“That was because of how he behaved when first I met him,” Mimi pointed out. “He has perfectly gentlemanlike manners when he chooses to use them.”
“You were talking to him in the most friendly way at dinner.”
“He is interested in India. None of my other beaux has ever expressed more than a momentary curiosity. Indeed, at times they seem embarrassed that I'm half Indian.” Mimi's black eyes began to sparkle. “Ha, that gives me a splendid notion. But it's too late for tonight. The tadpoles will have to suffice for tonight.”
“What do you mean? Tell me, Mimi,” begged Harriet, but it was too late. Lady Marbury's slumber released her daughter from the harpsichord. Sophia spent the next quarter hour treating Mimi and Harriet to a detailed description of the gown she was having made for the annual First of June assembly in Chester.
By the time her father led the gentlemen in, Mimi was absolutely determined that one way or another she was going to outshine Sophia Marbury at the assembly.
Colonel Lassiter had an air of quiet satisfaction. His success was confirmed when the five young gentlemen clustered around the three young ladies.
“Your father's is a noble project, Miss Lassiter,” exclaimed the Reverend Lloyd, his round face shining with inspiration. “To save so many young souls from a life of vice, and to lead them in the way of duty and religion.”
Mr. Blake coughed dryly, his usual prelude to speech, which gave him time to review his words and make sure he was not about to commit himself irrevocably to anything expensive or actionable. “It is indeed a praiseworthy goal to remove beggars, vagrants, and thieves from the streets and byways and to apprentice them to honest trades and professions.”
“Train the boys as valets, and the girls as abigails,” proposed Sir Wilfred, taking up an elegant pose behind his sister's chair. Mimi suspected his tight clothes made it difficult to sit down, though his huge brass coat-buttons had been undone to reveal an orange and turquoise striped waistcoat. “Daresay I could persuade my man and m'sister's maid to give 'em a few tips,” he went on.
“Paltry good-for-nothings!” Albert Pell snorted in disgust. “The boys'll make themselves useful as whippers-in and beaters, and the girls as kennel maids.”
Sir Wilfred glared at him.
“I'm sure my father will consider all suggestions,” said Mimi hastily.
Mr. Hurst's quiet voice seconded her attempt at keeping the peace. “It scarcely matters what trade the children are apprenticed to,” he said, “provided that they have a roof over their heads and three square meals a day.”
This point of view was obviously novel to the other four gentlemen. Mimi stifled a giggle at their blank faces.
“How very true, sir,” Harriet agreed, gently approving. Mr. Hurst smiled at her.
Mimi glanced from one to the other. An alternate plan began to take shape in her head. Mr. Hurst was turning out to be a gentleman, and quite nice besides, certainly more amiable than Albert Pell or Sir Wilfred. Harriet would probably prefer being married to him rather than to one of her fickle former beaux. A match must be promoted.
All the same, it was too early to abandon her first plan. Mr. Hurst might turn out to be unsuitable or unwilling, in which case the rest of the prospective suitors must be there in reserve.
Mimi turned to the baronet. “Do you care to see my tadpoles, Sir Wilfred?” she inquired.
The effect was all she could have hoped. His mouth fell open. “Gad, ma'am,” he stammered. “Tadpoles? Believe I must have misheard you.”
“I expect your shirt points might interfere with your hearing,” Mimi conceded. “However, you are right this time. I said tadpoles.”
“But tadpoles...” His voice faded. He took a breath and started again, plaintively. “Little slimy, wriggling, fishy things? Your tadpoles, Miss Lassiter?”
Albert Pell guffawed. “They ain't fishy, Marbury. Froggy, more like. And it's frog spawn that's slimy. I used to put frog spawn in m'sisters' beds every spring until they married and left home.”
“This conversation is most distasteful,” declared Sophia, and with a contemptuous sniff she departed, unlamented.
“The metamorphosis of the frog is an interesting example of the mysteries of creation,” said Mr. Lloyd.
Mr. Blake produced a cough but no words followed. Even the Game Laws had nothing to say about frogs.
Mr. Hurst was regarding Mimi with a quizzical expression she recognized from when she had abandoned him dripping by the mere. Impulsively she said to him, “Would you like to see my tadpoles, sir?”
“With pleasure, ma'am.”
“I keep them in the scullery.”
