by Jane Toombs
"Capital!"
Ogden nodded. “And I propose we add the name of Mr. Sebastian Cloverly, the bookseller with a shop at 157 Piccadilly."
"Are booksellers and other tradesmen now considered gentlemen?” Gerard, genuinely puzzled, wanted to know. “In my day they were ranked slightly above actors and others of that ilk."
"While I cannot speak for all booksellers,” Ogden said, “Mr. Sebastian Cloverly is indeed a gentleman and should be considered.” He glanced at Rodgers to make certain he was recording the name. “To recapitulate, we now have four candidates, my nephew, a prospective parson, a military officer, and a bookseller. Do any of you have other possibilities?"
They frowned, one and all, lowering their heads in thought. After a lengthy pause, Prudence said, “Another name occurs to me, the son of a friend of my late husband, dear Eustace, although I hesitate to mention his name since I have no notion as to whether he is in England at present or whether he might be at all interested in marriage. He is, however, the sort of gentleman who would, I feel absolutely certain, appreciate Justine's spirit and penchant for independent thinking."
"By all means tell us who he is,” Daphne said.
"His name is Mr. Gavin Spencer."
"Gavin Spencer!” Gerard exclaimed. “I should have thought of Spencer myself since years ago I knew his mother, Lavinia, quite well, and Gavin himself has a country house not fifteen miles from here."
"Is he by any chance the same Gavin Spencer who so distinguished himself in the Peninsula Campaign?” Daphne asked. “That Spencer was introduced to me once at the opera and I thought him to be the most handsome and the most dashing man I ever saw. And quite untouched by scandal of any kind."
"Is this the same Spencer who swam the Hellespont a few years ago?” Ogden wanted to know. “The one who wanted to emulate Leander who foolishly braved the dangerous sea time and again to be with his love, Hero? And finally drowned as a result of his foolishness?"
"The very same,” Gerard said. “The last report of his whereabouts, and this was almost a year ago, placed him in Egypt leading an expedition to seek the source of the Nile. Not only is Gavin Spencer adventurous, handsome and dashing, not only is he a man possessing a rare savoire faire, he is also a renowned collector of antiquities. His published accounts of his travels were very well received and, by no means least, he has a considerable fortune inherited only recently from his uncle."
"This Spencer must be a true paragon among men,” Ogden said. “If all you claim for him is true."
"To my knowledge, which I admit is limited,” Gerard said, “he is a man without faults. He comes closer than anyone in England, with the exception of the Duke of Wellington, of being a legend in his own time."
Ogden shook his head in disbelief. “The man has flaws, rest assured of that, all men do."
"He does have a flaw,” Prudence said, “but one that admirably suits our purpose. Gavin Spencer is unmarried, or was at last report."
"If he is all you claim,” Ogden objected, “which I very much doubt, how strange he has failed to sweep all the young ladies of the ton off their feet."
"He is, perhaps,” Daphne said, “too occupied with his manly pursuits to have found time for marriage."
"Or he may consider our English young ladies too tame for his taste,” Prudence suggested.
"Vincent, his father,” Gerard said, “was considered to be as mad as a hatter, being overly fond of both the ladies and whiskey and prepared to risk his all on the turn of a single card. Fortunately for his family, Vincent died well before his time and I suspect his son vowed to be as little like his father as possible."
"Since our interest is in the son and not the father,” Ogden grumbled, “you should, I suppose, make inquiries about the man and his whereabouts."
"I shall and at once,” Gerard promised. “Though Gavin Spencer appears to be our pre-eminent prospect, he may very well be unavailable. We should, therefore, decide which one of these other gentlemen best suits our purposes."
There followed a chorus of objections.
"But how can I possibly decide?” Daphne asked. “I am acquainted only with John Willoughby and Mr. Richard Ewing."
"And I,” Ogden said, “have no personal knowledge of any of these gentlemen with the exception of my nephew and Mr. Cloverly, the bookseller. And you, Gerard, can only vouch for your lieutenant. What we require is someone, presumably someone younger, more of an age with the candidates, someone with a broad acquaintanceship as well as the ability to pursue inquiries into the histories and proclivities of these gentlemen."
