Kidnap Confusion Page 12

  "What?"

  "Come, come, Miss Tolliver," he said, stepping toward her. She stepped away, and he did not follow her again, contenting himself to watch her as he spoke.

  "I'm afraid we must both make the best of a bad bargain," he continued, realizing as the lady flinched that it was an unfortunate choice of words. "That is—I mean—" He paused and looked down at her, and his face was kind. "It is through the actions of my family that you find yourself in this predicament, and I must offer you a way out of it. Not for the world would I have you ridiculed or shunned by society for your innocent—if ill-judged—behavior."

  "Ill judged?" Miss Tolliver, who had felt a ridiculous urge to cry in the face of his apparent kindness, found those words all she needed to overcome her emotions and to fire up her temper again. "Ill judged?"

  "Well," the earl said reasonably, "if you had been traveling with your maid—"

  "Oh yes," she said, the palm of one hand striking her forehead as she considered his words. "How ill judged of me—how blatantly wrong—to give a woman who has served me faithfully for fifteen years a few days off to visit her ailing mother! What a fool I am! I see it now! You are right, my lord—quite right. Not for the world must you take such a foolish, foolish wife! Please—flee immediately!"

  "Miss Tolliver." This time he did step forward, and placed his hands on her shoulders. Margaret, who could see no way to rid herself of them without a most unladylike struggle, did of necessity stand and listen.

  "Miss Tolliver," he said again, one hand moving to raise her chin until she was looking into his face. "I am saying this badly. I apologize. But I believe it is important that both you and i realize that in the eyes of our world, your spending the night in this inn with me, unchaperoned—"

  "But the boys—Mrs. Murphy—" she started.

  "In the eyes of the world, you were unchaperoned," he repeated, cutting her short, "which makes it imperative that I offer you the protection of my name, and that you accept. Really, Miss Tolliver, to save your reputation, and mine, we must be engaged."

  "But—" Margaret stared at him helplessly, aware that the one thing she hated more than the feeling that she was being pushed into this was the conviction that he was being pushed into it, too. Then a thought occurred to her.

  "For how long?" she asked him.

  He stared at her. "What?"

  "For how long must we be engaged?"

  "Well. . ." His hands dropped from her shoulders, and his eyes grew cold as he seemed to consider. More calculat­ing women than she had spent years trying to trap him into marriage, and this abrupt change from not wanting to be betrothed to wondering how soon they could marry made him suspicious of a plot—and the most devilishly fiendish plot he had yet seen, for how she had managed to inveigle Gillian and Peter in it he did not know.

  Miss Tolliver was aware of his change of mood, and her chin came up again as he said, his voice devoid of expres­sion, "I suppose that, with special license, the engagement need not be long . . ."

  "No, no, no!" This time Margaret did stamp her foot in vexation, and her next words proved his suspicions unwor­thy. "Will you get marriage off your mind? Much as I dislike admitting it, I do understand your concern for your reputation."

  About to note that it was her reputation that also con­cerned him, the earl watched her take a hasty step around the room, and changed his mind.

  "Before I was thinking only of my reputation," Miss Tolliver said. "It was most unfair of me. I see that now. But when you said we must be engaged, it occurred to me that that does not mean we must marry! We can pretend to be engaged now, and later, when the—er—unusual situation surrounding our engagement has been forgotten, we can simply declare that we do not suit and that the engagement is at an end. My lord, it is the most wonderful idea!"

  The earl, who did not want to think what his friends would have to say now, when they heard he was to be leg-shackled at last, or later, when the word was spread that his betrothed had cried off, regarded the eager face before him consideringly. There was something about a lady who did not want to marry him that piqued him almost as much as did those who had for years sought to share his name and fortune.

  "Are you saying," he asked, watching her closely, "that if it is only for a time, you will agree to this engagement?"

  "Yes." Miss Tolliver gathered up her resolution and spoke firmly. "Yes, I will."

  The earl bowed. "Miss Tolliver, you do me a great honor."

  "Stuff!" Miss Tolliver replied.

  Chapter 14

  When the earl descended the stairs a short time later, he was met by an anxious Sir Charles, who looked him over carefully before inquiring what Margaret had heaved at him.

