The Wooing of Miss Masters Read online

  "The sun is trying to come out. Perhaps there will be a rainbow." Cecily flattened her nose against the glass. "Oh, Audra, do come and see."

  Since Uncle Matt had somehow managed to turn the tables upon her and Audra discovered her queen in peril, she was too preoccupied to stir. In any case, Cecily's raptures seemed a little excessive for a bit of colored sky.

  "Pray, don't bother me now, Muffin," Audra murmured. "I am sure the rainbow will still be there later."

  "It isn't a rainbow. It's a coach and four coming down the drive."

  Audra's and the rector's heads jerked up simultaneously. Her groan was echoed by Uncle Matt.

  "If it's that Coleby woman, I warn you, Audra, I'll hide myself in the wine cellar until she's gone."

  "Shame on you, uncle," Cecily said. "You are as bad as Audra. It isn't Lady Coleby's carriage at all. It is—" She broke off with a gasp. Retreating a step from the window, she stood pale, transfixed.

  "Cecily?"

  When Audra received no response to her sharp inquiry, she became concerned enough to abandon the chessboard and join her sister at the window. "Whatever is the matter, Muffin?"

  Her eyes round as saucers, Cecily could only pluck at Audra's sleeve and point out the window. Audra looked out and froze, feeling as if she had just turned to stone herself.

  Pulling to the front of the cottage was a shiny black coach with a team of gaily caparisoned white horses in the traces. Emblazoned upon the carriage door was a coat of arms, but the insignia was no more impressive than the coachman garbed in sapphire blue livery.

  "Audra," Cecily quavered. "Do you think it is the— the—"

  "The devil!" Audra cried. She could not imagine that it was the King of England come to call. Only one person hereabouts was likely to have such a rig-out as that.

  "Raeburn!" she said

  Cecily gave a shivery sigh and looked likely to swoon. Audra wanted to shake her sister for being such a goose, but she could not do so. Not when her own heart was racing in such idiotic fashion.

  Uncle Matthew had obviously not heard her pronouncement for he called out testily, "Are you two girls just going to stand there like stocks or are you going to tell me? Whose coach is it?"

  Before Audra could say a word, Cecily trilled out, "It's the duke's carriage, uncle. Isn't it wonderful? Oh, Audra!" Cecily's blond curls bounced with her excitement. "Why do you think His Grace is coming here?"

  Audra could imagine several reasons, none of them good. "I don't know," she said glumly. "But perhaps we had best go upstairs and start packing."

  "What?!"

  Audra ignored her sister's startled exclamation. Not wanting to be caught ogling, she inched further behind the drapes. Holding her breath, she watched a footman spring forward to open the coach door, bracing herself for the sight of that familiar arrogant profile.

  But the man who alighted was a stranger to her. Although of distinguished bearing, his garb was simple, marking him as no more than a servant himself. Yet with a great parade of self-consequence, he marched toward the lodge's front door.

  "Oh!" Cecily's shoulders slumped.

  Audra felt she could have echoed that sentiment, but whether from relief or a similar sense of disappointment she refused to consider.

  Impatiently, Uncle Matthew stumped over to join them. "What the deuce is toward?"

  Audra shrugged, being as ignorant as he. But it seemed none of them were to be kept in suspense for long. Whatever errand the duke had sent this man upon, it was discharged promptly. After disappearing from view for a moment during which Audra heard muffled sounds of her front door being answered by Mrs. McGuiness, the duke's man popped into sight again.

  Clambering back into the carriage, the coachman whipped up his team, and the impressive entourage departed as suddenly as it had come. Audra caught a last view of the vehicle vanishing down the lane by the time Mrs. McGuiness entered the parlor.

  The dour housekeeper appeared awed herself as she approached Audra. She bore a missive of some sort upon a silver tray much to Audra's wry amusement. Apparently Mrs. McGuiness had not thought it good enough to hand over a letter from the duke as she always did the regular mail. So she had employed the silver serving tray normally used for holding the tea service.

  The housekeeper thrust the tray at Audra, too overcome to say more than, "For you, Miss Masters."

