The English Witch Page 9

  As to the expression on Trevelyan's face—that predatory look so appropriate to those feline eyes—one knew that look all too well. It promised, at the very least, complications. Lord Arden wanted no complications. This courtship business was time-consuming enough as it was. And where the devil was her blasted father?

  "Well, Maria," said Lord Deverell, "he's exactly as you described. I’ve never met a more ingratiating villain, though I can't understand what makes me like him in spite of my better judgment.''

  "Really, my dear? Then why, I wonder, did you look at him so thunderously?"

  Her husband smiled. "It was too much temptation. When I saw him try to draw her aside after breakfast, I couldn't resist stepping in his way. After all, I was unable to do so three years ago."

  "Well, you glowered at him sufficiently to make up for that oversight. How naughty of you, Harry."

  Lord Deverell laughed. "He didn't seem in the least intimidated. What, I ask, is this scheming devil about?"

  "The poor boy is starved for attention. And no wonder, after three years among foreigners in climates you yourself have pronounced fit only for vermin."

  "Attention is it? I rather think it's something else he's starved for. Or someone else. He looked exactly as though—"

  "Please, my love. No vivid analogies. It is too early in the day to tax my mind so."

  "You needn't waste your die-away airs on me, my lady. I know better. And I wish you did as well, for I can see there's bound to be trouble."

  Maria sighed. "There always is, I'm afraid. You and Clementina between you have put the cat among the pigeons."

  "Yes, love. And who are the poor pigeons, I wonder?"

  He'd come, Basil told himself, only because London was so stupefyingly dull at the moment. The blond barque of frailty he'd managed to entice away from her protector had proved to be, upon closer examination, both vulgar and witless, and he'd been obliged to entice her back into protection again. Anyhow, there was bound to be better sport watching Arden, who'd never had to woo anyone in his whole life, woo Miss Ashmore. It had been great fun to annoy him at breakfast and to see the difficulty with which he controlled his rage when he saw how easily Miss Ashmore's attention could be diverted.

  And Miss Ashmore? For all her cool self-possession, there was murder in her eyes. Basil had hoped she'd rip up at him afterwards, but Harry Deverell had come in the way. Then Isabella was ordering him up to the nursery to admire little Gerald, and after that Basil had to visit the schoolroom because, her ladyship insisted, Lucy would never settle down to her studies otherwise.

  Well, he went, and the Hartleighs' adopted daughter was nearly as excited about seeing him as she was about the lovely dark-haired doll he'd brought her. Unfortunately, he must then debate with the child whether it most closely resembled Lady Jessica or Miss Ashmore. Lucy pointed out that Miss Ashmore was even prettier than Lady Jess and that her stories were every bit as wonderful as Mama's. It was, therefore, Lucy's considered opinion that this paragon should marry Lord Arden since she was as beautiful as a princess and he was very nearly a prince.

  "A duke, you know," she explained patiently, "is almost a prince, and Miss Ames says he will be a duke one day."

  Miss Ames stepped in at this point to remind Lucy that she was gossiping, and gossip was better left to one's elders. Leaving the governess to explain why this was so, Basil exited the school room feeling inexplicably put-upon.

  Nor did his mood lighten when he responded to a summons from Aunt Clem. No doubt his aunt meant her lecture to be uplifting, but as he stood there, enduring what appeared to be an interminable scold on virtually every subject under the sun, he only felt more illused.

  What she lectured about, Basil hardly knew. He'd never attended before and saw no reason to start now. There was something about the Burnham business and some cryptic comments concerning one of those Latham chits and any number of blistering references to her nephew's incompetence. All that did matter was that she made it impossible for said nephew to catch up with Will and his riding companions. When he'd finally escaped his aunt, Basil found that everyone else, including the traitorous Freddie, had left the house as well.

  He'd been completely abandoned. The only ones to show any interest in his reappearance were the children; and the baby had fallen asleep three minutes after meeting his cousin, while ten-year-old Lucy found him a deal less fascinating than household gossip.

