by Amanda Scott
“He does not think I did it.”
“What?” Dorinda stared at her. “You did not tell him the truth, I hope!”
“No.”
“But if he does not know that, and does not think you are to blame, then why is he allowing the betrothal to go forward?”
“Because he is a gentleman, Dorinda.” No more than she would betray Dorinda to Thorne would she betray him to her by telling her that he was obeying the duke’s commands. “Thorne says it is for the lady to cry off, but he would not allow me to do so until we had been in London long enough for people to come to know me for myself. He said it would do my reputation no good to be known only as the woman he had thrown over.”
“But how could they think that if you cried off?”
“Being known as a jilt is no recommendation,” Gillian said wryly. “Moreover, he said that without knowing me, no one would believe I had cried off. I daresay they would assume the notice was some sort of snare to entrap him and that he had eluded it.”
“Oh, Corbin said he and the others all thought it was something of that sort at first,” Dorinda said airily, “but now he thinks it’s a case with him. In fact, Corbin said—”
“Look here, Dorinda,” Gillian said, seeing nothing was to be gained by trying to explain Thorne’s motives to her, “are you attempting to add Corbin to your string? He is very handsome, to be sure, and he dresses well and looks very well in the saddle—”
“Oh, pooh, I do not care about that. But someone said he is not easily snared, so I thought I would try my hand at it. He is not nearly wealthy enough to suit me. At least, I do not think he can be. Except for his pretty clothes, he does not behave as if he had money, carping over the cost of trifles as he does and telling one where things may be had for less. As if one cared.”
“I am sure I do not know what his prospects are,” Gillian said repressively, “and it is not a suitable subject for you to dwell upon in any case, Dorinda.”
“Oh, pooh to that. I must have money, Gillian. You know I must. I intend to marry a country house, at least, and I daresay your papa will see to it that I have a proper dowry. Even Mama does not suggest that he will do more than that, not now that little John is to inherit everything, at all events.”
“Dorinda, it is very improper for you to talk of such matters,” Gillian said. “Your dowry will no doubt come from your own papa’s estate, so it is proper for your mama to deal with it, and your father’s man of affairs, Mr. Weston,” she added, remembering the existence of that gentleman.
“Oh, there is only a pittance from my papa,” Dorinda said lightly. “His money mostly went with the title and the estate to some paltry cousin we’ve never met. That is why it was so out of reason fortunate that your papa came to grief upon our doorstep and then chanced to fall in love with Mama. I don’t know where we should be now if he had not done so.”
Gillian gave up trying to make her understand that she should not talk about such things or depend upon Lord Marrick for a large dowry. She doubted that it had crossed her father’s mind that Dorinda might expect a dowry. No doubt Estrid planned to discuss it with him at some date or other, but Gillian doubted that the subject had yet come up between them.
She wanted to talk about her own predicament, but although lords Crawley, Dawlish, and Corbin paid calls that afternoon, she was inclined to confide in none of them. It was apparent that both Crawley and Corbin had both come to pay their respects to Dorinda, and that Dawlish had merely come in their train. When the other two become engaged in a spirited debate with Dorinda over which of two plays currently enjoying popular favor might be the better one, Dawlish took the opportunity to speak to her.
“I must tell you,” he said, regarding her in his open way as he drew up a stool near her feet and sat down upon it, “that I am becoming daily more confused, and it ain’t a state that sits well with me. You may tell me to go to the devil—daresay you’ll want to—but we were with Josh the night he saw the announcement—fact is, I showed it to him—and I know the damned thing—begging your pardon—came as a shock to him. I know, too, that my uncle was fit to chew nails over any new scandal, so I’ve a strong notion Josh has been doing his best to keep on his good side. I’m also damned sure—again begging your pardon—that you didn’t place that notice yourself. What I mean to say is, you’re a lady, ma’am, not just by birth but by nature, and I’d like to help. I can’t ask Josh—he’d knock me flat—but if you didn’t ...”