  "Nothing," the earl said tranquilly, and passed into the parlor where his grandmother awaited him. Sir Charles hobbled along behind.

  "Well?" the old lady questioned, glaring at him over her second pint of ale.

  "I'm sure you shouldn't be drinking that," he answered, looking down at her. "I haven't a doubt Aunt Caroline would tell me so. And that I should remove it from your presence this instance."

  "Stuff!" his grandmother replied, taking another sip. The earl, who had heard the expression recently, smiled and picked up his own mug.

  "If you must drink, then, let us drink to my betrothal," he said, raising the pint and partaking deeply. The dowager countess choked and spit ale.

  "What?" she cried.

  "What?" Sir Charles echoed.

  "You mean she'll have you?" the countess asked.

  "You mean she'll have you?" a dumbfounded Sir Charles repeated.

  The earl smiled and bowed, telling them with great irony that the obvious high regard in which they held him did him honor, and that he would endeavor to live up to their apparent expectations.

  His grandmother ignored him. "Thought the gal had more sense than that," she grumbled into her ale, and took another sip to refresh herself.

  Sir Charles was regarding her in horror. "You thought Margaret had more sense? My dear madam, she has no sense at all! Never did!" Then he surged toward Giles to shake his hand warmly and, ignorant that it was his last remark and its various implications that had placed the smile on the earl's face, congratulated Giles, Margaret, and him­self roundly, and called for the landlord and a bottle of his best champagne to celebrate properly.

  Before Mr. Murphy could respond, a quiet voice from the doorway cut into Sir Charles's sounds of jubilation.

  "It is hardly a matter for champagne, Charles," Miss Tolliver said, eyeing her brother from the doorway. "Our engagement is only for a time—for propriety's sake. Didn't his lordship tell you that?"

  The happy glow faded from Sir Charles's face and his head swiveled around toward the earl. "No," he said, "he didn't."

  "No." This time the echo was the earl's grandmother. "He didn't." She took another gulp of her ale and held the mug out toward Miss Tolliver. "Knew you had too much sense to hook up with my grandson, my dear. Could tell it just by looking at you. My congratulations."

  Miss Tolliver curtseyed, a small smile playing across her lips as she caught his lordship's eye. He bowed again. When she rose she regarded her brother with a critical eye and asked, "Yes, Charles? Is there something you want to say?"

  Since his jaw had been working for several moments as one hand played with his cravat, tugging on it as if it chafed him unbearably, her observation was just. And true. Sir Charles had a great deal to say. He started with "What do you mean, it is just for a time?" and ended, seated with his head in his hands, saying "I wash my hands of you Margaret Marie. This time, truly, I do."

  "Promises," she said softly, moving to pat his shoulder. "Always promises."

  The dowager countess choked on her ale again, and Sir Charles raised his head to glare at both ladies impartially. The earl decided it was time he took control of the situation.

  "Now, now, Sir Charles," he said, moving forward from his place by the window and stopping to perch on the room's only
table, one leg swinging freely as he looked down at the suffering face before him. "I believe we have devised an excellent scheme. You and your sister—and any other relatives you should wish to have join us—shall retire with us to Willowdale shortly for an extended visit. That should set the tattlemongers' tongues to rest. Then, if at some later date, your sister and I decide we do not suit—"

  "When we decide we do not suit," Miss Tolliver interrupted firmly.

  The earl bowed in her direction and continued, "—you will depart, with no scandal attached to your sister's name."

  "Or to yours." Miss Tolliver was watching him closely.

  "Or to mine," he agreed, smiling again at Sir Charles. "In the meantime you will, I hope, have enjoyed a happy visit at what is, although I am sure I shouldn't say it, commonly considered one of the prettiest country homes in the district."

  "Come, Charles." Miss Tolliver patted his shoulder again. "Half a loaf is better than none, surely? Accept his lord­ship's invitation and be thankful."

  "I would rather see you married," Sir Charles grumbled.

  This time the pat on his shoulder became a sharp squeeze. "Half a loaf, Charles," Miss Tolliver said. "And if you do not care for it, you may wash your hands of me, as you've promised, and return to London. In fact, your carriage awaits."

