Only to be met with the shock of her life.
“How could you have done such a thing, Uncle Thomas? How could you have made such a mistake?”
“Don’t think there was any mistake,” Sir Thomas said vaguely. Having delivered his announcement from his armchair, he had immediately plunged back into the book he had been reading before Augusta had arrived. “Graystone appeared to know exactly what he was doing.”
“But there must have been a mistake. Graystone would never offer for me.” Augusta pondered the problem furiously as she paced back and forth. “Tis obvious what happened. He offered for Claudia and you misunderstood.”
“Don’t believe so.” Sir Thomas buried himself deeper in his book.
“Come, now, Uncle Thomas. You know you get quite absentminded on occasion. You have frequently confused Claudia’s name with mine, especially when you are working on one of your books, as you are now.”
“What do you expect? You were both named after Roman emperors,” Sir Thomas said by way of excuse. “Bound to be the occasional mistake.”
Augusta groaned. She knew her uncle. When he was concentrating on old Greeks and Romans it was impossible to get his full attention. He had no doubt been just as preoccupied earlier when Graystone had called. No wonder matters had gotten confused. “I cannot believe you have done something that will affect my future so drastically without even consulting me.”
“He’ll make you a sound husband, Augusta.”
“I do not want a sound husband. I do not particularly want any sort of husband at all, least of all a sound one. What the devil does that mean, anyway? Sound. A horse is sound.”
“The thing is, my girl, you are not likely to get a better offer.”
“Very likely not. But don’t you see, Uncle Thomas, the offer was not for me. I am quite certain of it.” Augusta whirled about, the ruby skirts of her habit pooling around her boots. “Oh, Uncle Thomas, I do not mean to be short with you. Heaven knows you have been all that is kind and generous to me and I shall be forever grateful, you must know that.”
“Just as I am grateful to you, my dear, for all you have done for Claudia this Season. You have brought her out of her shell and turned her from a shy little mouse into a sensation. Her mother would have been proud.”
“Twas nothing, Uncle Thomas. Claudia is a beautiful, accomplished woman. She merely needed advice on her clothes and on the proper ways of conducting herself in Society.”
“All of which you could provide.”
Augusta shrugged. “A legacy from my mother. She entertained frequently and taught me much. I have also had the assistance of Lady Arbuthnott, who knows everyone. So you must not hand me all the credit. I am well aware you gave me the task of launching Claudia as a remedy for my melancholy. And it was kind of you. Truly it was.”
Sir Thomas grunted in surprise. “As I recall, I merely asked you to accompany Claudia to a soiree one evening. You took charge from there. You made her one of your projects. And whenever you are involved in a project, my dear, things have a way of happening.”
“Thank you, Uncle Thomas. But about Graystone. I must insist—”
“Now, don’t you worry about Graystone. As I said, he’ll make you a sound husband. Man’s solid as a rock. Got brains and a fortune. What more could a woman want?”
“Uncle Thomas, you don’t understand.”
“You’re just feeling a bit emotional at the moment, that’s all. The Northumberland side of the family always was emotional.”
Augusta stared at her uncle in seething frustration and then she rushed from the room before she burst into tears.
Augusta was still simmering with frustration later that evening as she dressed for the night’s array of soirees and parties. But at least she was no longer on the point of tears, she told herself with pride. This was a crisis that called for action, not emotion.
Claudia studied Augusta’s scowl with gentle concern. Then, with a naturally graceful gesture, she poured two cups of tea and offered one to her cousin with a soothing smile. “Calm yourself, Augusta. All will be well.”
“How the devil can all be well when such a dreadful mistake has been made? Dear God, Claudia, don’t you understand? Disaster is upon us. Uncle Thomas got so excited he went ahead and sent the notices off to the papers. By tomorrow morning Graystone and I shall be officially engaged. There will be no honorable way for him to get out of the arrangement once the news is in print.”
“I understand.”
