An Unconventional Courtship

by Dorothy Mack

  “Yes. Apparently they occur about once in a generation in the Hardwickes. My mother had them, but her hair was not as dark as Emerald’s and Louisa’s. My cousin Jack took one look at Emerald after her birth and predicted that she would have green eyes, hence the appropriate name.”

  More footsteps on the gravel announced the arrival of Lord Henley with a young boy frisking at his heels. The timid child on Miss Latham’s lap underwent a startling transformation. Squeaking a glad welcome, she leapt off her perch and launched herself at her elder brother, crowing ecstatically. He pretended to be bowled over by the force with which she landed on him before good-naturedly tossing her into the air, which action elicited more squeals of pleasure.

  Lord Altern watched these transports with interest. “Young Henley appears to be a great favourite,” he observed to Miss Latham.

  “Oh, yes, the children adore Philip. He is a very good brother. By the way, have you met Charlie yet? He completes the family.”

  Charlie made his most grown-up bow to their guest amid his sister’s chortles. When the men had greeted one another, Philip proposed a game of billiards to Lord Altern until it was time to dress for dinner.

  It was at this moment that Emerald arrived on the scene, attired once again in the delightful green-and-white costume she had worn so briefly the day before.

  “I simply headed in the direction of the noise,” she declared in her clear voice, clapping her hands over her ears while she favoured Lord Altern with a brilliant smile. “Why must you all congregate in this forsaken spot, which has nothing to recommend it but a broken-down bench and a fountain that hasn’t worked in years?”

  “I think accidental meetings would be a more accurate explanation for our combined presence,” Lord Altern said, raising his voice slightly over the singsong rhyme Louisa was chanting as she swung to and fro on her brother’s hands, her tiny feet in their buckled shoes planted firmly on his shining boots as her fulcrum. “I stumbled upon Miss Latham and your little sister in this charming place, and your brothers joined us moments ago.”

  “Emerald,” piped up Louisa, pausing in her swinging, “I sneaked up on Cleo and frightened her growth.”

  “Did you, my sweet? Cleo, shouldn’t the children be heading back to the nursery? Nurse will be wanting to clean them up before supper.”

  Charlie, who had been stalking an unwary squirrel, promptly took umbrage. “It’s not suppertime for hours yet, and I don’t need Nurse to take care of me like a baby!”

  “I’ll keep the children with me for a bit longer, but you all go on ahead if you wish,” Cleone inserted, going over to detach Louisa from her brother. “Guess what I saw yesterday, angel — buttercups! Shall we bring some back for Nurse?”

  “Shall we find somewhere more comfortable?” Emerald inquired, smiling sweetly at Lord Altern.

  “Actually, I had just accepted an invitation to play a game of billiards with your brother when you arrived,” that gentleman replied. “Perhaps you’d care to play with us?” he added when the now familiar pout began to form on her lips.

  “My sister is a total loss at billiards,” said Lord Henley crushingly, “but don’t ever get in a game with our cousin if you don’t want to lose your shirt. You can mark for us, Em, if you like,” he offered magnanimously.

  Lord Altern’s interest was caught. “Are you a nonpareil, ma’am?” he asked, smiling at Cleone, who was now holding Louisa by the hand. “We must have a game one day.”

  “I was used to play with my father quite often,” she replied, returning his smile but avoiding a direct answer on both counts.

  “Oh, Cleo is good at all those things men consider their special province, like cards and games,” Emerald declared. “Her father wanted a son, you see.”

  “Well, we are off to find buttercups,” her cousin said, seemingly unperturbed at being thus discussed. She allowed herself to be pulled forward by an impatient Louisa. “Enjoy your game, everyone. Are you coming with us, Charlie?”

  “Can I watch you play if I don’t get in the way?” the boy asked his brother.

  “As long as you remember what you just said about not getting underfoot. Otherwise, I’ll chuck you right out,” Philip promised and threatened in the same breath as the parties separated.