“Don’t ask me about it, either, my lord,” Gillian said gently when he paused. “I refused to tell Thorne if I knew the guilty party, so don’t think I will tell you. I thank you for your kindness, though. It means a great deal to me. I think his lordship is fortunate indeed in at least one of his relations.”
Dawlish colored up to his eyebrows. “D-Dash it all, ma’am,” he said, “you’ll have me stuttering like a schoolboy if you prate that stuff to me. Damned nonsense, that’s what it is, begging your pardon again, of course. Mean to say, however, that if the seas get rough in the coming days, you can always count on your humble servant. Anything I can do, anything at all ...” His voice trailed away, and he tugged at the knot of his cravat as though the neckcloth were too tight. “Only want to help, truly.”
She was grateful both for his concern and for his openness. What a difference, she thought, to know someone who, unlike most people she knew, was not afraid to say what he thought. Estrid spoke in platitudes. Dorinda never had a thought beyond her own person and refused to discuss any topic that was important to anyone else. And as for the earl, one might as well try to discuss the current food shortages with a gatepost as to try to get him to talk about anything other than hunting or his latest wager.
Just then the butler announced Thorne, and Gillian scarcely noted that the new butler was the first she had seen in a while who seemed to know his business. Thorne had drawn everyone’s attention, though he came in like any other caller. He wore a dark blue coat, biscuit-colored breeches, and glossy Hessians, and in one hand he carried a slim blue book, which he gave to Gillian when he had greeted the others.
“It is a new guidebook of London,” he said, nodding when Dawlish murmured that he would join the others. “I thought Clementina might like to have it for her explorations. At least, I am assuming that she has continued with her plan.” He ended on a note of inquiry, but there was a twinkle in his eyes.
“Oh, yes,” Gillian said, “she is out even now, but you need not concern yourself. I took the ... that is,” she amended hastily, “most fortunately a governess has already been found for her—a most capable and responsible young woman who came highly recommended. Her name is Maud Casey, and she knows London well.”
“I see,” he said, giving her a rather sharp look. “Where have they gone today?”
“To see the beasts at the Tower menagerie,” she said. “Quite unexceptionable. Indeed, I should like to have gone with them.”
“Surely Almack’s will offer you the same sort of amusement,” he said, glancing at the others, who had broken off their conversation only long enough to acknowledge his presence before returning to their lively debate.
Gillian chuckled, relieved that he had not pressed her about the governess. Miss Casey, cousin to the estimable Mr. Squires, had thus indeed come highly recommended, but Gillian had had the notion before that Thorne disapproved when she took a hand in such matters. She said, “Will Almack’s be as bad as that?”
“Worse,” he said. “Nothing fit to drink or to eat, and a roomful of people staring at you who are being stared at by others in return. ’Tis a damnable bore.”
“Devilish thing, boredom,” Dawlish said at his elbow. “Don’t glare at me, Josh. I just came to take my leave.”
“What, Peregrine, going away so soon?”
“Well, you don’t want me, and they don’t want me, and I ain’t about to start adoring that angel from across a room. I ain’t the type, but both those fellows are besotted, Josh. It’s painful to watch. A
nd what Crawler thinks to accomplish by casting lures in that direction, I’m sure I can’t say. Unless I miss my guess, she ain’t one with the gelt, and he needs an heiress, don’t he? Here’s his sister Belinda come to London, no doubt costing him a pretty penny, and he can’t attend to her and put his estate right without he gets some money, now can he?”
“No, he can’t, but his mother franks his sister, not he, so you button your lip, my lad. This is not the place to be prattling of another man’s affairs.”
“Don’t suppose it is,” Dawlish said. “If it were, I’d ask you if my uncle knows the whole truth about this business yet.”
Thorne gave him a look, which Dawlish met steadily for a moment before he looked away, saying, “Oh, very well. No need to fly into the boughs. I dashed well don’t want to have to count my limbs to be sure I’ve still got them all, merely for the sake of asking a home question. Will I see you later at Brooks’s?”
