“Spare me! This is an indictment indeed, when one is aware that you possess the most amiable of families. I can see that I have very narrowly squeaked out of an awful fate,” Rushton laughed.
“I’m not saying that it wouldn’t be comfortable to have a wife to come home to, you understand. I’d just like a breather after all my sisters. Once Cassandra is settled, well, then I shall think about it again.”
“And you told me just the other day that it was a pity I was an only child.”
“In some ways it is,” Penrith said thoughtfully. “I have only to think of my sisters sitting alone on one of those gilded chairs at a ball to be quite agreeable to dancing with the most homely girl imaginable when she is presented to me. You choose purely on your own inclination. Nothing wrong with that, I suppose. You would say I allow people to impose on me, but there, I dare say I have had a greater variety of interesting companions than you have. Brains seldom follow extraordinary beauty, in my experience. Oh, I don’t mean shrewdness; the diamonds have that by the ton. But wit and intelligence, sometimes you don’t even find them unless you dig them out, and in the most unlikely places. Take my sisters. Not much amiss with their looks, but no one would ever proclaim them the gems of the Season. But they are good-hearted girls, clever and full of fun. And look how they’ve been snapped up! Not a one has spent more than one Season on the town! The beauties are intimidating, and more often than not grossly self-centered.”
“Am I to take this as a comment on Miss Longmead?” Rushton asked coolly.
“Dear God, no! What do you take me for?” Penrith protested, once again running his hand through his hair. “I cannot even remember how I... Oh, yes, we were speaking of only children. Look at Lady Eleanor. Diamond of the first water. It’s been three years she’s been on the town. Everyone acknowledges her a beauty. But is she married?”
“No, but that is not to say she hasn’t received any offers. I personally know two gentlemen who have tried their luck.”
“Ah, but that is my point. Only child, selfish, conceited, but also very shrewd. She can hold out for a marquess or a duke, and so she has. Watch her this Season, though. I’d be willing to bet you a pony she accepts the best that offers this time. You can see the lines developing in her mother’s face. Probably the old lady has schemed herself right into a hole. This Season she’ll push for getting the thing settled. So you might just give the word to your friends, if they’re still interested.”
“You forget that I do not intend to go to London this spring, but I will certainly write to my friends,” Rushton offered with a suspicious sparkle in his eyes. “You are very philosophical today, Pen.”
“Yes, well, I’m not a complete crackbrain, Gareth. I find the machinations of Society as amusing as you do, only I seldom speak of it. Probably wouldn’t have now, except it seems to me you’ve lost your sense of humor recently. I’m not saying there aren’t things that should be taken seriously, but you were not used to subscribe to such a pessimistic outlook.”
Rushton regarded him with mock severity. “How can you say so when I have just been dancing for joy over this communication.” He touched the note from Miss Easterly-Cummings with a careless finger. “I ask no more of life at this moment than to make a start on my hunting-box.”
“I had hoped you would give Cassandra a send-off as you did the other girls,” Penrith said reproachfully. “It did none of them any harm, you know.”
“Nor any good, either, I dare say. Cassandra won’t have the least trouble making her way in Society with your mother and sister to guide her.”
“You could make it easier for her. The
ton
have a way of keeping their eye on which young ladies you pay attention to. Still, if you can’t find it in you to do this one small thing for me…”
Casting his eyes heavenward, Rushton groaned. “Very well, Pen, I shall come to London for a few weeks, but not for the whole Season, mind you. I am serious about the hunting-box and have no wish to delay it. For her ball, then, and a week before and after. How would that be?”
Penrith grinned. “You’re not such a bad fellow, Gareth, but I promise I won’t tell anyone. Hate to spoil your image and all that. How about a brandy?”
Henry appeared in the drawing room late in the afternoon mysteriously clutching an enormous box under his arm, a wide grin lighting his features. “I have something for you.”
“For me? What is this, Henry? I had my birthday only two months ago.” Selina regarded his mischievous face suspiciously.
“It is not a birthday present—though it could be. I seem to remember giving you only a few volumes of poetry and a bracelet. Yes, let us say it is a late birthday present.” He pushed one package across the magazine-strewn table toward her. “Go on, open it.”
Hesitantly, Selina set down her needlework and fingered the box. “I am almost afraid to.”
