The Lacemaker (Silver Linings Mysteries Book 2)

by Mary Kingswood

  But Mr Stratton himself squelched that idea. “I believe Caroline is right to insist upon a delay, dearest. Hasty marriages attract any amount of adverse comment, and you will want to have time to put together your wedding clothes. It would look very odd if we get married in a great rush and I move in here at once. One must maintain the proprieties. But I think you cannot stay here alone while Caroline is away.”

  “There is no one we could ask to stay here,” Lin said. “We have no relations we like well enough to have them in the house.”

  “Mr Leatham offered Miss Beacher’s services as chaperon,” Caroline said mischievously.

  Lin and Poppy said, “No!” in unison.

  Mr Stratton laughed. “I have a better plan. I shall take you both to Portsmouth to stay with my mother and father. They cannot wait to meet you, Lin, and this is the perfect opportunity. A week or two in Portsmouth being cosseted would do you the world of good, and Poppy too. What do you say, Caroline?”

  “I think—”

  “No!” wailed Poppy. “How can I leave my dear little chickens and my sweet goats?”

  “I am sure John Christopher will—”

  “No, no, no!” she cried, tears brimming. “He doesn’t care about them the way I do! I can’t leave them, I can’t!”

  Caroline was about to remonstrate with her, for it sounded like a wonderfully sensible plan which would set her mind entirely at rest while she was away. But Mr Stratton merely laughed.

  “No matter. Mama must come here, then. She will enjoy a little stay in the country, I am certain of it. Perhaps Father will come, too, if he can take the time away from the bank. There now, that is all settled, and you can talk about wedding clothes together and all those feminine details. Caroline, be sure to let me know as soon as you have the date you will go to Narfield Lodge, so that I may arrange everything with Mama. There — is that not an ingenious plan?”

  He beamed at them happily, and Lin wrapped her arm around his and rested her head on his shoulder, sighing happily. “How clever you are to think of it, Lester.”

  That made him beam even more widely.

  But all Caroline could think about was how comforting it would be to have a man’s broad shoulder to rest her head upon.

  To be loved.

  17: A Gentleman At Large

  Charles soon put his campaign of becoming a true gentleman into action. He discovered, after a brief outbreak of hostilities, that Miss Milburn was not amenable to lengthy interruption when she had household tasks to attend to, but minded his presence less when she was working quietly on her lacemaking before breakfast. So each morning he and his book arrived at Bursham Cottage by seven or eight o’clock, and he was permitted to sit in the parlour reading while she worked. Then, if he came across a passage that confused him, she was on hand to discuss it with him.

  ‘Modesty widely differs from an awkward bashfulness, which is as much to be condemned as the other is to be applauded. To appear simple is as ill-bred as to be impudent. A young man ought to be able to come into a room and address the company without the least embarrassment,’ he read. He sighed, thinking of his own awkwardness in company.

  “Do you think I am modest, Miss Milburn? Or is my reticence in company more like bashfulness?”

  She looked up from her work, her hands falling still. “I’ve never noticed any bashfulness in you, Mr Leatham, and if you don’t talk much, I assumed that was your sulky nature.”

  “My sulky nature? I am not sulky!”

  “Aren’t you? Then it must be arrogance, and feeling yourself to be above everyone else.”

  He almost exploded in anger, until he caught the wink of a dimple on her cheek. She was teasing him! Had she always done so, and he had just never noticed before, or was this part of a newer accord?

  “Is that truly how I appear to others?” he said sheepishly.

  She considered that carefully. “Do you know, I’m not sure quite how you appear to an impartial observer. We got off on such a poor footing that I’ve never thought of you as other than a very ill-tempered and ill-bred man.”

  “You are very rude, madam.”

  “I thought you wanted my honest opinion. If you don’t, well, you’d best take yourself home.”

  “I beg your pardon,” he said stiffly. “Your honest opinion is a little too honest for comfort. It stings, rather.”