“If you like,” Thorne said.
When Dawlish had gone, Gillian said, “Sir, we must talk.”
“Good God, not you too!”
Indignantly she said, “I hope I have the right to speak to you about a subject so nearly affecting me, sir. ’Tis a pity that more people are not as forthright as Lord Dawlish.”
“Well, you’d change your tune pretty quickly,” he said, “if everyone were to speak only the truth.”
“I would not. I think such a state of affairs would be vastly refreshing!”
“Well, it wouldn’t. How would you like to be told that your hair looks odd or that the color of your gown don’t suit you?”
“I shouldn’t like it at all.” She hesitated. “Does my hair look odd, sir? I thought it looked rather good today.”
“Of course it looks good,” he said impatiently. “It always looks fine to me. But that don’t mean it looks fine to everyone. Do you think it necessary for everyone to tell you just how they think it looks? Or perhaps you think you’d like to hear all the things I’d say to you if common courtesy didn’t stand in the way,” he said ruthlessly.
“Just what sort of things do you mean, sir?”
“Suppose I demand to know the whole truth about Clementina’s governess,” he snapped.
She knew by the look on his face that her expression had given her away.
He nodded. “Care to give me a round tale?”
Involuntarily she glanced at the others, who were still chatting, paying no heed to her. Even so, she shook her head. “There is much in what you say about too much candor, sir. I will explain it all later if you like, but what I want to discuss now is the very kind note I had from your mother, informing me that she has arranged to hold a ball in honor of our betrothal. Surely you must see that it will not do, sir.”
“Nonsense, there must be a ball. It’s expected.”
“My lord, I must know the answer to the question your cousin asked you. Do your parents know the truth about us?”
“My dear girl, I don’t even know the truth about us.”
She bit her lip. “Oh, dear, here I am bewailing the fact that people do not speak out, when I have been anything but frank with you. I meant only that people should speak more about their feelings, not that one ought to reveal confidential matters that must be kept to oneself. Dear me, what a tangle!”
“Get your hat,” he said abruptly.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me. I came to take you to meet my mother. And my father, too, may God help us, and if I don’t take you at once I am likely to throttle you.”
“I thought they were out of town.”
“They are back. Get your hat.”
She was about to tell him not only that she did not like his attitude but that she could not simply get up and leave Dorinda alone with two gentlemen callers, when Lady Marrick came in, sparing her the necessity.
Her ladyship was not in a cheerful temper, however. “That new butler is the most dismal creature,” she said. “I was kept standing at the door much too long just now. I was only out and about—seeing Mayfair, you know—and then to be kept standing! I must write to Weston at once and tell him the man is unsuitable.”
Gillian, thinking it very unlike Estrid to explain where she had been, looked at her in surprise and said, “But Blalock is thoroughly suitable. Why, he knows his business perfectly and comes very highly recommended.”
“I do not like him. He looks down his nose at everyone. Makes a person feel like a maw-worm. Ah, how do you do, my lords?” she said to the other gentlemen, who, having just noted her entrance, had leapt to their feet. “No, no, sit down again, do. Were you going out, Gillian?”
“Thorne is going to take me to meet his mama and papa.”
“How kind, but you must not go in that dress. Whatever will the duchess think if you are not better rigged out than that?”
Gillian looked at her yellow-and-white spotted muslin, then back at Estrid. “This dress is fine,” she said. “I shall wear my yellow pelisse and the bonnet with yellow ribbons to match.”
“Well, you must do as you please, I suppose, though I should have thought you would want to wear something finer to impress a duchess, my dear. But there, I daresay you know what you are about, and girlish modesty must always be becoming. You run along now to tidy your hair and fetch your things. His lordship can have a comfortable coze with me whilst you are away.”
Thinking Thorne was being well served, Gillian cast him a mischievous glance. When he returned it with a grim one, she said quickly that she would make haste. When she returned, she discovered that her father had come in during her absence, and was being informed of Estrid’s dislike of the new butler.
