Author: Beverley Oakley
Category: Nonfiction
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“I am sorry, Lizzy; I didn’t mean to shout. I just…” He sighed again. “I don’t want you to be harmed by your association with me. People will talk. I’ve been considering whether we should part company in the village so that you arrive at Quamby House, alone.”
“And you’d follow, later?”
“No, I would make my own way home.”
“But…that wasn’t at all the plan we discussed this morning. Why, this morning, I was going to be your salvation. I was going to be the means by which you’d be once again embraced by society for they’d have no choice but to offer you to stay once they heard about how heroic you’d been.”
“I wasn’t heroic in the slightest, and you know it.” Despite himself, Theo smiled at her. “I simply did what any bystander would do and extended you an arm to drag you out of the water.”
“No, you did so much more—!”
“Look, Lizzy,” he cut her off, “I know it fits in with your notions of romance to be the heroine who ensures I’m redeemed. But you don’t know all the sordid facts. You don’t know what occurred all those months ago that had people pegging me as the most unconscionable of villains. I’m just surprised you haven’t heard of me.” He rolled his eyes and studied the faded leatherwork of the carriage ceiling, adding, “But you’ll have no shortage of offers from the guests at Quamby House telling you of my supposed crimes.”
“Then why don’t you tell me of them, in your own words? You seem such a…placid fellow…they can’t be that bad.”
“Placid fellow!” If she’d called him a dangerous rakehell or a villainous ruffian she couldn’t have offended him more. “Placid fellow? You think I am a placid fellow?” Theo was leaning forward now, realising his tone had been much too harsh, and that he was much too close as his eyes bored into hers, and he saw the dark pupils of her lovely eyes widen just a few inches from his.
He threw himself back against the squabs as she defended her opinion, saying with a frown, “Well, you have a rather defeated air about you, if you want the truth. When you ran down the riverbank and pulled me out of the water, I was very impressed, for you were very energetic and heroic. But then…” she put her head on one side as if to contemplate the matter, adding “it was as if everything was too much trouble, after that. And now it seems as if it’s too much trouble to even try to get yourself an invitation and therefore a chance to set the record straight so that people will be forced to know the truth, and not what the rumours would have you guilty of.”
Theodore took a moment to formulate a response. He certainly didn’t want to admit that her words couldn’t be more on the money; that he was so afraid of being publicly shamed—again—that he’d rather not take the chance of trying to clear his name.
Lizzy continued to stare at him, waiting patiently, not smiling; just curious. He’d told her nothing and yet she seemed to have formulated a quiet confidence that he could not possibly be guilty of the crimes others would lay at his door.
Carefully, he asked, “Have you ever done something to help someone…but the evidence paints you as a wrongdoer…and there’s not a thing you can do about it?”
“I’d have to think about that, Mr McAlister—”
“You can call me Theo.”
“Oh, thank you!” Her smile lit up her whole face. “Now I feel like you’re at last letting your guard down, and I promise you I shall repay the compliment—and your bravery—and do what I can to rectify this terrible situation that’s obviously giving you sleepless nights.”
“They’ll tell you I’m a philanderer who kidnapped a young lady on her way to her wedding.” Theo had his head sunk in his hands so he couldn’t see the horror in her eyes.
He glanced up when he heard her gasp, but to his surprise her expression was rapt with wonder. “How romantic!”
“No!” He shook his head. “It wasn’t romantic at all! It was terrible. What I mean to say is…it all went so terribly wrong!”
She was about to reply when the coachman called down from the box, “Do I drop yer inter the town, first, like yer asked, sir, or drop the young miss at the Big ʼOuse which is right up ahead an’ through them trees?”
Chapter 6
“What were you thinking, Antoinette?” Fanny cried as she hurried into the drawing room.
Antoinette, who was showing off her new Pomona-green round gown to an appreciative audience consisting of her husband and Fenton, turned with a look of surprise.
“Of what do I stand accused that should put you in such high dudgeon, sister dearest?” she enquired. “Am I supposed to have made off with your jewel box when mine is vastly superior?” She sent Quamby an adoring look. “Or, has some lover’s tiff sent you into the boughs and I’m the unfortunate victim of your chagrin when surely dear Fenton is far more culpable than I—of anything, really?”
