“Am I to take this as a comment on Miss Longmead?” Rushton asked coolly.
“Dear God, no! What do you take me for?” Penrith protested, once again running his hand through his hair. “I cannot even remember how I ... Oh, yes, we were speaking of only children. Look at Lady Eleanor. Diamond of the first water. It's been three years she's been on the town. Everyone acknowledges her a beauty. But is she married?"
“No, but that is not to say she hasn't received any offers. I personally know two gentlemen who have tried their luck."
“Ah, but that is my point. Only child, selfish, conceited, but also very shrewd. She can hold out for a marquess or a duke, and so she has. Watch her this Season, though. I'd be willing to bet you a pony she accepts the best that offers this time. You can see the lines developing in her mother's face. Probably the old lady has schemed herself right into a hole. This Season she'll push for getting the thing settled. So you might just give the word to your friends, if they're still interested."
“You forget that I do not intend to go to London this spring, but I will certainly write to my friends,” Rushton offered with a suspicious sparkle in his eyes. “You are very philosophical today, Pen."
“Yes, well, I'm not a complete crackbrain, Gareth. I find the machinations of Society as amusing as you do, only I seldom speak of it. Probably wouldn't have now, except it seems to me you've lost your sense of humor recently. I'm not saying there aren't things that should be taken seriously, but you were not used to subscribe to such a pessimistic outlook."
Rushton regarded him with mock severity. “How can you say so when I have just been dancing for joy over this communication.” He touched the note from Miss Easterly-Cummings with a careless finger. “I ask no more of life at this moment than to make a start on my hunting-box."
“I had hoped you would give Cassandra a send-off as you did the other girls,” Penrith said reproachfully. “It did none of them any harm, you know."
“Nor any good, either, I dare say. Cassandra won't have the least trouble making her way in Society with your mother and sister to guide her."
“You could make it easier for her. The ton have a way of keeping their eye on which young ladies you pay attention to. Still, if you can't find it in you to do this one small thing for me..."
Casting his eyes heavenward, Rushton groaned. “Very well, Pen, I shall come to London for a few weeks, but not for the whole Season, mind you. I am serious about the hunting-box and have no wish to delay it. For her ball, then, and a week before and after. How would that be?"
Penrith grinned. “You're not such a bad fellow, Gareth, but I promise I won't tell anyone. Hate to spoil your image and all that. How about a brandy?"
Henry appeared in the drawing room late in the afternoon mysteriously clutching an enormous box under his arm, a wide grin lighting his features. “I have something for you."
“For me? What is this, Henry? I had my birthday only two months ago.” Selina regarded his mischievous face suspiciously.
“It is not a birthday present—though it could be. I seem to remember giving you only a few volumes of poetry and a bracelet. Yes, let us say it is a late birthday present.” He pushed one package across the magazine-strewn table toward her. “Go on, open it."
Hesitantly, Selina set down her needlework and fingered the box. “I am almost afraid to."
“Your instincts are perfectly in order, Selina,” he teased. “You shan't like it all, you know. None the less, I shall insist on your using it. Come, open it now."
She slid the string that bound it over the corners, and with one last questioning glance at her cousin, lifted the top from the box. Inside rested a crimson velvet mantelet luxuriantly trimmed with chinchilla. Henry whisked a hatbox from behind his back and removed the lid with a flourish. Too stunned to make a move, Selina merely gazed at the turban of crimson velvet with its two crimson ostrich feathers and a bandeau of chinchilla. Caught between a desire to laugh and cry, Selina shook her head wonderingly.
“If the crimson ostrich plumes are too much, I have brought you some white ones to replace them,” Henry explained, digging through the paper at the bottom of the box. “Mrs. Baxter said the turban was all the crack, but I thought it a bit much, myself, with the colored feathers. See, these curly ones are much less flamboyant, and I do think with the brim that it is not really an older lady's hat, don't you?” he asked anxiously.
“I have never seen anything so delightful,” Selina assured him truthfully. “I think you are right about the plumes, though. Oh, Henry, I love them both, but I don't understand why you have done this."
