Chapter 2
Cameron, Lord Bentinck, waved a hand to summon the stable boy to his side.
“Will you see to Kingly?” he said, motioning to the horse he had just dismounted. “I have to go inside and ascertain the well-being of my guests.” He pulled an apple out of his pocket and handed it to the boy. “Make sure Kingly has plenty of oats and water,” he directed.
“And the apple, sir?” the boy countered, holding up the fruit and examining the crisp pink skin.
“No,” Cameron said with a warm smile. “No, that is for you, William. To compensate you for the extra labours.”
“’Tis just my job, My Lord,” the boy protested, but when Cameron bowed and turned away, he heard the distinct sound of fruit being bitten into just behind him.
He walked towards the house, brushing his hands against his riding attire, and taking off his hat as he went.
He ran his fingers through the loose dark waves of his hair and took the back steps two at a time.
He was unused to hosting large numbers of people at Welbeck—his tenure as the abbey’s caretaker had only begun a year ago, after his father’s death, and the place had been in mourning for most of that time.
Still, it did his soul well to see the carriages lining up outside and to hear the soft murmur of conversation coming from the main rooms.
He stopped briefly in the back hall to give the butler some direction regarding the evening meal and enquired after his mother.
Hearing that she was still in her chambers, he turned and walked on into the large staterooms, where people gathered in conversation.
He knew them all and smiled as a few heads raised in acknowledgement.
He saw Lady Annabelle and Lady Marie looking his way from across the room. They were beribboned, as usual, with feathers and pearls hanging from their elaborate hairstyles and trimming the edges of their gowns. He forced a smile, wanting to be polite.
The two young women had befriended his mother a few months before and seemed to be always near at hand. In response to his smile, Annabelle came his way, smiling in that simpering way that soured his stomach.
“My Lord,” she said, tittering happily behind her fan. “We had almost despaired of seeing you here this fine day. Please tell me we can look forward to your presence here in the staterooms.”
“As I am already here,” he said, trying to keep his tone light, “I think such an eventuality can hardly be avoided.”
Annabelle broke into a gale of laughter that managed to be both coy and grating. She dropped into a curtsy.
“You ought to come join Lady Marie and me,” she said. “We have been discussing the wedding tomorrow and would love to hear your opinion of the proceedings.”
“I will have to defer for now,” he said, catching sight of a few older women—friends of his mother’s—gathered by the great window overlooking the lawn. One of them was raising a hand to summon him. “I see Lady Weatherby calling me over.”
He bowed and left Lady Annabelle standing disconsolately behind himself.
She and her friend were from fine families and had fine breeding, but they grated on his nerves in every other way. They had befriended his mother in her time of need, and so he had suffered them to continue their regular visits to the abbey.
Still, he could not help wishing they were a more avoidable nuisance. Every time he turned around, one of those two ladies seemed to be hanging on his every word or striving for his attention.
However, the three women by the window were like older aunts who had been in his life since he was a boy. He came to join them, bowing first to Lady Weatherby. She grinned back up at him.
“You are too kind,” she said, patting the chair at her side. “You are giving three old women like us your attention when there are so many other sparkling stars in your universe at present.” She nodded significantly at Lady Annabelle.
Cameron shook his head. “None so sparkling as yourself, Lady Weatherby,” he countered.
“We are engaged in the most delicious gossip and would dearly love your input,” another of the three, Mrs Potter, interjected.
He sat by the three women, smiling despite himself. “I’m afraid I do not particularly enjoy gossip,” he said. “It doesn’t seem quite fair, does it? After all, the person under discussion can hardly defend themselves.”
“Our gossip is harmless.” Lady Weatherby patted his arm with a fragile, gloved hand, looking at him with the tenderness of a grandmother. “We are only indulging in one of the few pleasures left to our old age. Surely a gentleman such as yourself will not fault us that.”
“You are calling upon my duty as a gentleman,” he said. “And therefore, I must indulge whatever you wish.”
“We were just talking about the newcomers you have slated to arrive this afternoon,” the final woman, a bustling and officious lady named Mrs Elliot Stevens, said with a low tone. “We have heard the viscount is a particularly striking figure.”
