I turned to Belinda. “We’ve hardly had a chance to catch up since our arrival,” I said with an ingratiating smile. She seemed surprised by my chummy tone, and well she might: we were, after all, only nodding acquaintances. But she seemed sweet, and she’d be a duchess someday, so it couldn’t hurt to try to be better friends with her.
“No, I suppose not,” she said. “You’ve been busy with Cee and Mrs. Bradbury.”
“Oh yes, well, Joyce and Cee and I have known each other since we were practically babies. I’m sorry—I suppose you feel a little left out.”
“It’s all right, I understand,” she said, not the slightest trace of malice in her chirpy tone. “Besides, I have my Georgy.” A dreamy look that reminded me of the china shepherdesses came over her face.
“It’s wonderful to see two people so in love,” I gushed. “I only hope I can be as lucky as you someday.”
“I don’t deserve my luck,” said Belinda, sighing. “I don’t think anyone else could be as lucky as me, because there’s no other Georgy in the world, is there?”
“No, unfortunately not.”
“But then, everyone has their Georgy, don’t they?”
“We can only hope so.”
I was starting to think it was a bit too early for so much saccharine and prayed for deliverance. It came in the forms of Beckworth and Dunreaven, who rode another wave of Porter’s expletives into the dining room.
“I’m on a bloody shooting weekend, damn you! Don’t telephone me again!”
“I say!” Beckworth tittered. “I think we’re all awake now.”
Dunreaven chuckled and patted him on the shoulder, giving me a ‘well, there’s a thing’ look as the two men made their way to the sideboard.
“Good morning, Dunny,” Millicent trilled.
“Good morning,” Dunreaven answered politely, making his way to the empty seat to my right. Beckworth turned away from the food with an excited grin, sloshing his coffee, only to find me hemmed in by Belinda and Dunreaven. His face drooped and he dragged himself off to sit next to David.
Millicent frowned, then turned to David “How is marriage, David?” she asked him. “Does that wife of yours still let you fly, or are you permanently grounded now?”
“Joyce is splendid,” he replied.
“Tell Lady Millicent how Joyce arranged for you to meet Lindbergh on your honeymoon,” Dunreaven prompted as he dug into his kippers.
David glared at him but nonetheless obeyed, launching into a very detailed account of their luncheon together that Millicent was forced to pretend to listen to.
“I hope you had a pleasant night, Miss Davies,” said Dunreaven.
“I survived without permanent injury,” I answered. “Though I can’t say the same for one or two china figurines. How was your Canova expedition?”
He smiled. “It’s a fine bust.”
“So I hear.”
He took a minute or two to drink his coffee while looking at me thoughtfully and then said, “Astra’s a very unusual name. Wherever did your parents hear it?”
“My mother said a family friend used the word in conversation and she liked it.” I shrugged. “I used to hate it, but now I like that it sets me apart from the multitudes.”
“Indeed. Starlike: one in a million.”
“Please, Lord Dunreaven, one in a billion,” I responded playfully.
He chuckled. “Quite right. And are you a lucky star?”
“Wish on me and perhaps you’ll find out.”
“Then I wish more girls were like you.”
“And I wish more men would stop referring to us as ‘girls,’” I retorted.
He leaned away from me slightly, brows raised. “My mistake. I wish more ladies were like you.”
“That’s much better,” Belinda told him, nodding emphatically.
“But that’s not a term that can be used universally,” Millicent interjected, cutting off David’s in-depth description of pecan pie. “A woman isn’t necessarily born a lady.”
“Some are,” I reminded Lady Millicent.
Something flickered in her eyes: the look of a hungry fox that has just lured a wounded rabbit into the glen. “That’s right,” she agreed silkily. “Some are.”
The table had gone silent. The air between the two of us thickened. It was the sweet shop all over again. Where on earth was Miss?
“Well,” Belinda spoke up tentatively, “Some are born to it, and some learn.”
