“Lord no. To follow Miss Brooke’s advice.”
“Miss Brooke’s! And what precisely did Miss Brooke advise your sister-in-law?”
“Not to set her cap at you only because her mama and your aunt bid her, when she wouldn’t want you if she caught you. I mean,” Fitz corrected himself hurriedly as Edmund glared at Jane’s oblivious back, “I daresay she didn’t put it quite like that.”
“I shall, of course, be glad to be rid of Lavinia’s pursuit,” said Edmund, regaining his outward composure with a struggle. And he’d be glad to wring Miss Brooke’s neck, he added to himself.
For the next few minutes he was forced to listen to Fitz singing Miss Brooke’s and Miss Gracechurch’s praises. Daphne was sleeping comfortably and the baby had been removed into the next-door chamber, all due to the kind offices of those two admirable ladies.
“Like to ask your advice,” said Fitz at last in a low voice, looking round to be sure no one could overhear. The Tuttles, the Danforths, and Henry Parmenter had all come in, but none approached their host and his friend. “Thing is,” he went on, “I want to do something to thank them. It’s obvious they’re both purse-pinched, but do you think they’d be insulted if I offered them a spot of the ready?”
“Yes, I do!” Though Edmund was quite prepared to condemn Jane Brooke’s character on any number of grounds, he had never for a moment supposed her mercenary. In his experience, those who wanted money approached with obsequious flattery or whining complaint. He couldn’t imagine Jane lowering herself to either expedient.
On the other hand, payment for services rendered was a different matter from begging. However much he disliked her, he didn’t want to deny her the comfort of a few extra coins in her purse while she was searching for a post. “I’ll try to devise a way to reward them without offence,” he promised Fitz.
Reminded of his sister’s attempt to feather her nest at his expense, he decided to take her in to dinner to show he held no hard feelings. When Judith sent word that she had the headache and would not come down, he glanced around the room. There was not one female in it he wished to sit next to, a sorry state of affairs in his own house. In fact, the only one to whom he had no positive aversion was Miss Gracechurch, so he went to join her, rescuing her from a detailed exposition of Mrs. Tuttle’s illustrious family tree.
Bradbury announced dinner shortly thereafter, and Edmund found sardonic amusement in Mrs. Tuttle’s chagrined expression when he offered his arm to Miss Gracechurch.
To his surprise, he actually enjoyed her company. They talked about literature. Though she in no way put herself forward, she expressed her opinions without apology when they differed. He was forced to defend his own views, and once or twice even to concede that she might conceivably be in the right. In her own quiet, restrained way she was as forthright as Jane Brooke.
Jane was at present deep in conversation with Ramsbottom. Edmund recalled her comment that, however vulgar, the cotton merchant was at least easy to talk to. He hurriedly refocused his full attention on Miss Gracechurch, noting in passing that young Reid, on Jane’s other side, looked most uncomfortable under assault from Lavinia’s fluttering eyelashes. Apparently the boy’s expertise in proper behaviour towards the ladies was purely theoretical.
The second course was brought in and Edmund turned unwillingly to his other neighbour. The absence of two ladies had unbalanced the numbers; Henry Parmenter’s fishy eyes met his and darted away.
“I trust Judith’s headache is not too severe,” said Edmund.
“No, no, not at all, nothing to it,” gabbled his brother-in-law. “More of a pet, really. That is, you know what females are, daresay she does have the headache. Megrims! That’s the word I want.”
So Judith was sulking, as he’d supposed. After exchanging a few pointless remarks on the continuing fog, both gentlemen fell silent.
Edmund found himself once again watching Jane. She was talking to Reid now, and the youth had lost his hunted look. Surprised by a sudden flash of envy for her effortless skill in putting people at their ease, Edmund tore his gaze away from her animated face. The Earl of Wintringham had no reason to envy a chit bound for a joyless life as a governess.
Lavinia had turned her eyelash barrage on Mr. Hancock, who was better able to defend himself than his bashful friend. He appeared to be enjoying the skirmish and giving as good as he got. Edmund saw that Lady Wintringham had noticed their flirtation. Her frown boded ill for the heedless Lavinia.
Perhaps he should try again to convince his aunt that the Honourable Miss Chatterton had no hope whatever of winning his regard.
