Читать книгу The Louise Allen Collection: The Viscount's Betrothal / The Society Catch - Louise Allen - Страница 27

‘I regret that his lordship is not at home, ma’am.’

‘I saw movement in this room as the carriage arrived.’ Decima wondered from whence Mrs Channing got her overwhelming self-confidence.

‘You must have glimpsed me, ma’am. I was just ascertaining that his lordship’s inkwells had been filled. One cannot rely on new footmen, I regret to say. Would you and Miss Channing care to take some refreshments in the salon, ma’am?’

‘When will Lord Weston return?’ Mrs Channing was obviously not best pleased to find her quarry not available.

‘I really could not say, ma’am. I am quite unable to speculate on what his lordship might be doing at this moment.’ The butler’s voice faded as the study door was shut.

‘The old devil,’ Adam muttered against Decima’s cheek. ‘I am unable to speculate indeed! Are you giggling?’

‘Yes,’ Decima admitted, struggling to suppress her chuckles. ‘I have to say, you do have the most unconventional servants.’

‘I know. That’s what comes of inheriting most of them. They have known me since I was a grubby brat in nankeens; although they normally do their utmost to preserve my dignity, I suspect it is for their own self-esteem, not mine. If you could try and giggle without wriggling I would be grateful.’

‘S…sorry,’ Decima managed to gasp. ‘Why? Do you think we might be heard?’

‘No, because I very badly want to kiss you.’ He said it in a matter-of-fact whisper that effectively stifled the slightest desire to laugh.

‘Adam! Olivia is in the next room!’ Decima pulled herself together. ‘In any case, you should not be thinking such a thing, it is highly improper.’

‘I’d have to be a hundred and ten not to be thinking such things in this position,’ he said darkly. ‘I don’t think we could be any closer together unless we removed all our clothes.’ Decima gave a small squeak of alarm and felt, more than heard, his gasp of amusement against her neck. ‘Relax, I’m not a contortionist.’

There was not much to be said in response to that—nothing that was not repulsively missish or unbecomingly forward. Decima decided that silence was the best tactic and tried to keep still. It was not easy. She was pressed against Adam in a way that was both intimate and uncomfortable; the edge of the shelf on which she was perched was cutting into her behind and what felt like a large volume was digging into the nape of her neck. But, recalling Henry’s various pieces of advice on the way that men’s minds worked, she supposed that finding himself in such close proximity to any young woman would result in Adam wanting to kiss her. She certainly should not attribute it to any particular desire for herself.

‘Do you think it is safe to come out now?’ she whispered.

‘Probably. Are you uncomfortable?’

‘Very.’

‘So am I. Delightfully so,’ he added, so quietly she thought she must have misheard. There was a crowded minute while Adam attempted to get his hands behind him to open the door. ‘Unfortunately there is no handle on the inside and Dalrymple appears to have locked the door.’

Decima succumbed to the cramp in her neck and let her forehead rest on Adam’s chest. It felt so good.

‘Am I forgiven?’ he asked.

‘For hitting poor Charlton? Yes, I forgive you, if you will forgive me for believing you would treat Pru and Bates so badly.’

‘I think I can do that.’ He was smiling, she could hear it in his voice. ‘Has your brother forbidden you from having anything to do with me again?’

‘Mmm. He is quite right, of course.’ Decima wondered if the crick in her back was enough excuse for trying to insinuate her arms around Adam and snuggling closer. She rather thought that a lady of refinement and true modesty would die before doing such a thing. Regrettably this seemed to prove she was neither refined, nor modest, any longer. Fortunately, as her arms were trapped by a stack of files, she was prevented from giving way to temptation.

‘Do you intend to obey him?’ Decima jerked herself back to attention. She had begun to drift off into an uncomfortable, yet sensual, doze. ‘Only I really do need your help.’

‘I thought I should,’ she replied, trying to sound as businesslike as possible while whispering. ‘What do you want?’

