Joanna heard no further word of the Finleys before the Thursday that Jonathan Erland was to dine at the Rowntrees’. As she dressed for dinner that evening, she wondered yet again when they would arrive. Waiting for the event was worse, she thought, than experiencing it could possibly be.
As she brushed her brown curls into clusters over her ears, her mother came into the bedroom. “Oh, Joanna,” she said immediately, “not the blue dress. It’s so old. You must wear your new white muslin with the yellow ribbons.”
Joanna stared. “The new dress? But, Mama, you said I was only to wear it on special occasions.”
Mrs. Rowntree’s eyes dropped. “Well, this is a special occasion, is it not? How often do we have a dinner guest? And your father’s friends will be coming later. Do change, Joanna.”
Joanna frowned, then shrugged, turning to allow her mother to unbutton the blue dress. “I thought to wear the white at our dress party,” she said as she struggled out of it. “It is my best. But I suppose I can still do so.”
“Oh, no. You must have a new gown for that.”
Joanna stared. “Another new gown?”
Her mother laughed. “You will need a great many new dresses for your coming out, my dear. You must get used to them.”
Joanna frowned again, started to speak, then turned away to get the white dress from her wardrobe.
A quarter of an hour later, she went down to the drawing room. Both her parents were before her. Her mother, looking splendid in deep rose pink, sat on the sofa before the fireplace, knotting a fringe. Her father, whose blue coat and bluff pantaloons looked a bit disarranged, was at a small table in the corner, leaning over a scrap of paper and talking to himself. When Joanna came in, Mrs. Rowntree looked up and smiled. “Very pretty, my dear,” she said. “The yellow ribbons were a good choice. Doesn’t Joanna look well, George?”
Her husband did not respond until she repeated the question. Then, he gazed vaguely in Joanna’s direction and murmured, “Ah, yes, just so.”
Mrs. Rowntree smiled and motioned for Joanna to sit beside her. The girl did so, but she was not smiling.
“Where is Frederick?” she asked.
“I thought he might eat his dinner in his room this evening. He will walk about on that ankle, so it is not healing as fast as it should. I have told Nurse to keep him in bed tonight. If anyone can do it, she can.”
Joanna nodded absently, and silence fell again. Her father continued to mutter. She heard him say, “Divided into three, and then six parts, one to be combined with saltpeter, another with sulfur, and so on.” She watched him for a moment with a wistful expression.
Mrs. Rowntree gazed thoughtfully at her daughter, as if trying to solve some abstruse problem of her own.
As the mantel clock was striking seven, the maid brought Jonathan Erland to the drawing room. He was dressed in his blue coat again, and Joanna thought his neckcloth ridiculous. It was almost as clumsy as her father’s. Mr. Rowntree came out of his corner, and they all sat down together.
“How comfortable this is,” said Erland immediately, leaning back in the armchair with a sigh. “You cannot imagine what a week I have had. I do not believe that there is a chimney at the Abbey that does not smoke, a corner that is not piled with dust and cobwebs, or a decent joint or bottle to be had. Mrs. Smith utterly cows me when I venture to complain. I do not understand how my uncle tolerated that woman.” He smiled to take the sting from these words, but it was clear that he meant them.
Mrs. Rowntree returned the smile. “Your uncle had a very limited and unusual conception of a housekeeper’s duties, I believe, Mr. Erland. He wished only to curb expenditure. Mrs. Smith excels at that, I think.”
“Only too well,” agreed their guest. “I think she buys spoiled meat because it is dirt cheap. And I know she tried to cheat the baker; he has complained to me. There’s no help for it; I must pension her off and find a new housekeeper. I can’t go on as I am.”
“No indeed,” put in Mr. Rowntree unexpectedly. “A man must not be distracted by domestic problems. It is fatal to the logical faculties. You must be surrounded by a smoothly running household to allow the mind to run smoothly as well.”
Mrs. Rowntree laughed a little, and Erland agreed with a smile. Only Joanna made no response. Glancing at her, Erland was surprised to see an almost resentful look on her face.
“Tell us more about your Canadian travels,” said Rowntree jovially. And Joanna resigned herself to boredom until dinner was announced.
