by Kate Archer
Charlie considered the idea. “That’s too bad. Me own mum, what is likely a baroness, is all kindness to her fellow man.”
“Then the baroness,” Richard said, “ought to steer well clear of Lady Gravesley.”
*
It was after dinner, and for Sybil the dinner could not have ended too soon. Lord Lockwood had made the announcement that he would leave for York in the morning and be gone for two days. As if it were not obvious enough why he went, he even had the temerity to suggest that he might escort Miss Mapleton back to the house since she would be so nearby and they would return on the same day.
Sybil played the pianoforte with a vengeance, a dark and ponderous piece of music that might do well for a death vigil.
Her mood was black, indeed.
It was humiliating. She knew it was the humiliation that distressed her more than anything. Even if she had no interest in Lord Lockwood, it was humiliating to see him run off like a lovesick puppy in pursuit of Poppy Mapleton. He could not even wait three days for her return! First, Sir John with his invented business and his talk of lemonade and tea, then Lord Lockwood pretending his mother planned to arrive in York.
Lady Hugh had been gracious enough to offer the duchess accommodation at Dartsfell Hall, but Lord Lockwood had only laughed and said that once Her Grace had made a plan, she would not waver from it.
What a thin story! What lady would prefer to stay in a hotel, rather than a fine house?
Everybody must see through it. Everybody must note that Lady Sybil Hayworth could not hold the interest of any single gentleman. She supposed they all felt sorry for her. Her mother and father might even feel worried for her. Perhaps they were already wondering if she would become a spinster. In the wake of Miss Mapleton, Lady Sybil was nearly invisible, as every spinster was.
At least they could not divine what her opinion of herself had been before the visit to Yorkshire. She had been so pleased with herself and had not questioned why Lord Lockwood would pay her so much attention. It had even felt as if it were her due.
Then she had arrived here and, one by one, veils had been lifted to reveal her real standing in the world. She was nothing of note, and never had been.
“Lady Sybil,” Lord Lockwood said, coming to stand by the pianoforte. “Is there any little errand I can accomplish for you while I am in York?”
Errands. That was what she had come to. He would offer an errand, as anybody might to an old spinster aunt.
“I imagine you will be far too busy in your pursuits,” Sybil said, hitting the keys with enough force to make her fingers ache.
“My mother may very well have me running in every direction,” Lord Lockwood said merrily, “she often does. But I can always find moments to slip away.”
Good Lord! He would go on about the story of his mother coming to town. He must think her gullible indeed.
“Pray, if it is not too inquisitive,” Sybil said, “why does your mother come to York? It is at least three days’ journey from her house, I believe.”
“She did not think to enlighten me,” Lord Lockwood said. “She rarely does.”
Of course he had no answer to the question. What reason could the duchess have for such a journey? It was not a house party, or she would be staying at a house. Were they all to believe the lady came on some sort of sudden business? Ridiculous.
“Lockwood,” Lord Blanding called from the far side of the room. Her father pointed at the fireplace and said, “I dare you to wager on which of these logs will fall first. Ten pounds.”
Lord Lockwood quietly sighed and left the pianoforte.
*
Lady Montague’s sideboard was heavy with every sort of victual that could be had from her kitchens—kidneys, chops, bacon, sausage, rolls, jam, eggs, coffee, tea, hot chocolate and ale. Though her lord would generally be satisfied with coffee and a roll, Lady Montague knew enough about young males to make an estimation of what would be needed, and then double it.
“I’m sorry,” Lord Cabot said to Lady Montague, “how can you be certain that Lockwood has taken the bait and will be on his way to York on the morrow?”
“I have eyes everywhere, my lord, as one must,” Lady Montague said, delicately dabbing her lips with a napkin. “There is a footman in the Hughs’ employ who may be counted on to relay tidings from that house for a guinea. I understand Lord Lockwood has received our letter and journeys to York on the morrow to see his mother. I will send a second letter indicating she has been delayed and he is to wait.”
“And now what do we do?” Lord Dalton asked, draining his cup of ale.
