Lyons Gate

CHAPTER 14

Jason would rather empty chamber pots than walk into that drawing room with the tethered goat, but he simply couldn’t leave Miss Carrick to his grandmother alone and unarmed. It would be too cruel. Not that his presence would make much difference. She would be crushed by that malicious aged tongue; his grandmother would look at Hallie and see fresh meat. Odd how she never turned her cannon on either him or James or his father. Just those unfortunate enough to be female.

Jason saw Corrie seated in a wing chair, James standing behind her, his hand lightly on her shoulder, doubtless to keep her from leaping up and kicking over his grandmother’s chair when she started shooting insults.

His grandmother’s eyes lit up when she saw him. “Dear Jason, what a sight you are, my boy, but that certainly isn’t important, now is it? What’s a little dirt in the flow of time? Come and give me a big kiss.”

Jason grinned at the old woman, leaned down and kissed her parchment cheek. She lightly touched his hair and whispered, “I have some nutty buns Hollis brought me this morning. Come later and I will share them with you.” Jason gripped her veiny old hands and whispered back that indeed he would.

When he stepped back, the dowager countess looked up to see her daughter-in-law, the red-haired hussy, gripping the arm of a young lady she’d never laid eyes on before.

Jason saw it in her eyes as clearly as if she’d spoken aloud: new prey, bring me new prey.

“Who are you?”

Alex dropped Hallie’s arm. “This is the young lady who is moving into the neighborhood, Mother-in-law. I fear”-she cleared her throat-“that is, it appears she will be staying with us for a while. Isn’t she lovely? Don’t you think she’s beautifully gowned? And observe how gracefully she moves. Miss Carrick, this is Lady Lydia, the earl’s mother.”

“Well, come here, girl, and let me look at you.”

There was a moment of stark silence in the drawing room. Hallie saw that everyone was staring from her to the old woman, and not breathing.

She looked at the little old lady, with her shiny pink scalp showing through her white hair, and couldn’t imagine her being the least bit like Wilhelmina Wyndham. Surely not; Jason was joking with her. Lady Lydia was by no means frail, nor did she have the look of a placid old lady to have her hand patted and pillows settled behind her ancient back. She looked as substantial and solid as Hallie’s mare, Piccola, and surely that wasn’t a bad thing. On the other hand, Piccola could bite her and whip her with her tail at the same time. The dowager’s old eyes gleamed, her mouth opened, and suddenly out of Hallie’s mouth came, “Do you remember the French Revolution, my lady?”

Lady Lydia froze. “The what, girl?”

“When the French people rose up against the king and queen and guillotined them?”

Lady Lydia studied that lovely young face for a very long time before saying quietly, “I remember it like yesterday. None of us could believe the French rabble had locked their king and queen in the Conciergerie. There were reports the king and queen would go to the guillotine. We waited, wondering how such a thing could come to pass. And then one day they cut off the king’s head.

“I remember so many people tried to save the queen after that, but you know, she’d become quite dotty toward the end, and the final escape failed. She insisted on the coach stopping so she could smell some flowers. Do you know something else, girl? I also remember Waterloo.”

“Did you ever meet the duke of Wellington, ma’am?” As she spoke, Hallie sat down on the foot cushion at Lady Lydia ’s feet.

“Certainly, a clever man is Arthur Wellesley. When he returned to London in the summer of 1815, he was feted every evening; ladies threw themselves at him, gentlemen wanted the honor of being seen with him. So much gaiety, and such relief that the monster was finally vanquished.”

Hallie leaned up. “It must be so wonderful to have lived as long as you have, through so many amazing happenings, and you know the duke of Wellington. Did you also know George III before he went mad?”

“Oh yes. There were rumors, of course, but in 1788, it was finally announced that the king’s reason had flown the royal head. George got better, but of course, the illness struck him again until finally it never left him. Poor man, shamed by his son and heir, but his queen, Charlotte, ah, such strength she had. Such a pity, such a pity.”

“I cannot imagine being as old as you are. You are so very lucky.”

Lady Lydia would have liked to arch an eyebrow, but she didn’t have any left. “No one has said anything like that to me before. Hmm. I’ve never looked at all my decades in precisely that light. My daughter-in-law is right. Your gown is lovely even with those ridiculous big sleeves that make you six feet wide.”

“At least they fit at the wrist now. You wore those lovely Regency gowns that fit up high and fell straight to the ground.”

“Aye, they were lovely, all that light muslin, no corsets or petticoats to weigh you down, but so many ladies caught dreadful colds because they wore so little. At least today you won’t catch an inflammation of the lung. Hmm. I find it unusual that you know how to dress since you don’t appear to have a husband to select your gowns for you, like these two.”

“I have a fine sense of style, ma’am. Thank you for remarking upon it.”

Alex was utterly baffled, as were the rest of the people in the room. There was utter silence save for Hallie and the dowager’s low voices. The door opened and Douglas came striding in, evidently on a mission to save Miss Carrick. Alex grabbed his sleeve. “Don’t move,” she whispered. “I can’t believe this, but you’re not needed.” Douglas looked at Miss Carrick, and saw his mother’s hand lightly caressing her green sleeve. He froze as had everyone else in the drawing room, his jaw dropped.

