"I fear I am very late, dearest," she said, holding out both hands to her friend. "My humble apologies."
Miss Caroline Morris hugged her. "I thought you would never get here! I am only glad that you could come!"
Returning the embrace wholeheartedly, Jennifer was none the less aware that one of the footmen had directed Jonathan to the side entrance, and he was driving off with Tilly and the luggage. She was drawn into the cool interior of the mansion amid a rapid-fire series of questions, mostly having to do with "dear Howland" and culminating in, "Wherever did you find your new coachman? My, such a fine creature!"
"Caroline, Caroline! I wish you will learn to control your exuberance! I saw you running!" Lady Georgina Morris was a small, bird-like woman with the same bright eyes and pointed chin as her daughter. In a studiedly serene fashion she drifted across the gold and white hall to receive Jennifer's curtsy and present her thin cheek to be kissed. "You will think her a proper hurly-burly, my dear," she said, with just a shade of sympathy in the glance she rested upon this unfortunate young woman. "But she is sincerely glad you are come, I need not tell you."
There could be no doubt of this, because Jennifer's attempt to thank Lady Morris for her kind invitation was cut short by her impatient friend. Dimpling mischievously at her indignant but doting parent, Caroline whisked Jennifer across the hall and up the winding staircase.
"You are in the family wing," she announced, her panniers swinging as she danced around a corner. "I persuaded Mrs. Drebbins to give you my sister Lucille's bedchamber. She won't be coming to the party, for she is in—" She paused, her eyes on the footman who followed, carrying Jennifer's dressing case and hat boxes. "Increasing," she whispered, then revealed that confidence by saying merrily, "So I shall be an aunt once more! Isn't that jolly?"
The amused footman hurried past to swing open the door to a charming and very feminine bedchamber at the south side of the house.
When the man had taken himself off, the two girls embraced again, and Caroline said, "Now let me look at you." She drew back, scanning her friend critically. "I vow you are lovelier than ever! And yet you look… different somehow." Her gaze sharpened. "Why do you blush? I declare, if I didn't know better, I'd think—"
Interrupted as the door opened again, she said, "Oh, hello, Tilly. I was just telling your mistress she is prettier each time I see her. I vow she fairly glows today! Do you not… er…"
Her words trailed off as Tilly bobbed a curtsy and applied a sodden handkerchief to her red nose. "Oh—my," said Caroline uneasily. "Were you overcome by the heat again, poor creature?"
"I w-was, Miss," gulped Tilly. "By that and… other things…"
Caroline met Jennifer's meaningful glance and said, "Well, you will be wanting us out of your way while you unpack, I am sure." Turning, she made a wry face and took Jennifer to her own apartments. "Whatever is amiss?" she demanded, when they were seated in her spacious pink and white private parlour. "What did she mean—'other things'?"
Jennifer decided to try and forestall possible complications. "Oh, you know how Tilly loves to enlarge upon gossip. She has taken my coachman in dislike."
"She is mad," declared Caroline unequivocally.
Jennifer laughed. "The thing is, he was injured some time ago, as a result of which his memory is impaired. People tend to mock him. Tilly said some very cruel things and I had to scold her."
Despite her carefree manner, Caroline had a shrewd streak. She pursed her lips and advised, "She will hate him forever. You'd as well turn her off, dearest. Better yet, turn them both off. It might be wise, you know, if he is wits to let."
"He is not!" Caroline's eyes opened wide, and regretting her vehemence Jennifer added hurriedly, "He most gallantly saved the life of one of my father's guests. I can scarce reward him with dismissal."
"Especially since he is prodigious good to look at, eh?"
Jennifer met those roguish eyes, hesitated, then said with a smile, "Caro, if you are not a sad romp! Here I have but now stepped across your threshold after a hot and tiresome journey, and instead of allowing me to wash and—"
"Well, I would have." Caroline ran into her adjoining bedchamber and returned with a wet face cloth and a towel. "Only Tilly seemed so in the boughs I thought it best to leave her alone for a moment. One has to humour them, you know." She sat beside Jennifer on the small sofa and watched her dab the cold cloth at her face. "Now I want to know all about you and your family. It has been so long since last I saw you, and I've a strong suspicion that lots of deliciousnesses have happened, and—"
"How can you harbour such notions?" Jennifer set aside the towels and tidied her hair. "My life is dull compared with your own, and you are the one with stories to tell. Are you pleased with your Kentish cousin?"
