Until You

50

After Sheridan, Alexandra, and Victoria left the drawing room, the three women who remained within it, despite their valiant efforts to seem normal and confident, were jumpy and tense by the time they heard the sound of a coach arriving an hour later. "That must be Stephen," the dowager duchess said, putting her teacup down with enough nervous energy to cause the priceless Sevres cup to clatter and tilt upon its delicate saucer. All morning, guests had been arriving for the birthday celebration, including the Skeffington party, but Stephen had not put in an appearance, and it was becoming obvious something either had detained him or was going to cause him to miss the day completely. "If he has not been injured or held up by highwaymen on the road," she continued peevishly, "I shall be sorely tempted to do him bodily harm myself! My nerves are drawn to the limit. I am entirely too old to be subjected to this sort of suspense."

Too anxious to wait for the butler to announce the new arrival, Whitney was already on her way to the windows to have a look.

"Is it he, dear?"

"Yes… Oh, no!" her daughter-in-law answered, and turning around she pressed against the draperies, looking positively frantic.

"Yes, it is he, or 'oh, no,' it is not he?" inquired Miss Charity.

"Yes, it is Stephen."

"That's good."

"With Monica Fitzwaring."

"That's bad," said the dowager, handing her three-year-old grandson to Charity, who opened her arms to him, and who'd been included in the plot out of necessity. Since she and Noel had become inordinately fond of each other, Whitney didn't have the heart to send the elderly lady away from him on his birthday, nor could she have allowed Charity to remain if she weren't forewarned of Sheridan's arrival and apprised of the reasons and the plan.

"He has also brought Georgette Porter."

"That is very bad," the dowager said, sounding more dire.

"I think it is very nice!" exclaimed Miss Charity, drawing their incredulous looks as she grinned at Lord Noel Westmoreland. Picking up the youngster's wrists, she clapped his chubby hands together, making him laugh, before she glanced up at the two duchesses and noticed they were looking at her as if she were demented. "One woman would occupy his time," she predicted happily. "Two women can occupy each other and leave him quite free for our Sheridan."

"Unfortunately, Monica and Georgette cannot abide each other."

Miss Charity didn't see that as an obstacle. "In order to secure Langford's good opinion, they will spend all their time trying to surpass each other for amiability. Or else," she added, her brow furrowed in thought, "they will unite and turn all their malice on our poor Sherry, should Langford pay her attention."

Less than pleased with the second possibility, Whitney looked at her mother-in-law. "What shall we do?"

Unwilling to be left out of the excitement for more than a moment, Charity said brightly, "We ought to invite dear Monsieur DuVille to even out the numbers!"

The dowager duchess's nerves were strained enough to cause that lady to turn clear round in her chair and glower at Miss Charity. "What a perfectly absurd idea! As you well know, Stephen developed an aversion to the mere mention of the man's name from the day Sheridan disappeared!"

Wary of the dowager's unprecedented mood, Whitney hastily interceded. "Why don't you take Noel outdoors, ma'am," she suggested to Charity. "I instructed the governesses to take the children down by the pond at this hour to see the swans and have a sweet. You could keep an eye on our particular governess if she appears there."

Charity nodded at once, stood up, and took Noel's hand. "Well, my young lord, shall we endeavor to spy out our prey?" she invited.

Noel pulled back and shook his dark, curly head. "First, kiss 'bye," he explained, and ran across the room on sturdy little legs to kiss his grandmother and his mother as he knew they liked for him to do. Satisfied, he grinned at Miss Charity, offered her his hand, and allowed her to lead him outdoors through the French doors that opened onto the lawns.

The Dowager Duchess of Claymore managed to keep her smile in place until Noel vanished, but the moment he was out of sight, she focused her irate gaze on the door that led into the room from the main hall. Stress had finally pushed her past the limit of her endurance. She was irrationally angry with Stephen for foiling their carefully made plans to effect a reconciliation with Sherry by bringing not one, but two women, and she was vastly, if unjustly, annoyed with both women for coming along. Unaware of his mother's strained temper, Stephen escorted his guests into the drawing room and went straight to her chair. "You look a little weary," he said, bending to kiss his mother's cheek.

"I wouldn't look weary if you wouldn't persist in being late and worrying me when you are."

Stephen was too startled by her tone to react strongly to the unjust criticism. "I wasn't aware time was of the essence. I'm sorry you were worried."

"It is excessively rude to keep your hostess waiting," she added crossly.

Stephen straightened and eyed her with surprised annoyance. "My sincerest apologies for my tardiness, your grace." With a formal bow, he added, "For the second time."

Dismissing her unnaturally querulous behavior with an imperceptible shrug, he turned so that she could acknowledge his guests. "Mother," he said, "I believe you're acquainted with Miss Fitzwaring-"

"How is your papa, Monica?" the dowager demanded as the young woman made her a pretty curtsy.

"Very well, thank you, your grace. He sends you his warmest regards."

"Please convey mine to him. And now, since you are clearly exhausted from your trip, I suggest you go straight upstairs and stay there until supper so that you may rest and recover your color."

"I am not in the least tired, your grace," Miss Fitzwaring said, stiffening in affront at the bald hint she didn't look her best.

The dowager ignored her, extended her regal hand to the other woman, and announced as Georgette curtsied, "I heard you have been ill recently, Miss Porter. You must spend the weekend lying down."

"Oh, but-that was last year, your grace. I'm fully recovered."

"Prevention is the key to good health," she persevered doggedly. "That is what my physician always says, and that is how I have lived all these years with such robust health and cheerful disposition."

Whitney stepped in and greeted her unexpected guests before they could pause to mentally challenge her claim to cheerful disposition. "You both look perfectly fit, but I'm certain you'd like a few minutes to refresh yourselves," she said with a smile as she escorted the mortified Miss Porter and the offended Miss Fitzwaring to the door so that a footman could show them to their rooms.

"Where is my nephew?" Stephen asked as he pressed a brief kiss to Whitney's cheek. "And where," he added in a sardonic whisper, "is my mother's 'cheerful' disposition?"

"Noel is with Miss Charity…" Whitney began as it suddenly hit her the time was at hand. It was now. There was no turning back. "In a half hour, everyone is to go down to the pond, where the children are to have a little party. Noel will be there then, along with some of the cottagers' children."