by Martha Keyes
Adley yelled out and recoiled, nearly tipping over in his chair to avoid the mass of dark fur accosting him. Miss Renwick shot up from her seat, embarrassment and apology on her face as she called to Anne in a stern voice.
Unperturbed by her less-than-warm reception, Anne trotted over to Miss Renwick, sitting obediently at her side and panting, her eyes barely visible beneath the clumps of fur hanging from her head.
“Good gracious,” Adley called out, staring at the dog with misgiving as he leaned away with his knife raised tentatively. “What is it?”
John ran over to Anne’s side, crying out in a voice of deep offense, “She’s not an ‘it!’ She’s Anne!” He put a loving hand on the dog’s face. “Don’t mind him, Anne.”
Mr. Adley didn't lower his knife an inch, and his expression was more confused than ever. “Eh?”
Lawrence’s shoulders shook as he looked on, leaning back in his seat, content to observe the fiasco taking place in his drawing room.
“Dog,” said Bower between bites of a roll with preserves slathered generously on it. “Plain as a pikestaff.”
“She is a dog,” Miss Renwick confirmed apologetically. “One without any manners to speak of.” She looked censoriously at Anne who panted contentedly as John stroked her fur.
“Anne, you say?” Mr. Adley said.
John glanced at Mr. Adley through suspicious, narrowed eyes and then nodded.
“Yes, Anne,” said Lawrence in a falsely impatient voice. “What else should she be named? Come, Adley. Use your head. Anne as in Anne Bonny the pirate.”
Mr. Adley turned to look at Lawrence, his brows raised.
Lawrence stifled his smile and nodded. When he had offered his home to the Renwicks, he hadn’t considered what Mr. Adley and Mr. Bower would make of the guests. The result so far was more entertaining than he could have imagined.
Miss Renwick pulled out a chair on her other side, indicating that John should seat himself there, and began making her brother a plate of food.
John looked on with hungry eyes as his sister buttered a roll, going so far as to lick his lips as she spread the preserves. Miss Renwick’s food sat waiting on her plate, and suddenly Lawrence found himself wondering whether he should have offered to make John’s plate of food instead.
John munched happily on his food, slipping a few bits to Anne when he thought no one was watching. When he finally realized that Lawrence was observing him, he shrank slightly, pulling his hand away from Anne’s mouth and looking terrified that Lawrence might inform his sister on him. Lawrence winked, and John smiled back, relaxing.
“Lawrie?” John said, causing Adley to turn in his seat and stare. Lawrence had always insisted that his friends refer to him as simply “Deb.” It was hardly a secret that he despised both his first name—a name he shared with his father—and the nickname used to differentiate between the two of them amongst their family: Lawrie.
Lawrence avoided his friend’s eyes, but it was too late. Bower was leaning across the table toward John.
“Best not to call him that,” he said in an attempted whisper. Bower had never been able to speak softly, though. “Devilish particular about his name, he is.”
Miss Renwick’s gaze rested on Lawrence, watching his reaction. Lawrence forced a smile, shaking his head to rebut Bower’s words while trying to catch his eye.
John glared at Bower. “He gave me special permission on account of I can’t say Debren—Deneb—” he huffed in frustration “—his name.”
“Not to worry,” said Mr. Adley, seeing Lawrence’s warning look. “Deb might plant me a facer for calling him that, but he won’t do it to you.”
John’s eyes narrowed, and his fists came up. “I shouldn’t let him even if he tried! Charlie Simms taught me how to draw a man’s cork.”
Miss Renwick’s eyes widened, and she put her hand over John’s fists, pushing them back down into his lap and saying in a determinedly bright tone, “What shall we do today, John?”
John sat up straight in his chair, looking at his sister with excitement in his round eyes. “I saw a big stream from the window, and it even has a bridge!”
Miss Renwick nodded with feigned interest, sipping her tea.
“May we go there after breakfast?” John asked in pleading tones.
Miss Renwick set down the teacup. “I think you should perhaps ask Mr. Debenham, as it is his estate.”
