by Archer, Kate
Penny smiled at the idea of her father walking through the town issuing invitations. It ever was so when they were in Newmarket. Her father seemed to view the house as more a well-run tavern than a private residence.
“Heavens,” Kitty said, “my father’s cook would go mad upon hearing of such last-minute changes.”
“Fear not for the kitchens, Kitty,” Penny said. “They are well used to my father’s habits and would have prepared enough for Henry the Eighth’s table in anticipation of it.”
“For my part,” Mrs. Wellburton said, “I will manage the seating arrangements. Penny, I can suppose you wish to be well away from Lord Cabot. The Lords Burke, Dalton and Grayson come. Who should you prefer on either side?”
Penny put her finger to her lip, as she did when she was thinking something through. “The natural choice would be Burke and Dalton. Dalton is a sour sort, but easier to countenance than Lord Grayson’s false flattery. Though it would be convenient for me, it would place dear Kitty between Lord Cabot and Lord Grayson. That would be too unkind.”
“Nonsense,” Kitty said. “I am well able to fend off a flatterer and whatever Lord Cabot might have to say for himself.”
*
Montrose sat at the head of the servant’s table, with the housekeeper, Mrs. Wiggins, to his right. As a general thing, he abhorred gossip. Yet, often the only way to get to the bottom of a matter was to invite any gossip floating around to come within his hearing. Only an hour ago, he had witnessed a remarkable scene in the front hall. Miss Darlington and Miss Dell had greeted Lord Cabot as if he were the devil himself.
There had been no mistaking it, though it had been unexpected. As far as he understood it, Miss Darlington favored the gentleman. In fact, if he were to peer into the deepest recesses of his mind, he might find thoughts there that looked approvingly on the idea of Miss Darlington becoming a future duchess. He might be of the opinion that it would reflect well on the house. The house that was under his purview.
However, it seemed something had occurred to change what he’d viewed as the inevitable course.
If he were to inquire into the cause of this change of course, he ought to do so now, while Lord Cabot’s valet was still occupied above stairs. It was true that Martha, Miss Dell’s lady’s maid, was present and technically an outsider, but she had been with them so often she might be considered nearly of the household.
Montrose cleared his throat, his signal to the rest of the staff that he was on the verge of saying something noteworthy.
The servants round the table silenced.
“I noticed,” he said in a grim tone, “that Miss Darlington did not appear enthusiastic upon the arrival of Lord Cabot. I could not help but wonder at it.”
The servants looked among themselves as if searching for who would have the explanation for Miss Darlington’s attitude toward the gentleman. Montrose let them do it, and he let the silence hang. It had been his experience that sooner or later, given enough silence, somebody would come forward with what they knew. As this matter had to do with Miss Darlington, he suspected that somebody would be Dora.
Of course, he had been right.
Dora set her cup down and said, “I don’t like to tell tales, but if the miss has gone and let all and sundry see how she feels, I don’t suppose there’s harm in it.”
“Certainly,” Montrose said, in the hopes of helping her to elaborate, “there can never be harm for the staff of this house to understand the stance the family takes on any person. I would go so far as to call it a duty.”
This idea seemed to strike Dora as quite enough encouragement. She said, “That lord upstairs done insulted Miss Darlington terrible. So terrible, she cried over it. I didn’t get the whole ins and outs of the thing, but it was something about him pretendin’ to appreciate her and then lettin’ on that he don’t.”
Montrose was nearly felled by this communication. He set his cup down with a clatter. Who on God’s green earth would not appreciate Miss Penny? It was unaccountable. It bordered on the unnatural. Who was this heathen that had been let into their midst? What was wrong with this obtuse gentleman that he could not see the value of Miss Darlington? Had the fellow received a knock on the head that he’d failed to recover from? Only a damaged mind failed to see the worthiness of the lady.
