Robert coloured, wondering how it was that Edmund seemed to have put his finger so firmly on the very conversation they had had with the avaricious reverend, who had heard mention of the Indies and immediately led the conversation in a circuitous self-pitying treatise on the ills suffered by their long-underfunded church building.
“If you wish to know more about Castleford, you must speak to Mr Hodge!” Madeline Turner’s voice floated across the room towards him and Robert glanced up, surprised and pleased to hear his name on the pretty Miss Turner’s lips. “He is very knowledgeable, and in fact was just telling me -”
“Robert, do you hunt?” Edmund asked, dragging Robert’s attention hurriedly back towards their small trio. His eyes flew momentarily to Madeline as Robert turned towards him, biding him to clarify his question.
“Hunt?” Robert hesitated, taking another sip of his drink in order to buy himself some time. “It has been a long time since I had the opportunity...”
“Excellent, then you will be keen to brush up on your skills. You must join my friends and I on Boxing Day.”
Robert glanced towards his father, hoping to see some reason he might offer as an excuse. He might like Edmund, but his friends had rather less endeared themselves to Robert in the short time he had known them. Nash Weston was a pleasant enough fellow, he supposed, although almost obnoxiously handsome and confident in a way that made Robert wish he could shrink his height and fade a little more easily into the background and escape his notice. Erasmus Finch was the dullest person Robert had had the delight of meeting since his return to England, but once he had compared their fortunes and evidently found Robert waning he had made no secret of his disinterest in pursuing an acquaintance. Michael Heatherington...Robert glanced back towards Madeline, his grip on his glass tightening as he saw Heatherington gaze hypnotically at her and smile, before she did the same.
“Well, Robert! A hunt! I dare say that sounds thrilling!” Mr Hodge said, punching Robert on the arm.
“I have no horse,” Robert said bluntly, and honestly, little caring for how this affected Edmund’s opinion of him, thinking only that it might buy him out of a day of socialising with gentlemen he knew little and could stand less.
“No matter,” Edmund said, saluting him with his glass. “I have horses aplenty. My friends will ride from my stables, and there is enough to provide for you.” He winked. “You must come early, though, so that you might have a choice and not be left with the dregs.”
Glancing at the clock on the mantel, Edmund turned to survey the room, almost knocking a pretty, delicate young lady over as he did so, scarcely noticing that she was there and hovering at his elbow.
“Excuse me, Miss Drew! So sorry. Friends! The hour is upon us!” he announced, waving his arm to encompass the room. “Let us go to dinner.”
He made to cross the room, but Mrs Gale appeared almost immediately beside him.
“Here you are, Mother! I suppose you’ll be wanting an escort “
“Not I, dear,” she said, nodding towards Miss Drew, who hurriedly dropped her scowl and made a show of smoothing the lace on her dress which had almost suffered a catastrophe in the collision and only narrowly avoided having Edmund’s drink spilt on it.
“Perhaps you will accompany Miss Drew into the dining room.”
People began pairing off and Robert saw one of the younger Miss Turner’s appear on Heatherington’s right side, tugging lightly on his cuff to attract his attention. Here was his chance and he would take it. Swallowing the last of his drink and eagerly accepting whatever measure of courage it might offer him, he patted his father warmly on the shoulder and slipped past him, offering his own arm to Madeline just in time.
“Miss Turner,” he said, with a tentative smile. “I hope you will permit me to see you to dinner.”
She turned a smile on him that was as bright as the sun and accepted, wordlessly slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow. Feeling as if he were floating on air, Robert walked her towards the dining room, not even noticing the look of resignation Juliet wore, when she, on the arm of the impossibly handsome Nash Weston, noticed the pairing.
Chapter Twelve
Maddy struggled to keep her face impassive but inwardly she was thrilled to be escorted by Mr Hodge along the short familiar route to the Northridge dining room. Did she imagine it or did he walk a little straighter, too? No longer did he stoop the way he had when first she had laid eyes on him. She peered out of the corner of her eyes, trying to deduce his mood but his features were inscrutable and before she could say a word they had reached the dining room. He pulled out a chair for her, and whilst Edmund seemed poised to direct their seating arrangements in a manner he had apparently pre-determined, he took another look at the pair and seemed to rethink his interference, smiling briefly at them, and turning towards the doorway to welcome the rest of his guests.
