When Selina looked at him he shrugged his shoulders helplessly. “You were leaving a small house there. As I entered the street I saw you kiss a pretty, cheerful-looking girl and heard you tell her that you would be back. I was embarrassed; I didn’t want you to see me, so I slipped into a doorway. The rest of your conversation I could not avoid overhearing, and certainly it was most instructive.”
Haslett was casting his mind back frantically to the day she spoke of, trying to remember exactly what he had said. It was too long ago, too many mistresses past. “It wouldn’t have mattered to you and me,” he protested.
Selina almost laughed. “That is exactly what you told
her.
You were reassuring her that, although you were off to ask me to marry you, it need make no difference to your understanding with her.”
“Well, that’s quite true, Miss Easterly-Cummings. I mean, they are very separate things, a wife and a mistress, and needn’t interfere with one another in any way.”
He was so sincerely adamant in his argument that Selina felt more like crying than laughing now. With an effort she stilled the agitated movement of her hands. “So I am given to understand. Foolish of me, but I cannot see it quite that way, Mr. Haslett. And, being of such an eccentric turn of mind, I found it easier to disappear than to face you. Obviously we were not suited, after all.”
“Well, I. . . Of course, one’s wife doesn’t usually know about one’s mistresses, I suppose. Still…” He dangled the whip against the traces, drawing it back and forth while he thought. As though it clinched his argument, he finally blurted, “But everyone does it.”
“Do they? How very interesting. Why?”
“Because…” Haslett looked at her sharply to see if she was roasting him, but could find no trace of merriment in the frank brown eyes. “It’s probably not a matter I should discuss with you.”
“No, but I really am curious, Mr. Haslett.”
Her companion was not in his element. By nature he was light-hearted and enjoyed nothing more than teasing and flirting, and the present situation did not allow of either. He could not believe that he owed her an explanation of his own conduct, but then, she had not requested one. All she asked was to understand why a man needed both a wife and a mistress. Something about her eyes held him as it had in those days in Bath. Alongside the strength and openness, there was a vulnerability which somehow placed an obligation on him. He would answer this one question, and then he wouldn’t see her again. He wasn’t that great a fool!
“Gently-bred ladies are too…fragile to be…imposed on all the time. Most wives are willing to do their duty, but they don’t want to be constantly... bothered.” Oh, hell, obviously he was a fool to have tried to explain this. “Ladies just want to run a house and be social and all. Oh, and they don’t want to be increasing all the time, either.”
“And mistresses do?”
“Do what?”
“Want to be increasing all the time and constantly bothered.”
“Well, dammit, Miss Easterly-Cummings, they are paid for it! That’s to say…”
Selina could not resist laughing at his dismayed expression. “No, never mind, Mr. Haslett. I believe I understand what you are saying, though I find it difficult to believe you are entirely correct. We won’t discuss the matter further.”
Gratefully, he set his horses in motion once more, taking the first opportunity to head them back in the direction of Shalbrook, convinced that he should have listened to his first instinct and not tried to explain anything to her. It all came from heeding those distressing eyes, but he would not be caught in that trap again. There were any number of flirtatious ladies in London who could not cajole him, or trick him, or whatever it was, into doing one whit that he did not wish to do. He had had a very lucky escape in Bath, he told himself, and he was not going to make the mistake of staying in Miss Easterly-Cummings’ vicinity one moment longer than necessary.
“Have you known Sir Penrith long?” Selina asked to break the silence.
“Several years. I see him in London frequently, at White’s or Manton’s shooting gallery, though he don’t go in much for the Fancy. Boxing, you know. Rushton now, he’s often at Jackson’s, sparring with someone or other. Has a very powerful right, too. But he says he’s not going to London for the Season.”
“Why not?”
“Because of the hunting-box, he says, but I think from the way Penrith keeps avoiding the subject of Miss Longmead, that she’s shown him the door.”
“Shown who the door?” Selina asked, confused.
“Rushton.”
“Was she his mistress?” Selina asked, with a brave attempt at appearing sophisticated.
