Chapter Two

THE SOUND OF voices raised in argument greeted Nell when she was admitted into Thorne House a few minutes later. Beckwith, the butler who admitted her, grinned widely and nodded toward the library door from which the noise emanated. “They’re still at it,” he said with a disparaging cackle.

“Haven’t they finished with Mr. Prickett?” Nell asked in surprise.

“Not yet they haven’t,” the butler snorted. Beckwith did not have the dignity in manner and appearance which was usually required of the head of the domestic staff of an imposing household. He was short, stocky, cheerful and garrulous—characteristics which were considered by most of the gentry to be completely inappropriate for a man in his position. Lady Sybil found his presence a source of great embarrassment and irritation, but the old Earl had willed that Beckwith was to be kept on as butler as long as he should want the position. Beckwith seemed to take perverse delight in upsetting his mistress by making comments on her orders, speaking too freely to her guests, or appearing at times without the coat of his livery.

These solecisms enraged Lady Sybil, but Beckwith merely chortled at her displeasure. Poor Lady Sybil received little help or sympathy from the other members of the household in this matter, for Lord Charles tended to ignore Beckwith (the domestic details of the household having no interest for him); his elderly aunt, Lady Amelia Thorne, had lived in the house for too long to take any notice of Beckwith’s eccentricities; and Nell was convinced that Lady Sybil’s standards for proper behavior in the domestic staff were excessively formal. Nell had a strong liking for the old butler and was often accused by her godmother of encouraging him in his annoying ways.

Perhaps Lady Sybil was right, for Nell now grinned at Beckwith conspiratorially. “How long do you suppose they can keep this up?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me none if they was to be at it all night,” he replied, chuckling.

Nell restrained her answering smile. “I suppose we shouldn’t laugh,” she murmured. “The length of the discussion means that Mr. Prickett has not brought good news. I’ll peep inside and see what’s causing the to-do.” She handed the butler her bonnet and shawl and walked swiftly to the library door. With great care, she turned the handle and tiptoed in.

The library was an impressive room, its walls lined with leather-bound books, its windows reaching to the high ceiling, the carpets and draperies glowing in rich tones of dark red and gold, and the paneling of the walls elegantly carved and lustrously polished. This room had been a favorite of the old Earl, and the housekeeper still kept it as spotless and gleaming as it had been when he was alive.

The family’s man of business, Mr. Prickett, was seated at a long oak table, a number of documents and papers spread out before him, his elbow resting on the table, and his hand supporting his forehead as he stared at the three people sitting before him, two of whom were glaring at him with expressions of decided antagonism. As Nell moved quietly to the nearest vacant chair, she saw Mr. Prickett remove his pince-nez and rub the bridge of his nose. She knew that gesture well. It indicated that the lawyer was exercising all his self-control to maintain the cool and dispassionate demeanor he considered proper for a man of his profession. He was not as adept at dealing with hostility from his clients as he was from his adversaries. Therefore, this had been a long, difficult evening for him.

Before Nell could sit down, she heard a grunt from her guardian. It was Lord Charles’ way of acknowledging her presence. She nodded to him and slipped into the chair. Lady Sybil merely favored her with a flick of the eye, but the third member of the family, the elderly Lady Amelia, the late Earl’s only surviving sister, gave her a welcoming smile. Nell smiled back at Lady Amelia brightly, hoping that an air of cheerfulness would alleviate somewhat the tension in the room.

After a brief bow in Nell’s direction, Mr. Prickett spoke. “I can add nothing more, I’m afraid, to what I’ve already said a dozen times this evening,” he said with strained patience, replacing his pince-nez and looking firmly at Lord Charles and Lady Sybil. “I assure you again that there is nothing anyone can do at this time. The Earl’s wishes were quite explicitly detailed in the will.”

“But the Earl could not possibly have known that Captain Thorne would be missing in action!” Lady Sybil objected. “There must be some provision for the unexpected.”

Mr. Prickett almost sighed, reached for his pince-nez again, removed it and rubbed the bridge of his nose with twitching fingers. “But, as I’ve said—”

“We know what you’ve said,” Lord Charles muttered in disgust.

