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INCREASINGLY NERVOUS about the dinner Tom had invited us to, I spoke to Martha. This wouldn’t be a normal occasion, when I could relax in the company of my peers. They wanted to meet Richard and assess him.
“I hope they won’t think I’m putting myself above them. Flaunting my new found position in their faces. That would be unbelievably crass of me. Do you think they believe that?”
Martha looked up from her stitching. We were alone in the little parlour, because I needed her to speak her mind with no other person present. Her grey eyes were calm. “You know what the people here are like. There’s nowhere better than Devonshire. They pity anyone who doesn’t live here, and they think themselves the equal of anyone alive.”
She made me laugh. “No one is good enough for a Devonshire girl.”
“Precisely.” Calmly, she set another stitch.
“I never thought of leaving here before. Or of going so far afield.”
“You would do that whether you married or not. We’ll go to London in the autumn while this house is rebuilding. Our world is growing larger.”
I knew she was right. “Richard is my home now. If he’d been the son of a squire hereabouts, I would have taken him, and then I could have carried on almost the same.”
“If he were the son of the squire he wouldn’t be the person he is. He’s a great lord, from one of the most distinguished families in the country. He frightens most people.” She kept her attention on her work.
“Frightens?” I echoed, but then I understood. His flawless exterior intimidated, and it still awed me sometimes until he smiled at me. “He doesn’t frighten you, does he, Martha?”
She lifted her head and met my gaze levelly. “Yes. Anyone who can hide their true nature as completely as he does is capable of anything.”
I’d only known Richard for six months. I believed he’d let me in without reserve, but the only guarantee I had was the way I felt about him.
* * * * *
I DRESSED WITH SOME care that evening, knowing all eyes would be upon us. I’d done my best, but we were still in mourning, forbidden large gatherings and dancing for another week to come. I wore grey, as usual, but it was brocade, and I put it with a watered tabby petticoat, a white embroidered stomacher and of course, my new pearls.
Richard came down to the hall and bowed to me with a flourish and a gleam of amusement. “Will I do?”
He looked exquisite, as usual. His lilac coat and waistcoat were laced with silver and embroidered by fairies it seemed, so delicate was the stitching. The linen at his neck and the lace ruffles of his shirt were starched to perfection. He wore the latest in low-heeled shoes and everywhere lay the cold glitter of diamonds, from the single stone at his neck to the buckles on his knees and his shoes.
Gervase bowed to me, but his aspect was graver. He wore impeccable dark green brocade, trimmed with gold lace.
“You both look wonderful,” I assured them. “You must know you do. Do you try to look different, or does it come naturally to you to demonstrate in as many ways as possible how a fashionable man can appear to advantage?”
They exchanged a laughing glance. Not many people would have dared ask them, but I was allowed into the world they shared, though it was not my birth which allowed me such a privilege.
Richard held his arm out for me. I rested my hand on it, enjoying the thrill I felt whenever I touched him. “You haven’t powdered. It’s charming.”
“I tend to avoid it. My hair is so dark the powder never takes properly, and the dead white doesn’t suit me. I have to put up with it for more formal occasions.”
“In London more and more ladies in the younger set are leaving off powder. You should set a fashion.” The idea I should be a leader of fashion made me laugh, but he gave me a mock severe frown. “As my wife, you will be looked to for a certain style. You will set it perfectly.”
I had no patience with such things. “They’ll have to take me as I am.”
He laughed, his frown completely gone. “Then that, my sweet, will be your style.”
Lizzie joined us. I was firmly convinced my sister could wear sacking and outshine everyone else in the room, but she took a keen interest in fashion. Tonight she appeared in spectacular black. She had lightened the colour with white, as we were in half mourning, but the dramatic effect only heightened her beauty, the fair skin and gleaming bright blonde hair, shining against the stark black of her gown.
Dinner was at four, so carriages were ordered for three. The Skerrits’ house wasn’t far from ours, and normally we walked, but we couldn’t think of it on this occasion. We were far too grand to walk.
