The Bumblebroth Page 3

  Her eyelids fluttered with embarrassment. "Yes, my name is Mathilda," she admitted ruefully. "Nanny has been with me since I was His Grace's ward, you see, and occasionally her tongue slips. She is inclined to forget, from time to time, that I am no longer her charge, but she still takes very good care of us."

  She regarded Nanny Phillips fondly and with only a mild exasperation for having betrayed her. Even the duchess, at this point, could no longer pretend that Lady Pamela was still confined to the nursery.

  She gave her daughter permission to retire. Lady Pamela gave a sharp command to her dogs, and tails waving, they jumped to follow her from the room. Nanny Phillips curtseyed to the company and bustled Lady Pamela out. Before she could do so, however, William promised Pamela to return soon for their driving lesson.

  "But— I thought Lady Westbury said you would be leaving!" the duchess cried, in accents strongly suggesting that she believed herself to have been deceived.

  William gave her the slightest of bows. "My plans are uncertain. Would you object to Lady Pamela's riding out with me in my chaise?"

  She looked anxious. "I couldn't possibly permit such a thing unless I accompanied you."

  "Of course," William said, bowing to hide a smile.

  Within minutes of this exchange, Lady Westbury and William took their departure. Lady Westbury carefully guarded her tongue, but only until William's carriage had passed through the gates. The instant it did, she began enumerating all Lady Pamela's virtues, the amenities of the property she had inherited, the income she believed to derive from the estate, and the advantages to the Norton family if there should be a match with the daughter of a duke.

  Then, unable to restrain herself, she passed on to the duchess's eccentricity and the outrageousness of her costume.

  "I was never so shocked as when she walked in from the garden!" she exclaimed. "That gown! I declare I have not seen anything like it since those shocking days before His poor Majesty fell ill. Why it scarcely covered her! I would rather be struck dead than to appear in such a garment!"

  Then, with a quick glance at William, she added hastily, "But you mustn't let the duchess's conduct discourage you, William. After you are married, you can find her another house somewhere. You needn't think she will be a burden. Just don't permit it."

  Lady Westbury carried on in this vein for some time, before noticing her son's silence. He had neither commented on her observations nor told her his plans for the morrow.

  Anxious to discover just how successful her scheming had been, she prompted, "Well, William. You have said nothing at all. Have you no answer to give me?" She turned in her seat the better to observe his expression.

  William came out of his abstraction. "My apologies, Mama. I did not realize you were speaking. What was it you wished to know?"

  "Not realize that I was speaking! How can you say such a thing, William, when I have been informing you of my opinions this past quarter hour! I have been wondering what you thought of her!"

  "Of the lady?" he said in a distant tone. His face revealed no earthly clue as to his sentiments.

  "Of course, I am asking about the lady, if it pleases you to speak in such terms! Tell me instantly what you thought of her!"

  William commented absently, "I confess that my interest is piqued. I thought her charming— and rather clever."

  "Well!" Lady Westbury settled herself back into her seat with an air of satisfaction. She had known William would come to his senses and see the advantages of the match, but she had not cherished any hopes that he would be smitten with the girl. After all, Lady Pamela was hardly what one would call beautiful. If William found her interesting, however, she would say nothing to disabuse him of the idea for she knew gentlemen were peculiar in their tastes. And to call Lady Pamela clever. . .

  "William— " she scooted forward again— "I hope you did not misunderstand anything Lady Pamela said to you. I can assure you that she is not a bluestocking. Far from it!"

  Her son gave a mischievous grin. The sight of it was vaguely disquieting.

  "Oh, no," he said. "I do not fear that. Lady Pamela does not concern me at all."

  Chapter Three

  As soon as Lord Westbury and his mama had driven out the front gate, Her Grace of Upavon, Mattie, gathered up the skirts of her flimsy gown and ran up the stairs to find Nanny Phillips. As she did so, she noticed the wilted flowers in her hand and, uttering an expression of dismay, flung them over the balustrade. Then, remembering that her footman was getting too old to stoop, she ran back down to collect them and disposed of them herself.