"What you suggest is undoubtedly on the mark,” Gerard agreed, “but where are we to find someone in a position to judge their character, their means, and their all-around suitability?"
There was a general shaking of heads.
Rodgers broke the lengthening silence. “May I presume to offer a suggestion?"
The four members of the Matrimonial Recruitment Society turned to stare at their secretary.
Prudence spoke first. “Of course you may, Rodgers. And what is your suggestion?"
"There is a gentlemen with a wide acquaintanceship in the ton who would, I believe, although I cannot guarantee, be more than willing to offer his services to help you focus your attentions on the right man. And, by great good fortune, he happens to be readily available. He is, in fact, presently a guest in this very house."
"You have us all at sea,” Prudence said. “Pray tell us his name."
Rodgers smiled. “Why ... he is none other than Lord Devon."
CHAPTER 9
Quentin guided his horse toward the hedgerow, letting the stallion set his own pace—he was not one to rush his fences. He felt the roan's fluid leap, thrilled to the exhilarating ascent, heard hooves scrape the uppermost branches and then they were over, the roan hitting the ground and, in one motion, galloping on to where John Willoughby, astride a dappled gray colt, waited.
"Well done,” John said as they swung around and, urging their mounts into a lope, started back to the Manor.
They rode for a time in companionable silence with the noon sun warm on their faces. Entering a lane, they slowed their horses to a walk, listening to the hum of bees as they breathed in the sweet scent of the wild roses growing at the borders of fields divided into irregular rectangles by hedges of shrubs and trees.
"I suppose the eclipse was all very well,” John said, “but, to my way of thinking, a rather over-rated spectacle, certainly no great thing. Not by any means the sight I expected."
"The rarity of an eclipse is what makes it so extraordinary,” Quentin said. “Imagine if the moon rose only once every twenty years, what an eagerly awaited, awe-inspiring sight it would be. How Justine—” He stopped abruptly to correct himself. “How Miss Riggs would savor such an event."
John shook his head and smiled ruefully. “She possesses a formidable knowledge of the heavens. Almost too formidable for my taste. Did she lecture you, Quentin, on the Latin names of the constellations?"
"No, she hardly spoke a word to me all evening.” Because, Quentin thought, I never gave her the slightest opportunity. How strange that following an impulse can have such disturbing consequences. Kissing her under the stars during the dark of the moon was merely a sudden notion, certainly nothing he planned or premeditated. He meant to do whatever he could to disconcert her, to put her in her proper place after the audacious way she threatened to use him as a target for her arrows. And all he succeeded in doing was to disconcert himself.
"When I traveled to Gravesend last month,” John said, “and saw her walking like a lovely phantom in the night, I admit being somewhat taken with her. But the better acquainted we become, the more uneasy she makes me. I must admit I much prefer a young lady whose company I find restful rather than alarming. A young lady who attempts to please rather than instruct."
"As I do,” Quentin said, “as I most certainly do.” He continued to examine his thoughts. When I marry, and I expect I shall in the
fullness of time, I intend to choose an amiable beauty with perhaps a touch of the coquette in her nature. She'd be a universal favorite of the ton, a miss who understands that I, like the overwhelming majority of men, prefer a companion who listens rather than lectures. A young lady who would quietly but sincerely applaud my wit and admire the way I sit a horse, rather than a hoyden who constantly challenges me.
"Alton, on the other hand,” John said, “appeared quite taken with Justine. Did you notice how he interceded in your behalf at the archery contest? And during the eclipse he was constantly finding excuses to be with her."
"And did she encourage him?” Quentin frowned when he heard the annoyance in his voice.
"She seemed to neither encourage nor discourage him. Justine has a happy way of treating everyone with equal consideration."
"Equal lack of consideration might be closer to the truth.” Quentin frowned. “Someone should warn her about Alton, preferably her sponsor. Surely Mrs. Baldwin must be aware of his less than admirable reputation where young women are concerned. His behavior toward Miss Georgiana Moore was abominable; no wonder she saw fit to throw herself into the Serpentine."
