The Waltzing Widow/Smith Read online

  Mr. Carlton graciously accepted and put the luncheon to good use. Before long, the name of Lord Avedon joined that of Lord Bigelow in his conversation.

  “I have the pleasure of his sister’s company,” the bishop said. “She is married to one of our deacons in Hampshire, Dr. Rutledge. We have lost our archdeacon there and must appoint a new man. Our problem is one of too many fine candidates. They are all good men.”

  Mr. Carlton was too cagey to push his own candidate forward at this time. That would be for Sal to do more cleverly when she entertained him. “Lady Sara is at Chenely now,” he said. “I’m sure she will be delighted to hear you are visiting your niece.”

  “She has often asked me to visit Chenely when I am in the neighborhood. I must stop by and say how do you do,” the bishop said. “Is Dr. Rutledge with her?”

  “Oh, no. He would not forsake his ecclesiastical duties for so long,” Mr. Carlton replied cagily. “Lady Sara usually stays a month. The family is very close.”

  The bishop nodded, untouched by the deacon’s rectitude. “I expect he has his hands pretty full, with our archdeacon gone. The more so if his wife is also away.”

  The conversation turned to other topics, and Mr. Carlton made no effort to prevent it. After lunch he prepared to take his leave, claiming a few business matters to attend to. “I leave you in good hands, Miss Percy,” he said with a smile at Lucy and a bow to the bishop.

  “When will you be returning to Milhaven?” she asked.

  “Today. My business won’t take me long.”

  “I shan’t invite you to call till tomorrow,” Lucy said. “My uncle will be tired this evening after the trip. Shall I look for you tomorrow?”

  “Certainly. Lord Bigelow and his mother will also wish to pay their respects to Bishop Norris,” he added with another bow to the uncle.

  “Don’t get up, Uncle,” Lucy said when the bishop began to rise. “I’ll see Mr. Carlton to the door.”

  In the hallway she turned a laughing eye on Morton. “I know what you are up to, sir!” she charged. “You hope to land that promotion for Dr. Rutledge. My uncle is not at all susceptible to titles, you know.”

  “Let us hope he is susceptible to the flattery of noble matrons, then. He’ll have the silver butter boat dumped on him at Chenely, if I know Sal.”

  “Is Rutledge a good man for the job?” she asked. It pleased her to have some slight sway over Avedon’s sister.

  “He knows his Bible by heart. A quotation leaps out of his mouth every time he opens it. He is obviously a saint; he’s lived with Sally for two decades without strangling her. Whether that makes him a good candidate is not for me to decide. He’ll do as well as the next man, I expect.”

  They were at the door. “Thank you for bringing me, Morton. I had a lovely time.”

  “It was my pleasure,” he said with a gallant bow.

  They said their farewells, and he went out to his carriage. As the groom held the door for him, Lucy stepped out to the porch to wave good-bye. From the corner of her eye she noticed a dark and ill-kempt form loitering across the yard. He began stalking forward in a purposeful manner. She felt a little spurt of alarm, looked again, and recognized Lord Avedon, looking as if he had just crawled out of a dustbin. She and Morton exchanged a questioning look, and each advanced toward the other, meeting at the end of the walk leading into the Deanery.

  Avedon continued toward them at a stiff-legged gait. What could he be doing here? He looked so wild-eyed and angry that Lucy could not imagine what had happened to him. Morton followed her gaze and had to quell down a burst of laughter. It did not occur to him that he was about to be accused of marriage, but he knew Avedon well enough to know that he was in a great pelter about something, and nothing seemed more likely than jealousy.

  “Cousin,” he said with a bow. “If Sal has sent you here to try your hand at cajoling Bishop Norris, I suggest you take a brush to your jacket before calling.”

  “I am not here to see the bishop,” Avedon replied with a sneer. “I leave that to you two.” He turned a menacing face to Lucy. “This was very sudden, was it not?”

  She stared in confusion. “Not in the least. The trip has been planned for some days.”

  “You’ve kept your plans very close to your chest. But then, that is nothing new for you.”

  “I don’t see that it’s any of your concern,” she answered hotly.

  “You might have told me.”

  She lifted her chin haughtily. “I might, had I thought it any of your business.”

