ROMANTIC VENTURE

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Her father had encouraged her to leave some of her possessions at Harper House, but Maurette, in a spirit of optimistic determination, had decided to pack everything. She looked round the bare chamber now, and the burden of dread weighed heavily on her heart. Would she be back in one year's time? Or, would she never see this room again? Either prospect filled her with anxiety in these last moments of the life she had always known. The pull of Dominic and her love for him was as powerful, in this instant, as was her bond to her home and family.

Maurette shuddered in the gloom of the empty chamber. Moving to the hearth to build up the little fire, she gazed into its dancing depths. At Islington, she had been so sure that she had made the right decision, but now, back in London, facing the reality of her immediate departure, she knew a ravening uncertainty.

The door to her chamber was pushed heavily aside, and Edyth shuffled into the room, carrying a huge tray laden with a pitcher of ale, a great, deep sausage pie, bowls of steaming vegetables, and a plate of cheeses. A salver of sugared fruit sat in the center. Maurette almost laughed when she saw the overburdened tray, but she held her mirth at bay. She knew that this was Edyth's way of comforting her: she could not go with the child, but she could feed her. The old woman set out the food on a table near the low, crackling fire.

"Will you not eat, child?" she said forlornly. "You have not had anything of substance for three days."

Maurette smiled. "I have little appetite, dear Edyth, but I shall do my best." She sat down and dutifully sampled the rich fare that Edyth had brought. "Will you sit with me awhile?"

Edyth adopted her characteristic haughtiness and declined, her mouth forming a small moue. The child knew better than to ask such a thing. Servants did not sit down at table with gentle folk. Seeing the girl's pretty, entreating eyes, however, softened Edyth's resolve. She lost her well-practiced defenses and moved to embrace her. Then, as Maurette pulled a low stool near the table, Edyth sat heavily and dabbed at her tear-glazed eyes.

"I shall miss you, too," Maurete said gently. She took Edyth's withered hand into her own. "But we have all decided that a sea voyage would not be the healthiest thing for a woman of your years."

Edyth looked up sharply, and Maurette winced, realizing her mistake. Suddenly a musical voice sounded in the chamber.

"Women of our years, dear Maurette, often know well the truth of sea voyages." Lady Violet moved with a sweeping grace into the room. "They always take you away from something, but they inevitable bring you to something. Knowing that," said the lady, pulling another stool up to the table, "makes them easier to bear." She winked gaily at Edyth. "I think the two of us would do quite well on one of those voyages, do you not agree, Edyth?"

Edyth nodded her head in hearty agreement.

"However," continued Lady Violet, "we have, in truth, had our fill of such adventures. We have earned the right to be content with the comforts of home. The most water either of us ever wants to view is the murky depths of the Thames. A tame prospect, at best, but a decidedly less tiring one for women of our years."

The three women smiled at one another, though Edyth's eyes remained woeful. Lady Violet sat on her stool and viewed the feast that had been laid out for Maurette.

"Cloud you spare me a cup of ale," she said with innocence, "and perhaps a small piece of meat pie? And I wouldn't mind a vegetable or two and a slice of fruit, that is, of course, if you could spare it." She looked up at Maurette and then at Edyth. "Or is it intention that the child should consume this leviathan all by herself?" The three women regarded each other solemnly for a moment and then burst into gales of laughter.

Lady Elaine suddenly entered the chamber to find the women doubled over in hilarity. "The carriages are-" She stop- short when she realized that even her presence would not halt the lunacy of their mirth. "What is so funny?" she asked, dumbfounded.

"Oh, nothing, Mama," said Maurette while attempting to control her fits of giggling. "'Tis only that we have decided that Edyth would render me, with this last meal, so corpulent as to sink poor Dominic's ship in the middle of the North Sea." Another burst of hilarity overtook the women.

"I do think it unwise to stimulate yourself so before embarking on a sea voyage," said lady Elaine sternly, as the three women attempted once more to sober themselves. "In any event, dearest Maurette, the carriages are here and 'tis time to make your departure. Dominic said you must leave with the morning tide, and the morning is now half over." She moved to the now chastened girl. "I will see to the loading of your chests, child. Please ready yourself for your ride to London. Know that your mama loves you and that she will miss you sorely." She pulled Maurette into a gentle embrace. "I will send up a boy to take the last of your boxes," she said as she drew away. Tears shimmered in her green eyes as she turned from her daughter and quickly left the room.

Edyth stood heavily. "I shall go see that things are done correctly," she said stiffly. "Good-bye, dear child." She held Maurette in the warmth of her plump arms for a long moment. "Do try to eat something," she said as she bustled from the room.

Maurette eyed her grandmother solemnly. "Would you, In truth, help me will this food, Grandma? Edyth will be so dispirited if it is not at least sampled." The two women smiled in resignation as they attacked the meal.

