A Masked Deception (16 page)

“Very unlikely,” the dowager decided. “Devin must be immune to all the little misses of the Season after avoiding them for ten years or more past.”

“She has no dowry?” quizzed the other.

“But little,” the other replied. “I have considered suggesting to dear Richard that he might marry her to the vicar of St. Stephen’s. It is Richard’s living, you know, Hannah, and the new man needs a wife.”

“Ah,” Lady Romley commented, “the gel will be grateful for that. Fetching little thing!”

* * *

The younger ladies spent much of their time wandering around, trying to look pretty. They kept to their rooms most of the morning, sleeping and preparing to meet the day. In the afternoon they wandered in the gardens, took carriage rides to various parts of the estate to see the views from the hills or to have a picnic, or sat indoors to gossip— usually about one predominant topic.

“However do you tell the twins apart?” Annabelle asked Faith wide-eyed. “I should not know which one was my betrothed!” She giggled.

“But they are both so handsome,” Susanna commented. “And, Lady Brampton, is it true that Captain Adair is to return to Spain soon?”

“I believe he hopes to return before winter sets in,” Margaret replied.

“How romantic it would be to follow the drum as a soldier’s wife,” Susanna sighed.

“It would be most disagreeable and uncomfortable, you may be sure, Susanna,” Lady Lucy commented as she stitched at a sampler.

“Is Mr. Northcott to come to dinner again this evening?” Faith asked of no one in particular. “I do think he casts the other men in the shade with his elegance.”

“Never say so,” Annabelle objected. “Did you not note the high points of Mr. Rodney Langford’s collars last evening? I know it was not Mr. Kenneth Langford, because you were holding his arm, Faith. And did you not see his striped satin waistcoat and stockings? I like to see a man in the height of fashion. Mr. Northcott is too—too—”

“Staid?” asked Charlotte helpfully.

“There, you see?” Annabelle said triumphantly. “Charlotte agrees with me.”

“I did not say that,” Charlotte pointed out.

* * *

The men spent most of their days out riding, or fishing, or playing billiards indoors. Their conversation was, significantly, about horses and hunting and the latest boxing mills they had witnessed, about cards and gambling and the latest bizarre bets that had been entered in the books at the clubs.

“I say,” said Ted Kemp, “did you see Bill Bruiser give Hatchet Harry a leveler in the ring last week? Two minutes into the first round. Harry had pounded Bruiser like a punching bag in the stomach. Bruiser did not even bat an eyelid. Then one left hook and
bam!
Blood pouring from Harry’s nose and Bruiser being carried from the ring shoulder high.”

“A damned waste of time I called it,” said Charles. "It took an hour to drive out to the mill and another half-hour to find a parking spot. The whole thing was over before a man had started to watch.”

“Who is going to win the race to Brighton?” Rodney Langford asked.

“What race?” asked Sir Henry.

“Viscount Harley’s son and old Sangster to race their curricles from London to Brighton Saturday next,” Rodney explained.

“It will probably end with a couple of broken necks,” Lord Romley commented.

“Sangster’s favored on the odds, I hear,” said Kenneth Langford.

Very little of their conversation concerned the ladies.

The evenings were a time that the whole party spent together. After dinner, when the gentlemen had rejoined the ladies after their port, there would be pianoforte music and singing, or cards, or some impromptu dancing, or merely conversation. Once there was a lively game of charades. It was during these evenings that the older ladies gathered some of their ammunition for the next day’s gossip.

Lady Romley noticed that Annabelle and Ted sat together at the pianoforte singing quietly together long after everyone else’s attention had moved on to other matters. She noticed that Faith and Kenneth did not speak to each other for the whole of one evening. She noticed that Charlotte rarely talked to Devin Northcott, but that she followed him everywhere with her eyes. And she noticed Devin spent most of his evenings talking with Lady Brampton.

The dowager Countess of Brampton noticed that Susanna tried in many ways to fix her interest with Charles. She noticed that her daughter-in-law looked tired. She definitely had the look of one who was
enceinte,
she confided in an undertone to her friend the next day (“so wonderful for dear Richard to have an heir at last, Hannah”). She noticed Charlotte disappear through the French windows one evening with Charles while most of the others were at cards. And she noticed them returning more than half an hour later.

“Charlotte, my love, do you wish to rescue a drowning man?” Charles had said. “Come and walk in the garden with me.”

“What, does Susanna Kemp not compare with your Juana?” Charlotte asked cheekily when they were outside. She tucked her arm comfortably through his.

“Have you heard of the difference between night, and day, brat?” he asked.

“You really are being most cruel to all the ladies, you know, Charles,” she scolded gaily. “Here they all are, falling over themselves trying to ensnare you, and you will not even warn them that you are betrothed.”

“Should I wear a sign?” he asked. “And can I help it, my love, if I was born with quite irresistible charm?”

“And with incredible immodesty,” Charlotte commented to the stars.

They went to sit on the stone wall surrounding the fountain in the rose garden.

“Juana is really coming to England,” Charles announced.

“Oh? When?” Charlotte clapped her hands.

“She was not sure of that. The war had disrupted life in Spain. It may be weeks or only days before she arrives in Portsmouth. She may even now be on the seas. She is to send me a message when she arrives. I can be there from here in four hours or less.

“Charles, do you not think it would be wise to tell your mama or his lordship that she is coming?”

“No, I do not,” he answered. “It will be time enough for them to know when she is here. They cannot possibly see her and not fall in love with her on the instant.”

Charlotte could not help but feel that he was looking at the situation through a lover’s eyes, but she kept her counsel.

* * *

Lord Romley one evening showed interest in the old Norman church at Brampton town, four miles away.

