The Lacemaker (Silver Linings Mysteries Book 2)

by Mary Kingswood

The valet laughed, not at all put out. “The usual it is, then, sir. With the diamond pin? That adds such a refined touch, I always think.”

  Charles conceded that the diamond pin would not render him unpalatably fashionable, and a very few minutes later was making his way downstairs to the saloon. His father was there, enjoying his sherry before dinner.

  “How is that horse of yours? Any heat in the leg?”

  “A little. Whitelaw has applied his usual poultice, but I might ask Davy from the farm to look at it in the morning.”

  “Good idea. No point taking chances.” He sipped his sherry, gazing at Charles over the rim of his glass, mischief in his eyes. “So we are to have the pleasure of your Miss Milburn’s company this evening, I understand?”

  “She is not my anything,” Charles said gloomily, pouring a sherry for himself.

  “Not yet, but she will be, in time. You must not look so miserable at the prospect, Charles. Smile a little, and charm her with those delicate little attentions that ladies love.”

  “Charm her? Is it not enough that I am prepared to marry such an ill-favoured woman without expecting me to simper and coo and fawn over her? Heaven knows I have never had the knack of flattering a woman.”

  His father smiled. “It is the easiest thing in the world. You have only to notice something about her that pleases you, and then you tell her so.”

  “But nothing about Miss Milburn pleases me,” Charles said, crossly. His father only laughed at him.

  Fortunately Mildred came in just then, to stiffen Charles’ backbone. There was nothing like the sight of Mildred’s dour countenance to throw Miss Milburn into a more favourable light. He could not be entirely displeased with the prospect of marriage to a linen draper’s daughter if it saved him from a lifetime of facing Mildred over the breakfast table.

  His step-mother arrived soon after, and Cousin Will, who was paying his twice-yearly visit. Will Leatham was a cheerful man of two and thirty, a clergyman who wore his piety lightly and was as good company as any Charles had known. He was a second cousin, and heir to the estate if Charles should fail to perpetuate the line. His step-mother was inclined to resent such encroachment, but Charles liked him and his visit was a blessed relief from the frustrations that beset him.

  The Narfields were the next to appear, a couple whose estate adjoined Starlingford to the north. Narfield was the younger son of a baron, a rôle which would normally see him making a career in the church or law, but he had inherited a great deal of money from a nabob uncle and assumed the life of a gentleman. Like all the Narfields, he had married well, acquiring the well-dowried daughter of a viscount for himself, while both his older brothers had married into ducal families.

  The carriage brought the remaining guests — Mr and Mrs Elkington from Bursham St John, Mr Barr from Bursham All Saints, and the Miss Milburns. Charles turned away from his conversation with Will and received the shock of his life. The dowdy, unprepossessing Miss Milburn he had encountered previously was gone, replaced by a young lady possessed of both style and an air that could only be described as self-assurance. He was no expert on female dress, but her gown seemed to him to be both elegant and restrained, not overly fashionable but very pretty. And flattering, he could not deny. He had thought her reed-thin, but her skirts flowed over attractive curves and the lacy frill at the top—

  “Oh, how charming,” murmured Will in a low tone beside him. “How perfectly delightful.”

  “She does look well, it is true,” Charles said, surprised, unable to tear his gaze away. While the butler announced the new arrivals, her eyes roved about the room. When they met Charles’s, they narrowed slightly. Still hostile, then.

  “Such perfection,” Will said. “Who is the dark-haired one? Her sister?”

  Belatedly, Charles realised they were admiring different women. “The one with dark hair and eyes is Miss Milburn. The fair one is her younger sister.”

  “Fair indeed! Fair of hair, and of face and form.”

  “But bird-witted,” Charles snapped. “Not a thought in her head apart from her wretched garden. I swear she talked unremittingly about rhubarb last time she was here.”

  “Rhubarb? Good grief! But the dark one is yours, is that so? The older one? She is the one Cousin Daphne wishes you to marry?”

  Charles nodded curtly, unable to say more for his step-mother was bringing the two Miss Milburns towards them to introduce Will. As soon as that was accomplished, she deftly manoeuvred Miss Elinor and Will aside, leaving him facing Miss Milburn.

