Winter Wedding Read online

  “She would,” Lady Marguerite replied with a conspiratorial twinkle. The farce of politeness was over with and they could get down to becoming properly acquainted.

  “Cousins can be so horrid,” she continued, “and only because they are cousins, one is expected to like them, and be forever visiting them and writing letters. I adore Aunt Charity, the old Tartar. Prissie must take after Uncle James. In fact, all the children do. Emily, the older sister, is another oyster, and Charles, the son and heir, cannot tear himself away from Parliament for his own sister’s wedding, so that gives you some idea.”

  “He has been set the task of drawing up some bill or other, Sir James says. I have been here six weeks and have not seen him yet.”

  “Count your blessings.”

  Clara showed Lady Marguerite to her room. The maid was busy unpacking her trunk, so they went along to Clara’s room to talk. “Good gracious! Are you sleeping in this little cubbyhole?” Lady Marguerite exclaimed.

  “Just for the time being, while the wedding guests are here.”

  “It is really too bad of Benjie to bring Nel, landing in here at such a time, but I suppose he didn’t know how crowded it would be.”

  Clara, keenly interested in this line of talk, said, “It will be an excellent time for him to introduce Miss Muldoon to the family, will it not? If he is to marry her, he will want all the family to get to know her.”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Your mama does not favor the notion at all, I gather?”

  “No. Mama already knows her.”

  “What—what exactly is amiss with her?” Clara asked quietly.

  Lady Marguerite rolled her eyes and said, “You’ll see.”

  Clara was inclined to seek further details, but as her new friend immediately ran into a new and equally interesting line of gossip, she did not try to divert her. Lady Marguerite told, without a bit of prodding, how much nicer all Benjie’s other flirts were. A whole raft of Miss this and Lady that and Cousin so-and-so flew from her tongue, till Clara’s head was spinning. What a fool she had been to think Allingcote meant a thing by his attentions to her. He was a gazetted flirt, who spent his days flitting about from house to house, visiting any family with a nubile daughter.

  They talked for thirty minutes, at the end of which time Lady Marguerite went to her room to clean up after her trip, and Clara went belowstairs to see if she was needed and to see as well, of course, if Miss Muldoon and her escort had arrived yet.

  Clara had been gone scarcely half an hour, but during that short interval many carriages had arrived and unloaded the occupants, who swarmed about the entranceway, the gold saloon, and even up the stairs. Many of the visitors were strangers to Clara, but Oglethorpe’s relations were hers also, and she knew them. She had spent time in many of their homes and had to seek these relatives out for a friendly word explaining what she was doing here at Branelea. She was introduced to the Lucker relations—the names familiar to her from writing invitations, as well as various lists.

  Accustomed to meeting many strangers as she was, Clara enjoyed this free-for-all. Her mind was quick to fit a name to a face, and with a leg in both the Lucker and Oglethorpe camps, she was soon busy making introductions of her own. So busy that she failed to remark the gentleman in the far corner of the room, observing her every move and trying to catch her eye.

  She didn’t even know Lord Allingcote was there, while his gray eyes first widened in disbelief, then crinkled at the edges in a smile, and finally narrowed in impatience. Till he rose and lounged toward her at a familiar gait, with his well-shaped head preceding his shoulders a little, she didn’t even see him. But as soon as Lord Allingcote was seen, he was recognized, and she stopped dead in the middle of welcoming her Cousin Esmeralda to stare at him, as if he were a ghost.

  In two paces he was at her side, bowing and saying in his familiar offhand way, “Fancy meeting you here, Miss Christopher!” The warmth of his voice removed any casual air from the trite remark. That, and his remembering her name after two years.

  “Oh, Lord Allingcote, you remember me,” she said, and dropped a curtsy.

  “Remember you!” he exclaimed, shocked. “But of course! Well, well, small world, isn’t it?” he said, then emitted a laugh that was a little too loud and sounded almost nervous—so unlike his usual social polish. “Have I left out any of the customary banalities?” he asked her with a smile. “We’ve had ‘fancy meeting you here’ and ‘small world.’ I had no idea you would be here. I didn’t realize you were a friend of Prissie’s.”

