The Merry Chase Read online

  "Well, perhaps Reginald and Philip were not quite the thing," Hester conceded reluctantly. "But beggars can't be choosers."

  Dru stiffened, and Jane closed her eyes resignedly, but Hester, unaware of how that last remark was fanning her niece's anger, continued her reverie. Unconsciously pushing one of her unlikely blonde curls back under her cap, she said, "What about old Peckingham? Lord knows he's wanted you these past five years, and you can't say he's either a lady's man or a gambler."

  "Nor," Dru said dangerously, "can you say he's a day under sixty. He has a granddaughter coming out this season; there is always snuff on his waistcoat, and his gout is so bad he can barely move. Hardly the man to beget the Wrothton heir you're so set on seeing. "

  Her mother gasped at such unladylike talk; but Hester, too wrought to note in time what she said, countered quickly with, "It's not gout that begets or don't beget a child, miss—" Then she caught sight of her sister-in-law's shocked face, and the color rose in her own. "That is—I mean—well—

  "Peckingham would be an indulgent older husband who would let you go your own way," she continued belligerently as Dru tried to hide her amusement. "I'm sure you're bound to do that anyway, so you might as well have a husband who won't fight it.

  "Remember you're not eighteen any longer, Drucilla. You must make do."

  "Make do," Dru spat. "You say it as if my life were a bonnet which could be refurbished and worn again. Bah!"

  "Drucilla—," Jane began.

  "I won't forget I'm no longer eighteen, Aunt Hester," Drucilla said frigidly. "Even if I wanted to I could not. But I will not have Peckingham. "

  "However," she paused, and a speculative gleam grew in her eye, "if you think he's such a good catch, dear Aunt, perhaps you . would like—" She let-the suggestion hang delicately in the air and was delighted when her aunt's gasp assured her she had received the hint.

  Again Jane hurried to the rescue.

  "Now Dru," she said comfortingly, "of course you don't have to marry Peckingham. And I wouldn't have been happy if you'd had either Reggie or Philip, although if I had thought you loved one of them I would have quieted my anxieties for your sake. But there are other men in the world. We must look about for one. That is all."

  Dru smiled, but Hester gave her usual harumph. "Look about for a man, Jane?" she repeated scornfully. "Do you think they grow under cabbage leaves? Where are we going to find eligible gentlemen who—" She stopped abruptly as a rapt look stole into her eye.

  "Of course," Hester murmurred. "Of course. Why didn't I think of it before?"

  Lady Jane eyed her sister-in-law in puzzlement and Dru with a great deal of uneasiness. When the silence lengthened, Jane felt it , best to prod Hester and asked her gently what it was that she hadn't thought of before.

  "A ball!" Hester replied triumphantly, coming out of her reverie with surprising energy. "We must have a ball."

  Ignoring Dru's loud groan, Hester's enthusiasm grew. "We have been sad too long, Jane, first with Henry's death and then James'. We must have a ball."

  "We will have a ball. We will make lists of food and guests and things to do. The ballroom must be refurbished, and I think we should have new draperies in here," she said, eyeing the suddenly offending curtains distastefully. "These are becoming positively shabby."

  "This is January," she said, growing quite animated as the project bloomed in her mind. "We'll plan the ball for late March. Before everyone returns to London for the season. Then after the ball we will go to London. Almacks. The theatre. Oh, it will be grand."

  Jane demurred. "Our mourning, Hester—," she began, but Hester interrupted, frowned severely, and pointed out that the family's official mourning for James was over the end of the month. She ' added that one could not wear weeds forever.

  Jane looked doubtful, Dru determined. "Aunt Hester, I do not want a ball," she announced. "I do not like balls. Next to afternoon visits I find them the most insipid events ever invented by the English nobility."

  "Oh, no, dear," Jane interrupted, shocked. "Indeed they are not. Why, balls can be quite lovely, I met your father at a ball. We danced three times in one night. My mother scolded me for being quite abandoned."

  "It's Mathilde who puts these ideas into Drucilla's head, Jane," Hester interrupted crossly. "That girl—although she certainly isn't a girl any longer—has the most outrageous opinions. Balls insipid. Ridiculous. A ball, Drucilla, is a very good 'way to let suitors know you are available."