Fascination lit Gervase’s handsome features when he saw Peacock’s. It was nearer to the coast than our Manor house, and much older. Gervase studied every part of the frontage. “It must date back centuries.” He didn’t take his eager gaze off it for one minute.
Peacock’s was one of the few half-timbered buildings in Devonshire, with stone mullioned windows, but I had known it since I was tiny. I was so used to it I didn’t really notice its beauty any more.
The entrance led to the oldest part of the house. I went in leaning on Richard’s arm, with Gervase on my other side. Gervase caught his breath. The Great Hall was old, the timbered roof soaring above our heads in stripes of light and dark. A large oriel window decorated the end wall, still bearing its stained glass, sending streams of bright colour on to the stone flagged floor. A fire had been set in the generous fireplace, so the hall was reasonably warm. I was thankful to see it, because beautiful though the hall was, it got cold at this time of year.
Most of the guests had already arrived and they watched us come in, giving us the kind of attention I still had to get used to. At one time I might have entered unobserved, and taken my place by Martha at one side of the room, but those days were gone.
Once we’d greeted Sir George and Lady Skerrit, Tom and Georgiana, I took Richard and Gervase around the hall, introducing them. Everyone looked at them, and none at me, but that was only to be expected, as they had known me always, but never on the arm of anyone as spectacular as Richard. I ignored the speculative stares, and I knew as if they were speaking what they must be thinking. Why was someone like Richard with someone like me? I was far from answering that myself.
Some of the girls here had even pitied me. Miss Eustacia Terry, the daughter of a squire a few miles off didn’t like me, and sometimes went out of her way to taunt me. She looked pretty tonight, in a pale blue, low-cut gown, which suited her light colouring admirably. I had thought I would enjoy my triumph of attracting one of England’s most eligible bachelors, but to my surprise I found it mattered little. Perhaps it was because Miss Terry’s opinion had never meant much to me, so it didn’t mean much now.
Richard bowed over her hand and to my surprise, Eustacia simpered. I’d never seen her do that before, so it must be a new trick. Miss Terry was accounted one of our local beauties and she tried to play all the new games she could find. I wanted to see her try her tricks out on Richard.
I moved back to stand with Lizzie, and together we sipped our wine and watched the show.
“La, sir, I was never as surprised as when I heard our Rose had caught you in her net,” she said.
Richard shot a startled look at me, but I smiled beatifically at him. I saw him catch my amusement then, and he must have decided to play up to it. Perhaps he remembered my glancing references to her as my tormentor in the local assemblies and gatherings. When Lizzie made her debut in local society and put Eustacia’s nose out, she never missed an opportunity to denigrate me, but I hadn’t told Richard just how much she’d done this. Miss Terry had always despised me for having missed the opportunities to ensnare one of the young men who always passed me by, and she mocked me whenever the opportunity arose, but I had merely mentioned it to Richard in passing once.
I should have known better. Richard never forgot anything when it concerned me.
She took on a deliberately coquettish pose when she leant towards him, offering him a view of her charms, should he wish to take advantage of it.
“Indeed, madam?” He reached into his pocket and drew out his snuffbox. I had seen him take snuff before, an art complete in itself, but to my surprise this time, before he took some himself, he offered the box to Miss Terry. It was considered a privilege if one person offered another his snuff, but ladies rarely partook, and I knew that Miss Terry had never tried it. Gervase, standing nearby talking to Lady Skerrit, glanced at his brother, an eyebrow arched in surprise.
We watched Miss Terry gingerly take a small pinch, put it to her nose and sniff. Since she had not done this before, she did not accomplish the task with too much elegance and the surplus fell from her fingers on to her gown. Richard compounded her inelegance by pinching an infinitesimal amount himself and taking it in one swift, exquisite movement. I suspected he disliked the stuff. He never took it in private, and a boxful seemed to last him a long time. He snapped the pretty box shut and replaced it in his pocket, but in an elegant flourishing way that showed off the lace on his sleeves and the jewellery on his hands to great advantage. The great emerald on his finger glittered, and I stared at it, wondering anew how this exquisite creature could ever be mine.