Imogene moved quietly into the room. She held a large, Wrapped object behind her back. "I have something for you, dear sister." she said shyly. She advanced toward the table, and her eyes widened. "You are not intending to consume all that," she gasped.

"Only if you and Grandmama will help me," Maurette sighed.

"I could not eat a bite," said Imogene dully. "I am too saddened by the thought of your going." Then she brightened and held the package at arm's length. "This is something for you, Maurette. No woman grown should be without one."

Maurette accepted the gift and carefully undid the pretty wrappings. She found, in the midst of the colored tissue, a white bonnet. Frilled and feathered, it was the most elaborate headpiece Maurette had ever seen. She looked up at Imogene, and a question quirked her smooth brow.

"'Tis symbolic," Imogene giggled. "You are, upon your arrival at Ravenshead, to toss that," she indicated the bonnet pointedly, "into the ocean. You may even," she added pertly, "wish to divest yourself of it sooner than that."

Maurette laughed openly. The girls explained to their bemused grandmother the significance of such an action and the independence that it implied. Lady Violet enjoyed the jest hugely.

Imogene, despite her stated lack of hunger, munched on the food that lay on the table. With her fingers she sampled the creamy onions and the spiced carrots. She pushed, with unladylike relish, a piece of the salty pie into her mouth as she reflected upon her own upcoming marriage.

"Gregory has requested that we be married at court," she said. "'Twould be an honor, to speak the least, to be wed with the queen in attendance, but his request must be one of hundreds, and such compliments, I fear, are placed with those in higher favor than we."

Lady Violet smiled knowingly. "'Twould require the word of someone of influence to accomplish such a triumph," she said gently.

Both girls gaped at their grandmother. "Have you spoken for Imogene and Gregory," Maurette inquired excitedly.

Lady Violet nodded tranquilly. "Your wedding at court, dear Imogene, is a fait accompli."" Both girls rushed to embrace the older woman, nearly spilling the mug of ale she held and toppling the plate of spiced carrots she had placed precariously on her lap. "The affair will take place at the beginning of November and, if you are very fortunate, Her Majesty will invite you to share her Christmas court."

With wild excitement, the two girls embraced each other. There was nothing in the world more exciting than an invitation to one of Elizabeth's palaces at Christmas time. The color and the pageantry were unequaled anywhere in Britain. For a young girl at that time, for anyone in truth, such an experience was the dream of a lifetime fulfilled.

Alex Harper found Imogene and Maurette entwined in a rapturous embrace when he entered the chamber. He stood watching them for a long moment. He was, it seemed, losing both his precious daughters at once. His heart ached, not only for the wrenching away of the people he held most dear but also for the uncertain future of his elder. Though Dominic Warbrooke had been most generous in his assurances that Maurette would be well protected in his care, Alex could not bury the aching fear that she might be severely wounded in this business For all of Dominic's avowed adoration of the girl, there was no question that her position was tentative at best.

At least Imogene had the protection of a marriage bond and a public ceremony. This was of course no guarantee that Gregory would remain a faithful husband and never leave her, but it ensured that the legal entanglements with which such a transaction was fraught would discourage such a circumstance. Beyond that, Gregory was a steadfast lad and truly devoted to Imogene. He would, in all likelihood, never have the inclination or the courage to start such a complex course of action as divorce.

Lord Warbrooke, on the other hand, was a man attended by complexity. He could never be depended upon to behave in expected ways. He was obstinate and self-willed. He had a chilling lack of respect for convention and was known to be something of a rogue where women were concerned, at least from what Alex had heard. To Alex, these characteristics were not particularly undesirable in a man, but where they concerned his elder daughter, they gave him pause.

Dominic Warbrooke in no way resembled the gentle Gregory just as Maurette in no way resembled her gentle sister. The union of Dominic and Maurette would not be an easy one. It would be a fiery blend at best. Alex hoped that the two were aware of the potential for calamity that they faced. Alex sighed audibly. He doubted that it had even entered their minds.

At her father's sigh, Maurette turned. "We did not see you, Papa," she said, moving to embrace him.

"I was watching my two little daughters, together for what may be the last time in this house," he said with deep sadness in his tone. "'Tis hard." His voice halted. He covered his mouth and turned away from his daughters, uttering a small cough as he did so. "I shall miss our challenge in the courtyard, darling Maurette," he said finally. "My mother will not miss them at all," she said, slanting him a piquant gaze. Then she eyed her sister gaily, though her eyes shimmered with tears. "look what Imogene has tokened me with," she said, holding out the bonnet for her father's inspection. Imogene stifled a small giggle. Alex, not realizing the significance of the hat nor in what way it related to his wife, admired the gift.

