The Merry Month of May Page 2

  The butler nodded and threw the door open as Haldiman disappeared into the gold saloon. The muffled, low voices at the front door were ignored. Careless of the surrounding grandeur, Lord Haldiman looked at his mother, sprawled out on the sofa with her mouth open. Poor Mama. She had never been a beauty, but with age she had gone deaf, and her deafness seemed to have made her vague. Her cap, riding askew, was crushed in a mat of gray hair. A brilliant blue shawl vied with the purple of her gown. And with those colors she wore garnets! Mama, who used to be the best-dressed woman in the countryside! She looked like a vagrant, straggled by accident into all this elegance.

  “I’m hungry!” a young voice bellowed in the hallway. Haldiman was curious enough to go in search of the speaker.

  Before he reached the doorway, not one but two young boys in short coats bowled forward and began tearing around the room like a pair of colts. One was six inches shorter than the other. Neither was old enough to be in school. Haldiman blinked in surprise. He had no doubt they were some relatives. They had the unmistakable air of the Haldimans, with their black hair and dark eyes. Cousin Gloria? She had two youngsters ...

  He prepared a civil face and went into the hallway, ready to “welcome” the tardy intruders. As soon as he clamped an eye on the lady, he knew it wasn’t Cousin Gloria. This one was a commoner, a petite blonde, with a round face and bold brown eyes. She seemed to be doing an inventory of the hallway. Her sharp eyes traveled from the marble floor to the embossed ceiling, stopping to evaluate every picture and statue in between.

  While she gazed, Haldiman took in her rumpled traveling suit. It was of decent material, but poorly cut and of a garish red shade. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her servants should use the back door. But very likely she was the nursery maid, accompanying the boys. He looked over her shoulder, hoping for a glimpse of her employer. The man, a tall, well-formed one, was in shadows. As Haldiman waited, the man stepped into the light.

  “Hallo, Rufus,” he said warily.

  Haldiman felt a singing in his ears. His head spun, and for a moment he felt he had fainted. It was Peter! He just stared, waiting for the hazy face to focus into some other form, to assume the aspect of Cousin George Deverel, or some other relative. The outlines firmed into the unmistakable features of Peter. A little older, of course. The boyish bloom was off him. His complexion was ruddy and his cheeks fuller, but it was Peter.

  “Good God! Where did you come from?” Haldiman exclaimed, in a whisper of disbelief.

  “America, actually.” Peter stepped forward and shook Haldiman’s hand. “I should have written first. Daresay this is a bit of a shock for you, Rufus.”

  The boys had careened back into the hall. The elder shouted, “Papa. Papa, I want to see the knights in armor. I want to ride the ponies. When can we eat?”

  Haldiman stared in horror at the boys, and at the woman in the red suit, then back at his brother. A myriad of ghastly possibilities assailed him, including illegitimate children and blackmail. Peter smiled uneasily. “Heh, heh. You didn’t know I was a father, eh? You’re an uncle twice over, old man.”

  “Are you married?” Haldiman demanded harshly.

  The young lady exclaimed, “Well, upon my word!” in high dudgeon.

  Haldiman shook himself to attention. “Sorry. This is Lady Peter, I collect?”

  “Oh no!” Peter said.

  Again Haldiman felt that strange sound in his ears. He feared what new calamity he was about to hear.

  “This is Betsy Harvey, my wife’s sister,” Peter explained.

  “Ever so happy to meet you,” Miss Harvey said, offering her gloved hand. “You have a lovely place here, Lord Haldiman.” She was quite miffed when Haldiman ignored her compliment, though he shook her hand.

  “Where is Lady Peter?” he asked his brother.

  “Fiona died, Rufus,” Peter said in a low voice. “Died of a miscarriage a year ago. I—I decided to bring my lads home and rear them as proper Englishmen.”

  “Not to say that Canadians aren’t perfect gentlemen,” Miss Harvey interjected hastily.

  “When can we eat?” one of the boys demanded in a loud voice.

  “Hush, Rufus,” his father said.

  Haldiman, untouched at the honor of having his nephew named after him, looked a question at Miss Harvey. “You and Miss Harvey are engaged?” he asked. Why else would he have brought her with him from America? Miss Harvey gave a bold smile at this assumption.