“Edmund,” Mrs Gale murmured, intimating that she would much prefer her son take his seat at the head of the table - with herself on one side and the dainty Miss Drew on the other - but Edmund ignored her, sliding warmly into the role of host and ushering his friends to the table as if it were a strange circumstance for them to be faced with such an unusual obstacle as a dining table.
“Dear me, Ed, what would we do without you to point out our chairs for us?” Mr Weston remarked, in a good-natured grumble. Juliet laughed, and Maddy wondered if she had been the only one to notice the tightness at Edmund’s mouth as he turned to usher in the elder Mr Hodge, who had accompanied a blushing Bess to the table, saving her from the rather more terrifying possibility of being escorted by one of Edmund’s handsome, charming friends. Indeed, Bess seemed to be chattering quite contentedly to Mr Hodge as she rarely did with strangers. Her pale face was bright, her eyes dancing with animation as he tilted his balding head nearer to her in order to hear her a little better. Madeline smiled, her eyes catching Mr Hodge’s, who turned to see what had amused her.
“Your father is very kind to indulge my younger sister,” she murmured, careful to ensure her words would not be overheard by any but he.
“Kind?” Mr Hodge snorted, a merry smile crossing his face. “If any is kind it is your sister, for allowing him to escort her when she might have found a younger companion.”
“Oh, no!” Madeline shook her head fiercely. “Bess is really rather shy. She would as soon sink into the floor than have someone as handsome and charming as, say, Mr Weston escort her.”
Mr Hodge nodded, his smile fading.
“No, it was a kindness of your father to put himself forward, and to have found some way of encouraging her to talk. See, she is barely pausing for breath even now and he gives the very impression of being rapt to attention.” She drew in a breath. “I have only ever seen my sister so excited to speak when the topic is music. I wonder, Mr Hodge, is your father a musician?”
“No,” Mr Hodge said, his voice tight. “But my mother was. We still have her piano.”
He knit his brows as if an idea was beginning to form in his mind.
“In fact, it sits dormant in our house, for neither of us is musical. We had not the heart to part with it, but I dare say it will fall into disrepair through lack of use. Perhaps - perhaps your sister would care to come and play it one afternoon?” He coughed, clearing his throat and hurrying out an addendum to his comment. “You are all welcome to accompany her, of course, and your parents. That is, we would be delighted to have you all call on us one day at Birchwood Hall.” Colour flared in his cheeks. “My father and I are newly resident, as you know, Miss Turner, and have few friends to call on here, or indeed, to invite to call on us. I hope you might consider doing so one day over the holiday.”
“You are very kind to suggest it, Mr Hodge. I am sure Bess would be delighted to practice, especially as your father seems to have already proven himself such a valiant friend to her. Are you sure we should not disturb you?”
“Disturb us?” Mr Hodge laughed. “Why, Miss Turner. I wonder what you perceive could p
ossibly disturb two old bachelors in an empty house!”
“Old, Mr Hodge?” Madeline frowned at his application of the adjective to himself as well as his father. “Are you so very old?”
Mr Hodge sighed, reaching up to massage a non-existent line in his high forehead, and pulled a face that belied the momentary weariness of his words.
“I assure you, Miss Turner, on nights such as this I feel as if I might be seventy if I am a day.” He dropped his voice and she tilted her head so that she might hear him a little clearer, without being forced to lean closer and thus attract the attention of their dining companions. “My time in Antigua seems so very far away to me, as if it was lived by another man entirely, and yet I know it was myself. I fear I have left some part of myself there.”
There was a wistful, regretful note in his voice that piqued Maddy’s curiosity and she turned to regard him more closely, abandoning any care she had of their being observed in such serious conversation.
Her look was enough to encourage him to continue, and he spoke on.
