The Hermit's Daughter Read online

  “But it is necessary. You are the only one he listens to. You must make him give us some more money, for Ronald is at the bottom of his purse. In fact, we could only make a small deposit on the house rent, and you know you and I must be presented in the Queen’s Drawing Room and have parties and pay for a box at the theater and-—”

  “We do sound rather an expensive brood, do we not?” Sally said weakly. She fell back against the brocade sofa. “It is for Derwent to discuss business matters with him, Melanie, not me.”

  “Ronald will dun him for the money, but you must soften him up.”

  “In that case, you had best let him into the house,” Mrs. Hermitage advised.

  “I mean we shall not see him socially, Mama,” Melanie explained. “Though Ronald says he has wonderful parties and is excellent ton. He will--could introduce us to everyone, but he is so stubborn and ill-natured there is no counting on it. Oh, did I tell you? Ronald has got us a box on the grand tier at Drury Lane, and we are to attend the first play tomorrow night.”

  “How nice!” Mrs. Hermitage gushed.

  Sally was pleased, too, but worries for the future cast a pall over her pleasure. She disliked to be always harping on money, but felt obliged to inquire, “How much did the box cost?”

  “Only a hundred and fifty pounds for the whole season. Of course it is not paid for yet, but we can use it immediately,” Melanie assured her. “And we are to have our presentation gowns made by Madame Laurier, Sally. Ronald’s cousin, Lady Anglin, directed me to her. She is the best modiste in the whole city, but shockingly expensive. We shall go very soon to visit her. Ronald has already arranged to have our names submitted at St. James’s.”

  As dinner was still a few hours away, some light refreshments were served to sustain the travelers. There was an excited hour of gossip and chatter, heavily sprinkled with the high cost of all the city’s pleasures. But still, they did sound like delightful pleasures. Almost delightful enough to stay the pangs of apprehension that loomed at the edge of Sally’s mind.

  Dinner was such a grand affair that the whole twelve feet of the dining table was required to hold all the silver dishes and crystal goblets and the massive floral arrangement that covered it. Four footmen served the party, at a cost to be determined at a later date, for Sally could not ask Derwent in front of the servants.

  “It reminds me so very much of when your papa was alive,” Mrs. Hermitage said, sighing wistfully. “How happy he would be to know his girls are to be presented. Melanie married, and now your turn is coming, Sal. There is no saying. Even you may nab someone in London.”

  Derwent, in an expansive mood, agreed. “Absolutely.”

  “We shall share our ball,” Melanie decided. “I must take precedence, for I am married now—Lady Derwent. Are you not impressed?” she asked, “Before the Season is over, you will be married, too, Sally.”

  It was a happy thought to take up to bed, and a happy thought was needed to ward off the less-delightful worries of bills and Lord Monstuart’s pending visit.

  Chapter Eight

  Knowing Lord Monstuart’s penchant for early arrivals, Miss Hermitage was up by eight the next morning to make a careful toilette. The sprigged or mulled muslins that suited Ashford were not fine enough for London. She chose a gold lutestring, narrowly striped in emerald green and finished with matching bindings. Bows and lace were eschewed. A more severe elegance suited her years and sophistication. Her only ornaments were a small golden locket and the emerald ring she always wore.

  By nine o’clock she had breakfasted alone and begun a tour of the downstairs. She discovered the ballroom, an enormous chamber of barnlike proportions and palatial appointments. She had soon peopled it in imagination with waltzing ladies and handsome gentlemen. There was a heady excitement reeling in her, an impatience to get out into the city to enjoy all the frivolities from which she had been so long barred. London was her native habitat. No feeling of strangeness came to lessen her eagerness. And this evening they would be at the theater!

  But first she must meet Monstuart. She wished the others would come down yet felt some contrary emotion when they did so before his arrival. Setting his clock to city hours, Monstuart did not call till eleven, by which time the whole group was in a state of fidget with waiting and worrying. So much depended on his reaction to the wedding.

