She appeared flabbergasted. “Th-thank you, my lord,” she stammered, then pulled herself together and said, belligerent again, “As you approve my methods, sir, may I be so bold as to say that Master George must have a tutor. I have taught him all the Latin I know, and I have no Greek.”
“I am amazed you have taught him anything,” Laura said, “since you are not permitted to discipline the boys, I collect.”
Miss Coltart turned to her eagerly, with no trace of pugnacity. “I try to make their lessons interesting, my lady. Besides, George is a natural scholar, and Henry struggles to keep up to prove himself as good as his elder brother. However, George's love of learning will go for nothing if he cannot study the classics.”
Laura turned to Gareth. “Is there some difficulty about hiring a tutor, cousin?”
He grimaced. “The worst. Maria is convinced that a male teacher will beat her little darlings.”
“Ah,” she said in a thoughtful voice.
“Also, my lady, it is past time the boys learned to ride.”
“I take it there is no difficulty about providing ponies, Cousin Gareth?”
“Only that they might fall off—”
“—and break their dear little necks. Do not despair, Miss Coltart, I believe I see a way to your ends.” She cast a glance sparkling with mischief at Gareth.
What the devil was she up to?
Miss Coltart appeared to have perfect faith in her. “Thank you, my lady,” she said, standing up. “That is a load off my mind. Now, if you will excuse me, I had best get back to my pupils.”
As she left, Lloyd came in to announce that the dressmaker had arrived. Laura went off to the sewing room.
Gareth decided he, too, must have faith in her. Having made himself responsible for the boys, he owed them a decent education, but dealing with Maria was beyond him. He could only be grateful for Laura's intervention, whatever the result.
In the sewing room, Laura found Mrs. Davis just taking off her tall Welsh hat. A short, rolypoly woman, she took Laura's measurements with painstaking care. That done, they opened the packages from the Ludlow shops. Laura was horrified anew at how much she had purchased.
There were black cambric and jaconet muslin for walking dresses and morning gowns, black crape for family evenings, and a beautiful black figured silk for special occasions. For trimmings she had black, grey, and white ribbons of velvet and satin; lace, narrow and wide; bugle beads; and a few white silk flowers.
“A pity it is your ladyship cannot wear colours, pretty as you are,” observed Mrs. Davis, echoing Myfanwy's flattery. She stroked the silk with its pattern of tiny grey ivy leaves. “Still, there's elegant you'll be, look you. How will I make up the silk?”
They were discussing necklines and sleeves when Maria invaded the sewing room armed with Ackermann's plates and
La Belle Assemblée
. Since the fashionable styles she favoured would be unwearable after a few more weeks of pregnancy, Laura refused, as tactfully as possible, to follow her advice.
“These must last me the next four months and be easily alterable thereafter,” she pointed out. “I cannot be sure when I shall be able to buy new gowns again.”
“True.” Maria gave a martyred sigh. “You cannot count on Gareth's continued generosity, as I have good cause to know.”
Though agreement would have aided her plan, Laura's tact wore thin. “How can you say such a thing, when he provides a home for you and your children?”
“It is his duty as head of the family,” Maria snapped. “I am his first cousin, after all, not merely the widow of a second cousin.” She flounced out.
Greek and riding lessons would have to wait until she recovered from her pique.
Mrs. Davis emerged from the corner where she had discreetly busied herself during the altercation. A commonsensical woman, she and Laura soon came to an agreement. With Myfanwy's aid, she said, she could run up a decent dress for church on Sunday, and the first evening gown would be ready by Monday.
On hearing this news, Gareth invited his neighbours to dinner, as promised.
* * * *
Laura could not help a frisson of excitement as Myfanwy fastened the buttons of the figured silk, her first pretty new gown in years. Narrow rouleaux of grey and white satin, twisted together, trimmed the hem of the full skirt; the high waist was bound with white satin ribbon laid on so as to be easy to let out; white lace edged the short sleeves and modest décolleté. She had bought a frilly cap adorned with a white rosebud, and Miss Burleigh had lent her a necklace of jet beads. She felt elegant, but even better, she felt comfortable. She had not realized just how much her old, too-tight clothes had cramped her as her body changed.