  Her brother twisted his head to stare up at her. "You never have had any wit, Margaret Marie. Whistling a fortune down the wind—"

  "Charles!" she said warningly.

  "—and all for some damned scruple—and it's all very well to talk about not forcing a man into marriage, but here's his lordship offering, and some women would jump at the chance, but not you, oh, no—"

  "Charles!" The warning was stronger as Miss Tolliver perceived the arrested look in his lordship's eyes, and the significant glance his grandmother directed toward him. This time Sir Charles subsided.

  "Oh, very well." His feeling of ill-usage was strong. "But here's the earl, a perfectly good man, I'm sure, and what's more to the point, rich as Croesus, and what must you do—"

  "Charles!" Two red spots stood out on Miss Tolliver's cheeks, and one fist was clenched as if to hit him.

  "Oh, very well," he repeated, eyeing the fist with some misgiving. "I'm mum."

  "Never!" she answered bitterly.

  He looked at her, then at the others in the room. "But what did I say?" he asked plaintively.

  "Nothing untoward," the earl assured him, watching Miss Tolliver. The countess, watching them all, drained her ale and said nothing until the silence in the room had lengthened far past what she considered seemly. Then she put her mug down with a snap, and with a brisk "Well, what's to do now?" stood up and glanced, bright-eyed, from her grandson to his betrothed. Miss Tolliver seemed momentarily at a loss, so the countess directed her attention toward Giles. He did not disappoint her.

  "I think," he said with the decision that characterized him, "that it would be best if you and John return to Willowdale today, accompanied by Miss Tolliver and her brother."

  "What?" Miss Tolliver demurred. "But sir, your broth­ers! You certainly are not the one to take care of them—"

  The earl was not used to being argued with, and it showed. "Nurse and I shall stay here with the invalids, Miss Tolliver," he said with a frown. "There is no need for you to trouble yourself further on our behalf."

  "Well!" Miss Tolliver's chin came up and her eyes snapped. "Don't you think that's rather autocratic, my lord, to be deciding who will go and who will stay, with nary a thought for the wishes or the suggestions of others?"

  The dowager countess grinned at the surprised look on her grandson's face; it was, she decided, high time he got used to having his decisions questioned,

  "Autocratic?" the earl said in amazement, "My dear Miss Toll—"

  "I am not your dear anything! I have told you that before. And there is no need to patronize me, my lord. Just because I do not have a lower voice or grow a beard does not mean that I do not have a brain."

  "Margaret!" Sir Charles gasped, watching his hopes of a still-happy outcome to this unlooked-for opportunity van­ish before his eyes as his sister and the earl stared daggers at each other.

  "Quite right!" The countess interrupted in satisfaction and reached for her grandson's ale mug that he had set down on the table near her. Finding it not yet empty, she drank heartily, ignoring both the earl's and Sir Charles's frowns.

  "Not right at all." Sir Charles hurried into speech, trying unsuccessfully to catch his sister's eye as he grinned placatingly at the earl. "You'll have to excuse her; shock of it all, you know—"

  "Oh, do be quiet, Charles!" Miss Tolliver interrupted.

  "Yes," the countess seconded her, frowning at him. "Quiet."

  The earl looked down at his grandmother and stepped forward to remove the ale from her grasp. The countess glared at him, too.

  "I believe," he said to Margaret, the words coming between slightly clamped lips, "that if you will allow me to continue, I can convince you of the propriety of my plan." She gave a most unladylike snort, but refrained from speak­ing. The earl's jaw tightened further.

  "There obviously is not enough room in this inn for all of us to stay," he said. "Four bedchambers, two of which are already filled with invalids, cannot accommodate my grand­mother, you, your brother, and myself, to say nothing of Nurse, the maid grandmama would be lost without, and our valets, Miss Tolliver."

  She bit her lip at his logic, and his jaw muscles relaxed slightly as he saw a rueful look come into her eyes. Ah ha.' he thought, and continued aloud. "When the invalids are well enough to travel—hopefully in a day or two—we shall all join you at Willowdale."

