The Bumblebroth Page 4

  She sighed and, after casting a look at Gilly, hugged her tightly.

  As she moved towards the door, Miss Fotheringill called, "Oh, Your Grace. I suggest that you have Turner make you up some simple gowns to wear for gardening." She looked reprovingly at Mattie, but a twinkle lit her eyes.

  Mattie glanced over her shoulder and smiled at her former governess. "I shall try not to disgrace you again, my dear Miss Fotheringill."

  * * * *

  By the end of the week, when no more had been seen of either Lord Westbury or his mama, Mattie had got over the worry the two had caused her. She decided, however, that she should follow Gilly's advice about her gardening clothes in the event that any of her other neighbours decided to force themselves upon her at such an unwelcome hour. The thought of Pamela's presentation, which must take place sometime in the coming three years, had begun to weigh heavily upon her mind. Her own inexperience in such matters could only complicate the event. The last thing Pamela needed was to have gossip about her mother's want of conduct preceding her to London.

  While waiting for her elderly dresser to make up the gowns Gilly had suggested, Mattie could not neglect her garden entirely. Her new rosebushes must be set out before too late in the growing season.

  In the secluded life Mathilda had led, alleviated only by His Grace's army of servants and the occasional visit from one of his relatives, Mattie had devoted herself to the cultivation of flowers. This garden, which over the years of her periodic visits had spread and blossomed, had been the reason for her particular fondness for Westbury Manor.

  It beckoned her daily, and if the evidence of her labour left its traces on her clothes, it did not really matter. No one was likely to see her, in any case, except the servants she had known since her girlhood. Even His Grace had not minded the occasional smudge of dirt on her face or the touch of sun upon her cheeks. He had seldom commented on her appearance at all except to pat her on the shoulder from time to time and tell her she "looked in fine fettle."

  At the moment, Mattie reflected, she must look far from distinguished. She had been digging for the better part of an hour and now was mixing the soil in each hole with her gloved hands in order to bring it to the exact texture she wanted. The picture she made at home was greatly at odds with the one she must present in London as a proper mother and as a duchess.

  Though she had recovered from Lord Westbury's visit, she had not been able to shed the lowering thought that she would be perfectly incapable of launching Pamela into society with correct decorum. Her lack of experience oppressed her. She knew herself to be entirely ignorant about the style of gowns Pamela should wear, and she would hardly be assisted by Turner's rather outdated notions. She must give Pammy a ball, but how would she ever choose the most welcome refreshments to serve to their guests? How would she manage to hire musicians and caterers and a whole set of London servants?

  She was thinking of all the many things she would have to learn when, down on her hands and knees, turning the earth in a deep hole, a man's shadow fell across the ground in front of her.

  She started and drew back on her heels. Lord Westbury stood regarding her from his considerable height.

  "Good morning, Duchess. I'm sorry if I frightened you." The breeze played with the hair at his temples, lightening the severity of his lean looks. A smile turned the corners of his lips, and Mattie noticed he had a deep indentation in each cheek.

  He was dressed for riding. A pair of boots encased his legs from the knees down, and he was carrying an elegant beaver hat.

  "Oh, no!" Mattie said a bit breathlessly, starting to rise. "That is, you did startle me a bit. You see, I— "

  "You're not accustomed to morning visitors."

  He offered his hand to assist her to her feet. She gave hers to him, thinking she had been right when she imagined she had seen a spark of humour in him, so lacking in his mother.

  "Yes," he went on, "I recall what you said about your schedule. And in case I had forgotten, your manservant has proven himself quite capable of reminding me. I called only to ask when I might take Lady Pamela for a drive. I thought I might find you both outside at this hour."

  His boldness, when she had made it only too plain that she did not receive callers in the mornings, annoyed her, especially when she realized she was covered in dirt again from head to toe. She was wearing another old gown, this one a bit too confining, for it was one she had worn before Pamela was born. She tugged at its bodice self-consciously and hoped that Lord Westbury would not notice its age.

