Crossed Quills Page 5

  “I’m not besotted, I love her. And she’s going to the Hall this morning to play duets on the pianoforte. Got a new one. The Ruddocks, that is. Heard ‘em talking about it. I know a slow-top like me hasn’t a chance with her, but I thought maybe she wouldn’t mind if I went to listen.”

  “Why shouldn’t you have a chance with her? You’re heir to a barony, and plump in the pocket besides. She may not know it, and you can’t very well puff off your own consequence, but I can easily drop a tactful mention in passing. You’d be a splendid match for a purse-pinched girl stuck here in the country with a village idiot for her only suitor.”

  “If Ruddock were the only one,” Chubby said gloomily. “But there are bound to be others about the place, and worse still, she told me her mama has saved up to give her a Season in London. She’ll have all the eligibles on the Town flocking after her.”

  Wynn doubted it, but to say so not only might raise unwarranted hopes in Chubby’s breast, but would cast aspersions on his beloved. While he wondered what to say, Mrs Bucket heaved into sight.

  “Off your grub, your worship?” she enquired sympathetically.

  “I’m afraid I’m not very hungry,” Wynn agreed.

  “‘Spect Mistress Wynn set a good feed afore you yestre’en. Ah well, the pig’ll eat it.” Picking up his plate and Chubby’s empty one, she waddled out.

  The empty plate almost made Wynn take his friend’s sentiments seriously. Gilbert Chubb was usually quite particular about what he ate. To consume his breakfast without noticing that it was virtually inedible was the equivalent in him of the traditional lovesick swain’s loss of appetite.

  On the other hand, Chubby had reached the advanced age of eight-and-twenty without ever suffering the pangs of calf-love. Very likely that was all that ailed him now, the more painful for being a belated case. If so, the more he saw of the object of his infatuation, the sooner he’d be cured. Miss Kitty could not possibly be the paragon he believed.

  “I’ll come up to the Hall with you,” Wynn decided. “Mrs Lisle isn’t expecting me till noon. Let’s hope she will invite us to eat a nuncheon!”

  Miss Kitty and Miss Ruddock were nothing loath to have an audience of gentlemen for their duets. However, Mary Ruddock’s pleasure in entertaining a lord clearly far outweighed Kitty Lisle’s in Chubby’s attendance. She greeted him with friendly equanimity and paid him no more attention than she did Wynn, or her friend Mary.

  With Mary present, Chubby lapsed into taciturnity, his few utterances brief and incoherent. His manners were too good to allow him to sit and stare at Kitty like a booby, but he was incapable of doing anything to advance himself in her affections.

  Just as well, Wynn thought. He did not want his best friend to marry and retire to the country to raise a family just when his own political ambitions were going to fix him in London for a good part of the year.

  He was further reassured by Miss Kitty’s tranquil farewells. She was to spend all day at the Hall. Wynn had to depart at midday to call upon her mother, and Chubby could not properly prolong his visit.

  When they took their leave, Kitty smiled and said gaily, “I did not forget the leek soup, Mr Chubb. I copied out the receipt, but I left it at home for you since I did not expect to see you again. Ask my sister, she knows where I put it.” Brushing aside Chubby’s stammered thanks, she turned to Wynn, a mischievous look in her eyes. “I do hope you come to an agreement with Prometheus, sir. I am excessively fond of Prometheus.”

  Chubby groaned as they walked down the carriage-drive towards the village. “She’s in love with that damned fellow Prometheus. I thought he was an old man.”

  “I fancy not,” Wynn said hesitantly.

  “You found out that much about him, did you?”

  “Not exactly. I suspect he’s a youngish man because I believe Miss Lisle’s in love with him, too. Why else should she be so protective of him?”

  “Good gad, the fellow’s a regular Turk!”

  “This is England. Console yourself, he can’t have ‘em both.”

  “Perhaps not,” Chubby gloomed, his round, usually cheerful face set in lines of despondency, “but he’ll choose Miss Kitty. Stands to reason, she’s younger and ten times prettier.”

  “Not ten times,” Wynn protested.

  “To me she is,” Chubby maintained stoutly. “Prettiest thing I ever saw. And the kindest heart in the kingdom.”

  “Spare me your raptures, old chap. I must collect my arguments in case this rural Lothario needs further persuasion.”