  “That’s how you improve, though, isn’t it? By hearing the bald truth. When I was learning to make lace, if I went wrong, Mama told me exactly what I’d done and how to fix it. Then I practised until I could do it right without thinking about it. It has to become… what’s the expression?”

  “Ingrained? Second nature?”

  “Yes! Second nature. Well, I don’t really know what it means to be a gentleman, so you’ll have to learn that from the book, and you’ll need to practise and practise until you get it right. But if you ask my opinion on anything, then you’ll get it, Mr Leatham, and not sugar-coated, either.”

  So he read, and considered the advice in the book. Sometimes he came across Alfred’s notes in the margins, and it pleased him to think that his older brother had struggled with exactly the same difficulties, and he too had set himself to improve. He was following in Alfred’s footsteps in more ways than one. Although he would not betroth himself to Mildred — in that at least their paths differed. But it was very difficult. Having learnt in one chapter to avoid false modesty, and be sure to address the company on entering a room, in the next he discovered that he must not be too forward, or put himself above others.

  “So I must speak, but not too much, and not about myself. ‘A well-bred man is easy and firm in every company, is modest but not bashful, steady but not impudent.’ How am I ever to achieve such perfection?”

  “Practise, Mr Leatham. Practise. Just as you did when you were taught to ride.”

  “But that was a lot more fun.”

  She laughed and shook her head at him before turning back to her bobbins. It was soothing, he found, listening to the gentle clack of the bobbins, the pauses when she placed a pin with swift precision, then more clacking. As he pondered the relative merits of modesty and forwardness, and wondered how one might ‘lean with elegance’ in a chair in a way that was neither stiffly upright nor lolling, he watched Miss Milburn as she went about her lacemaking, her clever fingers always busy. She bent slightly forward over her work, her face calm. The finished strips of lace looked so complicated, yet she never hesitated in reaching for the bobbins, or placing a pin. Her hair was usually tied up in a simple knot on top of her head, not a strand out of place, but he remembered her with gentle curls falling softly around her face, and a fringe of her own delicate lace edging her silk gown. She had looked… different, very different, and he had been intrigued, no doubt about it. And yet there was something mesmerising about this Miss Milburn, too.

