To Catch an Heiress

Chapter 18

ar-is-tol-o-gy (noun). The art or "sci­ence" of dining.

As a field of research and study, aristol-ogy is highly underrated.

-From the personal dictionary of

Caroline Trent

Utter silence ensued, followed by a burst of nervous chatter so loud and forceful that Perriwick actually poked his head into the room to see what was going on. He did so under the guise of coming in to clear away the rest of the tea and bis­cuits, which caused nothing short of mutiny, and Blake practically yanked the tray from his hands before pushing him back out the door.

If Penelope had noticed that the Marquis of Riverdale had been so forward as to call Miss Dent by

her given name, she made no remark, commenting instead upon how overwhelmingly surprised she was that they were acquainted.

Caroline was talking very loudly about how the Sidwells had long been friends with the Dents, and James was agreeing profusely with everything she said.

The only person not adding to the din was Blake, although he did emit a rather loud groan. He didn't know which was worse: the fact that James had ar­rived and nearly blown Caroline's cover, or the newly fierce matchmaking gleam in his sister's eye. Now that she'd discovered that Caroline's family was in some way -however tenuous- connected to the marquis's, she'd obviously decided that Caro­line would make an excellent Ravenscroft wife.

Either that, he thought grimly, or she'd decided to concentrate her prodigious matchmaking skills toward Caroline and James.

All in all, Blake decided, this had the makings of a truly colossal disaster. His eyes made a slow sweep of the room, watching Penelope, James, and Caroline, and he decided that the only thing keeping him from violence was that he couldn't decide which of them to strangle first.

"Oh, but it's been an age, Caroline," James was saying, clearly enjoying himself now. "Almost five years, I should think. You are very changed since we last met."

"Really?" Penelope queried. "How?"

Put on the spot, James stammered for a moment, then said, "Well, her hair is quite longer, and-"

"Really?" Penelope said again. "How interesting. You must have had quite a crop, Caroline, because it isn't so very long now."

"There was an accident," Caroline improvised, "and we had to cut it quite short."

Blake bit his lip to keep from asking her to tell them about the "accident."

"Oh, yes, I remember that," James said with great enthusiasm. "Something involving honey and your brother's pet bird."

Caroline coughed into her tea, then grabbed a cloth napkin to keep from spraying it all over Blake.

"I thought you didn't have any brothers or sis­ters," Penelope said, furrowing her brow.

Caroline wiped her mouth, suppressed an urge toward nervous laughter, and said, "It was my cousin's bird, actually."

"Right," James said, slapping his forehead. "How silly of me. What was his name?"

"Percy."

"Good ol' Percy. How is he these days?"

She smiled peevishly. "Much the same, I'm afraid. I do my best to avoid him."

"That is probably a wise course of action," James agreed. "I remember him as a mean-hearted sort of fellow, always yanking on people's hair and the like."

"Riverdale!" Penelope said in a disapproving voice. "You are speaking of Miss Dent's relation."

"Oh, I don't mind," Caroline assured her. "I'd be quite pleased to disown Percy."

Penelope shook her head in confusion and looked up at her brother with a faintly accusing expression. "I cannot believe that you did not tell me that our dear Caroline is friends with Riverdale."

Blake shrugged and forced himself to unclench his fists. "I didn't know."

Perriwick entered the room with uncharacteristic unobtrusiveness and began to clear away the half-eaten remnants of high tea.

"NO!" Blake, Penelope, and Caroline yelled in unison.

James looked at them with interest and confusion. "Is something amiss?"

"We're just-" Penelope said.

"-a little-" Caroline interjected.

"-hungry," Blake finished emphatically.

James blinked. "Apparently so."

Penelope filled the ensuing lull by turning to James and asking, "Will you be staying with us, my lord?"

"I had thought to, yes, but only if there is an extra room for me." He glanced over at Caroline. "I hadn't realized that Miss Dent was here."

