by Amanda Scott
“There is no contest there,” Crawley said, chuckling. “What is Hoppner doing?”
“I haven’t the least idea. Where is the chit? I am ready for her, and I dislike wasting time.”
Theo came in a few minutes later, and upon hearing that the portrait could be finished in time for its unveiling to take place at Lady Augusta’s ball, became quite cheerful. After her remarks the previous evening, Felicia had dreaded the possibility of a scene, but it was apparent that her sister meant to be pleasant to all and sundry.
Sir Richard and Crawley left at ten, promising to return at one o’clock for the promised expedition to Queen’s House, and Felicia realized when Theo said only that it looked to her as if it were coming on to drizzle that she had reconciled herself to the inevitability of its taking place.
It did indeed begin to rain before the gentlemen returned to fetch them, a gentle shower dampening the streets and changing the sound of passing carriage-wheels on the cobbles. When Felicia, in the morning room, heard barking and then the sounds of a vehicle drawing up outside the house, she looked out to see Crawley jump down to the pavement, and saw, too, that Freddy was perched up beside the coachman with the gray mongrel from the areaway sitting proudly between them.
Crawley explained the minute he saw her. “Young rascal was playing with that blasted creature two blocks from here, and called to us from the pavement. Nothing to do but stop and take him up with us, but he would have nothing of sitting inside when he discovered the dog wasn’t welcome. Said it was probably musty anyway—an aspersion on my mother’s town carriage that is quite unwarranted—and that they would sit by the driver. From the increase in our pace that began shortly afterward, I think my coachman was rash enough to let him hold the ribbons.”
“Good gracious!”
“My sentiments exactly. Is your sister ready, or are we expected to wait an hour or so for her pleasure?”
Felicia said calmly, “Such sarcasm does not become you, my lord. I sent to warn her that we would not wait for her, so I believe she will be down directly.”
“She is down now,” Theo called from the landing. “I hope your carriage is right at the door, sir, for this pelisse, though quite in fashion, is ridiculously short and will no doubt do nothing whatever to protect me from the rain, but it is better than letting my gown be soaked through.”
“That chip straw hat will soon droop, too,” Felicia said. “You ought to have worn one of your bonnets, my dear.”
“Too dowdy for words, Felicia. You, my dearest one, look like a little brown wren in that vast cloak.”
“A very pretty brown wren,” Crawley said.
Surprised and flushing with pleasure, Felicia turned to thank him, but her delight faded when she saw that he looked nearly as surprised to have said the words as she was to have heard them. He signed to the footman waiting with an umbrella to hold over the ladies as they made their way to the carriage, and Felicia followed Theo and went past him and out the door.
“Aunt Felicia, look at me,” Freddy called to her from the box. Water dripped from his chin, and his long eyelashes were stuck together in clumps, but he was grinning from ear to ear. “Fletcher let me take the ribbons for nearly a whole block!”
“Did he, my dear? How thrilling for you, but you must come down now, because you are getting soaked to the bone, and we must go. Tell the coachman ‘thank you’ and let Peters help you down.”
“I don’t need help,” the little boy said scornfully as he handed the wet dog to the reluctant footman and swung agilely down from the box. He cast a wary look at Crawley. “I hope it was all right, sir. Me taking the ribbons, I mean.”
Crawley smiled. “If Fletcher let you take them, he must have thought you looked as if you could handle them. I will take you out one day in my curricle, and show you how to handle the ribbons in style. How would you like that?”
Freddy seemed unable to speak, but he nodded fervently, his eyes sparkling with delight. Finally, he said, “Tomorrow?”
Crawley laughed. “We’ll see. Now, in with you, so your aunts don’t concern themselves for the rest of the afternoon with whether you will catch your death of cold before we return. And leave that dog outside.”
Freddy assured them that Cook would look after Scraps and that he was going in straightaway to see if he could not find Tom and Sara Ann to tell them of the delight in store for him the following day.
