Lady Elizabeth's Comet (16 page)

"In the usual way." His stick dug into the nearest crack. "I was hit at Alexandria, not
very badly, but it--my arm--didn't heal as it should. The surgeons gave me too much laudanum
for too long. It's not dear in Egypt. They used a lot of it."

"But that's some time ago!"

"Sixteen years," he said evenly.

I stared at the stiff new leaves of the rosebushes.

"When we reached England the regiment were sent to Hove, and the surgeon there
helped me stop using it. I haven't since. Willingly." He gave a slight repressed shiver that was
sufficiently eloquent because it was clearly involuntary.

I could think of nothing but the appalling stretch of time in which he had continued in
the army after that--six years in the Peninsula, battle after battle--and the even more appalling
time afterwards. "I wish I'd known."

He jabbed at the widening crevice in the flags. "D'you fancy it's something I'm proud
of?"

"No, but it's nothing shameful either. I should not have tricked you into using laudanum
in December with any other motive than to save your life, Clanross. I hope you'll credit
that."

"At the time I didn't especially wish to have my life saved." His voice was matter-of-fact
but he did not look at me.

Once in a great while I find the right thing to say. "I ought to be shocked, I daresay, but
in the circumstance I'm not." I didn't mention Bevis's fears for his friend's life.

Imperceptibly Clanross relaxed. What had he expected of me? High-toned moralising?
Disgust? It came to me that I must seem as strange and unexpected to him as he seemed to me.
"We'll have to reconcile you to your continued existence."

"That won't be necessary. I was grateful to you for lending me Miss Bluestone's
company over the holidays, however. Otherwise I might have imagined I'd got my desserts."

"What do you mean?"

"Premature sepulture," he said wryly.

I smiled. "Brecon's tomb-like qualities have struck other observers"

We sat for a time in a silence that was not unfriendly. "You ought to send Willoughby
packing," I ventured at last.

"And spoil love's young dream?"

"Willoughby in love? Nonsense."

He smiled at that. "Wharton is smitten with the fair Cecilia. It can't have escaped your
notice."

"Do you mean to encourage the connexion?"

"She would make him the worst possible wife."

"I'm not sure of that. She's a witling, but she admires Hazeldell and seems to like
Charles's mother and sister. All of which is not to the point if you dislike the match."

"I? Good God, who am I to be approving or disapproving Charles Wharton's marital
prospects?"

"You are Head of the Family. I meant Cecilia's prospects."

He began to laugh.

Presently, I saw the humour, too. "It would serve Willoughby right. Especially if Cecilia
meant to entrap you."

"Or Bevis."

"You saw that, did you?"

"I'm afraid it had to be pointed out to me."

"By whom?"

"By Bevis," he said dryly. "He enjoys playing with fire, if so intense an element may be
attached to Miss Gore's sensibilities."

Was Clanross warning me that Bevis was a flirt? I stiffened but kept my voice light with
an effort. "Bevis's antics have always been amusing to watch."

He did not pursue the matter. Perhaps he thought me complaisant. Perhaps Bevis
thought me complaisant. An unwelcome thought. It had been a morning of unwelcome thoughts.
They followed me after Clanross and I had gone in out of the damp.

Willoughby and Cecilia had been at Brecon more than a month. Quarter day was long
gone and Willoughby showed no sign of leaving, despite some strong hints from me.

Our routine continued with slight alterations. Bevis had definitely turned from Cecilia to
me, freeing Charles to pursue his lady on our morning rides and sometimes, boldly, in the
evening under Willoughby's offended glare.

Clanross had begun to take daily walks, though he avoided further carriage rides, and he
looked decidedly better for the exercise. We saw him sometimes on the great mown slope that
led down to the Dower House, listening with grave courtesy to Miss Bluestone's botanical
lessons and admiring the twins' sketches. That drew Willoughby's satire, of course.

I was glad Willoughby's sharp eye had not yet discerned an even more absurd
development. Jean had decided to fall in love with Clanross. Calf love is at all times awkward,
and Jean bored Maggie and Miss Bluestone and me excessively with her moonings and her tears.
She quarreled with Maggie merely because the Object of her Devotion had commended Maggie's
drawing of a rhododendron bloom. Maggie, happily, took it all in a spirit of tolerance. I wasn't
sure how long Clanross's patience would last. It was all rather wearing. Willoughby was wearing.
Even the weather was wearing, obstinately cloudy day after day.