  As they walked on in silence, Chubby picked up a stick and cut viciously at the nettles in the ditch as if each one represented the rural Lothario’s neck.

  No persuasive arguments came to Wynn. Instead, he found himself considering what would happen if Prometheus agreed to help. Would he come up to London or, horrid thought, might he expect Wynn to stay on at the appalling Jolly Bodger while consulting him?

  Miss Lisle would surely go to stay in Town with her mother and sister, if Chubby had correctly understood their plans. No doubt Prometheus would choose to go too, to be near his sweetheart. Which of the young ladies did he prefer? Or was he making up to both, the blackguard?

  Mrs Lisle seemed utterly unsuspecting of the villain she regarded as an intimate friend of the family. Intimate, ha! Ought Wynn to warn her?

  Suddenly recognizing his ruminations as the beginning of a Gothic plot, Wynn laughed aloud. However he started out, everything turned to melodrama, which was precisely why he needed Prometheus’s assistance. Doubtless the fellow was perfectly inoffensive, and it made no difference to Wynn which of the Lisle sisters he preferred.

  “All very well for you to laugh,” Chubby said accusingly. “You ain’t in love.”

  “Thank heaven!” said Wynn.

  Sweetbriar Cottage came into sight just as a pale wash of sunlight slithered between the clouds. In the beech hedge, still hung with last year’s sere leaves, glossy brown buds swelled with promise. A wren, already nest-building, chattered in noisy annoyance as the gentlemen approached. Pushing open the white gate, Wynn saw that several bright yellow crocuses had burst into bloom overnight.

  “Cheer up,” he said, “Spring is on its way. At least once Miss Kitty’s in London you’ll be able to see her.”

  Chubby brightened. “That’s right. I couldn’t very well keep popping down here, could I? I’ll make sure to get their direction in Town before we leave.”

  The maid ushered them into the small parlour. By daylight, without a crowd of people, Wynn saw how shabby it was. Polished wood gleamed, but the upholstery stuffs, once patterned, had faded to a nearly uniform murky rose. A colourful hooked rug on the floor all too obviously hid a worn spot in the threadbare carpet.

  All in all, it reminded him of the rectory where he grew up. He himself had been quite a dab at hooking a rug.

  Mrs Lisle looked up from her needlework with a smile, a greeting, and an invitation to be seated. Bowing, Wynn looked questioningly at Miss Lisle, who stood by the window as if she had been watching for their arrival.

  Reluctance in every line of her slender figure, she came forward and sat down, thus allowing the gentlemen to take their seats.

  “Has Prometheus reached a decision, ma’am?” Wynn asked Mrs Lisle eagerly.

  “Yes, I have a decision to pass on to you. I hope you will not take it amiss.”

  His spirits sinking, Wynn glanced around the room, though he knew quite well no stranger was there. “He is not here. It is a negative I suppose.”

  “On the contrary. Prometheus is willing to help you.”

  “He is coming?” Wynn started up. “Or does he wish me to go to him? How I look forward to meeting him!”

  “I fear you will be disappointed. I am not permitted to introduce you. Prometheus wishes to remain incognito and to work with you, as with Mr Cobbett, entirely through my daughter.” Mrs Lisle smiled slightly at Wynn’s astonishment. “Pippa was used to help her papa, you know. She is quite competent
to...to act as intermediary, let us say.”

  Wynn turned to Pippa. “Miss Lisle, far be it from me to doubt your competence. I hate to be instrumental in placing such a burden on your shoulders. You must have better things to do with your time.”

  “No.” She shook her head, a hint of irony in the quirk of her lips. “What could be better than helping to forward Papa’s favourite causes? But before you rejoice, wait until you have heard what further conditions Prometheus has set, what payment is to be exacted.”

  “I am willing to pay any reasonable sum, ma’am,” Wynn assured Mrs Lisle, “but...conditions?”

  For the first time in their admittedly brief acquaintance, the widow looked a trifle discomposed. “The payment is not in money,” she said with an air of dogged determination. “You must understand, Prometheus was my husband’s pupil and intimate associate, and remains closely concerned with the family. The recompense required for assisting you is that you provide an entrée into the best Society for Kitty and Pippa.”