  “I’m not. That is—I am now I hope—but I am here because of Oglethorpe. He is my cousin.”

  “Is he indeed? No one told me that. What a pleasant surprise this is, seeing you again.” He put his hand on her elbow and continued, “Won’t you join me in that quiet little corner there between the palms, that I have usurped for myself? Quite a tropical oasis in the desert of Auntie’s saloon, with a good bottle of claret standing by. You don’t remember, I suppose, my predilection for claret at the Bellinghams’, but I remember you always preferred sherry, and shall procure you a glass if you’ll join me among the palms.”

  His friendly interest, his remembering where they had met before, and even her preference for sherry, amazed her. Clara was so overcome she could hardly reply. While she hesitated, he went on, “Do come. We have so much to talk about, and at a big do like this, you need not worry about mixing with everyone. I have been hiding for thirty minutes and no one has missed me.”

  As he spoke, he led her to the palm trees in the corner, magically picking a glass of sherry off a passing tray along the way. Soon they were seated, a little apart from the others, looking at each other with conscious, almost shy glances.

  Clara racked her brain for something to say, but the only thing she could think of was Nel Muldoon, and she disliked to let him know she had been gossiping about him.

  “How did The Tempest go on after I left?” he asked. “I was called away suddenly. I hadn’t even time to say good-bye to you—to anyone except Lady Bellingham, in fact.”

  “We heard about your father, and were sorry to hear it. The play went on fine. Someone—Boo Withers I think it was—took your part. Well, you hadn’t a very large part, as I recall.”

  “They knew what they were about to cast me as one of the attendant lords. I am no actor. And you were to be one of the spirits. Iris, was it not? You should have been Miranda, the leading lady.”

  He even remembered the insignificant little part she had been cast to play. “Oh no! That was the only important female role in the play. Miss Bellingham played it marvelously.”

  “Just like Buck Bellingham to put on a play with no good roles for ladies, when he had the very flower of Albion’s womanhood assembled under his roof at the time. He had that charming Kessler girl play Sycorax, with her blond curls all stuffed up under a fright wig. He should have put on The Taming of the Shrew or The Merry Wives of Windsor.”

  Clara saw that his memory was as keen for other girls at the party as herself, and her joy was diluted accordingly. “What Buck really wanted was to get himself rigged out as Caliban and scare the wits out of everyone,” she replied. “He did it very well, too.”

  “What have you been doing since then, Miss Christopher? That was two years ago, and I haven’t had a glimpse of you since. I heard you had gone to Scotland for a visit.”

  “I was there for a few months. Then I was at Devon for six weeks.”

  His shaking head indicated mild disapproval, but his smile was warm. “Still on the move, I see. I know you dislike gathering moss, but this constant shifting about must also make it difficult to gather friends. Where are you staying now, tumbleweed?”

  She laughed in surprise at his having hit on her secret name for herself. “How did you know I call myself the human tumbleweed?”

  “You told me. Don’t you remember? That afternoon you were making Caliban’s headpiece from an old mop, using me as your plaster blockhead.
You told me I had the best blockhead at the party. I was highly flattered.”

  “You’re making that up. I never said anything of the sort I’m sure.” She found herself laughing again at his lively nonsense. She didn’t remember the occasion in detail, but had some recollection of making Caliban’s headpiece, and how else could he know she called herself the tumbleweed, if she hadn’t told him?

  “Indeed you did! A man doesn’t get a compliment like that every day—thank God. I remember it very well. And I bet I remember something else you’ve forgotten.”

  “What is that?” The absurd idea danced into her head that he was going to remember her rose gown and pay some exaggerated compliment on it.

  “You promised—” He paused, and changed his mind. “No, think a moment. See if you can remember what you were supposed to do.” He looked closely at her, his gray eyes quizzical, while a soft smile played over his lips.