Conversation over dinner consisted of Erland’s praises of the food and his answers to Mr. Rowntree’s questions about the wilderness. Joanna was glad to rise at her mother’s signal and retreat to the drawing room once more. She was heartily sick of Canada, she thought defiantly, and she hoped that rather than joining them, the gentlemen would go directly to the library, where her father’s society was to meet at nine. When her mother made an innocuous remark about how unfortunate it was that Gerald could not come this evening, Joanna said only, “Humph.”
She got half her wish. Her father did not appear after dinner. But Erland came in soon after them and sat down beside her mother on the sofa. He complimented her yet again on the dinner, then turned to Joanna with the air of a man who meant to become better acquainted. “I have not forgotten your promise, you know,” he said lightly. “And I mean to hold you to it, as soon as I can find the time.”
“Promise?” echoed Joanna blankly.
“Yes. Have you forgotten we are to go riding together?”
“Oh. Oh, no.”
He smiled at her, his gray eyes lighting. “I think perhaps you did. But as I say, I hold you to it. Perhaps on Saturday?”
“Well, I am not sure…” Joanna looked to her mother.
Mrs. Rowntree nodded. “That sounds like a splendid scheme. You have not taken your mare out all week, Joanna.”
“It’s settled then. You must come. Your mare will be wanting the exercise.” He looked into her eyes. “And I am sorely in need of guidance. I know there must be some charming rides in the neighborhood, but I have lost myself four times searching them out. You must show me.”
Joanna smiled at the idea of Erland lost in the fields. “All right,” she said, though she was not certain she really wished to go.
Erland opened his mouth to say something further, but at that moment, one of the maids came in and announced, “Mr. and Mrs. Peter Finley, ma’am, and Sir Rollin Denby.” And before Joanna and her mother could do more than open their eyes in astonishment, the three callers were walking into the room.
Joanna’s eyes were drawn first to Peter, in spite of herself. He stood between the two strangers, looking somehow small and rather uncomfortable. His pale blond hair had been cut in London and was brushed into a modish Brutus. But it was his clothes that made Joanna blink. Peter had always been interested in fashion and had driven his Oxford tailors nearly frantic with constant requests for the very latest in London styles. Joanna had admired his clothes excessively. But she had never seen anything so magnificent as the outfit he now wore. His coat was pale blue and his pantaloons the palest fawn—the cut was exquisite. And the height of his shirtpoints, the arresting pattern of his waistcoat, and the mirror gloss of his high Hessian boots nearly overwhelmed her. She swayed slightly and was hardly able to stammer a reply when her mother greeted the trio and made the necessary introductions.
Joanna sat down again and tore her eyes from Peter to study his wife. She had received the impression of height when the callers came in, and now she saw that, as she feared, Adrienne Finley was tall. Indeed, she appeared to be slightly taller than Peter, who was a slight gentleman. Her figure was statuesque and her blue evening dress magnificent, especially since she wore it with a stunning string of sapphires around her neck. But when Joanna raised her eyes to Mrs. Finley’s face, she felt some slight relief. The newcomer was not beautiful, and she was not truly blond. Her hair was a light brown, as was her complexion, and her rather prominent eyes were green. With a start, Joanna realized that her scrutiny was being returned, and she dropped her eyes. Adrienne Finley smiled.
As Joanna looked at the floor, Peter greeted her mother and nervously apologized for their unannounced call. “We were just—just passing by, you see,” he stammered. His eyes avoided theirs.
“Peter, darling,” drawled his wife in a deep, careless voice. “You may as well tell the truth.” She smiled brilliantly at Mrs. Rowntree. “It is completely my fault that we intrude on you. I am so eager, you see, to make the acquaintance of all Peter’s neighbors, our neighbors now, and to get everything comfortable and clear.” Her emphasis on this last word made Joanna jump. When the younger girl looked up nervously, she found that Mrs. Finley’s eyes were still on her face. She dropped her eyes again.
Mrs. Rowntree made a rather unintelligible reply.
“I do think it’s important for neighbors to understand one another, don’t you?” Adrienne went on sweetly. “One can be made so miserable by misunderstandings when one lives so close.”
Joanna’s mother had by now recovered her poise, and she agreed blandly, ignoring the edge in her guest’s voice. Mrs. Rowntree expertly turned the conversation to London and addressed Peter again. The rigid set of her mouth revealed what she thought of this unusual situation.
Adrienne joined the conversation, and though she continued to express strong opinions, it seemed that she felt she had made her point. After a while, Joanna was able to raise her eyes once more. She turned with some curiosity to the party’s third member.
