Surrender to Sin Page 15

  “Why should you have hosiery?” Abigail asked suspiciously.

  He frowned at her. “What are you implying? You’ve seen me in evening dress. Knee breeches and white silk stockings.”

  “Are you proposing that I wear your stockings?” she asked, shocked.

  “They only come to my knee, but you’re so small they’ll probably stop where they ought. Wherever that is,” he added with an air of innocence. “I really wouldn’t know what a lady’s stockings get up to under her skirts.”

  Abigail snorted.

  “Cheeky madam,” he reproved her. “Go on up to your room now and change. I’ll have Polly bring you my very best pair of stockings. Don’t worry,” he laughed as he saw her horrified expression. “I’ll wrap them up; she won’t know what’s in the package.”

  When Abigail had put on Vera’s stockings she had felt no intimate connection with that lady, but wearing a man’s stockings, she discovered, was quite a different experience. She felt silkier, more feminine, and just a little bit naughty. As she entered the small parlor where the others had gathered for tea, she saw only Cary as he stood up and bowed. She curtsied back demurely, but their eyes met in silent conspiracy. A shiver of excitement went through her. Later, in her room, she would tell herself it had only been her ridiculous imagination, but while in the moment, she freely enjoyed the little secret they shared. It was a fine, private enjoyment, better than his kisses, which had always caught her in too much surprise to be wholly pleasing. She slipped quietly into the chair next to Mrs. Spurgeon, who was yellow-haired again after her brief turn as a brunette.

  “Abigail, may I present my cousin, Sir Horatio Cary,” Cary said formally.

  “Oh!” Abigail exclaimed in surprise. She had not even seen the other gentleman, though he too had risen as she came into the room. She saw now that he was just a bit taller than Cary, and strikingly handsome, too, with deep cornflower blue eyes and dark gold hair coifed in a fashionable crop. He wore a small mustache and beard, rather like the one Cary had removed the day before.

  “Captain Sir Horatio,” Horatio corrected, bending over Abigail’s hand. “It was my honor to end the war in command of the H.M.S. Monarch. I don’t doubt you’ve heard of her, Miss Smith? And then His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales, was so generous as to knight me.”

  His manner of speaking was so deliberately high-toned that Abigail felt he was attempting to belittle her. She looked askance at Cary.

  “All true as far I know,” he murmured, a remark which his cousin chose not to hear.

  “His Royal Highness, on the occasion of his granting me my knighthood, was so kind as to condescend to present me with a small token of his esteem. May I show it to you, Miss Smith? Mrs. Nashe is admiring it at the moment,” he added, and Vera instantly gave it up.

  “Certainly; by all means,” Abigail said politely, though she was more than ever taken aback by his pomposity. The Prince’s token turned out to be nothing more than a gold snuffbox with a brown horse painted on its green enameled lid. Abigail dutifully admired the Regent’s taste, both in snuffboxes and in Knights of the Realm, and gave the little box back to its proud owner. She then felt at leisure to take her seat and drink her tea.

  “My cousin tells me that you are Lord Wayborn’s niece, Miss Smith,” said Sir Horatio as Mrs. Nashe passed him his cup.

  “Yes, my mother was his lordship’s sister,” Abigail replied, with her usual reticence.

  “Excellent!” he said, smiling at her.

  He really was an exceptionally handsome man, Abigail decided, without being attracted to him in the least. While superior to his cousin in manners and formality, he lacked Cary’s warmth and charm. His very superiority awakened hostility in ordinary mortals. “Excellent, sir?” she responded stiffly. “In what way?”

  “I had grave concerns, Miss Smith,” he said earnestly, “when I learned that my impetuous cousin had brought in some tenants for the Dower House. Of course, if the estate had been properly managed, there would be no need of that sort of thing. We never had to take in tenants before. And now this sad business with the elm. If only you had cut it down, Cousin Cary, when I advised you to last winter.”

  “Did you do so?” Cary sounded disinterested.

  “Of course I did, and so did my father; I recall it distinctly,” Horatio answered. “But then you’ve never been one to take advice.” He turned to Abigail with his charming smile. “When I heard he’d leased the Dower House, I imagined all sorts of low characters in the neighborhood. Guess my relief when I learned who you are, Miss Smith. Naturally, I have no objection to respectable people of good family occupying the house.”

