Ridiculous

by D. L. Carter

  “Good God,” murmured Millicent. “You could lose my house in Bath in this one room.”

  Mr. Simpson, a tall, dark-haired, skeletally thin young gentleman, whose appearance was more suited to the villain of some farce than a duke's man of business, paused at Millicent's words casting a worried glance toward the duke. Shoffer did no more than laugh at his friend’s outcry.

  “Indeed, Mr. North, and this is not the greatest nor the least of my estates, merely my favorite.”

  Shaking her head Millicent continued her exploration. “Do you not find yourself becoming exhausted trudging from one end of the room to the other? Perhaps you ride a horse from the dining room to your bedchamber.”

  “Ridiculous man, do sit down. I wish to hear your plan for Beth. Have you an opinion?”

  “Not a one. I hope to have some time with Lady Beth to hear her thoughts.”

  “Very well, I shall leave it to your judgment. Only please, encourage Beth to take me into her confidence. It was disheartening in the extreme to see her become so withdrawn and have her refuse to discuss the matter with me.”

  “I am certain she already knows she can trust you,” said Millicent diplomatically.

  But Shoffer only shook his head.

  Mr. Simpson cleared his throat and approached the duke. If he was surprised to find the duke taking such a common man as Millicent pretended to be into his confidence about his sister, Mr. Simpson was too well-trained to permit it to show. Instead, he offered a sheet of paper for the duke's examination.

  “I have a list of houses that are vacant for the season, and I have included some that are already rented, that you might prefer for Mr. North. I can always contact the families and offer them a different house.”

  “That was quick,” said Millicent. “I have but this moment told you of my need. Have you special horses that can fly between here and London in an instant?”

  “Fool,” said Shoffer without heat and began examining the list. “These are but a few of my London properties. I lease them out without the renters being aware that they are mine. I would not like for strangers to lord it over their neighbors that they reside in one of the Duke of Trolenfield's properties.”

  “Oh, of course,” said Millicent, preening. “How rude.”

  Shoffer sighed and continued reading. “Have you any suggestions, Simpson?”

  “I hardly know.”

  Simpson glanced back and forth between the duke and Millicent, uncertain how to respond until Millicent took pity on the man.

  “Do not judge me by my boots, Mr. Simpson, I am hardly poor. My annual income may not match that of His Grace's, but I am in no pain. However, the two cousins I have to set loose upon the ton have minimal dowries. I may think of some way to improve their lot, but it cannot be counted on. Does this information help?”

  Before the secretary could answer, Shoffer added, “I should like it if Mr. North is not too far from my own London residence. I expect his cousins and my sister to be much in each other's company.”

  “That narrows it down to these three, Your Grace.”

  Simpson began listing the various rooms and size of each house with the duke arguing against each. Millicent left it to the two of them to settle the matter only paying attention when actual rents were discussed. Her first shocked outcry was met with disdain by both men.

  “These are London rents,” said Simpson by way of explanation.

  “Oh. Well.” Millicent shrugged. “If it is London rent, what can I be complaining about? I shall pay it with London pounds!”

  “This one,” said Shoffer with finality. “It is walking distance from my home, and well situated with regard to entertainments that you can assume you, too, will be invited.”

  “As Your Grace commands,” said Millicent, wincing when they showed her the price.

  “If it is beyond your purse…” began Simpson.

  “Do not let him fool you,” said Shoffer. “His false economies in his dress will be corrected in London. Mr. North's purse can well stand it.”

  “As you wish, Your Grace.”

  Millicent was considering how she might further tease the duke when there was a deferential knock on the door and Forsythe entered.

  “Your Grace? Lady Elizabeth has issued an invitation for Mr. North to join her in the music room?”

  The confusion the butler experienced at delivering such an improper invitation was writ large on his face. Shoffer surprised him by not objecting.

  “Excellent. Mr. North, if you would be so kind?”

  “Your servant.” Millicent bowed and rose.

