by Diane Farr
Kilverton could scarcely believe his ears. “Have you run mad?” he demanded. “Serena is in no danger of finding herself on the shelf! And as for the Misses Campbell, they are nieces of Lady Lynwood. They do not require Serena’s sponsorship to achieve the entrée to the polite world.”
Lady Elizabeth’s sneer became marked. “And who is Lady Lynwood, pray? The daughter of a mere knight! I understand Mr. Campbell is nobody at all—a gentleman farmer, in fact! Not even a fortune to recommend him! You are mistaken in thinking the Campbells have the entrée anywhere they choose. Your precious Lady Lynwood hasn’t crossed the Dassinghurst threshold since her husband died, and you wouldn’t have seen her there tonight if not for your sister’s misguided efforts.”
“You are singularly well-informed, Elizabeth,” said Kilverton grimly. “Do you have a taste for gossip? I would not have believed it.”
Elizabeth gasped. “Gossip! By no means! I have naturally made it my business to discover what I could about the bosom friend of one who will be a near relation of mine. I would greatly dislike to see my sister-in-law drawn into a set of company I believe to be beneath her.”
“If that is so,” remarked Kilverton dryly, “I cannot conceive why you provoked her into including those girls in my driving party tomorrow.”
“In what way did I provoke her?”
“By announcing you had taken it upon yourself to invite Sir Egbert Kilverton, Serena’s least favorite cousin! As you apparently made it your business to invite people on my behalf, Serena felt she could do so as well. Needless to say, she made a point of inviting the very people she believed you would least enjoy.”
At this, Lady Elizabeth’s fury betrayed her into an unwise speech. “Sir Egbert Kilverton is a most respectable man! A man of sober judgment and high principles! I daresay he will be the only man present tomorrow who could be described as such! Sir Egbert will add a welcome note of propriety to a party which, I fear, will otherwise prove to be extremely rackety.”
The carriage drew up before His Grace of Arnsford’s elegant town house. As his coachman threw open the door, Kilverton had the last word. “A defense of Sir Egbert is not a defense of your conduct in inviting him, Elizabeth. I’ll thank you not to meddle with my rackety parties in future—and I’ll take care not to include you in them. Good night!”
Elizabeth swept out of the carriage without another word, and Kilverton signaled the coachman to drive on. He was deeply perturbed by this exchange with his fiancée. It seemed his affianced wife, among her many sterling qualities, possessed a snobbery and meanness of spirit that he had not glimpsed in her before. Coupled with her desire to control those around her, her lack of humor, and an apparently deep-seated belief in her own infallibility, these were qualities which Kilverton foresaw could make his future life miserable indeed. The prospect of marrying Lady Elizabeth, which he had heretofore contemplated with satisfaction, suddenly struck dismay into his heart. Odd that he had never been conscious of these misgivings before tonight.
He spent the rest of his short journey home in trying not to think that there might be other reasons for this new reluctance to embark upon married life with Lady Elizabeth. No, the root of his unhappiness must surely be these revelations about Elizabeth’s temperament and character—not this sudden, irrational dissatisfaction with the color of her hair, or this vague wish that she were not so dull.
Strange! Why had it not occurred to him before? Elizabeth was actually a rather boring person. He found himself shuddering at the thought of spending his life with a woman who never put a foot wrong, never breached her own strict code of behavior—and never made him laugh.
Chapter VIII
The day of Lord Kilverton’s driving party dawned bright and fair, dashing Caitlin’s hopes that the excursion might be postponed. She supposed it would be cowardly to cry off from Lord Kilverton’s projected expedition to Richmond. But she did wish she had had the presence of mind to refuse when Serena issued her artless invitation. How disastrous it would be for her to court Lord Kilverton’s company! She turned quite pink with embarrassment just imagining it. What was she to say to the man? How could she defuse the situation so he would not feel he had an advantage over her? It was dismally clear to her that breaking the code of propriety carried its own penalty; one then had no guide for how to deal with the consequences.
But (she reminded herself) since he was Serena’s brother, there was no help for it. She must, perforce, become acquainted with Lord Kilverton. She must overcome the unfamiliar and alarming emotions churning within her at the prospect, and steel herself to remain unaffected by his disturbing presence.