  Cary suddenly got to his feet. “We had better go, Cousin Abigail,” he said, as Abigail and Horatio looked at him in surprise, “if we are to reach the village before the shops close.”

  “Did you need to go to the shops, Miss Smith?” said Horatio before Abigail could reply. “Please allow me to take you. I have my gig.” He looked pointedly at Cary. “I should think you would be on your way to Brisby’s farm, Cary. Brisby has reported a case of swine fever.”

  “What am I to do about it?” said Cary.

  Horatio sniffed as if such a response was no more than what he had expected. “Then, of course, there’s the removal work going on at the Dower House. Quite dangerous, I should think, given the state of the roof. Why, it might collapse at any moment. I should think you have more important responsibilities than escorting this charming young lady on a shopping excursion. I will accompany Miss Smith to the village. It would be my honor.”

  Cary controlled his annoyance with difficulty. “Certainly. If Abigail has no objection.”

  “I should not wish to inconvenience Sir Captain Horatio,” Abigail said quickly.

  “It’s Captain Sir Horatio,” said the gentleman. “But you may call me simply Sir Horatio. And I assure you, my dear young lady, it is no inconvenience to me.”

  “I think I should go with Mr. Wayborn to the Dower House,” said Abigail. Indeed, Horatio’s pomposity had made Cary’s company more desirable than ever. “To make sure things are being packed correctly,” she added.

  Horatio sniffed. “I should think Cary would be able to manage that much on his own, though perhaps I am wrong. In any case, I could not let you go near the place, Miss Smith. It’s far too dangerous.”

  “Horatio is quite right,” Cary said, to Abigail’s consternation. “I couldn’t permit you within a hundred yards of the Dower House. Besides, you do need to go to the shops.”

  “If there’s an apothecary,” Mrs. Spurgeon suddenly interjected, after an interlude of extraordinary silence, “you might fetch me some of my headache powder. I do feel one of my fits coming on. Vera, help me to my bed.”

  “I will get my cloak, Sir Horatio,” Abigail said as Mrs. Nashe helped her mistress from the room. “Thank you.”

  Chapter 9

  “Are these not your horses, Mr. Wayborn?” Abigail asked, puzzled, as they stepped out through the portico and she saw the team of bays harnessed to Horatio’s newly lacquered gig.

  “What, those cursed old nags?” Cary exclaimed indignantly as Horatio’s groom hopped down to open the door for Abigail. “I drive a team of chestnuts. These are bays. Rather nondescript bays, at that. And you’ve got their heads raised too high, Horatio,” he added. Rushing over, he brought the near horse’s harness down two notches, relieving the strain on the horse’s neck.

  “It’s the fashion,” said Horatio, considerably annoyed.

  “It’s a bloody stupid fashion,” said Cary, moving on to the other horse. “If you must raise their heads to such an absurd degree,” he went on, ignoring his cousin and speaking directly to the groom, “better to do it slowly, by inches. Let the poor beast get used to the strain.”

  “Hoggett! Attend me! You will raise their heads this instant.”

  “Don’t be a damn fool, Horatio,” Cary said through clenched teeth.

  “Kindly refrain from using such la
nguage in the presence of a lady,” Horatio said coldly, tucking Abigail’s gloved hand in the crook of his elbow. “My dear Miss Smith, I do apologize for my cousin’s want of conduct.”

  “I’ll talk however I damn well please on my own front steps,” Cary said angrily.

  “I think,” Abigail said quickly, “that your horses are very pretty, Sir Horatio. I think they’re quite as pretty as Mr. Wayborn’s chestnuts.”

  Cary’s rage subsided into exasperation. “Pretty?” he said incredulously. “Do you know nothing about horses? Do you at least ride?”

  “I’ve had lessons,” Abigail said doubtfully. “But they move around so. The horses, I mean, not the lessons. If only they would stand perfectly still, I’m sure I could do it.”

  Cary sighed as if he had never encountered such a lapse in human conduct in all his life, and Abigail distinctly heard Sir Horatio’s groom chuckle.

  “Hoggett! I am waiting for you to raise their heads,” Horatio said, undeterred from his original purpose. “Mr. Wayborn may do as he pleases with his own cattle, but I am a Knight of the Realm. I will not have my horses going about with their heads down.”