  "When you did not return," she said unguardedly, "I thought that perhaps you had gone back to London."

  "I did go back." An amused look pulled at the corners of his eyes. "I had an engagement I could not put off. But, as you see, I have returned. Were you— that is, was Lady Pamela expecting me sooner? I hope she was not disappointed."

  "Not at all," Mattie said coolly. "Where is your horse?" She looked around and saw no sign of one.

  "I left him in the stables with your groom and strolled about the grounds alone. I hope you do not object?"

  Mattie refused to absolve him entirely but did not know how to convey the proper degree of displeasure. Obviously, his lordship had inherited some of his mother's arrogance. She knew she should give him a setdown, but concern about the way she was dressed would rob it of force. She wiped her nose with a clean spot on her glove just in case there should be another smudge.

  "I was gardening," she said.

  "So I see." Laughter tinged his voice. His eyes had taken in her dress and gardening accoutrements with one quick glance. Looking at her with a slight lift of the brow, he asked, "And Lady Pamela?" He seemed quite unperturbed by Mattie's cool manner towards him.

  "My daughter is engaged, quite engaged for the morning," Mattie said. Then she added in a tone that would brook no argument, "For the entire morning."

  "Ah, I see." Lord Westbury's disappointment was only too patent. "Well, then, perhaps you could suggest another morning for our drive?"

  Mattie produced a frown of concentration, as if she were giving the matter serious thought. "Well. . . . She is rather occupied lately." She waved towards the upper floors of the house, directing her vague gesture towards the schoolroom. "Lessons— drawing masters and so forth. I would not care to ask you to cool your heels until a more suitable time can present itself." She shook her head and gave him a politely discouraging smile.

  "It would be no bother. I assume she rides each day?"

  Mattie nodded grudgingly.

  "She would not be unwilling, perhaps, to exchange a gallop for a driving lesson?"

  Mattie started to deny this, but Lord Westbury cut in swiftly, "I could see that she was quite eager to learn, so shall we say, next Tuesday? I expect my brother Gerald will be down and could join us if you have no objection."

  Mattie found herself in a quandary. She was not certain whether, if she objected, she would be objecting quite rudely to his brother's joining them, or to the outing itself as she intended. Then she realized that whether his brother came or not she could not invent any reasonable excuse for refusing Lord Westbury's offer. She could only accept with a cool nod.

  She expected Lord Westbury to depart then, but when she made signs that she was ready to return to her work, he surprised her by saying, "Could I be of any assistance?"

  His question caught her off-guard. She stared at him, trying to understand his newest machination. She was still irked with herself for giving in so meekly to his proposed drive.

  "I'm quite the enthusiast for plants myself," he said before she could refuse him.

  "You are?" Mattie regarded him suspiciously. "That comes as a great surprise to me, my lord, for I understood that you made your residence in London the year round."

  Amusement seemed to hover at the corners of his eyes, but his expression quickly changed to one of innocence.

  "That is quite true," he said. "And, of course, I cannot indulge my— er, passion in London as much as
I would in the country. I can only do so here."

  "You will not want to soil your riding clothes."

  "Ah, yes— " he considered— "then perhaps I shall only watch you. I'm bound to learn something. And you mustn't let me disturb you. If you happen to need a hand, I'll be ready to help."

  Mattie hesitated. The warming sun reminded her of all she ought to accomplish that day. She was almost certain she understood his motives. He intended to stand about in the event that Pamela might come within view. Then he would try to bully her into letting Pammy ride with him. Mattie fervently hoped her daughter would not appear in their vicinity within the next hour, as she was quite likely to do, once she had hurried through her lessons in order to enjoy a morning's ride.

  "Very well," Mattie finally said. She could not think of a way to discourage his lordship from staying— not without resorting to his mother's degree of rudeness. She determined, however, not to let his presence annoy her. At least, she had succeeded in keeping him away from Pamela for the moment.