John turned toward Lawrence, his bright eyes staring into Lawrence’s as if his every last hope depended on the answer. “Will you come play at the stream with us, Lawrie?”
Miss Renwick laughed, but her eyes flew to Lawrence’s. “That is not quite what I meant, John. I only meant that we should ask his permission to visit the stream as we are his guests. I’m sure Mr. Debenham has plenty to occupy him having just moved into this house.”
Lawrence shifted in his seat, and Mr. Adley slapped his thigh with a large laugh. “Just moved in? Bless you, he’s been here going on two months.”
Miss Renwick’s confusion was simultaneously endearing and uncomfortable. Lawrence couldn’t blame her for the assumption—not when he had only two servants and a house still largely shrouded in dust and holland covers. If she and John ventured out of doors, they would see firsthand the wild forces of nature at work in the gardens, the unkempt lawns, and the general state of disrepair.
Since leaving the family estate in Surrey and arriving at Holywell House, Lawrence had taken a morbid satisfaction in viewing the disrepair all around him—when he had thought about it at all. Most of the time, he was too busy enjoying himself to notice.
The simple knowledge that he was defying his parents’ expectations had made him feel master of something for once. The physical distance between him and his father finally matched the emotional distance he had felt for years, and it gave him the freedom to make his own decisions without his father’s zealous gaze ensuring exact obedience. He could finally relax and enjoy life, something he had been taking full advantage of—with the help of Mr. Adley and Mr. Bower.
But the satisfaction Lawrence had felt in leaving the house to deteriorate suddenly made his cravat feel tight. He felt petty and juvenile; embarrassed of this estate that Miss Renwick had assumed to be only recently inhabited based on its neglected condition.
Miss Renwick cleared her throat quietly and said, “Well, whatever the case, I am sure he has much better things to do.”
“Do you have better things to do than coming with us?” John said, directing his sincere gaze at Lawrence who was still trying to decide what to do with the feelings brought up by Miss Renwick’s assumption.
Lawrence’s half-smile appeared as he looked at John. How could anyone resist such a hopeful gaze?
In truth, he had nothing on his schedule. His days were generally made up of card-playing, hunting, and the odd trip out to watch a cock-fight or a boxing match. An hour spent with the Renwicks might just be the refreshing change he needed from a life that had begun to feel a bit monotonous. Besides, John had long since put to rest any worry Lawrence might have of being bored in his company.
And Miss Renwick…well, she was a bit of an enigma. She was clearly a capable young woman, accustomed to having charge of her younger brother, though she couldn’t have been out more than three years herself. And though she often spoke to John with sternness, Lawrence hadn’t missed the glint of humor in her eye when John had done or said something unpredictable. She was much more skilled at suppressing a smile than Lawrence was.
“How could I possibly have anything better to do?” Lawrence said, setting down his cup decidedly. “I would be honored to show you my humble stream.”
John rubbed his hands together in delight, and Miss Renwick shot Lawrence a warm smile that put paid to his decision to accompany them.
“We shall just go change, then,” she said, glancing at the clock on the mantelpiece. “We can be ready by—” Her brows knitted together.
“Doesn't work,” Bower said. “Hasn’t be
en wound.”
Miss Renwick nodded her comprehension, but her glance flitted back to the clock as she hurried John out of the room, leaving Lawrence with his friends.
Through the corner of his eye, Lawrence was aware that Mr. Adley was staring at him with one eyebrow raised.
“Show them your humble stream, eh?” Adley said. “That’s if you can even find it!” He shook his head in a deeply disapproving gesture. “Shouldn’t be at all surprised if I know these grounds better than you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Adley,” Lawrence said. He knew just where the stream was. He’d seen it any number of times. That it would be his first time seeing it from a vantage point other than his dressing room window was beside the point.
“Not ridiculous, Deb,” interjected Bower. “Heard you consign this place to the devil time and again. Just yesterday you said—”
“Thank you, Bower,” Lawrence interrupted, pushing his chair back to stand. “I know what I’ve said. What that has to say to things, though, I’m sure I don’t know! The boy wants to see the stream, so I’ll show him the stream.” He made an irritated gesture with his hand.