  “Please don’t, Sir Horatio,” Abigail pleaded. “Don’t do it if it hurts them.”

  Horatio smiled at her. “My dear Miss Smith,” he said, helping her into the vehicle. “I would by no means go against your wishes.” He climbed in beside her, and the groom jumped up into the driver’s seat. Cary gave them only a sullen wave as they started off down the drive.

  “I believe I must have offended Mr. Wayborn in some way,” Abigail said, biting her lip. “It’s true I’m entirely ignorant on the subject of horses. Is it wrong to say a horse is pretty?”

  “The boy is horse mad,” Horatio replied, leaning back comfortably in the cushioned seat. “Always has been. He looks down on anyone who isn’t as keen as he is. I’m no horseman, Miss Smith. Why should I be, when I have lived aboard ships for more than half my life?”

  Not wishing to encourage any more familiarity, Abigail did not inquire about her companion’s experiences in the Royal Navy. He told her anyway, concluding his long, vainglorious narrative as they turned onto the High Street of Tanglewood Green. “One thing I learned at sea, Miss Smith,” he added importantly, as he answered the respectful nod of a passerby with a careless wave of his gloved hand, “which our mutual cousin will do well to learn on land, is to care for my people properly, in mind, in body, and in spirit.”

  Abigail’s spine stiffened. “Are you saying Mr. Wayborn doesn’t care for his people?”

  Horatio smiled thinly. “I am sorry to pain you, Miss Smith, but it’s quite true. Upon inheriting the place from my grandmother, he spent all the income on London amusements and left his tenants to shift for themselves.”

  Abigail was puzzled. “Your grandmother, sir? But I had thought Mrs. Cary was Mr. Wayborn’s grandmother, and that your father was his mother’s cousin.”

  “That is true,” said Horatio. “But my father was so exquisitely aware of the duty he owed the estate that he condescended to marry his cousin and assume the parsonage at Tanglewood Green. My mama and Cary’s mama were sisters, you see. Now, my father does not agree with first cousins marrying, but, in his case, it was entirely justified. Old Mr. Cary hated my father so much that he would not have granted him the living at the vicarage otherwise.”

  “I see,” said Abigail.

  “But I was speaking of my cousin’s negligence. He never lived here. If it were not for my father’s efforts on his behalf, pandemonium would have ensued after my grandmother died.”

  “But Mr. Wayborn does live here,” Abigail protested.

  “Oh, yes, now,” Horatio agreed contemptuously. “His creditors have run him out of London, I daresay. And what do you suppose he did, upon arriving in the neighborhood after years of absenteeism? Did he build a school? Did he put sanitary drains and staircases in the cottages? No, indeed! He renovated his stables. Horses before people, that’s his motto.”

  Abigail squirmed uncomfortably. She hated to hear Cary spoken of so harshly, but she could scarcely defend him against charges she suspected might be true. “I believe he is trying to do better, Sir Horatio,” she said unhappily. “It is not easy to change.”

  But Horatio was just getting started on a favorite theme. “He’s a disgrace to the family, that’s what he is. Singing in the church choir and giving a Christmas ball—at which intoxicating spirits were served to the lower orders—cannot atone for all his years of neglect!”

  “Does my cousin sing in the church choir?” Abigail asked, momentarily diverted by the charming image of Cary in a white robe singing orisons. She assumed he had a pleasing tenor.

  “It’s not enough,” he coldly told her as the groom brought the gig to a gentle stop.

  “He does intend to put staircases into all the cottages,” said Abigail, as Horatio helped her alight from the vehicle.

  “Yes, Miss Smith. All of them. That is the other problem.”

  “Other problem? I don’t understand.”

  “Cary is determined to make improvements to all the cottages.” He moved closer to her and spoke confidentially. “Even the ones who don’t deserve it. There is a woman among his tenants, Miss Smith, a very low, loose-moraled creature, I’m sorry to say. Her children bear the stain of illegitimacy. In the course of his Christian duties, my father naturally has refused her all assistance. Indeed, her character is so far beyond redemption that he had no choice but to deny her the new vaccines for her children.”

