Loving Lieutenant Lancaster

by Sarah M. Eden

  Chapter Nine

  Linus eyed that evening’s gathering, wondering which of the guests his sisters meant to foist upon him this time. Lady Belinda had been pleasant enough, but she hadn’t so much as smiled at a single jest—of his or anyone else’s—and she’d not seemed any more interested in him than he had been in her. The Misses Romrell were yet a mystery, his encounter with them being exceptionally brief. None of the three was included in that evening’s festivities.

  A young widow, Mrs. Blackbourne, had joined the party for the evening. Linus firmly suspected he would find himself in her company often. His sisters would see to it.

  Mr. Stroud, a gentleman likely near Linus’s age, numbered amongst the new guests as well. Thus far, Stroud was innocuous, although he had taken an interest in Artemis that would bear watching.

  Miss Hampton, Linus had noted straightaway, was not in the drawing room. He felt the oddest mixture of relief and disappointment. He wished to know her better, if for no other reason than to discover why she made him nervous. Despite that discomfort, he enjoyed her company. He sensed there were hidden depths in Miss Hampton that few were permitted to see, and that was endlessly intriguing. Beyond the pull he personally felt, there remained the need to thank her properly for the service she had rendered Oliver that afternoon.

  Lud, if she hadn’t found the boy before he’d reached the river, the results might have been disastrous. Linus had sworn to Adam and Persephone that he would personally teach Oliver how to swim, a skill he’d learned in the navy.

  The dowager stood before the group, having already welcomed the guests to the evening’s entertainment. “Her Grace and I have decided upon a game of tableau vivant for this evening.”

  A murmur of enthusiasm rolled over the gathering.

  “You will be divided into two teams,” the dowager continued. “Each team will be assigned a scene to portray. His Grace and I will be acting as judges when the tableaux are staged.”

  Though the dowager presented Adam’s role as a magnanimous thing, Linus suspected the assignment was actually the result of Adam flatly refusing to participate in the staged scenes.

  “The team that is deemed the winner will receive a prize.”

  “What is the prize?” Artemis asked, never one to worry over being demure.

  “The duke will agree not to throttle you,” Harry suggested.

  “Capital,” Lord Lampton declared, earning Adam’s obvious annoyance.

  The dowager waited with obvious enjoyment for the amusement to die down. “The teams will be a little uneven, I am afraid. Lady Lampton is not feeling well enough this evening to join us.”

  That was unfortunate. Linus suspected Lady Lampton was a calming influence on her husband, something that would have made keeping Adam’s temper in check far easier.

  “Our first team will consist of Her Grace, Mr. and Mrs. Windover, Mr. Stroud, and Lord Lampton.”

  Heads turned about as the team already named began searching each other out.

  “Our second team will be Mr. Jonquil, Mrs. Blackbourne, Miss Lancaster, and Mr. Lancaster.”

  Mr. Stroud spoke immediately. “That is not so very uneven. Only a difference of one participant. I don’t see any reason why the other team should lodge a complaint.”

  No one had lodged a complaint. Indeed, Mr. Stroud had come the closest with his veiled implication that the dowager’s acknowledgment of the uneven numbers had been so unnecessary. Linus knew enough of civility to recognize the faux pax for what it was. One simply did not insult one’s hostess.

  The dowager, ever gracious, ignored the criticism and moved along. “I am designating Lord Lampton and Mr. Lancaster as the heads of their respective teams and will give them their assigned scenes.”

  She gave a paper to her son, then crossed to where Linus stood.

  “If it will set your mind at ease,” he said, “I am fully confident we will trounce the competition despite our smaller number.”

  The dowager, in a voice the tiniest bit dry, said, “Oh, but the sides are not so very uneven. Only a difference of one participant.”

  An exact recounting of Mr. Stroud’s observation. The dowager had a sharp wit; there was no denying that.

  “It is a shame Miss Hampton did not join us this evening.” Could the dowager tell he was fishing about for information?