Lady Lydia looked over and smiled at her eldest son. “My darling boy, have the red-haired girl pour the tea. At least she’s learned how I take it now.”

“And you appreciate that, don’t you, Mother?”

What was going on here? Hallie wondered. Lady Lydia ’s mouth was a tight seam. At the earl’s continued silence, she nodded. “Yes, I am most appreciative.” She turned back to Hallie. “Are you here to marry Jason? My poor precious boy is in need of a good steady girl, a strong girl with nerves of oak. Yes, that is probably the most important requirement of his wife.”

“Why, ma’am? Is he of such a delicate disposition?”

“Oh no, it’s entirely something else. Well, are your nerves strong as a carriage wheel?”

“Yes, ma’am. But why?”

“Both my beautiful grandsons are gentlemen to their quite well-shaped feet, more’s the pity. Jason’s wife must be able to protect him from all the hussies who continually hunt him down with the intent of taking advantage of him.” She shot a look over at Corrie, who was staring fixedly at her, her mouth open. “What is the matter with you, Coriander? You look like a landed trout. It is not attractive. It will give your husband a disgust of you.”

Corrie shut her mouth.

Lady Lydia said to Hallie, “My James’s wife is many things, Miss Carrick, but I will say this for her, she’s strong as the stoutest oak branch. James rarely goes about without her. He knows she will protect him. She has learned to throw herself in front of him when ladies hurl themselves in his path to gain his attention. Coriander tells him his attention is all he will ever bestow, and then only if the female in question has gained her fiftieth summer.”

Jason said, “Grandmother, Miss Carrick is not here to marry me. We barely know each other.”

“I believe the best marriages begin with the exchange of names, nothing more,” said the dowager. “Look at you, my dearest boy, no female with eyes in her head would not try to hunt you down. Poor James now-”

The earl cleared his throat loudly.

“Humph,” said the dowager.

Jason didn’t understand why she hadn’t yet blasted Hallie, but since no one had drunk any tea as of yet there was time for her to change her mind and decide Hallie was an encroaching hussy, like his mother.

“Then why are you so dirty, my boy, if you weren’t chasing her all about the grounds?”

“And she caught me several times and dirtied me up?”

“That’s it, yes.”

“Sorry, Grandmother. You know I bought Lyon ’s Gate. I was working there today. I had no time to change my clothes. Forgive me.”

“You were working like a common laborer?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Lady Lydia accepted a cup of tea from her daughter-in-law. Douglas watched her shake it around in the cup for a moment, saw that she wanted desperately to complain about it, but she knew if she did, she would not be invited back until the hussy herself invited her back, and she could be dead by that time. Hollis passed a lovely large tray filled with scones, lemon tarts, tiny seed cakes, and small cucumber and ham sandwiches, sliced into myriad shapes.

Jason saw Miss Carrick place her tea and plate containing two lemon tarts on the floor beside her. She looked perfectly content to remain at his grandmother’s feet. Just you wait, he wanted to tell her, just you wait until she decides your hair is brassy, or those lovely eyes of yours are sly, or God knew what else.

The dowager sipped her tea, grimaced only a little bit, then announced, “No matter Coriander’s faults, and they are multitudinous, she has presented James with two lovely boys, the very image of his beautiful aunt Melissande, who should have been wedded to-”

Douglas cleared his throat, watched his mother poke a tart into her mouth and chew it vigorously, and said, “Jason, you have the look of a contented man. Tell me how everything is going at Lyon ’s Gate.”

Jason sat forward, clasped his hands between his knees, forgot that he was dirty and smelled of dried sweat, forgot that Hallie would be living with him and that she was half owner of Lyon’s Gate, and said, “Oh yes. I want you to come over soon, Grandmother, and tell me what you think of my home. The stables are a perfect size, and once we got them all cleared out and cleaned up, we could see the excellent workmanship.” He continued to speak, and everyone smiled at him, nodded, asked questions. It was as if no one else in the room existed except Jason, Hallie thought, eyeing him. Not a word about her, but she’d quickly realized that no one wanted to shock the dowager. And, of course, he’d just gotten home after being away for a very long time. Were they all afraid he would leave again? This time for good? So no one said anything to bruise his tender feelings?

When Jason wound down, a silly grin on his face, Hallie said in a quiet voice to the dowager, “Perhaps you and I could visit Lyon ’s Gate together.”

The old lady chewed slowly on her ham sandwich, which had been shaped by Cook to look like one of the full oak trees outside the drawing room window. Slowly, she nodded. “Yes,” she said, patting Hallie’s sleeve, “I should like that very much.”

Hallie finished a lemon tart. “We will visit early next week.” She grinned. “Do you know when I first saw Hollis only a while ago, I asked him if he was Moses?”

“Moses? That crickety old man? Hmm. He does look rather like some ancient prophet, doesn’t he? I can remember the days when he chased down James and Jason, tucked them under his arms, and delivered them to their tutor, he was that strong. They were ten years old, I remember. What did Hollis tell you?”

Hallie’s lip quivered. “He said no, he wasn’t Moses, he was God.”

The old lady laughed, a cackle really, but it was full-bodied, even though it sounded like rusty nails grinding together. “Did you really, old man?”

Hollis, who was serving some cream onto Corrie’s scone, finished what he was doing, then raised his head and smiled at the dowager. “Certainly, madam.”