Perfectly Flawed (5 page)

"You don't propose we have the gentlemen bake for
us?" Charlotte uttered in surprise. "We might all regret
feasting where the gentlemen, as agreeable and handsome
as they are, have had a hand in the food preparation."

"No, no. I do not mean we should go quite that far."
Muriel stifled her laughter. "We'll have the gentlemen
pick berries for us, for Charlotte. Her favorite ones."

"It's a bit early for gooseberries, don't you think?"
Aunt Penny sat back in her chair.

"Not in the patch on Owl Hill to the south," said
Muriel. It seemed she had thought her plan out. "We always find the first ripe berries of the season there. Even
now some will be ready, perhaps not many; I'm sure there
will be enough. The first six gentlemen who fill their
pails will be invited to take tea with Charlotte."

Charlotte liked the idea immediately. How clever her
sister was to have thought of giving the men a quest.

Aunt Penny, however, gave her youngest niece's suggestion more thought before asking, "And how, exactly,
would we notify the gentlemen of this task?"

Muriel smiled. "I thought I would enlist the help of a
man whose very life's passion is to create a gaming
environment-Sir Nicholas Petersham."

"Moo"-Aunt Penny smiled and exhaled, sounding
as if she were completely at ease now-"I believe I am
ready for that cup of tea."

Muriel had been quite correct. If there were even a
hint of profitable sport, Sir Nicholas Petersham would
most heartedly wish to be included. His talents would
be put to good use. He said he was delighted to be of
service to the Duke of Faraday, when Aunt Penny, on
behalf of the family, contacted him.

Sir Nicholas answered the summons several hours
later. Aunt Penny, Muriel, and Charlotte were there to
greet him. Muriel laid out her plan before them all.

She would bring the small pails, provided by the
kitchen, which the gentlemen would fill with ripe gooseberries. They would be baked and then served at tea for
Charlotte and the first six gentlemen, along with Aunt
Penny, Muriel, Susan Wilbanks, and Sir Nicholas.

Sir Nicholas agreed to pass on the contest details to
the gentlemen in the village. The following day, he would
lead the interested parties to the arranged meeting
place.

The next morning at ten, Muriel met the local baronet and the nearly two dozen men he brought with him
to The Wild Rose Inn. Muriel dressed in a sedate sprigged
muslin and a straw chip to shield her face from the sun.
Crawford, one of the kitchen staff, accompanied her,
along with a goodly number of tin pails. They led the way
to the top of the hill, driving along in her pony cart pulled
by Buttercup.

Sir Nicholas agreed to serve as referee to assure the
gents behaved themselves and the competition was done
on the up-and-up. Crawford had the final say and would
assure each pail contained the proper volume of ripe
berries.

Muriel left the men, who were anxious to begin their
gooseberry hunt, in the care of Sir Nicholas.

Satisfied that the task would continue as planned,
Muriel boarded the pony cart and started back for Faraday Hall.

Sir Philip Somerville replaced his hat firmly on his
head without regard to whether it sat at a rakish angle.
He walked along the side of the dirt road, swinging his
walking stick in sync with his stride and considered
how, once again, his curiosity had gotten the better
of him.

A scant hour ago he traveled from the north on his
way to London in his curricle, of moderate age, with his
excellent, newly purchased pair of matched bays. Not
long after, he spied a line of travelers moving south. The
large party so intrigued Philip, he gave in to temptation, altering his direction to follow them and discover their
final destination.

No sooner had he turned east, not yet on the same
road as the procession, when the wheel of his curricle
dropped into a hole and the vehicle came to an immediate stop.

The horses lurched, nearly breaking free. Philip kept
them steady with calming words and gentle hands. He
descended the crippled vehicle to see to the well-being
of his bays and further examine his rig. Not only had
his wheel broken, but the axle had snapped. It was then
he realized his journey had come to an end, but he did
not doubt a new adventure was about to unfold.

"You look as if you could use some help." A trustworthy-looking fellow approached while Philip mulled
over how to unhitch his team. "If I may be of service to
ya, sir."

Philip straightened to reply, "I would very much appreciate the assistance. Whom do I have the honor of
thanking?"

The man pulled his cap from his head and introduced
himself. "Donny Ellis, sir."

The local villager took it upon himself to carry Philip's
leather chest and lead the horses, with the traces hanging
over his shoulder, while leaving Philip empty-handed with
the exception of his walking stick.

A good twenty minutes after they had taken to foot
on their way to the local village of Bloxwich, a small
cart, pulled by a small pony and driven by a young lass,
came rolling up behind them.

"You there," Philip called out to the girl. "Stop. Halt,
I say!"

The cart slowed to a standstill and the girl regarded
the sight confronting her at the side of the road.

"Good thing you come along-" Mr. Ellis began,
shifting the trunk in his arms.

"Yes, yes, my good man." With his raised, York tangloved hand, Philip motioned to Ellis to remain quiet.
There was no need to make any further arrangement. The
baronet could manage from here. "We're very appreciative that the ... young lady ... and her ... her transport
has chance to pass." He eyed the pony and the cart, feeling
thankful that she had happened by and hoping the diminutive steed would prove sufficient.

"If you'll be headed toward Faraday Hall, His Grace
is a good man. He'll offer a gent such as yourself a place
to stay." Ellis gestured, the best he could, toward his companion.

Philip raised his silver-topped cane. "Young miss, if
you would be so good as to convey me to Faraday Hall,
I would be most grateful." He motioned for Ellis to set
the leather chest upon the back of the pony cart while
Philip settled onto the front seat next to the driver.

The young lady obviously needed some instruction,
and Philip provided it. "Onward, if you please." He indicated the forward direction with his walking stick.