“Then how can you sit there pouring tea as if nothing has happened?” Augusta slammed her cup and saucer down and shot to her feet. She whirled about and began striding back and forth across the width of her bedchamber. Her dark brows were drawn together above her narrowed eyes.
For once Augusta was hardly aware of what she was wearing. Her mind had been in such turmoil that she had been unable to concentrate on the usually pleasant task of choosing her attire. Her maid Betsy had selected the rose-colored evening gown with its daringly cut neckline edged with tiny satin roses. It was Betsy who had chosen the matching satin slippers and elbow-length gloves. And it was Betsy who had decided to dress Augusta’s dark chestnut brown hair in the Grecian style. The cascading ringlets bobbed about wildly as Augusta stalked back and forth.
“I fail to see the problem,” Claudia murmured. “I had the impression you were growing rather fond of Graystone.”
“That is simply not true.”
“Come, now, Augusta. Even Papa noticed your interest in the earl and remarked upon it just the other day.”
“I asked to read a copy of one of Graystone’s recent treatises on some moldering old Roman, that’s all. You can hardly call that a sign of deep fondness.”
“Well, be that as it may, I am not surprised Papa went ahead and accepted Graystone’s offer on your behalf. He assumed you would be delighted, as indeed you should be. It is a wonderful match, Augusta. You cannot deny it.”
Augusta stopped pacing long enough to give her cousin an anguished glance. “But don’t you see, Claudia? Tis all a mistake. Graystone would never have asked for my hand in marriage. Never in a million years. He thinks me a terrible hoyden, an unruly scapegrace who is always one step away from falling into a scandal broth. To him I am an ungovernable little baggage. In his eyes I would make a most unsuitable countess. And he is quite right.”
“Nonsense. You would make a lovely countess,” Claudia said loyally.
“Thank you.” Augusta groaned in frustrated annoyance. “But you are quite wrong. Graystone has already been married to a most suitable female, from what I have heard, and I have no desire to try to live up to my predecessor’s standards.”
“Oh, yes. He was married to Catherine Montrose, was he not? I seem to recall Mother talking about her. Mrs. Montrose was a great believer in the value of Mother’s books for young ladies. She raised Catherine on them, I believe. And Mother always claimed Catherine Montrose was a fine example of the efficacy of her instructional techniques.”
“What a jolly notion.” Augusta went to the window and stood gazing forlornly down into the gardens behind the town house. “Graystone and I have absolutely nothing in common. We are violently opposed on all the modern questions. He does not care for free-thinking females, you know. He has made that quite clear. And he does not even know the half of it. He would no doubt have a fit of the vapors if he realized some of the things I have done.”
“I cannot envision Lord Graystone having a fit of the vapors under any circumstances, and in any event I do not think you behave so very poorly, Augusta.”
Augusta winced. “You are too generous by half. Believe me, Claudia, Graystone cannot possibly want me for his bride.”
“Then why did he ask for your hand?”
“I do not believe he did,” Augusta announced grimly. “In fact, I am certain he did not. As I told you, it was all a ghastly error. He no doubt thought he was asking for your hand.”
“Mine?” Claudia’s cup clattered in th
e saucer. “Good heavens. That is impossible.”
“Not at all.” Augusta frowned intently. “I have been thinking about it and I can see precisely how the mistake occurred. Graystone no doubt arrived here this afternoon and asked for the hand of a Miss Ballinger. Uncle Thomas persuaded himself the earl meant me because I am the eldest. But of course he did not. He meant you.”
“Really, Augusta. I doubt Papa would have made a mistake of that magnitude.”
“No, no, it is entirely possible. Uncle Thomas is always mixing us up. You know that. Only think of all the times he calls one of us by the other’s name. He gets so involved in his studies that he frequently forgets us altogether.”
“It does not happen all that often, Augusta.”
“But you must agree it has happened,” Augusta insisted. “And in this situation where he no doubt wanted to convince himself he was going to get me married off at last, it is easy to see how the mistake occurred. Poor Graystone.”
