“You heard the lady,” Sherbourne said, waving his gloves. “Not through the front door.”
The next look was exchanged between the footmen, both of whom wore Sherbourne’s livery. Clearly, neither they nor Sherbourne grasped exactly how the luggage was to get into the castle. A small slip, but made before a lady, and inordinately gratifying to Julian.
“Around to the side,” Elizabeth said. “The service entrance faces the stables, though if Mr. Sherbourne has a small valise, one of you may hand it to the first footman or butler once His Grace has escorted his guest from the drive. The house staff will see that the valise is brought up to Mr. Sherbourne’s room immediately.”
The footmen tugged a forelock in Elizabeth’s direction before heaving the trunk onto the back of the carriage.
“One must be patient with staff,” Elizabeth said. “House parties are a challenge all around, don’t you agree, Mr. Sherbourne?” She sent him a good-natured smile, and Julian wanted to howl.
Sherbourne smiled back. Glenys referred to him as a handsome devil, though she knew not how literal her description was.
“You have the right of it, ma’am,” Sherbourne said. “House parties can be an endless challenge, but a great diversion as well. Might I escort you into the house?”
Another blunder, for the host was on hand to perform that office.
“Haverford has kindly extended me his escort for my morning constitutional,” Elizabeth said, tucking her hand around Julian’s arm, “but perhaps you’d carry my haversack, Mr. Sherbourne? I’m sure the other guests are still at breakfast, and Lady Glenys will be relieved to know the last of the company has arrived.”
Julian passed over the haversack, and by exercise of monumental self-discipline, refrained from sticking his tongue out at Sherbourne. Elizabeth was simply being a lady, the niece and granddaughter of dukes, and her manner was honestly friendly.
Sherbourne took the proffered haversack and idled along on Elizabeth’s other side as Julian led her into the house. She made small talk with the effortless charm of one to the manor born, charm Julian had misplaced twenty thousand pounds ago where Sherbourne was concerned.
When Elizabeth led Sherbourne into the breakfast parlor, every guest in attendance looked to be seated at the table, even Cousin Hugh. Conversation drifted to a halt, and Sherbourne’s slight smile said he enjoyed disrupting his social superiors at their leisure.
“Sherbourne,” Radnor said. “Good day. Have you come by for tea and toast?”
All eyes turned to Glenys whose expression would have done credit to a hind pursued by a pack in full cry.
“You are mistaken, my lord,” Elizabeth said. “The last of Haverford’s guests has arrived, and I had the great good fortune to be introduced to Mr. Sherbourne the moment he alighted in the drive. He accounts himself something of a marksman, but I wonder how well he’ll acquit himself at the oars.”
“Is the boat race today?” Haldale asked. “Lovely weather for it.”
“Lovely day for a drubbing, you mean,” Windstruther retorted. “I was captain of my team for three years at university.”
Good-natured taunts and wagers soon joined the clatter of porcelain and requests for more tea. Elizabeth asked Sherbourne to sit beside her, and was drawing him into the general conversation, while Julian took his place beside Glenys.
“Did you invite him?” Julian murmured as Glenys poured him a cup of tea.
“I would never—I would never have done so on purpose,” she said, dropping in a lump of sugar and stirring. A slosh of tea spilled over onto the saucer.
Julian added cream, a luxury he usually denied himself. “Did you invite him by accident, perhaps?”
“Perhaps. The topic of the house party came up after services one week. I’d forgotten the conversation, but Mr. Sherbourne apparently took it for an invitation. I haven’t a bedroom made up.”
“Put him down the corridor from my quarters in the family wing. The rooms are comfortable, and I’d prefer that Sherbourne be where I can keep an eye on him if I must have him underfoot.”
Halfway up the table, Charlotte Windham was challenging Sherbourne to an archery contest, and Cousin Delphine’s eyes had acquired an avaricious gleam.
Sherbourne, though, was bent close to Elizabeth, his expression entirely, genuinely charmed.
Julian took a sip of his tea, scalded his tongue, and nearly hurled his teacup at Sherbourne’s handsome head.
