Page 7 of The Sprinter
And it was abundantly clear that his aunt had known it all along.
As was her usual wartime strategy, Lady Heathway had plowed on and pretended she had not heard any challenges to her wishes whatsoever.
At the moment, Miss Yardley was above stairs, allegedly packing. Though, she might be hiding in a linen closet for all he knew. Lady Barlow had fanned herself and looked red in the face and had seemed to be ginning herself up to take another run at the field, but his aunt had been two steps ahead. She’d found a sheet of paper in the desk and directed Lady Barlow to write down all of her symptoms. The list would be handed forthwith to Sir Henry for his consideration.
My God, they were practically kidnapping the daughter. It was outrageous.
Despite the outrageousness, George could not be entirely sorry to see the girl removed from such a household. The mother was a malingerer, of that he had no doubt. Her complaints were vague and she had seemed quite animated when the mood suited her. She did poorly from the shock of being widowed, and yet it was the Kent air that affected her, and yet the Kent air had not affected her before she was widowed? She was likely loathe to part with her daughter because it would be an inconvenience.
For that matter, the blame landing decidedly on Kent air had been a hint, he thought, that his aunt ought to do something about it. Perhaps the lady was not loath to part with her daughter at all, but rather was loath to come out of it with nothing for herself. The lady had probably hoped that she might either come along with her daughter or else have a comfortable house in Brighton rented for her so she could take in that new and improved air.
Hopes like that could only spring up if one was not acquainted with Penelope Prescott, Marchioness of Heathway. Lady Barlow was on the verge of being left to her own devices and she could complain to the air all she liked about it.
As nearly a half hour had passed, and a rather uncomfortable half hour at that, Lady Heathway had begun to look at the stairs expectantly. Lady Barlow had hemmed and hawed over her list of symptoms and occasionally ventured that the air was exceedingly damp and then produced a dramatic cough to confirm it. None of this had made the slightest impression on his aunt.
Finally, Lady Heathway rose and stepped to the fireplace. She took up the fire poker and used the blunt end to bang on the rafters to move things along.
Miss Yardley hurried down the stairs at the summons.
His and his aunt’s peculiar arrival to the house had hardly given him time to really have a look at Miss Yardley—he’d been entirely too taken up by his aunt’s outrageous directives and Lady Barlow’s ineffective feints to try to hold her off.
Miss Yardley might be currently situated at a disadvantage, but even in a plain muslin she was striking looking—fairly tall, well-proportioned, raven-haired with large dark eyes and a generous mouth. She would do well in Town, assuming his aunt could get her out of the house.
George had presumed that Lady Barlow would be the only impediment. However, the girl was suddenly looking fiercely determined.
“Lady Heathway,” she said in a measured tone, “while I do appreciate the trouble you have gone to, I find I cannot leave my mother to manage on her own. It is simply not right.”
George thought it was rather noble of the girl to say so, though he had no doubt the mother was not at all failing. It was also far more courageous than he would have expected from a young miss. Lady Heathway was a rather frightening opponent and more experienced ladies had folded like a hand of cards rather than cross her.
He noted the maid crouching at the top of the stairs with one hand on the handle of a trunk. The girl looked as if she did not know whether to come down or throw herself out a window in a bid to escape.
He shuddered to think of what his aunt would say to Miss Yardley’s daring refusal.
Lady Heathway, rather than turning on Miss Yardley, turned on her mother. “Madam,” she said in a barely managed fury, “I presume you intend on residing in this ramshackle abode for the rest of your years, as that is precisely what will occur if your daughter does not have a proper season. Now, what do you say to that?”
“Well, I—”
“Furthermore,” Lady Heathway said, not seeming to care what, if anything, Lady Barlow might say to that, “that awful fate rests on your shoulders alone. It is up to you and your mismanaged humors to assure the girl that she may go in good conscience. Do it!”
Lady Barlow appeared entirely overcome. George assumed the lady had not had experience doing battle and was prepared to wave a white flag.
Miss Yardley hurried to her mother and knelt by her chair. “Mama,” she said soothingly, “I know you suffer. There is no need for me to leave your side while you are unwell.”
Lady Barlow, much to George’s amusement, did not look as comforted by that sentiment as one may have hoped. It seemed to him that she was far too busy considering his aunt’s threats and making calculations in her mind as to the most profitable course.
“If only I could accompany you…” she said weakly.
George suppressed a smile. The lady was quite the actress and diabolically determined to impose upon his aunt. That nobody had ever successfully imposed upon Lady Heathway was not a fact yet known to her.
His aunt narrowed her eyes. “Lady Barlow, you will go nowhere inmycarriage,” she said. “It will be as I planned it, or it will be no way at all. Now, I will make you one concession, since you seem determined to hint to your daughter that you have one shoe in a grave and the other shoe on a slippery street. I will hire a nurse who may occupy Miss Yardley’s room. That good woman can wait upon you night and day and listen to all of your complaints until Sir Henry is able to cure you. That is my final offer and my carriage will depart this place in precisely three minutes.”
Lady Barlow, faced with accomplishing precisely nothing if she carried on as she had been, appeared to have a remarkably speedy change of heart. She patted her daughter’s hand and said, “I think I shall be all right with a nurse on hand. Yes, I really do think so. You ought to go, I am sure of it. If there are to be any different arrangements later on, then of course…well, we will see.”
“Excellent!” Lady Heathway said, clapping her hands. “George, get the trunk. Miss Yardley, kiss your mother goodbye and let us be off.”
George trudged up the stairs. Nothing could have been more ludicrous than the scenes that had played out in this house over the past hour.
He swore to himself that he would never again believe another of his aunt’s small favors was truly small. From now on, he would brace himself for calamity no matter how simple the circumstance first appeared.