Millicent responded with a look and a tone that Edgry would have applauded. “No, dear. It’s not the sort of thing that can be learnt. You either are or you’re not. It’s quite confusing, I know, because we’re all so democratic nowadays that everyone mixes together. You have dukes sitting down to dinner with bankers. Lords enjoying their shooting with …” Her eyes flickered, for a mere instant, toward the door through which we could still hear Porter’s muffled shouts. Millicent sighed. “Sometimes I feel like we’ve let our standards slip too far. Perhaps we ought to take stock and close the gates to the more common sort. Make Society something to truly look up to again, instead of something anyone can join if they spend enough or manipulate the right people.”
I swallowed hard at the implication that I’d only become friends with Cee in order to get a leg up socially. And I equally resented her suggestion that Joyce and Porter had merely bought their way in. I glanced up and caught David’s eye and could tell he wasn’t too happy about it either. But before either of us could say anything, Millicent went on:
“What do the lords here think? Should we not be more exclusive? Wouldn’t you rather be reassured that the women around you are true ladies instead of the granddaughters of vicars on one side and … what was it? Buttons on the other?”
Her eyes were boring into me now; I could feel it. There was a silence so heavy I felt the weight of it on my chest, pressing hard, and I struggled to breathe normally. I was aware of everyone else staring at me, waiting to see how I would respond. I didn’t trust myself to speak, or move, afraid I’d either rile her further or stab her to death with a grapefruit spoon. As tempting as that was, my life was already complicated enough.
I set my face into a cool mask and turned to look at her. “Boots, actually. And it was my great-great-grandfather Davies. Without him, the soldiers would have had to fight barefoot at Waterloo.”
“Then we owe him a debt of gratitude,” said Dunreaven, with a brief smile my way. I noticed, despite the smile, that a muscle along his jawline kept appearing and then fading away, as if he were clenching and unclenching his teeth. “David, do you think we’ll bag more grouse than we did at Holkham last month? I’ve got a fiver that says we do.”
* * *
Breakfast broke up soon after. The men gathered to leave for the first drive, and I fled for the sanctuary of my bedroom. I would have liked nothing more than to hurl one of the figurines across the room and watch it splinter against the wall. Imagine that wall was Millicent’s head, and the shards were burrowing into her skull, wiping the smug look right off her face.
But Reilly was there, laying out my tweeds, and it wouldn’t do to make a scene.
Instead, I snatched the nail file off the dressing table and began disintegrating my left thumbnail. Reilly looked up, cocked an eyebrow, and stepped back from the carefully arranged clothes.
“I have everything all ready for you, miss.”
I responded with a smile so brittle it nearly cracked. “Excellent. Thank you. Could you come back around twelve, please?”
“Of course, miss.”
The sound of shouting men and barking dogs just below my window indicated the guns were ready to leave. Reilly began gathering things that needed to be taken downstairs as, with a brisk knock, Joyce strode in.
“What an absolute beast that creature is! David told me all about it.” She took my shoulders, holding me at arm’s length. “Darling, are you all right? God, she’s awful, isn’t she? Do you want me to poison her tea? I’ll do it, you know.�
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“That’s sweet of you, Joyce,” I said, feeling a bit better already.
Reilly arched her brow again and slipped out, probably hoping to get the whole story from one of the footmen.
“And I’ve had words with David,” Joyce continued. “I can’t believe he didn’t speak up for you. He says he was too stunned, but that’s no excuse. What a mouse! My father would never have just stood by. I told David he’ll be lucky if I don’t make him sleep in the dressing room tonight.”
“Don’t do that, Joyce, it’s not his fault.”
“Well, he has to learn! No woman wants a timid husband. What if Millicent turns the guns on me someday?”
I laughed. “She’d have to be suicidal.”
The door flew open and Cecilia and Ivanhoe rushed in.
“I swear I’ll never speak to Millicent again!” Cee declared, throwing her arms around my neck and nearly strangling me in a hug. “You poor, poor thing! Insulting you like that! And on your first outing after a bereavement!”
“You’re both overreacting!” I cried. “But it’s very kind of you to be concerned. I think we all know there’s no love lost between myself and Millicent.”