  If Wynn was startled, so was Miss Lisle, who cried in obvious dismay, “But, Mama—”

  “For both my daughters,” Mrs Lisle cut her off firmly. “Pippa has already made her come out, but that is no reason for her to miss the pleasures of the Season.”

  “No indeed, ma’am,” Wynn agreed, with a glance of pitying sympathy for Pippa. If Prometheus wanted her introduced into the Marriage Mart that was the London Season, he certainly could have no urgent desire to make her his bride, poor girl. Nor Kitty neither, apparently. An Adonis, perhaps, rather than a Lothario, the pursued, not the pursuer.

  Pippa was furious. She was annoyed with her mother, who had said she could decide for herself about venturing upon a second Season, and she bitterly resented Lord Selworth’s condescending pity.

  Who was he to make it obvious he expected her to repeat her failure? She and Mama must both be mistaken in believing her looks had improved. Mama was partial, but how could Pippa, with her vaunted intelligence, have so misled herself? She was as plain and as gauche as ever, and an ape-leader to boot, she thought miserably.

  “You cannot do it, can you?” she said sharply to Lord Selworth, who had lapsed into a reflective silence. “I daresay your credit would not survive foisting such an unfashionable family upon the Ton.”

  He gave her a smile of such dazzling sweetness that her anger evaporated like dew in the sun. “Not at all, Miss Lisle. The sad fact is that I am too new-come to the title to have any credit with the haut ton. I cannot suppose my sponsorship would do you any good.”

  “Need a lady anyway,” Chubby blurted out. He crimsoned but ploughed on gamely, “Gentleman can’t sponsor ladies, old fellow, with the best credit and the best will in the world.”

  Lord Selworth turned his smile on his friend. “Just what I was thinking, my dear chap. Fortunately, there is a lady waiting in the wings, and one who already knows Miss Lisle. Please convey to Prometheus, ma’am, that I accede to his requests so far as is in my power. Now all depends on my sister. And, to tell the truth, I shall be mightily surprised if Bina refuses her aid.”

  Recalling Albinia’s worship of her brother, and considering her steadfast friendship, Pippa rather doubted it, too.

  Chapter 5

  “Of course I had Mrs Debenham in mind, dearest,” said Mrs Lisle complacently, when the gentlemen, after a neat nuncheon, had departed for London. “Most implausible for Prometheus, however, so I could not mention her without making it apparent that I had a hand in the proposal, which would not serve.”

  “Gracious no!” Pippa shuddered. “I pray he never finds out. From Prometheus it is a generous notion; from us, the beneficiaries, both encroaching and shockingly self-serving.”

  “Far from it, my love! Your sister is the beneficiary, and it was not her notion. She is worth a little roundaboutation, is she not?”

  “I agreed to do it, did I not? But talking of roundaboutation, Mama, you said I was to decide for myself whether to take part in the Season’s entertainments. Now Lord Selworth expects me to go to balls and parties and I shall be the most d-dreadful f-failure again!” Ending on a wail, Pippa felt for her handkerchief.

  “You will not!” her mother said adamantly. “Have a little faith in yourself, Pippa. Actually, what I meant was that it was your decision whether to agree to the whole scheme.”

  “That is not what it sounded like,” Pippa sniffed.

  “No, it was carefully worded.”

  “Mama, I do believe you grow quite hardened in deceit!”

  “I trust you noticed,” Mrs Lisle said with pride, “I did not once refer to Prometheus as ‘he’ or ‘him.’“

  Pippa had to smile. “Yes, I noticed. But that does not change the fact that you told Lord Selworth I shall take part in the Season.”

  “Think, dearest! I had to. Mrs Debenham is your friend. Even I have not the sheer effrontery to ask her to sponsor Kitty alone. I hope you will go to one or two dances at least, to see how you go on, but if you hate it, my love, you know I shall not force you to continue.”

  Dropping to the floor, Pippa rested her cheek against her mother’s knee. “Oh Mama, I dread it so.”

  “I know, Pippa love, but give it a chance.” Mrs Lisle stroked her hair. “I cannot bear for you to wither away into an old maid, or worse, to become Mrs Postlethwaite! Not that I mean to say the vicar is not a worthy man, and kind in his way.”

  “It was kind in Lord Selworth, was it not, to offer to find us a place to stay in London?”

