Kidnap Confusion Page 11

  "And she sat through the night nursing them," Giles continued, ignoring his grandmother's interruption and John's manner of ill-usage at her comments, "even though they were not her charge and many people in our set certainly would have driven on and left them to their fate. It was the act of a kind and generous lady."

  "Yes, well. . ." Sir Charles shrugged a shoulder angrily. "That's all very well, but what I say is that if Margaret would just think . . . It isn't like she had to leave my hearth and home at that strange hour. . ." His voice trailed off as the earl raised his quizzing glass and stared at him through it.

  "Isn't it?" the earl inquired politely, and Charles, unsure of what had been said about his sister's abrupt departure before his arrival, decided to change tack.

  "Yes, well. . . water under the bridge, I'm sure," he blustered. "But what is this about your being engaged to my sister? To my knowledge you never met her before today!"

  "Last night," the earl answered briefly.

  Sir Charles's color rose alarmingly. "Last night? And what happened here last night?"

  The earl merely looked at him again.

  "I met your sister for the first time last night," Giles said. "Not today."

  "Well—but—" Sir Charles stuttered. He was interrupted by Nurse, who had a romantic soul.

  "Love at first sight!" that worthy trilled. It occurred to Giles that he had never heard her trill before, but that thought was superseded by her next extraordinary action as she so far forgot herself as to throw her arms around him and give him a crushing hug, exclaiming as she did, "Ah now, your lordship, it's always the quiet ones you have to watch for. 'Still waters run deep,' I always say."

  She stepped back, beaming, only to be interrupted by an imperious "Hogwash!" All eyes turned toward the dowager countess.

  "Hogwash," she repeated, waving one hand toward Nurse and adjuring her to stop her foolish drivel and be off to the injured boys while she—the Countess—got to the bottom of the situation. Seeing Nurse poker up, Giles quickly seconded the notion and sent her off with John, whose last words as he stepped into the inn were, "But Giles, you said you'd loan her a carriage. Decent thing to do. Thought so at the time. A carriage, Giles—not marriage!"

  The bewildered note in his voice was such that Giles almost laughed. That feeling vanished swiftly as he turned to the two figures still waiting for him.

  "Now, sir—" Sir Charles began, but the countess over­bore him.

  "Now, sir," she interrupted, fixing Sir Charles with a minatory eye, "we are going to get to the bottom of this—that is, I am going to get to the bottom of this, for you don't strike me as a man who could get to the bottom of a stair without directions—but we are going to do so inside, out of the dirt and away from the gawking eyes of the masses."

  Since the only "masses" present were the earl's coach­man and groom and Sir Charles's coachman, all of them extremely interested bystanders but hardly enough to qualify as a crowd, the countess could have been accused of exaggeration. Neither of the gentlemen was unwise enough to level the accusation, however, and in silence they followed her straight little figure into the inn. There they were welcomed by Mrs. Murphy with the intelligence that if they wanted to use the small parlor they were welcome, and if the gentlemen liked, her husband could bring them a pint of his best ale, but for the lady she was that distressed, there was naught in the house for a lady to drink but tea.

  "Tea!" The countess shuddered delicately, interrupting the jumbled speech. "I left home to avoid forever maudling my insides with tea! I," she pronounced, staring straight at her grandson, "shall drink ale. If you will be so kind."

  Her most winning smile was fixed on Mrs. Murphy, who dropped an open-mouthed curtsey along with her "Well, I never," and hurried off to tell her mate about the strange ways of the quality.

  "Now," the countess commanded after they had entered the low-ceilinged parlor with its white walls and brass candlesticks above the mantlepiece, and she and Sir Charles had disposed themselves, in varying degrees of comfort, on the two straight-backed chairs found there, "you may begin."

  But Giles, who had walked to the single window in the room and now stood staring out it, unaware of the innyard bustle unfolding before his eyes, showed no disposition to do so. After several moments his grandmother prompted with, "You were about to tell us how you became engaged."