Penelope scrunched her brow. "But surely you realize that Caroline is only visiting for the day. She lives barely a mile away."

"Father bought a summer house near Bourne­mouth just last autumn," Caroline blurted out. "I'm afraid we haven't yet gotten around to informing everyone of the move."

"Hmmm," Penelope mused, her eyes growing narrower by the second, "I was under the impres­sion that you had resided in Bournemouth for some time."

Caroline smiled weakly. "We visited quite often."

"Yes," Blake said, thinking that he ought to do something to save the situation, even though he was quite furious with both Caroline and James, "didn't you say that your father leased the house for a num­ber of seasons before he bought it?"

Caroline nodded. "That's exactly it."

Blake shot her the most arrogant of smiles. "I am in possession of a remarkable memory."

"Of that I have no doubt."

There was an immeasurably awkward silence, and then Caroline stood. "I had best be getting home. It's growing late, and... ah... I think Cook is preparing something special for supper."

"Lucky you," Penelope muttered.

"I'm sorry?"

"It was nothing," Penelope said quickly, glancing between Blake and James. "But I am sure one of our two gentlemen will be happy to accompany you."

"That's not necessary. Truly, it's not a long way."

James jumped to his feet. "Nonsense. I should love to walk with you. I am certain we have a great deal of catching up to do."

"Yes," Caroline agreed. "Probably much more than you would have ever imagined."

The moment the front door closed behind them, Caroline turned to James and said, "Have you anything edible in your carriage?"

"A bit of cheese and bread I brought with me from an inn, why?"

But Caroline was already scrambling into the con­veyance. "Where is it?" she asked, poking her head back out.

"Good God, woman, haven't they been feeding you?"

"Not really, and it's been worse for Penelope and Blake, although I have little sympathy for the lat­ter."

James climbed in and pulled a hunk of bread from a satchel on the seat. "What the devil is going on?"

"Mmmble nnn munchke."

"I beg your pardon?"

She swallowed. "I'll tell you in a minute. Have you anything to drink?"

He removed a small flask from his pocket. "Just a spot of brandy, but I don't think that's what you-"

But she'd already grabbed it and taken a gulp. James waited patiently while she coughed, sput­tered, and gagged, then said, "I was going to say that I didn't think brandy was precisely what you wanted."

"Nonsense," she said hoarsely. "Any liquid would have done."

He took the flask back, screwed the top on, and said, "Suppose you tell me why the three of you look gaunt and starved. And why the hell is Penel­ope here? She'll ruin the entire operation."

"Then you got permission from London to go ahead with your plans?"

"I'm not answering a single one of your questions until you answer mine."

She shrugged. "We should pretend to walk, then. I'm afraid this might take a great deal of time."

"Pretend to walk?"

"It certainly isn't going to take us an hour to walk me back to Blake's bathroom."

James's mouth fell open. "What?"

She sighed. "Would you like the long version or the short version?"

"Since it appears I must somehow use up an hour accompanying you to Ravenscroft's bathroom, I'll opt for the long version. It's bound to be more in­teresting, anyway."

She hopped out of the carriage, clutching the chunk of cheese she'd found with the bread. "You have no idea."

Two hours later, Blake was feeling very irritable.

Downright mean, as a matter of fact. James and Caroline had been gone a long time- much longer than it should have taken for them to go to the bathroom. Blake swore at himself. Even his thoughts were beginning to sound inane. Still, James only needed to be gone an hour to perpetuate the ruse that he'd walked Caroline home. Not that anyone, Caroline included, had any idea just how far away her "home" was supposed to be, but Blake had never taken longer than an hour to pretend to fetch her for tea. He had spent so much time pacing back and forth in his washing room that Penelope undoubtedly thought he had some sort of vile stomach ailment.

Finally as he perched on the edge of the wash­basin, he heard laughter and footsteps coming up the side stairs. He hopped down onto the ground, settled his mouth into a grim line, and crossed his arms.