The simpering smile she sent both the gentlemen was repaid, in kind, which did nothing to improve Fanny’s temper. In fact, she stamped her foot.
“Antoinette! What possessed you to invite Mr McAlister to be your guest for the next four days. Mr McAlister! Do you know how people will talk? They’ll see it as a sign that we condone what he did!”
“Mr McAlister?” Antoinette wrinkled her nose in puzzlement before exhaling on a gasp of enlightenment. “Goodness, was that fine young man who arrived in the shabby carriage with that adorable little chit really the notorious Theodore McAlister?” With a giggle, she added, “In front of whose nose we promised Mrs Hodge we would not dangle her valuable cargo; poor, innocent little Miss Lizzy Scott.” Antoinette’s eyes shone. “Is he really the young man who rescued Lizzy—who I must add is a diamond of the first water which makes me wonder what else I shouldn’t believe that comes out of Mrs Hodge’s mouth.”
“It’s not amusing, Antoinette!” Fanny knew she sounded uncommonly vexed and was even more so when Antoinette said airily, “Really, Fanny, the man has served his time in Purgatory, but if you wish it, I shall ensure precious Miss Scott is kept well out of his orbit. They only took a carriage ride together, you know.”
“I don’t care a fig about Lizzy Scott. I don’t suppose she’s in danger, anyway. Not with Mrs Hodge breathing fire through her nose at the slightest hint of misbehaviour. It’s Miss Amelia Harcourt I am concerned about!”
This pronouncement changed the mood in the room. Even Lord Quamby, as relaxed as any, harrumphed. Fenton, balanced on the arm of one of the sofas, contemplated his pumps. “How could I have forgotten Miss Harcourt was here?”
Quamby cleared his throat again. “Rather a forgettable little personage, really,” he murmured. “However, as you inferred, young Amelia is under my care until Lord Leighton arrives to claim her. Her uncle would not be inclined to forgive us, I suspect, if he knew we had invited Mr McAlister to our little gathering.”
Fenton, who was studying his his fob watch, looked up. “She’s surely not likely to allow herself to be seduced and whisked away like her poor sister, though. God rest poor Catherine Harcourt’s soul but she was a dashing piece and nothing like mousey Amelia.”
“Really Fenton! Did Catherine allow herself to be seduced and whisked away by Mr McAlister?” Quamby said with more energy than usual. “No, she was kidnapped. Amelia might be a little brown peahen, but her fortune puts her at risk. It’s far from ideal that McAlister should darken our doorstep while she’s here.”
“Then we shall all keep a collective eye on her,” stated Antoinette.
“And on Miss Scott,” added Fanny, “since Mr McAlister has just spent a number of hours in a coach turning her head, no doubt. I suppose we can hardly rescind our offer of accommodation—not when the fellow risked his life to save Miss Scott as she rather dramatically declared in her letter this morning,” she added uncertainly. “Though I find it rather telling that she omitted to mention his name.”
Quamby shifted his gouty leg upon the ottoman. “Good thing that Lord Leighton isn’t due until after the house party. He is on his way from France now, full of e
xpectation for reuniting with his bride-to-be. I think we won’t mention McAlister’s name, eh?”
Fanny sucked in a breath. “Oh dear, I know you think I’m playing it too rum, but Mr McAlister must feel like the fox who’s got into the henhouse. He’s simply spoiled for choice when it comes to heiresses in danger of falling victim to his charms…and Antoinette has invited him here. Do you know what it’s going to be like having to listen to Mrs Hodge on the subject?”
“Ah, so there we have it?” Antoinette regarded Fanny with scorn. “You are only concerned about the drubbing you’re going to receive from Mrs Hodge for perceived dereliction of duty! You’re not worried at all about Miss Scott or Miss Harcourt, are you, Fanny?” She put her hands on her shapely hips. “I must say, I am relieved to have discovered your true motivation for I was convinced you’d lost all sense of fun and possibility.”