He put the box and his handkerchief away and moved back a little. Miss Terry’s sneeze, when it came, was satisfyingly explosive and it stopped all conversation in the hall. She groped in her pocket for her handkerchief, and finally she had the presence of mind to spread her fan before her face while she recovered her composure.
“Dear me,” said elegant Lord Strang, surprise in every inch of his form. “I do beg your pardon, madam. Do ladies here not take snuff? It’s becoming quite the thing in London these days.” I lifted an eyebrow at Gervase who shook his head slightly. Not the thing, then.
Miss Terry looked at her tormentor, her pale eyes doubtful. “Does Rose do it?”
“Sadly no.” He shot a regretful glance to where I stood by Lizzie, his eyes glinting with banked-down delight. “She has expressed a positive dislike for it, but I may bring her round yet.”
“No you won’t,” I told him, and I moved forward to join in again. Not being a saint, I had enjoyed Miss Terry’s embarrassment, but enough was enough, at least for now.
“Nor,” continued my love, pursuing his quarry, “have I ever heard her say ‘la’. You should take it up, sweetheart, you could set quite a fashion.” I frowned at him but he continued to smile at her, unperturbed, elegantly assured.
Miss Terry must have thought everyone in London used the term, but she should have realised that nothing is so dated as the jargon of a previous generation.
The shock of realisation jolted me. He’d called me “sweetheart”’ in company. Richard wasn’t demonstrative in public, and usually referred to me as “Rose” or “madam”.
I knew, as clearly as if he’d told me, that he was letting Miss Terry know something about us, but I don’t know if she’d noticed. She didn’t know Richard well.
“You shall tell me what words I should use instead.” She leaned forward confidentially to lay her hand on his arm.
He looked down at the hand, and then up at her face. Miss Terry had recovered her composure and seemed too dense to see that his smile had gone, or so sure of herself she didn’t imagine he could resist her charms. He bowed his head. “Naturally, I would be delighted.”
We moved on. He behaved himself impeccably with everyone else, but in a quiet moment said to me, “I would appreciate your opinion on these people some time. I don’t know them from Adam. See if I won’t try to bring them out.”
I sighed. I’d seen the gleam in his eye, his enjoyment at baiting Miss Terry. “You won’t get rid of Miss Terry for a while. She put it about you jilted Julia Cartwright for me—” He glanced at me, frowning. I continued hastily, “Oh, everyone knows the right of it, but she loves to make trouble, and she’s been heard to say if you’ll jilt one, then you’ll jilt another. She imagines that every man who comes within her orbit will fall madly in love with her.” Julia Cartwright had run off with my erstwhile suitor, Steven Drury, before Richard had formally asked for my hand in marriage. The fault lay with her and Richard had taken great pains to ensure no condemnation lay on me. He would not like Eustacia’s gossip.
“Does she indeed?” He lifted a single delicate eyebrow in displeasure.
“She’s stupid, you mustn’t mind her.”
“Oh, but I think I must.” He would say nothing else, and Lady Skerrit was coming towards us, so he moved forward with his charming smile to greet her.
Dinner was served in the large dining room, at a huge table built there in situ by the original builders of the house. If this was not a formal occasion, I swear Gervase would have been under it, examining the timbers for signs of the long-dead carpenter’s tools. He did ask Lady Skerrit if he might come another day with his sketchbook. “I find this building enchanting, and I’m sure it must hold many secrets.”
“Gervase will ferret them all out,” Richard warned her. “I’ve never seen such a passion for antiquities. I believe we have an old castle ourselves, Gervase.”
Gervase turned in surprise. “Have we? I don’t recall.”
“Our Tudor ancestors virtually abandoned it. Our father takes no interest in it. You should go to see it. For all I know it’s a complete ruin, but it might amuse you to restore it.”
“It might indeed.” Gervase’s face brightened. He proceeded to ask Lady Skerrit many questions about the house, some of which she couldn’t answer.
Tom had no idea either. “I didn’t think anyone else would be interested in Peacock’s. I love it, but then I would.”
