The Riddle of the Shipwrecked Spinster (35 page)

Mary broke it at length, saying in a calm way, “The last time you offered, Mr. Cranford, you implied that you did so because your family felt responsible for my—disgrace. Is that why you have spoken again? Do you feel further obligated to rescue this… notorious Amazon?”

“Much I care about notoriety,” he declared, staunchly if not wisely. “Besides, once you are a married lady, people will forgive your—er—”

“My torrid past? You fancy your name will offer me a shield ’gainst the condemnation of the
ton?
And what of yourself, sir? Would you not be criticized for wedding such a scarlet woman?”

He said with a shrug, “To say truth, we live rather ‘out of the world’ at Muse Manor. I seldom know what the rumour mills are brewing in London. Nor do I care. If you could be content with country life, we need seldom go into Town.”

Her laugh sounded a trifle shrill. “La, sir! How uncomfortable for you to feel the need to keep your bride shut away from Society!”

Sensing belatedly that this was not going the way he had hoped, he said, “If I feel a need, it is to cherish and protect a very brave lady—”

“And to reward her bravery with a gold ring that will lift her from degradation to respectability!” She looked up at him, and he was dismayed to see that her hazel eyes were bright with wrath. “Thank you, kind sir,” she said mockingly. “You are more than generous, but I am not so desperate as—”

“No!” Seizing both her arms he said, “Mary! I do not offer
for your hand as a ‘reward’! Acquit me of such intolerable conceit!”

“Why, then?” she demanded fiercely. “Why would you wed me knowing I love another man?”

Cranford flinched. “Hoping that perhaps, in time, you might find you did not know your own heart.”

“Stuff!” she said rudely, wrenching free. “Your pardon if I mistrust such unselfish generosity. I find it more likely that your great-uncle snapped his fingers under your nose again, so that once more you dance to his tune!”

“In point of fact, Lord Nugent forbade me to offer at all! He is convinced that Valerian has formed a
tendre
for you, which would—”

“Which would restore your family honour! Assuming, of course, that I accept such a belated offer, and, with floods of grateful tears, cast myself at his feet!”

Very pale now, Cranford said, “And you must pardon me if I find it questionable that you would reject such an offer!”

“I will not pardon you, sir! For you may believe I would reject
any
such offer from any so-called ‘gentleman’!” Contemptuous, she added, “Whether he were the darling of Mayfair—or a nobody!”

“The latter being myself.” He bowed stiffly. “Forgive me, Miss Stansbury, for wasting your time. I will relieve you of my unwanted presence.”

He turned and strode down the hill, his hopes in fragments about him and his heart aching because she had dealt with him so unkindly.

“Wait!”

She had picked up her skirts and was running after him. Even as he looked back she tripped and fell headlong. He gave a horrified cry and ran to kneel and help her sit up. She clung to him. There were tears on her cheeks and he asked frantically, “My poor girl! Are you hurt?”

“No! Yes! Oh, Piers—I am so sorry! I was rude and vulgar
and horrid! It was just… I was so angry when you called me an Amazon and said I was not dainty or petite!”

“Did I say such stupid things?” He groaned and said remorsefully, “What a fool I am! Forgive!”

She put a finger across his lips. “You are not a fool. And I thank you for your very kind offer. But—”

“But you still want—him.” He sighed, and sitting beside her said heavily, “I see.”

“No. You do not see at all. I told you once that I had a Plan…”

“Yes. It worried me.”

“My Plans always worry my friends. And you are my friend, Piers Cranford. I know that. The thing is well, if I go back to my mama, I am sure she will try to—to—”

“To arrange another—er, engagement for you?”

“To entrap some hapless male is what you really mean.” She sighed and said ruefully, “And it is truth. My mother is not an evil lady, but—well, she is proud, and to hold her position as a Leader of Fashion, tends to outrun the constable. Papa tried to convince her to practice economies, but he gave up and went away to Egypt. Mama is very frightened now, I think. I spoilt her plan to marry me off to a rich man, but if I were under her roof she would try again, I am sure of it.”

“You said you meant to reside with your aunts. Is that your Plan?”

“For a while. Six months… perhaps it will take a year.”

“To do—what?”

“You say you do not follow the London gossip, so perhaps you’ve not heard. An East Indiaman went down a few years ago, and the survivors managed to reach an island somewhere. I forget the details, but not long ago another vessel found them and offered them rescue. One lady refused to come back to England. She said she knew she would be looked on with revulsion, and rather than endure such disgrace, she stayed with the savages.”

He nodded. “Yes. I recollect. A very sad story.”

“Perhaps. But”—her chin tossed upward—“I thought she must be very missish.”

He touched one of the glossy curls that had come down when she fell, and said tenderly, “Is that why you resolved to come home and face whatever awaited you in Polite Society?”

“It is why I have resolved to”—she looked at him squarely, her eyes dancing with mischief—“to write a book, Piers! About my adventures.”

He stared at her, speechless.

“I shall call it ‘Spinster Amid the Savages’ she said musingly. “What do you think?”

He gasped, “You cannot mean it! You would really be ostracized! I doubt you could find a publisher! And your reputation would be in shreds!”

“Yes, but don’t you see? That is the whole point. The more shocking I become, the more eager people will be to read my lurid tale! Oh, publicly they will shun me, I have no doubt, even as they devour the pages in private. Would it not be wonderful if it made lots of money? My future would be assured! I could set up a home of my own—with perhaps one of my aunts or cousins to play chaperone.”