  She resumed her digging, and Lord Westbury lay down on the smooth turf nearby, his booted legs stretched out comfortably before her. One of his solid heels tipped over the rosebush she had been about to plant. He appeared not to notice as he picked a blade of grass to nibble on while glancing about the garden. From time to time his gaze returned to her, and when it did Mattie felt her movements falter.

  It was not that he watched her with any particular obtrusiveness, but for some reason she found it difficult not to fidget beneath his gaze. The bodice of her ancient dress stretched tightly across her bosom, and its skirt had the irritating tendency to inch up at the hips. She pulled at it from time to time, between giving vicious stabs to the earth.

  After a few minutes of this, Lord Westbury cleared his throat. "Your garden is lovely, Your Grace. I assume you had much to do with its design."

  His compliment pleased her. The work she did was for her own enjoyment, but she seldom had the pleasure of sharing the results with anyone else. Aside from the gardeners, no one in her household took much interest in her flowers. Her attempts to engage Pamela in this pursuit had failed miserably, losing inevitably to her passion for horses.

  Mattie smiled her thanks, then reminded herself that he might be trying to turn her up sweet to further his own plans. She resisted the impulse to talk about her efforts.

  "Yes, I've planned and cultivated everything you see," she said. "But you must tell me about your work, Lord Westbury. What is it that you grow in London?"

  A disconcerted look momentarily crossed his features. "In London?" he said. As he hesitated, Mattie grew suspicious. She began to wonder if he had not boasted in order to be permitted to stay.

  "Yes," she said, poking at the ground with a growing sense of pleasure. "I presume you have a hothouse. You could not possibly raise anything seriously without a good one. And you cultivate. . . ?"

  She directed him a waiting look, enjoying the way he tried to overcome his surprise. He sat up and, clearing his throat again, leaned his elbows on his knees.

  "Well," he said, his lean face now hiding any sign of hesitation, "of course, there are the fruits and vegetables served at my table." His eyes shifted uneasily as if he searched his memory for inspiration. "And there are roses, of course."

  "Ah," Mattie said encouragingly. "Roses. I am quite fond of roses myself. And what varieties do you grow?"

  Lord Westbury looked at her warily. "Red ones," he said after a moment. "And pink ones, too."

  Mattie tilted her head to one side. "Red and pink," she said. "How fascinating!"

  A reluctant grin spread over Lord Westbury's face. She could see he knew that she was baiting him. But Mattie had begun to enjoy herself, and she was not ready to stop.

  Doing her best not to smile, and looking away from him so as not to be tempted, she went on, "And do you grow orchids? I have often wished for the time to devote myself to orchids, but the garden takes so much of my time that I have not been able to learn about them. But perhaps you have?"

  "No, Duchess, I have not," he said firmly. "As you so wisely point out, the cultivation of orchids takes far more time than one has. I am, however, well-acquainted with the varieties of oats and rye and wheat needed to cultivate my acres. I have little time for the more— shall we say— frivolous plants."

  "Except roses," Mattie reminded him.

  He nodded, a smile curving his lips.

  "Well, my lord." Mattie stood and brushed the loosest bits of dirt from her dress. "I have been so grateful for your assistance, but, as you can see, I am nearly finished for the day. If you will just hand me that rosebush there beside you, I shall plant it and we can bid each other good day."

  As she stood, Lord Westbury rose to his feet and took a look about him. The rosebush lay to one side where he had kicked it. Its roots were gathered in a bag of soil. Its trunk was pruned and stripped of leaves.

  Mattie watched while he took first one and then a second look at the ground about him, unsuccessfully trying to follow the direction of her gaze. Mattie hid a smile and peered at his face, unwilling to make things easier for him.

  Lord Westbury turned back again and raised one eyebrow with an inquiring look.

  "The rosebush, my lord?"

  "Please, Duchess," he said in a helpful tone. "Call me William."

  The diversion threw her for a moment. She felt herself colouring, but thought it must be the amusement she had been trying so hard to stifle.