As Mimi rose to lead the way, the lawyer coughed again. “In the scullery, Miss Lassiter? I own myself astonished that your respected chaperon permits you to frequent the servants' quarters.”
“Believe Miss Lassiter is quizzing us,” Sir Wilfred said hopefully.
“Indeed I am not. Come and see.”
“Gad, no! Mean to say, won't do for all of us to abandon Miss Harriet.”
Harriet cast Mimi a look of glowing gratitude.
At the door, Simon Hurst beside her, Mimi glanced back. Albert Pell and the parson were close behind. Beyond them, Mr. Blake, taking advantage of Sir Wilfred's unwillingness to risk sitting down, was sharing the sofa with Harriet.
Two out of four, she thought triumphantly. Not bad for her first effort.
“I've been racking my brains trying to guess why you were fishing for tadpoles,” said Mr. Hurst. “Was it simply for the pleasure of watching them grow and change?”
“No, for the horses.”
He looked startled. “You don't mean that in India horses are fed on tadpoles?”
“Only the fiercest chargers,” she teased, laughing. “No, of course not. I put most of them in the new pond in the paddock so that the frogs will eat the flies that bite the horses.”
“I'm glad to hear that the frogs are the heroes of your story.”
His voice held an undertone of bitterness. Mimi was inclined to investigate, but they had reached the kitchen. As she opened the door, the servants, seated around the table demolishing the remains of the roasts, stared in dismay at this invasion by the quality. One or two went on chewing stolidly, some froze with their mouths open and their forks in midair, and several began to scramble to their feet.
“Oh, I'm sorry!” said Mimi, equally dismayed. She stopped in the doorway, blocking it. “I had not considered that this is an inconvenient time.”
Cook, a tall, solid Yorkshirewoman, rose majestically from the end of the table. “Tha's always welcome, lass, but there's no denying 'tis not t'best moment.”
“No, I daresay the tadpoles are hidden by stacks of dirty dishes. Please don't disturb yourselves, everyone.” She turned to the gentlemen. “I cannot show you tonight after all. I hope you are not excessively disappointed.”
Mr. Lloyd looked relieved.
“Demme if I'll be tossed at the fence by a bunch of demmed servants!” Albert Pell roared, as if he really wanted to see the tadpoles. He must, as usual, have imbibed a trifle too much port. Mimi hurriedly pulled the kitchen door shut behind her.
Mr. Hurst grinned at her. “Oh, but I am excessively disappointed. Still, I expect it will be easier to inspect them by daylight. May I call tomorrow, Miss Lassiter?”
“By all means, sir,” she said, deciding that Harriet must spend the day at Salters Hall tomorrow, if her mother could possibly spare her from her chores.
Mrs. Prestwick popped out of the housekeeper's room to see what the commotion in the passage was about. While Mimi explained, Mr. Hurst urged a sulky Albert Pell on toward the drawing room, with the parson following them. The apprentice bailiff had a commanding way about him, Mimi noted gratefully.
“Pray ask Waring to bring the tea tray,” she went on, suddenly weary. “It's not too early, is it?”
“No, Miss Mimi, not a minute too early, with you looking fagged half to death.”
“I expect most of that is due to this wretched gown, but I am a little tired, I own. I had not realized acting as hostess was such hard work, and I fear I've made a sad mull of it.”
“Now never you mind, lovey. There's none of them going to turn down the colonel's hospitality just because everything didn't go smooth as silk, believe you me. Off you go and keep them happy another half an hour, and that Asota'll have your bed warmed and ready for you.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Prestwick,” Mimi said, and hurried after her guests.
As if to assure her that their defection was momentary, Sir Wilfred and Mr. Blake hovered over her while she poured the tea. The baronet stood at her side, complimenting her lavishly if uninventively on the grace with which she performed this exercise. At least the lawyer made himself useful distributing cups of tea to the company. Annoyed with them for deserting Harriet, Mimi found it difficult to be polite. Unfortunately they took her shortness as the result of pique at their lack of interest in her tadpoles.
“Fascinating things, frogs,” Sir Wilfred vowed. “Take my oath, always found 'em... er... fascinating.”
Mr. Blake coughed. “Beyond any reasonable doubt, the scullery must be considered the most logical location for the maintenance of livestock... er... domestic... er... creatures of that sort. As a lawyer, I have a particular appreciation of the logical solution.”