“Lord, no! Whatever gave you that idea?” he asked, astonished. “Oh, I see. You don’t know her, of course. Quality,” he provided succinctly.
“Then you think she has refused his offer of marriage?”
“I can’t be sure he offered for her at all, but the bets were on that he would and that she’d accept. Now he’s not going to London. What do you make of that?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea, and I am sure it does not concern me,” she answered faintly.
“No, well, you don’t even know her, so of course it wouldn’t. Beautiful girl, but no dowry to speak of, I hear. Still, that needn’t matter to Rushton. She’s from an excellent family, though I don’t care in the least for her mother, or her father, for that matter. Forever putting on airs, and only the junior branch of an earl’s family. The way they act you’d think they were royalty itself.” He offered her a sheepish grin. “So far today I have annoyed, distressed and embarrassed you, and now I seem intent on boring you, too. Do forgive me. I shall tell you instead of the most unusual dinner party I attended a week ago, for it cannot fail to amuse you.”
Selina settled back to allow his light chatter to wash over her. There was no denying that he could be diverting when he chose, which he usually did, and there would be time enough when she returned home to consider the information he had imparted. Considering her own standing with Mr. Rushton, it should not make the least difference, in any case. Unfortunately, it did.
Chapter Eleven
“I don’t understand what is happening here,” Rushton said as he drew his finger in a circle over an area of the sketch Lord John had laid before him.
“Let me come to that in a moment if I may, Mr. Rushton. I have sited the house so that these three rooms will have the southern exposure, and get light for the majority of each day. Perhaps I should tell you that I have been greatly influenced by Mr. Nash in some respects, like his Cronkhill villa, where he attempts to catch the morning light to great advantage. Your entry would be a gallery to the central hall with a fireplace and stairs to the first floor. The two major rooms—dining and drawing—are octagonal in shape, providing an excellent basis for massive beams. Between the two would be a library/gun room with entry from each, and a shared fireplace with the dining room. Beyond, running along this corridor are the kitchens and servant quarters. I think stone walls at the corners, where they are necessary, but with stucco between to simplify the building. Otherwise, it will look like a ridiculously small fortress.”
“You haven’t explained this area,” Rushton protested, tapping the spot he had indicated previously.
Lord John grinned engagingly. “That is something rather unique, I think, though I have done it once before, and most effectively. But first, let me explain about the first floor. The master bedchamber is just here above the dining room, with the dressing room over the library. There are two further bedchambers over the drawing room, with lesser guest chambers along the corridor above the kitchens and so forth. The sharp slope of the roof over these areas will make the bedchambers considerably smaller than their lower counterparts, but more than adequate, I think. Now,” he said dramatically, “I shall explain about the verandah.”
“Verandah? Surely you are jesting. I intend to use the hunting-box almost exclusively in the winter.”
“Precisely. That is why I have enclosed it entirely in glass, with the roof providing a balcony above. Have you a greenhouse or succession houses at Farnside, Mr. Rushton?”
“Yes.”
“Then you understand the principle on which I am working. The room will have the feel of being out-of-doors, and yet will be heated by the morning sun and through most of the day, sited as it is. With such an expanse of glass your library and both major rooms will not be blocked from any view, but will have glass doors opening onto it. From here stairs lead down to a terrace when the weather is finer.”
“But surely it will look very strange!”
“Not at all. I think perhaps Miss Easterly-Cummings thought so at first, too, but she is delighted with the results.”
“Where in God’s name did she put such a thing at Shalbrook?”
“Oh, not in the manor house. When we built a house for Mr. Sands, her estate manager, we used the idea. The Sands children were grown and they no longer needed the size dwelling they had inhabited, but another family did, so Miss Easterly-Cummings commissioned me to design him a new residence. In talking with Mr. Sands I found he has an interest in rare plants, and the idea of incorporating a greenhouse occurred to me. His house is not so large as yours will be, but I see no reason, with your requirements, that a larger space would not accept of the same solution. Not that you will use it as a nursery for plants! But when it was finished, it made a most remarkable portion of the house, and he tells me that it is his favorite room, even aside from his pineapples and such.”
