| |
“CHARLIE, OLD BOY, ARE you coming?” George leaned in the doorway dressed for dinner and eyed his brother.
“Yes, I had some business with Hammond.” He caught the look on his brother’s face. “What?”
“You know how Our Dear Mother gets about being on time for dinner.”
“It’s my house; surely I can be a few minutes late.” He growled this last and George grinned.
“Well, don’t be too late, I’m positively starving. Charles is that....” George straightened and looked past him.
“As if you’ve ever been hungry a day in your life.” He shook his head. “Is that what? Oh...” Charles grabbed the piece of paper lying on his dresser and stuffed it into his pocket.
“You said there was nothing to it.” George looked at him pointedly.
“I did.”
“Just a friendly gesture.”
“It was.”
“Charlie....”
“What.” He avoided George’s eyes, focusing on his reflection while he straightened his cravat, causing his valet to sigh and straighten it once more.
George sighed. “I hope you know what you’re doing, old boy.” He turned to go.
“George, wait a moment.” Charles turned to face him.
“What?”
“I’d like your help with something.”
“Oh Charlie, the last time I ‘helped’ you with something, we burned down mother’s gazebo, and you know she hasn’t forgiven us yet.” He leaned against the doorway once more.
“George, that was...” He stopped to count. “...six years ago. And anyway, it’s not a wager. Or well, it sort of is.”
“I knew it! Did Pratt tell you about Reggie’s cousin’s play? It was such a scandal and -”
“No, you oaf. I just need some help getting rid of Our Dear Mother’s blue couch.”
“What? You must be mad.” George backed up, shaking his head.
“George, you want to get rid of that awful piece of furniture as much as I do.” The valet finished and Charles turned to look at him. “Come now, we came up with a plan to rid our gardens of beetroots when we were boys. Surely we can put our heads together and come up with something that....” He frowned.
“Burning down her gazebo is one thing, but that blue couch....Charlie, you can’t be serious. It’s not worth it, and anyway, it’s just a couch.”
“I am. And we need to find a way to do it without offending her.”
George threw his hands in the air. “Oh of course, because while attempting the impossible you might as well go whole hog.”
“What an awful bit of slang. Don’t let Our Dear Mother hear you.”
“My slang will be nothing when she hears about your planned demise of her couch.”
“Oh shut up George. And think. I’d like to do it soon.”
George slapped him on the back. “Well, if I’m going to die at the young age of 26, at least it’ll be for a good cause.”
“Damn Lady Sarah Lennox.”
“Amen.”
***
JANE HID A YAWN BEHIND her hand as she nodded to Meg.
“Jane, never say you’re tired. I was hoping you would pair me in cards. Do say you will!”
“Oh Meg, I’m afraid I cannot accommodate you, for I was up quite early this morning so I could go for a ride.”
“Heavens! You’ll have to go much later tomorrow. In fact, if you join me for a ride at nine, we could have the most jolly time! Mother says it’s unladylike for me to go any earlier, and if I’m to go for a ride every morning it must be at a sedate pace.” She stuck her tongue out at this and wrinkled her nose. “Although if you were there, I’m sure it would be ever so much pleasanter.”
“Oh Meg, I’m afraid I cannot oblige you on this either. You see, I lost a wager to Lord Harrington and he has requested my company for his morning rides.”
“Oh Jane, I fear you have been very foolish, for Charlie is forever winning wagers, and the odds were always very against you.”
Jane laughed. “Meg, if you should care to join us, I am sure it would be most appropriate and even your mother could not disapprove.”
“Oh no, Jane, I couldn’t. Charlie is always going at such fiercesome gallops and I promised Our Dear Mother most faithfully I would be ladylike, and besides, I am to look perfect before I’m allowed to breakfast. And Jane, I must not miss breakfast.” She said this last with such a serious look on her face that Jane swallowed her smile and nodded.
“Very well. If you should change your mind, you are very welcome.”
“I have it in mind to marry only a man who does not care the slightest what pace I ride.”
Jane smiled. “And values the importance of breakfast too, no doubt?”
“Of course, for I have a prodigious appetite which has never been tempered as my mother refuses to come downstairs to monitor it. She says eggs are such an odd food anyway and pastries destroy her figure, but I cannot help but think pastries are much more important than whether I need to let out my stays a bit, and anyway I am sure I could never give up my morning chocolate, for I have just got Cook to add a pinch of vanilla when she can get it and I’m sure I’ve never tasted anything finer.”
There was a pause before Jane spoke. “Meg, would you keep the result of my wager secret? I should not like others to know of my early morning rides or....well, the knowledge could be rather awkward.”
“Of course I will, Jane. I’m not usually very good at secrets, but I think this is one I can keep, for it isn’t really all that interesting.”
Jane bit back her laugh. “Thank you, Meg.”
“Do you think Mr. McInnes rides at a gallop?” Meg looked thoughtful.
Jane smiled. “I’m sure I don’t know. Perhaps you ought to ask him.”