  “Oh heavens.” She held her hands up in a show of sudden realization. “Of course Arabella should be here.” The sigh that followed was one of frustration. “I often forget how likely she is to assume she is not included in an activity if I haven’t very specifically insisted otherwise. Of all my boys, only Corbin ever needed that reminder. It seems I am out of practice with one who is so very quiet and keeps to herself.”

  “She is perhaps a little reserved, but when we have spoken she has not struck me as shy.”

  The dowager’s brows drew upward. “She spoke with you?”

  He nodded. “A couple of times.”

  “More than once?” That was clearly unexpected. “I have not known her to be very open, even with those she knows well. She must feel some degree of ease with you.”

  How odd that she, by the dowager’s account, was apprehensive in nearly everyone’s company except his, while he was hesitant only in hers.

  “I will send word to Arabella,” the dowager said. “She will enjoy the evening’s entertainment, and we will be the better for having her here.” She slipped a folded paper in his hand. “Your tableau,” she explained, then made her way quickly but with a very countess-like degree of dignity to a maid sitting diligently near the door.

  She was sending for Miss Hampton. The nervousness he felt was, this time, mingled with a growing hint of excitement.

  “What is our assignment?” Artemis said.

  He unfolded the paper. “It says, ‘Linus.’” He flipped it over, wondering if he’d missed something. Had the dowager forgotten to include the assignment in addition to the name of the team’s leader?

  Artemis moved closer, pulling Mrs. Blackbourne along with her. The dark-haired beauty was deposited—there was no other word for Artemis’s almost forceful placement of her—at Linus’s side.

  Both ladies eyed the paper in his hand.

  “That really is all it says.” Artemis sounded rather put out.

  Mrs. Blackbourne maintained her calm far better. “It is odd, I will acknowledge. We cannot truly proceed without an assignment.”

  “Perhaps ‘Linus’ is our assignment,” Charlie said. “He was the subject of a myth, was he not?”

  “He was, indeed,” Linus said. All the Lancaster siblings were named for figures in Greek mythology, himself included.

  Mrs. Blackbourne laid her hand lightly atop his arm. It was an unexpectedly forward gesture, considering they did not know each other at all. Linus moved his arm free but did so subtly in order to not draw undue attention. He did not wish to embarrass either of them.

  “At the risk of making something of a spectacle of myself,” Mrs. Blackbourne said, “I will confess I am not familiar with the details of Linus of old.”

  Artemis took up the explanation before Linus had a chance. “He was the creator of melody and rhythm, and he was murdered with his own musical instrument in an act of petty revenge. What it lacks in visibility, Linus’s myth more than makes up for with excitement. Art. Intrigue. Even death. It is absolutely perfect for a game of tableau vivant.”

  Mrs. Blackbourne met Linus’s gaze and offered what could only be interpreted as a look of conspiratorial amusement. She, it seemed, had taken Artemis’s measure quickly. Did she also realize that Artemis was part of his sisters’ conspiracy to find him a match? If so, she did not seem to object.

  “Oh, Linus.” Artemis took hold of his arm, excitement rendering her noticeably giddy. “Do let me plan our tableau. Please. I am ever so much better at these things th
an you are. We will be victorious for certain if I am in charge.”

  Linus didn’t particularly want to undertake the arrangements. He nodded his agreement. “Although I reserve the right to put a stop to anything I feel needs stopping.”

  Artemis rolled her eyes. “I am not a child anymore.”

  “No, but you are still Artemis.” He dared her to contradict him.

  Despite her show of displeasure, Artemis’s lips twitched. “If I promise to behave, will you allow me to plan our tableau?”

  “With supervision.”

  She sighed, her shoulders rising and falling. “Older brothers are such a burden.”

  “Yes, they are.” Charlie couldn’t possibly have sounded more empathetic.

