Hazel giggled. ‘I am sure that it did.’
The ladies took chairs at the back of the room in the shadow of a marble bust and a profusion of greenery that afforded them a little privacy.
‘It makes me seethe when I think that I actually saved Lady Melody from serious injury, perhaps even death, and yet I am being vilified. It’s not as if I expect thanks, although a little gratitude would not go amiss. It’s more the hypocrisy that I cannot abide. It appears to be common knowledge that Lady Melody was stabbed, but if my detractors troubled to think beyond that, they would have to conclude that I couldn’t possibly have done it since I don’t make a habit of carrying a dagger around with me.’
Hazel glanced off to one side. ‘I heard it suggested that you took it with you when you left the table.’
‘Oh, for goodness sake!’ Farrah sighed impatiently. ‘We had finger food. No cutlery was provided.’
‘Farrah dearest, I am so grateful for this opportunity to converse in private. I do not know when we shall have another, you see, and I am sorely in need of your advice.’
‘Why should we not be able to talk as often as we…Ah, I see.’ Farrah glanced towards Lady Beardsley whose eyes sent darts of disapproval in her direction. ‘Your Mama will find reasons to keep us apart. She considers me a bad influence. Well, you may tell her from me that I shall return directly to Hampshire from here and will hire a carriage to take me home. She need not worry about my presence in your conveyance.’
‘Oh no, Farrah. I must insist that…’
‘She has already told you that I am not welcome, has she not?’
‘Well…’ Hazel mangled her lower lip between her teeth, looking acutely embarrassed. ‘But she will come around. I need you. I cannot do without you.’
‘No, Hazel. Thank you but I will not go where I am unwelcome. Have someone pack up the things that I left at your house and send them back to Hampshire. It will be better if I have as little contact with your mother from now on as possible. I am perfectly sure the arrangement will suit us both.’
‘We will discuss the matter again, once tempers have cooled and wiser heads prevail.’
‘If you like, but I shall not change my mind.’
Farrah waited for Hazel to ask what the duke intended to do to discover the identity of the attacker, but it became evident when she grasped Farrah’s arm that it was not the subject uppermost in her mind.
‘I am at my wits end, dearest,’ Hazel cried, her words sounding indistinct. Whether that was due to her distress or attributable to the amount of wine she had consumed, Farrah was unable to decide. ‘What am I to do about Mr Anglesey? Mama spoke most unkindly to me this afternoon. She said someone had remarked to her that he and I…well, like one another. She was very cross and forbade me ever to speak to him again.’
‘She can hardly prevent you, given that he’s one of the duke’s guests.’
Hazel pouted. ‘He took Lady Melody into dinner and seemed a little too intimate with her for my comfort.’
‘I am sure he was simply attempting to deflect attention away from his attraction towards you.’
‘Hmm, perhaps.’ But Hazel didn’t look convinced.
‘Lady Melody doesn’t have any money.’ Hazel’s selfish determination to think only of herself caused Farrah to lose all patience with her. ‘She told me as much before the incident.’
Hazel looked affronted rather than gratified by that knowledge. ‘Surely you do not suspect dearest Daniel of liking me for my fortune! I cannot believe you would even suggest such a thing. He is a gentleman of consequence, with an establishment of his own.’
‘I am perfectly sure that he is. I was merely pointing out that all gentlemen must have something to live on. What are his circumstances? Has he used all his money to set up his new home?’
‘I have no idea.’ Hazel looked shocked and bewildered by the question. ‘It didn’t even occur to me to ask.’
‘One must be practical, Hazel. It’s impossible to live on love alone. Is your dowry dependent upon your marrying someone whom your mother approves of?’
She shook her head, still looking vague. ‘I have absolutely no idea.’
‘Well then, perhaps you should find out. Or better yet, suggest to your Mr Anglesey that it is. If he then loses interest in you, you can congratulate yourself upon having evaded the clutches of a fortune hunter.’