  “How are you, Mr Leatham?” she said, her face unsmiling. “Run down any more young ladies in Corran Woods lately?”

  “It is not something I do by habit, Miss Milburn,” he said tersely, adding belatedly, “Besides, I did not run down your sister.”

  “Only by chance, I’m sure, the speed you were going. You ride far too fast, and she said you came upon her quite without warning.”

  “That was because she was not paying the proper attention,” he snapped. “If she had been looking out—” He caught himself before his temper snapped altogether. It was hard to receive criticism of his riding skills when his favourite horse was at that very moment sorely injured, but quarrelling with her was fruitless and would hardly advance his cause. He could quarrel with her as much as he liked after they were married, but for now circumspection was in order. And perhaps her expression was not entirely serious? He lowered his voice and went on, “Well, never mind. No harm done, and it is all in the past, eh?” Then, with the faint memory of his father’s advice still echoing in his mind, he said, “You look… very well. I… like… um… the way you have done your hair.”

  She laughed at him, and he could not honestly say that it was a companionable laugh.

  “Oh, I must give you credit for trying, Mr Leatham. Have you been reading a book on how to be pleasant to people? It needs a little more practice, I think. You will not mind if I go and talk to your father? He is sitting all alone over there.”

  He would not have managed to sit beside her at dinner but for his step-mother’s contriving, for Mr Barr seemed inclined to take that seat. But Mrs Leatham was not a lady to allow anyone to overset her careful plans, and so Charles found himself at Miss Milburn’s side, in his barnacle incarnation.

  He was determined to be pleasant, so as soon as she had taken two sips of the soup, he said cheerfully, “Is it to your taste, Miss Milburn? There is salt here, if you wish it.”

  She looked at him with amused eyes. Such dark eyes… the colour of treacle, to match her dark hair. “It is a very pleasant soup, Mr Leatham, and your cook has already added a great deal of salt.”

  “Good,” he said. Then, when that did not seem quite sufficient, “Very good.” After a pause, he added, “I am particularly fond of onion soup.”

  She laid down her spoon, and said, merriment brimming in her eyes, “As onion soups go, it is a very fine specimen, I must agree. I confess that I like a white soup as well as any, although I had a turtle soup once that was most excellent, and must rate as the most magnificent soup ever presented to me. However, I cannot like a curry soup. I have only tasted such a thing once, but I found it very disagreeable. Do you enjoy a curry soup, Mr Leatham?”

  He found it impossible to be cross with her. She was teasing him, but ever so gently, so he replied in a whisper, “Do not tell Mama, but in truth I am not at all fond of an onion soup. It makes too much of itself, and lingers on the tongue long after it should be done with, and the memory of it endures for hours, I find.”

  “Oh, indeed,” she said at once. “A very brash, underbred soup, I fear.”

  That made him laugh out loud. “Whereas turtle soup is excessively refined, I suppose?”

  “Certainly. A turtle soup can never be ill-mannered.”

  “How absurd you are, to talk so of soup,” he said.

  “You began the subject,” she said, but her tone was not combative.

  She picked up her spoon and returned to the soup, but
he was not displeased with the exchange, and when he caught his step-mother’s eye, she was smiling and nodding encouragingly at him.

  After that, Miss Milburn turned towards his father on her other side, and Charles was reduced to watching Will across the table, where he was seated between Mildred and Miss Elinor. The latter chattered away unstoppably, and from time to time he caught snatches of her discourse — ‘… golden rod… night-shade… syrup of hore-hound… purgative… convulsions… hemlock…’ Poor Will looked dazed, as well he might, and after a decent interval turned with obvious relief to Mildred. At least they had something in common, and could discuss their favourite sermons without boring everyone else.

  When the ladies withdrew and the gentlemen rearranged themselves, Narfield took Miss Milburn’s seat, and Charles found himself the subject of gentle chaffing.

  “So it is to be Miss Milburn, I understand?” Narfield said, smiling widely. “A pleasant young lady, but the younger sister is prettier.”

  “Mama says that Miss Milburn is more practical,” Charles said, somewhat defensively.