“You tore your cloak this morning and God help me, it isn't worth repairing, Selina. It's time you dressed more stylishly, you know. I have no doubt Lord Benedict would not have been so abrupt with you if you'd not looked like you were headed for an expedition to the Alps or something. He's used to fashionable ladies, spending so much of his time in London as he does. It was the greatest pity you should have been climbing through the fence when you met him; I imagine that is not considered quite the thing in his circles. But never mind. Will you try on the mantelet and the turban?"
As she lifted the mantelet from its box, Selina said, “It doesn't matter what Lord Benedict thinks of me, Henry. I hope you have not gone to this expense so that I may gain his good opinion. I could dress like Lady Caroline Lamb and not win his approbation."
“It's not just Lord Benedict, Selina. Would you shame me in front of Sir Penrith and Mr. Rushton? No, I will not allow you to put the turban over your stupid cap! You will find some perfectly acceptable lace caps in the box, too, and I expect you to wear them.” Henry looked uncertain for a moment. “Am I asking too much, Selina?"
His cousin hugged the mantelet about her and turned to inspect herself in the glass. Her brown curls framed her face under the delightful confection, and she could not resist fingering the rich fabric. “No, of course not."
“You see, the other day when you were describing what Cassandra would be wearing at the breakfast table—you know, when you were pretending that she and Mr. Rushton were married—you described a most fashionable toilette and I thought ... That is, you seemed to know what was the current mode, and you talked about it with a certain enthusiasm ... Dash it, I just thought you might like to wear something pretty, Selina. And you do look pretty in it, you know. There is that portrait of you stuck off in the crimson bedchamber—it should be in the drawing room!—where you are wearing the most dashing crimson riding habit, so I knew that crimson would suit your coloring.” He grinned at the enchanting picture she made. “Do you really like it?"
“Yes, I love it, Henry. It is a long time since I've worn anything half so fine. You do not think I am perhaps a little old to wear..."
“Old!? My God, what are you thinking of? You are three and twenty, not forty."
“Perhaps you are right.” Selina placed a salute on his cheek, which caused him to flush with embarrassment. “Thank you, Henry. I shall look quite the thing when I go out."
“You are more than welcome, my dear,” he replied gruffly. “And you might think about getting rid of those brown dresses, too, Selina. And that grotesque green thing. I wouldn't get anything quite so frilly as Cassandra's was the other day, nor anything so sober as Lady Southwood's, but something that would suit you. You know the sort of thing."
“Yes, Henry. I know precisely what you mean,” Selina laughed.
Chapter 8
Rushton had been informed, in answer to a polite note to Miss Easterly-Cummings asking how quickly their transaction could be accomplished, that he might present himself at Shalbrook in a week's time, if he should be prepared to act so quickly. There was nothing to delay him, since he had deposited a substantial amount with a banker in Leicester on his way to Oak Park, so he arrived at Shalbrook at the appointed time, dressed for the milder weather in an elegant blue coat and buff pantaloons. Penrith had ceased to wonder how it was that Weston managed to turn out Rushton in such s
tyle when Penrith's own clothing, of precisely the same quality of material and workmanship, never seemed to carry the same visual impact. In order to have achieved the same effect, Penrith would doubtless have had to deny himself his apricot tarts and Chantilly cakes, which he was loath to do, and besides, somehow he doubted that he could achieve the naturally athletic figure of his friend, in any case. He consoled himself that his Hessians were every bit as well-polished and his beaver hats as jauntily worn as any Rushton could sport, but as his friend drove off in his curricle he decided once again that there was really no comparison between them.
The butler at Shalbrook led Rushton into a room he had not previously entered, the library. Seated at an enormous desk surrounded on all sides by a formidable collection of volumes was Miss Easterly-Cummings, a lace cap on her head and perfectly normally attired in a dove gray woolen dress with a high neck and long sleeves, a matching shawl about her shoulders. Rushton was not at first aware of the other party in the room, as he was seated in a high-backed chair facing away from him, but the man rose at his entry and bowed to him as Selina introduced them.