‘Daniel is not…’ Her raised voice drew attention to them. ‘He is not interested in my fortune,’ she said in a more moderate tone, sounding as though she was attempting to convince herself. ‘He loves me for myself.’
‘Which shows great good judgement on his part.’ She patted Hazel’s hand. ‘I don’t want to argue with you, but you did ask for my advice, and now you have it.’
‘Hazel, come here.’ Lady Beardsley’s voice echoed down the length of the large room. ‘I need you. It’s inconsiderate of you to neglect me for so long.’
‘Go!’ Farrah said, making shooing motions with her hands. ‘We will find another opportunity to talk tomorrow. Your mother cannot watch you every second of the day.’
‘Very well, but you are quite wrong about Daniel’s intentions, you know.’ Hazel tossed her head, clearly out of charity with Farrah for telling her something she would prefer not to hear. Perhaps, Farrah reflected, her mother’s opinion of Mr Anglesey was not so wrong after all. Time would tell.
Farrah watched her friend as she made her way to her mother’s side, glad for once to be rid of her and left to enjoy the resulting solitude. She knew very well that none of the other ladies would take up Hazel’s vacated chair and risk being tarred by association with the outcast. She thought about Hazel’s self-interest and decided that she may have been wrong in her judgement of her character. She had barely spared more than a few words of sympathy for Farrah’s more immediate problems, and had thought only of herself.
Farrah would be very glad to return to Hampshire alone and have nothing more to do with the Beardsleys. She smiled when she thought how delighted Lady Beardsley would be to know it.
‘You look as though you are in need of company.’
Distracted, Farrah hadn’t heard anyone approach. She glanced up at Miss Seymour and smiled. ‘Join me by all means,’ she said, ‘if you are not afraid of contamination. I am quite a danger, apparently.’
‘Balderdash!’ Miss Seymour assumed Hazel’s vacated seat. ‘More like a sacrificial lamb, I believe.’ She chuckled. ‘Although you have well and truly disgruntled the matrons, I’ll say that for you.’
Chapter Eleven
Once the ladies had left the table, the conversation turned to the matter of Lady Melody’s attack. Naturally, the gentlemen were curious to know what precisely had occurred. They had probably received highly prejudicial accounts against Farrah from their own ladies and so Brin’s display of support for her had befuddled them.
‘Miss Dorset is not a knife-wielding maniac,’ he said in a firm tone, ‘despite the fact that the ladies appear to have formed a different view. Do any of you agree with that ridiculous suggestion?’
He watched the men surrounding him absorbing both his words and his port and fixed each of them in turn with a measured look. He could almost hear the wheels inside their heads turning as they considered their respective situations. They all required his patronage to a greater or lesser degree, and would agree with his opinion—at least publicly.
‘Never listen to hysterical women,’ one of them said.
‘Miss Dorset is beyond comparison,’ said another.
‘A most unusual female.’
All heads slowly nodded in agreement, some more willingly than others.
‘There was an intruder on the estate,’ Brin said, ‘observed by several of my men, who were unable to capture him.’ That was not precisely true, but he was confident that no one would press him for particulars. ‘Most likely a poacher who panicked when Miss Dorset noticed him and asked him his business. I have the dagger that he dropped when he fled. I
t did not come from the picnic table, as I have heard whispered,’ he added in a tone that brooked no argument. ‘It’s a bloody great dagger, not a breadknife. I don’t want my guests worrying about intruders, but I will not tolerate Miss Dorset being ostracised when in actual fact she put herself in danger and saved Lady Melody from a worse injury than the one she incurred, thanks to her quick thinking.’
‘Damned courageous of her,’ someone muttered.
‘The chit don’t lack for pluck,’ said another. ‘Never was more impressed.’
‘I leave it to you all to reassure the ladies in your party and make it clear to them that I would appreciate their support for Miss Dorset. Do I have your backing, gentlemen?’
‘Oh, absolutely,’ said one.
Brin waited until every head had nodded in agreement.
‘I am obliged to you all,’ he said, giving his attention to his port and sitting back as general conversation gradually resumed around him.
