by Amanda Scott
He blinked, then said curtly, “You mistake my character, Miss Adlam. No more than I welcomed the burden of vast estates left me before I was ready to inherit them, am I so lacking in conscience that I would try to convince anyone they were worth marrying me to possess.”
She had made him angry again, and she was sorry for it, but this time she heard what she had missed before. “I begin to see the truth, sir,” she said gently. “It is not at all unusual, you know, to bear anger when a parent dies suddenly and unexpectedly, leaving one with responsibility one feels unprepared to assume.”
He glared at her. “Nonsense, what can you know about it?”
“Little perhaps about such a death, but I know a good deal about responsibility, sir, and about having it thrust upon one before one is ready to assume its burden.”
He opened his mouth, then shut it.
She waited.
He grimaced. “I suppose you do at that, and I ought not to have snapped at you, but you don’t dislike your responsibilities, Miss Adlam. Indeed, you assume more of them than you need assume because—for some reason I have yet to fathom—you enjoy them.”
If he only knew, she thought. But she would not let her guard down with him again, not so much so, at all events, as to tell him he was wrong to believe her so sure of herself. She was nothing of the kind, but since she could not say so, she said instead, “One does what one must, sir. We all must accept what is given us in life. A child may be forgiven for running from his responsibilities, but it is a measure of maturity that an adult knows when he must face up to them.”
He flushed angrily, and she realized at once that in her attempt to avoid betraying herself, she had snatched from her aunt’s long list of maxims merely for something intelligent to say. That her choice had been unfortunate was perfectly clear, but whatever he might have said in response she would not know, for they were interrupted even as he opened his mouth to speak.
“Here you are, you two!” Theo cried, coming toward them with Dawlish and Vyne a short distance behind her. “Sir Richard has said it is time for us to depart, Felicia, if we are to have time to dress and dine before Aunt Augusta arrives to take us to the opera tonight. He also says he does not like the opera, Crawley, so I hope you mean to attend. It will be very flat if no one we know is there. Afterward, of course, we will go on to Lady Thomond’s rout, even if some people think we will not get enough sleep if we do. Only think how dreadful if we discover that our invitations are more of those awful forgeries!”
Felicia saw that Crawley had himself in hand again long before Theo stopped chattering, so she was not surprised when he said matter-of-factly, “I suggest that you look in today’s Times for a published guest list for the marchioness’s rout. I believe I saw one or two such lists in the morning papers.”
“Oh, what a good idea!” Theo exclaimed. She went on chattering, drawing Dawlish into the conversation from time to time until they were outside again, when Dawlish took his leave. Then Theo devoted herself wholly to Crawley, much, Felicia realized, as if to underscore his attentiveness for someone else’s benefit. Vyne did not comment. He had fallen into a brown study, leaving Felicia alone with her thoughts until they reached Park Lane, where the gentlemen bade them good day.
“Let us go and look at the paper,” Theo said. “I doubt it is necessary, of course, for Aunt Augusta has often mentioned how well she knows Lady Thomond, so we must have been invited.”
The list was there, and to be sure, their names were on it, but a moment later, Theo cried, “Felicia, no one else we know is on this list! Oh, how I wish now that we had never sent our acceptances, for Aunt Augusta will insist that we go, and from what I see here, all the marchioness’s guests are in their dotage except you and me. How dreary it will be!”
Her dismay was augmented an hour later when she received a message from Miss Crawley. “Only listen to this,” she exclaimed, rushing into Felicia’s bedchamber, where she was attending to her toilette for the evening ahead.
“What is it, dear? You are not dressed yet, and you really must not keep Aunt Augusta waiting, for you know she does not like to be late to the theater or the opera.”
