The Officer and the Lady

скачать книгу бесплатно


Imogen’s eyes flickered in astonishment at her aunt’s sudden volte-face, but, catching sight of Miss Widdecombe’s little nod of satisfaction, she realised, almost at once, that their own vexing problem was about to be solved. Should Lady Beresford prove to be sufficiently impressed with Beresford’s conduct and happy to allow herself to be guided by him, she and the little governess could be on their way to Kendal much sooner than they had hoped. Allardyce’s droning monotone proclaiming that the meal was about to be served broke into her distracted musing. With a start, she realised that David Seymour was at her elbow, requesting that she might do him the courtesy of allowing him to take her into dinner, her aunt having already left the room on Beresford’s arm.

When they reached the dining room, she saw that Beresford, apparently dissatisfied with the seating arrangements at the long dining table, which had placed him in his father’s seat opposite Lady Beresford at the far end, was instructing the harassed Allardyce to move all the place settings so that they might all sit more closely together.

‘For, how are we ever to get to know one another if we are continually obliged to sit at such a distance?’ he petitioned his stepmother. ‘I shall sit here at your right hand, Blanche, my dear. I am sure that you must have a thousand questions you want to put to me!’

His eyes gleaming with amusement, Seymour favoured Imogen with a conspiratorial grin. He was quite familiar with his friend’s considerable expertise at wheedling his way into the good books of members of the opposite sex of a certain age, having witnessed the self-same spectacle on many occasions in the past, when it had proved extremely useful in keeping fond mamas occupied while Seymour spirited their daughters away for a private tête-à-tête.

Somewhat reluctantly, Imogen returned his smile. She had been watching Beresford’s performance with a slight feeling of contempt for she, too, recognised it for what it was and, feeling not a little ashamed of her aunt for having been taken in by such shallow artifice, she motioned to Miss Widdecombe to take the seat next to Beresford’s while she herself sat next to the governess. Nicholas and his sister had taken their usual seats at their mother’s left hand, leaving Seymour to take up the empty place next to a still unnaturally quiet Jessica.

Cook had excelled herself with the number of dishes she had prepared, courtesy of Seymour’s timely generosity, the only problem being the considerable delay between the serving of the courses, owing to the lack of staff. For the first time in his life a carefully washed and brushed Jake Sawbridge had been allowed to come up to the dining room with the express purpose of helping to clear away the dishes but he was so overwhelmed at the sight of the ladies of the house in all their finery that, despite frequent proddings from Allardyce, he was unable to do much more than stand and gape at them all. Eventually Imogen, taking pity on the youth, felt obliged to beckon him to her side, whereupon she had a gentle word in his ear, after which he set about his task with considerably more diligence.

Beresford, who had still not fully recovered from the effect that Imogen’s appearance had had on him, had glumly observed her deliberate slight to himself in her choice of seating. Nevertheless, he could hardly fail to admire her sensitive handling of the artless young man. Unfortunately, Miss Widdecombe’s presence between the two of them precluded him from venturing any favourable comment he might have made. Instead, he directed his remarks to his hostess.

‘Your young footman?’ he asked, when Jake had left the room. ‘He seemed a little—how shall I put it—nervous?’

‘Ah, yes—poor Jake,’ replied Lady Beresford with a wistful sigh and, unfurling her fan, she proceeded to whisper a brief resumé of Mrs Sawbridge’s chequered history from behind its painted vanes. ‘He would not normally be allowed upstairs when we have guests but, as you have no doubt discovered for yourself, almost all of our staff have chosen to desert us in our hour of need!’

All at once tears started up in her eyes and the hand that was holding her glass began to shake, causing some of its contents to spill on to the tablecloth.

‘Now, ma’am—Blanche, please do not distress yourself!’ With one swift movement Beresford had removed the glass from further danger and clasped Lady Beresford’s trembling hand in his own. ‘It will all be dealt with, I promise you! Tomorrow you shall have a houseful of new servants—as many as you need—you really must not concern yourself about the matter any further!’

His stepmother dabbed at her eyes with her napkin. ‘You are too good,’ she said, in a tremulous voice. ‘How you can find it in you to be so generous to us all, I simply cannot conceive—after the way your father behaved to you!’