“Mr. Thomas, this is Mr. Rushton, the gentleman who is purchasing the vale. Mr. Rushton, Mr. Thomas is my banker from Leicester, who will witness the documents we shall be signing.” Selina indicated a chair and continued, “In addition to the deed which I shall sign, I have had Mr. Thomas prepare a short document on which I will require your signature, Mr. Rushton. It contains nothing more than the terms we discussed previously, so it should present no problem."
Startled, Rushton took the paper she handed him and quickly read through the single paragraph, his brows drawing together in a frown. With an angry flick of the wrist, he tossed the paper from him. “Miss Easterly-Cummings, it is true that I have agreed to offer you first refusal on the property should I ever sell or dispose of it, and it is likewise true that I have endeavored to hire local artisans wherever feasible. I have given you my word as a gentleman that I will abide by those conditions, and I see no necessity for signing a superfluous document."
The gray-haired banker suggested soothingly, “And yet there is no reason not to, either, Mr. Rushton. It is merely a formality."
Rushton tapped the document with an impatient forefinger. “My word is as good as my signature, Mr. Thomas. I consider such a contract an insult."
“There is no insult intended, Mr. Rushton,” Selina said calmly. “The purpose of the contract is to exclude any possibility of misunderstanding. This paper represents my interpretation of our agreement. You might have construed it otherwise."
“Well, I didn't, and I'll be ... I won't sign it."
“Very well, Mr. Rushton. There is no need for you to do so. However, if you don't, I will not sell you the land.” Selina reached out a hand to draw the paper to her and found her wrist grasped firmly by Rushton.
“Why can you not accept my word?” he rasped.
“Mr. Rushton, this is a business undertaking. My father taught me to have everything put in writing so that there could be no subsequent confusion.” Abruptly she withdrew her hand from his clasp.
“If there is any room for misinterpretation, Miss Easterly-Cummings, it still exists.” He lifted the paper and read coldly, “Mr. Rushton shall undertake to employ local craftsmen, artisans and laborers wherever feasible.’ What if I am not satisfied with your local craftsmen, Miss Easterly-Cummings? How local is local? From Quorn, from Melton Mowbray, from Leicester? A ten-mile range, twenty? Who is to be the judge of these matters? Are you? Am I? Is Mr. Thomas? Shall I have the two of you breathing down my neck to see that the bricklayer does not come from as far afield as Ashby-de-la-Zouch?"
Selina remained untouched by his sarcasm. “I allowed the wording to stay precisely as you and I agreed, Mr. Rushton. This is not a matter over which I am likely to take you to court. I would be annoyed if you were to bring in a contingent of workmen from your own estate, and thereby deny the local workers an opportunity for employment. I am, after all, selling you the land so that some employment may be provided in the area. Of course, if you wish to be perverse, you can sign the document, buy the land and allow it to remain unimproved for the rest of your life. Certainly the contract, on that point, can be loosely interpreted. You fail to see, I think, that you gave your word only to me, and there are men who do not consider that their word to a woman carries a great deal of weight. A gentleman's honor is often reserved for gentlemen alone. Now, Mr. Rushton, you may sign the contract or not, as you wish. It is not a debatable matter. If you sign, you purchase the land. If you do not..."
His eyes, sparking with indignation, raked her composed face, but he reached for the pen lying between them, dipped it in the standish and angrily scratched his signature on the document.
“If you would date it as well,” Mr. Thomas suggested diffidently.
With a mumbled oath, Rushton did so. He found it difficult to maintain his seat, so great was his annoyance, and he withdrew the purchase price from his coat and thumped it down on the desk. Selina picked it up and handed it to Mr. Thomas, who calmly counted it while Rushton contemplated strangling the both of them.
“The sum is correct,” Mr. Thomas murmured as he carefully wrapped the bills in a pouch he had extracted from his voluminous pocket. “You sign the deed just here, Miss Easterly-Cummings."
Selina signed where he had indicated and turned to smile at Rushton, in spite of his fierce frown. “The vale is now yours, Mr. Rushton. I hope you will enjoy it."