  “Not at all. Miss Harvey has never been to England. It seemed too good an opportunity for her to miss,” Peter explained.

  “I traveled with my woman,” Miss Harvey threw in. “They trotted her upstairs to unpack for me. There was nothing improper in it if that’s what you’re thinking. I may not have blue blood, but the Harveys are as good as anyone. Tell him, Peter.”

  “Oh, excellent family,” Peter said. “Vast tracts of timber in upper Canada. Fiona and Betsy are—were heiresses.”

  Betsy smiled and nodded her head as if to say, “So there, Mr. High and Mighty.” Her actual words were, “I have an uncle, a judge, and a cousin, a governor.”

  “If you don’t give me some food, I will eat the flowers,” young Rufus announced. The smaller boy sat down and began to cry.

  Haldiman beckoned the wide-eyed butler and had the boys taken to the kitchen. “I expect you are hungry as well,” he said to Miss Harvey.

  “I could nibble something,” she answered eagerly. “We haven’t had a bite since five. I told Peter to stop over at Ringwood and continue on in the morning, but no, he listens to no one but himself. He must be home tonight. Not that his pockets are to let,” she added swiftly. “Betsy left him very well to grass. Her fortune would amount to twenty-five thousand in your money.”

  Haldiman blinked in astonishment at this forthright recital. “I’ll ask the butler to bring some mutton as soon as he returns. Meanwhile you will want to see Mama, Peter.”

  “Yes, I’ll go right up.”

  “She’s in the saloon. I had best prepare her.”

  Lady Haldiman’s failing ears had picked up a slight commotion in the hall and she came straggling out, rearranging her skirts and pulling her cap up. “Who is calling at such an ungodly hour? Has there been an accident?” She looked at Peter, shook her head, looked at Haldiman, a strangled sound caught in her throat, and she swooned away in a dead faint.

  Miss Harvey shrugged her shoulders and asked, “What ails the old malkin? That must be your nanny, eh Peter?”

  “She is my mother.”

  “Lud, you never mean it!”

  There was a scurry of carrying Lady Haldiman to a sofa, calling for wine and a feather to be burned, and fanning her. Miss Harvey elbowed the gentlemen aside and said, “Let me take care of her. I’ve often seen the old ladies at home cave in. Their first sight of an Indian usually does it. I must loosen her gown.”

  After a moment Lady Haldiman opened her eyes again, and seemed perfectly restored to health and sanity. “Good God, Peter! What a turn you gave me. I thought it was you. So you have decided to come home, eh? Where is our tea, Rufus? You know Peter likes his tea. And this is your lady, I suppose?”

  “No, Mama. This is Miss Harvey, my wife’s sister.”

  “Missed her? You never mean she’s left without saying good day to me.”

  “Mama is hard of hearing,” Peter explained to Miss Harvey, and turned back to his mother. “My wife is dead, Mama,” he said, loud and clear.

  “Ah, she is the wise one. We should all be in our beds. I shall see her in the morning. Then who is this pretty young thing?” she asked, turning to Miss Harvey.

  After two or three repetitions, Lady Haldiman had grasped the details. Tea arrived and while the new arrivals ate, Lady Haldiman and her elder son sipped tea and exchanged uncertain, troubled glances.

  “I am the proud father of two boys, Mama,” Peter said.

  “No, no, we shan’t bother with toys tonight,” she agreed, frowning. “I am not at all sur
e your toys are still here, Peter. I gave a lot of old things to the church sale. How long have you been married?”

  “Five years.”

  “And no children, eh? A pity. You will have to marry and try again.”

  “I have two sons.”

  “Two months? You have all your life. There is no rush. I daresay you will offer for Sara again.”

  Peter flushed a deep pink and looked at Miss Harvey. That young lady’s eyes flashed and she demanded, “And who, pray, might Sara be?

  “A neighbor,” Haldiman replied dampingly.

  She looked coyly at Peter. “I believe you had a flirt before leaving home,” she teased. “Not a word of that did you mention to Fiona, you sly dog.”

  “There is no need to buy one,” Lady Haldiman told her. “We have half a dozen dogs around the place.”