‘One might say that his neglect was the making of me,’ he smiled, patting her hand. ‘I have managed to carve out quite a successful career without his help, added to which I have acquired a not insubstantial fortune of my own. Please believe me when I say that I am more than glad to be of assistance to you at this difficult time.’

‘It is extraordinary how very unlike him you are!’ she said, her voice faltering.

‘Just as well he is!’ vouched Nicholas staunchly. ‘If he were anything like Father, he would be set on criticising us all for not having done better!’

‘Nicky! How can you!’

Jessica leapt to her feet and angrily threw down her napkin. She thrust back her chair with such force that it fell to the floor with a resounding crash. ‘I simply cannot sit here and listen to you all castigating Papa the way you have been doing ever since he arrived! Papa was by no means the tyrant you are all claiming him to have been.’

‘Not to you, maybe,’ muttered her brother, as he retrieved her chair and returned it to its place. ‘We all know how you managed to wind him round your little finger.’

‘I did not!’ she flung back at him. ‘But I do know that he would not have been so easily taken in by this upstart so-called brother of ours as the rest of you seem to have been!’

A trenchant silence filled the room as five pairs of horrified eyes swivelled to observe Beresford’s reaction to his sister’s outburst and Lady Beresford, her cheeks paling, gripped her hands tightly together as she prepared herself for the full force of his anticipated anger.

For several moments he did not speak, his face an impassive mask. Then, gradually, his eyes softened and the beginnings of a smile hovered on his lips.

‘Touché, little sister,’ he said softly. ‘Your loyalty to your father certainly does you credit. However, I do take leave to doubt that even he would have condoned your unseemly behaviour this afternoon and—upstart or not—since I find myself forced to act in his stead as head of this family, I should be very much obliged if you would make up your mind to either leave the room or to sit down and allow the rest of us to enjoy this splendid meal that your excellent cook has taken the trouble to prepare for us.’

Imogen registered Beresford’s adroit handling of her wayward cousin with a growing respect and she breathed a sigh of relief as, crimson-faced, Jessica sat down without another word and picked up her fork. She had fully expected the girl to retaliate or, at the very least, flounce out of the room as was her usual reaction to chastisement, but it seemed that Beresford’s unruffled response to her accusation had, somehow, brought her to a standstill.

It was perfectly true that Sir Matthew had derived a great deal of satisfaction from the fact that he had sired such an astonishingly beautiful daughter, but the consequence had been that he had spoiled the girl rather dreadfully. As far as he had been concerned, simply to see Jessica’s grass-green eyes light up with rapture and to receive her grateful kisses for some new little trinket or other he had purchased had more than helped to alleviate some of the considerable irritation that his shrinking, lacklustre wife and bookish son seemed bent on causing him.

Having sensed that Miss Widdecombe must also feel a certain satisfaction at having witnessed such a remarkable climb-down by her hot-headed young charge, Imogen shot a sideways glance at her neighbour. Unfortunately, the governess had her face averted, her shoulders were gently shaking and she was feverishly dabbing at her lips with her dinner napkin in an attempt to conceal her amusement so, instead of the expected eye-to-eye contact with a fellow conspirator, Imogen found herself gazing straight into Beresford’s smiling eyes, the reason for Miss Widdecombe’s surreptitious behaviour not having escaped him.

For several seconds it was as though time stood still. Gradually the smile in his eyes faded, only to be replaced by a look of confused bewilderment and Imogen, equally mystified at whatever it was that had passed between them, felt her whole body trembling as she struggled to regain some sort of composure.

Eventually, with a supreme effort, she managed to tear her eyes away from his mesmerising gaze. Glancing nervously round the table, she prayed that the bizarre event had escaped her family’s attention and was relieved to find that none of the other guests seemed to have noticed anything amiss, intent as they all were upon enjoying the munificence of the unexpected banquet. She saw that even Jessica’s spirits seemed to have been remarkably restored; although that was no doubt due to the assiduous attentions she was being paid by Seymour, who was flirting with her cousin in the most outrageous manner.