Cameron smiled. “I have met him once or twice in the sphere of business. He seems a worthy enough man, although I do not know him well.”
“Well, that is what parties like this are for,” Mrs Potter said.
“We shall be able to know him better by the end of our stay, I’m sure.
He is bringing his son and daughter with him, is he not?
I have heard the son is rather a sober fellow and regularly tends to his father’s business matters in London. ”
“That is hardly intriguing gossip,” Cameron said. “You have only pointed out that the son, a Mr Andrew Maynard, is a hard-working young man.”
“Oh, the gossip is not with the son,” Lady Weatherby breathed, raising her eyebrows to deepen the moment’s mystery.
“It all lies with the daughter, Miss Celia Maynard. I have only seen her across the ballroom a few times before—I have certainly never had her over for any significant personal event like a tea or a dinner party.”
She turned her gaze to Cameron. “I think it a good thing that you are willing to invite people who are not as well accepted in other areas. It shows your charity.”
Cameron frowned. “I was not aware there was anything particularly untoward about Miss Maynard.”
“That is because you have not spent time with her,” Mrs Potter interjected.
“Give Miss Maynard a few moments when she arrives, and she will show her true colours. This is not only from personal experience; I assure you—it is the tale I hear from every person I encounter in the ton. The girl is notorious. Even your own mother knows as much.”
“Notorious,” Cameron said, laughing despite himself. “For what? Is she an ogre after dark? Has she sold secrets to Napoleon?”
Lady Weatherby fixed him with an exasperated glare. “You speak as though we are silly,” she said, “but we have not manufactured these stories. If you were a little more in society and not always focused on matters of state, you would have heard about some of Miss Maynard’s indiscretions.”
“I hear she was caught riding astride through a park in London only a fortnight ago,” Mrs Potter said. “In broad daylight.”
“As opposed to riding in the dead of night?” Cameron asked, still smiling, though a sense of unease fell upon him at the words.
He had felt the weight of responsibility for years—even before his father’s death—which required him to conduct himself with the utmost decorum and remain above reproach in all society matters.
He had never had people speak of him as they were now speaking of Celia. He wondered if she would cause calamity during her stay, as these women seemed to suspect.
“She also cried out at a showing of Othello during the start of the Season,” Mrs Stevens said with wide eyes. “She corrected the script, I believe.”
“That was not loud enough for everyone to hear,” Lady Weatherby said. “I believe only those in her box and the adjoining box were aware of the indiscretion.”
“That would be quite alright,” Mrs Stevens countered, “if it weren’t true that the Prince Regent occupied the adjoining box.”
Cameron raised his eyebrows. “Risky,” he said, “to correct a play in the presence of one so acquainted with entertainment and revelry.”
Mrs Potter shook her head. “Well, there you have it,” she said. “Miss Maynard is nothing if not risky.” She pursed her lips together, showing her disapproval. “I have spoken to your mother on the subject already—when I saw your guest list.”
With curious timing, the butler came and stood at Cameron’s side. “Please, sir,” he said. “I have just had word from your mother. She has a thought regarding the dinner tonight and has requested your attendance in her chambers so that she might share the thought with your lordship.”
Cameron stood, nodding to the butler. “Of course,” he said. “I will go at once.”
“Furthermore,” the butler continued, “the viscount’s carriage has been sighted in the drive. They should be here any moment.”
“Show them in and make certain their belongings are put properly into their rooms,” Cameron directed. “I will miss their arrival initially, but when my mother is finished, I will return to greet them.”
The butler bowed. “Right so, My Lord,” he said.
Cameron turned to the ladies. “You will have a chance to test your gossip,” he said with a smile, chiding them gently. “I hope you will greet our Miss Maynard kindly in my absence.”
The three looked at him with patronising smiles, and all nodded dutifully. As Cameron walked away, he smiled to himself, guessing that his advice would not be followed in the least.
***
The carriage rolled to a stop at the steps leading into Welbeck Abbey, and Celia climbed out after her father and Andrew. Her brother turned dutifully to offer his hand for support, but she had already leapt to the ground on her own. She smiled sheepishly up at him.
“I was too quick for you,” she said.
“You are too quick in general,” he said through stiff lips. “Take my arm, and we shall enter the house in a dignified manner.”