“I have already written a note to Lady Hugh,” Lady Montague said with a sly smile. “One of the glorious things about manners is one can often not avoid a thing one might wish to. Lady Hugh will issue an invitation to dinner, most likely for tomorrow evening, as I have heavily hinted you expect it.”
*
“You shall not like it, my dear,” Lady Hugh said to her lord, laying down the letter that had just been put into her hands.
“Is it that blasted Royerford coming to the regatta again? Dash it, he’s been in the Navy. I rather think he should be excluded in all fairness to the others. And to me.”
“It is not the Lieutenant,” Lady Hugh said, “though you might regret that it isn’t. The note is from Lady Montague.”
“What does that woman want from us now?” Lord Hugh said, shuffling through the pile of papers on his desk.
“She writes that she hosts some young gentlemen who are eager to visit Dartsfell Hall. It seems Lord Dalton is interested in the architecture, Lord Cabot wishes to hear of the local hunting, Lord Ashworth feels a great need to examine our fountains, and Lord Grayson has a keen interest in our bowling green, which is reputed to be one of the best. She further adds that all of these interests might be best satisfied at a dinner, preferably on the morrow, as she does not know when the gentlemen will depart for London.”
Lord Hugh stared at his lady. “Do you mean to say that the woman has invited herself and four guests to dine? Tomorrow?”
“It seems so, though she does not say what’s she’s done with Lord Montague so I assume he comes too.”
“Must we do it?” Lord Hugh asked.
“I am afraid so,” Lady Hugh said. “Though, I suspect I understand the real reason for this ridiculous subterfuge.”
“I knew it must be subterfuge!” Lord Hugh exclaimed. “What? What is the subterfuge?”
“Four gentlemen arriving to Lady Montague’s house?” Lady Hugh said with an arched brow. “Why should they come, if not to glimpse Poppy? I have long suspected that is why Lord Lockwood has come, though now that he is here, I cannot divine any particular interest in that direction.”
“Of course, that’s what they’re up to,” Lord Hugh said. “Well, we will fix it for them, will we not? Tell them to come, and then let it be a surprise that Poppy is not even here. They can very well wait until the season to follow the poor girl round and it’ll do them good to be thwarted in something.”
Lady Hugh smiled. “I find myself very cheerful over the idea of thwarting Lady Montague and her new friends.”
*
Sybil had closeted herself in her parents’ bedchamber. It had been an odd sort of day. Lord Lockwood had left the house before anybody had risen, though Sybil had heard the commotion out of doors and peeked out the window to watch him leave. His valet, his trunk, and the young boy she’d seen on the bowling green had left in a carriage. The lord had taken one of Lord Hugh’s large bays and leapt on him with ease, before cantering down the drive.
The man even rode a horse cheerfully. It was very irritating.
When she’d come downstairs, the house had felt empty. Then, Lady Hugh had come into the drawing room and announced the dinner to take place on the following evening.
Of all the guests who might arrive! Lady Montague with the Lords Dalton, Ashworth, Cabot, and Grayson in tow.
Shortly after, she and her parents had
made various excuses to go above stairs. They had all been so struck by the news that they’d silently understood one another.
Now, Sybil sat with her mother in a cozy corner while Lord Blanding paced the bedchamber.
“We need not say a word to the lot of them,” Lord Blanding said. “We might even pretend an illness and not come down at all. That would indicate our extreme displeasure.”
“Indeed, it would,” Lady Blanding said, “but it would be most uncomfortable for Lord and Lady Hugh.”
“Yes, I see,” Lord Blanding admitted. “We do not want that. But confound it! We’ve always had such a pleasant time here, but this year has been one aggravation after the next.”
“At least your feelings are not quite as strong against the other gentlemen of the pact as they are against Lord Lockwood.”
“Lockwood,” Lord Blanding said, derisively. “Did you see him last evening? Another ten pounds out of his pocket. Any fool could have seen that the log I chose would fall first. His father shall not like to hear of it and that is just too bad.”