  "On the block."

  "Why do you talk like that?" Hester demanded. "It is so vulgar. Quite unbecoming in a Wrothton lady. Especially a lady making her second coming out."

  Dru, who had been sipping her tea, found-some in her lap, and her voice rose as she repeated, "Her what?" but Hester was unwise enough to repeat the statement.

  "No," Dru said, banging her cup down and causing her mother to wince for the saucer. "I will not make such a cake of myself as to have a second coming out. I am five-and-twenty, Aunt Hester—"

  "No need to advertise it—, " Hester hastily assured her.

  "And I have no intention," Dru continued with finality, "no intention—of dressing up like some featherbrained ingenue, wearing white, and simpering at any man who might deign to smile my way."

  Before Hester could tartly retort that had she done that at her first coming out, there might be no reason for a second, Jane's gentle voice was heard, calmly agreeing with Dru that a second coming out would not do at all.

  "However," she said, "a ball for its own sake is a. fine idea. It will open the season for us; and even though we have been retired much of the last three years, you can be assured that a ball at Morningdale Manor will be well attended."

  "Hester is right," she continued, shaking her head. "It is time we got on with living in this house. A ball will bring music and laughter into the manor. I think it is a fine idea."

  Dru appeared unconvinced, but before she could argue, further conversation was halted by a loud pounding on the manor's main door. The three ladies stared at each other, startled, and were even more so when Baxley returned and announced that a Mr. Crandon Pettigrew was outside, demanding to see Miss Wrothton.

  Chapter III

  "Demanding?" Hester's voice and eyebrows both rose. "Crandon Pettigrew? I don't know a Crandon Pettigrew. Do you know this Crandon Pettigrew, Dru?"

  Suppressing a sigh, Dru explained that she did not know the gentleman, but she did know of him, since during a recent visit to a neighbor a comfortable half hour of gossip had been devoted to the newcomer renting Green Corners from the Moores while that family took their eldest daughter to London for the season.

  "The season hasn't started," Hester snapped.

  "No," Dru agreed, "but they're visiting various relatives until the season begins."

  "Sponging off them, more like," Hester snorted. "Just what you'd expect from a man who rents his ancestral home to perfect strangers. "

  "Joshua Moore is the cheapest man who ever lived," she contin­ued indignantly. "Imagine renting your family home to a stranger. Joshua's father must tremble in his grave, for he was a free-spending gentleman if I ever saw one. Not, " she said hastily as a new thought occurred to her, "that I would know personally, for of course Joshua is -older than I am, and I was so young when his father died-" Her voice trailed off as she caught Dru's amused eye, and the color in her cheeks was not all due to the rouge so carefully applied by her dresser that morning.

  "Now dear," Jane said farily, "perhaps the Moores need the money." Hester's loud "ha" did not prevent Jane's adding, "And perhaps Mr. Pettigrew is not a stranger to them."

  But Hester was not convinced. "I don't care what you say, Jane," she replied, a statement her sister-in-law dryly agreed with. "I say it is in bad taste to rent your familial dwelling to anyone. And you and I both know Joshua Moore does not need money. How could he need what he never spends? I do not believe there is a more shabbily behaving man alive. The last Moore party I attended had watered wine,
Jane. Watered wine!"

  The look of horror on her aunt's face convinced Dru that that was indeed unforgivable, but Hester was not finished.

  "And they served champagne ices instead of pure champagne," she remembered, the thought of that night still filling her with loathing. "My sainted Jonathan—God rest his soul—used to say Joshua Moore had the first shilling he was ever given. As a matter of fact—" Her reminiscences ended abruptly as Dru rose and moved toward the door.

  "And where are you going, miss?" she demanded.

  Dru looked surprised. "To see Mr. Pettigrew, of course."

  "Why?"

  Dru was even more surprised. "Because he has called."

  Hester harumphed. "I think you should deny yourself to him."

  "She can hardly do that to a neighbor, Hester," Jane protested.

  "Neighbors do not come demanding admittance, Jane," Hester countered. "But if you think she should see him, I suppose she should. Show him in here, Baxley," she decreed, but before the exasperation which leaped into Dru's eyes found its way out her tongue, Baxley coughed.