Crawley, climbing into the coach behind Felicia, said with a chuckle, “I suppose that means I must take him at once or he will pester the life out of all of us until I do.”
Vyne called impatiently to the driver to get on with it or they would be late to Queen’s House, and Theo said with an edge to her voice, “I think it was very kind of you to make the offer, my lord. Freddy is excited, of course, and one is delighted for him, but some persons can think only of wretched paintings, and don’t spare a second thought for anyone save themselves.”
Vyne said, “If that barb is meant for me, which I strongly suspect it is, it falls short of the mark, my girl, for if we do not make haste, they will think we are not coming and will go about their business. And if you think it is no great thing to gain entrance to Queen’s House when the galleries are shut to the public, then you may soon find out how wrong you are.”
Felicia, sitting next to Theo and across from the two gentlemen, gave her a quelling look, whereupon Theo tossed her head and looked pointedly out her window.
Vyne ignored her and said conversationally, “The Raphael cartoons which were used to amuse everyone so much have been taken away to Windsor, but there are still a great number of fine pictures, and since no one else of the public has been admitted yet this Season,” he added with a sharp look at Theo, “I rather thought you would like to be amongst the first who are.”
Theo turned then, and Felicia saw that her brow was furrowed thoughtfully. Vyne had clearly gained a point, but she feared Theo might take up the gauntlet, and was grateful when Crawley drew Vyne into a more detailed description of what they might expect to see, and what they particularly ought to look out for.
9
THE QUEEN’S PALACE, CALLED Buckingham House for the simple reason that it had been built, one hundred years before, by the then Duke of Buckingham, was located at the western extremity of St. James’s Park. Just before the turnpike that separated Piccadilly from Knightsbridge, the carriage turned into a gravel drive, to pass between the extensive gardens behind Queen’s House and the Green Park.
Vyne, in a pedantic mood, explained that the house had been purchased forty years before by the king, then settled on the queen by an act of Parliament, in the event that she survived his majesty. “Somerset Palace was used to be her dower house,” he said, “but once the embankment was enlarged and what is now Somerset House expanded to house the Royal Academy and certain government offices, a new dower house was required.”
“History,” said Theo with awful emphasis, “is not a subject that I find particularly interesting. Do you, Lord Crawley?”
Crawley said, “Look out to your left, Miss Theo. From this angle one can look straight up the Mall. Does it not look like a long forest of dutiful trees? See how neatly they are lined up, like soldiers on parade?”
“Damp soldiers today,” Theo said, smiling at him. Then, looking out again as the carriage turned into the circular drive in front of the handsome brick house, she said, “Is that not Birdcage Walk yonder, the other side of St. James’s Canal?”
Crawley agreed that it was, and as the carriage door was pulled open by a Buckingham House lackey, added that it was a pity the inclement weather prevented their strolling beneath the trees there after they had seen the gallery.
“This way,” Vyne said, ignoring the exchange. “Take my arm, Miss Theodosia, so that Crawley can aid your sister.”
Felicia, though grateful that someone had recalled her presence, had begun to suspect Vyne’s motives and suspected he had used her merely as an excuse to divert Theo’s attentio
n from Crawley. There was no sign of disappointment in his lordship’s expression, however, when he turned with that perilously charming smile of his to offer his arm to her. The lackey put up the steps, the carriage drove off, and they followed Vyne to a side door in the south wing of the palace.
Felicia found much to admire both in the noble apartments through which they passed and in the vast art collection. She had visited the gallery once before, during her first Season, but she had no idea then what she was supposed to admire, or why, and had been a little bored. With Vyne as their escort, the visit was magical, and she was fascinated by his explanations of the works they saw. Even Theo, she noticed, forgot to be at all waspish to the artist, and for once, seemed to hang upon his every word. Not until they heard rapid footsteps approaching from behind and turned to see Dawlish hurrying toward them, did Felicia recall that he had planned to meet them there.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said, gasping his words. “Didn’t think the fellow at the door was going to let me in.”
