Chapter 13
“She is in the middle of a conversation at present, which you interrupted—no matter how much you hate doing so,” said Mr. Godwin in a flat tone.
Mr. Winwood winced and clapped the gentleman on the shoulder, causing the clergyman to stumble a step.
“Yes, but as you are a rector, you are well-versed in granting forgiveness, are you not? And I fear I couldn’t wait another moment.
The mummer’s play is about to begin, and I didn’t want to miss the opportunity to escort our dear Miss Voss to her seat. ”
Phoebe’s countenance brightened, and her hold on Thea’s arm tightened a touch, though she immediately abandoned it in favor of Mr. Winwood’s when he offered his up.
“Do excuse me, ladies, Mr. Godwin,” she said, giving them each a nod before allowing Mr. Winwood to escort her away.
With a flourish, the gentleman held up his rose to her. “I do hope you will accept my flower, Miss Voss.”
“After that rescue, I wouldn’t dare reject it,” murmured Phoebe—though not quietly enough, for Mr. Godwin’s expression tightened—though the lady did not notice as she wandered away. Before Thea could think of how to excuse that misstep, Mina gave the clergyman an encouraging smile.
“You were saying?” she prodded.
“I was?” The gentleman’s brow furrowed, though it cleared in a trice. “Ah, yes, Miss Ashbrook—”
“There you are,” said Mr. Timothy Voss, stepping into the space his sister had abandoned. “I have been looking high and low for you, Miss Ashbrook.”
Thea managed not to scoff. Though it was difficult. They hadn’t moved one inch since the gentleman left to fetch Mina a drink—and he had returned empty-handed—though Thea had spied him chatting up several other ladies in the gathering.
“I believe you promised to join me for the play, my good lady,” said Mr. Voss with overdone elegance. “A friend of mine is saving us seats.”
Mina’s mouth opened and closed several times before she silently did as bidden, her eyes turning to Thea, though it wasn’t clear what she wished her cousin to do.
Either Mina had promised, or Mr. Voss was taking liberties.
If it was the former, then there was nothing to be done about it.
If it was the latter, it was for Mina to speak out.
Thea’s heart opened in prayer, hoping that the lady would do just that, but for all of her cousin’s many good traits, Mina was too soft-spoken. And she simply followed Mr. Voss away.
“Do excuse me, Miss Keats,” said Mr. Godwin, giving her a bow before leaving Thea to herself. Looking this way and that, she spied the various groups and couples drifting toward the makeshift stage where the actors were readying themselves for the coming frivolity.
And Frederick was nowhere in sight.
*
Fools came in all varieties, though Frederick had never counted himself among them.
Of course, some in Haverford thought him quite foolish, but they believed his teasing smiles and quick wit were the whole of him, never understanding that one could play the part at times without truly being one.
But he couldn’t blame them entirely. He rather enjoyed it when people underestimated him, and it came in handy from time to time, but only because he wasn’t truly a fool.
Yet standing there in the midst of the parish feast revelries, Frederick knew he was a fool of the highest order.
Doubly so because it was only now that he realized Thea’s ribbon remained at home on his bed.
The rose rested heavily on his lapel, mocking him.
He ought to take the blasted thing off, for at least then, it would look as though he had forgotten the whole tradition, and not just the most important part.
But there was no way to do so without bringing attention to his mistake. Where was his head?
The laughter around him was a cacophony, the talk a jumble of sport, business, and the promise of a fine summer. He nodded when expected, even managed the occasional murmur of agreement, but his thoughts were back at Dunsby Hall and the unanswered letters piling upon his father’s desk.
Still no reply from Mr. Howlett, and that silence had become a living thing, whispering at the edges of his mind even when he ought to be enjoying the feast. Mr. Canfield clapped him on the shoulder, making some jest about an upcoming horse race, and Frederick smiled automatically (even managing a bland response) whilst his attention lingered on the letters, and the gnawing suspicion that grew with each passing day.
Every household expense was now measured and weighed, and yet Dunsby Hall bled money faster than Frederick could stem the flow.
Of course, three weeks was hardly a blink; it would take time for the accounts to feel the full effect of retrenchment.
And everything rested upon Mr. Howlett and that final investment.
The fellows nodded toward some revelry that was about to commence, and Frederick waved them off, quite happy to see them drift away; he wasn’t good company at present, and pretending required too much effort at present.
But Mr. Devins lingered, glancing at him with a quizzical expression.
“Did you wish to speak to me?” asked his friend.
Straightening, Frederick glanced about, only just noticing how odd their positioning was, especially given that he’d made no move to leave after the group dispersed. Mouth agape, Frederick tried to think of something to say that would excuse his unusual behavior.
“You seem quite out of sorts lately,” said Devins, his words coming carefully as though tiptoeing toward what he wished to say.
“I have much on my mind.”