John raised his eyebrows. “Surely you exaggerate. Alton is neither better nor worse than most gentlemen of the ton."
"Then may the Lord help the ton. And England as well.” Quentin decided a word to Rodgers would serve to alert Prudence Baldwin to the danger. Was it possible Justine had conceived a tenderness for Alton? No, impossible. Even a young lady from Gravesend should be capable of discerning that his intentions were less than honorable.
"You surprise me,” John said. “I never knew you to be so eager to protect the chastity of a young woman before."
Quentin concealed his start. Why was he so concerned about her well being? “Despite her bravado, Miss Riggs seems innocent and naïve."
"In all likelihood Justine will marry before harm befalls her."
Yes, of course, she should and undoubtedly would marry, giving her a safe haven from the likes of Alton. Quentin vowed to do everything in his power to bring such a happy solution about for Justine. It was the best solution.
"Has something disturbed you?” John asked.
Quentin stared at him. “Why?"
"Your scowl is less than a tick short of ferocious."
With an effort Quentin rearranged his expression.
They left the park and approached the house, riding between the kitchen garden and the overgrown maze. As they entered the stable yard Quentin thought he caught a glimpse of someone coming out of the rear door of the Manor.
Leaving their horses with two stableboys, they started toward the great house. Quentin suddenly stopped. Without knowing why, he was certain, absolutely certain, that it was Justine he had seen leaving the house and that she was now waiting for him at the entrance to the maze.
Walking past one of the barns, he looked toward the maze and drew in his breath. Someone was standing there, watching him, perhaps waiting for him, but when he saw it was Rodgers and not Justine, he felt a pang of dismay and then a shock of surprise at the extent of his disappointment.
With a slight beckoning motion, Rodgers asked Quentin to come to him and so, after walking a short distance with John, Quentin suddenly stopped and, with a muttered curse and the excuse of having forgotten something, turned back while telling John to go on to the house.
"Lord Devon,” Rodgers said when Quentin joined him, “I was hoping to intercept you after your ride. If you could grant me a few minutes of your time? Perhaps we might stroll into the maze?"
Quentin nodded and Rodgers led the way into the ancient, overgrown labyrinth of yews. “I trust you can find your way,” Quentin said.
"When I arrived here, Mr. Hodgkins, the Kinsdale butler, informed me the maze followed the Hampton Court pattern which, as you no doubt are aware, my lord, permits one to reach the center by going left on entering, right at the next two intersections and then constantly to the left until one reaches his objective."
"Your knowledge continues to amaze me,” Quentin said.
"My only goal in life is to put my meager abilities to use in the service of my employers."
Quentin frowned but, unable to see Rodger's face, was unable to estimate the extent of his sincerity.
"Someone once remarked,” Quentin said, “that judging by the virtues commonly expected of a servant, he knew few masters who would make worthy valets."
"That may be true, my lord, but I have not the slightest doubt you would be an exceptional valet."
"Thank you, Rodgers, for the compliment.” He smiled wryly. “At least I believe it was a compliment."
Before Rodgers could reply, they came to the center of the maze, a circular opening among the yews. Walking past a sun dial, Quentin turned and put a booted foot on one of the two iron benches.
"May I speak to you in confidence?” Rodgers, who had remained standing, asked. When Quentin nodded, Rodgers went on, “You will be approached shortly, in all likelihood later today, by Mr. Kinsdale who will request your help in a rather delicate matter."
Quentin raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.
"It seems that Mr. Kinsdale and some of his friends have given themselves the task of finding a suitable marriage partner for Miss Riggs."
Quentin stared. How strange, only minutes before he had been thinking along much the same lines. “And why would they approach me? Surely they would never consider me to be a—"
"No, no, not at all. You must forgive me, my lord, I failed to make myself clear. They have compiled a list of possible suitors and want you to give them the benefit of your considered opinion on the merits and demerits of each of the gentlemen.” Rodgers drew a paper from his pocket and unfolded it. “I have here a list of the five gentlemen in question together with a few of my own comments regarding their characters and prospects."