Mr. Adley scoffed. “Don’t know what’s come over you, Deb.” He shook his head rapidly. “Hardly recognize you—rescuing damsels in distress, inviting guests at the drop of a hat, allowing strange beasts at the breakfast table, playing nurse maid to a lad barely breeched? Something havey-cavey about it all. I don’t like it.” He looked at Lawrence with a significant tilt to his eyebrows.
“You aren’t required to like it, Adley.”
Mr. Adley nodded slowly and shifted his gaze to his plate. He grabbed his cup, pausing just before he took a drink to say with studied nonchalance, “She’s devilish handsome.” His eyes flitted to Lawrence for a brief moment as he sipped his drink.
Mr. Bower was buttering his fourth roll, but he nodded his head firmly. “A very fine-looking dog. Anne, wasn’t it?”
Mr. Adley slapped his hand on the table. “Not the dog, Bower. Miss Renwick!”
Bower’s head came up, and he looked at Mr. Adley, comprehension slowly dawning in his eyes. “Ah, my mistake.” He looked at Lawrence. “Sorry, Deb. Didn’t mean to give offense. Misunderstood. That’s all.”
Lawrence scoffed loudly. “You say you hardly recognize me? You are the ones being ridiculous.”
He stalked out of the room, his jaw set tightly. Mr. Adley’s words had irritated him, but only because they had struck a chord. Lawrence hardly recognized himself in this whole situation. But he couldn’t well leave a young woman and a child in a carriage yard at night, could he? He would have to be cold-blooded to leave them there with no place to stay. There was nothing havey-cavey about it.
And as for Miss Renwick being handsome—what had that to say to anything? Surely Adley and Bower knew him well enough to know that Lawrence had no idea of marriage, no matter how handsome a woman might be. Now that he was finally out from under his parents’ thumb, he couldn’t—he wouldn’t—let a woman trap him into a marriage where he would spend the rest of his life under a new thumb, as beautiful as Miss Renwick might be.
He couldn’t imagine that Miss Renwick would be as dictatorial as his parents, but that was beside the point. Marriage was not something Lawrence was considering.
There was no need for dramatics from Adley and Bower. The Renwicks would leave in two days, and then Lawrence’s life would go back to the way it was before.
Chapter 5
Eleanor stood in the entry hall with John. She smoothed the fabric of her white walking dress and brushed a spot of dust from the sleeve of her cornflower blue spencer. For some reason, she felt keenly aware of the absence of her maid. Jane had such a way with her hair, always achieving results that Eleanor herself couldn't.
She had been sure that she was acting with great presence of mind in sending Jane ahead with their belongings to set everything in order for their arrival, but the decision seemed foolish now. Dangerous, even.
What if she and John had been accosted on the road by highwaymen? Their coachman carried a blunderbuss, to be sure, but having two servants instead of one could prove the difference between safety and injury in such situations. Not that Jane could be considered an asset in any situation requiring even the smallest bit of courage. She was notoriously quick to become weak in the knees and couldn't bear the sight of blood.
Eleanor tucked a curl under her bonnet. At least the bonnet would hide her hair while they were outside. And her curls should keep well enough until the carriage wheel was repaired—tomorrow, if the man was to be believed. Why she felt such a concern for her appearance was a fact she didn't care to examine more closely. She had a sneaking suspicion that it had some connection to Mr. Debenham, and such a ridiculous idea was better ignored than inspected.
She looked to John who was staring up at the tall ceiling with his mouth agape. Anne laid on the cool stone floor beside him. Eleanor followed his gaze and blinked when she saw the sheet of cobwebs above. Mr. Adley had insisted that Mr. Debenham had been living here for some time.
She couldn’t understand why he would choose to live in such a state. She had considered that perhaps it was a matter of lacking the resources to set it aright, but his dress, the elegant carriage they had traveled in, and the well-stocked breakfast table belied that assumption. Why, then, would he choose to only have two servants? They must be worked to the bone in an estate the size of Holywell House.
