Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Why do you do it?” I asked Lady Clotilda as I led her into the center of the ballroom. The opening set began with a minuet, a partner dance notable for its small, neat figures and frequent joining of hands. “Why create this spectacular entertainment for a man you cannot respect?”
Her ladyship executed a stately twirl, then skipped and hopped in the prescribed circle. Our dancing slippers crackled on the chalk pattern, obliterating Miss Quiggan’s art step by step.
“You ask far too many questions, my lord. Why shouldn’t I join forces with a neighbor to punctuate the end of the holidays? I haven’t a ballroom this grand, nothing close to it, and if the whole shire is to gather, this is the ideal location.”
I took my turn mincing about. “But I’m told you absorb the expenses. The candles alone will cost a fortune.”
“Does your mother know you consider finances a polite topic to raise with your hostess for the evening?”
My mother would understand that, on the dance floor, Lady Clotilda could not indulge in evasive maneuvers.
Her ladyship might take shelter in silence, but if she blew physical retreat, she’d start the ball with a very awkward scene.
Mama and the baron made a handsome pair on their half of the dance floor, and other couples were drifting in from the perimeter.
“Her Grace knows that I ask my questions for a worthy purpose. I admit I am perplexed by the goings-on at the Keep. For all the damsels and swains underfoot, nobody seems inclined to marry. Neighbors said to be out of charity with each other collaborate on a sumptuous finale to the Yuletide season. A son who survived the war is reluctant to return to a perfectly delightful family seat. Questions abound.”
We turned, bowed, and curtseyed to nobody in particular and joined hands again.
“If my lord claims a scintilla of common sense, he will spend the rest of the evening in the cardroom pretending to sip Dunsford’s vile brew while losing large sums to the local widows. You will do far more good in that endeavor than you can possibly do with your spying and prying.”
Spying was an ugly word. Gentlemen did not spy, though I certainly had. The euphemisms—reconnaissance, intelligence gathering, reconnoitering, scouting, taking the enemy’s measure—did not change the facts. I had used deceptive tactics to help defeat the Corsican.
I would do the same again—cheerfully—though I’d rather avoid the imprisonment chapters.
“Scold me all you please,” I said, promenading along.
“You have not explained a truly impressive display of generosity. If you sought to avoid comment, you would be more discreet about the financial arrangement between you and the baron. You want it known that your organizational talents and your coin make the gathering possible. I learned of your generosity from Miss West, with whom you were previously acquainted only in passing.”
If Hyperia knew whose coin funded the festivities, so did every chambermaid and potboy in the shire—by design.
“In typical male fashion, you have leaped to unflattering conclusions about the distaff and overlooked the obvious answer to your query.” She curtseyed, rose, and nodded to an imaginary party on her right.
“Once Dunsford sits down among his fellows on the Committee for Inebriated Gossip, or whatever the magistrates are calling themselves, the town crier can go on holiday. All the news from every household is shared in strictest confidence, or so the good gentlemen assure themselves. The penny press is the soul of decorum by comparison.”
Why in the name of wassailing widows would Dunsford disclose to anybody that Lady Clotilda’s coin financed the Keep’s holiday extravaganza?
“The look on your face is exquisitely gratifying, my lord. Dumbstruck, if I do say so myself. Algernon can keep his mouth shut, thank the Deity, but the baron in his cups is a loquacious creature. Avoid the punch if you have even a passing hope of comporting yourself with any dignity for the rest of the night.”
The dance concluded, and I escorted her ladyship to the perimeter, where she instructed a footman about some sconce that remained unlit. She ignored me as thoroughly as if I were a spotty subaltern promoted out of political necessity.
Well, then. The cardroom it would be.
Her ladyship had declared that smoking would occur in only a single parlor established for that purpose, and thus one could still see across the cardroom.
Six of the eight tables were occupied, and protocol dictated that the genders mingle.
The presence of the ladies would keep the bets modest, and the presence of the gentlemen would ensure the ladies enjoyed a dash of flirtation with their whist.
Or so the theory went.
Bryson, resplendent in his dark green regimentals, sat opposite Robin Carstairs. Philomel partnered Peter at the same table.
“Yes, you see before you a vicar who wagers,” Sandy murmured, sidling up on my left.