“No, I know, and I will hurry. But, Felicia, Belinda and Caroline Oakley both received invitations to Lady Thomond’s rout. I was sure they had done so, but they must have been forged, and Belinda writes that Lady Dacres and Mrs. Falworthy have decided to get up an impromptu gathering at Dacres House for a number of friends they know who also received fake invitations. She begs us to go to their party instead of to Lady Thomond’s. Oh, do say we may! It will be much more amusing, I am sure of it.”
“It may well be,” Felicia said calmly, “but we cannot go, Theo. It would be very bad manners to miss the marchioness’s rout merely because she did not invite our friends. You may be certain Aunt Augusta will insist upon it even if I did not.”
Lady Augusta did insist; however, she also pointed out that there was no particular reason that they could not go on to Lady Dacres’s party afterward. “For you know, my dears,” she said comfortably as they settled themselves in the carriage that evening, “one goes to a rout only long enough to see and be seen. Then one is expected to go on to other entertainments. Indeed, since we are to go to the opera first, where the performance begins at seven, all our friends may have left Thomond House before we arrive. We need not stay long, but they who neglect old friends for new ones are rightly served when they lose both.”
“Well, they are your old friends, not ours,” Theo said.
Felicia felt the familiar clenching sensation in her stomach and hoped her aunt and sister would not soon be at daggers drawn, but for once she could think of nothing to say to divert them. Her thoughts had flown ahead to the opera house, where she wondered if they would see anyone they knew, who might decide to accompany them to Lady Thomond’s, even though his name was not on the guest list. He might decide to take his chance, knowing that rarely was an eligible gentleman turned away from any party, and she wanted very much to see if he was still angry with her.
The magnificent theater on the west side of the Haymarket was brightly lit and crowded with music lovers. When they had taken their seats in Lady Augusta’s box in the second tier, Felicia opened her fan and, waving it gently before her, looked as casually as possible around the five tiers of elegantly ornamented boxes, the spacious pit, and the ample gallery. Although she saw several persons she knew, she did not see the one tall, broad-shouldered figure for whom she searched.
“What a pity,” Lady Augusta said suddenly, “that dancing has begun so greatly to prevail here as to threaten to triumph over the more refined and noble art of music. Nowadays, to allow for the performance of the ballets, operas which originally consisted of three acts have been reduced to two, and a ballet is often extended to even greater length than any act of the opera.”
“But just think of the pleasure the opera dancers give to the audience,” declared a familiar male voice behind them.
Felicia turned around more quickly than dignity warranted and dropped her fan. The one place she had not expected to see Crawley that evening was in Lady Augusta’s box. He bowed over her ladyship’s hand with his customary aplomb, then with warm smile for Felicia, he picked up her fan and gave it back to her before greeting Theo.
“Thank you,” Felicia murmured.
Theo laughed. “Oh, how glad I am to see you, sir! But you are very naughty to talk about opera dancers to Aunt Augusta, is he not, ma’am?”
“Very naughty,” she agreed, looking sharply at Felicia, then back at Crawley to add, “We would be grateful to have your company, sir. You will see your opera dancers much better from this box than from the pit, which I daresay, is the sort of ticket you purchased. As you see, Major Brinksby failed me tonight, and I do like to have a gentleman escort, for one simply cannot depend upon the lower orders to keep to their places. Why, not long ago, some villain actually leapt from box to box, pulling young ladies’ hair and making a nuisance of
himself.”
Crawley chuckled. “I would be glad to take a seat here, ma’am, since you are so kind.”
Theo said instantly, “Sit by me, sir, so you can explain the Italian to me if I become confused.”
Felicia was glad when he obeyed. Clearly he was no longer angry with her, but there would be no chance to talk much before the interval, and to be sitting silently beside him all that time would be most uncomfortable. The performance began soon after that; however, when the interval came, Theo continued to monopolize his attention, and Crawley made no effort to check her. But at last it was over, and Lady Augusta seemed to assume that he would continue to accompany them to the Marquess of Thomond’s great house in Berkeley Square. He did not decline.