Lady Amelia leaned forward in her chair. “Would anyone like some more tea?” she asked in her high, fluttery voice. “I believe it is still quite warm.”

“Will you please refrain from offering us tea every five minutes?” Lady Sybil hissed in annoyance. “We’ve all told you we don’t want any.”

“But perhaps Nell …?” Lady Amelia suggested timidly.

“I’m sure Nell doesn’t want any tea at this hour either,” Lady Sybil snapped.

“But I do,” Nell said with a warm smile for the old lady. “Please let me have a cup, Amelia dear.”

Lady Sybil frowned at Nell in disgust. “You are interrupting the proceedings, you wretch. All that clinking of teacups will give me the headache.”

“Sorry, my dear,” Nell said with a contrite smile. “I promise I shall drink very, very quietly.”

“In any case,” added Mr. Prickett, packing up the papers on the table in front of him, “I believe the ‘proceedings’ are over, are they not?”

“They most certainly are not,” Lord Charles declared. “You haven’t told me how long I must wait to put my hands on the money.”

This time Mr. Prickett actually permitted himself a small sigh. In his many years as legal and business advisor to the fifth Earl of Thornbury, he’d never had to deal with the Earl’s willful, spoiled, rather dim-witted second son. All the legal and financial dealings had been strictly controlled by the Earl or by Edgar Thorne, the Earl’s eldest son. Edgar Thorne had been the Earl’s pride and joy, and the only member of the family whom the Earl had respected. But a hunting accident had taken Edgar’s life fifteen years before, leaving the old Earl embittered and lonely. Only Henry Thorne, Edgar’s son, had been any comfort to him, and he had left long ago for the army.

After Edgar Thorne’s fatal accident, his son became the heir to the title and lands, the Earl’s grandson’s claim having precedence over that of the second son. The old Earl had often confided to Prickett that this arrangement was not only legally, but rationally and morally justifiable. His grandson, Captain Henry Thorne, was the only member of his family whom the Earl believed capable of controlling the family pursestrings. The Earl had been given ample evidence for concluding that Lord Charles and Lady Sybil could, between them, easily fritter away every penny brought in by the Earl’s very large estates.

Mr. Prickett was in wholehearted agreement, but of course, he could not expect Lord Charles to be happy about the arrangement. Slow in understanding, Charles had only one interest in life—he was addicted to gambling. He was, therefore, always deeply in debt. Now, with Captain Thorne’s disappearance, Charles had, not surprisingly, begun to hope that he might come into control of the inheritance.

“You are not answering,” Charles repeated, shaking Mr. Prickett from his reverie. “Didn’t you hear me? How long must I wait?”

“I simply cannot give you an answer. We must allow time for the Captain to be located,” Mr. Prickett said with forced patience.

“He must be dead,” Lady Sybil said funereally. “I feel sure he must be dead. No one has heard of him in months!”

“We’ve had a letter from Sir Arthur, you know,” Charles added. “It doesn’t offer a word of hope. Very kind letter it was, praising Henry to the skies and all that, but he admits that the poor fellow hasn’t been seen since Talavera.”

“Nevertheless, we must keep looking. The law is quite clear on that point. Does the letter say anything else?”

“No, nothing of any significance. Would you like to see it? I believe I tossed it into the drawer there to your right.”

Mr. Prickett found the letter and scanned it quickly. “Well, my lord, you seem to be right. It gives us no new information about Captain Thorne’s possible whereabouts.” There was a moment of glum silence while Mr. Prickett perused the letter more carefully. “Interesting,” he remarked, half to himself. “His lordship signs himself Arthur Wellesley. I suppose he wrote this before he learned of his being named Lord Wellington.”

“I suppose so,” Charles said uninterestedly, too involved in his own concerns to trouble his mind about the war. “The letter is dated two months past. The mails between us and the Peninsula are nothing short of shocking.”

“Well,” Mr. Prickett said in mild reproof, “there is a war going on over there.” He folded the letter and replaced it in the drawer. Then, gathering up his papers, he said more decisively, “But let me assure you that, war or no war, we shall leave no stone unturned to locate the Captain.”