What was the matter with her? She was startled and confused by the rush of feelings that set her restlessly pacing in her bedroom and robbed her of her appetite at breakfast. Certainly embarrassment and chagrin were enough to explain the panicky sensation she felt, but how to explain the strange exhilaration that came over her at the prospect of seeing Richard Kilverton again? How to explain the reckless and giddy excitement underlying her panic? Wherefore this compulsion to dress with extra care this morning?
She pushed the unwelcome thoughts aside and dealt sternly with the only emotion she recognized in herself that made sense—embarrassment, pure and simple, at having to publicly face a man who had kissed her against her will.
I am being stupidly missish! she chided herself. It was my own fault for walking home from that party alone, and it is absurd to fret over the consequences now. It was a meaningless little encounter which I would do better to forget, as no doubt Lord Kilverton has done. Or would, she amended (recalling certain portions of the previous evening which proved he had obviously not forgotten), if my blushes weren’t keeping the memory fresh! As he is Serena’s brother, I can neither cut his acquaintance nor become tongue-tied every time I am in his company. I may as well start sooner than later; today will be a very good opportunity to become accustomed to treating him just as I would anyone else. However much it goes against the grain, I must carry this off with a high hand! If I behave as if our first meeting was an unremarkable occurrence, he will very soon forget about it and we may be friends.
With this admirable resolve, she eventually departed for Richmond feeling tolerably composed. Most of the party had already assembled when they stopped by Lynwood House to take up Caitlin and Emily. The Campbell girls made a charming picture in matching sprig muslin, Caitlin in green and white and Emily in pink and white, with chip straw hats, fluttering ribbons, and dainty parasols. Lord Kilverton, in a very natty driving coat, was driving Lady Elizabeth in his curricle behind a gorgeous pair of matched bays. Serena, quite dashing in a blue velvet habit, was riding her lovely little mare, Nellie. Kilverton had secured his mother’s barouche to transport the rest of the party. Lord Kilverton’s friend, Mr. Montague, noticeably brightened when the Campbell sisters joined the party. He fairly leaped out of Lady Selcroft’s barouche to make their acquaintance.
Caitlin was disappointed that Serena would not ride with her and Emily in the barouche, but when it became apparent that Captain Talgarth was riding, Serena’s reasons for choosing Nellie over the barouche were obvious to Caitlin. It was clear that since Serena’s invitation to the Campbell girls had increased the party by two, two persons would now need to ride—and Serena had carefully arranged who those two persons would be.
Captain Philip Talgarth was an excessively handsome young man. He made an imposing figure in the saddle. His blond hair gleamed in the sunlight; with his military bearing and dashing mustache he looked every inch the conquering hero. Caitlin was amused to see Serena so dazzled. From what she had observed, Lady Serena was being hotly pursued by several extremely eligible young men (in addition to several not-so-eligible fortune hunters), and had been kindly, but firmly, discouraging them all. Caitlin wondered how long her friend had known Captain Talgarth, and if he was the reason she kept other young men at arms’ length.
Emily and Caitlin were gallantly handed into the barouche by M
r. Montague, who scrambled up after them with alacrity, and the party set off for its last stop, Sir Egbert Kilverton’s apartments in Courtfield Road. Mr. Montague protested against the necessity of adding Sir Egbert to the party at all. “Nothing could be more snug than our present company,” he declared, roguishly eyeing the Campbell girls seated opposite him in the barouche. “I am persuaded that adding to the party will only diminish our comfort. Miss Campbell, do you not agree with me? A fourth person in this barouche will be one too many.”
Emily blushed adorably, but Caitlin fell into the spirit of this at once, and replied with mock severity: “If the barouche becomes too crowded, Mr. Montague, you may ride on the box with the coachman.”
Mr. Montague sat up indignantly. “I? Ride on the box?” He gasped, apparently affronted. “My dear young lady, you cannot have considered! You would be left to the mercies of Sir Egbert Kilverton. I could not abandon you to such a fate.”