I could not work, so I gave myself over to dissipation and allowed Bevis to court me, so
long as he wasn't obvious about it. This challenge put him on his mettle, and he was all that is
delightful. I began to reconcile myself to marriage. It was not difficult to reconcile myself to
Bevis. Flirt or no, he was a good companion, and courtship at twenty-eight is far more satisfying
than at eighteen.

There were other changes, too. The most revolutionary was Clanross's high-handed
decision to remove the long table from the small dining room and to replace it with a
comfortable oval affair from one of the lumber rooms. General conversation now became
possible at dinner, but the style of the table did not blend with the massive gilt furnishings of its
new surroundings.

"Such a lovely piece of furniture," Willoughby exclaimed as we entered. "But more
suited to an, er, parlour, don't you think, than the Brecon dining room?"

Clanross bowed. "In future I'll consult your taste, Gore."

I could not forbear asking, "Whose taste did you consult this time?"

"Chacton's."

Bevis fell into the whoops, and Willoughby, conscious that he was the butt of a
conspiracy, said with fair humour, "We'll have to educate your tastes in other directions,
Clanross. I wash my hands of the furnishings. Do you go up to Town in the autumn?"

Clanross eyed him warily. "I may. Why?"

Willoughby affected languor. "I had looked forward to introducing you to the Ton
during the Little Season."

Bevis's eyes gleamed. "When the time comes, I'll show Tom the village."

"No need for guides, thank you. I've seen the village."

Bevis hooted. "London in July as viewed from the Embankment?"

"Just so," Clanross said coolly. "I prefer Madrid. I even prefer Lisbon."

Willoughby's face was eloquent of disbelief.

Bevis smiled. "What you need, my lad, is a good look at Paris."

Clanross glanced up from the soup, a nice madrilène. Cook was learning. "I'd
like that. Next spring?"

"Done."

I was wondering whether Bevis planned to take Clanross on our bridetrip, or perhaps,
God forbid, he wanted an autumn wedding.

Miss Bluestone, who was dining with us because Alice had caught a spring cold, leaned
forward and said in the tones of one who wishes to verify a fact, "But you'll have to go up to
London, my lord, will you not? To take your seat in the Lords."

There was a moment of startled silence. At least I was startled. Willoughby's mouth
thinned and Bevis's opened slightly. Even Charles and Cecilia broke off their
tête
a
tête
and regarded the rest of us questioningly. Miss Bluestone cocked her
head like an inquisitive sparrow.

Clanross said without enthusiasm, "Yes, for my sins."

Bevis choked.

I began to be amused. "Have you writ your speech yet? Papa's are in the library, bound
in calf."

"I'll read them with interest," Clanross said gravely, "but your father was used to make
significant utterances. I thought I'd just mumble a few clichés and fade gracefully into
the background."

"You don't aspire to political leadership?"

"Why, no. If I achieved it I might have to consort with politicians." He returned my gaze
blandly.

Even Cecilia laughed at that. I caught Charles admiring her silvery trill.

"Dashed dull lot, politicians," Willoughby pronounced. I daresay it was the first time he
had agreed with Clanross on anything. He looked surprised at himself.

"Has Smollet showed you the state robes, Clanross?" I asked. "I believe my father kept
them at Brecon."

He looked pained. "Let us hope I'll have small cause to use them."

Bevis grinned devilishly. "Bound to. The king can't hold out much longer, and I daresay
Prinny will put on a coronation to end all coronations. Elephants and ancient musick and
illuminations. A grand processional in the Abbey. There you'll be, Tom, mincing up the aisle
well ahead of my esteemed parent and all decked out in purple and ermine."

Clanross contemplated this vision above a bit of turbot. "I'll have a relapse."

Bevis gave a muted whoop of laughter. "Imposter."

"Commoner." Clanross grinned at him. He was right, of course. Bevis is merely a
courtesy title.

I could see Miss Bluestone did not approve their levity. When the general laughter
subsided she said in mild reproof, "I'm sure you'll do your duty, my lord. Have you a sponsor for
your entry to the Upper House?"