There was a pause while Decima decided she could have phrased that better, but Adam made no disconcerting response. ‘I wondered if you and Sir Henry might join Olivia and me on a trip out of town one day soon. I’ve inherited a small estate near Bushey and I cannot decide whether to keep it or not. I want to show it to Olivia, see if she takes a fancy to it, otherwise I will place it on the market.’

There were major objections to this; Decima had to give it no thought at all to see that. It would place her in exactly the position of intimacy with Adam that she knew she should avoid—Charlton would be livid if he found out—and it would throw Henry and Olivia together again. Henry’s feelings for Miss Channing had not faded, Decima could tell, however much he tried to cover it up. She wondered if hers for Adam were as obvious to someone who knew her well.

‘Please?’ Adam injected a wheedling tone into his voice, which made her smile. She doubted that he ever had much need to wheedle and was not convinced it was genuine now. They were playing a game, they both knew it—and she had no idea how they had got there. ‘If you don’t come, I will have to take Mrs Channing and I really feel another man is necessary, just in case of any problems on the road. Olivia is shy, she would feel more comfortable with you and Freshford.’

‘If Henry agrees, yes, I will.’ She had opened her mouth, intending to refuse the invitation, but somewhere between drawing in breath and speaking something else had taken over. The rebellious other self was stirring again, dangerously.

As if her capitulation was a signal, there was the grate of a key in the lock and the door swung open. Adam stepped back to save himself from falling and Decima tumbled out into his arms. Dalrymple managed to keep his face straight, despite the unseemly spectacle she knew they must present.

‘Mrs and Miss Channing have departed, my lord. They intend returning this afternoon. Mrs Channing was good enough to confide in me that she wished to discuss arrangements for the honeymoon, my lord.’

‘Does she, by God?’ Adam snarled, steadying Decima, who was staggering slightly as her stiff limbs regained their balance.

‘So she gives me to understand,’ Dalrymple responded tranquilly. ‘Might I fetch you refreshments, Miss Ross? No? I regret the necessity of locking you into the cupboard, but I feared the door might swing open again if I did not.’

‘Have you been speaking to Bates?’ Adam enquired, regarding the butler with suspicion.

‘No, my lord, not for a day, at any rate. Miss Ross’s woman is in the kitchen, my lord.’ He paused on his way out. ‘Mrs Channing was also gracious enough to confide that she is going out of town for a few days, leaving Miss Channing to the chaperonage of her cousin.’

‘How very convenient.’ Adam stood looking out of the window, all the fun and the teasing gone from his face. ‘I will speak to Olivia about the house in Bushey this afternoon. If I were to send you a note, perhaps you would be good enough to let me know when you and Sir Henry could accompany us.’

‘Will Mrs Channing not want you to wait so she can go with you?’

‘Probably.’ He grinned suddenly and Decima forgot all her good resolutions in a swamping tide of love and longing. ‘I will tell her I have a good offer and must make up my mind soon—which is true enough. She won’t want me selling it, not after I have described it. The more properties Olivia becomes mistress of the better, in her eyes.’ He stopped looking out of the window and turned the smile on Decima. ‘And she approves of you, so she will not think twice about you chaperoning Olivia. Please, Decima—save me from an entire day of my future mama-in-law.’

The reminder of the role Mrs Channing was destined to play in Adam’s life was sobering. Decima hesitated, torn between what she knew was her duty and the temptation of one last day with Adam. ‘I will ask Henry,’ she temporised. And Henry might either feel the same about being with Olivia, or might think that the pain of being in her company outweighed the pleasure—or the strain on his acting skills in not revealing his feelings. ‘It sounds delightful. Will we need a picnic?’

‘I will ensure we have the very best,’ Adam promised. ‘Now, I think we had better see you out through the kitchen door for discretion.’ He seemed quite normal, chatting of inconsequential things as he escorted her down the back stairs and into the kitchen, earning a scold from Cook for bringing a lady below stairs.

But Decima, even distracted as she was by Pru’s guilty air, noticed something new about him. It was as though he was watching, planning, waiting with a kind of tension that held nothing of apprehension and everything of excitement and determination. She was as conscious of him as a man, of his strength and his will, as when she had been rescued by him in the snow or when he had caught her in his arms and made love to her.