“But what are we to do in the meantime?” Lady Sybil asked urgently.

“Your usual allowances will continue, of course,” Mr. Prickett reminded her.

“Allowances? But they are a mere pittance!” Charles complained.

“Indeed they are. I can’t even pay my milliner with mine!” Lady Sybil agreed. “I’m sure that if Henry were here he’d at least authorize the payment of our bills. He would surely do that, Mr. Prickett. Ask Charles, if you don’t believe me. Ask Nell!”

Nell held up her hands in a gesture that emphasized her intention not to become involved in this discussion. “Don’t ask me anything of the sort,” she pleaded laughingly. “Never having laid eyes on the celebrated Captain, I am completely unqualified to comment on what he would or would not do.”

“Of course you’ve laid eyes on him. It was when you first came to live with us, remember? He came home from school, I remember—”

“Really, Sybil! I was not eleven years old!” Nell laughed.

“I have no reason to doubt your word, Lady Sybil,” Mr. Prickett intervened. “In fact, I quite agree with you. Captain Thorne is, as I remember, a most considerate and generous young man.”

“Then why can’t you authorize the payment of our bills? You admit that Henry would have not the least objection—!” Lady Sybil urged.

“I have no authority to take such action, my lady. My powers of attorney do not extend so far. I’m sorry.” And he snapped his paper-case shut with a sharp click of finality.

“But suppose he is dead. And suppose we never find his body? Shall we have to wait forever in this impoverished state?” Charles asked irritably.

Lady Amelia shuddered. “Please, Charles, don’t talk so,” she pleaded. “It positively chills my bones. The poor, poor boy …” She put a trembling hand to her eyes to shut out the thought of such a tragedy.

Charles tossed his aunt a look of disgust. The sentimental old lady had more concern for the whereabouts of her grandnephew than she had for the disposition of the inheritance. Henry was dead—there was almost no doubt about that. Now the real and pressing problem was to be able to get their hands on the money. Charles had been fond of Henry Thorne, too—very fond of him. The boy had been a very pleasant fellow and a capital rider. Charles wished him no ill at all. Why, he could come home this very minute and take his place as the sixth Earl, for all Charles cared, so long as the bills could be paid. But Amelia’s tears could not help anything at all.

Nell leaned forward in her chair and patted the old lady’s hand comfortingly. Mr. Prickett coughed and rose from his chair, seizing the opportunity to take his leave. “Don’t upset yourself, Lady Amelia,” he said briskly, moving to the door. “There is every reason to hope that Captain Thorne may yet be found alive.” And bidding them all a firm goodnight, he hastily left the room.

For a moment, all four sat just as Mr. Prickett had left them—Lady Amelia dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief, Nell patting her shoulder, Lady Sybil and Lord Charles staring furiously at the door. “Hmmmph!” grunted Charles at last. “That was certainly a waste of time. I might as well have spent the evening at Brooks’s.”

Lady Sybil glared at him in disdain. “Not at all,” she said cuttingly, “for you’d have probably lost a monkey by this time, and we’d be even deeper in the suds than we are now.”

“Dash it, Sybil,” he husband growled, “take a damper! If we are in the suds, its cause can more readily be laid at your door than at mine.”

“At my door! Of all the unfair—!”

“Would anyone now like a cup of tea?” Lady Amelia interjected quickly, the frightening possibility of a quarrel between her nephew and his wife causing her to abandon the tears she’d been shedding for poor Captain Henry.

“I’m not a bit unfair,” Charles went on, ignoring his aunt completely. “Your bills for ballgowns and gloves and other female fripperies are what has put us in the suds.”

“My bills? Mine? When I have been scrimping and contriving for months to make do with these old rags?” Lady Sybil cried, holding out the skirt of the purple jaconet gown she wore. The soft, silky fabric had a decidedly fresh, just-purchased sheen, and the deep flounce at the bottom was so resplendent with intricate embroidery that the rich quality of the dress was unmistakable. Nell could not prevent a little laugh from escaping her lips.