  "Was I?" he asked with a slight smile as he half-turned toward them. "I rather thought Nurse explained all that."

  "Giles," his grandmother said impatiently, "I am an old woman. I have lived a long time and seen a great many things. There may be such a thing as 'love as first sight' —although I doubt it myself; always seems to me like it's the province of silly cawkers—but if you have experienced it in the last twenty-four hours, I would be much surprised."

  "Still waters run deep," he murmured, teasing her. Majestically she ignored him.

  "And if the lady in question has experienced it in relation to you, I would immediately relinquish to Cassandra my grandmama's diamond tiara which she has wanted since she was three, and which I fully intend to be buried with, just to show her."

  "Such a loving mother," the earl commented, but his grandmother would not be diverted.

  "Are you going to stand there and tell us the lady is in love with you?" she demanded. "Because I was watching her face in the innyard, and it seemed to me that she would more cheerfully strangle than marry you."

  Ruefully he shook his head. "I fear, Grandmama, that you are right. Miss Tolliver was not best pleased by my announcement of our upcoming marriage."

  "Then why—" the old lady began, puzzlement wrinkling her brow.

  "Because we must."

  "What?" Sir Charles fairly roared the word as he rose from his chair, surging forward onto his bad foot and wincing at the pain. "You blackguard! You scoundrel! Taking advantage of my poor sister—although how you could do so is beyond me, because I've never been able to beat her even at cards—"

  "Oh, take a damper, Tolliver," the earl advised, disgusted at the evident meaning Sir Charles put on his words. "Nothing improper passed between your sister and me in our time here. In fact, few words have passed between your sister and me in our time here. But this morning when Chuffy Marletonthorpe walked through the inn door and found her in my arms—"

  "What?" Both his grandmother and Sir Charles were staring at him, and the earl shook his head.

  He told them with some asperity that he wished they would do both Miss Tolliver and himself the honor of believing in their integrity and their ability to conduct themselves credibly in all circumstances. Neither seemed particularly chastened, and it was with a great deal of stiffness that he explained that he and Miss Tolliver had collided in the hall, and he had put out his arms to keep her from falling just as Chuffy Marletonthorpe walked through the door.

  "Well, silly cawker that he is, he assumed just what you two were assuming," the earl concluded, "and I had no choice but to inform him of our imminent engagement."

  "Then you did it to protect the lady's reputation," his grandmother said thoughtfully, and he nodded. She fixed him with a keen eye. "But the lady wasn't grateful?"

  "No." The earl shook his head, and his eyes darkened as he considered Miss Tolliver's indignation. "Far from it. She even tried to tell Chuffy it was a mistake—"

  "But you didn't let her?" Again the countess's eyes and voice were sharp, and he shook his head in irritation.

  "I couldn't," he said. Then he thought a moment. "Could I?"

  About to speak, the countess was interrupted by Sir Charles, who had had time to assimilate all that had been said to him, and to consider its implications. This time Mr. Tolliver rose from his chair with real enthusiasm, almost forgetting his gout as he limped forward. "No," he assured the earl as he grasped Giles's hand and pumped it heartily, "you couldn't. Very gentlemanly thing to do. Most decent of you. Going to marry my sister. Make her a countess. I never thought she'd be a wife, much less a countess, for a more
headstrong, sharp-tongued—"

  It occurred to Sir Charles that these remarks were hardly felicitous, and he changed the topic as he lowered his voice and said confidentially to the earl, "I've heard of you, you know—good stock, good estates, lots of ready—and what I say is, it's a good thing you're taking a wife. I would imagine you'll make a healthy settlement, too. . ."

  His words trailed delicately off as he turned a hopeful face toward the earl, who bowed with an irony even Sir Charles could not miss. Mr. Tolliver colored slightly.

  "Well, I've got to look out for my sister," he said defen­sively.