Botheration, Mimi thought, the tadpoles were obviously not going to be much help as a means of detaching her unwanted beaux.
Albert was sulking in a corner, having refused tea; Mr. Lloyd was talking to his fellow clergyman, Mr. Cooper; but Simon Hurst had taken the place on the sofa beside Harriet and was saying something that made her laugh.
That was definitely a hopeful sign—so why was Mimi not quite sure that their evident harmony pleased her?
Chapter 6
“So you achieved your promised invitation to dinner,” said Lady Thompson as the carriage set off down the drive. “I fear, however, you must find our country entertainments dull work after the splendors of London?”
Settling back against the old-fashioned landau's comfortable cushions, Simon smiled at her inquiring tone. “On the contrary, Aunt.” His back to the horses, he watched Salters Hall recede, the black-on-white diamond and rosette pattern of its half-timbering sharply defined in the moonlight.
“So you enjoyed the party?”
“I found it most amusing. Your princess is a little baggage. She did her best to persuade her father not to receive me, I believe, but I daresay I shall count that promise as fulfilled.”
“Pray do, Simon. I can scarcely take you to the Lassiters' again uninvited, now that you are known in the neighborhood.”
“No fear of that—Miss Mimi and I have cried friends. What on earth possessed her to invite her multitudinous admirers to view her tadpoles?”
“I cannot imagine, I vow. Is that where you all went off to?”
As once before, when he asked her what Mimi wanted with the tadpoles, Simon had the impression that Aunt Georgina was not being totally frank. No matter; doubtless the girl had an equally original yet oddly reasonable purpose in mind tonight.
“We were headed for the scullery,” he told his aunt, “but the servants were dining so we turned back. I requested permission to call tomorrow to see the wretched creatures, deuced if I know why. The cook called her `lass,'“ he added irrelevantly, “and the housekeeper called her `lovey.'“
Lady Thompson chuckled. “She's an engaging child. She has quite won over Baird, you know. It is a great pity that all the local chuckleheads are interested only in her fortune.”
An engaging child? mused Simon later, shrugging off his coat and slinging it over the back of the chair by his bed in a way that would have appalled Henry. His crumpled cravat he tossed on the dressing table as he kicked off his shoes.
Miss Lakshmi Lassiter was indubitably engaging, but her childlike, innocent naughtiness was contradicted by her delightfully womanly figure. Not for a moment did he credit that her beaux had eyes only for her money. It might be entertaining to give them a little competition—if Lady Elizabeth had not irreparably broken his heart.
Climbing into the high four-poster, he waited for the familiar wave of humiliated misery to sweep over him. And waited. He summoned up a tormenting vision of golden ringlets, alabaster brow, rose-petal cheeks, and white shoulders. Somehow he couldn't get her nose quite right, nor recall the precise shade of her eyes. Blue eyes were really rather commonplace, he decided as he drifted into sleep.
A light drizzle was falling early the next morning when Simon rode off to take breakfast with Wickham and his hospitable wife. Lady Thompson had instructed her overseer, a short, taciturn man, to teach her young relative estate management, and he had willingly taken on the task. For the better part of three days, Simon had ridden about with him, discussing drainage and breeds of cattle, crop rotation and ways to persuade tenant farmers to use modern agricultural methods.
Simon had learned enough to realize that he was not learning what he needed to know.
The Marquis of Stokesbury owned five estates in various parts of the country besides his principal seat in Hampshire. Of the six, the four largest were entailed and would come to Simon with the title whether his father thought him an adequate heir or no. One man could not possibly supervise the day to day detail of a score or more farms in such different areas as the orchards and hopfields of Kent and the high, sheep-rearing fells of Westmorland.
As Gerald had suggested, Simon needed to be able to oversee the overseers. Taking his seat at the table in the Wickhams' cozy kitchen, he spread a slice of bread still warm from the oven with rich yellow butter from the Home Farm, and tried to explain.
“You see, what I must be able to judge is not merely whether to send more milk to market or make it into cheese, but whether the estate is being run honestly and competently.”
“Does her ladyship not trust me after all these years?” Mr. Wickham interrupted, puzzled and suspicious.
“Of course she does, sir. I don't mean the Mere House estate.”
“Then just what do ye mean?”