  Her mind ran back to that visit two years ago. She remembered being in conversation with Allingcote several times. She recalled how he looked, the tone of his voice, she remembered laughing a great deal, but the meetings were not much differentiated from one another. She remembered she had a wonderful time, but no specific words, certainly nothing in the nature of a promise. She shook her head.

  “You have a shockingly bad memory, Miss Christopher. You promised you would write me out the words of “The Maid of Lodi,” that we might entertain the company with a duet. And you didn’t do it. I daresay you took a bribe from someone. There was a petition going around to block us, if I remember aright.”

  “Well sir, if my memory is shockingly bad, I must own yours is shockingly good. It must be almost an inconvenience to have so much useless lumber stored up in your head.”

  “The old blockhead is selective. It only remembers the good things—like broken promises.” There was a tinge of accusation in his voice.

  “You can hardly hold me responsible for that. You left,” Clara pointed out.

  “True, I must acquit you of accepting bribery. But did you ever write out the words? I wager you did not. You know, I think, where they might have been forwarded? I have outwitted the world, however, and learned the words by myself. I sing it wherever I go. People plug their ears when they see me approach, music in hand, and dash for the closest exit. I plan to stun the assembly this evening with a rendition. Perhaps you will join me?”

  “I must confess, this old head of mine has forgotten the words, if it ever knew them.”

  “I’ll write them out for you—and I won’t break my promise either,” he said, gazing deeply into her eyes. After a moment, Allingcote shook himself to attention. “But we have detoured from what I was asking you. Where are you staying now?”

  “Here.”

  “I mean after the wedding. Where are you living nowadays?”

  “I am living here for two months,” she said, and went on to explain about her aunt’s wedding trip.

  He looked stunned. “You mean you have been with Aunt Charity for six weeks!”

  “Yes, and shall be for two more.”

  “But why didn’t she—why didn’t you let me know? Braemore is only fifty miles away. We might have met any number of times.”

  “I believe your mama was aware that I have been staying here,” she replied, in a little confusion. “We have been very busy with Prissie’s wedding, and have not done much entertaining.”

  “Mama didn’t tell me you were here. Of course she didn’t know I—you—that we are acquainted,” he said, flustered. “I daresay that explains it. And you will be here for two more weeks, you say?”

  “Yes, till mid-January. That is, we are going to London for New Year’s to visit Sir James’s Uncle Percy, but will be returning shortly afterward.”

  “And after that?” he asked with a strange eagerness. “I mean to get your itinerary quite straight this time, so you don’t tumble away on me again,” he said, with flattering eagerness. “Do you return to Sussex, to the aunt who is presently in Greece?”

  “Yes, as soon as she is settled. They have not chosen a house yet. Both had hired apartments that they have let go.”

  “This is no good. You don’t actually know where you’ll be. You’ll take off to Scotland or somewhere... But I’ll be here till the thirtieth. We’ll be meeting any number of times. In any case, you can always be in touch with me at Braemore. If, by any chance, you are spirited off by your aunt, do let me know where you are staying. A simple note directed to me at home will settle everything. We shall not consider it a clandestine correspondence. Here, I’ll give you the direction.” He pulled a card from his pocket and saw it put in her own before proceeding to any other matter.

  They chatted on in the most amiable way for a quarter of an hour. The two-year interval since the visit at the Bellinghams’ might never have been. They were back on the same easy footing, with Allingcote paying her the same marked attentions as formerly. In Clara’s mind the word “love” did not seem so presumptuous as it had seemed before his coming. She admitted, however, that flirtation might be a better word, considering his clear memory of other flirts as well.

  Still, certain details that emerged lent a stronger inference than mere dalliance to his conduct. His insistence that she be able to get in touch with him by some means, his apparently genuine chagrin at not knowing she had been so close for six weeks, and even more than these, his sharp recollection of all the details of their relationship at the Bellinghams’. Surely a flirt would require a prodigious memory to store up such details of all his flirts.

  “I really must go,” Clara said reluctantly. She had twice caught Lady Lucker’s eye on her. There were certain arrangements regarding rooms and dinner that Clara was to check out.