“I do not suppose you are well acquainted with life in the colonies, Miss Turner. It is busy and yet not busy; a vibrant, ever-changing community and yet a very quiet one. One knows - and is known by - one’s neighbours by sheer virtue of there being relatively so few.” He smiled, pausing to straighten his knife and fork. “I fear I have lost the ability to converse well with strangers.”
“Am I a stranger, Mr Hodge?” Maddy’s throat was dry. “I had it on good authority that we were friends. Did you not just invite my family to call on you at home?”
He smiled faintly, scarcely noticing when Edmund stood to make a short speech to begin their dinner, and Maddy met his eyes, their silent gaze communicating all that their words could not.
“WHAT A BEAUTIFULLY decorated dining table, Mr Gale,” Miss Drew exclaimed, loud enough to break through Edmund’s reverie. He had been distracted, nay he had been willfully ignoring her, if truth be told. He was not a rude man and he hid his distraction well, nodding and politely mm-hmming to every pronouncement she made, but evidently his lack of enthusiasm had not gone unnoticed, for her observations grew in volume and banality as their meal progressed.
His eyes were fixed on Juliet, who laughed merrily at something Nash was saying. The third such amusing something he had uttered in the past ten minutes, Edmund noted, fighting valiantly to keep his forehead from creasing into a scowl.
I am pleased to see my friends and my neighbours getting on so well, he reminded himself. Certainly, he cared little for the way Erasmus was currently monopolising the attention of Mr and Mrs Tuner at the opposite end of the table, with Mr and Mrs Drew occasionally offering a word or two of their own to their indecipherable conversation. What was it, then, about Juliet and Nash in particular that made his skin crawl? It is because I know him - and I know her. He well recalled the accusation he had levied at her that summer over a year ago when he had confessed his own heart towards her and been refused. You will fall in love at the drop of a hat and if not with me then with who? Some tortured hero or worse, some idiot that charms and flatters and makes you laugh - all things that I have spent half my life doing, Juliet. Am I not good enough for you?
What ridiculous nonsense she had told him then. You are a good deal too good for me, Edmund, and you must know it, for everyone else surely does!
They had parted on bad terms and not spoken for months after that, not counting his letters from London. Their paths had crossed at an assembly some time later that marked his hasty return to Clifton in time to bid farewell to his ailing father and resume all the duties required of him as master of their estate. Neither he nor Juliet mentioned their near-engagement again and Edmund had thought he had forgotten it. Juliet certainly appears to have put it behind her! He could not deny that part of the reason their friendship was so fraught, dancing so often from argument to affection was because his own heart remained unchanged. If anything, he loved her more now than he had then. He fancied he understood her better and understood love better. He had tried his hand at society and marriage as his mother so desperately wanted and found it wanting. Miss Drew was beautiful, elegant and accomplished, but she was no Juliet Turner.
Unconsciously, he reached a hand up to smooth his dishevelled hair, and, recalling the terms of their bet, slid his gaze over to the side of the table where Madeline Turner sat, with the young Mr Hodge on one side and Heatherington on the other. Mr Hodge smiled and even laughed as they spoke, looking merrier than Edmund could ever recall seeing him, but Heatherington sat in stony silence, scarcely touching his plate.
“I hope you are enjoying your meal, Heatherington?” Edmund asked, directing his question towards his friend and plainly ignoring his Mama, who sought to draw him into conversation with Miss Drew yet again. He angled his chair slightly so that the pair would be out of his line of sight and leaned a little closer to his friend.
“Oh, yes,” Heatherington muttered, obediently swallowing a mouthful. “Very good.”
There was a merry peal of laughter from Madeline, and Heatherington shot a sour look over his shoulder at her and Mr Hodge, who were talking so fast and freely it was as if they were the only two people in all the world.
Edmund felt a flare of jealousy that he mistook for frustration. How could Madeline prefer the newly arrived Mr Hodge, about whom nobody knew very much, to his own dear friend Heatherington? The feeling was but fleeting, though, for he had spoken to Hodge once or twice and could not help but find his own heart growing in appreciating toward the stranger. Certainly in comparison to his friend, who at that moment wore an unbecoming scowl.