  Dinner was a spirited affair that evening, with everyone having something to contribute. Even Philip, Cleone was happy to note, seemed to be much improved in spirits, which might be partially because his grandsire made no effort to call him to account for his time. Doubtless Nettles, her great-uncle’s valet, had already acquainted his master with the fact that the billiards room had recently been the scene of a lively contest complete with a list of all participants and spectators. For someone who never left his own grounds and rarely ventured out of the path of library, dining rooms, and his own quarters, Lord Brestwick was always well-informed on any activity taking place within his jurisdiction. Cleone had long suspected the ubiquitous Nettles of being his most reliable source of information for indoor occurrences. He was forever popping up in areas away from what should have been his limited bailiwick as a gentleman’s gentleman.

  At least her great-uncle was in a good humour at present, content for the most part to let the young people’s conversation flow around him, occasionally interpolating a remark or addressing a question to their guest, who sat at his hostess’s right hand. Lord Altern immensely gratified this lady at the beginning by reporting that he had now had the felicity of making the acquaintance of her youngest offspring. He nourished her maternal pride by complimenting her on Charlie’s quickness of apprehension and Louisa’s fledgling beauty. Cleone, who through some perverse quirk in her nature — admitted though not understood — was seeking evidence that their guest was perhaps a bit too universally charming, was forced to concede that there had been no element of flattery or fawning in his manner. Naturally he had been pleased to be able to state what would be undeniably acceptable to his hostess, but he had spoken no more than the truth. Beneath the childish noise and high spirits, Charlie was a very clever lad of whom the family expected great things when he went up to Eton next year, and anyone with half an eye could see that the adorable Louisa was destined to rival her eldest sister in beauty one day.

  Though she divided her attention mainly between her great-uncle and Cecily, whom she knew to be nervous at being placed near her grandfather, Cleone was subjecting Lord Altern to a thorough but covert study. Her housewifely instincts were no less gratified than Isabella’s maternal pride to see that her menu met with their guest’s approval. The cream-of-asparagus soup had been a hit, and the large ham, beautifully glazed and decorated by Mrs. Willet, could generally be counted on to please the masculine palate. Supremes of chicken served with a tasty sauce studded with mushrooms were flanked by attractive dishes of fresh vegetables. Cleone noted for future reference that Lord Altern passed up the new peas in favour of a large portion of dilled carrots. At one point, he commented favourably on the wilted-lettuce salad with its mustard-flavoured dressing, which had been a gamble. Isabella received the compliment graciously, crediting her father-in-law’s cook with talents that would not be unworthy of a large London establishment.

  Cleone smiled down at her plate, pleased in the knowledge that Mrs. Willet’s talents were honed and supplemented by her own careful study of food presentation. She also enjoyed turning her own hand to cooking and baking on occasion, but this was something to be concealed as it was not considered convenable for women to actually work in their own kitchens, though a notable housewife must perforce know how to direct her staff’s efforts in all fields. She left the table in company with the other women, well-satisfied with the first major test of the kitchen’s ability to cater to guests.

  Now that Lord Altern had been received in style, the family gathering had been switched back to the first-floor saloon, which was far more comfortable than the great hall. Moreover, this room possessed the additional advantage of a pianoforte, at which instrument Emerald was sit
ting, idly playing bits and pieces from various compositions when the gentlemen entered. Lord Altern was not behind hand in requesting the pleasure of hearing her sing, with which request she was pleased to comply after the conventionally acceptable period of modest hesitation on her part and repeated exhortations on the part of everyone else that she perform for their enjoyment.

  Emerald was blessed with a lovely clear soprano voice that had been well-trained. She sang delightfully and looked so lovely doing it that no one’s veracity was strained to produce encomiums on her performance. Even her grandfather, who had little taste for music, listened proudly for a half-hour before growing restless. At last Emerald shook her head smilingly while Lord Altern was demanding more, declaring that she had a tickle in her throat that must be subdued before she sang again.

  “Then, while you rest your throat, perhaps Miss Latham or Miss Cecily will favour us with a song or two? Have I said something amusing?” Lord Altern looked around the circle of faces which, with one exception, displayed varying degrees of amusement. Indeed, Lord Brestwick had let out a cackle of rude mirth. The exception was Miss Latham, whose habitual expression of cool serenity remained undisturbed. She took pity on their puzzled guest and enlightened his ignorance.