It had not been his intention to speak of the intruder, but the manner in which the ladies had given Farrah the cut direct had infuriated him—and brought out his protective instincts in spades. He was especially angry with his own mother, since he knew that the other ladies would follow her lead.
He nodded his thanks to Kent, who had done as Brin asked, taken Farrah in and entertained her. A little too well if the frequent laughter he’d heard coming from the pair of them was anything to judge by. Brin ought to have felt gratified, but was instead gripped by an insane jealousy; a new experience for him. He couldn’t recall ever being riven by jealousy before. Damn it, the enticing chit had a lot to answer for!
Brin didn’t like to think of her in the drawing room in all female company with no one to defend her interests and protect her from sharp tongues. He suppressed a smile, aware of how furious she would be if she knew he thought her incapable of defending herself. Even so, the collective and unjustified disapproval must be wearing upon her nerves.
‘Shall we?’ he suggested, clearly surprising some of the gentlemen when he stood up so abruptly.
With no other choice available to them, they drained their glasses and followed Brin into the drawing room. All the ladies were clustered together around the fire at one end of the room. Of Farrah there was no sign, and at first he thought she had taken herself off and had no intention of showing herself for the rest of the evening. He hoped he had got it wrong, since it would imply guilt and fan the flames of the ladies’ collective disapproval. He scanned the rest of the room with his gaze and finally saw her, sitting beside the fire at the other end of the room in animated conversation with Miss Seymour. He had found the plain-speaking young woman a charming dinner companion, and applauded her sensitivity in showing backbone by defying the matrons and singling Farrah out.
‘Ah, Brinley, there you are.’ His mother’s voice recalled Brin’s attention. ‘Lady Melody is quite the poet, it seems. I thought we might persuade her to recite some of her compositions.’
Brin heard several of the gentlemen fail to completely suppress their groans. He himself was barely more successful.
‘Is she sufficiently recovered?’ Brin asked with courteous mischief. ‘She looks rather pale. Best not to exert herself.’
Several gentlemen muttered their agreement.
‘Your consideration does you credit, your grace,’ Lady Kirkham gushed, ‘but I can assure you that my daughter is not nearly so feeble as you imagine and never complains when she is in discomfort.’ Ye gods, she would be boasting about the girl’s child-bearing hips next! ‘Despite her gruelling ordeal, she is perfectly willing to entertain the company.’
‘God help us!’ Kent muttered in Brin’s ear.
The gentlemen, resigned to a dreary recitation, draped themselves around various parts of the room as far away from the poet as possible, so that they could converse in undertones. Anglesey stepped forward and offered Lady Melody his hand, helping her to her feet. The gesture brought a small cry from Lady Hazel. God in heaven, this game of one-upmanship was fast becoming tiresome!
Lady Melody cleared her throat and started reciting some dreadful tripe regarding a lame spring lamb. Brin glanced at Farrah and could see that she and Miss Seymour were valiantly trying not to laugh.
At first he was amused himself. The verse droned on. And endlessly, repetitively on. Lady Melody kept forgetting her lines, repeating herself and stumbling over various words. It was beyond embarrassing, for everyone with the notable exception of the lady herself, who thrived on being the centre of attention. Lady Kirkham mouthed the words along with her daughter and Brin’s own mother seemed genuinely enraptured.
It was quite astonishing!
Brin moved away, intent upon joining Farrah, but when he reached the end of the room, he found Miss Seymour there alone.
‘She was in danger of not holding her laughter in,’ Miss Seymour explained, ‘and so she stepped outside to compose herself. She didn’t want to make matters any worse than they already are.’
‘Ah, I see.’
Brin dithered, thinking it would be impolite to walk away again, but Miss Seymour resolved his dilemma for him.
‘You’ve had quite enough of me for one evening, your grace. Go after her.’
Brin raised a brow but did not ask his perspicacious dinner companion to elucidate. ‘If you will excuse me,’ he said quietly.