Beside him Miss Gracechurch, more reserved but as unaffectedly cordial as Jane Brooke, was now chatting with Lord Danforth. Edmund wondered to what extent she had influenced the younger woman. Obviously they were neighbours and close friends. Alfred had said Miss Gracechurch was an impoverished gentlewoman on her way to visit relatives. Probably Jane’s father was a clergyman or some such, who had taken the opportunity to send his daughter to London in the company of a respectable older female. It was odd that neither had mentioned any family, but of course he had not asked. Their antecedents were none of his business.
He caught Jane’s eye. She gave him a tentative smile and somehow he couldn’t help smiling back.
* * * *
“I didn’t mean to get her into trouble.” Jane plumped down on the love seat beside Gracie and gazed in dismay at Lavinia, shrinking before the onslaught of the countess’s wintry wrath. “I only suggested that she stop chasing the earl, not that she should start flirting with Bob Hancock instead.”
“Then you have nothing to reproach yourself with.”
“No, but I hope Lavinia does not blame me. To tell the truth, I cannot imagine what she sees in Mr. Hancock. He and Mr. Reid are just boys. Oh dear, she does look miserable. How glad I am that Lady Wintringham takes no notice of me whatsoever.”
“We might not exist for all the attention she pays us,” Gracie agreed, smiling. “However, I had an interesting discussion with her nephew at dinner. As you said, he is a pleasant companion when he forgets his station.”
“If only he were consistent. In here, before dinner, he froze me with a look, then at table he smiled at me in the friendliest way.”
“Perhaps he had learned in the interim that you were responsible for Miss Chatterton’s change of heart.”
“Do you think so? She might have told Fitz—I mean, Lord Fitzgerald—and he might have passed it on. He is the only person who seems comfortable with the earl, and I suspect it is because he is impervious to snubs.” She sighed. “Lord Wintringham will no longer have cause to be grateful to me if Lady Wintringham frightens Lavinia into setting her cap at him again.”
“Jane!”
“Into resuming her pursuit,” she amended. “It is amazing how Derek’s phrases stick in my mind when we have seen so little of him since he went away to school, and less since he started spending his holidays with friends. Do you think we will be able to visit him while we are in the South?”
“Eton is not too far from London, but I suspect a schoolboy of sixteen might find a visit from his elder sister and his ex-governess a trifle embarrassing.”
Jane’s laugh was rueful. “No doubt. Last time he came home to Hornby, he spent much more time with the village lads than with us.”
While they reminisced about happy days when young Lord Brooke had been content to keep his sister company, Jane kept glancing at the door. Surely the gentlemen would not linger long over the port after last night’s disturbances. She was eager to find out whether Lavinia would simply avoid Mr. Hancock at Lady Wintringham’s behest, or go so far against her own inclination as to seek out the earl. The girl sat captive at the countess’s side, looking thoroughly cowed.
Plump little Miss Neville, on the other band, had lost her air of timid apprehension. As Jane had noticed earlier, she was positively bubbling with good cheer, as much as anyone could bubble to whom no one paid the least heed. Jane wanted to ask Lord Wintringham what he had said to his cousin. She hoped Lavinia would not monopolize him.
The earl soon led the gentlemen into the drawing-room. As soon as she saw him, his aunt ordered Lavinia to the pianoforte. “Wintringham will turn the pages for you,” she said, as she had the previous evening.
Lavinia stood up and curtsied. “I beg your pardon, ma’am, but I believe I ought to pay my sister a visit.”
Fitz lent a hand. “I was just going to ask you if you wanted to go with me. Beg you’ll excuse us, my lady.”
“If your ladyship desires music,” said Jane, “I shall be happy to oblige, if Lord Wintringham will be so kind as to turn the pages.”
Though the countess ignored her offer and the earl’s tight lips rebuked her presumption, she went to the instrument and began to look through the music. He followed her, probably to voice his rebuke, she thought, but Mr. Reid tugged his friend over to join them.
His lordship’s repressive silence soon drove the youthful gentlemen to ask permission to play billiards. This granted, they made their escape, Mr. Reid with a wistful backward glance. In the meantime, Jane found a sonata by Johann Christian Bach that she knew so well as to be able to play it without effort. She quickly sat down and began to play.