"Pray let me scan your list.” Taking the paper from Rodgers, Quentin glanced at the names. “Willoughby, I know him, of course. Cloverly, the bookseller, I know who he is since I happen to patronize his shop. Edgerton, a passing acquaintance of mine, recently bought a commission, I believe. Ewing, I fear the name means nothing to me. Spencer—Gavin Spencer, the explorer and adventurer?—in Egypt the last I heard.” He looked up from the list. “These notes of yours following the names, these comments that will allow me to steal a march on Mr. Kinsdale. How did you come by these judgments, Rodgers?"
"My informants must remain confidential, my lord, but you must realize that most of the talk below stairs concerns the doings of those above stairs. And, with the large number of my fellow servants gathered here for the Eclipse Party, my sources are numerous."
"Am I right in assuming,” Quentin said, folding the paper and putting it into his pocket, “that you have a favorite among these prospects, a gentleman you yourself would recommend to Miss Riggs?"
"I admit to a slight leaning, an inclination, a tendency in a particular direction.” Rodgers, as though resisting temptation, shook his head. “However, I must not interfere, my place is to humbly serve others, not to advise them."
Quentin smiled. “You lead me to the center of this maze, you present me with a list of gentlemen together with brief descriptions of their strengths and failings, and then you tell me you refuse to advise or to recommend. You, Rodgers, are nothing but a humbug."
Rodgers lowered his head. “If you say so, sir, it must be so.” Looking up, he asked, “You will help Mr. Kinsdale and the others find an appropriate suitor for Miss Riggs?"
Quentin paused in thought. “I see no harm in doing so.” In all truth, the notion rather appealed to him.
"Very good, I hoped you would, and I wish you success.” Rodgers stepped back to let Quentin lead the way from the maze. As they walked along the intricately winding pathway, Rodgers said, seemingly apropos of nothing, “Miss Riggs told me yesterday about a red-haired stableboy she befriended."
"Oh?” Quentin was unsure what Rodgers meant to tell him.
> "The boy was having trouble with a fractious horse that kicked in the side of his stall. Miss Riggs asked me to help if I could and, in the course of our conversation, I learned that since coming here to the Manor, she has been in the habit of riding to Round Hill at half past eight every morning."
When Quentin glanced back at him with a questioning frown, Rodgers said, “My remarks about the red-haired stableboy and Miss Riggs were of no consequence, my lord, I was merely attempting to fill a void in the conversation."
"Were you indeed?” Quentin murmured. “I wonder."
"As well as, of course,” Rodgers added somewhat hastily, “hinting at the possibility that Mr. Willoughby might care to be apprised of an opportunity to become better acquainted with the young lady."
A perfectly reasonable suggestion, Quentin told himself, though where John was concerned, probably completely useless. He eyed Rodgers assessingly as they left the maze and made their way to the house. The man's thinking took more twists and turns than the corridors in the maze. Was it possible Rodgers had something more devious in mind?
"Have you, by any chance, mentioned Miss Riggs’ morning rides to anyone else? To Lord Alton, for instance?"
"Why no, my lord, certainly not. As you are aware, Lord Alton's name does not appear on Mr. Kinsdale's list of possible suitors."
"Quite so,” Quentin said, wondering what had led him to mention Alton since Justine could never hope to reach so high. Even if she were more favorably situated, Alton was not an appropriate choice, not at all.
Later that afternoon, Gerard Kinsdale approached Quentin. “If you could grant me but a few minutes, I seek your counsel on a matter of the greatest delicacy.” When Quentin readily agreed, Gerard led his guest into the library, carefully closing the door behind them.
As Quentin waited with mounting exasperation, Gerard paced nervously in front of the hearth, rambling on about the eclipse and then recalling a long-ago shooting party at Meachams where he had the good fortune to meet both Quentin's father and uncle.
Quentin nodded. “The matter of the greatest delicacy?” he prodded.