Shyness made her hesitated on the threshold of the Long Gallery, but Gareth came to meet her. “That is worth celebrating,” he murmured with an appreciative look.
“I'm glad you approve. I should hate to have bankrupted you for nothing.”
She took his arm and he introduced her to those of his neighbours she had not met after church the previous day. As he had predicted, the country gentry greeted her placidly. Laura enjoyed their unpretentious cordiality, their chatter of crops and hunting, of recipes and children.
Miss Burleigh was a coolly gracious hostess, Gareth a genial host. Uncle Julius peered into the faces of the guests, recognizing some and failing to recognize others, all of which they accepted with good-humoured patience. The Reverend Cornelius seemed to be attempting to combine the benevolence he felt proper in a clergyman with the condescension permissible in the younger son of a noble family.
Maria, in a gown of white net over a blue satin petticoat, outshone every other woman. Pleased with herself, she relented towards Laura and deigned to say, “Your gown has come out tolerable fine, I see, considering.”
Laura decided to tackle the subjects of tutor and ponies tomorrow, before Maria found another cause for contention.
After dinner, when Gareth managed to tear the gentlemen from their port to join the ladies in the drawing room, the squire's wife beckoned him to her side. A stout, hearty female, known throughout two counties for the volume of her “Tally-ho!” on the hunting field, she announced, “We have been talking of the present celebrations in London, Lord Wyckham. I daresay you will be going up to Town and meeting all those kings and emperors and whatnot in person, will you not?”
“Some of them, I expect. Since half the Ton has gone to Paris, I feel obliged to do my part to make the Allied Monarchs welcome.”
The squire's lady remarked in ringing tones on the famous bonnets and the notorious rudeness of the Tsar's sister, the Grand Duchess of Oldenburg. Maria complained bitterly about missing the splendid entertainments. The Reverend Cornelius told Laura he thought he might, hm, dash up to Town for a few days to see what was going on. She was not attending to him.
Gareth was going away? Her heart sank.
She scolded herself. She should be glad to be relieved of his surveillance for a while. As yet the reason for it was still a mystery to her. Since their talk on Ash Hill, no suitable opening for asking him had presented itself.
But he would be back. If not before, he would surely want to be at Llys when his younger brothers came home from university and school.
That time was several weeks hence. She had to admit she was going to miss him.
Chapter 9
At last the last guests departed. Laura heard Gareth bid them good night at the top of the stairs, and then he returned to the drawing room. He came to sit beside her on the sofa.
“Tired?”
“A little. That was the first dinner party I have attended in many years.” Lady Denham's friendship had never extended to a dinner invitation. “I enjoyed it. Your neighbours are agreeable people.”
Cornelius, who was to spend the night at the Manor, nodded complacently. “I am fortunate in my parishioners,” he said. “Gareth, I've a mind to see the celebrations. I suppose you and Rupert can squeeze me into your, hm, lodgings for a few days?”
“Of course, old chap. Rupert can always sleep at the barracks so you shall have his chamber.”
“But you will not make room for me,” said Maria sulkily.
“A lady cannot possibly stay at a gentleman's lodging,” said Miss Burleigh, shocked.
“Oh, there is always some excuse to stop me having any fun!” Maria stalked out.
“When do you leave, Gareth?” his aunt asked. “I had not realized you meant to return to Town.”
“I'm sorry, Aunt Antonia. To tell the truth, I had half forgotten about the wretched Monarchs. I've no great desire to go but I know I ought. I feel sure poor Prinny will need all the support he can get, for not only has the Grand Duchess taken him in dislike, the Princess of Wales is in London at present. Cornelius, can you leave tomorrow?”
“So soon?” Laura exclaimed involuntarily.
“Shockingly inconsiderate in me, is it not, to give my aunt so little notice? But today is the sixth already and Prinny's royal guests may reach London any day. Cornelius?”
“Tomorrow? Yes, if you will give me until, hm, noon to make arrangements for next Sunday's service.”
“I shall pick you up at the vicarage at noon. Aunt Antonia, the Tsar and the King of Prussia will not stay above three weeks, I believe.”
“Then we shall look for you at the end of the month,” said Miss Burleigh, rising. She smiled at Laura. “You may be only a little tired, my dear, but I am not so young as I was. I shall retire now.”