  “Ah, yes, and that is a very important consideration,” Narfield said. “But she has no dowry, I understand?”

  “I have no idea,” Charles said stiffly, not liking the close questioning. What business was it of Narfield’s who he married?

  “You could do better,” Narfield said thoughtfully. “I say nothing against the lady, nothing at all, but a month in London just now could see you betrothed to someone with connections, and perhaps a few thousand to add to the estate.”

  An acid response rose to his lips, but before he could utter them, his father came to his rescue. “Charles could have a wider choice elsewhere, but he is not minded to parade himself through the saloons of London or Bath. We wish him to marry quickly to secure the succession, and Miss Milburn is an eminently sensible choice. We shall be very happy to welcome her into the family.”

  Not minded to parade himself… he shuddered at the very thought. Lord, the morning calls, the routs and balls and card parties, the outings to Richmond and Vauxhall Gardens, the drives through Hyde Park to display oneself to the world, or at least the small fragment of it that was the Beau Monde. Conversations with strangers and — oh, the horror! — dancing with insipid young ladies who had even less to say for themselves than he had. Or, which was worse, gabbled away in a constant stream of inanities. He could not bear the thought of it. No, Miss Milburn, for all her faults, was vastly preferable to the nightmare of the season.

  And she would save him from Mildred. He must never forget that.

  After they had rejoined the ladies, his mother hissed, “Barnacle!” at him as he collected his tea, so he dutifully found Miss Milburn and sat down on a nearby chair. However, he could not think of a single thing to say to her, and she seemed content to watch everyone else, sipping her tea thoughtfully. In the end, they sat for some twenty minutes within a few feet of each other without exchanging a single word.

  But then, to his relief, his step-mother called for the card tables. Naturally, she contrived for him to partner Miss Milburn, against Mr Elkington and Mrs Narfield. He anticipated no pleasure in the game, for he knew their opponents to be experts at whist, but at least he was not required to make conversation, which was a blessed relief.

  By the end of the second game, his ennui was quite driven away. Miss Milburn, it transpired, was a decisive and clever player, who somehow contrived to take tricks that common wisdom suggested were impossible.

  “My dear lady, how did you do that?” Mr Elkington said at one point.

  “Just remembering the cards,” she said, with a smile.

  Once, when Charles was dithering between two possible cards, she said briskly, “The ten of hearts, Mr Leatham.”

  “How do you know that I have the ten of hearts?” he said, genuinely bewildered.

  “But you must have,” she said, in a surprised voice. “Don’t you?”

  “I do,” he said, laying it down.

  Mrs Narfield laughed. “How fortunate that we are playing for fish and not guineas, or we should be quite rolled up, Mr Elkington.”

  The card tables only broke up when the butler announced that the carriage was at the door, as ordered. It was midnight already. The meal had been tedious, but he could have happily played cards with Miss Milburn all night. He would love to see her play a more challenging game, such as piquet, but he had an uneasy feeling that she would thrash him soundly.

  But when he bade her farewell, he was able to say with perfect sincerity, “Thank you for your company, Miss Milburn. I have been greatly entertained by your exploits at the card table.”

  “Thank you, sir,” she said, dipping a demure curtsy. “The onion soup was enjoyable too, wasn’t it?”

  Such behaviour left him with unexpectedly agreeable thoughts on fine curves and treacle-coloured eyes that twinkled merrily. If only she were always so affable, perhaps marriage would not be such a great trial after all.

  But Miss Milburn could not leave without a final outbreak of spleen, to remind him of exactly why he so disliked her. As Charles and his step-mother accompanied the Miss Milburns, the Elkingtons and Mr Barr to the front door and waited for cloaks and hats to be brought, Mrs Leatham said brightly, “Mrs Narfield is to stay with her brother and his wife at Valmont next month, and she has asked me most particularly to call upon her there. I am not usually upon calling terms with the Litherholms, but one must make the effort for one’s friends. It is a long way, however, and I should much appreciate a companion on the road. Would you be so good as to bear me company, Miss Milburn? Valmont is well worth a visit, I assure you.”

  “I?” she said, in astonished tones. “Why would you ask me when you have Miss Beacher?”