  Monstuart was quite simply furious. He couldn’t forbid the match outright, and to try would only have lent it an irresistible hue of melodrama. He had hoped that familiarity with the Hermitages would open Derwent’s eyes, but he had obviously underestimated Miss Hermitage. That vixen—he should have known she wouldn’t be content with her provincial invalid. She had engineered this match for her own advantage. He was afraid what he might do if she was smiling triumphantly, so he ignored her as long as possible.

  The first omens, upon his arrival, seemed good. He came in smiling to congratulate his nephew and wish the bride happy. The visitors received a curt bow, and a brief “Good morning, ladies,” which was better than Sally expected. As she saw only the back of his head for the next several minutes, it was difficult to gauge his temper. The fact that he carried a gift for the bride seemed hopeful. It was a small package containing a ring with a row of four precious stones across the top. “Sapphires and diamonds, to match your eyes and your smile respectively,” he said when she opened it.

  His next speech was less encouraging. “Of course, you will not have much opportunity to show it off this year, at Gravenhurst. I assume you will be removing there directly, as your town house is rented, Derwent.” A steely eye was directed at his nephew as he spoke. “As soon as the bride’s family have terminated their brief visit, that is to say.” His black head turned toward the visiting ladies, and their hearts clenched.

  Sally felt her insides quake at the venom in that glance. Her mother said, “Oh, my dear!” in a falling voice while her shoulders slumped.

  Any show of weakness was anathema to Sally. She stiffened her spine for combat. “Yes, the house is only rented for two months. After that the newly weds will be going to Gravenhurst, and we will return to Ashford.”

  Monstuart felt a ripple of rage scamper up his spine at her bold attitude. He hadn’t a doubt in the world that she was the prime mover in this affair. The rest of them rolled together hadn’t the gumption to cross him. He crossed his arms, leaned back in a bellicose manner, and counted to ten quietly to himself. “You are taking advantage of this opportunity to make your bows, are you, Miss Hermitage?”

  She nodded. “As you suggested I should do, milord. You were quite right. We are all looking forward to attending Drury Lane this evening, as well.”

  Monstuart’s dark gaze flickered to his nephew. “I hope you have had the foresight to book a box for the night, Derwent, or the ladies will find themselves on the outside, looking in.”

  “Ronald is not so remiss as you imagine,” Sally said. Derwent’s Christian name came without thinking, from some instinctive knowledge that her using it would annoy the uncle. “He has taken a box for the Season.”

  One would not have thought it possible for Monstuart’s back to become any straighter. It was more a convulsion than a straightening that occurred as he directed a glare at Derwent, who blanched visibly under that unflinching stare. “May your guardian inquire what you are using for blunt? This pretentious and unnecessarily large mansion must have pretty well cleaned you out.”

  Derwent gulped and charged in. “I want to talk to you about that, Monty. Now that I have a wife to keep ...”

  “And the wife’s family,” Monstuart added without bothering to glance at them.

  “Yes, well, you know what I mean. You rented my house. We must live somewhere.”

  “I strongly advise you remove to Gravenhurst. It is the only spot you can afford.”

  “Deuce take it, I have fifteen thousand a year!”

  Monstuart’s jaws worked with the effort of keeping his temper in check. “No, Cawker, you have two thousand
a year, till I decide you are capable of handling more. I see no signs of it at the present. I know you had run through the half of that sum before ever coming here. Don’t think I mean to turn your fortune over to you to be squandered by your relatives. Till you show some signs of maturity, I keep a tight rein on the purse.”

  Derwent blustered up ineffectively. “If getting married don’t show signs of maturity, I should like to know what does!”

  Monstuart caught a glimmer of amusement in Miss Hermitage’s green eyes, and the last vestige of his control fled. “Maturity! I’ve seen more signs of it in a puppy! Sneaking off behind my back like an adolescent miscreant for a hole-in-the-wall wedding engineered by a scheming hussy—”

  Derwent was on his feet, turning an astonishing shade of red. “You will answer for that, sir! I will not sit here and have my wife traduced in my own house.”

  “Lord Melbrook’s house. Yours is rented. And I did not refer to your wife,” he added with a scathing glare at the wife’s sister.