She remained still and replied, "No `thank you'?"

"We have not arrived at our destination, my dear," he
teased her. "You might have failed to notice that we
have yet to depart!"

"Not to me," she snapped. "A thank you to Mr. Ellis,
for carrying your trunk and caring for your horses."

"Yes, the fine fellow was good enough to give me a
hand with my luggage and my cattle. You need not concern yourself over an appropriate expression of gratitude
on my part"

Philip had no idea what age this slip of a girl was.
Regardless of her plain garment and simple straw hat,
she was no country lass, and he found her decorum
remarkable for someone so young. What was this young
lady of quality doing roaming around the countryside
alone?

The gentlemanly part of him felt the need to extend
his protection, see to her well-being, and the other part
could not resist roasting her! It amused him to play the
part of someone a bit more pretentious, if only to tease
her.

Philip leaned toward her to whisper something he
suspected would displease her: "He was friendly enough,
but I honestly could not understand half of what he
said."

The narrowing of her eyes displayed her annoyance.
"I'm afraid that Mr. Ellis has been correct in assuming you might find temporary shelter at Faraday Hall.
Especially since it appears your vehicle might have
broken down on or near the Duke's property. It is unclear whose misfortune this truly is."

For the next thirty-five minutes she remained quiet
while Philip subjected her to a full narration of the landscape and commentary of their journey, along with his opinion on both topics. Not once had she interrupted him
to add her own remarks or introduce herself.

The pony cart turned a corner, approaching a man
working his field up ahead. The farmer ceased his toil
to wave at the passersby.

"Pull up at once, missy," the baronet ordered. The
young lady reined in the pony, bringing the cart to a stop.
Philip addressed the man in the field, "Excuse me, sir,
might I make an inquiry?"

"Me, sir?" The man standing in the field indicated
himself.

"Yes, you, sir." Philip lifted his walking stick. Sunlight gleamed off its silver lion-headed top. "Can you
tell me about all this coming and going on round here?
There's an abnormal number of fine rigs lining the road
beyond. Tell me, sir, what goes on there?"

"Ah-don't know rightly if them the same morts as
what's gone to Faraday `All the day afore."' The farmer
wiped his forehead with a swipe of his sleeve. "Can't
say where them be off to this fine mornin'."

"Faraday Hall, did you say?" It was convenient that
Philip was now bound in that direction. No doubt,
once there, he would be in a position to fully sate his
curiosity.

"That's His Grace's, the Duke's place, it is. He's got
three lover-ly girls, he does."

"Does he, now?" Philip remarked.

"That's right, he does."

With his head tilted, Philip eyed the young lady seated next to him. Was it possible his driver was one of His
Grace's offspring? "How fortunate for the Duke that he
is blessed with three beautiful daughters."

"Right enough, that what I said!" the farmer returned.

"Not precisely, but my translation appears adequate,"
Philip whispered to the young lady.

"This man"-she indicated Philip with the nod of her
head-"is far too polite to ask that you tell him the particulars, but he does wish to know. Mr. Gilbert, pray do
go on."

What an impertinent female she is!

"The first girl's already gone, married a few years
back," Farmer Gilbert said. "That was a right mess, all
those fancy morts showin' up an' gettin' puffed off one
by one."

"Really? How interesting," said Philip, but he could
not prevent a small sigh from escaping. Apparently this
young woman was capable of retaliation, bringing about
as much irritation as he had caused her.

"Is Grace's middle girl ... There's a lady, an angel,
everyone thinks so. She's slipped her halo into her reticule and hidin' a pair of wings 'neath her cloak, that one
does."

"Does she really?" Philip managed a polite smile,
pained at having to endure the unnecessary conversation
that consumed precious time. They really should have
been on their way.

"A finer lady you'll never meet, m'lord. Never, I says,
if you ask me."

It seemed to Philip his traveling companion thoroughly enjoyed watching him in his discomfort. He
could not allow this young miss to get the best of him,
so he begged another answer from the farmer, proving
Philip could participate in a full and thorough conversation.

"You mentioned the Duke having three daughters?
What can you tell me about the youngest? A paragon in
her own right, no doubt? Surpassing her sisters, perhaps?"

The broad-faced Farmer Gilbert glanced at the girl
next to Philip in the pony cart, and guffawed with a
wide grin, pointing his large, dirty finger at them. "Wot
there's Lady Muriel right next to you, m'lord."

Philip had suspected the very thing to be true, but even
when he heard the words, he could not believe it. She was
a duke's daughter. Of course she had impeccable manners. The baronet turned his head and lifted the quizzing
glass dangling at the end of a ribbon he wore around his
neck to regard her.

She remained quiet and tilted her chin upward to give
him a splendid view of her profile.

"Lady Muriel, is it?" Keeping his face impassive, he
took an extraordinary amount of time to examine his
driver. Then he lied, "And I thought you a simple country bumpkin."

Muriel rolled into the stable yards at Faraday Hall with
Sir Philip by her side. After the discovery of her identity, the baronet, in line to inherit the title of Earl of Danbury upon the death of his father-who presently
enjoyed exceptionally good health-deemed it necessary that he should introduce himself, despite Muriel's
objection.

She would rather not know any more about him.

Aunt Penny and Charlotte met Muriel and their unexpected visitor on the terrace at the rear of the house.

"Sir Philip, this is my aunt, Mrs. Parker." Muriel turned
to Aunt Penny. "Sir Ph-"

"Sir Philip Somerville, Exquisite." With a full extension and outward sweep of his arms, in what Muriel
thought was a windmill-like motion, Sir Philip lifted
his left knee waist high and traced a pattern with the
pointed toe of his boot. He drew in a breath before
lightly placing his foot before him, preparing to complete his bow.