Lysander's Lady Page 11

  Mr. Derwent, who had his back to the door, observed a stunned expression to pass over the faces of the other two gentlemen, while his mother opened and shut her mouth once or twice without seeming capable of uttering a word. He turned to behold a vision of loveliness advancing towards him. Miss Honeywell’s gown was a mist of white net, embroidered with small brilliants and caught by silver bows over a diaphanous petticoat of silver tissue. The daringly low-cut neckline was outlined by ruched velvet of a colour to match the sapphires sparkling at her throat and wrists, while the same rich blue was reflected in a ribbon cunningly twisted through her gleaming locks and in the rosettes upon her silver slippers.

  Lord Bambury raised his quizzing-glass the better to inspect this refreshing vision, and upon being presented, promptly claimed the privilege of near acquaintance.

  ‘My dear young lady,’ said he, kissing her soundly upon the cheek, ‘I was one of your mother’s earliest admirers. Allow me to make my son known to you.’

  The Honourable Aloysius Pennefather was a shortish, squarish young man, with a countenance singularly devoid of animation. Miss Honeywell bestowed upon him a smile of such brilliance as to cause him to blink rapidly several times and render him quite incapable of speech. Then Mr. Dacres joined them, followed closely by other guests, among them Mr. and Mrs. George Lamb, Colonel Endersby with his vivacious, gossipy little wife, and in their wake a gravely beautiful young woman, whose modest gown of dove-grey crape did nothing to conceal her elegance of form and grace of movement.

  At sight of her Mr. Derwent’s brows knitted in a faint frown. What unfortunate impulse had prompted his mama to include Draycott’s sister among her guests? He consoled himself with the thought that Miss Honeywell was unlikely to be aware of the connection, and stepped forward to greet the lady. After a short conversation, he led her over to Kate.

  ‘Lady Harveston has been living out of London for some time. I understand we are to see more of you now, ma’am?’

  ‘Yes, I have taken a house in Albemarle Street which, if I care for the situation, I may later purchase.’

  Her soft voice was diffident to the point of shyness, yet she carried herself with such unaffected dignity that it was plain she was no stranger to society.

  ‘Then we must all be on our mettle lest you should take us in aversion and retire again to your country fastness!’ Lysander quizzed her gallantly.

  Miss Honeywell was about to enquire just where this rural retreat might be when Bates flung wide the double doors to announce with a marked tremor in his voice: ‘Lady Sophia Trennick and my lord of Wayleigh.’

  CHAPTER

  EIGHT

  The first to recover from the shock of this declaration was Mr. Derwent, who quickly stepped to his mother’s side and led her forward to greet the new arrivals. The Marquis was all civility.

  ‘I beg that your ladyship will forgive the intrusion, but my brother is not feeling at all the thing and, not wishing to disarrange your table, I have presumed to offer myself in his place.’

  Miss Honeywell heard nothing of her ladyship’s reply, for her attention was caught by another curious circumstance. The Dowager, Mr. Derwent and, to a lesser degree, she herself might reasonably be expected to be taken aback by this unexpected cornea bout. But why it should so affect Lady Harveston as to cause her to become deathly pale and catch at a chair-back for support, had her at a loss.

  ‘You are ill, ma’am? Pray be seated and I will fetch a glass of wine.’

  ‘No, no, say nothing, if you please. It—it will pass. The heat, I have no doubt.’

  As they were standing close to a fire which consisted of the greater part of a tree-trunk roaring up the chimney, this seemed a reasonable enough explanation, and Kate had no time for further conjecture for the Marquis was being presented to her.

  ‘Miss Honeywell, my lord, a goddaughter of my mother’s, from the Cape.’

  Mr. Derwent was being very correct and so, to Kate’s surprise, was the Marquis, who had put himself out to be a tremendous swell, his undeniably fine figure attired in the very first stare of fashion. She braced herself to hear him claim acquaintance, but there was no recognition in the cool regard that slid carelessly over her person. Then, for an instant, as he took her hand, a hint of something like interest showed in the pale eyes as they looked over her shoulder and met those of Lady Harveston standing behind her. But he submitted to being presented to that lady also with perfect equanimity, and neither gave any sign of ever having met the other before.