And then, if that were not enough to disturb, he was to understand that Miss Penny had cried. The gentleman, if that was what he was to be called, had made the angel above stairs cry. Montrose knew in his heart that had he not been a butler, if he had been a rich lord with no fear of the magistrate, he would march up the stairs and give that lord a pounding. A severe pounding!
The rest of the servants were equally outraged and there was much heated whispering. Montrose pretended not to hear words like swine, worthless, jackanapes, and rotter. He especially avoided hearing any hints that the lord ought to be strung up, though he silently approved of the idea.
Peg, a housemaid who’d never been shy with her opinions, said loudly, “We ought to make the blighter as uncomfortable as possible. Smoky fires, stones in the mattress, and what all.”
Montrose nearly shuddered to contemplate the meaning of “what all,” and he of course could not agree to Peg’s enthusiastic suggestions. Rather, he said, “I would have to reprimand you severely over any such tomfoolery. If I were to hear of it.”
A quiet descended over the table. A satisfied quiet. Each member of the household understood how they were to carry on. They were to make the blighter as uncomfortable as possible, only careful that it did not come to the notice of their esteemed leader.
*
Henry had come down to the drawing room in good time. It was almost a miracle that he did so. Jarvis swore he’d brushed his coat while Henry had been out walking, but when he’d come back there had been pieces of hay clung to it. Neither of them could account for the wood ash smeared on one of his neckcloths or how a pebble made its way into the toe of his shoe. Thankfully, all had been speedily remedied, and he was the first to arrive. He’d brought a book so that he might have somewhere to look if his reception continued uncomfortably frosty. It was not only from Miss Darlington’s direction that he expected it, but it seemed Lord Mendbridge’s other houseguest, Miss Dell, would not be disposed toward him either.
There was a sideboard at the far end of the drawing room, stocked with ample wines, cordials, and port. He would dearly like to help himself to a hefty glass of claret that might steady him but did not yet know the habits of the house. All he could do was pretend to read while mulling over his valet’s various reports.
Jarvis had arrived back from the stables in the late afternoon with the news that Bucephalus had taken to her new stall and Rupert reported her well on her oats. He would see for himself on the morrow—nothing must be allowed to discompose his filly, he had far too much money invested in her success. As far as he could tell, that was about the only good news he would get for today.
As Jarvis had brushed the hay off his coat, he had relayed whatever information was to be had from below stairs. He said the staff of the house were rather cool, as was the tea that had been handed to him. The information that was most alarming, however, was that Dalton, Grayson, and Burke were coming to dine.
He’d known Dalton and Grayson would arrive to town sometime today, but how on earth had they gained an invitation to the house so quickly? Henry had counted on the idea that it would be some days before he would encounter his friends. Those intervening days would wear their outrage on discovering he stayed with Mendbridge down to an irritation.
Though, he did not suppose they’d say anything outrageous at the lord’s own table. At least, he hoped not.
He heard the door open and prayed it was one of the few people he might encounter that would regard him with a friendly face.
Mrs. Wellburton sailed into the room, looked about, and frowned at him.
“Lord Cabot,” she said. “How do you do?”
Henry rose and bowed. “A
pleasure to see you again, Mrs. Wellburton.”
“Is it?” she said.
Henry thanked the stars that before he was forced to answer that question, the butler entered and begged her attention to some matter. He thanked the stars again when Lord Mendbridge came in with Burke.
“Cabot, there you are,” Lord Mendbridge said in his bellowing voice. “What? You sit with a book and nothing to drink? Come now, Cabot, you can do better than that. There is a sideboard just there—help yourself, we go on very casual in Newmarket. I’d best go see how my sister gets on. Burke, show the fellow how it’s done, you are no stranger to us here.”
Lord Burke nodded and led Henry to the sideboard. As Henry poured himself an ample glass, Burke said, “How do you get on these days?”
“Well enough,” Henry said. “You?”