  She found Nanny alone, dozing quietly in a chair in her private sitting room. Mattie crept up to her on tiptoes.

  "Oh, Nanny darling," Mattie whispered. "I'm so sorry, but do you have to nap just now? Oh, please wake up, dearest!"

  Nanny came awake with a jerk, clearly thinking that one of her former charges had screamed during the night with teething pains. Mattie gave a guilty hiss and applied herself to the task of calming her old nurse. After a few moments of this tender treatment, Nanny came fully to her senses, saw where she was, and invited Mattie to take a chair. But the duchess, suddenly aware of the dirt on her gown and gloves, knelt at Nanny Phillips's feet instead.

  "What did that horrible man say to Pamela, Nanny? You must tell me everything. I've been dying to know!"

  "There, there," said Nanny, pushing her spectacles back onto the bridge of her nose before patting the duchess's hand. "He didn't say anything you need get in a pet over. He just talked about his horses and the like."

  Mattie gasped. "But nothing could be worse! Then what about Pammy? Did she seem to— to take to his lordship?" She searched for reassurance in Nanny's pale, old eyes.

  Nanny shook her head, bewilderment clouding her features. "Well . . ." She pondered for a moment. "Pammy liked all that talk about driving his team, I could see that."

  Mattie bit her underlip.

  "She went on a bit rough at first— " Nanny nodded indulgently— "but you know what she is— not much one for gab, unless it's about something she do care about." Nanny's face brightened. "But I'll say one thing for his lordship— he tumbled onto our Pammy's likings right away and told her all about his nice pair of greys. Just the right sort of chatter for our Pammy!"

  Mattie uttered a little sound of distress and rose to her feet. She stood there indecisively for a moment, nibbling one fingertip of her glove.

  "What is it, pet? What's got you all a-dither?"

  Mattie started. "Oh, it's nothing, dearest. I oughtn't to have bothered you." She bent and planted a kiss on Nanny's shriveled cheek. Then she drew Nanny's shawl back around her shoulders and, after apologizing for disturbing her rest, begged her to go back to sleep.

  A few moments later, she peeked into the schoolroom, uncertain whether she would find Pamela engaged with her governess. But apparently, Lady Pamela had not taken her mother's excuses at all seriously and had escaped once again to the stables. No one was in the schoolroom but Lady Pamela's governess, Miss Fotheringill.

  She turned until Mattie could see the cool grey eyes beneath her clear brow and trim lace cap.

  "Come in, Your Grace," she said, giving Mattie a serene smile of welcome. Miss Fotheringill was the only retainer, with the exception of Barlow, who always remembered to address Mattie as she should, not from any lack of familiarity or affection, but out of a strict desire to accord Mathilda the proper degree of respect due a duchess. Miss Fotheringill had instructed Mattie, too; and if, at times, she found it difficult to refrain from demonstrating too much affection for her employer, she was always careful not to reveal such an improper inclination in public.

  Miss Fotheringill stretched out an elegant hand and bade Mattie sit in the chair by the fireplace. Even though spring was nearly at end, she kept a fire always burning in the grate. Her room was a warm haven, which Mattie never failed to seek when something troubled her.

  "Oh, Gilly!" Mattie burst out, not bothering to conceal from
her governess what she had barely hidden from her nurse. "I've had the most disturbing call!"

  "Oh, dear. Not Mrs. Puckeridge again."

  The rector's wife was a notorious gossip, as they had discovered within a few days of taking up residence at Westbury Manor. She called with regularity, and it was in part because of her annoying visits that Mattie had declared her policy of not being at home to anyone.

  "Not Mrs. Puckeridge, no. It was Lady Westbury and her son, Lord Westbury."

  "And how did they distress you? I know Lady Westbury can be rather overbearing, but I had not thought you so easily overset."

  "But she was quite rude! She criticized Barlow and me and you— But that is neither here nor there, Gilly," Mattie said, putting those issues aside. "What matters is that they most particularly asked to see Pamela."

  "But why should they not?"

  "They practically demanded to see her! Well. . . " Mattie considered. "Perhaps it was Lady Westbury who did the demanding. But her son did nothing to discourage her. He let her bully me until I could do nothing else but call Pammy down, and then he told me how eager he was to see her! If you could have seen his smug expression!"

