those are only a choice between the devil and the deep blue sea. Go away now. I have a sore throat from doing so much talking.”
Jasper went.
With much food for thought to digest.
10
KATHERINE was at a garden party in Richmond the next time she encountered Baron Montford. It was two days after she and Margaret and Stephen had accepted their invitation to Miss Wrayburn’s birthday celebrations.
It was a crowded event. A large number of guests were in attendance, taking tea on the wide paved terrace before the house or moving about the lawns that stretched between the terrace and the River Thames or boating on the river. This was the home of Mr. and Mrs. Adams, who were renowned for their lavish entertainments-and for the beauty of their gardens, which at this particular time of the year were laden with flowers, all in varying shades of purple, magenta, and pink. Flowers of the same shades hung from baskets across the front of the house and bloomed in large pots along the terrace.
It was a dazzling and glorious display-and a quite irresistible one to Katherine, who was always alternately drawn to crowded social events and pulled toward solitude, preferably in a s
etting of natural beauty. She mingled happily with the crowds for well over an hour. But then she was assailed with the familiar need to get away from it all, to be by herself even if only for a short while.
Margaret had been borne off to one of the boats by the Marquess of Allingham, Stephen was in the midst of an animated group that consisted largely of young ladies and their twirling parasols, Vanessa and Elliott had stepped inside the house with Mrs. Adams, and Katherine was free to make her way to a pretty little glass pavilion that faced onto a rose garden.
It was a warm day when the sun was out. But there were some clouds too and a noticeable breeze, and it was during a particularly lengthy cloudy period that Katherine stepped inside, goose bumps pebbling her bare arms. The glass walls and roof had trapped the heat of the sun, and she sat down gratefully on a wrought iron seat and prepared to enjoy the roses and the warmth for a while before conscience inevitably drove her back outside to be sociable.
She was immediately aware of the heady scent of the roses, and peace seeped into her soul as she breathed in their fragrance.
Her solitude did not last long, though.
After what could have been no more than a scant five minutes, she became aware of someone striding away from the crowds on the terrace and moving in her direction. When she turned her head to look, she could see that it was Lord Montford, dressed elegantly in a dark green coat, which molded the muscles of his chest and arms, with buff pantaloons, which did the like for his legs, and shiny Hessian boots. No gentleman ought to be allowed to be so handsome-especially when he was someone of whom one could only disapprove, to say the least.
He had not been at Lady Cranford’s concert last evening. And he had not been here so far this afternoon. She had been glad of it on both occasions. There was something about him that never failed to ruffle her calm.