  A fine welcome, he thought, as he stomped into the library and threw himself upon a great leather sofa. Gone three years, and they couldn't keep their minds on him past breakfast. And she needn't have dashed off in such a hurry to ride with Will. Basil had risked his life to rescue her, and she couldn't even take the time to scold him for teasing her.

  It was odd that a gentleman who'd wished his aunt at the devil for wasting time scolding him should now be equally irate that another lady declined to do the same. But then, journeying some fifty miles in the dead of night can render the most even-tempered of men out of sorts and, consequently, illogical. At any rate, after spending another hour or so alone in the library, unable to concentrate on a book and quite disinclined to betake himself elsewhere, his temper began to fray. Small wonder he sought to take his frustrations out on the very next person he saw.

  His sense of ill usage had reached a perfect fever pitch when, some hours later, the door to the library opened and Miss Ashmore wandered in, looking for the book she'd left there the evening before. She didn't see him at first because the sofa was nestled close to the bookshelves at the other side of the room, and her glance went immediately to a small table not far from the door. When he greeted her, therefore, she started, and one mischievous chestnut curl bounced playfully against her eyebrow. This enraged him past endurance. Abruptly he sat up and asked, in a voice dripping with sarcasm, whether she'd enjoyed her little jaunt with the mar—

  "Well, yes, I did, rather," she answered stiffly. "He and his sister were very amusing."

  "Yes, you couldn't ask for a better sister-in-law than Jess."

  "I don't recall having asked for one, Mr. Trevelyan," came the cold retort.

  "Hadn't you? Well, my mistake. But I was certain that was what you'd asked Aunt Clem for. Sister-in-law. Brother-in-law. Any sort of in-law. So long as the last name wasn't Burnham."

  She'd picked up her book and was half a mind to throw it at him but made herself reply evenly, "That was uncalled for, Mr. Trevelyan. As it is, however, entirely in keeping with your inconsiderate behaviour at breakfast, I must at least compliment you on your consistency."

  "And I must compliment you on your alternative fiancé. Dear me, Will is a better catch than Randolph by a mile."

  "Really?" she asked sweetly. "And even better than my other fiancé? Well, what a clever girl I am, to be sure." And she turned on her heel and left him.

  He did not mean to let her have the last word, but the Fates conspired against him. After a light noonday meal, Edward insisted upon showing his cousin the divers improvements made to the estate. This occupied them until teatime. During that meal, Miss Ashmore was engrossed in conversation with Will. Immediately thereafter, Basil was again commandeered by his cousin, along with Freddie and Lord Deverell, who demanded a complete account of his adventures abroad. Nor was there a suitable opportunity to get the last word that evening, for he could hardly quarrel with her across the whole length of the dinner table. Shortly after, Miss Ashmore took to her room, pleading a headache.

  "I daresay Will gave it to her," Jess confided, as she plunked herself down upon the settee next to Basil. "He's such a bore playing the decorous suitor. Hasn't the first idea of what he's doing. No wonder he made her head ache."

  "What a disloyal sister you are, Jess."

  "Well, he's such a pest. He wants her attention every minute. Though it is diverting to see him so monstrous well behaved, especially when I know for a fact he's keeping not one, but two high flyers—twins, Basil, if you'll credit it—in London. And he's hardly dared kiss
Miss Ashmore's hand."

  The thought of those polluted lips upon Miss Ashmore's slender, virginal fingers was more than Basil could stomach. Because that particular image promptly conjured up any number of far more ghastly ones, he soon found that his dinner did not agree with him and made a rather early bedtime himself.

  Lord Hartleigh sat propped against the pillows, watching his wife brush her fair, silky hair. She was even lovelier now than when he first knew her. Actually, the first time he saw her she hadn't been lovely at all, with her hair so primly pulled back and her dress so dowdy. But later, the night he'd first danced with her, she'd been lovely indeed. Another thought came to him and he frowned. "I don't like it, Isabella," he said. "Basil and Will under the same roof with that dazzling creature. Whatever was your mother thinking of?"