"As it happens I have, ma'am." Clanross's amusement turned wry.

"Kinnaird," I murmured. "What an appalling prospect. He huffs and snorts and looks
exactly like a purple walrus."

"I shan't trouble Lord Kinnaird."

Bevis leaned forward, almost dipping his frill in the gravy. "Who?"

"Dunarvon."

One in the eye for Kitty, I thought, tickled.

"My father?" Bevis's voice is too mellifluous to squawk.

"He offered," Clanross said, apologetic. "I thought it would be politic to accept."

"When?"

"You were still in France."

"When?"

Clanross dissected another neat bit of turbot. "Directly I told him the ghastly news."

Bevis stared, mute. Finally he took a long, steadying breath. "Are you suggesting that all
that roaring and snorting Dunarvon had been directing at my head is poodle-fakery?"

"I told you his bark is worse than his bite."

Bevis lapsed into stunned silence. He had always held his father in exaggerated awe. I
wondered if this revelation of Dunarvon's softheartedness would give Bevis the brass to defy his
papa. I felt a faint stirring of hope for my telescope. The real problem was that I'd have to
persuade Bevis. I had been assuming I must exchange astronomy for matrimony, so I hadn't
troubled to ask Bevis's opinion of wives who wrote scholarly articles and stayed up all night
chasing comets.

Suppose he approved and Dunarvon approved, what then? Oblivious to Willoughby,
who was exercising his wit on the House of Lords, I reviewed what I knew of Dunarvon's
properties. There was a tidy little place in Dorset with a promontory overlooking the Mendips.
Perhaps my instrument could be housed there. Of course, spring viewing would be out of the
question. Bevis enjoys the fashionable world and we would go up to London--or Paris--in the
spring. Summer, perhaps.

Willoughby uttered something sharp.

"I beg your pardon, Willoughby. I was wool-gathering."

Willoughby did not dignify that with a riposte. He was out of sorts all evening. After our
usual rubber of whist, at which Willoughby and Miss Bluestone lost for once, he waxed
downright surly. He even declined to review everyone's mistakes. Bevis and Clanross had been
amusing themselves at backgammon, and Willoughby watched them wind up their match with
sullen disdain.

"Child's play. Why don't you take up something decent like vingt-un or loo if you don't
play whist?"

"You're labouring under a misapprehension," Clanross said calmly. "I play whist, but
not with you."

Willoughby went dangerously still. "Upon my word..."

"I shouldn't like it said I was bent on fleecing my heir."

Momentarily mollified, Willoughby took in the significance of Clanross's bland
statement. "Fleecing!"

"I have good luck."

Bevis was trying to suppress his laughter. "Tom remembers every card played in order,
Willoughby, so if you're slightly fuddled, best stand off."

"It's just luck," Clanross said.

"Clanross amuses himself by playing chess and reading improving books," I interjected
for the sake of peace.

"Latin sermons," Clanross agreed.

Bevis grinned. "And endowing hospitals."

Clanross said gravely, "I'm a great patron of hospitals."

Willoughby flushed. He was not used to being roasted. "You'll set the Ton by the
ear."

"That has always been one of my cardinal ambitions, to be sure."

Curious, I asked, "Before or after political power?"

Clanross gave me a reproachful look. "After. I'm not lightminded. What the devil am I
going to do with two rotten boroughs, I wonder? You might relieve me of one of them, Gore, out
of family feeling."

Miss Bluestone said hesitantly, "Could you not see them abolished, my lord?"

Clanross smiled at her without satire. "In my innocence I suggested that to Lady
Elizabeth's brother-in-law. When Featherstonehaugh stopped laughing, he indicated such a step
would require a major reform of Parliament."

"As well abolish the House of Lords." I was imitating Papa at his most irascible.

"I suggested that, too," Clanross said dryly.

There was general laughter, but I was not sure he was joking. Neither was Bevis. "Here,
I say, Tom, don't go airing your Radical views in my father's hearing."

"I'll be careful. Between Dunarvon bearleading me in Parliament and you and Gore
bearleading me in Society I won't dare to put a foot wrong." He spoke with some tartness, and I
did not blame him. He regarded Willoughby thoughtfully. "Perhaps Gore could engage Lady
Whitby to present me at Almack's. What think you, Elizabeth?"