  Sally was the next one to jump to her feet. Her eyes glittered dangerously, and her voice was trembling with fury. “I suggest you take your leave now, Monstuart, before this degenerates into a physical brawl.” Her hands clenched into fists from the effort not to slap that arrogant, hateful face. “You have done what you came to do—namely insult me and confirm your intention of keeping Derwent’s money from him. You’ve done your worst.”

  “That’s what you think!” His voice cut like a knife, and his eyes blazed. “If you want to play rough, I can, and shall, do considerably more. I can make this town so hot you’ll wish you’d never got your talons into this simpleton of a boy and schemed your way to London.”

  “Here we feared you meant to show us a cold shoulder!” she said with an arch laugh to her cohorts, who stared in horror at the awful turn the meeting had taken.

  Monstuart looked around the group with an air of loathing. He saw his nephew surrounded by a parcel of expensive ladies, whom he was now convinced were out to fleece the boy. His anger was the fiercer for being partly directed at himself. He had been negligent to leave the lad unattended.

  “Just what do you hope to accomplish by this?” he asked Sally.

  She tossed her shoulders insouciantly. “I hope to garner some of those joys you constantly reminded me of at Ashford. Why, it was you who put the idea of coming to London in my head.”

  “I think not. You came in hope of making a good match. Let me disabuse you of so foolish a notion. Gentlemen do not marry dowerless women.”

  “Lord Derwent did,” she pointed out, blinking her eyes in a parody of beguiled innocence. “Surely you are not suggesting that your nephew is not a gentleman!”

  “See here, Monty,” Derwent began in a cajoling tone, “the thing’s done, and there’s no point being stubborn about it. It will only make it worse if you cut up stiff. I mean to say, we shall be meeting every second day in society, and if you are planning to cast slurs on us ...”

  “Do be reasonable, Lord Monstuart,” Sally added in a sneering way. “You must see I am at disadvantage enough without a dowry. How shall I ever snare myself a rich husband if you give me the reputation of being a managing female as well? Why, your nephew will have Mama and me around his neck forever if you have your way.”

  “That is all that saves you from being publicly exposed for the adventuress you are,” he told her. He rose stiffly and looked down his nose at her. “Go ahead. Do your worst, Miss Hermitage. You will not do it with my nephew’s money. Nor will you find many gentlemen so gullible and easily led as this Johnnie Raw.”

  “I do not look for many, milord. One is all I require. I have no inclination for bigamy, I promise you. I leave the shadier vices to the royal family.”

  “Let me give you a tip, miss. Pert country manners will cut no ice in society. If it is your intention to pass yourself off as a well-bred lady, you should learn to curb that sharp tongue.”

  “I can pass myself off as a polite simpleton as well as the next lady—provided I am not goaded beyond endurance by any ill-mannered person. You are leaving?” she asked as he directed a fulminating stare on her before turning away. “We enjoyed your little visit, Lord Monstuart. Do come back soon. Au revoir.”

  As the door was closed by the butler, Monstuart hadn’t even the pleasure of slamming it behind him. He wreaked his temper on his curled beaver instead, as he poked it on to his head with a vicious stab. There was a thundering silence in the ornate Gold Saloon when he was gone.

  “Can he really keep your money?” Melanie asked her husband in a frightened whisper.

  “Of course he can. He is the sole executor of my father’s will. He can do whatever he wants.”

  Sally punched a pretty green satin cushion in frustration. “I wish Papa were here. He would find some legal way out of this impossible situation.”

  A soft smile turned up the corner of Mrs. Hermitage’s lips, and she said softly, “Sir Darrow Willowby!”

  Sally frowned at the name, which disturbed an echo from the past. “What did you say, Mama?”

  “Sir Darrow Willowby! The man who was Papa’s partner the last few years he was working, my dear.”

  “Your old flirt!”

  “Not at all, but he was as shrewd as can hold together. If anything can be done, he is the very one to do it. I meant to be in touch with him in any case. I shall send him a note this very day. This very instant!” she said, rising to search the cavernous building for a study.