This sounded alarming. Emily looked as if she would gladly learn more about Sir Egbert prior to meeting him, but Caitlin, interestedly looking about her, was too busy noting the sights of London to attend further to Mr. Montague’s raillery. They were passing through parts of town she had not seen. “I never imagined anything could be so large and bewildering!” she exclaimed. “And how does one ever accustom oneself to so much noise?”
“My, sentiments exactly. But how is this? I thought you were unacquainted with Sir Egbert!” cried Mr. Montague outrageously. Serena and Captain Talgarth were riding close enough to overhear this sally, and Serena laughed aloud. As Mr. Montague was not above laughing at his own joke, their joined merriment and choked repetitions of “Large!” and “Bewildering!” and “So much noise!” drew the attention of several passers-by. Their laughter was infectious, and Caitlin bit her lip to contain her amusement, but Captain Talgarth and Emily turned shocked and reproachful eyes upon the pair.
“Lady Serena, I am sure you do not wish to laugh at someone else’s expense,” said Captain Talgarth quietly. This instantly silenced Serena and caused Mr. Montague to turn his laughter into a kind of cough. “And you forget, Mr. Montague, that several of us do not have the pleasure of Sir Egbert’s acquaintance and cannot share your joke.”
“Hm! Yes! Beg pardon, I’m sure,” muttered the abashed Mr. Montague, rolling an anguished eye toward his accomplice, Serena. Serena spiritedly came to his aid.
“You will share the joke soon enough, Captain Talgarth—if I am not mistaken, we are approaching my cousin’s residence. The pleasure, as you call it, of his acquaintance will immediately be followed by the pleasure of his company for the reminder of the day—ergo, farewell pleasure!”
Captain Talgarth looked very grave at this sample of Lady Serena’s wit, but when Sir Egbert Kilverton appeared and climbed ponderously into the barouche, Caitlin soon found herself in sympathy with Serena and Mr. Montague. Sir Egbert proved to be a stout and self-important young man of thirty or so, dressed meticulously, but extremely conservatively, in a style that made him appear older than his years and could not be said to flatter his girth. Seated beside the elegant Mr. Montague, Sir Egbert did not appear to advantage. Mr. Montague’s lithe frame and mobile, good-humored countenance made it possible for him to affect a rather dandified style of dress without appearing either ridiculous or effeminate. Lounging gracefully against the squabs, not a hair out of place, he made Sir Egbert appear even more stodgy than he otherwise would have.
Sir Egbert had grown up under the stigma (he felt) of having an unscrupulous and rake-hellish father, and determinedly sought to cultivate a reputation as far removed from Oswald Kilverton’s as possible. He had taken such pains, indeed, that although he was neither charming nor clever he had been knighted at the age of twenty-seven and was bidding fair to become the very image of respectability. This was all commendable, of course, but extremely dull, and Sir Egbert combined his dullness with a habit of monopolizing the conversation to paralyzing effect. This paralysis was occasionally enlivened by Sir Egbert’s flashes of unintentional humor, but as he became most comical whenever he was most in earnest, polite persons could not openly enjoy this aspect of his society.
It was not every day that Sir Egbert had the opportunity to show off his rather pedestrian knowledge to pretty girls. The presence of Mr. Montague was not felt by him to be an impediment. Edward Montague was nothing but a rattle and would benefit a great deal by learning to take an interest in something other than the cut of a coat or the fall of a pair of dice. Reveling in his captive audience, Sir Egbert held forth on a variety of uninteresting subjects during the drive to Richmond, lecturing the company in the barouche on the history and horticulture of various places they passed until Mr. Montague was frankly yawning and even Emily’s eyes glazed over. Caitlin, Emily, and Mr. Montague were very glad to escape when the carriages finally pulled to a halt.
The party disembarked before a pretty little inn where they were to partake of a light nuncheon prior to exploring Richmond Park. Mr. Montague handed the Campbell girls out of the barouche just as Lord Kilverton drove smartly up in his curricle. Lady Serena and Captain Talgarth had ridden ahead, and Serena hailed them cheerily from the door of the inn.
“I thought you had all been lost, and Captain Talgarth and I would have to explore the park without you!”