It was an effort to collect herself to greet Cook, nod pleasantly to the kitchen maids and take an indifferent, formal leave of Adam. What his staff thought of her choice of exit she had no idea, but no doubt they were too well-paid and well-managed to presume to either comment or speculate.

Once she and Pru were safely in the carriage and the vehicle in motion, the maid began to fidget. Decima refrained from speaking for a long minute, increasing Pru’s discomfort until at last she burst out, ‘Is it all right, Miss Decima? You and his lordship are speaking again?’

‘No, it is not all right, Pru! You lied to me, did you not? No, don’t try and tell me what you said—you may have been very careful, but you deliberately left me with the impression that Lord Weston had warned Bates off marrying you simply because we had had a falling out. Did you not?’

‘Yes’m.’ Pru had her head down and the reply emerged as a painful mutter. Then she looked up and burst out, ‘He ought to be marrying you, Miss Decima, not that washed-out little Miss Channing. You love him.’

Denying it seemed futile. Decima ignored the statement. ‘He is engaged to be married. Even if he has made a mistake—which I am not saying he has, so do not quote that back to me, if you please!—he cannot honourably withdraw.’

‘She ought to,’ Pru said mutinously. ‘She could if she wasn’t so hen-hearted.’

‘Would you have the courage to disobey Mrs Channing?’ Decima enquired tartly. ‘Poor Olivia is terrified of her mother and she deserves her chance to make her own life and be happy.’

‘Well, and so do you,’ Pru retorted. ‘Men haven’t the wit they were born with, most of them. You have to write a sign and wave it under their noses afore they’ll see what a woman’s feeling.’

‘So you are thinking better of marriage to Bates, are you?’ Decima enquired wickedly.

‘No. He needs looking after,’ Pru declared. ‘I’ll make something of him.’

Henry was at home when Decima returned and she caught him alone to tell him about her morning. He nodded gravely as she recounted her uncomfortable visit to the Carmichaels.

‘I’m glad you’ve made peace again. Does Charlton insist upon you going to stay with him and Lady Carmichael?’

‘He tried to.’ Decima pulled off her gloves and went to curl up on the sofa next to Henry’s writing desk. He seemed to be working his way through an alarming stack of correspondence, much of which looked like modistes’ bills to Decima’s newly experienced eye, and did not seem unhappy at being distracted. Doubtless launching a sister into society was not a cheap exercise.

‘I refused, but, of course, if you or Lady Freshford would rather I didn’t stay after yesterday, I will leave, naturally. I know I am refining too much upon going there—I’m sure it will be all right once he realises that I’m independent.’

‘No, please stay.’ Henry grinned at her. ‘We would hate to lose you—even Starling has consented to withdraw his resignation. Now, tell me about your encounter with LordWeston.’

Decima did so, not even omitting the episode in the study cupboard, which made Henry roar with laughter. ‘Oh, lord! Can you imagine Starling bundling me into a cupboard to save me from a compromising situation?’

Decima had to confess she could not. The image was so ludicrous that she felt she had better stay away from the butler until she could command her face. Then the thought of the rest of her news sobered her.

‘That is not all. Adam wishes us to accompany him and Olivia on an expedition to visit an estate at Bushey.’ She explained what Adam had told her, watching Henry’s reaction. ‘I had a stiff wrestle with my conscience,’ she admitted, ‘and I finally gave in, although I have not told him so yet. It will be a treat to reward myself for exercising the utmost discretion ever afterwards. But I was not sure how you would feel—’ She broke off, catching her lower lip between her teeth anxiously. ‘I thought perhaps you might feel the same about Olivia. Or it might be too painful…’ Henry was silent, tapping the edge of a milliner’s bill with one fingernail. ‘Or perhaps you no longer feel…’

‘Oh, I feel—I feel just the same about her,’ he admitted eventually. ‘And I expect I will yield to temptation, one last time, just as you intend to. Do you remember we discussed how one knew if one was in love? Ironic, is it not? I wish I had stayed ignorant.’