  “We shall work on the rental agreement while you are busy with Beth.” Shoffer waved Mr. Simpson toward the great desk. “Forsythe? Have Beth's maid descend and keep them company. Mr. North, I expect a full report!”

  Millicent nodded and followed the confused butler across the hall, down side corridors and, eventually, to a room containing a pianoforte and a large harp arranged upon a stage before several uncomfortable chairs. Lady Beth was seated on a window seat in the shadowed end of the chamber staring out into the garden.

  “Lady Beth,” Millicent made her leg and walked a few steps into the room. Forsythe pointedly flung the double doors open and stood in them until the maid arrived and settled herself on a chair near the door.

  Lady Beth glanced over long enough for Millicent to see the tracks of recently shed tears, then away.

  “Oh, dear.” Instead of crossing to sit beside the girl, Millicent went to the stage and began running scales up and down the pianoforte keyboard.

  Obviously, Shoffer's prayer that the dowager exercise restraint had not been granted. Poor Lady Beth looked as if she had been on the receiving end of a severe scolding. All undeserved, Millicent was certain. She blushed for her own part in angering the dowager. As Mr. North, she had offered considerable disrespect to the old woman – in front of witnesses, no less, and she had – he had – been engaged in teaching the previously obedient Lady Elizabeth to consider her own opinions and wishes. It was surprising that the dowager had not gathered up the servants to run Mr. North out of the house by now.

  Instead the dowager had chosen Lady Beth as her victim.

  Millicent drifted from playing scales to a sprightly country dance tune.

  “Play something softer, please, Mr. North,” said Lady Beth. “I am not in the mood for a jig.”

  “Are you not? It seems to me that is just the time to play one.”

  “Not today.” Beth's voice was wistful and vague.

  “Can you tell me what is amiss?”

  “No.”

  “Or your brother, perhaps?”

  Beth shook her head, hard. “No. Not him.”

  “This will not do, Lady Beth. How am I to retain your brother's friendship if you do not speak to me?”

  “He likes you well enough for yourself alone,” said Beth in such a die-away tone that Millicent stopped playing.

  “You begin to worry me,” said Millicent. “Come. I must have you smile.”

  Beth leaned further back into the window embrasure. “I have changed my mind about meeting with you this afternoon. I think I would prefer to be alone with my thoughts. Just for today, Mr. North, if you would be so kind.”

  “This is unlike you, Lady Beth. Only this morning…”

  “That was this morning,” said Beth with more sharpness than Millicent had ever heard in her voice. Millicent would have obeyed, except the strength leaked from Beth's voice and Millicent could hear the barely restrained tears. “I am not fit company for anyone at all.”

  “This will not do. Come now,” said Millicent, turning around on the piano stool. “I shall not give over until I have made you laugh. I am uncertain at this time if you have not lost all your teeth since last we met in Wales. Come now, laugh and show me.”

  “Please, Mr. North. I am tired of company today.”

  Millicent's fingers flickered over the keyboard, a complicated trill of notes that ended with a delibe
rately discordant chord. She tossed her short hair, raising her hands dramatically and slashed and bashed a random set of notes.

  “This is my own composition,” she cried over the racket. “I have dedicated it to King George. Do you think he will like it?” She crashed her hands down a series of dark and minor chords. “It is meant to reflect his lightness of spirit and joyous reign.”

  Beth's head came up and she stared at Millicent. “You must be in jest!”

  “Of course. Am I not always?” Millicent tried to raise an eyebrow as she had seen Shoffer do to good effect. Failing, Millicent wiggled her eyebrows instead, then put both hands behind them and wiggled her ears.

  Beth's bosom heaved and she dropped her fan to press both hands to her mouth. Millicent leapt to her feet and spun around, her cut away coat tails flying before settling again, trilling in the upper registers.

  “And this is to represent the pomp and dignity of His person.” She twinkled the highest notes.

