The three gentlemen invited for Rebecca’s sake were all youthful members of Wesley’s industry—the casting of small objects in a variety of metals. For the first twenty minutes, they all seemed more intent on talking to one another than to any of the ladies at the table. Then Sarah took matters in hand. All but tapping the table for attention, she exerted her hostess’s prerogative to address each one and to pose questions, always including Rebecca in the conversation that ensued.
Eva watched carefully, to see the reactions to her sister. That all three gentlemen were impressed went without saying. Only a fool would not recognize her beauty. Rebecca, on the other hand, seemed to favor the quietest of the three, Mr. Trenton. Eva hoped that was not because Mr. Trenton, with his large dark eyes and longish dark hair and somewhat careless dress, appeared to be impersonating a French poet.
Concentrating on the table’s conversation allowed her to ignore as much as possible the man sitting beside her, placed there by Sarah in her ignorance. Also seated next to Wesley, Gareth appeared more than content to converse with his host, however. It went without saying that Wesley proved more than happy to gain better acquaintance with a man with Gareth’s connections.
“You have an admirer.”
The low comment entered her right ear. Gareth had taken advantage of his host’s distraction, caused by his wife’s insistence he give an opinion on the state of the banks.
“If you speak of yourself, now is not the time—”
“What conceit. I am referring to Mr. Bellows across the table. He pretends to watch his hostess, but his gaze drifts to you.”
Did it? She had not noticed.
“He is too short for you,” Gareth said.
“While of middling height, he appears tall enough.”
“You can do better.”
“He is here to meet Rebecca, not me.”
“In either case, you should know he is new to his position, and his income cannot be more than three hundred pounds a year. Of course, that fellow over there who has attracted your sister’s eye probably has even less.”
“If Sarah invited them, I am sure they have great expectations, and their futures hold promise.”
“She invited them as a cover for her real candidate. Mr. Mansfield down there is worth at least two thousand a year. He owns his own company. He has been watching your sister with great interest, rather like a man inspects a gelding at auction.”
That was not good news. Of the three of them, Mr. Mansfield was the oldest. At least as old as Gareth, whom Rebecca had decreed to be “too old.” Also of the three, he had the least polish, even if his coats looked expensive and his cravat had no doubt seen the hands of a valet. A bit rough-boned in his face, not at all middling in height, and by nature intimidating in his manner, he would never have as much appeal to Rebecca as the French poet, who, fortunately, had not noticed how interesting Rebecca found him.
“I called on you when I returned, as I promised.” Gareth’s voice came very low now. Eva gazed straight ahead, pretending to listen to the conversations crossing the table. “Then Erasmus explained you had bolted.”
“Is that why you came to Birmingham? To make that apology? It could have waited. You did not need to inconvenience yourself.” The implication of his words sank in. “And I did not bolt. This visit had been planned long before—a long time.”
A lengthy pause, extended enough that she almost deciphered the context of an exchange between Rebecca and Mr. Mansfield, one in which Rebecca seemed to be disagreeing with the gentleman about something. Mr. Mansfield took Rebecca’s earnest rejection of his views calmly and with vague amusement.
“You are a confusing woman, Eva. Almost vexing,” Gareth said. “I expected my efforts to behave as a gentleman to be met with grace if not relief. Instead, you are so snappish I wonder if I regret the indiscretion more than you do.”
She felt herself flushing, furiously, mostly because he touched on the embarrassing truth that she had not regretted it nearly as much as she should. Worse, she resented a little that he had proven so predictable in his own reaction. Guilt, apologies, total retreat—one did not expect a man with his reputation to be so ordinary after an indiscretion. He was supposed to delight in such things.
She tried to compose a good retort, but just then Wesley turned his attention back, and Gareth’s own moved to his host.
Down the table, she heard Rebecca say, “I doubt that there is anything for which you and I have common sympathy, Mr. Mansfield.”
Across the table, Sarah sighed.
* * *
Wesley Rockport was a man of business. Gareth knew such men well. Successful ones like Rockport took on the veneer of gentility bit by bit. His host had been doing that for some years now, so the distinctions between him and a gentleman remained only those of birth and occupation. Which were the only two things that gentlemen said mattered.
Really successful men like this eventually set their sights on the modes and trappings of the aristocracy. When that happened, after they had built or bought their estates and big houses and furnished it all as decreed by a professional decorator, they turned their attention to the long, empty gallery. Gareth was more than happy to find them art to fill those walls.
Rockport did not want to talk about art though. He wanted to discuss shipping and insurance and probe at Gareth’s connections to businessmen and markets on the continents. Gareth spoke freely about it all. He had nothing to lose in doing so. He hardly gave away secrets. Anyone who traveled, paid attention, welcomed new friendships, and asked questions would know as much as he.
When called upon by Rockport, he gave the man the better half of his attention. Most of the rest remained on the woman by his side. A sliver of his mind, however, noticed the rest of the party and heard their own conversations. That sliver eventually heard fair-haired Mr. Bellows address Eva.
“You are very quiet tonight, Miss Russell. I hope that all our talk is not overwhelming you.”