A second later, the door flew open, and Caroline and James practically fell in, both laughing so hard they could hardly stand.

"Where the hell have you been?" Blake de­manded.

They looked like they were trying to answer him, but he couldn't understand what they were saying through their laughter.

"And what the devil are you laughing about?"

"Ravenscroft, you've done some truly bizarre things," James gasped, "but this-" He waved his arm at the washing room. "This is without com­pare."

Blake just scowled at him.

"Although," James said, turning to Caroline, "you've done quite a nice job turning this place into home. The bed is a nice touch."

Caroline looked down at the neat pile of blankets and pillows she'd arranged on the floor. "Thank you. I do my best with what I have to work with." She giggled again.

"Where have you been?" Blake repeated.

"I could do with a few more candles," Caroline said to James.

"Yes, I can see where it would grow quite dark in here," he replied. "That window is abysmally small."

"Where have you BEEN?" Blake roared. Caroline and James looked at him with identically blank expressions.

"Were you talking to us?" James asked. "I'm sorry?" Caroline said at the very same time. "Where," Blake said through clenched teeth, "have you been?"

They looked at each other and shrugged. "I don't know," James said. "Oh, out and about," Caroline added.

"For two hours?"

"I had to fill him in on all of the details," she said.

"After all, you wouldn't want him to say something wrong to Penelope."

"I could have told him all the pertinent facts in under fifteen minutes," Blake grumbled.

"I'm sure you could have done," James replied, "but it wouldn't have been nearly as entertaining."

"Well, Penelope wants to know where you've been," Blake said testily. "She wants to throw a fete in your honor, Riverdale."

"But I thought she was planning on leaving in two days," Caroline said.

"She was," he snapped, "but now that our dear friend James is here she's decided to extend her stay. Says it isn't every day we've a marquis in res­idence."

"She's married to a bloody earl," James said. "What does she care?"

"She doesn't," Blake replied. "She just wants to marry the lot of us off."

"To whom?"

"Preferably to each other."

"All three of us?" Caroline looked from man to man. "Isn't that illegal?"

James laughed. Blake just shot her the most con­temptuous of stares. Then he said, "We've got to get rid of her."

Caroline crossed her arms. "I refuse to do any­thing mean to your sister. She is a kind and gentile person."

"Ha!" Blake barked. "Gentle, my foot. She is the most determined, interfering woman of my acquaintance, except, perhaps, for you."

Caroline stuck out her tongue.

Blake ignored her. "We need to find a way to get her to go back to London."

"It should be easy to fake a message from her husband," James said.

Blake shook his head. "Not nearly as easy as you'd think. He's in the Caribbean."

Caroline felt a pang of heartsickness. He'd once described her eyes as the color of water in the trop­ics. It was a memory she'd have to carry with her the rest of her days, as it was becoming increasingly obvious that she wouldn't have the man.

"Well, then," James said, "what about a note from her housekeeper or butler? Something saying the house burned down."

"That is too cruel," Caroline said. "She would be beside herself with worry."

"That's the point," Blake put in. "We want her worried enough to leave."

"Couldn't you allude to a flood?" she asked. "It's ever so much less worrisome than a fire."

"While we're at it," James said, "why not throw in a rodent infestation?"

"Then she'll never leave!" Caroline exclaimed. "Who'd want to go home to a rat?"

"Many women of my acquaintance do," Blake said dryly.

"That's a terrible thing to say!"

"But true," James agreed.

Nobody said anything for a few moments, and then Caroline suggested, "I suppose we could just go on as we have been. It hasn't been so bad here in the bathroom now that Blake has taken to bring­ing me reading material. Although I would appre ciate it if we could work out new arrangements regarding our meals."

"May I remind you," Blake said, "that in two weeks Riverdale and I will be launching our attack on Prewitt?"

"Attack?" Caroline exclaimed, clearly horrified.

"Attack, arrest," James said with a wave of his hand, "it all amounts to the same thing."