  Miss Harvey rolled her eyes ceilingward in amusement.

  The uneasy conversation continued for half an hour. When Miss Harvey was replete and Lady Haldiman thoroughly awake, the ladies retired to bed.

  “Shall I take my old room?” Peter asked.

  “You and I have a few things to discuss before you retire,” Rufus told him. “In my study, if you please.”

  Peter swallowed and ran his finger around his collar. He felt as if he were back at Harrow, about to be caned. “I’m deuced fagged, old chap. Couldn’t it wait till morning?”

  “No, it couldn’t.”

  “Let us make it brief then,” Peter said, and entered the study, looking all around at the familiar furnishings, the big oak desk with brass and leather appointments, the wall of glass cabinets holding books, the brocade drapes. He felt again those trembling misapprehensions that invariably assailed him when his father ordered him into this room. Damned foolish of him to feel like a boy again. He was a fully grown man now. Rufus could bluster a bit, but he couldn’t keep his money from him.

  Rufus sat at his desk and said in a scathing voice, “Be as brief as you like, but pray give some explanation for your unconscionable behavior.”

  Peter was too uneasy to sit down. He paced the room as he spoke, still an elegant figure in his blue coat and striped waistcoat. That jacket didn’t come from the colonies, Haldiman thought. The ass must have sent to London for his jackets.

  “It wasn’t all my fault if you want the truth, Rufus. Sara didn’t care for me in the least. It was her father that shoved her into it. She was a cold fish. I knew that evening in the orchard, the eve of our marriage it was, that it was all a wretched mistake. But the wedding was prepared. How could I cry off? You may be sure she wouldn’t do it! It seemed the best thing to just disappear.”

  “Still foisting your derelictions onto others, I see,” Haldiman sneered. “Did it seem the best thing not to tell us your plan? Mama and I have been worried sick these six years, not knowing if you were alive or dead!”

  “You knew I’d taken my trunks with me. They were all packed for the remove to the Poplars. That must have given you a hint I had tipped Sara the double.”

  “We didn’t tell anyone the trunks were missing. Death seemed preferable to your having behaved so dishonorably to Sara. And quite apart from your iniquitous treatment of Sara, you should have left a note, or written us any time over the past six years.”

  “You mean Sara thinks I am dead?” Peter asked, staring.

  “Everyone thinks you’re dead. Even Mama and I thought so, after a year had passed with no word.”

  Lord Peter reefed his fingers through his carefully arranged hair. “I often tried to write, Rufus. You’ve no idea how hard it is to put it all down in black and white—my feelings, my reasons for leaving.”

  “Your marriage, your two sons,” Haldiman added ironically. “Couldn’t you at least have spoken to Sara? How could you jilt the poor girl, when she was so in love with you?”

  “I never thought she was. God knows she never acted it.”

  “It would be your dalliance with servants that led you astray. You forget Miss Wood is a lady. She’s practically wilted into an invalid over the years.”

  “I couldn’t jilt her. It would be too shabby. That’s why I decided to disappear. No one would think she’d been jilted. They would just think I had been kidnapped or met with an accident or something.”

  “What is she—and everyone else—to think now? They’ll suspect when you turn up hale and hearty that you hadn’t died.”

  “But surely she’s married by now!”

  “No.”

  “Damn, I made sure she would be happily married. You can’t mean she is still crying willow?”

  “One can only wonder at her grieving so long for so little,” Rufus snipped. “I’m sorry your wife is dead, Peter, but at least you can make up to Sara now for past wrongs.”

  Peter gave a leery look from the side of his eye. “What do you mean by that?”

  “I am saying what any man of honor would say. You must marry her.”

  “Marry her! You forget, that’s why I ran off in the first place. I don’t love her, Rufus. Never did, if it comes to that. I only asked her because I—well, because I—I didn’t think she’d have me,” he finished, frowning at his own folly. “I mean I didn’t think she cared for me in the least.”

  “Now you know differently. You will call on her tomorrow, and after the breach is mended, you will make your offer.” Haldiman leveled an imperious eye at his brother. “This time, you will honor your commitment.”