Glancing behind her to be sure the man in question was not within hearing, Gillian shut the doors to the drawing room just as the earl said he thought the fellow was perfectly adequate. “Just so, Papa,” she said. “He is certainly better than the last specimen chosen to grace the halls at Carnaby Park.”
“Well, I do not like him,” Estrid said, “so he must go. Clementina’s governess seems pleasant enough, but I am not certain about the housekeeper, and I cannot understand it, for I specifically told Weston I wanted people who were not so puffed up in their own esteem as those one so frequently sees amongst upper servants. I asked him to look out for a new nurse as well, you know, because dear little John and his nursery maid will arrive soon, and we will require a proper one for him.”
The earl fastened upon the first name she mentioned. “Who the devil is Weston?” he demanded.
Estrid stiffened. “Why, he is my late husband’s man of affairs, sir. I asked him to hire more servants for us.”
“Well, why the devil didn’t you send round to ask Squires to undertake the arrangements? Fellow knows what I like, and it’s his business to be looking into such matters.”
Gillian, conscious of the fact that Thorne was looking not at the earl or Estrid but at her, took care to avoid his gaze. She hoped her father and stepmother would take their conversation elsewhere, and soon.
Estrid said sharply, “I suppose I can ask whomever I choose to select my servants for my house!”
The earl turned red. “You would do better to be guided by me, my love,” he growled. “I suppose, if you cannot like the man—” He glanced at Gillian. “No harm in looking about a bit for another butler, I suppose.”
“No harm at all, sir,” she said, “except that it is patently unfair to Blalock to dismiss him when he has done nothing wrong. If he is a trifle high in the instep, I am certain one need only speak to him about it. He is no doubt feeling his way in a new establishment, but if Estrid finds after a week or so that she still cannot tolerate him, of course he must be replaced.”
“Good God, Marrick,” Estrid said sharply, “what purpose can be served by discussing the matter with Gillian?” When Crawley cleared his throat, she blushed and exclaimed, “How dreadful of us to be debating such matters when we have visitors, but you know we have seen so much of you gentlemen of
late that I have come to think you as quite part of the family. Marrick and I can sort this out later. Do run along now, Gillian.”
Gillian looked at her father but could not catch his eye, so when Thorne touched her shoulder, she said, “Very well, sir, I am quite ready to go.”
He did not reply, and she became aware of a gravity in his expression that she had never seen there before. He did not attempt to speak to her privately, however, and when they emerged from the house, she saw that his phaeton was in the charge of a small, wiry man of the type known to the fashionable as a tiger. This worthy, having been introduced to her as Tim Cooley, stood at the leader’s heads until the marquess had lifted her into the carriage and climbed in himself, taking up the reins. When Thorne called to him to release them, the man did so and nimbly swung up behind them as the carriage swept past him. Thus, there could be no private conversation during the journey to Langshire House, and when they arrived, passing between the tall iron gates and rolling to a halt at the front entrance, servants emerged at once to attend them and more were found in the front hall.
“Where will I find her grace?” Thorne asked the porter.
“In the yellow sitting room, my lord. Jonathan will announce you.”
“No need,” Thorne said. “This way, my lady.”
As they crossed the black-and-white marble floor, Gillian noticed that above them a railed gallery went around all four sides of the hall and that the floor was raised at the far end. Impulsively she turned to him and said, “A dais, my lord? I did not know people—even dukes—still had such things.”
He smiled, the first time since they had left Vellacott House. “This hall is what’s left of the medieval portion of the house, but the raised floor is here only because the room was enlarged during the last century, and the room next to this one had a higher floor.” He gestured toward the nearest wall. “That paneling dates from the same period, the family arms are carved into the chairs yonder, and the paintings on either side of the chimneypiece are by Hoppner and Sir Joshua Reynolds. The dashing chap on the right is my grandfather, the lady his second wife, who was my grandmother.”