Caroline nodded, setting her ringlets bobbing. "Yes indeed. He is young—much younger than I had supposed. And so droll, and quite nice looking besides. But"—her eyes sparkled with mischief—"he has brought a friend with him. Oh la, la! Wait till you see him! So handsome 'tis criminal! But very haughty, for all he's a half-caste of some kind. And a tongue? Faith, 'tis an asp! I wonder my poor cousin can endure him."
"He does not sound very pleasant," said Jennifer cautiously. "Do you like him, Caro?"
"If you mean am I going to fall into a decline when he leaves? No. But he is wickedly exciting to flirt with—or try to. He can administer a crushing set-down, but all the ladies are in alt just to watch him."
"And—the gentlemen?"
"Oh, they despise him, of course. But very quietly, for he is said to be deadly dangerous and has killed dozens and dozens of good men in duels."
Jennifer laughed at this, and Caroline acknowledged gaily that she may have exaggerated "just a trifle," but swept on, "Papa does not like him at all, and was vexed with James, my cousin, for having brought him. I heard Papa say"—she drew herself up, imitating her father's high-pitched voice and solemn manner—"he is not the thing, you know. And not received anywhere that is anywhere."
Amused, Jennifer said that it was as well Caroline's heart was already given. "Dare I ask—is Lord Kenneth to make an interesting announcement during this party?"
Caroline stared at her. "About me, do you mean?"
"Why, yes. You writ that you were hopelessly in love with Edmund Sturtevant, and I think 'twill be a wonderful match, for he is such… a nice… Oh, Lud! Have I spoke out of turn? I made sure he meant to offer."
"Well, he did, of course, but—Dearest Jennifer, what a ninny you are! As if I would marry him! Mama and I have settled that I will accept Pettigrew."
"Sherwin Pettigrew? But—but, Caro—I never dreamed— I didn't even think you liked him! And—forgive, but he is so… foolish!"
"Oh, yes. I shall likely end up strangling him! But much as I adore my Edmund, his family is nouveau riche at best, and his mama—for all she is sweetly natured—is sometimes rather gauche, whereas Sherwin's lineage is impeccable, and his parents are the most starched-up and proud creatures. Poor Edmund is quite heartbroken, which is prodigious affecting. Still, it does not do, Mama says, to marry beneath one. Now why do you look at me like that? One has to choose sensibly, after all. I suppose 'tis different with you, poor thing, but if you could choose, dearest, whom would you pick?"
'One has to choose sensibly, after all… ' Jennifer smiled faintly. "I should choose the man I would love above all others, and whom I could honour and respect, even though all the world rejected him."
"It sounds very romantical," said Caroline dubiously. "But he would have to be of good prospects, for it would be dreadful if you were poor and had to live among the unwashed." Her nose wrinkled. "Commoners so often… smell!"
Her friend surprised her by uttering a merry peal of laughter.
"What is it?" asked Caroline. "Have I said something clever?"
"I was only thinking that you are acquainted, I believe, with Hibbard Green…"
"Who will be here again this weekend!" Caroline giggled. "How o
utrageous in you to make such a remark! A dreadfully vulgar creature, is he not? But he is, after all, above criticism."
"Good gracious! Why?"
"Because he is one of us, you ninny! And is besides, excessive wealthy. And you are staring at me again. Are you fancying me to be an avaricious female? I promise you I do not covet the fortune of that one!"
Troubled, Jennifer said, "You used not to think that rank and wealth were the only qualities to be valued in a gentleman."
"No more I do. My poor Edmund has all the valued qualities, but there comes a time to discard childish dreams. I have grown up, do you see?" With sudden gravity, Caroline leaned to press her friend's hand and say, "You must do so also, dearest. My parents are concerned lest you forget your place and permit too much familiarity from commoners."
Jennifer asked in a rather faint voice, "In what… connection?"