Vyne glared at him. “He oughtn’t to have done so. I told you what time you were to meet us here.”
“I know, I know. I was detained.”
“Just what could be so important to make you risk offending the Buck House people,” Vyne demanded, “or me, for that matter?”
“Well, it was Belin—” He broke off, cast an anxious glance at Crawley, then said quickly, “Bellingham, that’s who. Accosted me outside Brooks’s, demanded directions to Eaton Street, then didn’t heed me when I gave them. Had to repeat myself any number of times.” He shook his head, saw that Crawley was frowning nearly as heavily as Vyne, and tugged at his cravat. “Dash it, I said I was sorry. Can’t ask a man to do more than that.”
Felicia, feeling uncomfortable tension in the air, tried to think of something to say to ease it, but Crawley spoke first.
“Being helpful again, Mongrel?”
“That’s it,” Dawlish said on a note of relief.
Theo said innocently, “I thought you were going to say it was Belinda who kept you, sir. Isn’t it funny how one thinks one name will come out and then another one does?”
Dawlish cleared his throat. “Dashed funny, Miss Theo.”
“Are we here to look at pictures or to talk nonsense?” Vyne demanded. “Here are a number of West’s pieces, Miss Theo, for he is Limner to the King as well as being president of the Royal Academy.”
He went on to describe West’s methods and strengths, but though his commentary was surely as interesting as it had been before, Felicia found herself watching the other men instead of listening. She had noted that Crawley kept glancing at Dawlish and that Dawlish was careful to avoid his gaze, so it came as no great shock that when Vyne drew the still fascinated Theo a little ahead of them and Felicia began to follow, Crawley caught Dawlish by the arm, and she heard him say, “Look here, Mongrel, what’s amiss? I know as well as Miss Theo does that you nearly said Belinda back there. Is there something I ought to know?”
Felicia, encountering an embarrassed glance from Dawlish, stepped quickly away and tried to pretend fascination with one of West’s paintings, but she could not help hearing him mutter that he thought Crawley had forbidden him to mention Belinda. “Just trying to follow your orders,” he added lamely.
Reluctantly, telling herself that curiosity was a most unbecoming sin, Felicia forced herself to move on.
Crawley, with one eye on her retreating figure, retained his hold on Dawlish’s arm and said in a low but furious tone, “Dammit, Mongrel, if something is amiss with my sister, I want to know about it. I talked with her this morning, tried to give her something to think of besides pleasing me, and had reason to believe I’d succeeded.”
“Well, if that’s what you thought, you were wrong. The last thing you ought to have done was to mention last night’s losses.”
“But I didn’t.” Even as he spoke the words, however, he remembered that Belinda had asked about his losses. “Damn,” he said. “I did tell her, but she ought to have known they were of no great consequence. I hope you told her so.”
“Couldn’t,” Dawlish told him. “Don’t know myself what they amounted to. Couldn’t tell her you don’t gamble too much either, because the fact of the matter is that you do. My belief is that it’s time and more that you looked to your estates and to the welfare of your mother and sister.”
“Oh, is it?” Crawley demanded in a dangerous tone.
“Yes, it is,” Dawlish retorted, standing his ground. “I know you expect me to back down, Ned, for I generally do when you or Dickon begin looking like you’d like to murder me. Stands to reason, both of you being better marksmen than I am. But you won’t, either of you, call me out. Wouldn’t do you any good if you did, for all that, because I wouldn’t go.”
Crawley was silent, struggling with his emotions, but finally, reluctantly, he smiled at Dawlish and released his arm. “I suppose you are right about everything, but the fact is I’m not cut out to be a landowner. I know nothing about it and should make a mess of it if I tried.”
“Couldn’t make more of a muck of it than it is already.” Dawlish pointed out, smoothing his sleeve. “Look at Thorne. He knew next to nothing about the estates he will inherit either, because the duke left everything to stewards and bailiffs for so long and never bothered to teach him anything, but Thorne has learned because he has made it his business to do so.”