“I have every intention of enjoying it,” he grumbled as he rose.
Selina hesitantly cast an appealing glance at Mr. Thomas. “I wonder if you would excuse us a moment, sir. There is a matter I wished to discuss with Mr. Rushton before he leaves."
“Certainly, my dear. I think our business is concluded in any case.” The banker bowed to Rushton and took Selina's hand before making his departure.
Left alone, the two eyed one another warily and Selina motioned him to seat himself, saying, “If you would just give me a moment of your time."
With reluctant ill grace, Rushton acceded to her wishes. “What is it?"
“This is definitely not the time to broach the matter, I know, when you are feeling so out of sorts, but ... The fact of the matter is that I have brought someone here to be introduced to you, and now you will most certainly give him short shrift. And I didn't have him come because I in any way feel that you must use a local architect. That is not a part of the agreement at all! I thought you might be interested in meeting him because he has designed several hunting-boxes, and he did Sir Penrith's stables, and he has been invaluable to me at Shalbrook with a number of problems...” Selina allowed her voice to trail off under his malevolent glare.
“You had the temerity to invite an architect here to meet me? Without asking my permission? Who the devil do you think you are, Miss Easterly-Cummings? I am not your cousin Henry to be ordered about and kept on leading-strings. Did you think I would be unable to find my own architect? Did you expect me to hire some obscure nobody to design a hunting-box for me? I suppose I must thank you for your thoughtfulness, though I had rather call it infernal meddling."
Selina bit her lip and did not dare to meet his gaze. “You are right, of course. I should never have done it, and I apologize. There is no need for you to meet him at all. You see, I thought you would be in an accommodating mood once you owned the land, and would agree out of benevolence to meet the young man. I had no way of knowing that you would be so astonishingly upset by the contract, when it was no more than we had agreed verbally."
“It was insulting."
“Yes, I am sure that if the situation were reversed, and I were buying the land from you, you would not have hesitated to accept my word,” she retorted, an edge to her voice.
“The situations are not comparable."
“No, certainly not. Women have no honor. It is reserved exclusively for men, and naturally they are deserving of such a monopoly. Everyone knows that women are giddy
things, incapable of managing business affairs, unable to sustain a thought long enough to write it down.” Selina rose and faced him. “I shall not detain you longer, Mr. Rushton. I believe I have apologized for my absurd conduct, and no doubt you will take into consideration my frail hold on reality, being a female, when you judge me. Good day, sir.” Her hands were clenched behind her back and in her agitation she did not notice the library door open.
Henry erupted into the room saying, “Selina, what is taking so long? Lord John Brindly is waiting in the gold drawing room. Servant, Rushton."
“Mr. Rushton has no need of Lord John's services, Henry, and has not the time to meet him today. If you will just tell him that I will be with him in a moment, we can discuss the estate cottages, as I had mentioned in my note."
While Rushton fixed her with a sharp gaze, Henry said cheerfully, “Right you are,” and left the room as precipitately as he had entered.
“Cathford's younger brother?” Rushton asked abruptly.
“One of them. The Marquess of Ashbourne has four sons, I believe. Lord John is the third."
“You might have told me."
“I would have, had you been more amenable to my scheme. Lord John has built himself something of a reputation here in Leicestershire, though I doubt he is known in London for his architectural skills."
“His eldest brother is a friend of mine."
“How nice for you."
An overwhelming desire to shake her paralyzed Rushton for a moment. Obviously in spite of her more conventional attire, she was just as exasperating, just as eccentric as ever. He had had no clear idea of whom he intended to employ as an architect, though he had read Elsam's Essay on Rural Architecture some years previously, and had been fascinated by some of the ideas in the book. If he had realized that Cathford's younger brother had some experience, certainly he would have looked into the matter further, but to have this high-handed young woman force Lord John on his notice was too much to stomach. On the other hand, he could not very well ignore an introduction to one of his best friends’ brothers, no matter how it came about. “I should like to meet Lord John,” he said stiffly.
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