Brin let himself out of the same door that Farrah had used, and which led directly into his mother’s orangery. He found Farrah seated on a daybed beneath the glass roof, convulsed with laughter. She abruptly brought it under control when she sensed Brin’s presence.
‘Oh, it’s you.’ She wiped tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘I’m sorry. It’s very rude of me, I know, but I just couldn’t help myself.’ Fresh laughter bubbled from her lips. ‘If a hear one more line about a dear little lambkin who has lost his mother, I swear I shall not be responsible for my actions.’
‘It was rather dire.’
‘Dire? How charitable. How could anyone possibly suppose it would make a favourable impression upon you? Well,’ she added, not waiting for his response. ‘I suppose the intention was for you to admire her profile and figure, her flair for the dramatic. How very disobliging of you to follow me out here instead.’
‘You were not the only one struggling to retain your composure.’
‘I honestly supposed that I would never laugh again after the events of the day, so I should be grateful to Lady Melody for providing an outlet for my pent up emotions.’
Brin could think of a more effective way to release them but refrained from making the suggestion.
‘Do sit down if you are staying,’ she said impatiently. ‘You should not. Stay that is, but it’s your house and I suppose you can do what you like in it. Either way, looking up at you is giving me a crick in my neck.’
He swished the tails of his coat aside and perched on the end of the daybed, wondering if it was a good idea. That harmless piece of furniture could give a man inappropriate thoughts.
‘Do you have to endure this sort of thing on a regular basis?’ she asked. ‘Having females paraded for your inspection, I mean.’
‘Never anything quite this blatant before but don’t worry about me, I am well able to look out for myself. It is you who concerns me. I hope you are not feeling any ill-effects following this afternoon’s unpleasantness. Everyone is making a fuss over Lady Melody, but I suspect that you have scrapes and bruises too and no one has bothered to enquire about them.’
‘Oh, I am made of sterner stuff. Thank you for your concern, but I am a survivor.’ She glanced away from him. ‘I have had to be.’
‘Even so…’
‘This is a delightful room. So tranquil.’
Brin glanced around it, trying to see it from her perspective. It provided a luxurious extension that housed woody plants and exotic fruits, with a stove installed to provide the necessary warmth required for them to flourish beneath the glass in the English climate
.
‘I commissioned it, having gained a liking for the smell of circus fruits growing on terraces in India. Obviously, they wouldn’t thrive year-round here, so the glass seemed like the obvious answer. I thought my mother and sisters would enjoy sitting out here reading,’ he added, pointing to the neatly shelved books at one end of the room, ‘but I don’t think any of them take much advantage of it.’
‘If it were mine, you wouldn’t be able to keep me out of it.’
‘Feel free to make full use of it while you are here.’
‘Thank you, I shall. And I might suggest to Papa that we have one of our own. It would be a delightful addition.’ She stood and wandered to the collection of books, examining their spines. ‘Popular fiction?’
‘I assumed it was what the ladies would prefer but, as you can see, they remain mostly unread.’
‘Not for long. I shall ignore my critics and lose myself in fictitious worlds for the remainder of my stay.’
He watched her in the lovely gown that clung to her figure, the skin of her bare shoulders creamy in the low lamplight that cast her engaging profile in light and shadow. She was enigmatic; refreshingly different from anyone he had known before. A person comfortable with her own company.
‘Have you discovered anything else since we last spoke?’ she asked, picking up a book at random, flicking through its pages and then dropping it on the daybed, as though she intended to look into it more thoroughly later. She spoke casually but Brin could sense that she wasn’t nearly as sanguine about his response as she wanted him to think. ‘I cannot convince myself that Mr Harlow has been idle in your service.’
‘Harlow has his methods, thanks to which we have discovered the name that the man in the blue coat was going by.’
Finally, she gave him her full attention. ‘Are you going to tell me what it is, or make me guess?’
‘He called himself Pickard.’
‘Pickard?’ She wrinkled her brow and looked concerned. ‘It sounds familiar, but I cannot recall where I have heard it before.’
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