  Beth's eyes shone with unshed tears of laughter, yet she made a great effort not to permit her lips to move.

  Outside in the corridor a small group of maids and footmen roared in laughter at Millicent's posturing. Helpless in the face of their combined mirth, Beth collapsed against the cushions and gasped out giggles.

  “What is the meaning of this uproar?” asked a hard, angry voice.

  Beth stopped laughing and came upright, stiff and trembling in her seat. The servants scattered revealing the Duchess of Trolenfield, regal in her anger. Millicent rose to her feet and bowed.

  “Your Grace. I was merely attempting to entertain her ladyship,” said Millicent.

  “You dare?” The Duchess took two steps into the room and glared at Millicent through her lorgnette. “The duke will have something to say when he finds you have been alone with his sister, you encroaching mushroom…”

  “Yes,” said Shoffer from the doorway with a folder in his hands. “He will say thank you, since he has brought laughter to my sister's lips.”

  “A lady,” declared the Duchess, “shows her amusement by the merest upturning of the corner of her mouth, and then but rarely. She does not roar like a doxy in a bawdy house.”

  Beth stiffened further and fresh tears came to her eyes, this time of distress. Shoffer hurried across to sit beside her.

  “Dear Beth. There is nothing wrong with laughter, I promise you.”

  Millicent came to attention beside the pianoforte and placed a puzzled expression on her face, tapping her lower lip with her finger. From the look on her face, Lady Philomena was not finished with her scold. A distraction was necessary.

  “I must enquire, Your Grace,” asked Millicent with careful courtesy, “how is it you know how a doxy laughs in a bawdy house?”

  The lorgnette fell from the dowager's limp fingers to dangle by its brocade ribbon.

  “What did you say to me?” she demanded.

  “It is a perfectly reasonable question,” replied Millicent innocently. “Since it is you who made the comparison. To be so precise in your description it can only be assumed that you speak from your own knowledge.”

  Beth dove immediately for the protection of her fan and raised it to cover her whole face while Shoffer collapsed, laughing and clutching his chest.

  Lady Philomena's mouth worked and it was with great difficulty that she was able to force out words.

  “Will you stand there and laugh at that insult?” she demanded of the duke.

  Shoffer wiped tears from his eyes and faced his grandmother. “You are the one who created the circumstances of the question, Your Grace.”

  “You would stand there and permit me to be insulted by that … that … interloper? Did you realize he and your sister were all alone in this room? How do you know he has not been trying to engage your sister’s affection?”

  “I doubt that very much,” said Shoffer. “And besides, Beth's maid was present the entire time. As it happens, I recruited Mr. North to the task of aiding my sister become more comfortable in company. She is out now, but does not speak in the presence of strangers. I have noticed that she holds whole conversations with him and is even charming and witty with his encouragement.”

  “She should never be in his company! I have taught her behavior appropriate to her station. Since she will outrank those she is in company with, she will have nothing to say to them, nor they to her.”

  “You have taught her to be silent,” said Shoffer. “To be withdrawn and unhappy. I would prefer that she is able to speak confidently and with proper condescension to all she meets.”

  “She knows very well how to do that.”

  “By saying nothing at all? No. That is not right. The manner you have forced upon her does not help her to make friends.”

  “Friends!” The Duchess's mouth pinched at the thought. “Who is there who would presume to attach himself to her regard? I have introduced her to one or two ladies whose rank is not so far below hers with whom conversation would not be a disgrace.”

  Millicent raised her eyebrows at that and glanced toward the silent Beth. The fan descended and the unhappy girl glanced toward her brother in appeal.

  “And how, pray, since she cannot speak to anyone, is she to engage the affections of a gentleman?” demanded Shoffer. “Or have you decided, since there are no ranks above her save prince and king, she will remain unmarried?”

  Beth gave a soft little whimper at that which led Millicent to suspect the girl had met the mad King and the fat Prince Regent – both of whom were already married.

  “She is to marry the Duc of Attelweir,” declared the dowager.