  Lady Hartleigh moved from the dressing table to his side of the bed where she stood, gazing fondly at him. "It would appear," she answered with a wry smile, "that Mama has matchmaking in mind."

  Her husband retorted that Lord Arden didn't appear to require any encouragement. "Those killing looks he drops on her make me want to howl.''

  "Still, I’ve seen him look that way at a hundred other women. Probably Mama thinks a little healthy competition will hurry him to the point."

  "My cousin, I need not remind you, is hardly healthy competition. Did you see the way he looked at her?"

  "Oh, it's just as he always does. She handled it with aplomb, I must say. Gave as good as she got—and among so many strangers, too. In her place I should have been covered in confusion."

  "I think," Lord Hartleigh remarked, "I'd rather see you covered with kisses." He pulled her towards him, causing her to topple onto the bed, and immediately set to making action suit word.

  "After all" he murmured sometime later, "it's not our problem, is it?"

  "No, dear," came the faintly amused reply. "Not this time, thank heavens."

  Chapter Nine

  Though he did not, precisely, sleep the sleep of the just, Basil must have achieved sufficient repose to improve his humour. Certainly, when the neighbourly Osbornes visited the following morning, he was most agreeable.

  Not all the Osbornes graced Hartleigh Hall with their company. Jane was in bed with a cold, and James and his Papa were in London. But Hetty and the twins, Sarah and Susan, had come with their mother to improve their acquaintance with the single gentlemen currently residing at Hartleigh Hall.

  Hetty had sulked the whole way over because, as she complained to her Mama, Lord Arden would look at no one but Miss Ashmore, and everyone knew Basil Trevelyan was the wickedest man alive. Within a very few minutes of her arrival, however, her spirits improved markedly. As he greeted her, Basil swept such an appraising glance over her as to make her cheeks turn bright red and then stared so besottedly into her brown eyes that she nearly reeled from the impact. Fortunately, being a steady sort of girl if not a particularly intelligent one, she recovered sufficiently to reward him with a coquettish smile.

  "Never say that this Incomparable is little Hetty," Basil exclaimed to Mrs. Osborne, who'd watched these proceedings with mistrust. "You must have required an armed guard for her comeout to prevent her being killed in the crush of suitors." Mama's censorious frown wavered. "And you, ma'am, could not have escaped unscathed. For how on earth could the poor gentlemen know which was the daughter?"

  Alexandra, who hadn't yet had the opportunity of observing Mr. Trevelyan try his skills upon anyone other than herself, was here provided an admirable opportunity to broaden her horizons. Oddly enough, she did not find the experience quite as pleasantly instructive as one would expect. She watched in grim fascination as, one by one, he reduced each of the three Osborne girls to giggling imbeciles, while simultaneously showering upon the Mama such sickeningly sweet droplets of flattery that even that stout, formidable matron became, in a matter of minutes, another trembling blossom athirst for the nourishing rain of his admiration.

  The lesson was not at all improving to Miss Ashmore's temper, which had gotten a bad start at breakfast when she'd learned, along with everyone else that her Papa had finally decided to accept Lady Hartleigh's gracious invitation and was arriving tomorrow afternoon. He was, moreover, bringing Randolph with him. If Alexandra had thought to forestall her father with hints about the future Duke of Thome, it looked as though she'd better think again. Even as she watched, that undependable gentleman began competing with Basil for the twins' attention.

  Lord Arden had not meant to do so. He had, in fact, been wracking his brains since yesterday, trying to contrive some means of getting Basil out of the way so that the courtship of Miss Ashmore might proceed apace. He'd been pleased to note that his Intended had scarcely said a word to Trev at breakfast. She'd apparently taken him in intense dislike, for she'd met the wretch's pleasantries with cool politeness and reserved her warm smiles for himself.

  All the same, the marquess considered it neither natural nor agreeable to be completely ignored by a set of pretty young ladies under any circumstances, least of all in favour of Trevelyan. To correct this inequity, he insinuated himself into the conversation, and the twins soon rewarded him with blushes and giggles.