  "But—" Miss Tolliver was not ready to give up. "It doesn't seem right, my lord. You are no hand in the sickroom, and I would be so happy to stay—"

  "But then, Miss Tolliver, there would still be the question of your chaperone, wouldn't there?" he inquired silkily.

  She glared at him. "With your nurse present—"

  "But I could not for the world ask Nurse to add to her duties that of chaperoning you, Miss Tolliver. Really. I wish you would have a care for others in this whole situation—"

  About to fire up, Margaret realized in time that he was roasting her, and subsided, contenting herself with a fulmi­nating glance which, to her disgust, only seemed to increase his enjoyment of the situation.

  "Quite right," he murmured, bowing to her before he continued. "In the meantime, Miss Tolliver, you can con­tact any of your relatives that you wish to have join you at Willowdale."

  The offer had been made before, but it registered in Sir Charles's mind for the first time, and he started uneasily. "No, no," he said, shifting in his chair and looking from the earl to his sister and back again. "No need for that. Can't have the relatives descending on you. Wouldn't be polite." The earl said he did not mind, and Sir Charles lowered his voice confidentially. "Thing is, rather odd sort, the relatives."

  The dowager countess choked, and Miss Tolliver sighed heavily.

  "Yes, Charles," she told her brother. "He knows about my odd relatives."

  "Oh?" Missing her meaning, Sir Charles was surprised. "You've met our Aunt Henrietta, then?"

  The earl said he had not had the pleasure, and Charles regarded him with anxious eyes, shaking his head from side to side in a manner that reminded his sister of a large and not quite bright dog. "No pleasure, I assure you. Wouldn't want Aunt Henrietta at Willowdale. Wouldn't do at all. Would it, Margaret?"

  It was a mistake, asking his sister, and he knew it immediately.

  "Yes," Miss Tolliver replied, her chin up and her eyes sparkling. "If I am to be there, Aunt Henrietta must certainly come."

  "But—" Charles protested.

  "And Lazaurus. You must fetch them immediately, Charles."

  "Lazaurus?" the earl inquired politely. Sir Charles stamped his cane angrily on the floor.

  "Stap me, Margaret Marie, if that isn't beyond all bounds, and you know it. Can't br
ing Lazaurus into another man's home; wouldn't have him in mine."

  "He must be some fellow, this Lazaurus," the countess ventured, enjoying herself immensely. "Is he your aunt's son?"

  "No," Miss Tolliver answered promptly. "Her rooster."

  "Her—" The countess shook her head and gazed accusingly at the second ale mug. "I'm sorry, my dear—it's an old woman's hearing. I would have sworn you said this Lazaurus fellow is your aunt's rooster!"

  "Yes." Miss Tolliver was smiling, her head held high. Her eyes met the earl's and there was a definite challenge there. If she did not expect him to meet it, she was dis­appointed.

  "Dear me," the earl said, "and how does one entertain a—er—rooster?''

  The earl's expectation that he, his two youngest brothers and old Nurse would arrive back at their ancestral home in "a day or two" was optimistic; Peter's recovery was slower than all might wish, and when it rained for five days straight, the doctor could not recommend that he make the twenty-mile drive in his condition. It was over a week before the sun came out, Peter perked up to the doctor's liking, and the earl and his entourage arrived back at Willowdale. It was a week during which there had been many moments when he wished he had accepted Miss Tolliver's offer to stay with his brothers, and that he had beat a hasty if undignified retreat. The earl felt he had borne much, and was ruefully aware that he was not given to appreciate time spent in the sickroom, or catering to the whims of convalescing patients. But if he had borne much, it became clear after several moments home that Miss Tolliver had borne more. Much more.

  When his affianced wife and the rest of his household turned out to welcome home the invalids, they were joined by his Aunts Caroline and Cassandra, and the Honorable Harry Marletonthorpe, who, John said in a loud aside, had arrived that morning on the pretext of a visit on his way back to London, and who had—again, John's voice was quite loud as he said it—inexplicably stayed.

  The elegant Harry, wearing a grin almost as bright as the enormous stickpin in his cravat, approached the two eldest brothers as they stood by the coach watching the careful unloading of their younger brothers.