"You are well-tokened, methinks," he said softly. Maurette, smiled in response, remembering the handkerchiefs the kitchen girls had given her and the delicately sewn chemise from Thelma. As Alex sipped the ale lady Violet had poured for him, he noticed the embroidered pillow cover that the little serving maid, Jane, had specially made. He admonished his daughter that the girl would be broken-hearted if she found it there after Maurette had gone, and Maurette removed it from her bed.

"I shall take it down for you Maurette," said Imogene. She moved from the room and giving a wink with one wide blue eye, she suggested that Maurette's new white bonnet would go very well with her traveling outfit. Maurette smiled and set about her final preparations. Alex, after sampling the fare on Maurette's table, decided to go downstairs and give a final check to the coaches for safety. He gave his daughter one last embrace.

"Remember that you are of proud and noble birth, my precious Maurette. You have the blood of aristocracy in your veins and the strength of your high breeding in your soul." He took her face into his hands. "'Tis not for nothing that you have been raised with the knowledge of your own self-worth. You are as valuable a jewel as any that Warbrooke would acquire. Keep that knowledge." he said. Then, with a final kiss, he left her.

Maurette had for so long held back the hot tears of anguish that had threatened to flow at any moment. Now, she knew they would overwhelm her. Her heart gave way to a wrenching sorrow, and she went to her grandmother's arms to sob out the aching loneliness she already felt for her beloved family.

Lady Violet waited patiently for the storm of tears to abate. She knew that Maurette would find the strength that she needed to carry on. Maurette had a resilient nature. As her tears subsided slowly and her trembling body relaxed, the old countess smiled.

Maurette looked up into her eyes. "I think I am ready now, Grandmama," she said faintly as she wiped at her ebbing tears.

"You are indeed reedy, child," said Lady Violet with pride. "Now I have one last token for you," she said. She reached into a small pouch that was fastened to her stomacher and pulled apart the drawstring opening. She drew out a small platinum ring. "This, child," she said, gazing at it with reverence, "was my wedding gift from Lord Audley." She held out the little band. "I wish to place it upon your finger."

Maurette held out her right hand, and Lady Violet slipped it onto her ring finger.

"You must promise me that you will take it off on only one condition."

Maurette nodded expectantly.

"Only if you need me to come to you, are you to remove it." Taking both of Maurette's hands in hers, she leaned into her granddaughter. "No matter what the circumstances or how impossible your situation, you are to send it to me, and I shall come to you. Do you understand, Maurette?"

Maurette nodded solemnly. She could not imagine under what circumstances she would ever consider sending for her grandmother. But, as she gazed down on the mystical little round of platinum and then up into her grandmother's vibrant sapphire eyes, she felt an unseen hand upon her shoulder. She felt somehow protected from whatever was out there.

"I vow to you, Grandmama, that I will never take it off."

"Vow, too, child, that you will believe in the miracle of my promise. Vow that you will always believe in that."

"I do believe it, Grandmama," she said earnestly. At that moment, Maurette truly did believe that somehow her beloved grandmother would always be with her. She rose slowly as did the older woman. With final and absolute trust, Maurette embraced her. "We shall never really be apart, Grandmama."

Lady Violet's eyes glistened with unshed tears. "So many partings in my life," she said spiritedly. "One would think I would be used to them by now." She patted her granddaughter's cheek with her fingertips. "Let us finish this parting," she said and helped Maurette into her traveling cloak. They set Imogene's bonnet atop her head at a jaunty angle.

The clopping of impatient hooves in the courtyard below told them that the time had come. They faced each other bravely. Then, in the time-honored gesture of deepest respect, Maurette took her grandmother's hand in hers. She made a low curtsy while at the same time bowing her head and kissing Lady Violet's hand. "I love you, Grandmama," she said softly, "with all my heart."

"And I you, child," said the other woman, accepting the honor. She was deeply moved but stood proudly straight.

"Is this th' only one left, my lady?" said the small voice. Maurette turned to see a sturdy lad standing near her chest.

"It is, lad," said Maurette. He hoisted the heavy burden onto his strong young shoulders.

Edyth bustled into the room. "Get a move on, boy," she said. " 'Tis time, little Lady Maurette," she added in hushed tones.

Maurette moved with graceful resolve into the gallery outside her chamber door. She turned back once to survey the beloved room; then with a small smile and a slight wave of her gloved hand, she was gone.

Lady Violet and Edyth stood quietly together, remembering the night of Maurette's birthday ball and how they had sensed then that she was moving from the protection of their arms forever.

"Really," murmured Lady Violet, " 'tis so much easier this way."

Edyth swiped at her tear-glazed eyes. She turned to the table and began to gather up the remains of Maurette's meal. As she piled the tray with empty dishes and mugs, she smiled brightly. "I am so relieved," she said. "The child claimed no appetite, but look. She has devoured every bit of her meal."

Lady Violet smiled. "The 'child' has more of an appetite than she imagines."