“For pennies only, but it’s the principle of the thing.
Give Parson Peter a few weeks, and in the dreary depths of Lent, he’ll maunder on about demon rum and enslavement of the soul and so forth.
He’s keeping his powder dry for now. I can assure you, though, those biscuits on the plate at his elbow were made with molasses, and Mrs. Carstairs’s wardrobe includes a fair amount of cotton. ”
“And he preaches against both?”
“Eloquently. His message is that coin of the realm is well understood by the evildoers among us. Modifying how we use mammon is thus an effective way to exert power over those otherwise intransigent foes of virtue. One cannot fault his logic, but he’s oddly silent regarding extravagant purchases of chalk, silk ribbons, and brandy. ”
Ah. Sandy resented his aunt’s annual generosity, affecting, as it likely did, his own prospects and those of his sister.
“I hope the Almighty doesn’t begrudge us a yearly indulgence in collective good cheer,” I replied. “Winter is long, dark, and cold, and your sister’s talent with the chalk deserves appreciation.”
Algernon paused in the doorway, a drink in his hand. He made a fine figure in his evening attire, though in keeping with the festive spirit of the occasion, he again wore two cravats, one white and a thinner one striped with green and gold.
“Amelia is talented, isn’t she? With chalk at least. Will you go up to Town when you’ve finished your penance here with Bryson?”
Sandy exuded the perpetual frustration of a young man living on his expectations. He was also sipping regularly from a glass of punch.
“I will return with Bryson to Surrey, where I am happy to bide at my family seat. Your own dear auntie cautioned me to avoid that punch. Its powers are apparently fearful and legendary.”
“All the more reason to drain my glass. Shall you make a hand with Algernon and me? Miss Philomel will doubtless join our table if Algernon is among our number.” A cheerful invitation nonetheless laced with irritation. The night was young, and Sandy Quiggan was already bored.
Algernon had slipped around the side of the room to take a seat at an unoccupied table with his back to the wall. He chose a deck of cards and began deftly shuffling.
“I believe we’re to form our teams with one lady and one gentleman each,” I said.
“In cards as in life, alas. Please let Algie know that I will locate a willing female and join him and Miss Philomel before he can be fleeced by the local squires. Algie can handle the cards with the dexterity of a mountebank, but he’s too busy with his bons mots to mind the play.”
I threaded around the perimeter of the room rather than move between the tables, and because I was on my feet as I approached Algernon’s table, I once again noticed his thinning hair.
He’d brushed his locks this way and that, and when he was standing, the ravages of time would be hidden from view.
When he was seated, pink skin shone between dark strands.
I leaned down and spoke quietly. “Quiggan has gone in search of a lady partner on the assumption that Miss Philomel will join your table next. You are to inform any marauding bands of squires or widows that your game is spoken for.”
“Good of him. I don’t suppose you’d care for a hand in my place? I’m supposed to spread good cheer all over the gathering, but one wants to rest one’s feet between wallflowers.”
The dancing had just begun, and few parties had been sitting out by the time the minuet had concluded. Still, Algernon had a point. By the end of any grand ball, aching feet and an aching head were all but predictable.
I sat at Algernon’s right rather than have my back to the door. “I’ve asked Bryson to consider extending his stay.”
Algernon set the cards down in a single neat pack.
“Is that wise, my lord? Bry seems to value his post in Surrey, though one cannot fathom why. We’re dull company at the Keep once the holidays conclude.
Papa follows the hounds, but the rest of January and through the end of March, we’re otherwise fairly housebound. ”
Bryson would not be housebound if he lived in Hampshire. He’d be riding his acres, looking in on his tenants, managing his hay stores, taking a hand in lambing, and preparing equipment for plowing and planting.
All the activities I was looking forward to at the Hall, to my surprise.
“The days have gone by too quickly,” I said, cutting the deck. “We’ll have spent as much time traveling to and fro as visiting here, and it’s not as if January is the gamekeeper’s busy season.”
“A gamekeeper.” Algernon made a face and began laying out a round of patience. “He’s qualified, I suppose. One does not tell a younger sibling what to do.”
In my experience, one did exactly that, until the younger sibling put a stop to the nonsense. “You might ask him to stay on, Algernon. Your father misses him, but won’t impose.”