“Your instincts are perfectly in order, Selina,” he teased. “You shan’t like it all, you know. None the less, I shall insist on your using it. Come, open it now.”
She slid the string that bound it over the corners, and with one last questioning glance at her cousin, lifted the top from the box. Inside rested a crimson velvet mantelet luxuriantly trimmed with chinchilla. Henry whisked a hatbox from behind his back and removed the lid with a flourish. Too stunned to make a move, Selina merely gazed at the turban of crimson velvet with its two crimson ostrich feathers and a bandeau of chinchilla. Caught between a desire to laugh and cry, Selina shook her head wonderingly.
“If the crimson ostrich plumes are too much, I have brought you some white ones to replace them,” Henry explained, digging through the paper at the bottom of the box. “Mrs. Baxter said the turban was all the crack, but I thought it a bit much, myself, with the colored feathers. See, these curly ones are much less flamboyant, and I do think with the brim that it is not really an older lady’s hat, don’t you?” he asked anxiously.
“I have never seen anything so delightful,” Selina assured him truthfully. “I think you are right about the plumes, though. Oh, Henry, I love them both, but I don’t understand why you have done this.”
“You tore your cloak this morning and God help me, it isn’t worth repairing, Selina. It’s time you dressed more stylishly, you know. I have no doubt Lord Benedict would not have been so abrupt with you if you’d not looked like you were headed for an expedition to the Alps or something.
He’s
used to fashionable ladies, spending so much of his time in London as he does. It was the greatest pity you should have been climbing through the fence when you met him; I imagine that is not considered quite the thing in his circles. But never mind. Will you try on the mantelet and the turban?”
As she lifted the mantelet from its box, Selina said, “It doesn’t matter what Lord Benedict thinks of me, Henry. I hope you have not gone to this expense so that I may gain his good opinion. I could dress like Lady Caroline Lamb and not win his approbation.”
“It’s not just Lord Benedict, Selina. Would you shame me in front of Sir Penrith and Mr. Rushton? No, I will not allow you to put the turban over your stupid cap! You will find some perfectly acceptable lace caps in the box, too, and I expect you to wear them.” Henry looked uncertain for a moment. “Am I asking too much, Selina?”
His cousin hugged the mantelet about her and turned to inspect herself in the glass. Her brown curls framed her face under the delightful confection, and she could not resist fingering the rich fabric. “No, of course not.”
“You see, the other day when you were describing what Cassandra would be wearing at the breakfast table—you know, when you were pretending that she and Mr. Rushton were married—you described a most fashionable toilette and I thought... That is, you seemed to know what was the current mode, and you talked about it with a certain enthusiasm . . . Dash it, I just thought you might like to wear something pretty, Selina. And you do look pretty in it, you know. There is that portrait of you stuck off in the crimson bedchamber—it should be in the drawing room!—where you are wearing the most dashing crimson riding habit, so I knew that crimson would suit your coloring.” He grinned at the enchanting picture she made. “Do you really like it?”
“Yes, I love it, Henry. It is a long time since I’ve worn anything half so fine. You do not think I am perhaps a little old to wear...”
“Old!? My God, what are you thinking of? You are three and twenty, not forty
.”
“Perhaps you are right.” Selina placed a salute on his cheek, which caused him to flush with embarrassment. “Thank you, Henry. I shall look quite the thing when I go out.”
“You are more than welcome, my dear,” he replied gruffly. “And you might think about getting rid of those brown dresses, too, Selina. And that grotesque green thing. I wouldn’t get anything quite so frilly as Cassandra’s was the other day, nor anything so sober as Lady Southwood’s, but something that would suit you. You know the sort of thing.”
“Yes, Henry. I know precisely what you mean,” Selina laughed.