“But what would I use the room for?”
“Almost anything. A sitting room with a distinct difference, an outdoor spot enclosed from the weather, a conservatory, a reading room. It will serve the additional purpose of an entry from the grounds where it won’t matter if you track snow and mud—not a light consideration at this time of year.” Lord John watched his companion with eager anticipation.
“Hmm. I don’t know. The house is sufficient without it, as far as I am concerned. I like the design very well, and these elevations would look equally promising without the ‘verandah.’”
“But you would lose the balcony above,” Lord John suggested. “Although the clearing is on a slight rise, the ground floor offers no view over the trees, which the balcony would.”
“So would the windows in the bedchambers,” Rushton reminded him. Lord John looked crestfallen, and Rushton shook his head ruefully. “Is it so important to you, then?”
“Not to say important, sir, but I think you would regret a decision to omit it. Could I suggest something? Have a look at Mr. Sands’ house and see what you think. If you are still against the idea after that, well, there is no reason to pursue it.”
His eagerness and the hopeful light in his eyes caused Rushton to agree, albeit reluctantly. Seeing Mr. Sands’ house would necessitate an interview with Miss Easterly-Cummings, he felt sure, a circumstance which he did not view with pleasure. “Very well, Lord John, I shall have a look at the house and send you word of my decision. Now, about the plumbing and some kind of heating system…”
Selina set down the note from Mr. Rushton and stared vacantly at the portrait of her father on the opposite wall. There was no reason she need see him; he could as easily have Mrs. Sands show him about her own house. Yes, that would be best. She rose and went in search of Mr. Sands, who assured her that his wife would be more than happy to show Mr. Rushton about the house that afternoon. He would just tell her when he went home for his mid-day meal.
Back in the drawing room, Selina drew a sheet of writing paper toward her but hesitated before she dipped the pen in the standish. If Lord John had suggested that Rushton see the house, possibly he counted on Selina’s enthusiasm to persuade his client. If he did, he was wrong, Selina decided with a frown. More likely Mr. Rushton would choose to do precisely the opposite of what she suggested, simply because he was annoyed with her. She let out a long breath and began to pen her reply to his note.
Attempting to put any thought of him out of her mind, she set herself the task of sorting through the old papers in four boxes in the library, deciding whether they were old enough that they might be clearly marked and removed to the attics. From the housekeeper she borrowed a smock which easily enveloped her twice over, and began working her way through the piles of paper, dusty with age and boring beyond description. As she finished each stack, she relegated it to its proper place, and brushed back the tendrils of brown hair that clung to her forehead, leaving smudges on her forehead and cheeks.
“You look a proper sight,” Henry remarked as he entered the room and spied her seated amidst the stacks of papers on the floor. “I was just coming in from a ride when I saw Mr. Rushton and persuaded him to have tea with us.”
“Oh, Henry, how could you?” Selina moaned as she made a feeble effort to dust her hands on the smock. “You knew I was to be working on the papers this afternoon.”
“All the more reason to give you a break,” he said cheerfully.
Rushton, who had overheard the whole while he handed his hat and gloves to the footman, now appeared in the doorway to take in the scene. “Perhaps I should excuse myself, Miss Easterly-Cummings. You do not seem in any position to receive guests.”
The obvious twitch at the corners of his lips made Selina wish to box his ears and she said crossly, “Now you are here, you may as well sit down. I will have to change, of course.” She attempted to struggle through the disorder to her feet, and Rushton with two lengthy strides reached her side and pulled her up by one dirty hand. “Thank you. If you will excuse me for a few minutes…”
“No, no, I won’t stay. Forrester was a trifle rash in extending his invitation, I fear.”
“This is Henry’s home, too, Mr. Rushton, and he may invite whomever he chooses to tea. I needn’t join you at all, and will just see that the tea tray is sent in,” she remarked coldly as she retreated to the door.
“I say, Selina, no need to go off in a huff.” Henry eyed his cousin warily but she had her back to him and did not answer. “We’ll wait for you.”