Lord Kilverton jumped lightly from the curricle and turned to hand Lady Elizabeth down. “You would have found it difficult, Serena, since I hold the tickets of admission,” he said shortly.
This was not like her usually sunny-tempered brother. Serena raised an eyebrow at Richard’s grim expression and the crease of annoyance between Lady Elizabeth’s brows, and drew her own fairly accurate conclusions. Her sharp eyes also noted that Lady Elizabeth did not touch her brother’s hand longer than was absolutely necessary to descend from the high perch she occupied, but although Elizabeth immediately walked away from Richard she pinned a smile to her lips when she turned to greet the others. Sir Egbert, unable to exit the barouche with any degree of agility, was still clambering down as he spoke.
“A charming spot, Kilverton! Charming!” he puffed. Reaching the ground at last, he beamed genially at the entire company. “A typical English country inn, what? Couldn’t be better! Just a little cold meat, and perhaps a smidgeon of cheese, and we shall all be set to rights.”
Lady Elizabeth glanced round the inn’s small yard with disfavor. “I hope the parlor may be found to be reasonably clean. I believe country inns are not kept as carefully as those in town.”
“I trust you will not insult the landlady by voicing your opinion within her hearing, Elizabeth.” Lord Kilverton’s tone was polite, but an uncomfortable pause ensued. Elizabeth shrugged, and, with a visible effort, forced herself to speak lightly.
“If the landlady knows how to make a decent pot of tea I shall own myself satisfied. I will be extremely glad to be out of the sun for half an hour. I do not know how it is, but strong sunlight always gives me the headache.”
“It is often so!” assented Sir Egbert earnestly, taking Lady Elizabeth’s arm and escorting her indoors with great solicitude. “I believe sunlight to be most injurious to ladies. You are too delicate, Lady Elizabeth, too fragile to withstand the ferocity of Apollo’s rays! I cannot think it advisable for ladies to be abroad in the strongest light of day. The heat is withering, the burning brightness far too powerful! No, no! They must be sheltered, they must be hidden from Phoebus’s wrath!”
“How fortunate that these particular ladies reside in England, and may safely count on gloomy weather six days out of seven,” cried Mr. Montague, escaping Sir Egbert’s monologue and the apparently grim mood of his host by entering the coolness of the inn with Emily on his arm.
Caitlin, overhearing, could not hide a smile at picturing a wrathful Phoebus overpowering Lady Elizabeth, and at the soft English sunlight being described so wildly, but as Sir Egbert seemed to be warming to his theme she took care to glace herself in the rear of the procession, hoping to escape
being seated near him. This placed her next to Lord Kilverton, whose forbidding expression had vanished in amusement at Sir Egbert’s unconscious absurdity. He turned to her and gravely offered his arm.
“Miss Campbell, allow me to remove you from Phoebus’s wrath!” he recommended, surprising a choke of laughter out of her.
“Pray remove me from your amiable cousin—as far as the table will allow!”
“How uncivil of you,” observed Lord Kilverton blandly, tucking Miss Campbell’s hand into his elbow. She tried very hard to read nothing into this action. He began slowly leading her to the parlor. “Do you make a habit of sneering at your host’s family members?” he inquired conversationally. “It will make severe inroads in your social life, you know.”
Caitlin bit her lip. “You cannot accuse me of sneering, Lord Kilverton, when I only described your cousin as amiable.”
“Yes, an amiable dolt!” he agreed. “No matter what encomium you used to describe him, I am not deceived. Its is useless to prevaricate, Miss Campbell—my cousin has failed to fascinate you. Despite his best efforts, you think him a pompous nodcock. Poor Egbert! He has his uses, of course. A half hour of his company makes you glad to take my arm.”
Caitlin stiffened and he grinned, covering her hand firmly with his own. “Now, how can you be offended when I have agreed with you so wholeheartedly? My cousin is an intolerable jaw-me-dead.”
“Your cousin, however, is a pattern-card of respectability,” she said severely, trying unsuccessfully to pull her hand out of Lord Kilverton’s grasp.
“Unlike myself, I take it? Pray do not remove your hand, Miss Campbell! Having achieved my ambition at last, I am loath to relinquish it.”