  The maid was deeply suspicious of his motives, feeling that a book was an inadequate excuse for being alone with her mistress for anything up to two hours, so she left the parlour door open, and spent an inordinate amount of time dusting and polishing in the hall, and peering into the parlour at regular intervals. Every time she did so, Charles realised that his attention had strayed from his book, and turned back to it with resignation. He was determined to master the art of being a true gentleman, as he would need to be when his father handed the reins of the estate to him. Even had the object been of less importance, it was pleasing to have a project under way, and to have a reason to rise from his bed at an early hour and stride down the long drive towards Bursham Cottage. Being busy was far, far better than kicking his heels for hours at a time and wishing he were back in the army. That life was gone for ever.

  ~~~~~

  The Miss Milburns held a dinner to celebrate the betrothal of the middle sister to the attorney from Romsey, who was, it seemed, so besotted that he was about to throw over his position there and move into Bursham Cottage. All the Starlingford family were invited, even Mildred, who graciousl
y agreed to accept. Even Charles’ father was minded to attend, given the present spell of settled weather.

  “It is a Saturday, too,” he said. “We will be home before midnight. I do so dislike staying up until two or three in the morning. It destroys the whole of the following day.”

  “Does it?” Charles said.

  “Ah, you young men! There was a time when I too could fall into bed at three in the morning and still be out riding by seven or eight, but nowadays I like my sleep at night, and a nap or two during the day as well. But it will be pleasant to dine with the Miss Milburns, and it is no distance, after all.”

  The small parlour was full when the Starlingford party arrived, and everyone was well known to Charles, excepting only the newly-betrothed attorney, which gave him the usual flutters of nerves. With a new acquaintance, he never knew quite what to say after the first greetings. Fortunately Stratton was a friendly man, well-disposed to the world and with an open, easy disposition that relieved Charles’ fears. He was able to offer his congratulations, having read the appropriate chapter of his book and prepared a little speech in advance. ‘There is a certain distinguishing diction that marks the man of fashion…’, the book announced, going on to give some examples, which Charles had studied carefully.

  His efforts were well received. Stratton immediately began upon a fulsome account of all his betrothed’s manifold virtues and accomplishments. Charles was only required to murmur his agreement at suitable intervals, and before the fellow had completed his enumeration, dinner was announced and the company trooped into the dining room.

  There were fourteen at table, and all agreed that the meal was enjoyable. Two full courses were served, with veal at one and turkey at the other, and a very tasty fricasée of rabbit, of which Charles was especially fond. The wine was greatly praised, the attorney taking the credit for selecting it from the late Mr Wishaw’s extensive cellar. The only sour note was struck by Mr Ascot, the apothecary, who fell out with the middle Miss Milburn before the soup was removed, calling her a ‘silly chit of a girl who should stick to growing parsnips’. No doubt she had been expounding on the medicinal virtues of rhubarb again, and her half-formed ideas on the subject could not withstand the apothecary’s greater knowledge of the healing arts. Still, it was rude to address her so, especially as the meal was in her honour.

  Charles found himself sitting beside Miss Milburn, who was at the head of the table in her role as hostess, with his father on her other side. Even a week or two earlier, his heart would have sunk at the prospect of passing the whole meal at her side, and the difficulty of finding any common subject of interest. Now, he had devised a scheme for his conversation. He had reached the chapter of the book entitled ‘Observation’, wherein he had read that ‘As the art of pleasing is to be learnt only by frequenting the best companies, we must endeavour to pick it up in such companies by observation.’ No one would describe a dinner at Bursham Cottage as one of the ‘best companies’, but nevertheless it was an opportunity to practise his observational skills, especially as he was directly opposite his father, surely a gentleman even by Miss Milburn’s exacting standards.

  So he watched as they chatted, and he was surprised to discover how broad a range of topics they managed to cover. First his father asked Miss Milburn her impressions of Valmont and the duke, which led them to a discussion of architecture, the growing of peaches, the construction of fountains and the style of Honiton lace. Often Miss Milburn set down her knife and fork, and gestured with her hands as she talked. Elegant hands, he decided, so quick with bobbins and pins, and so graceful shaping the air as she talked. Her hair was caught up on top of her head in a knot, with curls cascading down her back which tossed about as she moved her head this way and that. He thought he could watch those fascinating curls for ever.

  Mrs Wenman was on his other side, and she was easy company, for she talked and ate in equal measure. She asked him about Valmont, but as her interest was largely in the ladies’ gowns and embellishments, he was poorly equipped to satisfy her enquiries. After that, she began to tell him some story about her daughter, and, having nothing to contribute, he only half attended, and was glad to turn to Miss Milburn after a while.

