In the Brief Eternal Silence (25 page)

“Indeed, it would, child,” the Dowager
agreed, much to Lady Lydia's disgust. “For one could not hold the
teacup properly if emaciated to such a degree of weakness.”

“And that is another thing,” Lady Lydia broke
in, seeing an opportunity and seizing it. “I have noticed, Miss
Murdock, that your arms are a little. . . less soft than is
desirable. You must make an active effort to not be lifting
anything of consequence for no husband will want a wife that does
not appear to be properly helpless and weak.”

“Nonsense, mother!” Andrew broke in, his eyes
twinkling. “However shall she ride to hounds if she is not able to
properly control her mount?”

“Ride to hounds?!” his mother asked in a
scandalized voice. “Oh, no, Miss Murdock,” she turned on that young
visitor, her voice pleading as though she thought Miss Murdock's
very soul were in danger. “I know that there are a few, very few,
women of the peerage that partake in that activity, but I must tell
you, they are in danger of doing their reputations irreparable
harm! It is quite unseemly, and I dare say that none of them
partook in such an activity before they were married, and had their
husbands been aware of it before they were married—well, my dear! I
shouldn't even need to tell you that they would not have made the
match they made.”

“Indeed, I do not ride to hounds, Lady
Lydia,” Miss Murdock told her with perfect honesty. “And it was
unkind of Andrew—Earl Larrimer to say such a thing,” and she shot
that laughing young man a rebuking look. “No, I am much more happy
to ride on the track than to chase some poor fox around.”

“Ride on the track?” Lady Lydia pronounced in
utter disbelief. “You can not mean to tell me that you race?!”

“Oh, no, ma'am!” Miss Murdock hastened to
say. “Even I am aware that is beyond the recall. No, no. I merely
train.”

“Merely. . . train,” Lady Lydia said, her
outrage so complete that she was nearly in shock with it. “Oh, my,
what ever shall we do with her?” she moaned to her
mother-in-law.

“Do?” Lady Lenora asked, nibbling at a cake.
“Why should we do anything? The girl is quite all right, I say.
Better than these nambypamby's that go about nowadays, fluttering
and swooning. In my day, a man wanted a woman with some backbone to
her, not a near invalid afraid to even go out in the sun.”

“Oh, my. Oh, my,” Lady Lydia moaned. “It is
all going to be quite hopeless. Quite hopeless.”

“Oh, fear not, mother,” Andrew told her. “I
for one think she will be smashingly popular this season. I dare
say every other man my age is dreadfully bored with the women that
are pranced before us with each year's coming out. Dull as
ditchwater, all of them, with more hair than wit. Why, when I stand
up with one to dance, I am always left to feel as though I am
dancing with someone who does not even speak my language, so
difficult it is to converse with them. At least with Miss Murdock,
I can say what I please without fear of sending her into a faint.
Well,” he amended, “almost anything.”

Miss Murdock was moved by this unexpected
seal of approval from her new-found friend and looked over at him,
her eyes shining, and said, “Thank you, Earl Larrimer. I am quite
touched that you at least feel I shall not be a total flop.
However,” she continued in a stronger voice and her eyes searched
out the Duchess who was making another careful selection from the
tray of cakes and sweets, “it really all is a moot point, for I
have determined that I can not continue to take advantage of your
hospitality, Lady Lenora. I hope you will forgive me, but I believe
I should make arrangements as soon as possible to return home.”

“No!” Andrew said before the Duchess could
even reply. “Say you do not mean it, Miss Murdock, for I am sure
the entire season will be contemptibly flat without you here to
share it with.”

“Indeed,” the Dowager agreed. “I have been so
much looking forward to having someone to launch! Do not say that
you will deprive me of that pleasure, Miss Murdock, for I simply
will not hear of it.”

Miss Murdock, with a blotch of color on each
cheek, replied, “I am sorry, but I have determined that I must
speak to your grandson as soon as possible as it was he that issued
this invitation and it is only correct that I tell him personally
that I can no longer accept his.

. . his hospitality,” she ended on a weak
note.