  While holding no great opinion of her own beauty, Miss Honeywell could not but be aware that her appearance was sufficiently striking to be memorable. It was most unlikely that his lordship should have forgotten her in so short a time, but he had not betrayed himself by even a flicker of surprise. It was almost as if he had expected to meet her. Then she was saying ‘How d’you do?’ to Lady Sophia, and encountering another clear, disinterested gaze—so disinterested, in fact, that Miss Honeywell put her down as being rather dull and was moved to wonder why she had attracted the attention of two such gentlemen as Lord Bredon and Mr. Derwent. After which Bates came to inform his mistress that dinner awaited her pleasure, and with a silken rustle of skirts and soft ripples of laughter, the company moved into the dining room.

  Since there had been no time to change the place cards, Miss Honeywell now found herself faced with the intimidating prospect of sitting next to Lord Wayleigh, with Mr. Pennefather on her other hand. The latter gentleman had recently returned from a visit to America, which journey had made so strong an impression upon his simple mind that he could talk of little else and, by dint of a few skilful questions, she soon had him happily launched on his flood of narrative.

  ‘ ’Tis calvered salmon from the Thames, a most genteel dish, but I own, prodigious expensive.’ The Dowager could be heard pressing the Marquis to partake of the fish. Haying done so, he turned to Kate.

  ‘And have you seen all the sights of London, Miss Honeywell?’

  ‘Well, hardly all,’ she responded. ‘We—my godmama and I have been visiting in Brighton and are only just returned.’

  ‘But of course,’ he murmured. ‘When you called at Mount Trennick. Would you care for a little of this salmon, ma’am? I can vouch for the excellence of the flavour.’

  She drew a deep breath. ‘I—I do not understand what is meant by “calvered” salmon, my lord.’

  ‘The fish is cut into slices while still alive, I believe.’ Her expression of disgust clearly delighted him. ‘A barbarous practice, is it not? Yet I should have thought it would commend itself to so intrepid a young lady as yourself.’

  ‘I prefer the fillet de sole au concombre, thank you,’ replied Miss Honeywell firmly, resolved to ignore any possible hidden meaning behind his words. Then, lowering her voice, she went on, ‘Please do not mention my being at Mount Trennick, my lord. I promise you it was the merest chance. You must not be thinking that I was being unduly curious.’

  ‘I assure you, ma’am, I never indulge in commonplace speculation.’ He was looking faintly bored. ‘I thought it best to leave you to acknowledge our previous meeting or not, as you deemed fit.’

  She hardly knew what to say to that, but, fortunately, the Dowager engaged his attention once more by entering upon a discourse relating to the prevalent fashion of serving dinners la Russe.

  ‘Though with so small a company I was persuaded we would be vastly more comfortable seated around the same board.’

  He politely agreed with her and the conversation thereafter continued on the most unexceptionable lines. Just once, chancing to look down the length of the board, Miss Honeywell’s glance crossed with that of Lady Sophia, and she was astonished to see her ladyship regarding her with a look of unmistakable entreaty.

  After dinner, when the ladies had withdrawn to the saloon, she found herself to be the object of much attention, and was readily discoursing upon the domestic arts as practised in the Cape when the gentlemen joined them. In the general res
huffle that ensued, she had Mr. Dacres and Lady Sophia on either hand, and very soon discovered that young woman to be as interested in horses as she herself.

  ‘Mr. Dacres has been telling me that you are a capital whip, Miss Honeywell.’

  ‘By Jove, yes!’ ejaculated the gentleman enthusiastically. ‘You should have seen her today, ma’am, in Richmond Park, handling my cattle in prime style!’

  ‘No doubt Mr. Derwent has allowed you drive his bays?’

  ‘Indeed he has not!’ Miss Honeywell was most emphatic. ‘He holds that no female is capable of driving four-in-hand. I have been promised that if I am very good and don’t excite the horse, I may take out the tilbury!’

  ‘With my groom in attendance! You are hardly sufficiently accustomed to London traffic as yet, Miss Honeywell.’

  Mr. Derwent’s voice beside her was as coolly indifferent as ever, but Mr. Dacres sprang to her defence.