“So shall I,” said Laura quickly, feeling Gareth's anxious gaze upon her. On his last evening at home, she wanted to reassure him that she did not intend to run wild the moment he was out of sight.
Cornelius declared himself ready to turn in, and they all left the drawing room. The vicar and Miss Burleigh went off in opposite directions. Laura started towards the minstrels' gallery, on the way to her chamber.
“Wait, Cousin Laura. If you please.” Gareth laid his hand on her arm. “You will take care of yourself while I am gone?” he said urgently.
“Of course.”
“And you will call in Dr. McAllister if...” He paused as Lloyd and a pair of footmen went past them into the drawing room.
“If there is the slightest need,” she promised.
“I am glad you are on such good terms with Aunt Antonia. She will look after you. I wish I did not feel obliged to go.”
“Believe me, I admire your devotion to duty, a concept unknown to Freddie. I daresay you will enjoy the festivities once you are there.”
“Possibly. In leaving so soon after your arrival, I am treating you as a member of the family, not as a guest. I mean no discourtesy.”
“I do not regard it.”
“No, I daresay you will be glad to see the back of me and my nagging for a while,” he said ruefully.
“You have been amazingly restrained these last few days.” Smiling, she was about to confess that she was going to miss his nagging when Lloyd and the footmen came from the drawing room, laden with heavy trays of cups and saucers and all the tea-making apparatus.
Following them came Uncle Julius. He squinted after them, deep in thought.
“Wheels!” he said, the light of inspiration in his face, and trotted off towards his workshop.
Laura laughed. “There will be a new invention awaiting your return, cousin. An urn on wheels, perhaps? I'd forgot I saw him earlier snoozing in a corner.”
“Day and night mean nothing to Uncle Julius. Still, he will not trouble you. I cannot say the same of Maria, I fear, though I doubt she is capable of intimidating you.”
“Far from it. I believe I have her measure. I shall tackle her tomorrow on behalf of George and Henry.”
He smiled down at her. “I have such faith in you, cousin, that before I leave I shall instruct my head groom to keep an eye out for a pair of Welsh ponies, and while I'm in Town I shall make enquiries for a tutor.”
“Sluggish ponies and a mild-natured tutor.”
“Of course.” He kissed her hand and bade her goodnight.
As always when she passed that way, Laura dawdled in the minstrels' gallery to study the painted frieze. Age-faded musicians played lutes, pipes, drums, tambourines, and other ancient instruments she could not name. Ladies in tall, pointed hats tipped with veils danced unknown dances with gentlemen in doublet and hose. Every time she looked at it she saw something new.
Not till she reached her bedchamber did she realize she was holding to her cheek the back of her hand that Gareth had kissed. The old-fashioned courtesy had deranged her wits, she decided, and she quickly rang for Myfanwy.
She slept late the next morning. When she went down, Gareth was closeted with his steward. She saw him only to say goodbye.
Miss Burleigh stood with her on the front steps, sheltered from a misty rain by the porch, waving as the carriage departed down the drive. Maria was absent, either sulking because she was not going with him, or simply not yet ready to show her face to the world. After all, it still lacked ten minutes of noon.
Laura and Miss Burleigh returned into the house. The absence of its master somehow made it feel empty—or was it Laura who felt empty?
The best thing to fill the void, she decided, was to do her utmost to repay a part of her obligation to him. Before tackling Maria, she must visit the children and talk to their governess. The stairs up to the schoolroom would serve in place of the morning walk she had missed today.
Miss Burleigh gave her directions, and she found her way to the wing that housed the Forbes family. Of Jacobean vintage, the staircase was much grander than the arched Tudor stone stair in the Great Hall. She slowly ascended one side of the superb double sweep of polished oak, imagining bewigged cavaliers and ladies in stiff brocades and stomachers.
Maria's rooms, off the first landing, had once been the state apartment. No crowned head had ever rested there, Gareth had told her, but Prince Rupert had spent one night while seeking allies for his unfortunate uncle, Charles I. Maria revelled in the magnificence—without any feeling of gratitude—whereas Gareth prefered more modest quarters in the newest wing.
Laura hurried past the door. She did not want to have to explain that she was going to see Miss Coltart. If Maria had any suspicion of her plan, the careful approach she had worked out would fail.