9 July 1817

Rushton Manor, Essex

Dearest Kate,

Of course you are not to blame for Georgy’s gaming. If anyone is to blame (besides Georgy), it is Aunt Charlotte, for (as she has pointed out to everyone so often) she is Responsible For You Both. However, I doubt that she will see it this way. She probably will claim it is your fault, for she always does. I cannot imagine why she is so unjust. Nobody can do anything with Georgy when she takes a notion into her head, and she never listens to your advice any more than Oliver listens to me. It is a great pity you cannot tell Aunt Charlotte so to her face, and so bring her to a sense of her obligations, but it would never work. If you tried, she would probably lock you in your room for the next twenty years, and Miranda would make away with Thomas in the meantime.

I am glad to hear that Robert has reached London, and gladder to know that Miranda has not yet arranged to have him set upon by footpads or poisoned with chocolate or thrown by his horse (though the way Robert rides, I do not think I could set such an accident down to Miranda’s account with any great degree of certainty, however much I might like to). I do hope Robert will do something useful, now that he is there. Staring happily at Dorothea over the tea table may be very enjoyable for them both, but I cannot see that it accomplishes anything. I suppose I must pin my hopes on the note he passed her, though it is probably only bad verse to her eyebrows. (And I cannot commend too highly your presence of mind in distracting Aunt Charlotte. Had she noticed what Robert was doing, she would certainly have considered it her duty to inform Miranda, and you know what that must have led to.)

I must confess that I cannot completely make sense of Lady Sylvia’s remarks to you regarding your betrothal to Thomas. However, she seems to have accepted the current state of affairs, which must make things far more comfortable for you. You must have found it excessively awkward, dealing with Lady Sylvia these past two weeks and knowing that she believed you to be really engaged to her son. I do think it rather unkind of her to refer to it as “Thomas’s useless, stupid little charade,” but no doubt she was slightly overset on first hearing the truth. And she is quite right; rubies would be perfectly stunning on you.

I have spent much of this week at Mrs. Hobart’s, having fittings on the gown she made for me from the amber taffeta you sent. Mrs. Hobart is nothing if not painstaking, and I cannot justly say, therefore, that the major part of my week has been lively.

Monday morning I went out for my ride as usual. I did not expect to see James Tarleton, though out of habit I rode toward the wood where we had agreed to meet. He had not been waiting for me since that dreadful tea the week before, when he seemed so upset at my having broken Thomas’s chocolate pot. I considered this most unfair, as it meant that I had still not been able to tell him why I had done it or that subsequent events had justified my actions (i.e., Thomas had begun to recover). So it was with mixed feelings that I saw James Tarleton’s bay coming toward me through the trees.

He was looking very stern and solemn, but not, I thought, actually furious. Considering that he had had all of a week in which to let his temper subside, this was not notably encouraging. However, it was at least an opportunity to provide him with my explanation and news, which I felt honor-bound to do in spite of his attitude.

“Good morning, Miss Rushton,” he said coldly as he came up with me.

“And to you, Mr. Tarleton,” I said in similar tones. I could not but feel that this was an inauspicious beginning, so I added more warmly, “I suppose you have come at last to hear the rest of my news of Thomas?”

“No, Miss Rushton, I have come to ask you to stop your well-intentioned interfering in Thomas’s affairs. There is no further need for it.”

I gaped at him, amazement warring with indignation. Indignation won out very quickly. “If I had not broken that chocolate pot, Thomas would probably be dead by now,” I said in as cold and stiff a tone as ever Aunt Elizabeth managed. “It was necessary, Mr. Tarleton, and if you do not see that, you are as feather-headed as—as my brother, Oliver. Furthermore, I will have you know that I have no particular interest in the affairs of the Marquis of Schofield. My cousin Kate’s affairs are, however, another matter, and I hope I shall always be willing to lend her my assistance when she is in need of it.”

Mr. Tarleton’s eyes narrowed. “Then it is to oblige your cousin that you are attending Sir Hilary Bedrick’s dance on Saturday?”

“Is that what you’re cutting up stiff about?” I said. “I was sure you were still annoyed about Thomas’s chocolate pot.”

“Damn Thomas’s chocolate pot!” James said. “Can you think of nothing else?”

“Mr. Tarleton!” I said, more surprised by his vehemence than shocked by his language. “Have you and Thomas had a falling-out?”