  He clenched his jaws and asked in a hoarse voice, “Is it already done?”

  Lucy looked to Mr. Carlton in confusion, then back at Avedon. “We have already met my uncle.”

  His words lashed like a whip, and sparks shot from the banked fires in his eyes. “I mean the clandestine wedding.”

  She stared a moment, shocked into silence. “There was no clandestine wedding. And if there were, I should like to know what you are about, lurking outside the door like a hedge bird in that filthy jacket to make a mockery of it. I suggest you return to Chenely and devise some other ruse to make my stay at Rose Cottage untenable. Hire a pack of Gypsies to camp in the garden. Set up an abbatoir. You are not at all imaginative, milord.”

  “Are you married yet?” he demanded.

  Lucy turned abruptly away from him. “Pray take your cousin away, Morton, before the housekeeper has the dog set on him.” She turned back to Avedon. “Not that you don’t deserve it!” she added.

  “You’d best run along, Avedon,” Mr. Carlton said, biting back a grin to see his stiff-rumped cousin so disgraced.

  Avedon felt, for the first time in his life, the degradation of being turned off, and to complete his humiliation, it was done publicly, in front of a friend and relative. His whole family would hear the story before nightfall. After his long day’s worry and exertion, this was enough to finish him. The last vestige of common sense fled when he saw Carlton’s smirking grin. “Who’s going to make me?” he asked in a challenging voice.

  “Avedon, for God’s sake!” Carlton laughed.

  “What’s the matter, Carlton?” he taunted. A blood lust had risen up in him. If he didn’t hit someone, his head would burst open. It felt swollen, like an inflamed tooth, throbbing, aching

  Carlton looked a question at Lucy. “He must be foxed,” he said in confusion. This was not the Lord Avedon he had so long known and admired. “Do run along, Avedon.”

  “I’m as sober as you are,” Avedon replied. He dared not look at Lucy. She must think him a yahoo. Yet he couldn’t stop. He was like a charging horse, run out of control. “Well, Carlton? I repeat, who’s going to make me?”

  Carlton’s lips lifted in a quiet, anticipatory smile. “This isn’t the time or place for a match, Avedon, but if you’d care to step into my carriage, I’ll be happy to oblige you elsewhere.”

  “Here, and now. You ordered me to leave. I’m staying.”

  “You leave me no alternative, old chap,” Carlton said, and raised his fists. “You’d best step inside, Lucy,” he said over his shoulder.

  Lucy, of course, stayed rooted to the spot, her eyes gazing in disbelief. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” she said. “I have wanted to see someone teach Lord Avedon some manners from the first time I met him.”

  Avedon raised his fists and landed Mr. Carlton a facer. Carlton was caught off guard, for he still couldn’t quite believe that Avedon meant to indulge in a fist fight on the grounds of Canterbury Cathedral. He went reeling back, tripped over an edge of cobbled walk, and landed in the dust.

  Inside the Deanery, Bishop Norris was eager to show Lucy her tour of the cathedral so that they might get home before dark. He decided to join her and went for his hat. As he opened the front door, he saw an uncouth lout raising his fists and menacing Mr. Carlton. Even as he looked, the lout struck out, and poor Mr. Carlton went reeling back onto the ground.

  The bishop raised his cane and advanced, shouting at A
vedon. “Out, cur. Have you no respect for God or man, to institute a quarrel in this hallowed spot!”

  For one awful instant Lucy feared her uncle was about to receive a blow on his chin. There was fire in Avedon’s eyes as he turned. But when he saw the gentleman’s age and clerical garb, he was jolted back to propriety. He cast a frustrated glare at Lucy. She was as white as paper and looked frozen.

  The bishop continued his verbal attack. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, sir. I have heard of you bucks beating up the watch and terrorizing decent people by overturning their carriages, but this beats all the rest, to attack an innocent man in this holy place. Flogging is too good for you. Lucy, fetch a footman and send him off for a constable. This jackanapes will spend the night in the roundhouse.”

  Lucy still stood, transfixed. It was Mr. Carlton who averted disaster. “It’s quite all right, milord,” he said, struggling to his feet. “A misunderstanding. This ... gentleman is an acquaintance of mine. A little the worse for wine,” he invented. “I’ll take him off and sober him up. I am devastated that this should happen on your doorstep. My humblest apologies.”