The Duchess's faded eyes studied her with
concern, but she seemed disconcertingly calm. “Well, I shall leave
it to you and St. James, then, Miss Murdock, as I am sure that he
will be able to overcome whatever has you disturbed. He will be
here this evening, at any rate, so you may take up the matter with
him then.”

“This evening,” Miss Murdock echoed, finding
that just a little sooner than she had expected. But, she had
decided the sooner she left the better, so she should not turn
squeamish at having her wish to speak to him as soon as possible
granted. “Well, that will be fine then. Thank you, ma'am. I hope
that after speaking with him I will be able to give you a more
understandable explanation rather than this somewhat vague
announcement. It is really just so. . . complicated.”

“Nonsense!” Lady Lydia interrupted. “It is
just nerves, my dear, at your coming out. I really can not blame
you, as you are rather old for such an activity, and must feel that
you are at a distinct disadvantage. But I assure you, that with the
Dowager and myself working on you, you will do well enough.”

“That is very kind of you, Lady Lydia,” Miss
Murdock returned. “And I must say, very unexpected. But I really am
not in the market for a husband, so you see how misguided all of
these efforts are! I think it would be much more prudent for me to
return home now before I become more of an expense and feel bound
to walk down the aisle with. . . someone. . . just to justify those
same expenses.”

“Tut, child,” the Duchess broke in. “Do not
upset yourself. You know very well that I do not count the expense
at all. Why I could not be more oblivious to it than if I did not
have to pay out a single pence!” she added with a wicked little
gleam in her eye. Miss Murdock blushed and set down her tea cup
with a less than graceful clang onto her saucer.

“All the same, ma'am,” Miss Murdock returned.
“I can not accept such generosity when I can see no acceptable way
to repay it.” Before the Dowager, or anyone else had a chance to
comment, she went on in a disturbed voice. “Forgive me, ma'am. I
did not mean to go into this now and I think I very much understand
your feelings of disappointment, and, indeed, I care very much if
you are. . . are hurt. But you must understand my position as well,
or at least I hope you can understand.”

“I do, child. So do not fret,” the Duchess
hastened to say. “And I am sure it will all come out right in the
end, whatever you decide. But, here, let us talk about something
else. There is a ball at Almacks' tomorrow, the first of the
Season. Surely, even if you decide you must leave, you will indulge
me by at least attending one ball?”

Miss Murdock twisted her hands in her lap.
“I—I can not say for sure, ma'am. . .”

“But certainly you will go to one, Miss
Murdock?” Andrew encouraged. “Why, if you are going to go home, you
must be able to say you went to Almacks! And I should so like to
take you to some of the other sites here in London for who can say
when you will next be here? It would be a shame for you to only go
home saying that you saw nothing but the Duchess's home and the
dress maker's!”

“Oh, yes, Miss Murdock,” Lady Lydia added.
“One must visit the hat maker's also. And no visit would be
complete if you did not go at least once to the park in the morning
to take the air. And if your stay is to be so short, we should have
at least a dinner party in your honor before you go. Do you not
think so, Lady Lenora? It has been so long since we had a party
here,” and the longing in her voice was unmistakable. “It has been
nearly a year since Morty died, and we have not had a party since
his death.”

“Yes. You are right, Lydia,” the Duchess
replied, for once in perfect agreement with her daughter-in-law.
“Just because the Queen seems determined to be in mourning for ever
over Prince Albert does not mean that the rest of us should be so
gloomy. Miss Murdock,” she commanded. “You will remain out the
week, no matter what you and my grandson decide.”

And Miss Murdock, seeing how churlish she
appeared to be by wanting to return home immediately, agreed with
reluctance that she would go to Almacks and allow a dinner party in
her honor, though the thought of both fairly terrified her. Andrew
expressed his relief, and the Duchess nodded in approval. Lady
Lydia expressed her pleasure, “Very good, Miss Murdock. I shall
make a point of inviting a great many eligible bachelors so that
you may at least see what is being offered this season.”

To which Miss Murdock rolled her eyes in
exasperation and met Andrew's amused look. “Yes, Miss Murdock,” he
agreed. “You should at least see what is being offered this
season.” And his blue eyes seemed very warm as they looked into her
own.

