Chapter Three
Tabitha wasted too much time deciding just how to greet him in the morning, both to keep his friendship and to prove his rejection did not matter to her in the slightest. Eventually, she decided upon sleepy good humour and an exchange of cards at parting.
Then she walked decisively downstairs for breakfast in her private parlour.
“Invite Mr. De’Ath to join me if he has risen,” she told the innkeeper’s wife.
“Oh, he’s gone more than an hour, my lady,” the woman said. “He asked to be remembered to you.”
Her sense of desolation was ridiculous. She had known him a matter of hours. But they could have been friends as well as lovers. Without knowing it, that was what she had always been looking for.
“Oh, and there’s a message from Sir Hubert, too—the magistrate. He’ll be along before ten this morning.”
“Excellent,” Tabitha replied, as though the matter was at the forefront of her mind, which it wasn’t. She had sent a message to him on her arrival in Cogglesworth, about the attempted hold-up, but since De’Ath had gone, she had little enough to tell the man.
As soon as she left Sir Hubert, she climbed into her waiting coach and set off on the last stage of her journey to Sark Park.
The nearer she got, the deeper the sense of oppression that settled over her.
It was an ugly feeling that she could never quite shake off, even though the old devil was dead.
Neither his children nor his successor troubled her, yet somehow the ghost of her late husband never quite seemed to fade from the place.
The carriage drew up to the Dower House and Lily ran out to meet her.
“Tabbie! I’m so glad you’re back!” she cried, throwing her arms around her stepmother. “I came down to wait for you, for so much has been happening and I wanted to tell you before Cousin Ralph gets his oar in. Come in, come in. I love that hat, Tab, did you buy it in Brighton?”
Lily half-dragged her into the house where she disentangled herself to greet her housekeeper and butler who had come here straight from the Brighton house while Tabitha travelled by easier stages.
Having ordered tea, Tabitha swept her stepdaughter into the drawing room and settled herself into her favourite chair, angled so that her back was to the big house where she had once lived with the earl her husband.
Lily paced back and forth in front of her, twisting her hands together, as though, now that she finally had her stepmother’s ear, she couldn’t find the right words.
Tabitha waited patiently, for Lily was subject to crises and this one was unlikely to be insoluble.
She wondered where Mr. De’Ath was, what he was doing, and if his horse had turned out to be the friend he hoped.
A smile twitched at her lips for there had been something truly engaging about the man.
Curiously, she no longer even felt embarrassed by his rejection, for she had read the struggle in his eyes, desire versus chivalry and chivalry had won.
She was not worth such honour of course, but now that she thought of it, she rather liked that in him too. Her horseless knight...
“You have always said I should not marry until I wished,” Tabitha said in a rush. “And that I might choose my own husband.”
Tabitha blinked. “I insist upon it. Have you fallen madly in love?”
“Lord, no, quite the opposite.” Lily threw herself into the chair nearest Tabitha’s. “Cousin Ralph says I am betrothed.”
Tabitha peered at Lily’s tragic face more closely. “Did you agree?”
“No, of course I didn’t.”
“Then you are not.”
“But apparently Papa agreed. He made the promise with the old duke before I was even born!”
“In writing?” Tabitha asked swiftly.
“I...I don’t know. Does it matter?”
“A legal contract will be harder to repudiate, but we shall do it all the same.”
Lily’s face relaxed into smiles. “I said you would know just what to do.”
“Which old duke are we talking about?” Tabitha cast her mind around for an unmarried one.
“Isbourne,” Lily said with loathing.
Tabitha lifted one eyebrow. Another De’Ath... “He is too old even for Ralph, being dead these twenty years!”
“No, no, it’s the son I’m supposed to marry. The late duke made the arrangement with Papa for one of his daughters. I am the only one left.”
“Then why have we never heard this nonsense before?” Tabitha demanded.
“I don’t know.” Lily shifted discontentedly and scowled.
“I was taken to meet him once, though. Ralph told me that and I asked Nurse about it. I remembered him then, a shocking milksop of a boy—he let me play with his toys but just read his book all the time I was there, even when Nurse took me outside to play. He didn’t come.