“I apologize.” The voice of Mr. Debenham echoed in the hall as he walked through the archway that led in from the main hallway.
Eleanor brought her head down to meet his eyes, smiling amid an uncomfortable swallow. To think he should have seen her passing judgment on his home when he had so kindly opened it up to them brought heat to her cheeks.
John seemed to forget the presence of the massive blanket of cobwebs above, shouting, “You came!”
Mr. Debenham smiled in amusement. “Of course I did! Let’s be on our way, shall we?”
John nodded enthusiastically, and Mr. Debenham opened the front door, watching as John skipped outside with Anne on his heels. Eleanor thanked him as she passed through, and he nodded with a smile.
It was a grey day, and clouds blanketed the sky much as the cobwebs had done to the entry hall ceiling. In the diffused light of day, Eleanor had the opportunity to take in the surroundings which had been shrouded in darkness the night before.
The house itself was stately—or should have been, had it been stripped of the thick façade of ivy covering the cream-colored stone underneath. As it stood, the ivy had crept around the windows, intruding on the light that otherwise would have shone through. The pebbled courtyard was punctuated with weeds which poked through and towered over the rocks beneath.
The four of them traipsed toward a copse of trees which stood on the other side of a field, John marching ahead, creating a path of some sort through the tall green alfalfa. He suddenly cried out in exulting accents, stooping down, and emerging with a large stick. He held it out like a sword toward Mr. Debenham. “En guarde!”
Mr. Debenham held up his hands in surrender. “I never agree to an uneven fight!”
He kept his hands up as his eyes searched among the alfalfa. He shot a hand down and brought out a stick of his own, much shorter than John’s. John’s face lit up with excitement, and Eleanor looked on with an indulgent smile.
“Perhaps,” she said, giving a wide berth to the two who had assumed a fencing stance, “we might delay this match until we reach the stream?”
The two of them exchanged glances and then dropped their arms to their sides. John marched on ahead, using his stick to beat away all the offending alfalfa blocking their path.
“If he is already going to the work of whacking at all this overgrowth,” Mr. Debenham said, observing John with a half-smile, “I should at least arm him with a scythe.”
Eleanor’s eyes widened at the image of John wielding such a tool. “For the love of all you hold dear,” she sa
id, “please don’t even consider such a thing. John is much more skilled in his imagination than he is in body. We should all be in grave danger if he were to wield such an object.”
As if to confirm Eleanor’s words, Anne gave a small yelp as the butt of John’s stick came in contact with one of her legs. John apologized to the dog but continued whacking at the grass with just as much zeal as before.
Mr. Debenham tossed his head back in a hearty laugh, and Eleanor covered her mouth with a hand as she tried—unsuccessfully—to stifle her own sense of the ridiculous. The task of being with John day and night had been wearing on her, and she had found herself feeling impatient or frustrated with many of his antics. But somehow those same antics elicited a desire to laugh now that she had someone else to observe them with.
A glance at Mr. Debenham confirmed to her that he was at his most handsome when the corners of his eyes wrinkled in laughter. She hurriedly looked away. It was perhaps better not to look at him while he was laughing.
She cleared her throat. “Mr. Adley and Mr. Bower were very kind. Are they relatives or simply friends of yours?”
Mr. Debenham’s eyes stayed on John, his mouth stretched in a smile. “They are only friends, but I consider them to be my family.” His smile faltered a bit.
Eleanor nodded her understanding. “At times I have thought that it would be nice to be able to choose one’s family.” She had wished for a sister on more than one occasion.
Mr. Debenham’s brows were knitted together, a stark contrast from his smile only moments before. “I have had the same thought on more occasions than I can count.”
Eleanor smiled, chancing an upward glance at him. “Wishing for a brother like John, no doubt? One who constantly plagues you to play pirates with him?”
The side of Mr. Debenham’s mouth quirked up briefly, and Eleanor felt a satisfaction in having lightened his frown. “I would have loved a younger brother like John growing up. As it was, I was sent to separate schools from my brothers. And my visits home never permitted for entertainment with them. My father was very particular about how I spent my time.”