  The earl agreed and said he would be quite happy to make a handsome settlement—if Miss Tolliver should find herself able to accept his suit. The thought that she would not so upset Sir Charles that he said he would go to her immediately, and stomped out of the parlor and groaned his way up the stairs to the room the harassed landlord, coming down the passageway with three pints of his best ale, told him Miss Tolliver occupied. A short time later Sir Charles was seen exiting the room in a great hurry, two large pillows and a vehement description of his character following his departure.

  The countess, who had seen his movement through the open parlor door, raised her half-full mug of ale to her grandson. "To your affianced wife," she said, her eyes twinkling.

  "To my affianced wife," Giles responded, drank deeply, and then put down the mug before he, too, started up the stairs.

  Chapter 13

  The earl's gentle knock upon Miss Tolliver's door was met with a sharp, "I warn you, Charles, if you come in here again I shall heave the mattress at you! And anything else I can find!"

  "Well, my dear," the earl said, slowly opening the door, "I beg you will not further dismantle the bed, for it is I, and not your brother, and while I do not wish to have things . . . er. . . 'heaved' at me, I am most assuredly coming in."

  Miss Tolliver was wiping angry tears from her eyes and turned away at his entrance to make one more vigorous swipe at her cheeks before facing him. "I should tell you, my lord, that I am in a dangerous mood," she said, chin up and hands clenching and unclenching at her sides.

  "I shall heed your warning," he promised, noting her flushed cheeks, made redder by her recent cry. "And since I fear that my brothers and I are to blame for it, I think it behooves me to do what I can to rectify the situation. Don't you agree?"

  Miss Tolliver did not, and said so. She told him that as far as she was concerned, there was no 'situation.' She had done what she could to aid two boys who through their own folly and misplaced adoration of an older brother—a point she made darkly—had come to grief.

  Now, she said, they were in good hands; the inn fairly overflowed with their family, and she was ready to be off to her own home, there to forget she had ever traveled the Great North Road—a mistake she would not make again.

  The earl heard her out in silence, but when she would have shaken his hand with a stiff good-bye, he took the hand held out to him and drew her to a chair, asking her to be seated. Miss Tolliver told him she preferred to stand.

  "My dear—" he began.

  "I am not your dear!" She cried, nearly stamping her foot in vexation. "Why does everyone persist in thinking I am. First a woman in a bonnet—a massive woman in a massive bonnet, really—positively envelopes me in an em­brace when I stopped in to check on your brother Peter—"

  "Nurse—" he explained.

  "—and then would not accept my explanation that it was all a mistake, calling me a sly puss and wishing me happy despite my best efforts to assure her that marriage and happiness were not closely matched in my mind."

  "She has a romantic soul," the earl explained, ignoring her comments on the matrimonial state, and Miss Tolliver glared at him in vexation.

  "And then my brother—my brother—'' the loathing in her tone made the earl smile "—barges into my room and tells me I should thank my lucky stars for such a catch. And when I tell him I have not caught and certainly do not plan to keep you, he harangues me about my duty to my family—and God and king and country, I think; somewhere in there I quit listening—and assures me that if we are not married, I shall be disgraced in the eyes of the world forever and ever. As if I cared for the eyes of the world! As if society had not consigned me to the shelf these many years past! As if that wasn't where I wanted to be! When I think of the shifts I was put to to prevent the marquis from applying to my brother for my hand, while as for young Mr.—"

  All at once she focused on her exceedingly interested audience, and Miss Tolliver stopped abruptly, her hands pressed to her hot cheeks before they moved to cover her mouth, her eyes wide with dismay.

  "I do beg your pardon," she stammered, almost overcome by her own carelessness. "I had forgotten there was anyone else here."

  "Not at all," the earl replied politely. Then a thought occurred to him. "Do you often rage to empty rooms?"

  "Oh yes." Her eyes twinkled. "All the time. One gets into far less trouble that way."

  "I see." The earl considered her for a moment, his head to one side. "Are you often in trouble, Miss Tolliver?"

  Candidly she replied that it did not occur so much anymore, adding that when she was younger, she suffered from the most unladylike habit of speaking her mind; but as she grew older, she learned to be much more careful who she was speaking her mind to. "Why, some people hardly know I have a mind at all!" she finished.