“I much prefer listening to my sister, Mr. Bellows. She is far more informed of the world’s events than I.”
“Admirably so. However, if I may say, there is much to be said for a quiet woman, Miss Russell, such as yourself.”
“I do not think anyone would describe me as quiet, Mr. Bellows. The role of observer that I take tonight is not a common one for me.”
“I think Mr. Bellows is saying that women should restrain themselves from voicing opinions as freely as your sister,” Gareth could not resist inserting himself. “That is a rather outmoded way of viewing things, sir. Even the Iron Duke has ladies with whom he discusses politics.”
Bellows appeared flummoxed for a moment, but regained his footing soon enough. “Well, I am a simple man with simple notions, not a duke, so a duke’s predilections do not count much for me.”
“All the more reason to admire a woman who is not simple. One like the young lady holding her own with Mr. Mansfield, for example. With her blood and her intelligence, imagine the sons she will give a man. That does not even factor in that she is as beautiful as an angel, and the sort of woman to make men of the highest station envious of her husband, whoever he will be.”
Eva abruptly rearranged her position in her chair. In doing so her elbow jabbed Gareth sharply in his side. “My sister has many fine qualities, of course. Far be it from me to list them all, lest I be thought too proud of her. It is generous of you to do it instead, Mr. Fitzallen. However, I am sure Mr. Bellows does not require your tutoring on the matter. You have a charming tendency to think no one knows his own mind as well as you might know it for him.”
“Have I crossed a line? My apologies, Bellows. Forgive me.”
Bellows barely heard him. The lesson had been heard and swallowed. Bellows turned his attention to Rebecca quite thoroughly, and jumped into the breach once her little argument with Mansfield drew to a friendly end.
Gareth returned his attention to his host. So much for Mr. Bellows.
* * *
&nbs
p; “Mr. Mansfield is worth at least two thousand a year,” Sarah explained to Rebecca once she, Eva, and Rebecca were alone after the men had withdrawn. She led them all to her drawing room upstairs while she talked.
“I would not care if he were worth ten thousand,” Rebecca said.
“Oh, yes, you would, my dear. Yes, you would.”
“He has the most antiquated notions. He does not think women should be educated.”
“And who does, I ask you?”
“Forward-thinking men and women. Me.”
Eva followed them and the conversation into the drawing room. The elderly ladies retreated to a corner to chat. Sarah dropped onto a divan and patted the cushion next to her, beckoning Rebecca.
“Now, dear, allow this old married woman to explain. Men never think the way they ought when we meet them. No one has yet presented them with better views. It is our duty to broaden their minds on matters to which they have never applied themselves. It is part of what wives do, you see. It is our great mission.”
She looked to Eva for agreement.
“Cousin Sarah is the voice of experience, Rebecca. You would be wise to listen to her.”
Rebecca pouted and picked at her skirt absently. “I thought Mr. Trenton more attractive.”
Sarah sighed. “My dear, Mr. Trenton is a clerk in my husband’s office, and is unlikely to ever be more. He does not have a head for business. I only invited him and Mr. Bellows because it would be too obvious if I only invited Mr. Mansfield.”
“I still like Mr. Trenton better. He is quite soulful. He writes poetry. Did you know that?”
“Oh, good heavens.” Sarah turned to Eva, desperately.
“Rebecca, other than his views on women’s education—and please let me remind you that our father had the same views, as did our brother, so hence, neither of us had much schooling beyond the norm given to women today—besides that, why does Mr. Mansfield not find favor with you?”
Rebecca thought about it. “He is too big.”
“Too big?” Sarah exclaimed. “He is certainly bigger than that skinny Mr. Trenton, but he is not monstrous.”
“Still—he is big and I suspect he is gruff and rough. I should always be afraid of him. Even the way he looks at me makes me uncomfortable. Even Mr. Bellows is better, although he is boring.”
Sarah’s gaze slid sideways to Rebecca. Her expression no longer revealed exasperation, but comprehension. She took Rebecca’s hand. “There is no reason to be afraid of Mr. Mansfield, my dear cousin. Beneath all that masculine bravado, he is very kind. Should he call on you here, I want you to agree to see him. I will be with you, so you have no reason to object. You should not discard a man worth two thousand a year and likely to be worth much more in the future on the basis of one argument over women’s education. Don’t you agree, Eva?”
“I do agree.”
Rebecca nodded, but sighed mightily while she did. When the gentlemen soon joined them, Rebecca did manage to engage the poetic Mr. Trenton in private conversation. If Mr. Mansfield cared, or even noticed, he did not show it. Instead he drew Eva into conversation about her family.
“The two of you are alone, Wesley said.”
“Yes. We lost my brother a year ago.”
“Have you no other family nearby, where you could live?” As soon as he asked he realized his error. He glanced at Sarah and flushed.
“I chose not to impose on Mr. and Mrs. Rockport. I was of age, and able to manage things. I did not even seek to move here. I am fond of Langdon’s End. It is my home.”
Gareth had disengaged from continued discussions with Wesley and now sidled over to sit with them. “It is a charming town, with a fine lake on its east. But if the city keeps growing, it will probably be absorbed by Birmingham.”