“Yes, it is in very good repair,” the earl replied to a question directed at him, “and almost entirely original. It is still used as our parish church.”

“The new vicar is very knowledgeable about it,” Margaret added. “He knows every tomb and the history of everyone buried there.”

“We will be going there to church next Sunday,” Brampton added, “but in the meanwhile, we could arrange an excursion there if anyone is interested.”

“Splendid!” said Faith. “Do you not agree, Kenneth?”

It seemed that everyone agreed. The excursion was set for the following afternoon, weather permitting. Meanwhile, the evening’s conversation became brisk with plans for conveying sixteen people—Devin Northcott said he would ride over to the house after luncheon and make one of the party. It was decided that the closed traveling carriage and the open landau would together convey twelve people. Devin offered to take one other person up with him in his curricle. Two of the men would ride.

The following afternoon proved perfect for an outing. The sun shone from a cloudless sky; there was no wind to threaten hats or bonnets or carefully placed curls of hair. The ladies, bright and summery in their silks and sprigged-muslin dresses, were able to dispense with shawls and pelisses, but not with their parasols.

Lady Romley and the dowager Countess of Brampton were helped into the closed carriage. The dowager declared that although the day was hot and still now, a treacherous breeze would be caused by the movement of the carriages and might bring chills with it. Better to be safe inside a closed conveyance, she said. They were joined by Lucy and Sir Henry, Faith and Kenneth.

Annabelle and Ted climbed into the landau and sat side by side, facing the horses. Charles had that morning offered to take his curricle, on the private condition that Charlotte ride with him.

“I shall leave the landau for Lady Brampton,” Susanna now announced loudly and magnanimously, “that is, if Captain Adair will not object to my company in his curricle?” She fluttered her eyelashes in his direction.

What could he do? He gave the expected gallant reply, grasped her plump waist, and hoisted her into the high seat beside his. He threw a helpless glance in Charlotte’s direction.

Lord Romley and Rodney Langford meanwhile appeared on horseback, ready to accompany the carriages.

Devin Northcott was quick to size up the remaining possibilities. He did not wish to place Miss Wells in an embarrassing situation.

“Lady Brampton,” he said smiling and extending a hand to her, “d’ye trust my driving well enough to accompany me? Am considered an adequate whip. Ask Bram there.”

Margaret smiled and took his hand. “I do not need to ask, sir,” she assured him. “I know I can trust such a good friend of my husband’s.” She allowed him to lift her carefully to her seat.

It cannot be said that either Brampton or Charlotte was entirely pleased with the turn of events, but they both conversed brightly with the two other occupants of the landau during the four-mile drive.

The vicar did indeed prove knowledgeable about the old church. He was delighted with his large and distinguished audience. He discoursed eloquently on the history and architecture of the building as he led the party down the nave toward the altar.

It soon became apparent, though, that the desire for an outing more than an eagerness for a history lesson had prompted most of the party to come. By the time the vicar reached the altar, more than half an hour after he had begun his guided tour, only Lord Romley, Margaret, Devin, Susanna, and Rodney remained of the original sixteen. Susanna would have been gone too if she had seen Charles slip away. As it was, she had to make the most of Rodney’s company, commenting at one point, sotto voce, that these old buildings were frightfully cold; she shivered delicately. Rodney rejected his first instinct, which was to take off his coat and place it around her pretty, plump shoulders, and his second instinct, which was to put an arm around her; he took the only other possible course. Soon they too were headed up the aisle, her arm in his, headed for the warmth of the sun in the graveyard.

“If we stay here, Mr. Langford,” she pouted prettily, “we shall be caught again by the vicar and forced to listen to the history of every horrid tombstone.”

He grinned in appreciation of her opinion. “By all means, let us explore the village,” he said.

Charles and Charlotte, meanwhile, were already in the village, sitting on a rustic bench outside the alehouse. They were arguing.

“I cannot ride back with you,” Charlotte was explaining crossly. “It would be uncommon rude to Susanna.”

“Charlotte, my love, have mercy on a man’s tender constitution,” Charles pleaded. “Boredom is a terrible-enough disease; it could be fatal. I might forget to continue living. But much worse is the very real danger of contracting pneumonia.”

“You had better explain yourself,” Charlotte said tartly. “You cannot expect silly, simpering misses to understand such obscure talk.”

“By Jove, you are as cross as a bear today, are you not, my love?” Charles commented. “I merely meant that such a draft is caused by the fluttering of Miss Kemp’s eyelashes that I am in mortal danger of catching a chill.”

“Hmm,” said Charlotte.

Charles leaned forward and looked into her face. “Out with it, Charlotte, my love,” he said.

“Out with what?”

“With whatever it is that is bothering you.”

“Whatever do you mean?” she said irritably. “There is nothing bothering me.”

“I know you better than to believe that,” he said. He thought for a while, still staring into her face. “Is this house party not to your liking?” he asked. “Is there someone missing that you would wish to be here?”

“No, of course not!”

“Hmm. Then, is there someone here that is not paying you the attention that you would wish?

“Charles, stop this, this instant. I should like some lemonade, please.”

“All in good time, my love. Who could it be? Ted Kemp? No, too milk and water for you. Rodney Langford? No, you would never be sure the right twin was making love to you. Devin Northcott? No, he is too I old and set in his ways.”

“He is not old,” snapped Charlotte. “You told me yourself that he is but thirty.”

“Aha! My love, I hope you never take to lying,” he said smugly. “You would never convince anybody.”

“Whatever do you mean?” she said.

“So the independent little Miss Wells is in love with a confirmed,
old
bachelor, is she?”

Charlotte opened her mouth to protest the description of Devin, then shut it again. “But I am just making a cake of myself,” she said, the bad temper gone from her voice. “He does not know I exist.”