  “Alas, sir, it is the tragedy of my life that I was forced to abandon all pretensions to being able to entertain with my voice last year when little Louisa, at the tender age of three, movingly requested that I read to her in future instead of singing lullabies at bedtime,” she explained mournfully.

  “Out of the mouths of babes!” snorted her great-uncle.

  “We had been trying forever to convince Cleo that the song doesn’t exist that fits into her limited vocal range,” Philip added.

  “Cleo’s boundless optimism —” Emerald began.

  “You mean groundless optimism,” put in Cecily.

  “That too,” conceded her sister. “As I was saying, Cleo’s boundless optimism had led her to believe that one day, if only she practised enough, she would open her mouth and the sounds would be correct. So we are all deeply indebted to Louisa.”

  “Poor Cleone! That is quite enough, all of you,” protested Lady Henley. “These wretched children are forever roasting their cousin about her voice,” she confided to Lord Altern.

  “And to think it is I who have inadvertently brought this storm down upon your head, Miss Latham,” confessed Lord Altern with a look of comical dismay. “What can I do to make amends?”

  “No amends are necessary, sir,” she replied kindly. “You could not know of my — my affliction.”

  Since her unrepentant cousins displayed great willingness to continue to plague Cleone, it was fortunate that Lord Brestwick created a diversion at that moment by inquiring if Altern would care to give him a chess game.

  Good manners would compel their guest to accept his host’s invitation, of course. A swift glance from under her lashes showed Cleone that Emerald’s previous good humour was being replaced by a scowl, but she would not dare to defy her grandfather. What had started as an enjoyable evening would rapidly deteriorate if Lord Brestwick removed their guest. She got to her feet in one graceful motion.

  “You may have Lord Altern on another occasion, Uncle, but it has been rankling with me all day that you described my play as ‘predictable.’ I am persuaded Lord Altern will concur that, under the circumstances, mine is the greater claim.”

  “I would not wish to deny you your opportunity for revenge, ma’am. If you would agree to another time for our match, sir?”

  Lord Brestwick, meeting his niece’s warning look, recollected suddenly that Altern was here for his granddaughter’s benefit and capitulated graciously, confiding to his guest in tones he didn’t trouble to lower that he would have to be on his mettle tonight to turn back the fury of a woman scorned.

  “I don’t somehow think that applies to a chess contest, Uncle,” Cleone said, her eyes full of amusement, “but you will do well not to take me lightly.”

  “How did you fare tonight in your grudge match, Miss Latham?” Lord Altern asked later when the musical evening had ended, and the tea tray had been brought in.

  “I won, and I was not predictable,” she replied smugly, throwing a saucy glance at her aged relative from eyes that were generally soft and calm. Lord Altern found it rather endearing or amusing — he wasn’t sure which. His eyes met Lord Brestwick’s in a masculine look full of understanding and commiseration.

  “The woman scorned, sir?”

  “Cagey female laid an obvious trap for my queen, and I fell into it like a sapskull.”

  “My compliments, Miss Latham. Shall we add a chess match to our billiards contest?”

  Startled brown eyes dropped to the contents of the cup in her hands. “I do not recall issuing any challenges, sir. I would not be so presumptuous.”

  Jason’s lips pursed infinitesimally in reaction to the swift resumption of Miss Latham’s cool facade, but before he could make any answer, Miss Hardwicke interposed to offer more tea to the three persons sitting slightly apart.

  “I don’t even want what I’ve got,” grumbled Lord Brestwick, thrusting his cup into her hands. “Take it away! Nasty, tasteless stuff. Tell Oliphant to bring in some brandy, Cleone.” He turned to Lord Altern. “Wait until you taste this Napoleon of mine, Altern, as smooth a drink as it’s ever been my good fortune to come across.”

  “I’ll get it, Uncle Nathan. I know where it is.” Cleone rose and left the room before her uncle could insist on ringing for poor Oliphant, who was most likely just sitting down across a tea table in Mrs. Willet’s sitting room, all set for a cosy review of the day’s events with the cook and Nettles before it was time for the latter to put his lordship to bed.