Lord Burke smiled. “I am perfectly well. I was only surprised to see you installed in this house after, well I think you know to what I refer.”
Henry should have expected Burke to leap right to the point. They were old school friends and Burke had ever been the practical and direct one of their set.
“Deuced uncomfortable, is what it is,” Henry admitted. “But what could I do? One does not turn down an invitation from Mendbridge at Newmarket.”
“I presume you’ve since thrown yourself at Miss Darlington’s feet and begged forgiveness?”
“I’ve not had the chance,” Henry admitted. Though, he’d had no notion of throwing himself at anybody’s feet. Would it really come to that?
“Why on earth did you do it, man?” Burke asked.
There was the question he’d asked himself more than once. “I do not know,” Henry said. “I was aggravated, I suppose. Ashworth, you know. And well, it just came out.”
“But aside from the ghastly manners of the thing, what you said was not even true,” Burke said, with a note of exasperation in his voice. “Everybody knows the lady has more knowledge in her little finger than most gentlemen.”
“Yes, I am aware of it.”
“Further, it is ridiculous that you should be aggravated with Ashworth. When will you, Dalton, and Grayson stop acting like boys who’ve been sent to bed without dinner? Your fathers’ pact to push you toward marriage is ill-considered, but it is well meant.”
Henry bristled at the comment. “I see,” he said. “So am I to presume you will marry in the near future?”
Burke looked thoughtful. “It is too soon to say,” he said. “Perhaps.”
Before Henry could question Burke on who the lady might be who caused him to look so pensive, Dalton and Grayson were shown into the room.
Henry sighed. Let the games begin.
Grayson looked his usual cheerful self, though Dalton had that look about him that signaled he was not particularly amused.
After they both said hello to Burke, Dalton took Henry by the arm and led him to a corner of the room. “What in God’s name do you do here and why did you lead us to believe you would be at the club?”
Henry had been ready for the inevitable interrogation. He said, “Do not be ridiculous, Dalton. For one, nobody turns down an invitation from Mendbridge at Newmarket. For another, I have not forgotten that you have a room in your house set aside for guests who wish to go somewhere you are opposed to. Why would I tell you where I was going?”
Dalton shrugged at the reminder that he’d once imprisoned Lockwood to keep him away from Lady Sybil.
“In any case,” Henry continued, “whatever your fears may be, Miss Darlington and her friend, Miss Dell, have ranged themselves against me.”
“And you have not come here to smooth it all over?” Dalton asked.
“Of course I wish to smooth it over,” Henry said. “I do not like being glared at. But that is not why I’ve come. It is Newmarket, Dalton. I have a filly in the thousand guinea stakes. I received an invitation from the leading horseman in England. That is why I am here.”
Dalton seemed somewhat mollified by this explanation. “Very well. By the by, wherever did you finally find the money for the stake? I presume the dowager came through, in the end.”
“My grandmother did not, in fact, come through. That visit was as unpleasant as you may imagine.”
“Mackery, then?” Dalton asked, laughing.
“No, not Mackery. A moneylender finally was the answer as I had no other choice,” Henry said, feeling the slightest cast of a blush over the foolishness of it.
Seeing the look of incredulity on his friend’s face, Henry hurried on. “Mackery recommended the fellow, so he is not entirely unknown.”
“I would hardly count Mackery’s avowal as a recommendation,” Dalton said.
“The man was not as you think,” Henry said, his defensiveness ringing in his ears. “His name is Farthingale and he is, well he is awfully close to being a gentleman. You would not know otherwise if you saw him on the street and his…office…was very well turned out.”
Dalton raised his brows, though what more he might have said on the subject was cut short. Lord Mendbridge escorted his daughter and Miss Dell into the drawing room.