“Cheer up!” Edmund murmured, in a low enough tone that would reach only his friend’s ears and no other. “What has you so downhearted?”
“I did not expect to be passed over in favour of a tradesman!” he remarked, bitterly, putting rather less care into whether his own voice carried.
Edmund tightened his grip on his knife, fighting a momentary desire to box his friend’s ears. His London circle were snobbish, he was not immune to that, but somehow the behaviour that seemed entirely justified in London rankled in the country, even more so when the gentleman Heatherington dismissed was a guest under Edmund’s own roof.
“Perhaps,” he said, quietly. “His company is agreeable. He smiles, rather than scowls, and seeks to enquire after Miss Turner for herself, and not merely to boast of his own advantages.”
“What advantages?” Heatherington smiled grimly. “Anyway, I do not care.” He tossed his head. “You seemed rather more invested in the friendship than I.” He fixed a curious look on Edmund and pushed his plate away from him. “I do not know why, but mark my words, Gale, your interference does not go unnoticed.”
Edmund felt his face grow hot and turned his attention to his own plate, hurriedly finishing what was left on it.
“I do not know what you mean.” He turned abruptly back to his mother, deciding that at that particular moment, a conversation with Mama and Miss Drew was considerably the lesser of two evils.
Chapter Thirteen
Their delicious Christmas Eve meal was barely finished when Louisa began to clamour for dancing. Bess was only too happy to play when both Mr Hodge and Edmund insisted upon her taking the seat at the piano. Edmund was effusive in his praise, extolling her virtues to his friends as a better musician than any we have heard in London!
It was almost enough for Juliet to forgive him entirely and on the spot. Almost.
She did not dance at first, settling herself beside her mother and father and watching as her sisters and friends danced. In spite of herself, her eyes were drawn to Madeline, who was dancing with Mr Hodge, smiling and laughing as if there were no other people in the room.
I suppose I would not object to her choosing him, she realised, at length. It had been a long time since she had seen a smile so full as the one her sister currently wore and in their short acquaintance she had never seen Mr Hodge stand so tall or smile so broadly. H
is eyes scarcely ever strayed from Madeline’s face and it was evident to Juliet, if nobody else, that he was utterly besotted with his partner. He is no Colonel Black. Juliet sighed. Mind you, perhaps that is a good thing. She recalled Edmund’s blithe criticism of the absent colonel and, despite originally dismissing Edmund’s words as mere jealousy, or a determination to win at all costs, she could not help but contrast his assessment with her own experiences of associations with the colonel and acknowledge there was some truth to the matter. He might be brave and handsome - more so than the pale, stretched-looking Mr Hodge, at least - but had he ever been so kind in his manner towards another young lady as Mr Hodge was to Madeline? It was as if he placed her good entirely ahead of his own, even in the smallest of things. There is a lot to be said for small gestures, over and above grand feats of heroism, Juliet mused, determining to insert a few into her manuscript when she got home. Her fingers itched to write, although Edmund was correct in his assertion that she had left her novel safely at home out of the way of prying eyes and pointed questions.
“Aren’t you dancing?”
As if her passing thought of him had drawn him to her, Edmund appeared, sinking comfortably into the chair beside her and mirroring her attention to the dancers. “I am surprised to see you sat here watching, rather than taking part.”
“I note you are not taking part,” Juliet said, archly. “Poor Miss Drew must be devastated to miss the opportunity to dance with you.”
Edmund groaned.
“Not you as well! Mama has barely let a moment pass without mention of Miss Drew’s beauty or accomplishments.”
“She is a fine dancer,” Juliet permitted, hoping that the trace of envy that she heard in her own voice might pass without detection by her friend. She tucked her own feet further beneath her chair. She was proficient but certainly did not possess the delicate skill of Miss Drew, who seemed to float through her steps, rather than clomp firmly on the ground as Juliet seemed incapable of not doing.
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