  "Begging your pardon, Lady Martin," he began, fixing his gaze on a point just right of her shoulder, "but Mr. Pettigrew asked to be shown to the library, him not feeling he was dressed well enough to be received in anyone's parlor."

  "Not dressed well enough?" Hester's voice and eyebrows rose again. "And pray why would he come making calls-especially calls on a house where- the inhabitants are unknown to him and in mourning besides-if he is not dressed well enough to do so?"

  Baxley's expression remained wooden. "I cannot be sure, my lady, but hi appears to have taken a spill. His riding habit is—ah—rather muddy."

  "Oh, poor man," Jane said, her sympathy easily aroused. "Is he injured?"

  Baxley coughed again and his eyes appealed to Dru. "Ah, no madam," he answered. "He does not appear to be injured, except perhaps for his temper. That seems somewhat lacerated."

  "Well!" Hester exploded. "It is just like Joshua Moore to rent his family home—which I'm sure he shouldn't do, and this is what comes of it—to a man who would appear on our doorstep with a lacerated temper." Pleased that no one had an answer to that statement, she proceeded in her most regal manner to ask Baxley if she might know why this Mr. Pettigrew had chosen them for his ill-tempered display.

  But here Dru laughingly intervened, drawing her aunt's fire from the grateful butler. "No, dear Aunt, you can't know why. At least, you can't have an answer until I go find out.

  "And by all accounts," she said, her eyes crinkling thoughtfully, "it does not sound as if Mr. Pettigrew is here to be angry with us, but with me. Although I can't imagine why he should be when I don't even know him."

  By now Baxley's look of entreaty had grown so that Dru felt it would be cruel to keep him waiting any longer, and she slipped through the door he held for her just as Aunt Hester opened her mouth with another protest. With great presence of mind and an alacrity not usually seen in a man his age, Baxley closed the parlor door and followed Dru toward the library.

  "I wonder what it is the mysterious Mr. Pettigrew wants," Dru murmured as they walked toward the library. But Baxley could give her no reply, noting that the gentleman had only demanded her and snapped at him when he inquired of the gentleman's business. The look on his face convinced Dru he had more to say, and as she stood with her hand on the door handle she smiled encouragingly at him.

  "I'll be working here in the hallway, Miss Dru," he said with dignity, "so that if you should want me I will be close by."

  Touched by Baxley's loyalty, Dru thanked him warmly as she chuckled inwardly at the picture presented by his offer. Nearly sixty, Baxley was smaller than Dru, and she wondered how he would begin to oust a gentleman her neighbor had described as tall, dark, and powerful. Assuring him that she would be all right, she added it comforted her to know he would be nearby.

  Baxley bowed, and Dru opened the library door and stepped inside. One quick glance convinced her the neighborhood gossips were right. The gentleman was indeed tall. And dark. And right now he looked ferocious as well as powerful, for his riding habit was generously spattered with mud and a deep scowl creased his forehead.

  Smiling politely, Dru stepped forward, her hand outstretched.

  "Mr. Pettigrew?" she questioned. "I am Drucilla Wroth—"

  Few gentlemen approached by the lovely Miss Wrothton, clad in a simple gray gown which showed silver as she walked, would have failed to greet her approach with a smile. Mr. Pettigrew appeared to have no trouble doing so. Indeed, he went so far as to interrupt her beginning speech and ignore her hand completely.

  "Yes, yes," he said impatiently, "you are Drucilla Wrothton. I would assume you are Drucilla Wrothton because I came to see Drucilla Wrothton. Had I come inquiring for the Prince Regent, I would expect to see the Prince Regent."

  "You would be disappointed," Dru murmurred, and the gentle­man's brows drew together.

  "He is not here," she explained demurely, but Mr. Pettigrew was not amused.

  "Do not try me too far, Miss Wrothton," he warned, "for you have already caused me considerable discomfort this day." At her surprised look, he pointed to the lane outside the library window and inquired in a voice of a man keeping a tight control on his temper if the horse being walked by a strange groom there was indeed hers.

  "Why yes," Dru replied, surprised. "That is my lovely Jade. But what is she doing out on a day like this? And who is' that with her?" She turned to face him, her large, gray eyes widening.