“It’s a wonderful example of early Tudor, one of the finest I’ve seen.” Several young ladies heard Gervase’s comments, and I wondered how many would find a similar passion in the early Tudor style before Gervase left the district.
Richard, placed by my side at the table, set himself to charm Miss Terry, seated on his other side. I had some suspicion of what he was about, and I wasn’t sure I approved. He told her she must be sure to come and see us later in the year, as he wished to go to London after our bride trip.
“Bride trip?” I hadn’t thought about after the wedding.
“Yes, had you forgotten? Bride visits will have to wait until I’ve had you to myself for a while.”
“Where are we going?”
“Everywhere and nowhere.” He gave me a maddeningly enigmatic smile and would say no more, returning to Miss Terry instead. “You remind me of someone, ma’am. One of the Misses Gunning perhaps.”
Eustacia lowered her eyelids and smiled up at him, a trick she practised on the local cavaliers, with excellent results. I had seen it many times in Exeter Assembly rooms, and it rarely failed in its effect. Richard smiled back at her, and Gervase, seated on my other side, choked. The Gunnings were great beauties, famed throughout society. It was an outrageous compliment, but Eustacia saw nothing amiss in it. “Or Miss Chudleigh,” Richard continued, his quarry well in his sights. Miss Chudleigh’s morals were known to be lax, to say the least.
Eustacia opened her eyes wide. “I cannot think I come up to their standards, sir.” She unfurled her fan and made to tap him with it, but he moved his hand away.
“You need town polish, Miss Terry,” Richard said. “Then you will astonish us all. Do you mean to come to town?”
Eustacia glanced at her parents, seated further up the table. Mrs. Terry watched her daughter carefully—little escaped her close regard. “We might plan a visit for the season next year, but we are unused to town ways and we will need someone like you to show us how to go on.”
“I’m sure many people will rush to help you.” That committed him to nothing.
Skilfully he worked on Miss Terry, enchanting her, winding a silken web of delight around her willing form. His compliments were flowery, insincere but delightful, the kind a society lady would dismiss out of hand, but which I feared Miss Terry took only too seriously. The other young ladies present eyed her enviously from time to time, and one or two glanced at me to see how I reacted. I stayed serene. Richard unobtrusively saw to my every comfort while holding the girl on his string, and I thought I had a good idea what he was about.
On my other side Gervase murmured, “Has the young lady offended you?”
“In the past she has done her best.”
“Did you tell him?” I nodded. Gervase tsked. “That might not have been the wisest course.”
Tom observed me with concern. He could see how much Richard flirted, but he didn’t know him as well as Gervase did, and wasn’t able to divine his purpose. It looked like I was being ignored, but this was far from the case. I knew the moment I asked for his attention, Richard would turn away from Miss Terry and back to me.
“Do you remember this table, Rose?” Tom asked.
“I remember it well.” I knew what he meant. “Do you think the mark your tomahawk made will still be there?”
“Oh, it’s still there all right,” my childhood friend assured me with a boyish grin.
“Tomahawk?” Richard looked away from his target, the languid interest replaced by real curiosity.
Tom’s grin broadened. “It’s a weapon like an axe that the natives of America use. We used to have one, but Rose and I took to playing American natives under this table and when I pretended one of the legs was a tree and I wanted to cut it down, Father took it away.”
“I threw it away that same morning.” Sir George Skerrit smiled at the memory. “I thought the table might be worth keeping for a few more years, and I could certainly live without a tomahawk.”
“Can it be I’m to marry a hoyden?” Richard’s limpid blue gaze filled with astonishment, but I saw the humour lurking deep.
“Oh, I thought you’d worked that out for yourself at the Abbey. Did I not show you deeply hoydenish behaviour there, one afternoon in particular?” His eyes gleamed. I knew he was remembering something not to be repeated in polite society, but I met his gaze levelly. “Only I don’t think the word hoyden came into it at the time.”
His eyes caressed me with their warmth, reminding me of the time they had caressed my naked body—followed by his hands and his mouth. “No, it assuredly did not,” he said slowly and turned back to Miss Terry. “I can’t believe you, ma’am, would do anything of that nature.”