“Well done, my darling. Now, all may not be as bleak as you imagine,” Lady Blanding said. “Lady Hugh speculates that those four gentlemen push in to get a look at Miss Mapleton.” Lady Blanding smiled. “Who is not, unfortunately, here.”
“Hah!” Lord Blanding said. “That’ll show them. They come for nothing!”
Sybil blushed, though she should not be surprised by her father’s words. It seemed absolutely everybody considered her to be nothing.
“I suspect Sybil’s idea is correct,” Lady Blanding said. “There is some sort of wager in all this and now the other four gentlemen have come to see how Lord Lockwood gets on or to stake their own claim. Impossible to know their purpose precisely without hearing the terms of the bet, but it’s bound to be something of that nature.”
“That’s even better!” Lord Blanding said. “They’ll come, and they’ll find both Lockwood and Miss Mapleton off to York. A fool’s errand accomplished by four foolish young gentlemen.”
“Sybil, dear,” her mother said, “you do look flushed. Are you taking ill?”
“I only wish I were, to escape this vile dinner,” she said with some vehemence.
“Never mind, it is only a dinner,” Lady Blanding said. “And, now that we understand their motive for coming, we may get some amusement from it.”
Sybil could not think of anything less amusing.
*
The following day dragged on interminably for Sybil. Her father and Lord Hugh had at first been out of sorts—it seemed they missed the opportunities to harass Lord Lockwood with wagers—but cheered themselves by going down to the lake and practicing their sailing skills. Both lords were in high good humor when they returned in the afternoon. There seemed to be some private joke between them that would not be told outright but consisted of various winks and nods at each other. They did say that Lord Hugh had assigned a boat to Lord Lockwood for the regatta, and considering their mirth in considering it, Sybil assumed it was to be a particularly slow-moving vessel.
Lady Blanding had sat with her daughter in the drawing room, ostensibly working on a bit of embroidery, though both mother and daughter fairly languished. Had they had any spare vigor they might have lent it to their hostess. Lady Hugh appeared run off her feet, as she at once sought to be considerate to her houseguests while at the same time answering various questions from the housekeeper, those questions coming up at a frenzied pace from the kitchens. Sybil supposed it was no small feat to put together a dinner with six unexpected guests in so short a time. Had their own cook, Mr. Pettinger, been given the task, there would have been much banging of pots, cursing of Gods, and more than one kitchen maid crying in a corner. Though really, Lord and Lady Montague and those four gentlemen of the pact might be served slop in a trough for all they deserved.
Sybil had dressed with care for the vile dinner, as she had taken to calling it. Lady Sybil Hayworth might be nothing to look at in society’s eyes, but she would not surrender entirely. Whatever could be made of her short person and unassuming looks would be made. She had always considered the pale blue silk with embroidered violets around the bodice to particularly do something well for her eyes. Now that she understood the nature of her inconsequential looks, she must show them to their best advantage. She would be as so many a plain girl before her—silks and jewels and carefully composed hair providing an illusion of comeliness conjured by a skilled magician.
She’d distracted herself with Betty’s various reports of the house. It seemed Betty was still as bossed about by the other lady’s maids as ever, though she had daringly disputed their idea that they should carefully guard their duties and never take on a thing that wasn’t part of them. The other maids felt that kind of latitude led to one’s mistress believing she might throw on all sorts of extras. A maid so foolish should not be surprised if she was suddenly responsible for washing clothes. Betty had told them she had advanced to lady’s maid by being ever willing and that was exactly how she intended to carry on. Apparently, they thought she was quite mad.
The mood in the servant’s quarters had softened against Lord Lockwood, as it became known that he’d taken an orphan under his protection. The boy’s name was Charlie and the little blighter had somehow finagled his way into the lord’s good graces. He was a spirited sort of a lad and they’d all grown very fond of him, even though he got up to all sorts of mischief. It wouldn’t be a usual day if cook was not chasing the boy with a rolling pin for having filched something off a counter and he was scolded endlessly by the butler for telling the footmen unrepeatable jokes. Betty found the rascal endearing and had recently mended a tear in his trousers.