  Truth to tell, Cleone was glad of the opportunity to escape from the bosom of her family for a few minutes. When she had been told of Lord Altern’s prospective visit, her first thoughts had all been housewifely ones; she had concerned herself with the day-to-day housekeeping arrangements that must be set in train and kept running smoothly in the background. To their guest himself she had devoted very little thought, supposing the betrothal to be almost a fait accompli under the circumstances surrounding the visit. Her object was to show off Bramble Hall’s hospitality to the best advantage before Emerald’s future husband — at the very least to ensure that no deficiency of hospitality threw a rub in the way of the prospective union and to help make the visit so enjoyable that it would provide that extra nudge if needed to make Lord Altern come up to scratch.

  As she entered her great-uncle’s dressing room, Cleone was pulling at her bottom lip with her upper teeth, a habit of hers when thinking deeply. Lord Altern had been among them for scarcely twenty-four hours, and already she was experiencing vague misgivings about the possible outcome of the visit. It was not that she felt he would make the wrong kind of husband for Emerald or that she had taken him in dislike — far from it. His appearance was very impressive. If a slightly aquiline nose and an aggressive jawline gave his features too rugged a cast to allow the epithet “handsome” to be applied to his face, at least his eyes were very fine and his firm mouth when softened by a real smile was quite attractive. Nor was there fault to be found with his manners. It had been obvious at the first meeting that Lord Altern was truly the gentleman with a well-bred ease of manner that would serve him in any company. Far from making continual calf’s eyes at Emerald and ignoring the rest of the family, he had struck just the correct note of friendly interest with them all.

  And there was the rub, Cleone acknowledged with a sigh as she searched for another balloon glass in the cabinet where Nettles kept her uncle’s brandy. It was quite evident to another woman that Emerald would be better pleased if her suitor confined his friendly interest to her relatives of an advanced generation. This morning she had betrayed her resentment of the fact that Lord Altern had sought a moment of privacy in which to deliver his aunt’s message to her goddaughter, and Cleone had been aware of her cousin’s faint
ly hostile attention whenever he had addressed any remarks to herself. So far, Emerald’s efforts to restore his attention to her own lovely person had been fairly unobtrusive, but Cleone was not prepared to place too much dependence on the spoiled beauty’s sense of restraint. Her nature was a jealous one, but it would be fatal to create a scene before she had secured her offer. It didn’t require an outstanding degree of percipience to discern that Lord Altern was not the man to be petticoat-led, but Emerald was young and enjoyed proving her power over her suitors.

  Cleone examined her own behaviour with ruthless honesty as she gathered together the bottle and glasses on a tray. She could not accuse herself of any conduct that could be construed as inviting masculine attention, and of course Lord Altern was not distinguishing her in this way; his behaviour toward herself had not gone one iota beyond the line of civil attentions toward a member of the family, as must be perfectly plain to any rational person. Since Emerald was not disposed by nature to be rational in these matters, however, it would behove her cousin to play least in sight for the present until the situation between the purported lovers clarified itself. Once Emerald was secure in her status as an engaged woman, she would relax her vigilance. It was to be devoutly hoped that Lord Altern would come to the point quickly.

  On this fervent wish, Cleone re-entered the saloon, taking care, once the men had been served, to seat herself among her younger cousins for the rest of the evening. The talk was of the dinner party set for two days hence. To Cleone’s relief, Isabella’s stay in London had produced an intimacy with one of the prominent families in this district. Sir William Ludlow and his lady, who lived nearby in the Grange, had also hired a town house from which to launch their daughter, Adelaide, and the two girls, previously unacquainted, had become fast friends. When Cleone had broached the subject of a dearth of prospective guests for any expanded entertaining during Lord Altern’s visit, Isabella had solved her problem — she had feared that her reclusive father-in-law would forbid any such mild festivities. The two ladies had lost no time in sending the grooms out with the invitations to a small dinner party and, to their delight, had found their prospective guests increased by two additional gentlemen: the son of the house and the friend who was visiting him.