“No indeed.” she replied, even though she couldn’t possibly know what we were discussing. She shot me a spark of triumph. “I wasn’t allowed out of the nursery wing until I was seventeen.”
“And you were always taught proper manners.” Richard leaned back in his chair and picked up his wineglass. Twirling it idly, he watched the red liquid swirl around inside, a tiny turbulent sea.
“My mama thought it essential.” Eustacia looked towards her mother once more. Mrs. Terry smiled indulgently back at her only child.
“Do you always follow the principles of good behaviour?” he asked.
“Oh yes, sir.”
“Do you never deviate from them?” He caught her in his gaze, a silent challenge lurking there for her to answer.
Miss Terry put up her chin. “I might.” She flushed a little. After a furtive glance towards her mother, she favoured Richard with a coquettish smile.
Richard watched her steadily. When he’d gained her full attention, he slowly let his regard move down, to her décolleté neckline, and back up to her face again. “I’m pleased to hear it.” He returned to his wine. Miss Terry coloured, and looked away, then back at him, but he had turned away to speak to Sir George.
Gervase sighed. “He knows to a nicety how far she will go to attract him, but this is as far as he cares to take her tonight. He’s preparing her for a mighty fall.”
“I know.”
Apparently blithely unaware of Miss Terry’s blushes and simpers now, Richard spoke to our host. “Do you take your seat in Parliament, sir?”
“Not every year,” Sir George replied.
“Very wise. Gervase is thinking of going into the House. Our father is delighted, for he’s tried to persuade me for years, and I’ve always refused him.”
“You would have to enter the Lords surely, my lord?” Sir George said.
Richard shook his head. “No. My title is a courtesy one; I could still enter the Commons. But I fear I might find it a dead bore.”
“Really, Richard! The affairs of nations are settled there,” Gervase protested.
“You know my sphere of influence, Gervase. It doesn’t include the affairs of nations.” He smiled at Sir George. “I take a particular interest in our justice system, and the way it is carried out.” Sir George nodded, but a tinge of curiosity entered his expression. Perhaps he thought a man of fashion like Richard couldn’t take an interest in anything outside his wardrobe. People often made that mistake. Richard addressed his brother. “Now you would make an excellent politician, Gervase, and you could remain in the Commons.”
“You could be a new Pelham and Newcastle,” said James, referring to our present leaders, also brothers, one in the Lords, the other in the Commons.
Richard’s shudder was so pronounced it could have been seen right down at the other end of the table. “I thank you, no. If anything could persuade me to stay well out of political affairs, that reference could.”
“Can it be you support the Tory cause, my lord?” asked Sir George with a sudden increased interest.
“I have no idea what that could be.” Richard drained his glass and watched the servant refill it. “If I am anything, I must be Whig, but that doesn’t encourage me to admire Newcastle. Pelham is a competent man, I think, but his brother seems to lack the resolve a good politician needs. He prefers sycophants to men of ability. I should like to think I’m too good for him, but I’ll never know, since I don’t intend to try.”
“Is your father interested in politics?” asked James.
“He supports Henry Fox, but he doesn’t aspire to high office. So, madam,” he said, turning to me, “if you were hoping to be a political hostess I’m afraid I must disappoint you.”
I smiled, relieved he had let Miss Terry alone for the time being. “I can live without it. But if I really wanted to, I could always become Gervase’s hostess.”
“Until he gets himself a wife of his own.” Sir George smiled, and Miss Terry eyed Gervase speculatively. Of all the people at this table tonight only Richard, Lizzie and I knew Gervase’s secret, that his scandalous elopement had been with another man, not the man’s wife, as had been put about. I had confided in my sister, with Gervase’s permission, and she had been a lot less censorious that I had supposed. Society suspected, but when he returned from India, his riches went a long way towards convincing society that he wouldn’t cause such scandal again. He did seem to have learned his lesson, and he kept his affairs admirably discreet. Moreover, he was an amusing and much valued dinner guest, and would have been a sad loss to many hostesses, so most people let it be. I hoped there would be no scandals here in my home county. Surely the Kerre brothers would not be here long enough for that.