Sybil assumed this was the boy she’d seen getting into the carriage for York—the same she’d seen on the bowling green, helping himself to a biscuit. She was surprised the lord had not mentioned anything of it. It had been her general observation of human nature that, when a person did some good deed, the person liked everybody else to know it.
She supposed, despite all of the lord’s transgressions, there was honor in doing a kindness and not taking credit for it. He must be admired for that, at least. But only for that!
Finally, it had been time to descend and await the awful guests of the evening. The mood in the drawing room was grim, as absolutely nobody in the house looked forward to the dinner to come.
Hoof beats sounded on the drive. Lady Hugh rose and said, “They have come. Please, my dear friends and dearer husband, do be in good spirits. There is only one way to the end of this charade and that is to go through it.”
This seemed to stir Lord and Lady Blanding. Lady Blanding smiled and said, “Quite right you are, Pamela. The Hayworths do not go into battle forlorn. We will be merry until the ultimate victory—we find them gone from the house.”
“Hear, hear,” Lord Blanding said, always happy to hear of a battle, even though it was only to take place in a dining room.
Sybil was rather stirred herself. Her family and the Hughs were a united force and could not be discomposed by unwanted interlopers. The interlopers would come, they would be disappointed to find Miss Mapleton not on the scene, they would dine, and then they would go. That was all.
“My dear lady,” Lord Hugh said to his wife, “you always do know how to cheer a fellow.”
Jiminy announced Lady Montague, Lord Dalton, Lord Ashworth, Lord Cabot, and Lord Grayson.
Lady Hugh greeted them kindly and said to Lady Montague, “I do not see Lord Montague, has he been taken ill?”
“He’s off on magisterial business,” Lady Montague said smoothly, “he sends his regrets.”
Poor Lady Hugh signaled the butler, who hurried off to find the footmen and rearrange the table settings.
“Also missing from the party,” Lord Blanding said gleefully, “is your friend Lord Lockwood. He’s gone off to York.”
Sybil watched with interest to see how the gentlemen would take in this bit of news and then wh
en, precisely, they might realize that Miss Mapleton was not in residence either.
“We are quite a small house party just now,” Lady Hugh said. “Sir John has gone off to conduct some business, Lord Lockwood has gone to meet his mother in York, and Miss Mapleton has gone to her father for a few days.”
Sybil had expected expressions of consternation as the idea dawned upon the gentlemen that they would not view Miss Mapleton that evening and that, in fact, their friend had set off in pursuit of the lady. They seemed entirely unfazed to hear the news, and Sybil was certain there had even been a small smile on Lord Dalton’s lips.
“Yes, you see how it is, then,” Lord Blanding said. “Miss Mapleton is gone from the house. I am certain you were anxious to be introduced to her. But she is gone.”
“While we must consider it a pity to miss the lady, as we have not yet had the pleasure of making her acquaintance,” Lord Grayson said smoothly, “we are gladdened to know that Lady Sybil is among us.”
“Gladdened?” Lord Blanding said. “Why should you be gladdened?”
Sybil wondered the very same thing. If she had said anything at all to these gentlemen after Cassandra’s difficulties, it had been in a rather scolding fashion. She knew perfectly well that they’d gone out of their way to avoid her in London. They did not like to hear of their own misdeeds and preferred the company of those who would pretend they’d never done a wrong.
Before Lord Grayson was forced to explain to Lord Blanding how and why he was gladdened, Jiminy came in to announce that dinner was served.
At table, Sybil found Lord Dalton on her left and Lord Grayson on her right. Of all the gentlemen of the pact, she particularly disliked Lord Dalton. It had been he who had sent a man down to Surrey to smash Cassandra’s reputation to pieces. Lord Grayson was merely irritating, with his glib conversation that she supposed she was meant to swoon over. He had none of the strength or daring that any sensible lady preferred in a gentleman and he attempted to cover over those deficiencies with smooth compliments.