  Beth gasped and collapsed against Shoffer whose expression was equally horrified.

  “That old roué !” cried Shoffer. “Are you mad? He is older than my father was when he died.”

  Millicent swallowed a giggle and forced herself to compose her face when the duchess shot her a quelling glance.

  “He is the only man whose rank is equal to her own. Any other match would be a disgrace. As it happens, Duc Attelweir agrees with me and has given me to understand that he would not be adverse to the match.”

  “I will not permit it,” cried Shoffer, to his sister's obvious relief. “I do not care what you have said to him, nor he to you, but that marriage would be a misalliance of the worse sort. One of temperament and morality. Attelweir is the sort of man I would not acknowledge should I meet him on the street.”

  “You best prepare to acknowledge him, for he is coming here tomorrow.”

  Beth gasped, and burst into tears.

  Chapter Seven

  “Here? I think not.” Shoffer tightened his grip on his sister's hand and glared across the room at the dowager. “I am not in expectation of a visit from Attelweir.”

  The dowager raised her head and attempted to stare him down, but Shoffer would not be cowed.

  “I issued the invitation. Since you indicated that you were settled here for the remainder of the summer, I thought it would be pleasant to host our own house party. I contacted some select personages, and of course, they all accepted.” The dowager glanced briefly toward where Millicent stood. “You should know I have ordered your belongings moved. The room you were issued is far above your station. Since higher ranking personages will be arriving tomorrow, you will be placed in a guest chamber suitable to your status.”

  “Did you move me to the stables or the piggery, Your Grace?” inquired Millicent, which prompted a snort from Lady Beth even in her distress.

  Before the dowager could answer, Shoffer moved between them.

  “By what right do you invite someone I despise to my house?”

  “I was not aware of your displeasure. However, it was my house before yours. Before you were even born!” The dowager flashed a look toward Millicent and the footman who waited near the door. “We should not discuss family matters before staff and other such.”

  “Such?” muttered Millicent. “Am I such? How very odd that I did not know it.”
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  “Since you have seen fit to invite your friends here, so be it,” said Shoffer. “Beth and I will leave tomorrow, early. Mr. North, I promised you two weeks, but I know you will understand. I'm certain your family will be happy to see you sooner. Do not worry about transportation. I shall be happy to take you up in our equipage and convey you to Bath.”

  “You cannot do that!” cried the dowager. “You cannot offend your guests by departing as they arrive.”

  “Your guests, Grandmother. Yours. Not mine by any measure. No doubt, in addition to Attelweir, you have included others of your generation, the ancient females who have lectured Beth on her behavior and provided her with no friendship. It is unlikely that you have invited anyone near her age,” Shoffer's eyes narrowed, “unless you have included some chit you intend to throw at me.”

  At the dowager’s guilty start, Shoffer shook his head.

  “No, Grandmother, this will not do. I will not let you bind me with good manners into spending time with people I find repugnant. When they arrive they will be told that if they expected to spend time with myself or Beth, it was a misunderstanding on their part. Or you may tell them whatever you wish, but I have no intention of remaining in this house with them.” Turning to Beth and Millicent he bowed. “If you will do me the honor of accompanying me, Beth, North, I believe we shall find the library a more congenial place to continue our conversation.”

  “Your servant,” said Millicent to Shoffer and hastened to Beth's side. With Shoffer to one side and Millicent guarding the other, Beth was escorted past her grandmother and out of the room.

  The library was a huge chamber filled with comfortable appearing chairs, well lit by floor to ceiling French windows in the daytime, and by two fireplaces and candelabra at night, but strangely lacking in books. Aside from one shelf of books bound in exactly the same shade of green leather and a scattering of London papers, there was nothing to read in the room. Millicent was not permitted to be distracted by this oddity for long. Beth claimed her attention immediately.

  “Mr. North, I cannot marry him,” she cried, seizing Millicent by her shirt front. “You must help me.”