  Determined to put his observations to good use, he began, “Are you pleased that you decided to go to Valmont, Miss Milburn? I know you had reservations about the enterprise.”

  She looked at him suspiciously, but answered the question seriously. “My expectations were not high, and I cannot say that I enjoyed the day, on the whole, but it went off better than I’d feared.”

  “You should have told me sooner of your concerns regarding our arrangement,” he said in a lower tone, although the conversation around the table was so animated that it was unlikely his words would be overheard. “I am not a monster, to hold you to an agreement so distasteful to you.”

  “Indeed you’re not,” she said, with a slight smile. “When we first met, Mr Leatham, I thought you capable of any outrage, but my opinion of you is much improved of late.”

  “Oh. Yet I still have a long way to go,” he said, and meant it.

  She smiled. “No one is perfect. We all have some way to go, so you’re not alone in that. But that wasn’t all that I feared from the day. I thought the Valmont ladies would look down their aristocratic noses at me, but they didn’t, not at all. Nor did the duke. I thought him very gracious, and not at all high in the instep, didn’t you?”

  He gave a little laugh. “I never had the chance to talk to him, but from what I saw of him, he was—”

  “Oh! That was my fault!” she said, eyes wide with dismay. “I told him something he didn’t know about the Brig Minerva, and naturally he forgot everything else and you were never even introduced to him. I am so sorry.”

  “Naturally I am most disappointed that I cannot boast of having a duke amongst my acquaintance,” he said. “You are far ahead of me in consequence now. May I pass you something, Miss Milburn? A custard, perhaps?”

  She agreed to it, and he took a slice of cherry tart for himself, and for a while they were silent, busy eating. When the custard and tart were consumed, they sat on in silence. Mrs Wenman was still talking to Mr Christopher and his father was attending to Mrs Christopher, so Charles knew it was for him to continue the conversation with Miss Milburn, but his mind was blank. What on earth was he to say to her? But then he recalled that she had agreed to advise him on gentlemanly behaviour.

  “Miss Milburn,” he began tentatively, “I am at a loss. What now should I say to you? My conversational arsenal is exhausted.”

  She smiled, and said, “Then your preparations for battle were inadequate, Mr Leatham, for the evening is barely begun. There is the rest of dinner to be got through, then the time with the gentlemen, followed by tea and cards and supper… why, we might have another four hours of battle… I mean opportunity for conversation.”

  “I am woefully ill-prepared, I admit. The correct procedure is to retreat, regroup and await the supply train, but I fear such a recourse is impossible here. Whatever is to be done?”

  “Why, we must resort to desperate measures, sir. We must each think of some detail of the other about which we are curious. Shall I begin? I should like to know about your brothers and sisters. There seem to be a great many of them, and one or other is mentioned in passing here and there, but I have never got them straight in my mind. Will you enlighten me?”

  “With pleasure. I am one of six, with two older brothers, Alfred and Benjamin, and three younger sisters, Dorothy, Elizabeth and Felicity. My brothers are both dead, and my sisters are all married now.”

  “Alfred, Benjamin and Charles,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “Dorothy, Elizabeth and Felicity. How… how systematic.”

  He sighed ruefully. “It was a tradition in my mother’s family.”

  “Fortunately, there is an abundance of names at the beginning of the alphabet. There might be difficulties if there were more than a dozen children. Quentin? Ursula? I can’t thi
nk of any beginning with X or Y or Z.”

  “Nor can I. Happily, each generation ground to a halt around George or Henrietta or Isabella.” She laughed, and he was struck with how pretty she looked when she was not scowling at him, or frowning in displeasure at some misdemeanour. The curls on the back of her head danced about gaily as she laughed.

  “Now it’s your turn,” she said. “Ask me something about myself.”

  “How do you get your hair to curl that way?” he said, mesmerised, “for your hair is ramrod straight naturally, is it not?”

  She stared at him, then burst out laughing, so that conversation died down around the table and heads turned curiously in their direction. “Curling papers, Mr Leatham,” she said under her breath. “Rags will do it, too, but we use curling papers, and very tricky it is too. I’m so glad you appreciate our efforts.” And she went off into another peal of laughter, but there was no animosity in it, and he could not help laughing too.

  “It was a foolish question, I daresay,” he said.

  “Not at all, just unexpected,” she said, her eyes still brimming with amusement. “You are altogether unexpected, Mr Leatham. And I don’t think your arsenal was quite as exhausted as you thought, do you?”

  “Perhaps not,” he said, laughing too.

  From further down the table, his mother smiled and nodded at him encouragingly, but Mildred watched him unsmilingly.

  Somehow, the rest of the evening passed by in a blur. The gentlemen talked of politics and the trouble in France, which was a subject in which Charles could engage with some authority. Then there was tea, followed by cards. Two tables had been set up in the study, while the remainder of the company settled in the parlour. Mrs Wenman played the pianoforte, while Miss Poppy and John Christopher talked together about chickens and goats and could not be separated. That left only Mildred, Miss Milburn and Charles.