“There! Even Nell is laughing,” Charles declared with satisfaction. “Old rags, indeed!”

“Really, Nell, you are becoming quite impossible,” Sybil said, wheeling about and facing Nell accusingly. “Have you so little gratitude? Didn’t that gown you are wearing cost me a pretty penny?”

Nell bit her lip. “I’m sorry, Sybil dear,” she said meekly.

“Let the girl be,” Charles ordered. “If it weren’t for her, we’d have no prospects at all.”

Lady Sybil subsided reluctantly. “What prospects? She has not yet set the wedding date, although I’ve been urging her for weeks.”

“You’re right there, my dear,” Charles concurred. “Nell, you must stop this procrastination. Sir Nigel can be no help to us until you have him firmly rivetted. What are you waiting for?”

Nell looked at her guardians in alarm. “I hope you’ve not been counting too seriously on Sir Nigel for financial assistance,” she said uncomfortably.

“But of course we are, you goose,” her godmother replied. “Why else would we have urged you to accept him?”

“You need have no scruples, my dear,” Charles explained kindly. “Sir Nigel quite understands the situation. We had a completely frank conversation on the matter the day before we announced your betrothal. He has agreed to give us a very generous settlement. We shall contrive to manage on it very well until the matter of the estate is settled.”

“But … but … Charles,” Nell gasped, her face pale, “is that the only …? I mean, you certainly are not counting on Nigel’s settlement as your primary source of support, are you? Mr. Prickett told me that your allowances are very generous and could keep us quite comfortably, if only we practiced a few economies …”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sybil said scornfully. “The economies that Mr. Prickett suggests are out of the question. He wants us to limit our entertaining to one or two small dinners a season, for example. And he told me to postpone the redecoration of the drawing room even after I clearly told him that I’d already ordered several chairs.”

“The man has no understanding of our way of life,” Charles added. “He as much as told me I should quit my clubs!”

“But … would it be so very bad to … to …?”

Charles and Sybil both turned and stared at Nell closely. “To quit my clubs?” Charles asked in a choked voice. “You must be mad!”

“And you’d be mad indeed if you failed to realize that one’s social standing depends on the ability to entertain in the proper style,” her godmother added, watching Nell through narrowed eyes. “But why are you suggesting such things?”

Nell sank back in her chair and lowered her eyes. “Well, I …” she began. Then her courage failed her and she remained silent.

Sybil and Charles exchanged puzzled glances, while Lady Amelia, sensing that an explosion was about to occur, jumped into the breach with the only defenses she had available. “Let us all have some tea to calm ourselves,” she urged. “I’ve managed to keep it quite warm—”

“Will you tell your aunt to cease and desist?” Sybil muttered to her husband between clenched teeth. “I don’t want to hear another word about tea!”

Charles rose and confronted his aunt. “Please, Aunt Amelia, you are driving us all to apoplexy! We do not want tea!”

“Very well, Charles,” Amelia said in a voice that trembled in offended dignity, “you needn’t shout. I heard your wife quite clearly. I shall not bring up the subject again.”

“Perhaps you’d best go to bed, Amelia. All this commotion must have tired you,” Lady Sybil suggested pointedly.

The old lady put her chin up defiantly. “Not at all,” she said proudly. “I am quite well and intend to remain as long as I please. I would be much obliged if you’d take no notice of me. I shall simply sit here quietly and … and drink my tea.”

Lady Sybil sighed in defeat. Lady Amelia had as much right in this house as she herself—more, if one took into account the fact that she had lived with her brother, the Earl, all of his lifetime and had been well provided for in the will. In addition, the Earl had stipulated that his estates must always be made available for her use whenever she should desire to occupy them for as long as she lived. There was nothing Sybil could do but put up with her. “Very well. Stay if you like. But don’t interrupt us, please. Well, Nell, what were you about to say?”

“I was about to say that … that … we may have to institute the economies Mr. Prickett suggested,” Nell said in a small voice.

“Why?” Sybil asked tensely. “What have you done, girl?”

Charles looked from his wife’s tightly compressed lips to Nell’s bent head. “Sybil? What is it? What’s amiss?”