At the end of the first movement, he said grudgingly, “You play well. Miss Brooke.”
“Well enough, but not too well. Playing the pianoforte is an essential accomplishment for a lady, and I enjoy it when I am not made to practise too often.” Encouraged by his smile, she returned his compliment. “You turn the pages well, sir.”
That surprised a laugh out of him. “Well enough, but not too well.”
“Very well. A desirable, if not essential, accomplishment for a gentleman. Turning a page too soon or too late plays havoc with the rhythm and often destroys a piece altogether.”
“You speak from bitter experience?”
“I do. In truth, it is a triumph to persuade
some
people to turn the music at all.” She was thinking of her brother. To avoid questions which might lead to her family, she turned the subject to his. “You appear to have triumphed over Miss Neville’s low spirits. I suppose it was what you said to her this afternoon that made your cousin so cheerful?”
“I hope so. I merely assured her that if she prefers keeping house for her brother to dancing attendance upon my aunt, my carriage shall deliver her to her brother’s house as soon as she wishes.”
“Splendid. I trust she is willing to wait until the fog lifts?”
“You are very certain that she has not chosen a life of luxury and comparative leisure at the Abbey,” he said dryly.
Jane cast a meaningful glance at the dowager countess, then attempted diplomacy. “I expect she is prodigious fond of her brother, and I daresay running a household, however small, is preferable to being a poor relation even in luxurious surroundings.”
“I daresay.”
“As soon as I saw her happy face, before dinner, I knew you must have been kind to her. I did not want Mr. Ramsbottom to embarrass her again, as he did yesterday at table, so I practically forced him to take me in.”
“I doubt force was necessary. You seem to be on excellent terms with the fellow.”
“He is not difficult to manage, if one goes about it the right way.”
“You are able to manage anyone, are you not. Miss Brooke?”
The icy edge was back in his tone. Jane’s heart sank. Did he think that she was “managing” him, or did he simply disapprove of her willingness to be friendly with all and sundry? He disapproved of so many things.
Suddenly the weight of delayed fatigue crashed down upon her. She was too tired to deal with his capricious changes of mood. It was all she could do to close the pianoforte and stand up. “Forgive me if I don’t finish the piece,” she said with an effort. “I am very weary.”
At once he was all solicitude. “Forgive
me,
my dear Miss Brooke. You must be burned to the socket after staying up all last night with Lady Fitzgerald. I shall order tea immediately.”
“Thank you, my lord, but all I want is my bed.” With the sketchiest of curtsies in Lady Wintringham’s direction, she hurried out of the room.
She was holding back tears. Drat the wretched man with his alternating warmth and coldness! Not that the urge to weep was anything to do with him, of course. It was sheer exhaustion.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Jane’s ball bounced off one side of the billiard table and rolled with unhurried deliberation across the green baize to plop into the middle pocket.
“Oh, well done.” Lavinia clapped her hands.
“No, no,” Bob Hancock corrected her. “You’re supposed to send the other fellow’s ball into the pocket, or at least to hit it on the way. Miss Brooke has just given us three points.” He chalked them up on the slate.
“Well, I thought it was very clever,” Lavinia insisted, “but thank you for the points, Jane.”
“I will not say you are welcome to them,” said Jane, laughing, “or Mr. Reid will hit me with his cue.”
Distressed, the lanky young man assured her earnestly, “I shouldn’t dream of doing such a thing. Why, everyone plays a poor stroke now and then. We are still ahead.” He glanced at his friend, who was explaining the rules to Lavinia for the fifth or sixth time, and lowered his voice. “Chiefly because Miss Chatterton cannot understand the game. You are a dashed good player for a novice, Miss Brooke.”
“At least I know what I am aiming at, even if I cannot hit it.”
“I’m glad you are my partner.” The Honourable Mr. Reid gazed at her with patent admiration.
He reminded her of a vexatiously devoted puppy who had once followed her about for days, howling whenever he lost sight of her. Like the puppy, Mr. Reid must be discouraged, but she wasn’t sure how. Turning away, she saw that Lavinia was pouting and Mr. Hancock looked exasperated.
Time for a distraction, Jane decided. “I have been wondering,” she said, “what you two gentlemen did to be rusticated from the university. Since you don’t appear utterly cast down, I suppose it was nothing too disgraceful?”