“He was in such a temper at dinner, you know. I think Sir Reginald makes him rather put out.”
“Yes, Sir Reginald tends to put quite a few people ‘out’ when he’s in form, doesn’t he?”
“I haven’t seen him ride yet, and you know he’s never been hunting with the men, at least as far as I can tell, although he doesn’t come to everything mama invites him to. Perhaps he prefers his own stables.”
“Perhaps. I’m not sure anyone has the heart to ask him.”
“He looks rather imposing, doesn’t he? Perhaps I should ask him, for I daresay he’ll resent me for it and at least that’ll be something! Oh do come with me, Jane.” And with that, Meg pulled Jane up by her arm, linking it with her own as they made their way towards Mr. McInnes without looking as if he were their destination.
No one is so interesting as when they are mysterious, and Mr. McInnes was either dubbed mysterious or rude. As such, those of the former belief watched him with growing curiosity while the latter avoided him excepting what politeness dictated. The man in question was sitting in a chair holding a full glass while frowning at the variety of guests in Lady Harrington’s drawing room. His conversation, when called upon, was limited to one word accompanied by a frown and he was quickly forgotten by most. It was with some surprise then, that he looked over his nose to see Lady Margaret and Miss Shaw looking down at him with glee and suppressed laughter respectively. He frowned, if possible, further, and with a sigh did his gentlemanly duty by standing. This put him a shade above them both and he glared down at them for this further inconvenience.
“Mr. McInnes, do sit down, for I most particularly wanted to ask you something.” Meg’s face was bright and shining and youthful, but Mr. McInnes’ expression did not change as he sat back down. Meg motioned with her hand, and a servant brought forth two chairs from the other side of the room, arranging them so as to sit in a near circle with Mr. McInnes.
Meg took a breath and explained. “Mr. McInnes, I have wanted to ask you most particularly,” Miss Shaw made a small noise and looked at her lap, “whether you enjoy riding.”
There was silence as he watched a dark curl land prettily on her bare shoulder. His own wide shoulders straightened slightly and he met her gaze, his expression blank. “Yes.”
“Oh, that is excellent to hear, sir, for I rather wondered at you enjoying anything.” Meg smirked at him as she said so, her eyes a challenge he met head on with his own sharp glare.
Miss Shaw’s shoulders were now shaking, her eyes firmly on the hands in her lap.
“Enjoyment does not always need a display to be felt.” Bushy eyebrows raised slightly, the censure clear. Meg only laughed.
“You are perfectly right, of course, but I have never been good at hiding how I felt about anything.”
His nose twitched, but again, he kept his countenance. Miss Shaw cleared her throat then managed to look up, her face a little pink, her smile contained.
“Meg enjoys a ride each morning and was just telling me how she particularly enjoys a good gallop.” Miss Shaw’s tactful insertion was not missed by either party whose eyes had not strayed as of yet. Meg grinned and Mr. McInnes’ nose twitched again, but neither said a word.
Meg’s eyes sparkled as she said, “If you enjoy a gallop, Mr. McInnes, I am sure my brother’s stables would not disappoint you, for his stock is as good as any, I’d wager.”
Jane inwardly groaned at the word ‘wager’ but was saved Meg’s brashness by the appearance of Lord Petersham.
“Talking about Charlie’s horses, Meg?” Lord Petersham had stopped and now looked at Mr. McInnes. “She’s right, you know, we’ve got an excellent bunch out there, and a morning ride here is not to be missed.” Mr. McInnes didn’t even bother to look at Lord Petersham, his eyes still at contest with Meg’s.
“And what time in the morning would you suggest I enjoy a ride?” He never so much as blinked, but Lord Petersham assumed the conversation anyway.
“Oh, I enjoy a good ride after breakfast. Usually 11 or thereabouts. You could ride over and join me and Pratt. Sometimes even Reg joins us if the blighter has bothered to get up yet. Oh, excuse me, I’m wanted at the table.”
“I find nine o’clock much more preferable to eleven.” Meg’s comment was quieter now, and she stood as she slyly pulled Miss Shaw up next to her. “Excuse me, Mr. McInnes; my mother seems to desire my company.”
Jane’s eyebrows lifted – Lady Harrington had been trying to attract Meg’s attention for the better part of ten minutes, and seemed suddenly very convenient. Mr. McInnes stood as well and nodded as she left.
It was only a short while later that the group was much diminished, and as Lady Harrington left for her bed, she admonished Lady Margaret to oversee the last guests in the room. Lady Cheswick sat next to her daughter and Lady Wyndham, with Cynthia and Annabelle Pratt rounding out the circle. It was late, and yet Lady Cheswick patted the seat next to her with a smile.
“My dear Lady Margaret, you must tell me of your conversation with Mr. McInnes, for he looks the veriest bore!” Her teeth clacked in agreement.
Meg sat and glanced at the group of women seated there. Cynthia and Annabelle Pratt looked on with either mild curiosity or acute tiredness; she couldn’t be sure which.