  "William, then," she said, covering her lips with one finger to restrain the smile that teased them. "Would you be so kind as to hand me that rosebush?"

  He followed her glance more ably this time, and his eyes fell upon the abused and neglected bush. He stooped and reached for it.

  "Ouch!" he said, and then licked his finger.

  Mattie pressed her lips tightly together while he picked it up, using more care than on his first attempt. He raised its leafless trunk to the level of his eyes, holding it in a pinch between thumb and forefinger.

  "Yes," he said, examining it critically. "I can see that it is, indeed, a rosebush. But are you quite certain that you want it?"

  Mattie opened her eyes widely. "Why, yes, William, I believe I do. Why do you ask?"

  "Because it would appear to be quite dead."

  Mattie's smile could not be contained any longer. She tilted her head and laughed accusingly at him.

  "It is dormant," she said, reaching over to take it. "Before they are planted, roses must be pruned of all their foliage. But I am quite astonished that an expert like yourself, Lord Westbury— one who has cultivated both red and pink roses, if I have not forgotten the precise varieties— that a gentleman of your vast experience should not know that!"

  "Ah, yes," William said, smiling to acknowledge how shamefully she had caught him out. "Most likely I should. You will have to pardon me, Duchess, for my deplorable memory."

  "Not at all." Mattie placed the bush in the hole she had dug. "Your deplorable memory, sir, has afforded me a great deal of entertainment."

  William stooped again and picked up the beaver hat he had tossed to one side. He brushed it casually with the cuff of his jacket, placed it at an angle on his head, and then tipped it to her.

  "If I have been of any use to you at all, Duchess, then I must be eternally grateful." He bade her good day, and Mattie watched him move without hurry across the lawn.

  She shook her head and laughed delightedly to herself. If Lord Westbury had been under the impression that he could deceive her as to his motives, she trusted he knew better now.

  Chapter Four

  The next Tuesday morning, William was reading the paper over beefsteak and eggs, when a loud thump at the bottom of the stairs heralded the approach of his brother Gerald. Ready to hurl himself into the day, Gerald had obviously decided to skip the last eight steps of his descent.

  A fair, boyish face, perched atop a gangly body, appeared in the doorway and lit up upon seeing William.


  "Hullo, Will. Didn't expect to find you here."

  "You had better not let Mama see you taking the steps in that manner, or you will receive a brisk lecture on proper gentlemanly behaviour."

  Gerald started guiltily. "Is she up, then?" He cast a glance over his shoulder.

  "What a disrespectful thing to ask. Of course, she is not yet risen. Mama is of the opinion that any female who breaks her fast before the hour of ten— noon in Town— must necessarily be vulgar."

  Gerald chuckled, but as he strolled to the sideboard, he said with a shade of diffidence, "Oh, Will, Mama is not so bad as that."

  "No?" William's brows rose in surprise. "You must be privy to a facet of her character that has been denied me.

  "But," he said, changing the subject quickly, "Mama's character can wait. I am glad you are down, Gerry, as I have a proposal to make to you which involves my team of greys."

  Gerald turned to the table, his plate heaped high with fish and strips of bacon. "Your team? You've brought them with you?"

  William nodded, an understanding gleam in his eye. "I thought you might be interested. I need your help."

  "If it has anything to do with that team, you've got it," Gerald said, straddling a chair. "Where are we going?"

  "Not very far. I have promised to give Lady Pamela driving lessons this afternoon."

  Gerald gaped and nearly choked on a piece of bacon. "You're going to let a female drive that team? You must be dicked in the nob."

  "Flattery, my young cub, will get you nowhere. Do you wish to drive my team or not?"

  "Of course, I want to drive them. Will I before or after Lady Pamela— whoever she is— ruins them? I'd rather not be blamed for the harm she'll do their mouths."

  William allowed a rare grin to cross his lips. "Since you seem to have been spared this knowledge, I will inform you that Lady Pamela is our neighbour. She resides with her mother, the Duchess of Upavon, at Westbury Manor.