  “But that is monstrous!” said Abigail, aghast. “The children should not be made to suffer for their mother’s transgressions, even if she is as bad as you say.”

  “Indeed they should not, Miss Smith,” Horatio agreed, entirely missing the thrust of her words. “’Tis a great pity that, due to the mother’s sin, two children have died of smallpox, and a third was born blind. But Cary refuses to turn them out. He should have more respect for you, Miss Smith, than to allow this vicious woman to continue living among decent people.”

  His priggish hypocrisy was beyond Abigail’s power to understand or tolerate.

  “Excuse me, Sir Horatio,” she said, stopping at the door of a shop. “I must go in. Would you be good enough to wait for me outside?” She rushed into the shop before he could reply.

  Quickly she purchased a dozen pairs of stockings, and rejoined Horatio on the street, where he was engaged in verbally stripping down his groom. As he saw her, Horatio instantly stopped haranguing his servant and offered Abigail his arm. After a few more errands, they returned to the gig and started back for the Manor House beneath a darkening sky.

  “I hope I have not said too much,” Horatio said, tucking the fur rug securely over Abigail’s legs. “It was not my intention to upset you, only to warn you.”

  “Indeed, sir,” she said, willing herself to maintain a civil disinterest.

  “Do forgive my presumption,” he said, his voice cloying. “Indeed, I hope that I am wrong in thinking you have formed an attachment to my unworthy cousin. Cary will be obliged to marry into a great fortune if he is to save the estate. Forgive me, Miss Smith, I know you have some ten thousand pounds, but I fear it will not be enough to clear his London debts.”

  Abigail could no longer pretend to be disinterested. “Are you saying my cousin is a fortune hunter?” she demanded.

  Horatio sighed. “He ought to marry an heiress, and well he knows it. But he is so…so perverse in his habits that he prides himself on doing quite the opposite of what is fit and proper. Very likely, he will marry some penniless nobody, just to spite his family.” He shook his finely coifed head. “If only the estate had been entailed! But it was not entailed, and the previous owner left it to his wife, of all people. My grandmother left it to Cary Wayborn. No one knows why. He never went near the place when my grandmother was alive, and he was most ungrateful when she offered to purchase him a commission in the Army.”

  “But Mr. Wayborn was not an office
r,” said Abigail, confused. “He had no commission.”

  “That is precisely what I mean, Miss Smith,” Horatio replied. “Ingratitude. Cary was only eighteen at the time. He had not yet come into his money, and his elder brother refused to give him access to the funds. But Cary was determined to have his way. For the sake of the family’s honor, my grandmother offered him the money to buy his colors. My dear Miss Smith, I am sorry to speak ill of my own kin, but Cary actually declined the offer! Instead, the ingrate ran away from University, and enlisted in the Army as a common private. A common private, Miss Smith! I daresay, you can imagine how degraded we all felt when we found out what he’d done.”

  “Your discomfiture must have been unimaginable,” Abigail said, suppressing a smile.

  “I have it on good authority that, while he was in Spain, he was flogged.”

  “Good God,” Abigail breathed. “Flogged?”

  “That is what comes of sleeping on the ground with the men, and eating from a common cooking pot…” Horatio shuddered delicately. “Without servants or civility! It was not fitting behavior for a gentleman. But then, Cary has always been selfish.”

  “I suppose,” said Abigail slowly, “he wanted to serve his country. I daresay, he knew he wouldn’t make a convincing clergyman. Not like your esteemed father.”

  “We were prepared to forgive him, too,” said Horatio. “But when he came back from Spain, he was no better. Unapologetic, and as determined as ever to have his own way. When he came into his fortune, he squandered it. In less than eighteen months, it was gone. Twenty thousand pounds, mind you! But then what should happen, but that my silly grandmother should die and leave him Tanglewood. She must have gone mad at the end; that’s all I can conclude.”

  “Mrs. Cary was entitled to leave her property as she pleased, was she not?”

  Her indignation was entirely wasted on him. “You’ve put your finger on the heart of the matter, my dear,” he said, still confident of her sympathy. “Tanglewood ought to have been entailed away from the female line. No one adores the fair sex as much as I, but, when females are free to leave property as they will, ruin and chaos is the natural result. A lady is not a fit judge of such matters.”