“She’s just annoyed because she expected to have Dunreaven all to herself,” Cecilia told me. “But she can hardly hope to out-charm you.”
“You’re very flattering, Cee. And your sister can ease her mind because I’m not interested in pursuing Lord Dunreaven.”
“Why not?” Joyce asked indignantly, as if I’d somehow insulted her by rejecting her husband’s friend.
“Oh, really, as though I haven’t had a difficult enough year already. The last thing I need just now is Millicent gunning for me.” I had more than enough to occupy my mind without piling all that on as well. And a penniless lord was no good to me at all, even if he did look like Gary Cooper.
Cecilia patted my shoulder while making sympathetic whimpering noises. “Poor Astra. You’ve had such a time of it. But wouldn’t a little romance help? At least then the whole year won’t have been one long misery.”
“You sound like Toby.” I chuckled. “And there are other ways besides romance for me to find happiness.”
Cecilia and Ivanhoe cocked their heads, as if this answer perplexed them.
“Don’t worry about Millicent—she’s just being mean because she’s sour about Hampton and Belinda,” Cecilia reassured me. “Do you want me to poison her tea?”
“I already offered,” Joyce told her.
“I think we all need an adventure,” Cecilia said decisively. “What about Paris, as I suggested? Paris in the spring! It’ll be wonderful, Astra—say you’ll do it!”
“I’ll see.”
Cecilia, clearly understanding that to mean “yes,” bounced up and down, clapping her hands and squealing. “Oh, we’re going to have a wonderful time!”
Hoping to steer the conversation away from this trip, I asked, “Were either of you knocking on my wall last night?”
They both looked at me like I’d lost my mind.
“Knocking on your wall?” Joyce repeated.
“Someone was. In Morse code.”
“Well, it certainly wasn’t me, and it wasn’t David. I can definitely vouch for his whereabouts last night.”
Cecilia’s eyes lit up. “Ooh, a mystery! What were they saying?”
“Lovely,” I answered.
Cee and Joyce swapped a meaningful look.
“Astra,” said Joyce, “Surely you know—”
“A secret admirer!” Cee cut in. “How perfectly, wonderfully, beautifully romantic. It’ll be a lovely story to tell your children someday.”
I was starting to be sorry I’d brought it up. “It’s probably nothing. Maybe I was hearing things. The book was playing on my imagination.”
“Maybe it was a ghost,” Joyce joked. “Some poor dead relative of Cee’s, pining away for a lost love.”
Cecilia and I laughed. Ivanhoe yapped and jumped around in a circle.
“Shall we go downstairs?” I suggested. “I think Ivey needs more room to roam.”
“Yes, all right,” Joyce agreed, eyeing a clutch of figurines. “I always feel like I’m being watched when I’m in this room, and after what Astra’s just said, that goes double.”
“Millicent’s finalizing menus with the cook, so we should be safe in the drawing room for an hour or so,” Cecilia reported.
“She’s the one who should worry about being safe,” said Joyce as she processed out.
I moved to follow her, but Cecilia took my arm and drew me back into the room, closing the door.
“I didn’t want to say anything in front of Joyce,” Cee whispered, eyes darting here and there, as if she expected ears to pop right out of the walls, “but I’ve heard something about your maid, and I think you should know about it.”
“About Reilly? What is it?” Good lord, we’d only been in the house a day. What could she have possibly done to upset someone already?
“Well, it’s the housemaid, Emma. When she was helping me get dressed this morning, she said that Reilly … well, that Reilly was making advances to three of the footmen.” Her cheeks pinkened. “Emma said she overheard Reilly telling them to come to her room.”
“All of them?”
Cecilia was well and truly blushing now. She spread her hands in a helpless gesture. “I’m sure this is all a misunderstanding, but you may want to have a word with Reilly. It seems that her attempts at friendship might be going over a little too well.”
“Yes, of course,” I responded automatically. But how, exactly, does one broach such a subject? This was yet another bit of my education that had been overlooked.
“And of course I’ve asked Emma not to breathe a word to anyone, especially Millicent,” Cecilia added.