Fanny shook her head. “No, Antoinette, we have a responsibility to the young people we invite—”
“And it’s bad enough that we consciously invite Mr Dalgleish,” Antoinette said with a pointed look at her sister, “but that I’ve invited a second fortune hunter is just not good form, eh? Well, if Mr McAlister is the true fortune hunter in our midst, I say, let him properly give Mr Dalgleish a run for his money. I say, let the best man win!” She clapped her hands. “My bet is on Dalgleish, though. Mrs Hodge wants him for Lizzy Scott, and he has a strong case for persuading her. Rawlings, Dalgleish’s family seat, is rather lovely though rundown. Miss Scott will be mistress of a fine estate once her money has paid for the necessary renovations.”
“But Mr McAlister also is a landowner of some note,” Fanny argued. “And he has shown himself to be far more ruthless and dangerous than Mr Dalgleish. He may well prove persuasive, too.”
Fenton rose and wandered off to the snuff jar on the mantelpiece. “I’m afraid McAlister’s lost the majority of what he once owned, and his home is very modest compared with Rawlings,” he said, offering the tin to Quamby. “I daresay he considered he had nothing to lose and everything to gain when he tried to run off with the late Miss Harcourt. Take heart, Fanny my love; I think your sister can be forgiven. McAlister is no threat. He’s a spent force with no reputation left to speak of. My guess is that he will find it a very lonely few days under our roof, despite his supposed heroism in rescuing Miss Scott.”
Fanny nodded slowly. “I daresay you’re right, Fenton,” she agreed, feeling her confidence return.
“And Dalgleish has much in his favour,” he husband went on. “He’s young and handsome and in line to inherit a title. Miss Scott might do well to form an attachment to the gentleman.”
Fanny nodded dubiously. She had met Mr Dalgleish earlier that morning but had been unmoved by his attempts to win her over with an abundance of charm.
However, whether his charm worked on Lizzy Scott was at the heart of how she’d play her role of hostess.
Regardless of what Mrs Hodge wanted her to do, Fanny would not champion Mr Dalgleish if she felt it was not in Lizzy Scott’s best interests.
Not after her own dreadful experiences not so many years before. Having been coerced into agreeing to a marriage organised by her mother, it was Fenton’s sudden arrival into her orbit that had changed the trajectory of her life and ensured her a lifetime’s union of happiness.
No amount of money or prestige could make up for an unhappy marriage.
And Fanny was well aware of the power held by an ambitious and ruthless mama. She had not yet met Lizzy Scott, but regardless of what the girl turned out to be, she could not, in good conscience, see her bartered for the benefits offered by an unconscionable fortune hunter.
Chapter 7
After nearly two days of feeling as free as a bird during her journey to Quamby House, Lizzy was not prepared for the sudden weight that seemed to land upon her shoulders as she stepped into the vestibule of the grand home where she was to spend the next five days.
One moment she’d been walking up the stone steps filled with hope and expectation, the next saw her literally sink onto the spindly settee against the wall as she was given the news she should have been expecting.
Mrs Hodge wanted to see her now?
Of course Mrs Hodge wanted to see her. Had been waiting for her. Was, right now, pacing her little sitting room and muttering a long list of Lizzy’s misdemeanours—imagined and otherwise—ready to throw at her head the moment she stepped through the door.
“Miss, are yer feeling all right?”
Lizzy managed a deep breath and nodded at the parlourmaid who stood waiting by the open door to the passage.
“Then I’ll take yer to see Mrs ʼOdge directly. The footman ʼas already taken yer trunk to the West Wing an’ yer maid is unpackin’ fer yer now.”
Lizzy followed the servant through a catacomb of passages and up a flight of stairs feeling increasingly sick with nerves. The house was enormous. She had no idea how she’d find her way back to her bedchamber, unless she clung to Mrs Hodge’s skirts the whole time. Which she had no intention of doing.
Except…
“I’m not sharing an apartment with Mrs Hodge?” she asked.
“’Fraid not, miss. She’s in the East Wing ʼan yer in the West Wing.”
“Oh,” was all Lizzy could manage while the sense of liberation she’d felt these past two days made a tentative return.
“ʼEre we are, miss,” the maid said at last, throwing open the door to a boldly decorated chamber with red walls and red and white striped curtains.
And there, upon an elaborately carved Egyptian sofa sat Mrs Hodge, who might have been diminished by the drama of her surroundings had her ensemble of puce satin with a matching toque surmounted by the plumage of an entire peacock not been designed to dominate all about her.