  Her elder daughter hurried after her. “Do you think it wise to publicize our predicament, Mama? We always said that in the worst case we would spend our own money to tide us over. I am not eager for the straits we are in to be discussed in every drawing room.

  “Pshaw. Sir Darrow won’t tell anyone. He is close as a clock. It is required in his profession, for those lawyers hear all manner of disgraceful things about their clients. A little bankruptcy is not worth mentioning to them.”

  “Caution him not to tell his wife. Ladies are not so close.”

  “I don’t know that he has a wife, Sal. She was ill at the time he joined your father. He might be a widower by now. I think I heard he is, in fact. I’ll ask him to come around here. I could not face going to your father’s office. The memories would overcome me, and it is so unflattering to be seen with red eyes.”

  * * * *

  Lord and Lady Derwent absented themselves to call on various relatives of the groom after luncheon, but Sally elected to remain home with her mother to speak to Sir Darrow Willowby, whom she remembered fondly from her youth. She did not remember him being quite so old, nor so diminutive, as he turned out to be. He was not a day under sixty, with already a slight stooping forward around the shoulders. He wore his snow-white hair parted in the center, to lengthen even further his pencil-thin face. But the eyes were still a bright and mischievous blue, with the brows sprouting in thicker strands than before.

  “Ho, Mrs. Hermitage—Mabel, you haven’t changed one iota since I saw you last,” he shouted from the doorway of the saloon. Soon he was shuffling in, smiling at them both. “You never mean to tell me you still have this minx on your hands?” he asked in surprise as he looked at Sally. “I made sure she’d be married from the schoolroom. The prettiest face in London—present company, of course, excepted,” he added with a bow to the beaming mother.

  “Darrow! How nice it is to see you again. Just like old times,” the hostess declared. Tears sprung to her eyes at the memories inevitably evoked by this vision from the past.

  “You would have seen me long since, had you let me know where you were living, shatterbrain,” he scolded, shaking a finger at her. “I told you to keep in touch, and how many years have passed? Never mind. I don’t want to know. It is too many.”

  He sat down, placed his cane between his knees, and rubbed his hands together. Then he assumed a more serious aspect and said, “Now, dry those tears and let us hear what hobble you have fallen into, Mabel. You know I am never savage w
ith you.”

  Mrs. Hermitage outlined, with many polite circumlocutions, her situation, bringing him up to date with the marriage of her younger daughter.

  Sir Darrow listened sharply. “Why, you are well off and don’t know it. Half the lords in London couldn’t pay their bills if everything they owned were sold off at auction. And you have nabbed an earl for one of the girls into the bargain. You’ll have no trouble disposing of this saucy piece,” he added with an admiring study of Sally. “Should have brought her out two or three years ago. I have been waiting that long to make her an offer. Ha-ha.” He finished with a waggish shake of his white head to show his jest.

  “What we really want to know, Darrow, is whether Monstuart can keep Derwent’s money from him for the two years, as he threatens to do,” Mrs. Hermitage explained.

  Sir Darrow raised his brows and pursed his lips in a well-remembered fashion that gave him a comical air. “In a word, yes. Legally, he can. Speaking more practically, he will look a flaming jackass if he does. There is no point in it. The cent percenters will be happy to get their hooks into young Derwent. They will lend him any amount, with an income of fifteen thousand behind him. I cannot imagine for a moment Monstuart would be so woolly-headed. What has got him into this pucker, eh? This minx is giving him a hard time, I warrant,” he ventured, looking at Sally. “She is very much in his style, if I am not mistaken.”

  “Well, you are mistaken, Darrow, for they never meet but they come to cuffs,” Mrs. Hermitage informed him.

  “He is a trifle high-handed. I never had much to do with him myself; your husband, of course, handled the Monstuart case. He don’t like being crossed, if I remember the story aright.”

  Sally’s interest perked up immediately. “What case did Papa handle for him?” she asked.

  “One of those delicate affairs never spoken of in front of young ladies,” he replied. “A paternity suit, was it? No, not quite that simple. Crim con., perhaps. Something in the petticoat line. I can look it up and let you know if you have a mind to tease him, but don’t breathe a word of how you found out.”