  “You ought to choose your friends more carefully, Mr. Carlton,” the bishop said, but leniently. “Come inside, Lucy. You look like death.” They went inside, and Carlton led a shaken and contrite Lord Avedon to his carriage.

  Once they were safely concealed inside, Mr. Carlton could no long contain his mirth. He laid his head back and laughed till his eyes ran tears. “Oh, Avedon, this is worth a quarter’s allowance, to see you make such a cake of yourself,” he gasped. “What on earth were you thinking of?”

  Avedon sank his head in his crossed arms and groaned. “Oh, God, I must have been mad.”

  “Completely deranged,” Morton agreed, “but it’s a pity this fit descended on you in front of Bishop Norris. He plans to call on you at Chenely.” Another spurt of uncontrollable laughter erupted from Carlton’s throat.

  “Let us drive away,” Avedon said grimly. Lucy and the bishop had already entered the house, but he feared they might be looking out the window.

  “Where can I take you?”

  “What does it matter? I am ruined. What must she think of me, Morton?”

  “Lucy, or Sally?”

  Carlton decided that only unrequited love could cause the pain and grief he read in Avedon’s eyes. He pulled the check string and the carriage drove off, heading for High Street.

  “Go to the Rose,” Avedon said in a dull voice. “I am to meet Tony there. I’ll have to send someone after my mount. I left it tethered near the cathedral.”

  “Good God, did you have the lack of sense to bring that cawker of a Tony along with you? Why did the two of you come here to Canterbury?”

  “Why do you think? We learned at Rose Cottage that you and Lucy had gone to see the bishop. We thought you planned a hasty wedding,” he said, suppressing his worse fear.

  “This sounds like a very extreme case of puppy love, old boy. Not an appetizing sight in one of your years. How could you be such a flat? Did you seriously think we had darted off for a quick wedding? What would be the point of it? Or of your coming hell-for-leather after us, for that matter? We are both of legal age.”

  Avedon rubbed his jaw and tried to salvage some shred of self-respect from the debacle. “Tony convinced me you had run off with the widow. After Sal told that wretched story about her ... When did you learn the truth?”

  “Last night.”

  Avedon scowled at this evidence of intimacy. “Odd you didn’t mention it at Milhaven. Not knowing that you knew the truth, Tony thought it was not a wedding license you were after, you know, but something else.”

  “No more it was a wedding—nor an abduction, either, if that is what you are implying. I’m highly flattered, of course, that you should believe me so dashing. I merely delivered Lucy to meet Bishop Norris—you can imagine why I was eager to ingratiate her and him. As to that business of her being a widow, no such a thing.”

  Avedon was glad to have a justified excuse to fly into a rage. “Now don’t start that old scandal up again. She is a widow! I saw the papers myself.”

  “What you saw, if I’m not mistaken, are the papers announcing her brother Alex’s death in Spain.”

  “Brother? But why would she mislead us about the relationship?”

  “The intention was to pose as Alex’s wife to ward off unwanted suitors—like you. But once she got a look at Tony’s beaux yeux, she changed her mind and decided to enjoy the relative freedom of being a widow instead. There’s a reason for it,” he added, and explained about Mr. Pewter.

  Avedon’s shoulders slumped. “You mean to tell me she’s rich, along with all the rest?” he asked despondently. His wealth was his last trump card.

  “Rich as a nabob, not that it will do us much good. She don’t really fancy Tony—or me. As to yourself—” He hunched his shoulders.

  “If I’d had any idea, I never would have offered her a carte blanche,” Avedon said earnestly.

  “Carte blanche!” His companion’s eyes goggled. “Now this she didn’t tell me!” he said, eyes glistening avidly. “Do you know, Avedon, I begin to wonder if there isn’t a spark of life in you after all. I had pretty well decided you were hopeless, but you force me to reassess your character. Today’s spectacle, coming on top of a carte blanche, however ... I fear you may have gone too far for even me to pull your chestnuts out of the fire, Cousin.”

  Avedon gritted his teeth. “You don’t have to tell me. I was only temporarily insane. I still have the use of my wits.”

  The carriage drew up at the Rose. “Have you had lunch?” Morton asked.