  ‘I tell you to your face, Lysander, she’s a first-rate fiddler! I’d like to see her with your new curricle and the bays!’ Mr. Derwent was strongly tempted to inform Mr. Dacres that as the equipage did not belong to him, the question of who handled it was hardly his concern, but Lady Sophia intervened.

  ‘Oh, have you a new curricle?’

  She fluttered her eyelashes at her suitor in so languishing a way that Miss Honeywell longed to slap her. That was pitching it a bit strong if she did not intend to marry him—but perhaps she did intend to marry him? Perhaps she had decided against the uncertain future that was all Timothy Bredon could offer, and had come down in favour of well-heeled respectability in the person of Mr. Derwent.

  Of a sudden, the world appeared very bleak to Kate, but, when Lysander remarked icily ‘I would not care to see Miss Honeywell drive my curricle, not even with a pair’, she could not help rising to the bait.

  ‘In general, I concede you to be perfectly right in not permitting others to drive your beasts. In the Cape we drove whatever came to hand—’

  ‘I have said, ma’am, that I am happy for you to take out the tilbury whenever you wish for it!’ Mr. Derwent cut her short in a tone that admitted of no further argument.

  Her eyes flashed defiance but, before she could utter the angry retort that sprang to her lips, Lady Sophia remarked in the most provocative way: ‘How very mortifying for you, Miss Honeywell! But cannot we persuade Mr. Derwent to take us for a drive in his new carriage?’

  ‘My pleasure, ma’am, but unhappily I leave London tomorrow, so must beg you to bear with me until my return.’

  ‘Why not tonight?’ Sophia asked archly.

  He looked thunderstruck. ‘Tonight? You mean—now?’ She glanced to where the Dowager was having a table of whist set up for her older guests. ‘I foresee that a pool of Commerce or a game of brag is likely to be our fate, and I have no great turn for cards.’

  Lysander, being a well-brought-up young gentleman, could not approve of disrupting his mother’s dinner-party in so irregular a fashion, but he was as susceptible as any man to feminine wiles. No doubt she wished to be alone with him in order to give him his answer which, to judge from her attentive behaviour throughout the evening, would be a favourable one. The fact that she had included Miss Honeywell in her suggestion did not give him a moment’s concern. A racing curricle was not a vehicle for three persons, and he would be obliged to take each lady separately for a turn round the Square.

  ‘Very well, ma’am, but my bays are not coming up from Mansell until tomorrow. It will have to be my young pair.’ Lady Sophia almost sprang to her feet. ‘I will make my apologies to your dear mama. It should not take us above an hour, but Miss Honeywell and I can scarce mount into a curricle in this rig!’

  Then she was making her excuses to her astonished hostess and, catching Kate by the arm, hustled her out of the room. The Dowager could only raise her hands in helpless acceptance.

  ‘These young people!’ she sighed. ‘But why tonight?’

  ‘ ’Pon m’word, I have never seen Sophy on such good terms with herself!’ The Marquis helped himself to snuff with the air of a man who accepts that he must learn to look tolerantly upon the caprice of young lovers. ‘Our host would appear to have been cruelly wounded by the blind urchin.’

  This remark, made in a far from inaudible aside to Mrs. George Lamb, sitting beside him, and the satirical look that accompanied it did not, fail of their purpose.

  ‘So that is the way of it, my lord?’ said she, smiling her understanding of the matter, and the Marquis, satisfied that he had cooked Lysander’s goose for him, embarked upon one of his practised flirtations with the lady. It did cross his mind to wonder what had possessed his reticent and well-behaved sister to act in such an unlikely way; but, never having been one to set himself up as a judge of female conduct, decorous or otherwise, he thought little of it.

  Upstairs in her bedchamber, Miss Honeywell had her hand raised to the bell-pull to summon her maid when Lady Sophia checked her.

  ‘No, a moment, if you please! Miss Honeywell—may I call you Kate?—Timothy has told me all, and that you will stand our friend. But it must be tonight, there is not a moment to be lost. Wayleigh has insisted that I attend him to Newport tomorrow for this dreadful race and I will be under his eye for all of the time.’

  ‘Tonight? But it is not possible—’ began Miss Honeywell.