  She meant it as a joke, but his eyes were grave as he assured her that was certainly the other people's loss.

  "No, no, no!" she scolded half-smilingly. "That is not what you are supposed to say! You are supposed to say, 'Well, madam, if that is the case I fear we will not suit,' or 'I will not have a termagent for my affianced wife,' and slip thankfully from the room."

  "I am?"

  "Yes." She shook her head in mock disgust. "Honestly! Sometimes I have to do everything myself."

  "You certainly seem capable of doing everything," he remarked.

  "Oh yes." Margaret agreed easily. "I am one of the most capable people you'll ever know. Everyone says so."

  "They do?"

  "Yes. I am known throughout my family for my great capability. It is, I believe, one of the things my relatives find most wearing about me. If only I would learn to—how do they put it?—droop a little. If I could only swoon at the sight of a spider, or if I were given to mild hysterics when the satin delivered for the chair covers isn't right. It would make me so much more appealing. Unfortunately, I have so little sensibility that the wrong satin only annoys me, and I do no more than send it back again. It is most distressing."

  "It is?" The earl, with his male fear of any form of female hysterics, could not believe anyone could ever have said such things to her, but Miss Toliiver nodded gravely as she crossed to the bed and sank wearily onto it, her energy suddenly spent by that last explanation. With one hand she motioned him to the chair by the window, and he took it, watching her for several moments before asking curiously, "What would you rather be?"

  "What?" The question startled her.

  "What would you rather be, other than capable?"

  "What an odd question!" she began. "No one has ever asked me before. But since you ask, I'd rather be—" She was twisting the strand of hair that had escaped its pins at the back of her neck, but she stopped herself abruptly and straightened, regarding him with some severity.

  "I think, my lord," she told him, "that we would do better to discuss this ridiculous tangle we find ourselves in, instead of woolgathering after my silly thoughts and fancies."

  "But I'm enjoying your thoughts and fancies," he protested. She frowned at him again.

  "This must be the famous Earl of Manseford charm and address used to turn women to witless wax in your hands."

  Now it was the earl's turn to frown. "You have been talking to my brother Gillian, I see," he said.

  "Not at all, my lord," she denied, smiling sweetly at him. "Your reputation precedes you."

  His frown grew
. "I begin to think your brother was not mistaken about your sharp tongue, Miss Tolliver."

  "No." She rose, one hand on the bedpost as she stood looking down at him. "He was not. Thank your lucky stars you discovered it before it was too late, my lord. Now I will bid you adieu."

  It was an excellent exit line, she thought, but since it was her room, she had nowhere else to go, and the earl, who had earlier struck her as a quick-witted man, clearly did not take his cue. He rose, as she had intended, but he showed no inclination to leave. Instead, he stood looking down at her with such a thoughtful expression that she was moved to rail him on it, suggesting that he run before she changed her mind.

  He considerably startled her by stating quite calmly that that was just what he wished her to do.

  "It is?"

  He smiled at her apparent confusion, and with the address for which he was renowned, reached for her unresisting hand and raised it to his lips before asking in the soft voice that was known to turn half of London's society matrons to jelly, "And what is it you wish, Miss Tolliver?"

  With a great deal of resolution she removed her hand from his and, holding it behind her back in case he might decide to reach for it again, she swallowed and put her chin up firmly. There was something in that small determined act that touched him, and his practiced smile softened. It was a most dangerous smile, Miss Tolliver thought distractedly, and hurried into speech before she forgot what her good intentions told her she must say.

  "I wish," she said, her anxious blue eyes meeting his enigmatic gray ones, "for you to tell Charles—and your grandmother, and your brothers, and your silly friend—that it is all a hum, and we are no more betrothed than we are Napoleon and Josephine."

  "An interesting comparison," he said, raising an eyebrow in a way that made Miss Tolliver wish she could reclaim her last words—or hit him. "But I find I cannot grant your wish."