Sybil did not turn her eyes from her ward. “Nell? Not again! You didn’t do it again, did you?”

Nell nodded sheepishly, not daring to raise her eyes.

Sybil let out a piercing scream. “No! N-No!” She clutched her breast and tottered to a chair. “I shall have a seizure! My God, I shall have a seizure and die right here this minute!” And she pulled a handkerchief from her dress and waved it weakly before her reddened face.

Charles gaped at his wife in confusion. “What is it, my dear? What has she done?”

Sybil glared at her husband impatiently. “Really, Charles, can’t you guess? She’s cried off!”

“Cried off?” Charles blinked his eyes slowly, but as the enormity of the situation dawned on him, his face reddened in fury. “You little ninny,” he shouted, “did you dare to play that trick again?”

“Charles!” Amelia gasped, shocked by his rudeness.

“Stay out of this, Amelia,” Charles told her curtly.

“Please!” Nell urged a little breathlessly. “I know I’ve shocked you both, but wouldn’t it be best to discuss this matter a bit more calmly?”

Sybil turned to her ward with a desperate suggestion. “It was a lover’s quarrel, wasn’t it? Nothing but a lover’s quarrel. Tell me that I’ve hit on the truth of it! It can be mended, can’t it? It must be mended. I will go to see Nigel tomorrow and explain that you cried all night. He’ll come rushing round to take you in his arms, and all will be well.”

Nell shook her head. “It was not a lover’s quarrel.”

Sybil’s face puckered and tears filled her eyes. “Of course it was a lover’s quarrel. What else could it have been? Nell, my dear girl, don’t you know I want the best for you? How can you do this to me? I’ve given you a home, a family, all my love!” Tears rolled down her cheeks and she held out a trembling hand. “Please, my dear, tell me it was only a little quarrel!”

Nell shook her head firmly and took her aunt’s hand. “Please, dear, don’t cry. We shall brush through somehow. But I cannot marry Nigel. He is the greatest bore, the most insufferable prig and the most conceited dolt. You cannot wish me to spend my life with such a man.”

“But most women learn—as you must—to compromise their standards when they marry. We none of us find the man of our dreams! Why can’t you make that compromise—like the rest of us?” Sybil asked urgently.

“I’ve tried, truly,” Nell said, getting to her feet and speaking strongly. “I compromised with my heart when I first agreed to accept him. I did it to please you. But I didn’t realize, because I didn’t know him well enough, that wedded life with Nigel would be beyond compromise—it would be a prison sentence.”

“You are overdramatizing,” Charles said flatly. “You women have too much sensibility.”

“Charles is right,” Sybil agreed. “Something has happened to disturb you, and now you refine on it too much.”

“How can you say that after I’ve told you what I think of him?” Nell cried.

“But, my dear,” her godmother answered, “it doesn’t matter what sort of man he is. Perhaps I shouldn’t say this, but it is something you are bound to discover for yourself once you are married. Marriage is primarily for convenience. Before marriage, society’s eyes are always upon you, but once you are wedded, you will find that you can contrive to go your own way. It is not an uncommon practice among married people.”

“Really, Sybil!” Amelia put in, appalled.

Nell, too, was appalled. She had not known that her guardians were capable of such calculating heartlessness. “I could not live that way,” she said quietly, turning away from them.

“You will have to, Miss,” Sybil snapped. “It is necessary to us.”

Nell merely shook her head.

“Is this the gratitude we should expect from a girl we took in and reared as our own?” her godmother demanded with a throbbing voice.

“I am grateful. Please believe that,” Nell answered earnestly. “But you cannot wish me to sacrifice my life to permit you to entertain lavishly! Or to allow Charles to gamble away the fortune at his club! The price you ask is too high for that.”

Charles indignantly stalked to the fireplace. Taking an authoritative stance, he faced his ward threateningly. “I’ve heard enough. We’ve spoiled you, Miss. We’ve indulged these whims long enough. Now I’m ordering you to obey me—you will agree to commision your godmother to pay a call on Sir Nigel in the morning, when she will tell him that you’ve regretted your hasty words to him and that, if he will forgive you, you will never again behave in this way.”