The carriage delivered them, and they went inside to discover their old friend Mr. Townshend of Bow Street standing guard in the hall. He nodded. “Don’t have to cast my gazers over your card, ma’am,” he said. “Saw the name on the list and remembered you very well, indeed. How d’ye do, young ladies.”
He made no objection to Crawley’s presence, clearly assuming that as part of Lady Augusta’s party, he had a proper invitation, but nodding toward a bench near the side wall, where two well-dressed ladies sat looking miserable, he shook his head and said, “Had to send for their carriage, they did. Most inconvenient for all, I say it is. Here we have two pleasant-spoken ladies coming up to the door as nice as you please, with an invite that wasn’t sent them by her ladyship. Can’t have that, I told them, but the older one wailed that their carriage had already drove off, which of course they do, you know. Expected of ’em, ain’t it? Can’t just wait at the curbstone. So I says we’ll send for it and they can wait here. Couldn’t put them into the street, now could I?”
Felicia, glancing at the two, was grateful that guest lists were now being printed in the Times, and made a mental note to insist that her aunt hand theirs in to be published. That there might be any awkwardness attached to such an act did not occur to her until they had greeted Lady Thomond and Lady Augusta informed her of the unfortunate pair awaiting their carriage in the hall.
“Oh, isn’t that too bad,” her ladyship said, “and it just goes to show that allowing one’s guest list to be published is not worth the time and trouble to do so. It is so delicate a matter, Augusta. You cannot imagine!”
Felicia, greeted in turn, said, “My aunt is arranging a ball for my sister, ma’am. Pray tell us why printing the guest list is such a delicate matter. We thought it an excellent idea.”
The marchioness laughed. “You can have no notion, my dear. We are not commoners, after all, that we must peek and preen over who agrees to attend our parties. In the usual way of things, one counts one’s replies or has one’s secretary count them, and a guest list is made up from the replies, for no one wishes to advertise that she has invited the Duke and Duchess of Langshire unless they have accepted the invitation. Otherwise our enemies choose to believe such names are put down to augment our importance and take great delight in commiserating with us if an invitation appears to have been rebuffed.”
“But surely, ma’am—”
“Oh, now do not say that one has only to print the list of acceptances, for then what happens if the duke and duchess decide to come and have not, for some reason or other, written to accept? Not that they would do such a thing, but few young men these days remember to reply at all, you know. So what is one to do? I told Townshend that he should admit all single gentlemen unless he knew they were villains, and ask to see invitations from anyone else whose name was not on the list, unless they were persons of rank who are known to him. As I said, very awkward.”
Lady Augusta said firmly, “I do not believe in allowing one’s name to appear in a common newspaper, except when one is born, marries, or dies, and that is all there is about it. Advertising one’s guests—and I hope you will forgive my saying this,” she told the marchioness, “I find common and distasteful. We shall have Townshend, of course, and that will simply have to do. Lovely party. Come girls, we must mingle. Oh, and you too, of course, Crawley. Mind that lady’s train, Felicity. You nearly stepped upon it.”
Crawley’s hand caught her arm at nearly the same moment that Lady Augusta spoke, and she looked at him gratefully. “I must have been air-dreaming. Thank you.” She added quickly, “I’m sorry I displeased you this afternoon.”
He let Theo pass them before he drew her into a quiet corner and said, “I should like myself better if I could say you did not displease me in the slightest, but the fact is you put me in a temper and made me feel ashamed of myself all at the same time. I came tonight purposely to tell you that you had every right to say what you did to me. My friends have all said much the same things to me, and I was a villain to take snuff over it when you echoed them. Perhaps I shall make more of an effort now to put my affairs in order.”
“Will you, sir?” She did not believe him for a minute, but she was grateful that he had made the effort to apologize.
He smiled wryly. “I make no rash promises. Has Theo told you she and Dickon had a tiff this afternoon at Queen’s House?”
Felicia shook her head.