* * *
Elizabeth had left Mr. Sherbourne in Charlotte’s care—her gunsights, more like—and was intent on changing into a day dress when Lady Glenys overtook her on the stairs.
“Thank you,” her ladyship said. “I was completely taken aback by Sherbourne’s arrival. Haverford is unhappy with me, but I might well have left Mr. Sherbourne with the impression that he was welcome. I was at a loss, and I’m in your debt.”
Her ladyship was slightly out of breath, and the watch pinned to her bodice was at an odd angle. Watches kept time best if they hung straight, but nobody thought to provide women a watch pocket for that purpose.
“You are not in my debt,” Elizabeth said. “I was simply being polite and reciprocating the hospitality you and His Grace have shown me. Come help me choose suitable attire for admiring the company’s oarsmen.”
Lady Glenys peered at the watch. “I really ought to confer with my cook. She’s growing temperamental, and I can’t—”
“Do not indulge the tantrums of your senior staff,” Elizabeth said, linking arms with Lady Glenys. “My mama and my aunt swear that only encourages more dramatics. You pay the woman a handsome salary, she’s had weeks to prepare for this gathering, and nobody expects more than typical fare in larger quantities. Tell me about Sherbourne.”
For that was the real reason Elizabeth wanted a moment with her hostess. Haverford loathed the man, and to loathe a neighbor was never convenient.
“Lucas Sherbourne is wealthy,” Lady Glenys said. “His family bought our original dower house back in German George’s day, and there was some talk of great-grandparents marrying, or grandparents. Haverford would know.”
They rounded the turn in the stairs, the sounds from the lower floors fading. “The dower house must be quite close to the castle.”
“Two miles or so across the fields. When did this wing acquire so many stairs?”
“Probably three hundred years ago.” Haverford’s circumstances were sorely embarrassed and Sherbourne was wealthy. Elizabeth didn’t think that alone would cause Haverford’s antipathy toward his neighbor.
They reached Elizabeth’s room, which had a good view of the lake.
“If you set up the tents on the far side of the lake,” Elizabeth said, “the breeze will carry the stable flies away from the party rather than straight to it. Then too, we’ll have shade over there.”
Glenys wrinkled her nose. “Flies?”
“Nasty creatures. Remind the ladies to take their fans.”
“Have you managed a house party before?”
“My mother certainly has, my aunt has, and as the eldest daughter in my family, I’ve been their right hand. Which do you prefer, the blue or the green?”
Elizabeth had opened the wardrobe, where a rainbow of dresses hung on a series of hooks. The whole smelled of lavender, and beneath each dress sat a pair of matching slippers.
“For you, the green, though it would look less attractive on me. Do you think Mr. Sherbourne is handsome?”
Elizabeth laid the green dress, one of her favorites, on the bed. “He’s attractive, if a lady favors a fair countenance.”
Mr. Sherbourne was a tall, broad-shouldered exponent of good Saxon breeding, with blond hair brushed back from a high forehead, even features, keen blue eyes, and good teeth. Despite his size, he dressed in the latest fashion, had fine table manners, and smelled faintly of bay rum.
All in all, he was a little too perfect, a little too much the picture of a fine gentleman.
“You should have a seat, Lady Glenys. My mam
a claims that during a house party, the hostess should sit and use the necessary every chance she gets. Half boots today, I think.”
Her ladyship subsided onto the bed. “Your mama sounds very sensible. I barely recall mine. Haverford says she liked to laugh and was mad for my papa. They were second cousins, and she was a St. David even before he married her.”
Such wistfulness. “My parents are like that, mad for each other.” Elizabeth sat on the bed, and gave Lady Glenys her back. “If you’d oblige?”
When Elizabeth’s hooks had been undone, she took the green dress with her behind the privacy screen.
“Will you bet on Lord Radnor’s boat to win today?” she asked.
“Radnor? Half the ladies present will bet on him. Radnor has charm, Haverford has gravitas, and I have aching feet.”