  “Yes indeed. I do not know how we should contrive without his assistance. Most houses will be taken already at this late date, and I cannot afford to pay enough to give us much choice at the best of times. I hope Kitty will not be disappointed to be living in an unfashionable district.”

  “She will learn to know her true friends by whether they consider themselves too grand to call,” Pippa said tartly. “Dearest Mama, how can she, or I, be disappointed when we have the best mama in the world?”

  Mrs Lisle smiled. “I trust you will one day discover,” she said softly, “that what a mother does for her children she does to please herself. Well then, I hope we shall not all be disappointed. It is by no means certain that Mrs Debenham will choose to support her brother. For all we know, she disapproves of his Radical views.”

  * * * *

  “Wynn, the most vexatious thing!” Millicent jumped up and ran to meet her brother at the drawing-room door. Hanging on his arm, she prattled on, “Some horrid busybody has persuaded Mama that Bina is too young to be a proper chaperon for me. Mama says she will come to lend us countenance, but Bina says we must not tear her away from the children and Papa, and the only other person who will do is George’s horrid Aunt Prendergast. Wynn, I cannot bear—”

  “Hush, chatterbox! And pray don’t let me hear you speaking ill of George’s relatives.” Detaching her from his sleeve, over her blond head he gave his brother-in-law a wry nod. “Especially in his presence! Apologize, Millie.”

  “Well, I’m sorry, George, but it was you who told me—”

  “It’s all too true,” George Debenham interrupted, having already learnt the necessity if one was to make oneself heard in his young sister-in-law’s presence. A tall, dark, rather saturnine gentleman, he moved forward and shook Wynn’s hand. “I wouldn’t wish my aunt on anyone, and poor Bina is in despair.”

  “But there is no one else, Wynn,” Millie moaned. “Neither George nor Mama and Papa have any relatives both suitable and available. I do think Mama could leave the children now that there are servants to take care of them and Papa, but Bina says—”

  “Bina says,” said that lady as Wynn bent to kiss her cheek, noting that she looked more determined than despairing, “Mama hates to be away from the young ones and Papa, and hates London. I recall all too well how she pined when she brought me up for my Season. I will not be responsible for putting her through the misery again.”

  “Quite right,” Wynn seconded her. Her unruffled firmness re
minded him strongly of Mrs Lisle. A splendid notion struck him. “Hush, infant,” he ordered, raising his hand as Millie started to babble again. “If you will only let me think, I may have the answer.”

  In a pregnant silence, he sat down, absently accepting the glass of Madeira Debenham inserted into his hand.

  Mrs Lisle lacked connections in the Beau Monde, but she was perfectly respectable. Bina had the connections, through her husband, but lacked an older lady to lend her countenance as a chaperon. She was acquainted with Mrs Lisle, and she was Pippa Lisle’s friend.

  On the other hand, Debenham had at most a fleeting acquaintance with the Lisles, and several years ago. Was it too much to ask him to take into his house three females of whom he knew next to nothing? Was it too much to ask of Millie, to share her Season fully with Kitty Lisle rather than just having Bina invite the Lisles to a few parties?

  He looked at Millicent, sitting on the edge of her chair with her eager gaze fixed on her brother. Her mouth opened, but closed again at his frown. Apart from the ever-wagging tongue, she was amiable enough, a pretty chit in her new, modish morning gown, with blue eyes and the fair hair inherited from their mother, but no conceited beauty. The contrast with Kitty’s darkness would be a charming sight for connoisseurs of feminine pulchritude.

  And Kitty’s availability as a listener might do much to spare Albinia from the ever-wagging tongue.

  “Wynn, what is it?” Millie’s muteness had reached its outer limit. “What is the answer? Have you remembered another aunt? It does not matter if she is quite decrepit for all she need do is live here and be respectably elderly while Bina takes me to parties and—”

  “Not an aunt, and not in the least decrepit. But—forgive me, Millie, and you too, Debenham—this is something I must discuss privately with Bina. If she mislikes the idea, it need go no further. Otherwise, nothing shall be done without the assent of both of you.”

  “I should hope not,” Debenham growled with a mock ferocious glance at Albinia.

  “Nothing shall be done without your consent, husband mine,” she said tranquilly.