“I know it well. I have visited often. Some friends of mine live there. Mr. and Mrs. Siddles. Perhaps you know them,” Mr. Mansfield said.
“I have not had the pleasure,” Eva said. “And Mr. Fitzallen is new to the region.”
“No doubt you both move in different circles from the Siddles,” Mr. Mansfield said, as if he had made another error.
“I have not been moving in any circles for some time. My brother was ill for years before he passed, and his care occupied most of my time.”
Mr. Mansfield frowned sympathetically. “Consumption?”
“Pistol ball.”
“I trust the hand that held that pistol saw justice.”
“My brother refused to lay down information, to my consternation.”
“It is a tragic story,” Mr. Mansfield said. “Not only that he perished while still young, but that he left two sisters to fend for themselves, with no protection.” His gaze drifted to Rebecca. Her conversation with her poet had lagged. Mr. Mansfield excused himself and wandered in her direction.
“So what really happened to your brother?” Gareth asked.
“As I said, he never explained. Not even to me.”
“Yet you must have an idea. If my brother came home with a pistol ball inside him, I would at least learn what I could.”
“You are too inquisitive about my family’s affairs, I think.”
“Come now. I am not Mr. Mansfield, whom you want thinking well of your family. I am your friend Gareth, who has seen you half-naked. So, was it a duel, do you think?”
She really wished he would not talk about the naked part so casually, as if it were nothing to keep a secret. “I do not think it was a duel, although I allowed the doctor to believe that.”
“It would explain your brother’s refusal to speak of it. He could not make accusations without implicating himself in a crime.”
“Exactly. Only, I do not see Nigel dueling. I may do his memory a disservice, but I suspect that a night riding between taverns and getting drunk with some friends somehow took a bad turn. He was often gone from home at night in those days.”
“The Langdon’s End version of a young blood, you mean.”
“Yes. I think one of those friends lost his head over something and shot Nigel.”
“It was probably over a woman.”
She turned on him. “Not every man spends all of his time pursuing women. Not every man’s misfortune starts with one.”
“How true. I should not have jumped to that conclusion. Did he have strong political views that might lead to a deadly argument? Convictions for which he would risk his life rather than back down?”
His steady gaze said he had already guessed the answer. Nigel had no particular views that she knew about. His only goal had been to enjoy his youth while he had it. The truth was Nigel was more interested in carousing with friends than tending to the family’s already limited estate.
She had long ago stopped trying to explain away that wound. Everyone in Langdon’s End had concluded the same as she quickly enough anyway— That her brother’s refusal to speak of it only confirmed the likelihood that the story would not put him in a good light.
“Are you remaining in Birmingham much longer?” she asked, to change the subject. Thinking about Nigel did not make her happy or even nostalgic. An unforgivable bitterness colored many of the memories—expressed in his vocal hostility, born of his infirmity, and her silent resentments.
“I was going to stay another day, but have decided to return to Albany Lodge tomorrow. And you?”
She looked to where Rebecca, sitting stiffly on the edge of a settee, tolerated the conversation of Mr. Mansfield who sat on a chair in front of her. “I do not know yet. At least another day. Perhaps more.”
Wesley approached them then. Gareth’s expression welcomed their host.
“I will call on you when you return home, unless you forbid it. We are still friends, I trust,” Gareth whispered just before Wesley sat in the chair on his other side.
“I do not think you should,” she whispered back. “You must not.”
But he had already turned toward Wesley by then, and she did not know if he had heard her.
* * *
“We are both so grateful to you that I am sure neither of us wants you vexed. However, you speak of a chance when there is no indication at all that the man favors her any more than she favors him. I do not think he will call.”
“Nonsense. He will be here tomorrow. He knows you are both supposed to leave in two days. If he comes as I expect, you must leave Rebecca here with me at least a week longer. You can stay, too, of course.”
“I should return home. There are things I must do there. If Rebecca wants to stay, however, I will permit it.”
Content with her plans, Sarah turned to the door.
“I still think you are being too optimistic about Mr. Mansfield,” Eva said.
“He makes her uncomfortable, Eva. Those were her words. When he looks at her, she is uncomfortable. She is too young to know what she is really feeling. Oh, you do not know either, do you? Trust me that her discomfort is not the normal kind, but speaks well of the prospects.”
“I understand what you refer to, Sarah. However, it is Mr. Mansfield whose interest I doubt. Among other things, he probably will care when he learns she has almost no fortune. For another, he made it clear tonight that he does not approve of clever women, and Rebecca is very well-read and quite opinionated.”
“Oh, Eva, you are adorable. She has rare beauty, and she has gentle blood. He would want her even if she were a confirmed radical and bluestocking and owned one dress. Tonight all he is thinking is how he can claim the prize before the serious competition understands a contest is at hand.” She opened the door.
“If you anticipate callers, what time do you think it will be? I want to buy some canvases and brushes to take home with me tomorrow morning.”
“He will be early, but not too early. Two o’clock I would think. Why do you want painting materials? Do you dab?”
“It is my favorite pastime. I want to start some views very soon.”
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