“Poor Graystone? I hear he is quite wealthy. Estates in Dorset, I believe.”
“I am not talking about his financial situation,” Augusta said impatiently. “The thing is, he will be quite horrified when he sees the notice in the papers tomorrow. Horrified and trapped. I have got to do something immediately.”
“What on earth can you possibly do? It is nearly nine o’clock. We shall be leaving for the Bentleys’ soiree in a few minutes.”
Augusta set her jaw with grim determination. “I must pay a brief call on Lady Arbuthnott this evening.”
“You are going to Pompeia’s again this evening?” Claudia’s gentle voice held a hint of reproof.
“Yes. Would you like to come with me?” It was not the first time Augusta had made the offer and she already knew what Claudia’s answer would be.
“Heavens no. The name alone must give one pause. Pompeia’s. All those rather nasty connotations about unvirtuous behavior. Really, Augusta, I do believe you spend entirely too much time visiting that club.”
“Claudia, please. Not tonight.”
“I know how much you enjoy the place and I know you are fond of Lady Arbuthnott. Nevertheless, I do wonder if Pompeia’s might not be encouraging certain characteristics in you that are known to be latent in the blood of the Northumberland branch of the family. You should be working to restrain and control those streaks of impulsiveness and recklessness. Especially now that you are about to become a countess.”
Augusta narrowed her eyes at her lovely cousin. There were times when Claudia bore a striking resemblance to her mother, the renowned Lady Prudence Ballinger.
Augusta’s Aunt Prudence had been the author of several volumes for the schoolroom. The books had titles such as Instructions on Behavior and Deportment for Young Ladies and A Guide to the Improvement of the Mind for Young Ladies. Claudia was intent on following in the illustrious footsteps of her mother and was hard at work on a manuscript tentatively titled A Guide to Useful Knowledge for Young Ladies.
“Tell me something, Claudia,” Augusta said slowly. “If I get this horrid tangle straightened out in time, will you be happy to marry Graystone?”
“There is no mistake.” Claudia rose and walked sedately toward the door. Dressed for the evening in a gown selected by Augusta to accentuate her image, she appeared angelic indeed. The elegantly cut pale blue silk gown she was wearing swung gently around her slippered feet. Her blond hair had been parted in the center and dressed in the fashionable Madonna style. The coiffure was accented with a small diamond comb.
“But if there has been a mistake, Claudia?”
“I shall do as Papa wishes, of course. I have always tried to be a good daughter. But I truly feel you will discover there has been no mistake. You have been giving me excellent advice all Season, Augusta. Now let me offer some to you. Endeavor to please Graystone in all things. Work hard to conduct yourself in a manner befitting a countess and I believe the earl will treat you tolerably well. You might want to reread one or two of Mother’s volumes before your wedding day.”
Augusta stifled an oath as her cousin walked out of the bedchamber and closed the door behind her. Living in a household populated by members of the Hampshire branch of the family could be extremely trying at times.
No doubt about it, Claudia would make Graystone a perfect countess. Augusta could just hear her cousin now as she sat across the breakfast table from the earl and discussed the proposed schedule of the day. I shall do as my lord wishes, of course. The pair would no doubt bore each other to death in a fortnight.
But that was their problem, Augusta told herself as she paused in front of her looking glass. She frowned at her own reflection, aware that she had not yet selected any jewelry to complement the rose gown.
She opened the small gilt box on her dressing table. Inside were her two most valuable possessions, a carefully folded sheet of paper and a necklace. The folded paper, marked with ominous brown stains, contained a rather unpleasant little poem Augusta’s brother had penned shortly before his death.
The necklace had been the property of the Northumberiand Ballinger women for three generations. Most recently it had belonged to Augusta’s mother. It was composed of a strand of blood-red rubies interspersed with tiny diamonds. In the center hung a single large ruby.