Chapter Eight
Rushton had been informed, in answer to a polite note to Miss Easterly-Cummings asking how quickly their transaction could be accomplished, that he might present himself at Shalbrook in a week’s time, if he should be prepared to act so quickly. There was nothing to delay him, since he had deposited a substantial amount with a banker in Leicester on his way to Oak Park, so he arrived at Shalbrook at the appointed time, dressed for the milder weather in an elegant blue coat and buff pantaloons. Penrith had ceased to wonder how it was that Weston managed to turn out Rushton in such style when Penrith’s own clothing, of precisely the same quality of material and workmanship, never seemed to carry the same visual impact. In order to have achieved the same effect, Penrith would doubtless have had to deny himself his apricot tarts and Chantilly cakes, which he was loath to do, and besides, somehow he doubted that he could achieve the naturally athletic figure of his friend, in any case. He consoled himself that his Hessians were every bit as well-polished and his beaver hats as jauntily worn as any Rushton could sport, but as his friend drove off in his curricle he decided once again that there was really no comparison between them.
The butler at Shalbrook led Rushton into a room he had not previously entered, the library. Seated at an enormous desk surrounded on all sides by a formidable collection of volumes was Miss Easterly-Cummings, a lace cap on her head and perfectly normally attired in a dove gray woolen dress with a high neck and long sleeves, a matching shawl about her shoulders. Rushton was not at first aware of the other party in the room, as he was seated in a high-backed chair facing away from him, but the man rose at his entry and bowed to him as Selina introduced them.
“Mr. Thomas, this is Mr. Rushton, the gentleman who is purchasing the vale. Mr. Rushton, Mr. Thomas is my banker from Leicester, who will witness the documents we shall be signing.” Selina indicated a chair and continued, “In addition to the deed which I shall sign, I have had Mr. Thomas prepare a short document on which I will require your signature, Mr. Rushton. It contains nothing more than the terms we discussed previously, so it should present no problem.”
Startled, Rushton took the paper she handed him and quickly read through the single paragraph, his brows drawing together in a frown. With an angry flick of the wrist, he tossed the paper from him. “Miss Easterly-Cummings, it is true that I have agreed to offer you first refusal on the property should I ever sell or dispose of it, and it is likewise true that I have endeavored to hire local artisans wherever feasible. I have given you my word as a gentleman that I will abide by those conditions, and I see no necessity for signing a superfluous document.”
The gray-haired banker suggested soothingly, “And yet there is no reason not to, either, Mr. Rushton. It is merely a formality.”
Rushton tapped the document with an impatient forefinger. “My word is as good as my signature, Mr. Thomas. I consider such a contract an insult.”
“There is no insult intended, Mr. Rushton,” Selina said calmly. “The purpose of the contract is to exclude any possibility of misunderstanding. This paper represents my interpretation of our agreement. You might have construed it otherwise.”
“Well, I didn’t, and I’ll be. . . I won’t sign it.”
“Very well, Mr. Rushton. There is no need for you to do so. However, if you don’t, I will not sell you the land.” Selina reached out a hand to draw the paper to her and found her wrist grasped firmly by Rushton.
“Why can you not accept my word?” he rasped.
“Mr. Rushton, this is a business undertaking. My father taught me to have everything put in writing so that there could be no subsequent confusion.” Abruptly she withdrew her hand from his clasp.
“If there is any room for misinterpretation, Miss Easterly-Cummings, it still exists.” He lifted the paper and read coldly, “Mr. Rushton shall undertake to employ local craftsmen, artisans and laborers wherever feasible.’ What if I am not satisfied with your local craftsmen, Miss Easterly-Cummings? How local is local? From Quorn, from Melton Mowbray, from Leicester? A ten-mile range, twenty? Who is to be the judge of these matters? Are you? Am I? Is Mr. Thomas? Shall I have the two of you breathing down my neck to see that the bricklayer does not come from as far afield as Ashby-de-la-Zouch?”
Selina remained untouched by his sarcasm. “I allowed the wording to stay precisely as you and I agreed, Mr. Rushton. This is not a matter over which I am likely to take you to court. I would be annoyed if you were to bring in a contingent of workmen from your own estate, and thereby deny the local workers an opportunity for employment. I am, after all, selling you the land so that some employment may be provided in the area. Of course, if you wish to be perverse, you can sign the document, buy the land and allow it to remain unimproved for the rest of your life. Certainly the contract, on that point, can be loosely interpreted. You fail to see, I think, that you gave your word only to me, and there are men who do not consider that their word to a woman carries a great deal of weight. A gentleman’s honor is often reserved for gentlemen alone. Now, Mr. Rushton, you may sign the contract or not, as you wish. It is not a debatable matter. If you sign, you purchase the land. If you do not...”