Chapter Five
Penny had dressed with particular care. She might not want to have anything further to do with Lord Cabot, but she was not above wishing to make him sorry over it. If that particular feeling was petty, then so be it. She had chosen a dark green silk, as she knew it to set off her hair rather well. She could not say for certain what color her hair actually was—she’d heard it called copper, auburn, red, and reddish brown. She’d viewed it as a terrible burden until she’d learned which colors to favor. No frothy pinks or pale yellows would suit, she preferred deeper, richer tones. Or rather, her hair preferred them.
She hoped the dark green dress would give her courage, and it had—right up until she reached the drawing room doors.
Kitty, charmingly dressed in a simple white muslin with only a blue ribbon as decoration, squeezed her hand as they made their way in.
Fortunately, Lord Mendbridge being of a type to disallow silence when talk was just as available, took over the proceedings.
“Cabot, Burke, Grayson, Dalton, you all know my daughter, Miss Darlington. Here is come her cousin, Miss Dell. The girl is not yet absolutely out, so no flirting, eh? I’ll write her father of it and he’ll skin you faster than he’d give you a farthing.”
With this unique introduction, Kitty made her curtsy. Any other girl must have blushed furiously to be introduced to four unknown lords and then the idea of flirting thrown out for everybody’s consideration, but Kitty was a different sort. She took it in with all equanimity. Penny only wished she had her friend’s composure.
Burke greeted the ladies with familiarity. He was already a great friend of the house and had met Miss Dell before on a visit to the Mendbridge estate. Grayson had, to nobody’s surprise but Miss Dell’s, seemed to attach himself to her side. Penny could only imagine that Kitty’s eyes were just now compared to the stars in the sky. She could also imagine that Kitty might just apprise him of what she knew of stars and how little they resembled eyes. Dalton did his best to appear the friendly gentleman, though it always seemed an effort for him.
Penny had purposefully avoided Lord Cabot’s eye, though she could not help notice that he seemed to be edging ever closer. Finally, he was by her side. “Miss Darlington, if you would be so kind as to spare me a word.”
“Which word?” Penny asked, hoping to confound the gentleman. “There are thousands of words in the English language, you may claim which ones you like.”
“No, what I mean is, might we step away for a moment? Perhaps to admire the view?”
“The view is of the gravel drive and the bushes at the far end that hide the road. I can assure you there is nothing remarkable in it.”
While Penny resisted Lord Cabot’s efforts to seek her out alone, she was torn all the same. He seemed so like his old self just now. Yet, she could not trust him. Never had a fellow changed himself as fast as Lord Cabot had at Lady Hath
away’s ball. That man, that cruel man, was still in there somewhere and whoever had the bad luck to be nearby when that cruel man was roused would feel it. It would not, however, be Penny Darlington.
Mrs. Wellburton came into the room and halted any debate about admiring the view by ushering them all into the dining room.
Penny had not been quite certain how her aunt would arrange the seating to her satisfaction. They were always so informal at Newmarket that they paid little attention to rank. Everybody who entered Lord Mendbridge’s house understood that the titles that afforded them so much respect elsewhere were so much bits of paper in the gentleman’s eyes. If even a duke did not show expertise and deep knowledge of horses, that duke might be given no more consideration than a footman.
As for the table, it was a generally understood thing that if one wished to sit by Lord Mendbridge, one had better be prepared to reveal what understanding of horseflesh one had. In consequence, those two seats were sometimes sought after and sometimes avoided. Like all well-regarded eccentrics, Lord Mendbridge had his own reasons for his vagaries. He considered titles as so many prizes won without effort. It was not the title but what one did with it that mattered. If one did not do something interesting regarding horses with it, then one was pointless.
Penny should have known her aunt would take what she knew of her brother and comprehend precisely what was to be done. “Penny,” she said casually, “do take the far middle. Lord Burke, take Penny over and then seat yourself by Lord Mendbridge—he will wish to know how you get on with Mephistopheles. Lord Cabot, do sit to our host’s left so he may hear more about Bucephalus. Lord Dalton, if you will take my left? There, I believe we have everybody situated.”