Augusta clasped the necklace carefully around her throat. She wore the piece often. It was all she had left of her mother’s. Everything else had been sold to buy Richard his precious commission.
When the necklace was in place, the large ruby nestled just above the valley between her breasts, Augusta turned back to the window and feverishly began making her plans.
Harry arrived home from his club shortly after midnight, sent his staff to bed, and headed for the sanctuary of his library. His daughter’s latest letter detailing the progress of her studies and the weather in Dorset lay on the desk.
Harry poured himself a glass of brandy and sat down to reread the painstakingly penned letter. He smiled to himself. Meredith was nine years old and he was extremely proud of her. She was proving to be a serious and diligent student, anxious to please her father and to perform well.
Harry had personally designed Meredith’s curriculum and supervised each stage carefully. Frivolous elements such as watercolor painting and the reading of novels had been ruthlessly expunged from the program. As far as Harry was concerned such things were much to blame for the general flightiness and romantical inclinations that characterized so much of the female population. He did not want Meredith exposed to them.
The day-to-day instruction was carried out by Meredith’s governess, Clarissa Fleming. Clarissa was an impoverished Fleming relation whom Harry felt extremely fortunate to have available in his household. A serious bluestocking in her own right, Aunt Clarissa shared his views on education. She was fully qualified to teach the subjects Harry wanted Meredith to learn.
Harry put down the letter, took another sip of his brandy, and contemplated what would happen to his strictly regulated household once he put Augusta in charge of it.
Perhaps he truly had lost his wits.
Something shifted in the shadows outside the window. Frowning, Harry glanced up and saw nothing but darkness. Then he heard a faint scratching noise.
Harry sighed and reached out for the handsome black ebony walking stick that was never far from his side. London was not the continent and the war was over, but the world was never a completely peaceful place. His experience of human nature told him it probably never would be.
He got up, cane in hand, and put out the lamp. Then he went to stand to one side of the window.
As soon as the room went dark, the scratching noise increased. It had a frantic quality now, Harry decided. Someone was hurrying through the bushes alongside the house.
A moment later there was an urgent tapping on the window. Harry looked down and saw a figure in a hooded cloak peering through the glass. Moonlight revealed the small hand raised to rap again.
There was something familiar a
bout that hand.
“Bloody hell.” Harry stepped away from the wall and put the ebony stick on the desk. He opened the window with a brusque, angry motion, planted both hands on the sill, and leaned out.
“Thank goodness you are still here, my lord.” Augusta threw back the hood of her cloak. The pale moon revealed the relief in her face. “I saw that the light was on and I knew you were in there and then quite suddenly the lamp went out and I was afraid you had left the room. What a disaster if I had missed you tonight. I have been waiting for over an hour at Lady Arbuthnott’s for your return.”
“If I had realized there was a lady waiting for me, I would have made it a point to return much sooner.”
Augusta wrinkled her nose. “Oh, dear. You are angry, aren’t you?”
“Whatever gave you that notion?” Harry reached down, grasped her arms through the fabric of the cloak, and hauled her bodily in through the window. It was then he saw the other figure crouching in the bushes. “Who the devil is that?”
“That is Scruggs, my lord. Lady Arbuthnott’s butler,” Augusta said breathlessly. She righted herself as he released her and straightened her cloak. “Lady Arbuthnott insisted he accompany me.”
“Scruggs. I see. Wait here, Augusta.” Harry swung one leg over the windowsill and then the other. He dropped down onto the moist earth and beckoned to the stooped figure in the bushes. “Come here, my good man.”
“Yes, your lordship?” Scruggs came forward with an awkward, limping gait. His eyes glinted with laughter in the shadows. “May I be of service, sir?”
“I think you have already done quite enough for one night, Scruggs,” Harry said through his teeth. Aware of Augusta hovering in the open window, he lowered his voice as he confronted Peter Sheldrake. “And if you ever assist the lady in another adventure of this sort, I shall personally straighten out that extremely poor posture of yours. Permanently. Do you understand me?”