Chapter 10 #3
“You love her,” the duchess said. “That makes the whole situation harder and simpler. Ask her to set a date.”
What situation? I had not peeked into the ballroom so I could be harangued by my mother about wedding plans, and Her Grace wasn’t haranguing me, exactly. She was, in her fashion, making a plea, and that unnerved me nearly as much as being dunked into an ice-cold pond on a chilly winter day.
I bowed, thanked her for her insights, and went to take my leave of Lady Clotilda.
“Just as well you’re on your way, my lord. You can escort Amelia back to Glen Maye. She won’t be but a short moment.”
The short moment lasted closer to a quarter hour, during which time I considered my mother’s homily. Lady Clotilda assured Miss Quiggan repeatedly that the chalked design would follow the agreed-upon sketches precisely.
“Then I will leave you to it,” Miss Quiggan said, “but I will return tomorrow morning to assess progress, and if we’re pressed for time, I’ll recruit Sandy, his lordship, Algernon, and Bryson to assist us.”
She bid farewell to her ladyship and the duchess and aimed a bright smile at me. “Get me home, my lord, before I start shouting and stomping in a manner that would make the old baron look like the veriest polite dandy.”
“Hard to credit,” I said, holding the ballroom door open for her, “but not impossible. I have asked nearly everybody but you why the baron and Lady Clo are at daggers drawn.”
We passed into the frigid corridor.
“Have you asked her ladyship?” Miss Quiggan replied. “She’s usually very forthright.”
“I asked the baron. He believes she holds him responsible for her brother’s death as a result of some curricle race years ago. Too much drink, a green horse, muddy curves… or so his lordship described it.”
Miss Quiggan stopped short. “Dunsford caused her brother’s death? My lord, I have never heard her ladyship mention any such thing. She has said Uncle Dolyn was a sot and a fool and a wastrel of the highest order, but never… She has never implied that other parties were responsible for his death.”
We tarried at the front door to don wraps. I already wore my blue spectacles and wished I had a darker pair, given the day’s brightness.
“Are those eyeglasses some new London fashion that has yet to reach us in the shires?” Miss Quiggan asked as we crossed the terrace to the steps.
The day was far from warm, and yet, the sun was deucedly brilliant.
“My eyes are weak. I stood too close to an exploding powder wagon. I was briefly deaf and blind, though both hearing and sight gradually returned to me. Hearing first. I’d seen enough fellow soldiers rendered temporarily deaf by explosions or ceaseless gunfire to understand that portion of the incident, but the blindness was harrowing. ”
“Might you lose both faculties as you age?”
What a cheering question. “Diminished senses await many of us later in life.”
She sent a scowl over her shoulder as we passed into the park. From thence, our path led through the home wood, across a stream, through a corner of Lady Clotilda’s forest, and onto the park surrounding her manor.
“I sometimes think Lady Clo has simply lost patience with the baron,” Miss Quiggan said as we crossed the stream on a rickety little plank bridge.
“He’s a dear old fellow, but a bit of a bumbler.
He proposed to her six months after his wife died and suggested that Lady Clo deed him the forest as part of the settlements.
I suspect he was lucky to escape the encounter with his life. ”
“You are jesting.”
“About trying to marry the forest away from her? I am in complete earnest. He is the primary trustee of the Delaplane sisters’ settlements, and he let slip at some committee meeting how the sums are allocated.
The whole shire soon had the particulars.
Lady Clo was livid with him for that. She’s disgusted beyond telling that he and his fellow hunters ride over anybody’s fields and plowed ground in pursuit of a few foxes.
She thinks the baron ought to properly fence in his biddies and cease tearing up arable land, or why bother with the concept of private property at all? ”
The law might honestly be on Lady Clotilda’s side, but who would enforce it against a local peer and justice of the peace? “She has waxed eloquent on the topic?”
“Lady Clotilda is never long-winded, but her positions are clear and her reasons sensible. Why all the questions, my lord? You’ve raised this topic with others, from what I’ve been told.”
Miss Quiggan was astute enough to sense prevarication, so I tried for a version of the truth. “I suspect that Bryson’s unwillingness to resume living at the Keep might relate to old grudges and current feuds. Dunsford’s dwelling is not exactly a happy household.”
She had kept up a good pace the whole way thus far. Now her steps slowed. “The Keep isn’t unhappy. Algernon understands his papa, and in his way, the baron bears up as best he can.”
“Why has he to bear up?” I asked, honestly bewildered.
“Dunsford’s home is palatial. He’s in great good health.
He has two strapping adult sons and a married nephew in reserve.
He hunts the winter away and probably hacks out daily during the growing season.
He’s respected, powerful in local circles, and can vote his seat in the Lords whenever he pleases. How is this a list of tribulations?”
Miss Quiggan resumed her faster pace as we gained the park.
“That is not a list of tribulations, but neither is it the whole of the baron’s experience, or that of anybody else dwelling at the Keep.
You are but a passing visitor, my lord, and I mean you no disrespect when I tell you that inquiries such as those you’re making are unwelcome and ungentlemanly.
How would you like it if I came to Surrey and started implying that your weak eyes are a harbinger of premature decrepitude? ”
They probably were, to say nothing of my periodically weaker memory. “I have implied nothing insulting to anybody.”
“You have queried Sandy about Michael’s death, a very painful topic for all of us, and you have probed into Lady Clotilda’s discontents.
Now you inquire of me as to the baron’s woes, and this is all none of your business.
You aren’t bad-looking, and you have all of your teeth, but besides the obvious, I don’t know what Miss West could possibly see in such a nosy fellow.
Your intended receives correspondence from London gentlemen, you know, and she bides in London. Why is that?”
Today was clearly my day for plain speech from the fairer half of creation. “What do you mean, I have the obvious to recommend me?” That Healy would pen a note to his sister was of no moment.
“Don’t be disingenuous. You are the heir to a dukedom.”
I can’t help that. “So I am, for now. Might I ask you one more question while I’m being so obnoxiously curious?”
“You’ll ask it whether I give you leave or not,” she said.
“You might not ask it now, but you’ll circle back around, beg for my minuet tomorrow night, or offer to escort me down the buffet.
I can hardly refuse a public overture from a ducal heir and guest of the Keep, so you might as well unburden yourself and leave me in peace tomorrow evening. ”
“First, I apologize for having given offense. I am concerned for Bryson, and my inquiries were in hopes of easing his way back to Hampshire. He is no more happy in Surrey than the baron is at the Keep, and yet, neither man complains of his situation. Still, I had no cause to be rude, and I will take your words to heart going forward.”
She looked more annoyed than ever. “Very prettily said. Your question?”
“Why did the sight of Bryson move you to tears when he arrived home?”
“The sight of…? Not Bryson. Bryson and Algernon. They miss each other so, and when they clap eyes on each other, they think of Michael, and it’s all just too sad and sweet, and wrong.
I believe I can find my way from here, my lord.
Thank you for your escort, and please stop poking your nose where it doesn’t belong. ”
She marched off toward the back garden quick time, leaving me puzzled, chagrined, and also… impressed. Had dear Quiggy been an artillery sergeant, the war would have been shortened considerably.
And yet, she was a woman easily vexed who had advanced no particular liking for Bryson and was privy to all the local events and their histories. She bore watching—from a safe distance, of course.