” Her frown smoothed. “Still, I expect he wasn’t allowed to, poor creature, or he might have expired at my feet which would probably have upset me.
Although if he had expired, I would not now be in this predicament, would I? ”
Tabitha’s lip twitched involuntarily, but she kept the rest of her face grave.
“But only think, Tabbie! I cannot marry the Duke of Death, it would be torture. I am useless with invalids, and I would positively die myself of the tedium! He lives in this great, terrifying mausoleum of a place that makes our big house look like a cottage. Even Nurse said it must be haunted.”
“Yes, well, the haunting or not is immaterial, since you are not going to marry the Duke of Death.”
“Oh good.” Lily sat back in her chair and grinned at her stepmother. “I knew you would save me. How do we get out of it?”
“I don’t know yet. The first thing is to talk to Ralph.”
“Well, I told them I was moving back over here with you, now that you were home, and we are both invited to dine at the big house.”
Tabitha wrinkled her nose, for she went there as seldom as possible. On this occasion, it would have to be done. She changed the subject as though the last one was of little account.
“Well, we shall be off again in a couple of days, if you would still like to attend Lady Hawthorn’s party with me?”
“Oh, of all things!” Lily declared, brightening immediately.
At eighteen, she was eager to go out into Society, to meet other young people, wear pretty clothes, dance, and enjoy herself.
Ralph and his wife, on the excuse of mourning some distant relative, had postponed her debut this Season, refusing even Tabitha’s offer to present Lily to the Queen and to the ton at her own expense.
Of course, Tabitha could have taken her anyway, but she chose not to quarrel over it, instead reaching a compromise that they would introduce Lily gradually, via a few house parties this summer and autumn, with a view to a formal presentation next Season.
Tabitha wondered now if Ralph’s reluctance had anything to do with this ducal betrothal that no one else seemed to know anything about. She began to roll up her metaphorical sleeves for the fight.
***
DRESSING WITH CARE, while Lily watched from the bed, fascinated, her chin resting on her clasped hands, Tabitha said, “You will be the perfect young lady, if you please, no defiance or arguments.”
Lily shifted to display her demure white muslin gown.
“Yes, very suitable, but you’re crushing it,” Tabitha pointed out, and the girl hastily jumped up and shook out the gown, looking guilty.
“I suppose I have a good deal to learn,” she said humbly.
“Don’t learn too much,” Tabitha said. “Natural manners are more appealing. You just have to find your own balance between propriety and you. But I know you will not disgrace yourself.” It was not in the girl’s nature or her upbringing.
Lively and even mischievous she might be, but she was neither silly nor ill-natured.
Tabitha fastened her earrings and regarded herself in the mirror. Allison, her maid, who always stood back to allow her mistress to finish her own toilette, nodded and stepped forward to twitch a fold of her gown. She then adjusted Lily’s gown and handed both ladies their reticules and shawls.
“Thank you, Allison,” Tabitha said. “We shan’t be late.”
Since it was a fine night, they walked up to the house with no outer-wear but their shawls draped from the elbows and were soon ushered into the dining room where it was the custom to gather at the opposite end to the great mahogany table.
They did not sit in the uncomfortable chairs grouped there, but stood by the window until the countess chose to breeze in.
“Cousin Portia” as Tabitha had always known her, thoroughly enjoyed being countess and taking precedence at last over Tabitha. But today, she was at her most gracious, actually welcoming the dowager countess home and going so far as to kiss the air close to her cheek.
“How was your journey, my dear?” Portia asked, standing back as though examining Tabitha’s health. She was a handsome woman inclined to stoutness and unfortunately addicted to frills and bold prints. Her slightly protuberant eyes were sharp, and her thin mouth pinched in repose.
“Not as eventful as it might have been. I was glad of my outriders to scare off a highwayman yesterday.”
“Oh, my dear! What happened?” Portia demanded.
“You never told me that!” Lily exclaimed at the same time.
Cousin Ralph, Earl of Sark, chose to make his entrance at that point, very conscious of his own dignity and value—though financially speaking, Tabitha had begun to suspect that value was not high. Which may well have been the catalyst for reviving this bizarre betrothal, if it had ever existed.
“Highwaymen?” he exclaimed, pursing his lips as though the very word was an insult to his name.