  "Thank you." Audra took up the letter gingerly as though it were likely to explode. If it were an eviction notice, never had one been sent so elegantly as this square of creamy vellum with the duke's heavy seal imprinted upon the wax closure. Was it just possible . . . ? No, it seemed utterly incredible to even imagine that the overbearing duke might have penned an apology.

  Whatever the contents of the missive, one thing was certain. She would never find out by simply turning it over and over in her hands. Audra started to break the seal, when she became aware of three heads crowded close to hers. Mrs. McGuiness was the worst, nearly toppling into Audra in her efforts to see.

  "Shouldn't you be starting the tea?" Audra asked.

  Mrs. McGuiness pursed her lips, but she took the hint, beating a disappointed retreat. Now if only she could be rid of Cecily and her uncle as easily.

  At a look from Audra, Uncle Matthew did appear a trifle sheepish and stepped back a pace, but nothing could discourage Cecily from hanging on Audra's sleeve.

  "Oh, Audra, do you wish to kill me with this suspense? Do not wait any longer. Open it. Open it!"

  Although fearful of what the note contained, Audra broke the seal and unfolded the vellum. She strove so hard to focus on the elegantly inked lines, it took some moments for the sense of the words to sink in.

  "His Grace, the Duke of Raeburn, and Lady Augusta Penrose," Audra read aloud, "request the honor of your presence at—"

  She got no further for Cecily shrieked in her ear, "At the ball! Audra! It's an invitation to the ball."

  Audra stared. When she realized for herself what it was she held in her hands, she dropped the vellum as if her fingers had been scorched. While she stood stunned, Cecily snatched up the invitation.

  Waving it wildly over her head, Cecily danced about the room, breathless with joyous laughter. "The ball! Oh, Uncle Matthew, we're going to the ball."

  Cecily flung her arms about the rector, causing the old man to laugh with delight himself. He patted her shoulder indulgently, saying, "Are you indeed, my pet?"

  Audra had no time to brace herself before Cecily rushed wildly at her as well, enveloping her in a crushing hug.

  "Oh, Audra, I knew you would find some way to arrange the invitation when I so wished for it. You are the best, kindest, dearest sister in the whole world."

  Audra's mind whirled as she struggled to make sense of all of this. Gasping, she eased herself out of Cecily's strangling embrace. "Cecily, do control yourself. This has to be some kind of mistake."

  "How could it be?" Cecily waved the invitation before Audra's eyes. "Both of our names are clearly marked." Audra tried to see but Cecily would not stay still long enough for her to get a good look at the blasted thing again.

  Audra frowned, knowing full well she had done nothing to secure that invitation. Far from it! If Cecily had any idea of half the things Audra had said to His Grace . . .

  So how had their names come to be added to the guest list? Had someone else put in a word on their behalf? Audra glanced toward her uncle with sudden suspicion.

  But Uncle Matthew shrugged. "Do not look at me thus, Audra. I had nothing to do with it. You know my infernal gout keeps me from getting out as much as I would like. Though long acquainted with the Lakeland family, I have not even seen His Grace since his return."

  Delirious with happiness, Cecily continued to frolic about the parlor, her activity causing Frou¬frou to yip while Audra wracked her brains for some explanation.

  The only one possible was that after meeting her, the duke himself had somehow traced where she lived and discovered the name of her sister. But why,
after Audra had insulted him, should he take such pains, sending the invitation, not by the regular post but in such ostentatious style? And especially after she had sworn wild horse would not have been able to drag her to that ball.

  "Plague take the man," she muttered. "He must have sent the invitation just to vex me." Whipping round, she snapped, "Cecily, do cease this unseemly display at once."

  Cecily subsided enough for Audra finally to grab the invitation away from her. She crushed it in her hand. "There is no chance whatsoever of our accepting this thing."

  Cecily's bright smile faded. Young Juliet could not have looked more stricken when discovering her Romeo was dead.

  "Audra! What are you saying?"

  "I'm saying we are not going. It would be wholly improper."

  "Improper! I see nothing in the least objectionable in attending. Do you, Uncle Matthew?"