“He does seem rather gruff, doesn’t he! But then, I’m not sure he enjoys large groups of people.” Meg blushed.
Lady Cheswick huffed. “My dear, he doesn’t seem to enjoy anyone. Indeed, I’m not entirely sure why your mother invited him, unless he’s the heir to a dukedom we’ve all not heard of!” She laughed with the other girls.
Meg thought of Jane, who always knew what to say, and taking a breath, calmly responded. “According to my mother, he has quite a fortune that his father amassed through trade, and his estate, Marchfield is very pretty. He has since invested wisely and is considered quite respectable.” She sat back, proud of her pauses and careful wording.
Miss Stanley shook her head. “Perhaps, but his manners are somewhat lacking. And his hair is such an unfortunate shade of red!”
Miss Pratt nodded. “And of course he seems entirely uninterested in talking to anyone!” She very obviously took offense at his lack of interest in her.
“He talked with Miss Shaw and I most amicably this evening.” Meg defended.
Lady Wyndham took the new subject and twisted it about her finger. “You know, Miss Shaw is a nice enough girl, to be sure, but it is very sad she will never marry, for I’m sure no one will have her with her lack of fortune and her connections are, of course, nothing compared to yours, my dear.”
Meg frowned. “Well, perhaps not, but she is a wonderful friend, and besides, I do not believe the men are as oblivious to her charms as you say. Why, even my brother rides with her in the mornings!”
The women exchanged looks.
“Why, Lady Margaret, whatever do you mean?” Lady Wyndham’s face no longer pretended neutrality.
Meg blushed and stumbled. “Oh, I don’t know the particulars, only Jane mentioned she lost a wager to Charles, and is required to go riding with him each morning.”
Lady Wyndham stiffened, while more glances were exchanged. Meg looked between them, suddenly feeling much too warm.
Cynthia smiled and leaned forward, her hand on her mother’s arm. “And you do not know what time they meet for these morning rides?”
“No, no, in fact, she was rather embarrassed about it, so I beg you will not tell her I told you, for she asked me not to say anything.” Meg’s hands were clasped in her lap, twisting.
Cynthia’s lips pressed together while Lady Cheswick’s eyebrows seemed permanently risen from their graves. “Of course not, dear. We wouldn’t say a word.” She looked at Lady Wyndham and nodded back, her silent communication understood.
***
CYNTHIA SHUT THE BEDROOM door behind her, then dropped her contented façade as she growled. “Mary, where are you?”
“Here, miss.” Her maid came forward to help her undress, and observed the expression on her lady’s face. “Is everything alright, miss?”
“Obviously not. How can he do this?” Her voice was getting louder, and she took a deep breath to calm herself. “What could possibly have changed his mind?”
Mary waited, used to the ritual of shared confidences as she helped Miss Pratt undress, moving to slip the night-rail over her mistress’s head.
“Mary, have you heard anything?”
“About Lord Harrington, miss?” She helped Miss Pratt sit as she began to remove the pins in her hair.
“Of course, who else?”
“Well, he went riding this morning with Miss Shaw, and he –“
“What?” Cynthia turned sharply, ignoring the pull to her hair as she faced Mary. “How could you not tell me this?”
“I’m sorry, miss, but Johnny, the groom, he says it’s just his master being friendly. Something about he had to because he lost a bet, but he wasn’t quite sure. One of the other maids had asked if he seemed interested in her, you see.”
“Hmmph.” She turned to face forward and Mary resumed her work. “From now on, I want you to tell me everything, even if it seems trivial or unimportant.”
“Yes miss. Johnny seemed to think they would meet again tomorrow and every day for some time, and he’s right pleased about it, for they all like Miss Shaw for all she invited herself here.”
“Did she?”
“Oh yes, miss. Lady Harrington was that upset about it. They say that’s the only reason she allowed Mr. Lawrence to come, although seeing as he’s a particular friend of Lord Harrington, I’m not sure that’s true.”
“Perhaps. And they do seem to be making a match of it.”
“Yes, miss.” There was a pause as she reached for the brush. “I did hear just today that Lord Harrington has a drawing on his dresser of a lady.”
“What? Of who?”
“Lily told me when she went in the morning, he had it on his dresser, but his valet gave her such a look and she wouldn’t say another word.”
“A sketch...similar to the one I showed you that Miss Makon drew of me the other night?”
“I’m not sure, miss, but even so, might it not have been his mother or his sister?”
“Perhaps.” Cynthia stared at her reflection for a while, not quite seeing her perfect skin twisting to make sense of the situation. She asked offhandedly, “Was there anything else?”
“No, miss, but...oh, there was one thing. Someone asked about Lord Harrington using a cane the other day. His valet said it was nothing, merely an affectation, but as he’d never used one before, one of the maids thought it rather odd.”
Cynthia shook her head. “That is perhaps odd, but Lord Harrington has had no recent injuries, so I can only assume the valet is correct.”
The maid finished brushing her hair and hurried to braid it.
“If you should hear anything else, let me know immediately.”
“Yes, miss.”