"Whatever the case," Blake said loudly, trying to regain their attention, "the last thing we need is the presence of my sister." He turned to Caroline. "I couldn't care less if you spend the next two weeks chained to my washbasin, but-"

"How hospitable of you," she muttered.

He ignored her. "I'll be damned if Prewitt slips through my fingers due to my sister's misplaced de­sire to see me married."

"I don't like the idea of playing a cruel prank on Penelope," Caroline said, "but I'm sure if the three of us put our heads together we can devise some sort of acceptable plan."

"I have a feeling that your definition of 'accept­able' and mine are vastly different," Blake com­mented.

Caroline scowled at him, then turned to James and smiled. "What do you think, James?"

He shrugged, looking more interested in the way Blake was glaring at the both of them than he was in her words.

But that was before they heard someone banging at the door.

They froze.

"Blake! Blake! Who are you talking to?"

Penelope.

Blake started motioning frantically toward the door to the side stairs while James pushed Caroline out. As soon as the door clicked behind her, Blake opened the bathroom door, and, with an utterly bland expression on his face, said, "Yes?"

Penelope peered in, her eyes darting from corner to corner. "What's going on?"

Blake blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"Who were you talking to?"

James stepped out from behind a dressing screen. "Me."

Penelope's lips parted in surprise. "What are you doing here? I didn't realize you were back."

He leaned against the wall as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him to be in Blake's bathroom. "I returned about ten minutes ago."

"We had a few matters to discuss," Blake added.

"In the washing room?"

"Brings back memories of Eton and all that," James said with a devastating smile.

"Really?" Penelope did not sound convinced.

"No one had any privacy there, you know," Blake said. "It was really quite barbaric."

Penelope pointed to the pile of blankets on the floor. "What are those doing here?"

"What?" Blake asked, stalling for time.

"The blankets."

He blinked. "Those? I have no idea."

"You have a pile of blankets and pillows on the floor, of your washing room and you don't know why?"

"I suppose Perriwick might have left them there. Maybe he meant to have them cleaned."

Penelope scowled. "Blake, you're an abominable liar."

"Actually, I'm a rather good liar. I'm just a touch out of practice."

"Then you do admit you're lying to me?" "I don't think I admitted any such thing."

He turned to James with a guileless expression. "Did I, Riverdale?"

"I don't think so. What do you think, Penelope?" "I think," Penelope growled,

"that neither of you

is leaving this room until you tell me what is going on."

Caroline listened to the conversation through the door, holding her breath as Penelope grilled the two gentlemen with the skill of an executioner.

Caroline let out a silent sigh and sat down. The way things sounded in the bathroom, she might be stuck in the stairwell for hours. Penelope certainly exhibited no signs of giving up her interrogation.

Time to look on the bright side, she decided, dis­missing the fact that it was dark as pitch in the stair­well. She might be trapped in the most bizarre of situations, but it was stiii heads and tails above be­ing stuck with the Prewitts. Good heavens, if she hadn't run off, she'd probably be a Prewitt herself by now.

What a hideous thought.

But not nearly as hideous as what happened next. Maybe she'd stirred up some dust when she sat down, maybe the gods were simply aligned against her, but her nose began to tickle.

Then it began to itch.

She jammed the side of her index finger up against her nostrils, but it was to no avail. Tickle, itch, tickle, itch. Ah...Ah...Ah... AH-CHOO!

"What was that?" Penelope demanded.

"What was what?" Blake replied at the very same moment James began to sneeze uncontrollably.

"Stop that ridiculous act," Penelope snapped at James. "I heard a female sneeze, and I heard it dis­tinctly."

James started sneezing at a higher pitch.

"Cease!" Penelope ordered, striding toward the door to the stairs.

Blake and James made a mad dash toward her, but they were too late. Penelope had already wrenched the door open.

And there, on the landing, sat Caroline, hunched over, her entire body wracked by sneezes.