St. James was in a thoughtful mood as he
mounted his horse after spending an hour with his deceased uncle's
solicitor. The will that had been sent over to his own Barrister's
office had been correct and St. James had been unable to find
explanation for the strange arrangements that his Uncle Mortimer
had made just two months before his death.

Barrister Collins had been of the opinion
(observing with dryness that St. James' aunt was, in fact, rather
ill-suited to be in charge of such a large estate, or even, in
fact, any estate) that his Uncle had wanted a more capable hand at
the reins of control. That could very well be true, St. James
conceded, but it did not explain why St. James had not then been
put in charge of the estate immediately, instead of upon his
marrying. Or why, once put in charge of said estate, if his cousin
Andrew were to die, the estate would not return to Lydia but remain
under the control, and in fact, ownership, of St. James
himself.

It seemed very odd, indeed.

St. James had asked if Collins thought Lady
Lydia were even aware of this wrinkle in her husband's will, and
Collins had been of the opinion that although he could not know for
certain, that she was not, as she had taken no real interest in any
of it and had left the decisions to be made by the managers who had
always taken care of the various properties and accounts and who
reported to him. When Earl Mortimer Larrimer had been alive,
Collins had passed on all this information to him to be decided
according to his wishes, but since his death, Lady Lydia had not
moved herself to make any decisions on the estate and had left it
in his hands. Of which, he assured St. James, he had been very
profitably able to do.

All this information, which really was not
much at all, left St. James with the strange feeling that his uncle
had felt him even less capable of handling the estate than his
feather-brained widow. Not a heartening thought, nor one that he
could endorse as the true reason, for he had worked with his uncle
for many years, and his uncle had seemed to trust him a great deal,
and to rely on his abilities.

“M'lord,” a young voice piped up,
interrupting his musings. St. James, who had settled himself in the
saddle but had not yet turned his horse into the street, looked
down to where the voice had issued from, saw the same bedraggled
youth that he had charged with carrying his message to Tyler
earlier.

“You, laddie,” he said. “Do not tell me you
could not find the address?”

“Oh, no, m'lord. Found it just as I said I
would. And your groom Tyler, too. He guv me somethin' to eat,
m'lord. I hope you don't mind,” and he rubbed his raggedy shirt
covered stomach to give proof to his words.

St. James gave a faint smile. “No, laddie. I
don't mind. Did my man tell you I have a position for you if you
want it?”

“Coo, m'lord. He did. He told's me to comes
find you here in case I was needed by you.”

“Did he send a message?” St. James asked. He
leaned down from the saddle, his gold eyes dark with interest.

“Nothing written, m'lord,” the boy replied.
“Only that he had what you had asked for this morning and that you
should look at it this evening when you arrive as planned. He bade
me tell you that,” and he frowned as he said this, his dirty face
concentrating as the words had no meaning to him and he wanted to
repeat them correctly in case they had meaning for his lordship,
“he has a better fist than t'maid has.”

St. James laughed at this. “Well, that is not
saying much,” he commented. “But it is as I expected.” He looked
down at the boy, debating for a moment, then said, “Have you ever
been up, lad?”

“On a horse, you mean, sir?”

“Yes. On a horse, I mean. Can you ride?”

“Coo, never been on a horse, m'lord. But I
guess I can hold on as well as the next boy can.”

“I expect you can,” St. James agreed. “You
look like a scrappy young fellow.” He removed his boot from the
stirrup and put a gloved hand down to the boy. “Put your foot in
there and I'll lift you up behind. No, your other foot, otherwise
you'll end up seeing where we've been rather than where we're
going.”

The boy put in the proper foot and St. James
grabbed his hand and hoisted his light figure up behind him. “I
only ask you hang onto the saddle as best you may,” he instructed,
“for you shall get my coat filthy otherwise.”

“Aye, m'lord.” The boy was shaking with
excitement. “But I be the king of the world from up here, m'lord.
This is a grand way to be!” Then he was silent for St. James kicked
his stallion into as fast a pace as he could go in amongst the
traffic of the street and the boy was too intent upon hanging on to
say anything further.