  Ignoring her last two questions, Pettigrew uttered a short bark of laughter. "Jade, is it?" The look on his face was not one of amusement. "A most fitting name. That damn horse—" He realized what he had said as Dru stiffened, and he reddened slightly. "I beg your pardon, Miss Wrothton, but that infernal beast—that horse—your lovely Jade, as you call her—visited my paddock this morning and obligingly opened the gate for the horses I keep there. Now a friend, my groom, and I are careering across the countryside looking for them."

  "Oh, dear," Dru said guiltily.

  "Oh, dear," Pettigrew repeated, "We have spent four hours in the rain, and your only comment is 'oh, dear'? Miss Wrothton, you do realize this is not the best of English days?" She nodded, her eyes downcast. He continued. "It is raining. It has been raining all morning. At times it rains quite hard. I had planned to spend this day in my library, not far from a friendly fire. Instead I am in your library, thanks"—and although he did not grind his teeth, Dru hadthe distinct impression he would like to— "thanks to that da—infernal horse."

  He then inquired testily if it was the custom in her part of the country to allow one's livestock to roam at will, disrupting others' lives.

  Dru blushed rosily, a sight known to captivate many men. Mr.Pettigrew was not moved.

  "I am so very sorry," she returned, raising her eyes to his angry face. "Jade has really been quite good lately. I don't know how she got out of her stall. What with the rains and all I haven't been riding lately, and I suppose she got lonesome—" Her voice trailed off as the gentle-man's left eyebrow rose alarmingly. Dru wondered irreverently who would win should Mr. Pettigrew and her Aunt Hester ever indulge in a staredown.

  "Lonesome"? His voice was silky, but it made her jump, and her color deepened. Her embarrassment at the gentleman's obvious anger was heightened by the fact that she knew him to be right. "Do you really expect me to believe that it was loneliness which made your accurst mare open my paddock gate and scatter my horses? Do you really—" He stopped as a new thought struck him. "Tell me, Miss Wrothton, how did that unnatural animal learn to open a paddock gate?"

  Stung by his unfortunate references to her mare, Dru's color was not now all due to embarrassment. "Jade is not an accurst mare," she said,' her voice rising as Pettigrew's had done and her chin jutting out in what her brother used to call her 'run for cover' stance:

  "Nor is she an unnatural animal. She is a sweet goer, a wonderful hunter, and an unusually intelligent mare."


  The arrested gleam in Pettigrew's eyes was quickly hid as he sketehed a bow, and Dru's anger increased as amusement colored his voice. "You are no doubt right," he said smoothly, "but never having seen her go so sweetly or hunt wonderfully, my view of your horse's accomplishments is no doubt colored.

  "I acknowledge that it takes an intelligent animal to open a gate. I only question if it is an intelligent thing to do."

  For a moment that appeared unanswerable, and the gentleman watched as the lady before him unconsciously clasped and unclasped her hands, anger at his statement warring with her understanding of his view. Anger won.

  "Well you might think it an intelligent thing to do if you ever had to ride sidesaddle." she fired up, knowing she should apologize and most unwilling to do so. "It is such a nuisance always to have to open gates one cannot jump so I taught Jade to take the gate thong between her teeth . . . "

  "YOU taught her?" he thundered. all amusement now gone from his face. "You TAUGHT her? Well, Miss Wrothton," and here he ran his fingers through his already disordered hair. "your neighbors must love you." ,

  Dru's eyes flashed, and she controlled her voice with an effort. "We always close the gates again," she said. "But Jade can't do that without me."

  "Too bad. Miss Wrothton," he replied. "That is too bad. If she could. I might now be in front of my fireplace instead of in front of yours. I admit that your ingenuity and that of your horse intrigue me and were this a social call I would inquire further into your horse-training methods. But I have horses to find, and I do not feel social."

  "That's apparent." Dru said angrily, then wished she hadn't as the gentleman's eyes narrowed.

  "In the future. Miss Wrothton, I would ask that you keep your horse at home," he said stiffly. "I would also ask that if any stray horses appear here, you will send me word. Thank you for your time. I will show myself out.”

  With that he sketched a short bow, strode across the library floor and was gone before Dru could think of a suitable retort.