  He did not, however, intend to take the duo driving in the afternoon. Unfortunately, Basil said something provoking—then the marquess retorted—then the twins looked so sweetly pleading...and, in the next minute the marquess found himself trapped in an engagement that would not win him any credit with his Beloved. He vowed inwardly to make speedy amends. But after admiring the dimple on Sarah's chin and noting its perfect mate upon Susan's, then bidding gallant goodbyes to them all, he turned around and found that Miss Ashmore had vanished.

  When he asked his hostess where the young lady had gone, he learned that Miss Ashmore had promised Lucy an hour of her exclusive company.

  "And you know, Will," Isabella reminded, "that Jess and Miss Ashmore must take her by turns, for she made them promise, and it's no good my telling them they spoil her dreadfully. Everyone spoils her, and poor Miss Ames is left with the thankless task of repairing the damage."

  Lord Arden promptly took Lucy in violent dislike. Being a courteous gentleman, he did not share his feelings with his hostess or anyone else, though he did, shortly thereafter, find fault with his valet and berate that villain accordingly.

  "You engineered that," said Lady Jessica accusingly, as she followed Basil out to the stables.

  He replied very sweetly that he hadn't the faintest idea what she was talking about.

  "Lud, will you listen to the man? He believes I'm a chaw-bacon, I think. You trapped him into driving those cabbage-heads," she went on reproachfully. "I know you like to have your fun and show how clever you are, but this is not the time for it. What is Miss Ashmore to think?"

  "That your brother's taste is faulty, perhaps?"

  She shot him a shrewd look. "I think you want her for yourself."

  "Of course I do. I want every lady for myself."

  "And so you must make trouble for Will? Really, it's most unfair of you. This is the first time in his life he's ever shown the least bit of common sense."

  "And a precious little bit it is when the first distraction that comes along is enough to knock it out of him. I don't know why you scold so, Jess. Why, you're the first to make sport of your brother. And now Miss Ashmore's seen him in his true colours, you're all in a fidge about it. Really, I'm surprised at you."

  Lady Jessica Farrington was nobody's fool, and most especially not Basil's. Knowing him as well as she did her own brother, she was not about to be shrugged off so easily. It was true she didn't want to mislead Miss Ashmore. On the other hand, she didn't want Miss Ashmore alienated.

  Lady Jess lived in lively terror that her brother would one day marry some beautiful, shallow, self-centered aristocrat like her own mother, totally incapable of improving Will in any way. He needed a great deal of improvement—and soon, if his character was not to be irretrievably ruined.

  She'd beli
eved that Miss Ashmore was capable of effecting the desired changes, if only Will didn't make her despise him. Which, of course, she was bound to do when she saw, not that he was a rake, for rakes were rather appealing, but that he was such a fickle creature that he couldn't even manage a pretence of keeping his mind on the woman he was courting.

  In a few sentences she laid the matter out for Basil. "Don't you see?" she pleaded. "This may be his only chance to make something decent of himself."

  "As he isn't my brother, I really don't care two licks about it," was the unsympathetic reply.

  "I should think," said the lady, "you'd enjoy seeing him taught a lesson—regardless your interest in his future."

  “You know as well as I there's no teaching him anything."

  They had reached the stables, but she drew him away, out of the grooms' hearing. "He's never been so vulnerable before, Basil. He does want to marry her, you know. Unfortunately, he has no experience in the business and doesn't know how to go on. That is to say, he just goes on as he always does—or will, unless Miss Ashmore sets him straight."

  "Then what are you telling me for?"

  "Because you must help her."

  "No!" he snapped, with so much force that she was momentarily taken aback. "That is to say," he corrected hastily, "she wouldn't accept any help from me on any account. Nor do I think she'll take kindly to any advice from you on how to go on with your brother."

  "If she were agreeable, would you help?" Jessica coaxed.

  Idly tapping his riding crop against his leg, he considered this for a moment or two. Finally he replied, "Well, it would be a bit of fun to see that self-satisfied smirk wiped off Will's face."

  She'd won her point, and pressed the advantage without waiting to hear more. "Good. Now, you're not going riding yet."

  He protested that he was.