The bitterness that was suddenly in his voice stung and Decima winced. How could people find sport and entertainment in match-making? For every happy union they brought about, how many broken hearts were there? Still, Pru and Bates would be all right, of that she was certain.

Adam’s promised note arrived later that afternoon, suggesting an expedition in two days’ time, providing the good weather held. There was a separate note for Henry, who read it with raised brows.

‘What is it?’ Decima asked, watching his thoughtful face.

‘Weston urges me to accompany you as he has some concerns after recent reports of footpads in the area. He says he has no real fears, but would feel happier about going if there was another gentleman to take care of the ladies, as opposed to grooms.’

‘Do you think it dangerous?’ Decima queried.

‘No.’ Henry shook his head. ‘There have been reports, but only occasional ones, and not of any attempts upon parties. Single riders, or people alone in a gig might perhaps be at risk, but two gentlemen will be quite sufficient, even if Weston does not intend to take a groom as well. I will put my carriage pistols in the curricle.’

‘You intend to come with us, then?’

Henry smiled wryly. ‘I do not believe there is any danger, but I could not let either you or Olivia go without my escort. Irrational, is it not?’

The morning of the expedition dawned fair with a clear sky and the promise of sunshine. Decima resisted, with a pang, Pru’s efforts to persuade her to wear her newest, and very dashing, walking dress, and settled instead for a more modest outfit in moss green with a braided hem and a darker green pelisse and veiled bonnet. She was not going to try and compete with Olivia, as if that were possible. Today she was an onlooker, there to give Olivia feminine company—and to bid farewell to her heart.

Henry seemed in much the same, subdued mood. As Dalrymple showed them into the salon where Olivia and Adam were waiting, Decima saw how his eyes locked with Olivia’s and held for a few betraying moments. Then Olivia was her usual sweet, shy self, eyes downcast except for rapid, flickering glances at Adam.

Had he noticed anything? He was discussing the route with Henry perfectly amicably. Decima puzzled how, when he seemed so observant over everything else, he seemed unconscious of the attraction between his fiancée and Henry. Perhaps it was simply that because his affections were not deeply engaged it made him less sensitive to her. Poor Olivia. For perhaps the first time in her life Decima wondered if remaining single was not an enviable thing.

‘Daydreaming, Miss Ross?’ Adam enquired. Decima realised the others were all on their feet and making ready to go. She forced a smile and shook her head, ‘No, just thinking about tomorrow.’ And all the days after that. ‘Do you think this fine weather will last?’

Bates and another groom were holding the heads of the horses at the front door. He exchanged nods with Adam, then, when he saw she was looking at him, he knuckled his forehead. ‘Morning, Miss Ross, ma’am.’

‘Good morning, Bates.’ She wondered whether she should show her disapproval for the scheming he and Pru had been up to, then smiled. ‘Are you coming with us?’

‘No, ma’am. My leg’s still playing up too much for a long ride.’

They set off, Adam’s carriage in the lead. Both men had chosen to bring ordinary curricles and Decima could only be grateful. Being tooled around Hyde Park by Henry in his high-perch version was all very well on well-rolled tan surfaces and for short distances, but she did not relish the thought of it swaying over country roads, with the passengers sitting several feet off the ground.

She found she was watching Adam’s back as he negotiated the traffic, handling the team lightly through the confusion of carriages and carts. But even he seemed taken by surprise as a rapidly moving shape slid soundlessly out of Upper Brook Street. His team sidled and shied, then he had them under control again and the strange vehicle had passed.

‘What on earth was that?’ Decima craned to see it, but it had vanished.

‘A pedestrian hobbyhorse, I believe.’ Henry settled his own horses as they took exception to a coal heaver’s cart. ‘They’re supposed to be the next big thing—I think they should be banned. It’ll be steam engines on the roads next, frightening the horses.’