  "Smug? About what?"

  "That's just it! I could tell they were up to something. If you could have seen Lord Westbury's bland look! I was certain he was laughing at me. And his mother— why, she was behaving in the most extraordinary fashion! But I could see at once that she had designs on Pamela."

  "Designs?"

  Mattie hunched her shoulders miserably. "I believe she wants my Pammy for her son."

  "But what does all this matter?" Gilly said, consolingly. "You would never give your consent to an early marriage, and I cannot believe that Pamela has any thoughts of one."

  "That's precisely what I would have said." Mattie's heart trembled for her daughter. "But that was before I saw him."

  "Saw who?"

  "Lord Westbury!" Mattie stood abruptly and started pacing back and forth in front of the chimneypiece.

  Miss Fotheringill observed her agitation with surprise and no small degree of concern. "Why should seeing him make any difference?" she asked, bewildered by Mattie's reaction.

  Mattie slowed to a stop and raised her hands helplessly. "Because he is just what every girl dreams of," she said, a wistful note stealing into her voice. "Tall and handsome— and with such considerable address that he could persuade any girl to fall in love with him."

  She paused, then gave her head a little shake and resumed pacing. "It astonishes me that anyone with his obvious attractions should even consider courting a child. As if enough girls would not throw their caps at him!"

  Miss Fotheringill folded her hands in her lap and watched as Mattie strode up and down the room. Mattie's distress still perplexed her, but before she could offer any comforting words, Mattie caught sight of herself in the mirror above Pamela's desk and came to a halt.

  "Eeeek!" In the glass she had seen the smudge of dirt on her nose. She licked her finger and rubbed the spot vigorously. "All that time I thought I was being my most dignified, and instead, I looked as foolish as the under-gardener!"

  "Do you mean to say you received Lady Westbury and her son dressed as you are?" Gilly's shock could be heard even through her modulated tones.

  Mattie looked down at her dress anxiously. "Like this? Well. . . yes, but— of course, I wasn't expecting anyone. You know Barlow refuses all morning visitors because I prefer to do my gardening in the early hours." She held out her skirt and glanced back at the mirror. "But is it so dreadful, do you think? It seems so wasteful to be digging in a new gown. Would Lady Westbury— "

  Gilly interrupted her with a delighted laugh. "Yes, my dear. It is positively dreadful! I've cautioned you before that you must take care not to dress as if you've been to a ragfair— even when you are gardening. You must think of your position."

  "Oh, dear." As she peered in the looking-glass, Mattie's voice matched her wilted flowers. "What must Lord Westbury think of me?"

  Gilly stared at her curiously. "I don't see that it matters what he thinks of you."

  Mattie felt herself reddening. "No, of course it doesn't matter," she said, remembering how Lord Westbury had stared when she had first entered the room. "But he was so perfectly groomed, you see. Really quite elegant! One could see he was a member of the Ton. Whereas I— "

  She broke off that line of thought and continued forcefully, "But you are quite right. That's entirely beside the point. The point is that I won't have him sweeping Pammy off her feet before she has a chance to go out into the world. Especially when he doesn't love her!"

  There was a pause. "And why shouldn't he love her?" Mrs. Fotheringill asked quietly.

  Mattie glanced up. "It's not that, Gilly. You know it isn't. There is no earthly reason why he should not adore her. He could not find a dearer, sweeter, more forthright child than our Pammy." A lump of sadness weighted her chest. "It's just that she is still a child, and I want Pammy to have some fun before she marries, to have a chance to meet several gentlemen and to choose from among them. I want her to go to balls and routs and musicales— "

  She saw that Gilly was staring at her and broke off. A faint pink colour rose to her cheeks.