Including Lizzy who dropped her eyes as she bobbed a curtsey as she said in a calculated ploy to win a fair reception, “I hope you are as well as you look, Mrs Hodge.”
Mrs Hodge sniffed. “I hear you had an adventure, Lizzy. Mabel told me all about it.”
Lizzy sent her a cautious look as she continued to stand, like a schoolgirl awaiting direction. She was relatively certain Mabel could show the necessary discretion. The girl was loyal, but Mrs Hodge was a supremely efficient interrogator. More than once, Lizzy had spent the night in the cupboard under the stairs with bread and water for her supper after Mabel—or she—had broken down under questioning.
In this instance, however, and to Lizzy’s great relief, it seemed Mabel had bested her employer, for Mrs Hodge went on with a frown, “It was good fortune that it should happen to be a doctor who attended you at the scene of your terrible ordeal and who delivered you to the inn and looked after you. Both Mabel and John Coachman tell me you nearly drowned. Fortunately, my carriage didn’t suffer as much damage as I had feared. Tom says it was pulled out of the river last night and is being repaired.”
“A very lucky escape for your carriage, indeed, ma’am,” Lizzy murmured.
“And a very lucky escape for your entire wardrobe,” Mrs Hodge went on. “I believe it was discovered less than a foot from the river’s edge.” She raised her eyes heavenward and blanched beneath her rouge and powder. “Irreplaceable! At least the money spent on rigging you out so that you can do justice to all those who have invested so much into you, Lizzy, has not been wasted. I hope you spared a thought for that.”
“Indeed, I’ve thought of nothing else, ma’am.”
There was a flare of suspicion in the other woman’s eyes but she went on as if Lizzy hadn’t spoken. “You have four days to shine, my girl. Four days in which to make a match. Don’t squander it.”
“Oh, I won’t,” Lizzy assured her, this time with genuine sincerity. “I believe there are a hundred people invited to the Yuletide Ball. I’m sure that—”
“Enough chatter and more attention, girl!” Mrs Hodge snapped. “You do not care about the ninety-nine people who are not Mr Dalgleish. He is here to assess you as his future bride, an
d you have already agreed that if he finds you pleasing, you will be honoured to take up your role as mistress of Rawlings.”
Lizzy wrinkled her brow. “I haven’t exactly accepted him—”
“There is no finer gentleman here, you will soon discover, Lizzy. He is handsome, charming, and he is, as you well know, the husband that your father has chosen.”
“My father never spoke of marriage, ma’am. I was only fourteen when—”
“Your father and the poor late Mr Jeremy Hodge were like brothers and—if you want to put too fine a point on it—it was Mr Hodge who was convinced that your father would be satisfied that no finer husband for you would be found than Mr Dalgleish.” Mrs Hodge shifted her bulk on the sofa as she indicated the door. “Now, off you go. There’s just time for an afternoon walk for the sun is shining and the snow, I’m told, is not yet hardened to ice. Go and find Mr Dalgleish and prove to him that his assessment of you is on the mark. You have half an hour before you must return in time to dress for dinner. You shall present yourself to me when you are ready to go down.”
As ever, the instructions gave Lizzy no opportunity to object. Given Lizzy’s nature, it was perhaps just as well, though it had been a good few months since Lizzy had actually received a clip over the ear.
Older and wiser, Lizzy saw that her best course of action was meek compliance. She could make her own decisions when she didn’t have Mrs Hodge breathing down her neck—which fortunately would be less likely given that Mrs Hodge was terrified of slipping on ice and never ventured outside during the winter.
Otherwise, Lizzy would be sure that she would, herself, lead Lizzy directly into Mr Dalgleish’s orbit.
Now, as Lizzy stepped out into the garden, the pathways free of snow and the sun shining weakly upon the glistening fields of white that surrounded her, she felt truly free. Free to go where she chose for the next half an hour which would not be into Mr Dalgleish’s orbit.
No, she was going in search of Mr McAlister, for if ever there was a charming young man she felt able to talk with about her marital concerns, it was the unemotional, steady, and practical fellow with those exciting hidden depths that could send him crashing through all barriers in the pursuit of necessary heroism.