  “So soon? You just got here! You’ve hardly looked around the island at all,” he urged, pointing to the two palm trees in pots. “I thought we might explore a little, when the sun goes down. There might be buried gold...”

  “I have some things I must be doing,” she insisted, and rose.

  Allingcote got up and put a detaining hand on her elbow. “Let me help you. I’ll be bored to flinders here with all these relatives and strangers. I hardly know which is worse. It really isn’t fair of you to run off and leave me abandoned alone on a desert island. No ship to rescue me.”

  “I never heard of an oasis on a desert island.”

  “You may never see another. Stay awhile. I’ll climb the trees and pick you coconuts—mangoes. They’re really marvelous trees.”

  She removed his hand and began walking away. Allingcote tagged along. A matter that had been occupying some large part of Clara’s mind finally came out in speech. “What about Miss Muldoon? You should not abandon her to what must be a whole roomful of strangers.”

  The effect of her speech was dramatic. Allingcote came to a dead halt. His eyes took on a frightened or guilty look. His hand went to his forehead and he exclaimed, “Good God, I forgot all about Nellie.”

  Clara’s soaring hopes began to plunge.

  Chapter Four

  Guilt was definitely the expression Allingcote wore as he looked around the room for his precious Nellie. And well he might feel guilty, flirting his head off with her for the better part of half an hour. He scanned the floor carefully, then turned back to Clara with his old dégagé smile. “It’s all right. She went upstairs to see Prissie, but I feared she might have come back down. They are old school chums, fortunately. Otherwise, I could not have brought her here at such a time.”

  Clara was curious to hear why he had brought her, uninvited, but could not like to inquire directly.

  “I suppose I had best go after her,” he said, following Clara across the room. At the doorway they met Lady Lucker wearing a distracted face.

  “Ben, Clara, I must speak to you. The ghastliest thing has happened!”

  “Oh Lord, it’s not Nel?” Ben asked. An expression of panic seized his face. It spoke clearly of a great concern for the girl.

  Lady Luc
ker rushed them into the privacy of the hall to unfold the tale. “No, it is not Nel. What must happen but those two geese, Georgiana and Gertrude Snelley, have made the trip from London, expecting to be put up here after as well as saying they would not come. They got a free ride, that is what did the mischief. Not a square inch of space in the house. There simply isn’t a nook or cranny I can squeeze them into, unless I put them in the cellar with the hogsheads and black beetles.”

  “Give them my room,” Ben said at once. “I meant to tell you when I brought Miss Muldoon, Auntie, that I would put up at an inn. The One-Eyed Jack is not above a mile away. I shall stay there and take along someone else with me, if you need two rooms.”

  “A good idea,” Lady Lucker said at once. “You are sharing the gold suite with Oglethorpe’s Uncle Maximilian—a truckle bed in the dressing room, I fear.” She stopped and shook her head. “I am so rattled, my wits are gone begging. I cannot put Georgiana and Gertrude in a room adjoining Maximilian’s. He pinches.”

  “They’ll love it,” Ben grinned. “No, don’t hit the roof, Auntie. I was only joking. You can shift the guests about somehow,” he went on, with typical masculine obtuseness on domestic matters.

  “We have shifted and sorted till we are blue in the face,” his aunt snapped. “There is no way. Prissie refuses to share with your friend, Miss Muldoon, because of hating her so, and I must say...”

  Ben leapt on it like a hound on a bone. “Hating her! Nellie said they were great friends. Quite the bosomest of bows. I wondered Prissie hadn’t asked her to the wedding. Nel thought it must be an oversight.”

  His aunt stared at him as if he were a bedlamite. “Oh no, everyone at Miss Simpson’s Seminary hated Miss Mul—Oh dear! Now don’t take a pet, Benjie. She is monstrously pretty, your Miss Muldoon. It was jealousy like as not, that set all the girls against her. Of course we are happy to have her.”

  “The little minx,” Allingcote said, with a smile that showed not a single trace of disapproval. It almost verged on admiration. “She told me that whisker on purpose to get me to bring her. I am frightfully sorry, Auntie. What can I do to help?”