  ‘Yes, Timothy is waiting at this very moment with a carriage in St James’s Square.’

  ‘But how do you propose—you cannot expect Mr. Derwent to set you down there and give you his blessing while you drive off with Bredon!’

  ‘No, you will do that! Oh, please, Kate, say you will!’ Miss Honeywell drew a deep breath and sat down upon the nearest chair. ‘You mean that you want me to drive you to join Timothy?’

  ‘I mean that the horses are being poled up now—I heard Mr. Derwent give the order. All we have to do is to slip down quickly, get into the curricle and pretend we are waiting for him. He will have to change his dress, too, he would never go driving in knee-breeches and that superb coat. Then you will take the reins and drive us to St James’s Square.’

  Miss Honeywell marvelled that she had ever thought this girl to be dull and spiritless. ‘But you don’t imagine Mr. Derwent or, for that matter, Wayleigh will let you go without pursuit? Even if we take the curricle, there are many other carriages here tonight.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said her ladyship impatiently, ‘but this is where you must help. They will be pursuing the curricle, they will know nothing of any other vehicle. You are to lead them a wild-goose chase for as long as you can to allow us make our escape.’

  ‘And Mr. Derwent will conclude I was so incensed at his refusal to allow me to drive his curricle that I resolved to take it out without his permission?’

  ‘Exactly so! That is why I dwelt on the subject at such length after dinner.’

  ‘But what do I say when he catches up with me?’ Miss Honeywell was still fighting a rearguard action, but she was clearly losing.

  ‘That you dropped me off at the start—oh, because I was scared or you did not wish to risk my neck—anything will answer.’ A regretful note crept into Lady Sophia’s excited tones. ‘I fear Mr. Derwent is going to be very angry with me when he learns the truth.’

  ‘He is going to be a deal more angry with me!’ said Miss Honeywell grimly. ‘And I will suffer the disadvantage of being here to receive the full brunt of his displeasure.’

  ‘You can say that I persuaded you—you had no notion of what was planned.’

  Miss Honeywell was still unconvinced. ‘What of Wayleigh? He’s not likely to approve your choice of husband.’

  ‘This is no time to be talking of Wayleigh! Will you do it?’

  ‘I think it a totty-headed scheme, but I promised Timothy I’d help.’ She permitted herself a tight little smile. ‘And I own I should be glad of the opportunity to teach his High and Mightiness not to ride roughshod over people! As if I could not handle his pair, indeed!’ She was recalled from the ple
asing contemplation of teaching Mr. Derwent what was what by more practical considerations. ‘Have you money? I must tell you that I failed to sell the necklace.’

  ‘Enough for the journey, and I also have these.’ Lady Sophia was taking off her handsome diamond and pearl earrings. ‘They were my mother’s gift to me, so none can question my right to use them as I please.’

  Resignedly Miss Honeywell fetched her vast reticule. ‘You had best take the necklace also, but don’t accept a groat less than four thousand pounds for it. Here is a plain mantle for you. I suppose the more striking my appearance, the more likely he—they are to pick up my trail. But I’ll not ruin this gown.’

  ‘Where shall you go?’ For the first time there was a tinge of uncertainty in Lady Sophia’s voice as she began to understand just what she was requiring of Miss Honeywell.

  ‘I shall take the Brighton Road. It is the only one I know.’

  ‘Then you will need money for toll-gates and change of horses,’ said Sophia, displaying a streak of commonsense that could, in Kate’s opinion, have been put to better use.

  ‘I doubt I’ll be troubled too much in that way! If I get as far as Croydon without being overtaken I shall count myself fortunate.’

  ‘Oh, you must, you must! Make as much time for us as possible!’

  Miss Honeywell, who privately considered that they would not get further than the stables, requested her ladyship’s assistance with various hooks and buttons. ‘And don’t tell me which port you are bound for! That way I do not need to lie if I am asked your destination.’

  ‘Dear Kate, do not think we do not appreciate what you are doing for us! And you must wear something warm!’

  ‘This will do.’ Miss Honeywell picked out a pelisse-robe of vigonia cloth with matching cloak. ‘No need for a bonnet, a scarf will suffice, and my driving-gloves. Now, down the backstairs and pray we are unobserved!’