Devins nodded. “Understandable. Though I am blessed to have a father who is hearty and hale, watching him lose Grandfather was difficult. Of course, I missed him as well, but it isn’t the same as losing one’s own father, is it?”
Forcing a smile, Frederick waved it away. “I am managing. I will sort things out in the end.”
The fellow glanced about before stepping closer and lowering his voice. “Do not fret about any… difficulties right now. Many a family and estate have struggled after the loss of its master, and a little faltering is nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Difficulties?” Frederick straightened.
Holding up his hands, Devins winced. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to presume. None of us knows what to say to you. English pride and all that. We’d rather ignore problems rather than risk speaking of money, though I do not understand why it’s treated like the plague. It isn’t catching.”
“Money? Who is speaking of money?”
“I didn’t mean to offend—”
“Not at all,” said Frederick, stepping closer when the fellow tried to put space between them. “For all that you claim to be speaking plainly, you are quite cryptic.”
Devins drew in a deep breath and cast another look round about. “You sacked some of your staff with no indication that you mean to replace them, and your mother has hardly been seen on the high street over the past fortnight. Not to mention some rumblings about unpaid bills amongst the tradesmen.”
Frederick’s brows rose at that. Though most businesses were good enough to keep information about their clientele private, there was no accounting for the various clerks, maids, and laborers who heard far more than was good and felt no compunctions about spreading the gossip far and wide.
The truth was bound to come out sooner or later.
He simply had hoped it would be more later.
“Oh, there’s no need to look stricken,” said Devins with a faint grimace.
“Living on credit is the way of things, especially amongst grand families like yours. Sir Thomas refuses to settle bills until the tradesmen are prepared to go to court over the matter, as though it were beneath him to pay in a timely manner.”
With a considering frown, he added, “I wager few families have the ready funds to pay all their bills if they came due all at once, and as the courts take ages to settle such matters, we hardly have the incentive to pay promptly, so there’s no need to worry. It is the way of things.”
Giving Frederick a clap on the shoulder, Devins wandered away with a bright smile as though he had just delivered his friend’s salvation, tossing a lifeline out to a drowning sailor.
The way of things? The words clung to him like burrs, sharp and persistent.
If Devins were to be believed, everyone lived on borrowed coin and borrowed time—gentry and tradesmen alike—each pretending prosperity while their foundations quietly crumbled.
Frederick had heard enough sly remarks and caught enough half-glances to suspect that his friend’s admission was true. To a degree, at any rate.
Yet the thought unsettled him. If the whole of society did it, did that render it acceptable? And was it truly wrong, or merely an unavoidable consequence of an imperfect world?
Laughter rose and fell around him, bright and unburdened, a sound that ought to have lifted his spirits but only made the heaviness in his chest more pronounced.
The music from the fiddlers was lively, and the scent of roasted meat still hung sweet in the air, but the joy of it all felt distant, as though it belonged to some other world entirely.
Young men tested their aim at the ring toss and shouted with triumph when a wooden hoop landed true, and somewhere near the churchyard wall, a group of lads were wrestling in the grass, cheered on by a circle of spectators who seemed to find every tumble hilarious.
Even the elders, gathered near the tables, smiled as they sipped their ale (which the good Sir Thomas had supplied), and watched the merriment unfold.
Frederick drifted through it like a dream. A few acquaintances hailed him—one calling him over to try his hand at skittles, another waving a tankard in invitation—but he answered only with a nod and continued walking.
Near the edge of the green stood a makeshift stage, though it was little more than a patch of grass bordered by planks. Children clustered at the front, their faces bright with anticipation, while the grown folk lingered behind, settling in to enjoy the entertainment with matching eagerness.
Frederick paused, half aware of it all, his thoughts circling until they inevitably returned to her. Perhaps it was time to speak to Thea. If what Devins said was true, what harm was there in admitting his troubles aloud? Gossip would come soon enough; better that she hear it from him.
The thought brought a flicker of relief, small but real, and he found himself scouring the sea of faces for her bright bonnet. Spying Miss Ashbrook, Frederick pointed his feet in her direction as Thea was never far from her cousin—yet as he drew closer, there was no sign of her.
No, the lady’s companion was someone much more unexpected.
Miss Ashbrook sat with her hands tucked into her lap, seeming to shrink into herself as Timothy leaned closer, speaking animatedly.
The lady made a decent show of hiding her emotions, but it was clear to anyone with eyes that she did not wish for Timothy’s attentions.
Just as his pointed behavior made his intentions equally clear.
“Come now, no other lady will do my flower justice,” said Timothy, taking the rosebud from his lapel and offering it to her.
Miss Ashbrook took hold of it, but stiffened when his hand brushed her arm.
Leaning close, his brother whispered something in her ear that brought a blush to her cheek, though the tightness of her lips betrayed the discomfort beneath that coloring.
When she spied Frederick standing just behind them, Miss Ashbrook’s gaze pleaded for rescue, and despite all the tempest of late, his thoughts calmed and focused: he knew what needed to be done.