“No, I will not agree,” Nell said flatly.

“I give you no choice in this matter. You will do as I say!”

“You cannot compel me, Charles. If Sybil can convince Nigel to give me another chance—which I very much doubt—I shall deny it all the moment he comes to see me.”

Charles and Sybil exchanged looks of helpless frustration. Then Sybil, trembling, jumped to her feet and confronted her ward. “If you persist in opposing us, Helen Belden, we shall send you away! Far away from everyone and everything you’ve known. You shall live alone, with no one to talk to, with no shops, no libraries, no parties, no friends. We shall send you as far away as we possibly can. To … to … Charles, which one of the estates is the farthest from London?”

Charles looked at his wife admiringly. The woman was never at a loss for ideas. “Thorndene!” he answered promptly. “That ramshackle place we have in Cornwall.”

“You can’t send the girl to Cornwall—it’s coming on winter! No one goes to Cornwall in winter,” Amelia protested.

“Cornwall!” Sybil smiled in malicious delight. “It’s perfect. It’s as gloomy and lonely a place as one would wish. It’s the end of the world, my girl, the end of the world! We’ll just see how long you’ll endure it there!”

Nell looked from one to the other undaunted. “Very well. If I must choose between living with Nigel or living alone at the end of the world, I choose the end of the world. Send me to Cornwall if you must.”

“Very well,” Sybil said curtly, “you’ve made your choice. I shall make arrangements tomorrow morning, if a night’s reflection doesn’t change your mind.”

“I won’t change my mind.”

“I’d think on it, if I were you,” Charles advised.

“Stubborn chit,” Sybil muttered, crossing to her husband. “Don’t trouble to argue with her, Charles. Let her go to Cornwall. She’ll find herself so bored and lonely that, before a fortnight has elapsed, she’ll plead with us to permit her to return.”

Charles nodded agreement. Perhaps this extemporaneous plan would work. The girl could not be coerced, that much was clear. But banishment to a cold and lonely house, especially after the lively, crowded social whirl she’d been enjoying in London, might be the very thing to bring her round. His wife was clever, he’d say that for her. He offered her his arm. “Come, Sybil, let’s go to bed.”

Sybil accompanied him to the door, but before leaving she turned back to her recalcitrant ward. “Tell your abigail to begin packing,” she said icily. “But don’t imagine that I’ll permit her to accompany you. You’ll have to make do with the staff at Thorndene.”

“Very well, ma’am,” Nell answered with rigid formality.

“Aren’t you coming up to bed, Aunt Amelia?” Charles asked.

“Not yet. I wish to discuss something with Nell first,” the old lady said placidly. “We have some plans to make.”

“Plans?” He looked at his aunt with suspicion. “What plans?”

Amelia busily fiddled with the teapot. “My plans to leave with her.” She looked up at her nephew bravely. “You see, dear boy, I’m going to Thorndene, too.”

“Wh-what?” Charles sputtered furiously. “To Thorndene? What do you mean? Are you trying to interfere with the disciplinary measures I see fit to administer to my ward?”

Sybil put a restraining hand on his arm. “Don’t fly into a pucker, Charles. Let her go. We could not send Nell away unchaperoned. Amelia will serve very well.”

Charles shrugged. “Oh, very well then. I don’t suppose her presence will make a great deal of difference, one way or another.”

“Amelia, dear, you needn’t make such a sacrifice for me,” Nell said quietly.

“Not all all,” Amelia declared with unaccustomed spirit. “I make no sacrifice. There would be no one here I’d care to be with, once you were gone.” And she threw her nephew and his wife a rebellious glance.

“Very well then, Aunt. Have it your own way,” Charles said from the doorway. “I advise you both to take yourselves upstairs and arrange to have your things packed at once.”

“We will,” Amelia said, a new note of daring in her fluttery voice, “in due time. But first, Nell and I are going to … to …”

“To what?” Lady Sybil asked suspiciously.

Nell and Amelia looked at each other, their eyes smiling with affectionate understanding. “To have our tea, of course,” Nell said contentedly.