  “Well, then,” Linus said, “let us give the planning of this endeavor to Artemis and do our utmost to trounce young Mr. Jonquil’s older brother. He is heading the other team, you will remember.”

  Artemis stepped directly to where Linus stood, forcing him to move aside, which necessitated Mrs. Blackbourne’s moving as well. She did not return to her previous place but rather kept near him. The young widow certainly didn’t want for boldness.

  He offered what he hoped would be interpreted as an innocuous smile and placed some distance between them.

  “Linus will, of course, be assigned the role of Linus,” Artemis declared. “We will also need to fill the part of his parents and choose someone to portray Heracles.”

  Miss Hampton stepped inside the drawing room. A bubble of excitement formed in Linus’s chest. She paused at the doorway. Her expression was not one of ease and pleasure but of uncertainty and worry. She sought out the dowager, who smiled at her and motioned to the side of the room where Linus’s group stood. Miss Hampton pushed out a breath, not looking the least bit eager to join in the evening’s diversion. She crossed the room toward him.

  He had been the one to suggest she be included. Seeing her discomfort made him doubt the wisdom of that idea. Maybe she really was shier than he had realized.

  “I see the dowager convinced you to join us,” he said.

  She nodded minutely. “She can be very persuasive.”

  “Would you have preferred not to come down?” He hoped not.

  “Actually, I was pleased to be invited.” A hesitant contentment entered her expression. “I want to participate, but . . . I’m not family or a guest or anyone of significance. I never can be certain where I fit in this gathering.”

  How well he understood that uncertainty. “I am family to a significant portion of this gathering, and I don’t truly know where I fit.”

  “We are the misfits of this house party, are we?” She laughed lightly.

  He pointedly squared his shoulders. “I believe I am equal to the challenge.”

  “I have you bested there,” she said. “I was born for this challenge.”

  He held back a grin. “You were born a misfit?”

  She nodded solemnly. “Do try not to be consumed by jealousy.”

  “I will make a valiant effort.”

  She looked toward the others, and her nervous demeanor returned. “I feel so out of place.”

  “We misfits must stick together,” he said.

  “Are you proposing we form a club?” How easily he could bring a smile to her face. It made a man feel less pointless to be a source of joy in another person’s life.

  Artemis interrupted. “Miss Hampton, are you joining us?”

  “Yes. The dowager asked me if I would.” She spoke more quietly than she had only a moment earlier.

  “Perfect,” Artemis said. “You can be Calliope.”

  Miss Hampton looked to Linus once more. “It seems I am missing some crucial information.”

  “Tableau vivant,” he said. “We are portraying the myth of Linus.”

  “I am to be your mother?” She laughed almost silently. “This is proving to be an odd sort of club.”

  Linus was impressed. Few people knew the details of his namesake’s myth outside of scholars and mythological enthusiasts. Did she share that interest with him?

  “I was not charged with assigning roles,” he told her.

  She tipped her head, barely concealing her amusement. “Do you doubt my ability to portray the illustrious muse?”

  He grinned; he couldn’t help himself. Though she still rendered him a bit jelly-like, he found he enjoyed her company more every time he was granted it. Her conversation, though he’d had only the briefest moments of it, had proven more diverting than most of what he had encountered in the months since leaving the navy. And she’d shown herself to be in possession of a wonderfully subtle sense of humor.

  “I was not able this afternoon to offer you a sufficient expression of gratitude for the service you rendered Oliver.”

  “I simply found myself in a position to help.” Her tone was one of dismissal, as if her actions did not warrant acknowledgment.

  “You showed him such patience and kindness,” Linus said. “He needed that tenderness likely more than you realized. I thank you for that.”

  Embarrassed color touched her cheeks. “I have been in need of tenderness many times in my life. I am grateful to have offered that to someone else when he needed it.”

  Artemis interrupted their conversation. Again. “Linus, you are not paying attention. How are we supposed to have a deep reservoir of theatricality if our most essential role is taken on by someone who isn’t even listening?”