‘It looked fun,’ Decima said wistfully. ‘Not as good as a horse, naturally, but think how convenient for town use—no waiting for it to be saddled up and fetched from the mews.’

‘They do say there is a ladies’ version with three wheels.’ Henry checked his team, then followed Adam’s lead into Edgware Road. ‘But how one could ride one of those things side saddle and still propel it defeats me.’

They bickered amicably over the merits of new inventions, Decima teased Henry about investing in steam engines and then condemning them if they might inconvenience him, and they looked with interest at the route of the new Regent’s Canal as they crossed it just before Maida Vale.

Henry gave his team their head as they came to Shoot Up Hill and drew alongside the other curricle as the hamlet of Crickle-wood hove into view. Adam looked over and grinned. ‘Do you want to race? First past the Dog and Duck in the High Street?’

Decima’s eyes sparkled and she took a firm grip on the side rails, but a squeak of alarm from Olivia was greeted by a firm refusal by Henry. ‘I think not, Weston—it would alarm the ladies.’

‘No, it would not,’ Decima said crossly as they dropped back to follow once more. ‘Not that you would win, Henry,’ she added to take her revenge. ‘That is a particularly fine team Adam’s driving.’

‘Not bad,’ Henry admitted grudgingly. ‘But mine has the better bone.’

That minor squabble lasted all the way until they crossed the River Brent, by which time Henry was maintaining that he was blowed if he was going to advise Decima on the purchase of horses in the future if she had so little faith in his judgement.

Decima finally gave in with a laugh. ‘Henry, we sound like brother and sister, arguing like this! I yield absolutely—Adam’s team will break down with splints and spavins at any moment and I bow unreservedly to you in the selection of a pair for my phaeton.’

‘What phaeton?’ he enquired suspiciously.

‘The one you are going to assist me in purchasing next week,’ she responded. ‘I intend to cut a dash in the parks.’

‘Your brother will have kittens,’ Henry observed. ‘And I will figure large in his conversation as the man who led you astray. Not a high-perch, I devoutly hope?’

‘Not until I have mastered the ordinary type,’ Decima promised. ‘Then I will take Charlton for a drive. Now what?’ Adam had come to a halt and she could not help noticing Henry feeling under his seat as he reined in, as though to reassure himself something was there. His pistols, no doubt.

But it was only a large wain being backed across the road by two heavy horses with an alert-looking lad at their heads. Adam drew abreast as the heavy wagon straightened up and Decima saw the lad pointing up ahead, then tugging his lank forelock as Adam sent a coin spinning in his direction. He caught it neatly and grinned as the two carriages bowled past.

‘Where are we?’ Decima queried, looking round at the gently rolling countryside. ‘I do not think I have ever been so far north on this road.’

‘Hendon’s over there…’ Henry gestured with his whip to their right ‘…but I don’t know what this hamlet is. Looks as though Weston’s found us an inn, though.’

Decima, who had been beginning to think that she had drunk too many cups of tea at breakfast for comfort on a long drive, greeted that news with some enthusiasm. It proved to be a substantial, ancient place, rambling with lean-to extensions under a thatched roof.

Decima’s discreet questioning of the landlady produced directions to an airy privy at the bottom of the garden, neatly placed between the chicken run and the woodpile. Olivia came with her, blushing frantically at the thought that anyone might guess where they were going.

‘Thank you for asking,’ she whispered. ‘I would never have liked to do so. I feel so conspicuous. Mama says a lady should simply not drink before setting out, but I became so thirsty.’

Decima chuckled. ‘It is why so many privies are next to the woodpile. Then the maids can pretend that is all they’ve come out for and it means they always come back in with an armful of wood. That or they feed the chickens.’

Olivia smiled. ‘What a good idea! I do wish I was as brave and as practical as you are, Decima. I know I must disappoint Lord Weston—he admires your spirit so much.’

‘He does?’ But Olivia had slipped into the privy, pulling the wooden door with its cut-out half-moons shut behind her, and Decima was left addressing a small flock of brown bantams who eyed her hopefully for kitchen scraps.