She clapped her hands triumphantly, and he was won to a smile. Taking her small hands within both of his, he said, “Do you know, Miss Mary, I think you are a little bit of a rascal! Oh, my dear—are you quite sure this is what you want? Would not your life be more peaceful if you were happily wed? Not to me—I know I am not your choice, though I had hoped—” He bit his lip. “But if Valerian does offer…”

“I will send him to the right-about,” she said, with a defiant toss of her head. “And, yes, I know that is not a proper term for ladies. But I, you know, mean to be outrageous!”

Jane Guild heard Piers laughing while he was still above-stairs putting off his riding coat before coming down to a late luncheon. She had thought to see a wistfulness in his eyes when he’d arrived home, and she scanned him curiously as he came into the breakfast parlour.

He crossed to drop a kiss on her forehead, and she patted his arm fondly. “You must have had a good morning.”

He paused for an instant, then said, “It could have been worse.”

“You saw Florian? Poor lad, how does he go on?”

“Quietly. I told Bragg we must talk with Miss Finchley. If her sire objects, I shall sign a summons.”

“Why, dear? Do you think Laura knows something of import?”

“I am convinced she knows
something
, and that Florian does, also. Since he won’t confide in me, I hope to persuade her to tell me whom he is shielding.”

Miss Guild was intrigued, and after Peddars had served them and left, she demanded to know what else Piers had done with his morning. His answers did not satisfy her and at length she said, “Yes, that is all well and good. I’m glad Constable Bragg was not badly hurt, and it is a pity Ezra Sweet has become so cantankerous in his old age. He was used to be a jolly fellow when he tended your dear mama’s flowers. I cannot think, however, that his behaviour is what sent you into whoops just now.”

Cranford said with a grin, “You are very right.” He handed her a folded letter. “Here, my perceptive Aunt. You will see that I am properly driven to the ropes…”

Curious, she unfolded the letter, and read:

“Are ye quite sure as ye will not stay for supper, Mr. Cranford?” Mrs. Dixon looked affectionately at her husband and added, “We does not stand on ceremonials here, sir, nor ask that ye change your garments ’afore sitting down at table.”

“Not even these garments?” Cranford looked doubtfully at his much-creased coat and muddy breeches.

“’Twould be hard to say which o’ ye is dustier,” acknowledged his would-be hostess. “Good clean dirt, sir, and ye’ve worked so hard to help us these past five hours and more. You deserve a good meal, so ye do.”

Cranford had gone first to the church and assisted in clearing the rubble, and from there had proceeded to lend the farmer a hand. He was tired and hungry, and the smells wafting from Mrs. Dixon’s kitchen were nigh irresistible. He said reluctantly, “Being acquainted with your cooking, ma’am, I am more than tempted. But the light is almost gone and my brother has likely returned to the Manor by this time. I am anxious to learn of how he found Viscount Glendenning. His lordship was badly injured during the steeplechase, you know.”

Dixon and his wife did know and were quick to add their good wishes for the viscount’s speedy recovery. Walking with Cranford to the barn, the farmer said, “I had thought, sir, as
that there Mr. Valerian, might win the race if Tassels didn’t. A fine black he’s got and goes like the wind.”

“Yes. He rides well.”

“That he do, sir. A bit too fast, though, or so I thought. Considering ’twas dark and only a half-moon for light when I see him. And the bridge repairs only just finished and not properly tested yet.”

Adjusting Tassels’ stirrups, Cranford checked and said sharply, “You saw Gervaise Valerian on the bridge at night? Are you sure?”

“Sure as may be. I were driving the cart home from Short Shrift. Mr. Valerian fairly shot past. I called to him, but I doubt he even saw me, he were thinking only on where he was bound.” Dixon winked and said with a grin, “Knowing he has a eye for a pretty lass, I thought as he were likely going to visit a lady. Still, ’twas chancy to ride at that speed after dark.”

Cranford mounted up and said lightly, “I’ve had the same thought, Oliver. Valerian takes too many chances.”

The farmer chuckled. “Never think it, to look at him, would ye? He’s not the man he pretends to be, not by a long way!”

It was dark when Cranford turned onto the lane leading to the Manor, his thoughts on Dixon’s obvious admiration of the dandy. It was amazing what affectation and an expensive tailor could—He tensed suddenly. There were lights ahead. Many lights, and men’s voices, shouting. God forbid this was another attack on the gaol and Florian! He saw Bobby Peale then, mounted on his old cob, and hailed the lad.

Riding to him at once, Bobby shouted excitedly, “We’re all out looking, sir!”

“Looking for—what?” Cranford demanded, “Is there trouble at the house?”

Peddars ran up, holding a lantern high. “Father Barrick and half the village is searching for the lady, Mr. Piers, sir. Has ye come from the Home Farm?”

“Yes, I have.”

“She’s not there, is she?”

“Who is not there? Devil take it, will no one tell me? For whom do you all search? Is it my aunt?”

“‘Lor’—no, Lieutenant,” exclaimed the boy. “She be safe in the Manor and were talking with the feathery lady.”

“The feathery lady…” Suddenly cold as ice, Cranford gasped, “My dear God! Do you mean Miss Celeste Westerman?”