Sir Rollin Denby did not much resemble his sister: he was a tall man with the shoulders and bearing of an athlete and the careless arrogance of one who usually got his own way. His hair was black and his complexion dark, almost swarthy. His eyes were a sparkling hazel. At first, Joanna thought Peter the better dressed, but as she looked again, she realized that the cut of Sir Rollin’s dark blue coat was far more subtle and complex, his less noticeable neckcloth much more elegant, and his waistcoat a marvel of understated fashion. She raised her eyes again and met his. He smiled at her, and a chill seemed to run quickly down her spine. She had never before seen such a man.
“Yes,” Peter was saying, “just got in last night. The house is hardly ready, but Adrienne—we all—wanted to come right down.”
“I think servants must be made to see, as soon as possible, what is expected of them when a change is made,” added Adrienne. “Don’t you agree, Mrs. Rowntree?”
“It is always wise to be open,” replied the latter coldly. Joanna marveled at her mother’s politely distant manner. “You are established in the country for some time then?” continued the hostess.
“Oh, yes,” answered Adrienne quickly. “The household will require a great deal of work. Bachelors never know how to manage servants.” She looked at Peter from under lowered lashes, and he both smiled and seemed to wince.
“You also will be staying with us, Sir Rollin?” asked Mrs. Rowntree, trying to draw the third guest into the conversation.
“I don’t quite know,” he responded in a deep resonant voice. “My plans are not fixed. In fact, I must take some of the blame for disturbing you tonight. Peter has told us so much about your charming family, you see, that I insisted we call straightaway. My visit may be cut short, so I wished to make your acquaintance as soon as possible.” He smiled again. Joanna was suddenly reminded of the cook’s cat, a ferocious beast, though she couldn’t think why.
“You are going to your own house perhaps,” said Joanna’s mother, without marked enthusiasm.
Sir Rollin made an airy gesture. “Most probably not. I shall go to Brighton at some point. Prinny expects me to dance attendance during the summer.”
Joanna breathed an audible sigh. “The Prince Regent?” she murmured, then blushed fierily.
Sir Rollin nodded as he and his sister exchanged a smile.
“So,” interjected Peter, with a heartiness that rang false, “you’re the new owner of Erland Abbey. Very happy to meet you. When did you arrive?”
“Very recently,” replied Jonathan Erland. His calm disinterested tone sounded strange to Joanna. She had almost forgotten he was there.
“Glad to see it,” continued Finley. “Your uncle was a poor landlord, I have to say. Everyone will welcome a new man at the Abbey.”
Erland bowed courteously but said nothing.
“Is the Abbey the large house we passed as we drove in?” asked Adrienne. On being told that it was, she smiled graciously at Erland and said that he must come to dinner when they were settled. Until then, she had paid little heed to the undistinguished young man in the corner seat.
The drawing-room door opened abruptly, and Mr. Rowntree strode into the room. “Erland,” he said, “come along. Nearly everyone has arrived and we’re ready to begin.” He seemed to notice the others in the room then, looked at them vaguely, then turned to his wife.
“It is Peter Finley, dear,” said Mrs. Rowntree helpfully, “returned from London with his wife and her brother, Sir Rollin Denby.”
Her husband frowned as he surveyed the guests again. “Wife?” he repeated, as if mystified.
Peter moved uneasily; Adrienne raised her eyebrows and returned Mr. Rowntree’s gaze; Sir Rollin smiled sardonically.
Their host started. “Well, that is of no consequence. Are you ready to come down, Erland?”
Jonathan Erland scanned the faces around him. “In a moment,” he said. “You begin without me, and I will join you later.”
Rowntree frowned. “It is very difficult to follow a discussion from the middle, you know. You’d best come now.”
“A few moments only,” answered Erland firmly.
His host shrugged and started to turn away.
“What sort of discussion?” asked Sir Rollin.
Rowntree looked at him as if he could not quite recall who he was, but he explained his society and its purposes eagerly. “The topic this evening is the relation of natural science to ethics,” he finished. “All interested are welcome.” He looked at Sir Rollin.
“I fear that is a bit beyond my depth,” replied that gentleman. “Another time perhaps.”
But Rowntree had already forgotten him and was walking to the door. Sir Rollin smiled wryly and glanced at his sister. They exchanged an amused look; and Adrienne shook her head very slightly.