  “I don’t know—er, no, I don’t think so.”

  “Perhaps it’s starvation that has turned you into a babbling idiot. Come along, I’ll feed you. We must make plans.”

  As they entered the inn, Avedon said in a humble voice, “I would appreciate it if you don’t tell Tony about—”

  Morton patted his arm reassuringly. “Do you think I shall boast of being knocked down by you? Not likely, Cousin.”

  Tony did not return to the inn for another hour. He had met a chap from Oxford on High Street and had to give his rattler and prads a try.

  “What is to be done?” Avedon asked. They sat in a private parlor, where Avedon toyed with his food and drank his wine. He had been brushed and washed and combed, to give at least an impression of respectability.

  “Our best hope is that Norris doesn’t recognize you when he goes to Chenely.”

  “We can’t let him go there now!”

  “Dear boy, do you really think Sally will let you prevent him from coming, when she wants that position for Rutledge? You might as well try to stop the wind. Make that a hurricane,” he amended, as a picture of Lady Sara’s determined face swam in his mind.

  “I’ll have to leave—go to visit one of my other estates till the bishop has left.”

  “That would give Lucy time to cool down, too.” Carlton nodded.

  “I have given up any hope of healing the breach there,” Avedon said curtly.

  “Of course you will see her and apologize before you leave.”

  “I shall write her a letter.”

  Carlton shook his head. “Pride, Cousin, is a wicked fault. You made a ridiculous spectacle of yourself. Swallow that ostrich egg in your throat and admit it—to Lucy. Tell her you are sorry. Tell her why you went darting off half-cocked.”

  As Avedon jerked at his collar, the old arrogance began peeping through. “It is true, I only went to Canterbury because I feared she was in danger. One cannot like to see a young lady jeopardize her reputation....”

  “Oh, I shouldn’t tell her that, Avedon. I should tell her the truth, if I were you.” He lifted his wine glass and smiled over the rim. “I liked you much better during these few hours when you unaccountably turned into a human being. I daresay Lucy would prefer that to a statue as well.”

  Avedon’s first, instinctive response was to ass
ume his haughtiest expression. Carlton watched with interest as the incipient sneer softened to a smile. “She is enough to melt ice, isn’t she, Morton? Her eyes...”

  * * * *

  Lucy stopped inside the front door of the Deanery and escaped her uncle by going to fetch her bonnet. She wanted a few moments to herself to collect her thoughts. She was mystified at Avedon’s ghostlike appearance at the door, till she remembered his desperate question. “Are you married yet?” His voice was hoarse with anxiety and his eyes staring from his head. That was what had brought him pelting through the mud to Canterbury—concern that she had married Morton. That was what had turned him into a caveman and a raving lunatic. In theory she deplored such uncouth behavior, but when the cause was fear of losing her, she found it not only forgivable but gallant. Morton, the sly weasel, hadn’t told the family that he was bringing her to meet Uncle Norris. Had he done it on purpose?

  She wore a smiling face when she returned to the dining room. “Will you take me around the cathedral now, Uncle? I am very eager to see it. Such a pity Mrs. Percy is not here.”

  Yet she could not have repeated a word of its interesting history after the tour was over. She saw Avedon’s glowering face in every leaded window and floating around the vaulted spaces of the clerestory. She was on pins to return to Rose Cottage for another round with him. The bishop droned on with the cathedral’s history of burnings and rebuildings through the centuries, and Lucy said, “How horrid!” and “How interesting!” at what sounded like the proper times.

  “And now we had best be on our way if we wish to arrive before dark,” he said at last. “Mrs. Percy will be wondering what keeps us. I hope she isn’t feeling poorly?”

  “Not at all. She is on pins to see you.”

  “I’ll just get my cases, and we’ll be off.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Mrs. Percy, the real Mrs. Percy, now able to shine forth in all her widowed splendor, was curious at Lucy’s state when she returned from Canterbury. Surely it was not just seeing her uncle again that put her in such a high state of fidgets. Her cheeks were as pink as peonies in full bloom. Her eyes held some secret glow, and her nerves were in tatters. She jumped like a grasshopper every time anyone spoke to her. She instituted no conversation of her own, and as often as not didn’t even give a coherent reply to a direct question.