  “But--”

  “No buts about it. You’ve flung quite enough mud on the family escutcheon, Peter. We blamed it on your youth. You’re no longer a young buck, but a married man.”

  “But Betsy—”

  Haldiman’s nostrils flared in annoyance. “I hope to God you’re not telling me you’ve already offered for that vulgar chit.”

  “The Harveys are very good ton—in Canada, I mean. I have not offered, exactly,” he added, when his brother skewered him with a look of loathing.

  “Excellent. And incidentally, the sooner she proceeds with her journey, the better it will be for us all.”

  “She doesn’t know anyone here in England.”

  “She has her woman with her, as she was so eager to let us know. I hope she isn’t planning to batten herself on me!”

  “She’s well to grass. A very tidy little fortune,” Peter informed him.

  “Then she can afford to hire a house.”

  “Now see here, Rufus. I won’t have my life ordered as if I were still in short coats. I didn’t come home to marry Sara Wood.”

  Haldiman rose from his desk. “For as long as you reside under my roof, you will do what common decency demands. If it is your intention to continue your life of debauchery, pray remove to another county, the farther away the better.”

  “We’ll see what Mama has to say about that!” Peter said, after his brother had stalked out of the room.

  Left alone, Peter made use of the wine bottle. Excellent port. It was hard to get this kind of quality in the colonies. After the second glass, he began to think of Sara. Why the devil had he offered for her? She was different from the other girls. Didn’t toss her bonnet at him. A cool number.

  Yet there must have been passion simmering beneath her cool exterior, or she wouldn’t have been mourning him all these years. Six years. By gad, it would be interesting to see her again. His lads, Rufus and Beau, needed a Mama. It would soothe Rufus’s feathers if he married Sara, and old Rufus could make claiming his estate thorny if he was in one of his moods.

  Then he thought of Betsy. She considered this visit a visit, no more. But as soon as Peter set his boots on English soil, he knew he was home. He didn’t want to go back to Canada. It was too hot in summer and too cold in winter, it was too raw and new, with too many flies and mosquitoes. Once Betsy knew he was staying here, she’d back off. He hadn’t actually offered for her. She was one of those managing women who got a man to the altar before he knew what he was about. Not like Fiona. She was the real love of his life. He’d ne
ver love another, and if a wife was all he needed, Sara Wood would do as well as Betsy—better. It would do no harm to call on her in any case.

  * * * *

  Before he retired, Lord Haldiman went to the nursery to see his nephews. They had been fed, washed, and were being put to bed by a kitchen maid. Fatigue had finally subdued their rowdy manners. Haldiman found himself smiling at two angelic, dark-eyed faces.

  “This here’s Master Rufus, and this other one’s Master Charles, named after his Canadian grandpa,” the girl explained, “but they call him Beau.”

  “Are you the real Lord?” Rufus demanded. “Because if you are, I would like to know why you took Mama away from us.”

  “No, I’m not the real Lord,” Haldiman said. The question tugged at his heartstrings. These poor tykes were in no way responsible for Peter’s behavior. They were innocent, vulnerable victims. He tousled his namesake’s hair. “How old are you, Rufus?” he asked.

  “I’m four and a bit. Beau’s two. I have a pony at home. Can I ride your ponies, lord?”

  “Why don’t you call me Uncle? We’ll get you a pony, Rufus. I have only horses in my stable.”

  “Will you promise?” Rufus asked, pegging Haldiman with a sleepy but still alert eye.

  “Promise.”

  “I would like a dog, Lord Uncle,” Beau said hopefully.

  “We have plenty of dogs. You boys had best go to sleep now. Good night.”

  As Haldiman turned toward the door, Peter entered. “Just came to see the lads are settling in right and tight,” he said. “A fine pair, eh?”

  “They do you credit, Peter.”

  Peter’s smile was spontaneous and genuine. It showed some trace of the handsome boy he had been. “They’re my life,” he said simply. “I’ve been thinking over what you said, Rufus. You’re right. If I mean to settle at the Poplars, I must reestablish myself. I shall see Sara tomorrow and try to make it up to her.”

  Haldiman nodded in satisfaction. “Well done. Don’t take the boys on the first visit,” he suggested.