“You might say that,” he replied. “But you are not going to divert my attention this time, Miss Rushton. Are you going to Sir Hilary’s party?”

“Yes. Aunt Elizabeth has accepted on behalf of all of us,” I said.

“And I suppose you had no hand in that?” he said skeptically. “No plans to slip into Sir Hilary’s library during the party? No intention of poking around the house to see what you can discover?”

“None whatever,” I assured him. “Now that the chocolate pot is disposed of, there seems not the slightest need for such stratagems.”

“I am glad to hear you say so,” he said in a dry tone.

“Well, it is obvious,” I said. “Without the chocolate pot, Sir Hilary cannot do much to Thomas without returning to London. He cannot do that before the party, so Thomas will have plenty of time to recover from any lingering ill effects. And as long as neither of us does anything to annoy Sir Hilary, he can have no reason to put spells on us to keep us out of his way.”

“So you do suspect that Sir Hilary was behind that convenient illness of yours,” he said, and his tone was not so hard as before.

“Well, of course,” I said reasonably. “And I will take the greatest care not to irritate him again, you may be sure.”

He laughed suddenly, but there seemed very little humor in it. “The only thing I’m sure of is that taking great care is not something you’re particularly good at,” he said. “I suppose I’ll have to come to Bedrick Hall and keep an eye on you.”

I frowned. “Is that wise? I shall be quite all right because I will stay with Aunt Elizabeth all evening, but if Sir Hilary suspects you of spying on him, you won’t be safe.”

He looked at me with a twisted little smile. “Don’t worry about me, Miss Rushton. The only danger I’m likely to be in comes from quite another quarter.”

“Miranda? But she’s in London—” Then I remembered the garden you stumbled into at Sir Hilary’s investiture, and Thomas’s remarks about a portal. “Oh, dear, I hadn’t thought of that at all,” I said.

“Not Miranda,” he said. For a moment he seemed about to explain further; then he shook his head. “I seem to have spent our last few conversations ripping up at you, Miss Rushton,” he said after a moment. “I beg your pardon for it.”

“It is quite all right,” I said. “For I know how worried you must have been about Thomas, and being worried always seems to make people cross.” His expression seemed to be darkening again, so I hurried on, “Kate’s news of Thomas has been very good; if you would not mind riding a little way back with me, I can tell you of it.”

“Of course,” he said with a sigh, and nudged his horse to walk. “Tell me about Thomas.”

I gave him a complete description of what you had told me in your last letter but one. I was forced to confess that you had not actually seen Thomas this past week, but I was careful to point out that Lady Sylvia did not seem the sort of person to allow him to be out disposing of Frederick Hollydean if he were not entirely recovered from Sir Hilary’s machinations. Mr. Tarleton made no objection to this; in fact, he seemed somewhat preoccupied. I enjoyed our ride nonetheless. I was even rather sorry when we reached the hill near the house, and James took his leave.

I did not have time to fall into a groundless fit of the mopes, for Aunt Elizabeth pounced on me directly I came in, and we went out to collect my dress from Mrs. Hobart. Then Mr. Wrexton came in the afternoon to resume my magic lessons (and I must say, Kate, it is far easier to apply oneself to such things indoors instead of perched in a carriage with a groom riding ahead).

Mr. Wrexton says that the spell that made me feel so tired has faded, and has not been renewed. He seems inclined to think that it was simply in the nature of a warning, but he recommended that I continue to wear the locket, just in case. I had already formed that intention, but I thanked him gravely for the advice.

Sir Hilary has sent Aunt Elizabeth a note acknowledging the apology she sent him and particularly requesting our presence at his party. This may be only because he wishes to stop the rumors that resulted from the tales Mrs. Everslee has been telling of Aunt Elizabeth’s behavior that day I broke the chocolate pot. On the other hand, he made a point of saying that if Oliver came home unexpectedly, we were not to stand on ceremony but to bring him along.

It occurs to me that the last few times we have seen him, Sir Hilary has made a great point of inquiring about Oliver. That strikes me as sinister, for you know he has never before shown a particular interest in any of us. It bothers me even more that I cannot imagine why Sir Hilary should be concerned with Oliver. If he were inquiring about you, I could understand it (since you are engaged to Thomas). But what can he want with Oliver?  I find that I am very glad your odious Marquis has Oliver safely hidden away somewhere.

Your puzzled cousin,

Cecy