  "I think I know what you mean," Gilly said, giving her a distressed look. Then she said hesitantly, "Mattie, dear— Your Grace— I have often reproached myself for not speaking more forcefully before your marriage. I was younger then, and afraid to put myself forward, but I should have spoken to His Grace and insisted on your having a season in London before— "

  Mattie spoke quickly. "Oh, no! You mustn't make anything of what I've said. I was truly fond of His Grace. If I had even thought of refusing his kind offer, I'm certain he would not have insisted on marrying me!" She faltered, then went on with a gentle smile, "And we suited each other — truly. I daresay another husband would have put a stop to all my wild habits. It would not have suited me at all to be forced to behave. And I could not very well carry on the way I like in London, could I? The one time I was there, it was most painfully obvious to me that I should not fit."

  But Gilly was frowning. She was not so certain, and the uneasy tilt to Mattie's shoulders did nothing to convince her. "You were never wild," she said, not comprehending. "And I flatter myself that you were as well, if not better, prepared for London than most ingenues. If you had made your curtsey before your marriage, you might have enjoyed— "

  Mattie averted her gaze and cut across Miss Fotheringill's speech. "Oh, perhaps," she rushed on, "but that is precisely why I should like Pamela to have some fun with other girls her own age. She might make some friends in London, go to the theatre and balls, museums and the opera - "

  Gilly stopped her, shaking her head with an air of doubt. "It is possible that Lady Pamela will enjoy the amusements of the Ton even less than you did. She shows very little interest in such things."

  "Do you think not? Oh— you must be worrying about her horses. Well, she may ride in London surely and— " Mattie paused. Then she hugged herself at the elbows and said with a little shrug, "I want Pamela to have the chance, that's all. I want her to meet several young men and decide for herself whom to marry."

  "And so she shall." Gilly rose and put an arm about her. "I should not be so quick to imagine that Lady Pamela will fall prey to Lord Westbury's charms. He must be nearly thirty, at least— more than ten years her senior. I daresay that will seem quite old to her."

  "But such marriages are made all the time!"

  "That is true. But to a girl like Pamela, who has given no thought to marriage yet, he will appear to be of an age with you."

  A startled look came over Mattie's face. Her eyelids fluttered, and she said rather breathlessly, "Perhaps it will seem so to Pamela, but I must be far older than he is!"

  Gilly laughed. "Of course, you are. Perhaps as many as eight years. But while that may seem a vast number, for all practical purposes, you and Lord Westbury must be considered as forming part o
f the same generation."

  Mattie said nothing, and still seemed unhappy, so Gilly said, "Well, no matter. If Lady Westbury saw you in that gown she was probably so offended that she will never countenance another meeting, much less an alliance between her son and your daughter. I should think you will have nothing more to worry about."

  Mattie looked up as if she had not quite heard her. Then Gilly's words reached her and she chuckled.

  "And you must not let Lord Westbury upset you, Mattie," Gilly added more seriously. "Even if he calls again, you will know perfectly well how to discourage him. And surely he would not bring his mama with him the next time! Without Lady Westbury here to push him— and I agree that she is the most shocking bully— you will have no trouble sending his lordship about his business."

  Mattie heaved a great sigh. "Of course. Thank you, Gilly. You always know just what to say." She mused for a moment. "And even though he does have her rather formidable air, it did not seem to me that Lord Westbury had quite the arrogance of his mother. He was most polite— distressingly so, when I think how easy it would be for him to captivate a young girl. And so relaxed. As if nothing ever unsettles him." She paused and then said doubtfully, "But perhaps he will be willing to take the hint."

  "There. That's more the spirit." Gilly released her and turned back to the books she had been perusing.

  Mattie stood awhile longer and brought one finger up to her lips. She was still too disturbed to return to her work. An image of Lord Westbury as he had stooped to hand her the flowers entered her mind.

  "Well. . . I certainly hope he doesn't come back," she said to the air.

  She fell silent for a moment, thinking of the way he had leaned back in his chair. Such a masculine gesture! To Mattie, who had spent her life surrounded by women and elderly men, it had been fascinating.

  "Is there anything else, dear," Miss Fotheringill asked. She was watching Mattie, a frown of concern on her smooth face.

  Mattie started and flushed. "Oh, no," she said. "I was just thinking. . . " Her mind wandered again. "I imagine he's capable of turning any girl's head, what with those handsome features. And his manners. . . so engaging. . . "