“Dawlish told me. She tried to tease Dickon into agreeing to let her look at her portrait, now that he has begun to paint in earnest. He told her not even to think about it, that she would not see it until it was finished. I’m afraid she intends to try her hand at outwitting him.”
“She does,” Felicia said, accepting the change of topic since she saw nothing to be gained by pressing him for any promises that he might fail to keep. “She told me at the outset that he could not keep her from seeing her portrait.”
“I’d advise you to talk her out of trying anything foolish,” Crawley said. “To say that Dickon would be displeased is to put it mildly. It would send him into a flaming rage.”
“That would be too bad, sir, but I do not know how you think I might prevent such a thing. I do not carry so much influence with my sister as you seem to think.”
“Then I’d advise you to increase your influence,” he retorted.
Felicia bit back the response she would have liked to make, since even the thought of taking him to task in so public a place made her feel a little sick; but her pleasure in his company dimmed and she found herself wishing he would not so casually advise her in matters he knew so little about, particularly when he so consistently scorned to take advice from anyone. Her displeasure lasted only until they were ready to depart for Lady Dacres’s party, however, altering without warning to disappointment when Crawley said a previous engagement prevented him from accompanying them to Dacres House.
10
CRAWLEY’S APPOINTMENT WAS at Langshire House. He had sent a hasty message late that afternoon to his friend, the Marquess of Thorne, asking him to meet him at the ducal mansion, because he wanted advice and did not want to be interrupted.
The tall, dark-haired marquess greeted him with a handshake and a laugh. “You look mighty serious, Ned, and when your man ran me to earth at my solicitor’s, he said he had been commanded to search the whole town if necessary, beginning with the clubs. I’ve not set foot in Brooks’s above twice since I arrived, I’m afraid, for I’ve been commanded to keep to business this trip, and if I don’t get home soon, Gillian will be suspecting opera dancers at the least. So tell me what the devil’s amiss, or should I just ask how much money you need and save us some time?”
“Nothing’s amiss, Josh, and I don’t want money, though I don’t blame you in the least for thinking I do. In point of fact, I think I am beginning to grow up, and I’m finding the experience a painful one.”
“I remember that feeling,” Thorne said with a wry grimace. “Come and tell me all about it.”
They adjourned to his comfortable sitting room, where Crawley, far from telling him all about it, found it difficult to tell him anything other than that he had decided to look into finding a steward whom he might trust.
“Thought you might help me, Josh. Y
ou must have told me a hundred times that if I took the reins at Longworth, I should be able to re-establish my fortune. Well, I want to do just that, but I’m not such a fool as to think I can do it alone, and my last man was a scoundrel of the first order. I need someone I can trust to show me how to go on.”
“I know just the fellow,” Thorne said. “My father’s bailiff has a son who’s been helping him, but the lad would like to find a position of his own. Honest as a saint, with a lot in his brain box to make him useful. I’ll send a message to Langshire, if you like, telling him to meet you at Longworth straightaway.”
“I’m not going to Longworth yet,” Crawley said, “but I’ll write my people there and tell them to expect your man. He can learn all he needs to know by examining the records and looking the place over. I can’t tell him much, after all.”
Thorne frowned “But you can’t just send a man to do the work without any supervision, Ned. I thought you said you were ready to attend to business.”
Crawley felt warmth in his cheeks but managed to keep his tone even as he said, “I do mean to do so, but I can’t leave London just yet. I have matters to attend to here; moreover, as I told you, I doubt there is anything I could do to help the lad. Prefer to give him sufficient time first to take his measure of the problem.”
Thorne sighed. “Very well, I’ll send for young Penning. That’s his name, Joseph Penning. You’ll need to write a letter of authorization for him to take to Longworth, so they’ll know he is the right man, and you must also send the same authorization to whomever is looking out for your affairs now, so that Penning will be welcomed when he arrives. Do not forget.” He shook his head, looking stern. “I fear you have not grown up quite as much as you think you have, Ned.”