  But the Reverend Matthew Masters, sensing a storm about to brew, wisely retreated back to his chessmen, determined not to be caught in the middle.

  "It's improper because . . ." Audra groped for some plausible excuse. "Because you are not even out yet."

  Cecily's face flushed with indignation. "As if you ever cared for such fustian notions. Besides this is a private ball, not at all like you were taking me to an assembly."

  "It is of no avail arguing with me, Cecily. My mind is made up. We are not going because I do not wish to—"

  "You never wish to go anywhere," Cecily cried with a stomp of her foot. "You keep both of us cooped up in this dreadful house. It's horrid and . . . and wicked of you. My entire life is passing me by."

  "What utter nonsense. You are only seventeen."

  "I'll be eighteen soon, and before I know where I am at, I'll end up an old maid just like you."

  After which passionate speech, Cecily spun on her heel, bolting for the door.

  Uncle Matthew sprang to his feet. "Here now, Cecily. What a dreadful thing to say. You come back and apologize—"

  The door had already slammed closed behind her.

  "Let her go, uncle," Audra said dully. "She's right. I am an old maid, and I don't mind it in the least."

  Her voice did not carry its usual conviction though, and she gave vent to a weary sigh. "I suppose Cecily will spend the rest of the afternoon weeping again."

  "I fear it is all part of being seventeen, m'dear."

  "Is it? I don't recall. Sometimes I don't think I ever was that age."

  "No, you were never given the chance to be. I always said your mama saddled you with too much responsibility too young. Why doesn't Lady Arabella return to take charge of Cecily?"

  Audra shuddered. "Please, don't wish such a thing upon me. More likely I would end up taking care of Mama as well."

  She meant it as a jest, but memories crowded forward all the same, assuring her that her words were not far from the truth. Lady Arabella had ever been a flighty creature, given to acquiring herself the most doting, elderly husbands. It had always fallen to Audra's lot to prevent her mother from overspending or creating a scandal with her latest handsome lover.

  It might be lacking in filial affection to admit, but she was quite content to have Mama continue her latest bride trip indefinitely. Rousing herself from these disagreeable reflections, Audra moved to chuck the invitation into the fire. She was astonished when Uncle Matthew's hand shot out to prevent it.

  Those pale blue eyes, usually so merry, were clouded with trouble. "Don't be so hasty, m'girl. You might want to reconsider attending that ball."

  "Uncle!"

  Ignoring her exclamation, he continued, "Though I cannot approve of Cecily's manner, behaving like a spoiled child, some of what she said is true. It is not good the way you live here, so much alone. You are a young woman still, Audra."

  "Not that young. You have only to ask Cecily. I believe she thinks I am a contemporary of Methusaleh." Audra's wry smile coaxed no like response from him.

  "You are not going to commence scolding me, too, are you Uncle Matt?" she asked. "I have heard enough regarding my shocking manner of life from Lord Sunderly."

  Indeed, the cousin who had inherited her father's title had thought it the most outrageous thing since the Gunpowder plot; that Audra should set up her own establishment with only a housekeeper for a companion. But since neither Lord Sunderly nor any of Papa's other relatives had ever troubled themselves about Audra's welfare before, she did not feel obliged to regard their disapproval.

  But her uncle Matthew had rarely ever lectured her. Consequently Audra found his words not so easy to dismiss. "You know well enough that I never preach propriety, Audra. But a companion would enable you to get out more, receive more people. Heavens, child, you see no one but myself and that Coleby woman. And that is only because no one can keep that dratted chattering female out."

  Audra drew herself up proudly."You mistake, sir, if you think me unhappy. I am quite content with my quiet way of life. My only concern is about Cecily. I know that she should have more gaiety, a Season in London, perhaps."

  She lowered her eyes, coming down from her high ropes a bit. "I even wrote my aunt Saunders about it, but unfortunately she has not replied. I suppose she still remembers the debacle I made of my own Season."

  "That was not your fault. Your mama never did anything to prepare you. Letting you closet yourself in the schoolroom and without a proper governess to even teach you the way to get on."