"Why, your school, of course. 'Tis very well in you to visit the sick among your people, and set them an example. But to be instructing their children can only be lowering for you. Besides, to be able to read and write is of no use to simple folk, and Papa fears may inspire them to revolutionary tendencies. I told him that you, being of so kind and generous a nature, had likely not considered such things. Admit I am right, dear."
Reprieved by the mellow resonance of a gong, Jennifer exclaimed, "Oh! There is the luncheon call. And we have chattered so much I've not yet changed my gown! I must do so before I meet your papa! I shall have to fly!"
Fly she did. With her garrulous friend chattering along behind her.
The head groom at Breton Ridge was a plump and supercilious man of late middle age. Impressed with his own consequence, and irked to be required to find space for the team from Castle Triad when his stables were already crowded with the hacks of guests, he did little more than tell Jonathan where to put the coach and horses, and stamp off grumbling about the stupidity of sending a four-in-hand on so short a journey.
Jonathan had feared that he would face another ordeal of recognition and mockery. Relieved because he was spared that humiliation, he made no attempt to ask for the help that should have been offered, but set about the business of unharnessing the team, rubbing them down, and turning them out into the large paddock. He was in the midst of this endeavour and lost in dreams of his beloved, when an indignant protest was raised. He glanced around. The barn was a busy place, and none of the grooms and stableboys appeared to have heard that small voice. He went to where the coach stood, poles up, in a corner, and removed the cover from Duster's cage. The occupant tilted its head and gobbled at him throatily.
"Yes, I know, and I apologise," he murmured. "But I wish you will not start speaking now. We must not attract attention to ourselves, Duster."
"Wotcher got there, my cove?" A large, squarely built man, resplendent in the garb of a superior personal servant, but with features more likely to be associated with a pugilist, stood watching him.
"'Tis just a small bird, sir," answered Jonathan uneasily. "It will cause no trouble, I promise you."
The bushy brows went up, and the shrewd brown eyes narrowed. "And 'oo might you be?" he demanded, stepping closer. "Your gab ain't like no coachman's gab wot I ever met. Wot's yer monicker?"
Jonathan hesitated. "They call me Jack, Mr…"
"They call me Tummet, on account of me name's Tummet. Enoch Tummet. Wot they call you when you ain't being a coachman, eh?"
"I have no other name, Mr. Tummet." Jonathan went back to his horses, wondering why a valet, since that was what Tummet appeared to be, loitered about the stables. For the next half hour he worked very hard, and contrived to avoid Tummet's eyes, but he knew they were on him. When the last animal had been turned out into the paddock, he found that Mr. Tummet was standing beside the coach, ostensibly talking to Duster. Taking up the bundle of his personal effects, Jonathan thought that it had been disturbed. He glanced at the big man sharply.
Tummet picked up the cage and said, "I'll extend a whelping ramble."
Jonathan stared at him.
Tummet translated, "A 'helping famble." This bringing about no lessening of Jonathan's mystified expression, he exclaimed aggrievedly, "Cor! Don't none of you talk the King's English?" He waved one muscular fist in the air.
"Oh," said Jonathan, smiling as the light dawned. "A helping hand. Thank you, but I'll leave him here for a while.Rhyming slang, is it?"
"'Sright, sir," said Tummet, and waited, but his new acquaintance betrayed no surprise at a form of address that would have astonished most coachmen. His eyes very round, he volunteered, "Quarters fer outside servants is this way."
The two men walked out together, each wondering why the other was pretending to be something he so obviously was not.
Lord Kenneth had the fair complexion and reddish hair that appeared very frequently among those born into the house of Morris. Not above average height, he was fastidious to the point of being dandified in the matter of dress, which combined with his somewhat condescending manner to conceal two obsessions. One of these had to do with his health. Although he had never suffered a major illness, ate sparingly, and was as slim at sixty as he had been at thirty, he had a deep-rooted fear of disease. He was a source of great satisfaction to the physician who enjoyed his patronage, of whom it was said that he was summoned to Breton Ridge for everything from a hangnail to a hiccup. Despite this idiosyncrasy, Lord Kenneth was devoted to his family and kind to his servants, and was generally well liked though there were those who judged that he held himself "too much up." Sir Vinson Britewell shared this opinion, and Jennifer could not dispute her father's view that his lordship considered the Britewells to be somewhat inferior to the Morrises.