“Thorne is interested in farming and in all manner of things that I find tiresome,” Crawley said.
“Wouldn’t if you took the time to learn about them,” Dawlish said flatly. “How will you feel to see your mama bear-leading young ladies through next Season like Mrs. Falworthy does now? I don’t say she means to do any such thing,” he added hastily when Crawley stiffened. “All I say is, if you don’t take the reins soon, she may be reduced to doing something of the sort. She can’t afford another Season on that jointure of hers, you know.”
“All the more reason for Bella to find a husband. It needn’t be Dacres, as I hope I made clear to her, but the plain fact is that the best way for any female to look out for herself in this day and age is to marry well. As I told her this morning, if she were only a bit more con—”
“Your problem is that you somehow grew up thinking you can get your own way just by telling others what you think they ought to do,” Dawlish said curtly. “There’s Dickon, looking for us. He’ll want our heads on a platter if we dawdle longer.”
He turned away before Crawley could reply to the astonishing accusation, and moved to join the others. Crawley saw him offer an arm to Felicia, but to his surprise, she shook her head. A moment later, Dawlish moved on with Vyne and Theo, but Felicia did not go with them. She seemed to be waiting for him. His spirits lifted a bit, and he walked to meet her.
Felicia watched him approach, thinking he had looked angry and now sad, and wondering why his moods should affect her so. It was almost, she thought, as though he transmitted his feelings to her. However, a moment later, when he responded to her smile, she noted that his did not reach his eyes and, for once, found little in it to cheer her.
“Bored?” he asked.
“No, merely concerned. Is something amiss with your sister?” Hastily, lest he suspect her of eavesdropping, she added, “I ask because you have devoted so much time to us this week that your family may quite reasonably be feeling neglected.”
“Don’t trouble your head about that. It is only Mongrel—that is, Dawlish—pushing himself in where he is not wanted.”
“Oh.” She eyed him speculatively as she placed her hand on the arm he held out to her and let him guide her in the wake of the others. After a brief silence she said, “You are most fortunate in your friends, sir.”
“Am I?”
“Yes. I have noted many times that despite your teasing, you all share a concern for one another that is most enviable. Surely, if his lordship is troubled about you, he has cause.”
“He’s a damned busybody,” Crawley mutt
ered, glancing ahead as though to judge whether Dawlish could overhear.
Felicia, seeing the look, said gently, “He is merely trying to be helpful, you know.”
“His besetting sin is that he tries to help everyone,” Crawley said bitterly, “but if he thinks it will help me to isolate myself on an estate in Nottinghamshire when I would far rather be here in London, he is out of his mind.”
“Your own estate, I collect.”
“Quite.”
“I see.”
“No, you do not see! What can you know of the burdens of an estate like mine? Although, to be perfectly fair, I don’t know them either, because my father was used to look after every detail. He wanted me to learn his ways, of course, but whenever I did any of the work, he would just do it over, so I stopped wasting my time, thinking I could always learn later. And he made not the least objection, saying I should enjoy myself, so I did. I think it was quite unfair of—” He broke off, looking at her in astonishment. “Forgive me. I can’t think what came over me to make me talk in such an uncivilized way to you.”
“I provoked you, no doubt. I quite frequently do provoke people, though I cannot think why. I rarely mean to.”
“It’s because you are always so self-controlled,” he said bluntly, “and so competent about everything you do that you make me, at least, feel like an oaf. Indeed, I believe I was crazy to think of marrying your sister. I ought to marry you.”
His obvious surprise—and annoyance—at his own words compelled her to speak before he could retract them. “I expect that means you have discovered that my fortune matches Theo’s and believe I would be of more help in setting your affairs to rights,” she said coldly, certain of only one thing, which was that he was not serious in suggesting marriage to herself. Wanting to slap him, but sternly collecting her wits, she added, “I cannot think why, if your estates are such large ones, sir, that you do not exploit them—in a perfectly practical spirit, you know—to lure some more unsuspecting heiress to wed you.”