  Mrs Leatham went slightly pink, but persevered. “Oh… well, Mildred, you know… she dislikes these grand houses.”

  “She cannot dislike them more than I do,” Miss Milburn said robustly. “Valmont is where the Duke of Falconbury lives, isn’t it? I have no business in such a place.”

  “Nonsense,” Mrs Leatham said. “It will be a pleasant day out for us all. Charles will accompany us, you know.”

  Charles raised an eyebrow, not having heard of the scheme before, but said nothing.

  Miss Milburn laughed. “Is that meant to be an inducement, ma’am? Because it’s just as likely to harden my resolve not to go.”

  “Then Mama must hold me excused,” Charles said at once, rather peeved. “Far be it from me to deter you from an excursion of pleasure.”

  “It makes no difference,” Miss Milburn said. “You are very kind to take notice of us, Mrs Leatham, and I cannot thank you enough for this evening, but you mustn’t treat us as equals. We are the daughters of a respectable man, but he was no gentleman. You cannot take a linen draper’s daughter to the home of a duke.”

  “You are impertinent,” Charles said hotly. “You think very well of yourself, Miss Milburn, if you profess to know propriety better than Mama. If she chooses to take you under her wing, then she imbues you with her own consequence, and may take you anywhere with her, even to a duke’s home. It is ungrateful to refuse such a generous offer.”

  “Thank you for your advice, Mr Leatham, but your interference is uncalled for. Mrs Leatham and I are perfectly capable of discussing such matters without your aid. I dispute your accusation of impertinence, but if I am ungrateful, then it must be so, for I cannot countenance such a scheme. Good evening to you both.”

  She took her cloak from the wooden-faced footman, swirled it around her shoulders in one fluid movement and strode towards the open doors and the waiting carriage. The Elkingtons, Mr Barr and Miss Elinor scuttled in her wake, displaying various shades of embarrassment.

  But when the carriage had left, the door had been closed and the servants had disappeared, his step-mother laughed.

  “I shall bring her round, never fear. A little self-effacement is no bad thing. She is very aware that you are far above her present stati
on in life, and once you are married that will make her perfectly docile, you may be sure.”

  Charles wished that he could be so certain. That night, after his valet had left him, he paced about his room restlessly. Back and forth, back and forth, like some caged beast in a menagerie. He felt rather like that poor creature, trapped in a rôle for which he had neither aptitude nor inclination. In the army, he had known his place, had followed orders, had enjoyed the comradeship of his fellows, had been happy. Here, in his own home, surrounded by those who loved him and wanted only the best for him, he was beset by uncertainty.

  But he knew what he ought to do. He knew his duty. When the time came, he would marry Miss Milburn, even though he despised her and she despised him. However difficult, he would make the best of it, just as he was making the best of his unexpected elevation to the position of heir.

  The bars of the cage closed in around him.

  11: Mr Leatham Pays A Call (June)

  Caroline was relieved that the evening at Starlingford had passed off with no more than a couple of spats with the obnoxious son of the house. Such an insufferable man! She sincerely pitied poor Miss Beacher, who seemed an inoffensive woman, for it seemed to be her destiny to marry the son of the house, at the third attempt.

  Lin had enjoyed herself enormously. “Did you ever see such a fine spread? Turkey and beef, and did you try the gammon? It was cooked in wine, Miss Beacher told me. And pheasant ragout! Jaune mange! Asparagus! I am going to grow asparagus here, I think, if I have space. And three kinds of wine to drink, and all those cakes on the tea board. Lord, if only I could eat like that every day.”

  “I wish I could have gone,” Poppy said wistfully.

  “But you enjoyed dining with Mr and Mrs Christopher at the vicarage?” Caroline said.

  “Oh yes, and it was so kind of them to ask me, knowing I would be all alone here. It was John’s idea — he is so thoughtful, always looking for little ways to help. I had a lovely evening, playing spillikins with the children, and there was a leg of mutton in my honour, John said, because they don’t usually have meat except on Sundays. There was wine, too, but Mrs Christopher only let me have the tiniest sip, with water in it, and after supper John walked me home to make sure I got back safely. What did they all wear at Starlingford? Were they very grand, with lots of jewels and lace?”