  He turned to fully face her and bowed quite deeply. “My most sincere apologies.”

  Artemis addressed Miss Hampton. “Calliope needs to be standing with Oeagrus.”

  Miss Hampton nodded. “Who is Oeagrus?”

  She had known that Calliope was the mother of Linus of myth, and therefore, it stood to reason she knew perfectly well that Oeagrus was ancient Linus’s father. Still, he couldn’t resist teasing her a little. “He is the mythological king of—”

  She leveled him a look of such pretended offense that he laughed out loud. Artemis eyed him as if he had lost his mind. Her gaze slowly slid back to Miss Hampton, something very like worry entering her expression. If he didn’t know better, he would think his usually unflappable sister was distressed. Did she not care for Miss Hampton? That seemed unlikely.

  “Mr. Jonquil.” Artemis pointed toward Charlie. “He is Oeagrus. You should go stand with him.”

  Miss Hampton did so without comment. If she noticed the tactlessness with which Artemis sent her away, she did not let it show.

  “You were rude,” he told his sister in hushed tones.

  True to form, she took the criticism far too much to heart. “I’m simply trying to organize. We haven’t very much time for arranging our tableau, and I want to do my best. You were not helping.”

  The final accusation emerged too watery for him to do anything but put his arm around her shoulders. “I know you grow impatient when you are enjoying yourself and you feel others aren’t contributing.” His words of intended reassurance missed the mark. Artemis’s chin quivered. Good grief. “I promise to be very cooperative.”

  She nodded, though she still looked a little hurt. “I should hope so.”

  “What role do you mean to take on?”

  Artemis rallied with alarming speed, as always. Linus was not certain if she was one who recovered quickly or if she made a greater show of offended sensibilities than was truly accurate.

  “I will be music personified.” The declaration emerged a bit breathless.

  Music personified. There really was no sensible response to that. It was little wonder the very staid Duke of Kielder found his youngest sister-in-law so exasperating.

  “That, however, will mean Mrs. Blackbourne will have to be Heracles, which would not have been my first choice.” She gave the young widow a look of commiseration. “You are simply not con
vincing as a musical murderer.”

  “I do not know whether to be proud or disappointed in myself.” Mrs. Blackbourne tossed Linus a look that felt a bit too personal for two people who’d not had a single conversation.

  “Do your best,” Artemis instructed. “And stand next to Linus; that is where you are meant to be.”

  Far from objecting, Mrs. Blackbourne’s gaze grew warm. Ah, yes. His sisters had definitely settled upon Mrs. Blackbourne for that night’s matchmaking efforts. She seemed to have embraced the role quite enthusiastically. Linus was both flattered and a little annoyed. He’d been the recipient of a few flirtatious gazes, especially when he’d been in uniform. He’d not wanted for dance partners on the few occasions when Persephone had convinced him to attend a ball, but this was far closer quarters than he was accustomed to. Did the widow know the conspiracy amongst the Lancaster women, or was she merely enthusiastic for his company?

  Miss Hampton, blast the lady, was biting back a smile. Her amusement relieved some of his discomfort. The situation was a little funny, though only a very little.

  The dowager returned to their corner of the drawing room. “There is a trunk just over to the side with various possible costume pieces and items. You are welcome to look through them as you design your tableau.”

  “Is the trunk large enough to lock a certain recalcitrant sister of mine inside?” Linus asked, sensing the dowager would appreciate his struggle, having raised a large family of her own.

  She nodded. “If necessary.”

  “I heard that,” Artemis said.

  “Do not fear, Miss Lancaster,” the dowager said. “The trunk does not lock.”

  “A shame.” Linus let his shoulders rise and fall with a feigned sigh. “I suppose ‘music personified’ will have to be let free after all.”

  The dowager offered a warning. “You have only thirty minutes remaining.”

  That sent Artemis into a panic, her offended sensibilities entirely forgotten. She rattled off instructions to everyone, telling them where to be and what to do.