That hadn’t even occurred to me. Just the thought of it made my stomach clench. I doubted having a notorious maid would make me very popular with hostesses.
“That’s sweet of you, Cee. Thank you.”
“Emma won’t say anything—she loves me,” Cecilia reassured me. “Oh, I’m sorry, darling! I wanted you to have a nice weekend, and look what’s happened.”
“It’s all right. It’s just a bit of a surprise.” I tried to smile and took her hand. “Come on, or Joyce will think we’re talking about her behind her back.”
* * *
At half past twelve, we ladies motored out to the luncheon site: a stone folly located halfway between the house and the site of that morning’s avian bloodbath. The folly, shaped like a ruined castle, had been built by the first Lord Caddonfoot at the height of the craze for useless structures. Cee, of course, loved it and thought the folly was the most romantic spot in England. I guessed we had her to thank for having our lunch there.
As we disembarked, the wet-dog stench of tweeds announced the imminent arrival of the gentlemen. They appeared, trailing beaters and retrievers, everyone looking muddy and triumphant.
“An excellent morning!” Lord Caddonfoot reported.
“Hooray, Papa!” Cecilia crowed, clapping. “And everyone else!”
Urged on by the Marquess, the overexcited dogs bounded toward the guests. They barked and swirled around our legs, sniffing at the table despite the shouts of the head gamekeeper and anxious waving of the footmen. Caddonfoot laughed and patted the nearest dog on the head.
“Who bagged the most, then?” Joyce asked David.
“Jeremy, of course,” he answered. “As we all predicted.”
“I think you, Lord Caddonfoot, and I were evenly matched, David,” Dunreaven countered.
“Don’t be so modest!” said David, lightly shouldering his friend. “You probably shot half of the birds we bagged.”
I glanced at the truck where the birds were hanging. “Very impressive. The pheasants of England will fear your name forevermore.”
Dunreaven grinned, and to my annoyance, I felt a swift tingle shoot up my spine. Fortunately, we were all distracted by a nearby Labrador. Thr
owing caution to the wind, it lunged for a game terrine, leaving a pair of muddy paw prints on the damask tablecloth. Millicent bellowed, “Out!” and everything on four legs scurried away.
“I’m sure I winged that last bird you got,” Porter grumbled.
“I think you’re quite right about that, sir,” Dunreaven agreed.
The footmen collected themselves, swept away the stained tablecloth, and poured drinks as we descended on the table.
I slipped into a seat beside Porter and smiled sweetly at him. Perhaps if he was in a good mood, he’d be a bit more forgiving of that late shipment. “It was kind of you to give Lord Dunreaven that bird. Most other men would have taken full credit for the kill, even if they had only just winged it. I hope you’ve enjoyed your morning.”
“I have, thank you. Looking forward to this afternoon.” He leaned toward me and dropped his voice. “No more winging: clear, straight shots the whole way!”
“Good for you, sir!”
The footmen began passing around plates of oysters, and Porter rubbed his hands together. “Shooting always gives me an appetite.”
“All that fresh air,” I said, nodding. “My father used to say it was the best thing for a good appetite and a healthy glow. Oh, Mr. Porter, are these new tweeds?” I delicately plucked at his sleeve. “They’re simply splendid. Not many men can really pull off this year’s cut, but you certainly do.”
“Well, thank you very much, Miss Davies.” He sat up a little straighter, puffing out his chest before diving into his oysters.
“Still prefer fishing?” I asked Beckworth, who was seated on my other side, looking flushed and quite proud of himself.
“I think so, but shooting may win me over yet—I’ve had a good day today. I got five on my own.”
“Five? That’s wonderful!” squealed Cecilia. “You should come back here more often. Gryden seems to bring you luck.”
Beckworth grinned and blushed darker.
“Of course, it’s really about the sport, not how much you come away with,” said Caddonfoot.
“It’s always about how much you come home with,” Porter countered, mopping at some oyster juice dribbling down his beard. “Why do anything if you get nothing?”
A Bright Young Thing Page 6