  Audra rarely felt the urge to defend her mother, but in all fairness, she could not let her own social failure be laid at Arabella's door. "I learned everything I ever wanted to out of my books," she said. "And you can hardly blame Mama for my clumsiness. Even the best of tutors cannot turn a goose into a swan."

  Uncle Matt looked as if he wanted to argue that point, but instead he said, "Well, I suppose that's all water under the bridge. It is the future I am worried about. How are you and your sister ever to meet any eligible gentlemen shut away here at Meadow Lane?"

  Audra smiled. "We have gentleman callers all the time. Young Sir Worthington, Mr. Gilmore, Mr. Blake. And I play chaperon to Cecily as a proper old-maid sister should."

  "And which of those youths do you want Cecily to marry? That silly ass Gilmore or that boy with the spots?"

  The question startled Audra. "Why, none of them. They are all but callow boys, scarce out of the nursery."

  "Well, you had best brace yourself, m'dear. I fear Cecily is not as strong-minded as you. If she is given no other choice, you are likely to end up with one of those boys for a brother-in-law."

  Audra started to hotly refute his prediction, but she found she couldn't. It wasn't as if she didn't want Cecily to have better opportunities.

  "I tried to get Muffin a London Season," Audra said. "What more can I do?'

  "You could make the most of this." Her uncle tapped the vellum she yet held crushed in her hand. "Give me one good reason, miss, why you and your sister should not attend that ball."

  "There are several—" Audra began, but she recognized the chief one, her stiff-necked pride. How could she turn up so humbly on Raeburn's doorstep, after all her expressions of scorn, informing him she would not come if he begged her? The duke would be bound to think her no better than all these other fluttery chits after all. But she could not admit these qualms, not even to Uncle Matt.

  She finished lamely, "It would be most uncomfortable, taking Cecily alone, with no male escort or older relative to act as chaperon.”

  Her uncle puffed out his chest. "What do you take me for—the pantrymaid? It so happens, miss, that as a courtesy, I am always invited to functions at the castle. I had no intention of attending this ball myself, but now I can see where it would be a very good thing."

  "Oh, Uncle Matt, Cecily and I couldn't possible drag you off to such a fatiguing affair."

  "I would quite enjoy it. I am scarce in my dotage yet, miss." His eyes turned suddenly misty with memories. "Faith, it has been a long time since I have stood up with a lady. Did you know that his majesty
, that is the late king, poor mad George, once told me I was the most skilled dancer to ever grace St. James?"

  "I am sure you were, Uncle." Audra reluctantly smoothed the vellum out again.

  His Grace, the Duke of Raeburn requests the honor . . .

  Was it possible that the words meant just that? That perhaps instead of being another gibe, this invitation was a peace offering, Raeburn's manner of making amends for his insulting behavior?

  While Audra's doubts made her hesitate, Uncle Matthew poured forth the full force of his persuasion, stressing how much social good it would do Cecily, to say nothing of how happy Audra would make him. Audra sighed. The Reverend Matthew Masters did not possess the ability to thunder from the pulpit, but Audra was convinced her uncle could have wheedled Satan himself into forsaking his fire and brimstone.

  She flung up one hand at last in surrender. "All right, Uncle. I can hardly withstand both you and Cecily. I should go tell her at once that I have changed my mind. I only hope she doesn't choke me in her ecstasies."

  The old rector nodded in approval, not permitting a satisfied smile to crease his lips until his niece had gone. He had definitely taken the right tact to persuade Audra, emphasizing Cecily's needs. It wouldn't have done at all for him to admit it was Audra that he was really worried about. He had been observing her solitary habits for some time. The girl was becoming as sequestered as a nun. But if he dared hint that attending that ball would do her more good than Cecily, why Audra would take his head clean off.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  By the evening of the ball, if Lady Augusta Penrose had been a female of lesser fortitude, she would have indulged in a fit of the vapors. A blight in the hothouse had ruined many of the flowers she had counted upon for decoration, the extra champagne ordered had failed to arrive, and the French chef she had imported was engaged in such a dreadful row with the duke's own cook, it was unlikely that any supper at all would be served that night. But it was all to be expected when one was giving a ball in the middle of the wilderness instead of more civilized London.