Elizabeth shimmied and the dress settled around her like a benediction. Everything about this frock was just right—the drape, the cut, the weight and swish of the fabric, the color. She was pretty in this outfit, confident, comfortable, and a bit out of the common mode. The lines were simple and the neckline was low for daytime, but a cream fichu made an illusion of daring out of a modest ensemble.
“I have wondered where your companion is,” Elizabeth said, emerging from behind the screen. “You do have one?”
“That is a luscious dress.”
“One of my favorites.” She resumed her seat on the bed as Lady Glenys did up her hooks. This exchange—women’s small talk over a change of dresses—was so familiar Elizabeth had taken it for granted. With her mother, her sisters, her cousins, and cousins-in-law, she often had a private moment to compare notes, share gossip, or rest her feet.
While Lady Glenys had a brother much occupied with the business of his dukedom.
“I have a companion,” her ladyship said, finishing the last hook. “Have had one for years, but she spends much of the summer with her family. She’s a cousin to the Archbishop of Canterbury, or second cousin. You are truly wearing half boots with that dress?”
“We’re hiking around the lake, unless you intend to assemble a parade of conveyances in addition to the kitchen carts.”
“I’d planned to set up closer to the house until you mentioned the flies.”
“It’s a pretty day for a walk, and the gentlemen will enjoy a chance to escort the ladies. Keep a pony cart on hand for transporting the elders or those fatigued by their exertions.”
Some would be fatigued by their over-imbibing. One needn’t belabor the obvious.
Lady Glenys leaned back and braced herself on both hands. “I was daft to hold this house party. I had no idea of the expense, but the practical considerations are beyond me as well. You really must stay close to me at all times, Miss Windham, lest I have my guests picnicking downwind of the muck heap.”
She’d apparently planned for them to do exactly that.
Elizabeth rose to examine her reflection in the vanity mirror. Her bun was still tidy, despite her morning rambles. She approached the bed and unpinned her ladyship’s watch.
The watch had already lost a quarter of an hour against the clock on the mantel. “You chose to have the house party now so your companion would not be in the way, didn’t you?”
“She’s quite set in her ways, and while I love her dearly, I feel increasingly like it’s my job to attend to her wants and wishes, and to afford her my company, not the other way around.”
Elizabeth adjusted the watch and repinned it, as a sister or friend might have. “Do you have a room for Mr. Sherbourne?”
“The maids are seeing to that now. Haverford said to use a bedroom in the family wing, where he and Radnor can keep an eye on him.”
Why would they need to keep an eye on a neighbor of long standing? “Mr. Sherbourne strikes me as in need of guidance. For example, if you did extend a personal invitation to him to attend this gathering, he still should have sent his acceptance in writing.”
Glenys peered down at the watch, a lovely little gold article. “I might have misplaced his note. I’m not exactly current with my correspondence.”
Oh, dear. “You will give me your correspondence, my lady, and Charlotte and I will sort through it for you. The house party will last another nineteen days, more or less, and if you lack a personal secretary, you’ll have to make do with the resources at hand.”
“A secretary costs money. Even Haverford eschews that expense.”
Sorely embarrassed. His Grace had not exaggerated.
“One more handsome bachelor can hardly be a problem, can he?” Lady Glenys asked.
One more handsome, wealthy, good-looking bachelor. “I suppose not. You’ll give me your correspondence?”
Chagrin assailed Elizabeth once more. She’d been so resentful of her family’s meddling, so heedless of their concern for her. How did anybody manage without sisters? Or cousins, in-laws, and a doting uncle and aunt?
Lady Glenys rose. “I will surrender my correspondence to you, purely because I’m desperate and you’re the closest thing I have to an ally.”
“I do believe Lord Radnor is your ally, as is Haverford, but you must leave them no doubt as to when and how their support is needed.”
Lady Glenys marched to the door, chin high. “Radnor sees me as a younger sibling, one in need of his constant supervision, or something. He’s handsome, though, I’ll grant you that, and charming.”
He was also Haverford’s dearest friend, and of a lofty enough station to offer for the daughter of a duke—unlike Mr. Sherbourne, who was a bit rag-mannered, and disliked by her ladyship’s brother.