Joanna blushed again. Suddenly, under Sir Rollin’s sardonic eye, she saw her hitherto infallible father as eccentric and slightly ridiculous.
Silence fell. Mrs. Rowntree seemed annoyed and said nothing to break it. Peter appeared to be searching in vain for something to say. And Adrienne and Sir Rollin surveyed them all with amusement.
Jonathan Erland was also watching the group, though no amusement showed in his eyes. When his gaze met Sir Rollin’s, he said, “Is this your first visit to this neighborhood also? I take it you live in London?”
“Yes on both counts,” drawled the other man lazily. “Frankly, I cannot imagine living anywhere else.”
“All. You are fond of town life.”
Denby raised his eyebrows. “Is there any other sort?”
Erland’s answering smile held some mockery. “Well, I think so, of course, but I am by no means an expert, never having lived in town.”
“Indeed? I can scarcely credit it.” But Sir Rollin’s eyes, moving slowly up and down Erland’s unfashionable figure, said just the opposite.
Joanna’s eyes widened, and she expected the younger man to retort angrily. Denby’s implication had been clearly insulting. But to everyone’s surprise, particularly Sir Rollin’s, Jonathan Erland burst into hearty laughter. He was so amused, in fact, that it took him a moment to regain his composure. Joanna, Peter, and Adrienne stared at him incredulously, the latter seeming to doubt the stranger’s sanity. Mrs. Rowntree frowned slightly at first, then smiled. Sir Rollin’s eyes narrowed, and he looked at the other man more closely than he had before.
Gradually, Erland recovered, though his eyes remained crinkled with amusement. “Pardon me,” he said at last. He rose. “I must go down and join Mr. Rowntree,” he said to his hostess. “Shall I see you after?”
Joanna’s mother also rose, shaking her head. “George’s discussions go on very late. We shall all be in bed long since.”
“Ah, too bad. Then I shall take my leave of you now. Miss Joanna, do not forget our ride.” He bowed. “A pleasure to meet you all.” And with that, he left the room.
They all gazed at the door for a moment. “What a very unusual young man,” murmured Adrienne.
Joanna started visibly when the door opened again, but it was only Mary with the tea tray, a welcome diversion. Mrs. Rowntree served tea and initiated a determined monologue on the beauties of the neighborhood. She was feebly seconded in this by Peter, his wife occasionally putting in a word and Sir Rollin maintaining an air of mildly bored attention. It was with obvious relief that Mrs. Rowntree rose to see them out later that evening, and when she returned to the sofa, she sighed quite audibly. “What an uncomfortable evening,” she said to her daughter. “What can Peter have been about, to descend upon us in this way? It was quite monstrous.”
“Perhaps she made him do it,” suggested Joanna.
Mrs. Rowntree opened her mouth, then shut it again. “Perhaps,” she replied shortly.
“And Sir Rollin,” added Joanna.
“Yes, indeed. More than likely he hoped to make some mischief; that seems his style.”
“Do you think him handsome?”
“Sir Rollin?” The older woman looked at her daughter sharply. “Not particularly. He is too dark.”
“Yes,” replied Joanna slowly, “but he is quite distinguished, is he not? Such an air. And I have never seen a more elegant coat.”
Mrs. Rowntree sat back on the sofa and raised a hand to massage her forehead.
“Peter looked very modish, of course,” continued Joanna, “but Sir Rollin had much more, ah, polish, did he not?”
“Yes, he did,” agreed her mother heavily.
“I have never met anyone like him.”
“No.”
Joanna suddenly remembered her broken heart. “It was very hard to see Peter again, of course. I thought my heart would stop when he was announced. He has changed. He seems much more, ah, quiet. Don’t you think? And his wife is not what I should have expected.”
Mrs. Rowntree shrugged.
“I suppose we will have to call on her?”
“Of course.”
“Well, I am not certain I shall ever be able to like her. But I shall be polite.”
“Of course,” said her mother again.
“Do you suppose Sir Rollin will stay long?”
Mrs. Rowntree sighed. “I imagine not,” she said. “He seemed the sort of man who will be bored with our country neighborhood quite soon.”
Joanna nodded. “Yes. He will go to Brighton, I daresay.” She sighed. “The Prince Regent,” she murmured once again.
Mrs. Rowntree’s heart sank.