There was no height in his manner, however, when he welcomed her in the charming red and white saloon where the guests had gathered preparatory to going in to luncheon. He bowed over her hand, teased her with apparent fondness because she was late, and was pleased to hear that Sir Vinson and Howland would arrive shortly. She knew most of those present, but he proceeded to introduce her to those guests with whom she was not acquainted.
Lieutenant James Morris, the guest of honour, had just sold out of the military, and wore civilian dress. He was about her own age, with a shy but engaging grin and a cherubic freckled countenance. His relationship to his host was clear to see, for he had the same fair complexion, and a hint of light red showed here and there in his rather carelessly powdered hair. He put her in mind of a friendly puppy, and she liked him at once.
Lord Kenneth's tone changed subtly as he presented the lieutenant's friend, Mr. August Falcon. Jennifer turned to meet a tall man, perhaps a year or two older than James Morris. Blessed with a splendid physique, he carried himself with proud, almost defiant, arrogance. His jet black hair was worn unpowdered and tied back. His flaring brows were heavy, and his complexion had a sallow cast, but his features were so fine that she could appreciate Caroline's admiration—until she saw the bored cynicism in the eyes that were of a deep midnight blue. Those beautiful eyes had a suggestion of the Orient in their shape. Tilly's malicious words seemed to thunder in her ears: 'Been seen with creatures of darkness he has, Miss. A evil man with a great black beard and funny shaped eyes what glow like black coals in his head.'
Jennifer's smile did not waver, but she was barely able to conceal her excitement. Mr. Falcon wore no beard, but his hair was very black. His eyes could certainly be described as having an unusual shape, and the blue was so dark that it would be easy to mistake them for black. Surely 'twas unlikely that there could be two men in the neighbourhood with such eyes and such colouring? But why on earth would a wealthy gentleman like Falcon have gone about bearded and in rags?
When she learned that he was to be her partner at luncheon, it seemed a heaven-sent opportunity to learn more of him. To that end, she went out of her way to be pleasant and attentive; agreed with his remarks, which were often outrageous; looked suitably awed by his withering appraisal of the House of Lords; and generally pand
ered to his vanity. In return, he was cold and faintly contemptuous. Irritated, she took up her goblet too quickly and the water splashed. She glanced at Falcon. His eyes were fixed upon her with an expression of knowing amusement. She thought, 'The wretch! He thinks I am enamoured of him! What preposterous conceit!' Overcoming her indignation she persisted with her efforts, and whatever his faults Mr. Falcon was not entirely lacking in the social graces, and made an effort to answer her artless questions.
She learned that his father was "a rascally fellow" whom he was constantly obliged to extricate from this or that tricky situation. His sly wink apprised her of the nature of the "tricky situations." Shocked that a gentleman would speak so of his parent, she asked hurriedly if he had no brothers or sisters.
He said, "Oh, I have a sister, ma'am." His eyes flickered to Lieutenant Morris, seated opposite, and he added deliberately, "Whom I have to guard 'gainst the attentions of every gazetted fortune hunter in Town."
The lieutenant leaned forward to say with a smile, "He numbers me among 'em, ma'am. Miss Katrina Falcon is a diamond of the first water, and 'tis my dearest ambition to make her my wife."
"What a pity it is, that the dearest ambitions of so many men are never realised." Falcon spoke in what appeared to be his customary bored drawl, but Jennifer saw a steely flash in his eyes, and Lieutenant Morris's smile was rather fixed. Theirs, she decided, was an exceedingly odd friendship.
She was bound by good manners to share her attention with the stout gentleman on her left. An extremely wealthy Irish peer, he was a lifelong bosom bow of Lord Kenneth, and the type who judged the opinions of females to be valueless. His remarks were delivered as statements of fact, rather than as topics for discussion. He offered her a chance to comment at last, by saying in his harsh accents that he was familiar with the legend surrounding the Britewells and asking with a smirk if she really believed herself descended from Queen Guinevere. Clearly, he did not, and she replied lightly that the legends were so lost in antiquity that it was difficult to say where fact ended and fable began.
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