Nineteen days was no time at all when Elizabeth contemplated her friendship with Haverford, but an eternity from other perspectives.
“You’ll have the tents set up on the far side of the lake?” she asked.
“Just as soon as I stop by my own apartment and heed your mama’s advice.”
They parted at the top of the main staircase. The encounter, however brief, had given Elizabeth much to think about. If Lady Glenys felt a lack of allies, how must Haverford feel? Payment for all the house party expenses was his responsibility, not her ladyship’s, and he’d been exceedingly unhappy to see Sherbourne’s coach tooling up the drive.
Goddamned unhappy.
Charlotte came up the steps, munching a triangle of toast. “You left Mr. Sherbourne desolated for want of your company. I took pity on him.” Her grin was feline rather than coquettish.
“You did not add him to the breakfast menu, I trust?”
“I’m saving him for dessert, once I’m through with Haldale and Windstruther. They are the most self-important pair of ninnyhammers I’ve met in ages. I do love that dress.”
And yet, Charlotte had never asked to borrow it. “I love it too. Would you bring my parasol when you come down?”
“Of course, and Aunt’s too. Where are you off to?”
“Mr. Sherbourne has piqued my interest. I’m off to get to know him better, before one of your famous stray arrows puts a period to his dignity.”
Chapter Ten
“I love you, Biddy Bowen.” Griffin had waited years to say that phrase in English, and had repeated it the whole way to the oak so he wouldn’t forget how. Then he’d sat high, high up in the oak practicing silently, until Julian and Miss Elizabeth had come along.
Biddy went on taking the laundry down from the clothesline. “Sir, you mustn’t tease me like that.”
She was smiling, though. Biddy had the prettiest smile.
“I love you, Biddy Bowen.” Clearly, he’d got it right, so he tried a bit of decoration on what Miss Elizabeth had taught him. “I very, very love you.”
Her smile was beautiful, like the oak leafing out in spring. All soft edges and full of light. “You’re practicing English again, are you?”
She’d answered in Welsh.
“Yes,” Griffin said, wishing he knew more English. “I want Julian and Charity to be proud of me. I can learn. I’m not smart, but I can learn.”
&n
bsp; Biddy’s smile dimmed and she snatched the next pillowcase from the clothesline. “Stop saying you aren’t smart. You’re very good with the animals, you know all the bird songs, you get around in the kitchen better than any man I know.”
I very, very love you, Biddy. “I’m not smart like Julian. He goes to London, and he can say anything he wants to in English and French and Latin.” Griffin had tried Latin, but it was unkind to the ear. Welsh was very kind to the ear, and English was somewhere in the middle.
“What matters smart,” Biddy snapped, jerking another pillowcase from the line, “when a titled man can barely pay his debts? What matters smart, when a lady shut up in a castle grows so lonely her brother must lure bachelors to her side with parties he can’t afford? You’re smart, Griffin St. David, too smart to think that only Latin and London make a man worth loving. There’s not a yeoman for thirty miles who’d have a wife and family if that were the case.”
Biddy sometimes got cross, like when Abner had too many pints in the village and Griffin had to fetch him home in the rain, but she was seldom angry.
“I’m not a yeoman. My brother is a duke. I’m not smart.”
Biddy flung the last of the pillowcases into the basket. “I must not speak ill of my betters, but your brother is no smarter than you are, he’s only smart in a different way. You visit with the tenants more than he does. You notice when Mrs. Cransberry’s limp is worse and bring her a tisane from Mrs. Hanscomb. You carry acorns in your pockets so every child you meet can plant a tree for themselves. You sing in church like all the joy in heaven fills you, you don’t just move your lips.”
Griffin picked up the laundry basket. “I love to sing.” And he loved Biddy in both Welsh and English.
She regarded Griffin for a moment, her expression complicated. She looked angry, but not with him. He and Julian were smart in different ways, she’d said, and that was worth thinking about in the oak tree, where Griffin had peace and privacy—usually.
Biddy took one handle of the laundry basket, Griffin kept the other, and they walked into the house together.
“I learned something today,” Griffin said.
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