Chapter Fifteen
Lord Chester nodded and hoped Lady Beatrix was wondering about him.
And not wondering about him in the same way as Lord Chester was wondering about him just now.
As for himself, he would slog back to the inn and keep his ears open there.
Villagers liked to gossip about the big house nearby and as Lady Dudmore was having a house party, who knew what he would hear.
He’d already found one of the waiters very open with information.
By the time he reached the wood, the sun was on its way out.
It would not be so dark if he were not surrounded by trees, but the leaves on the trees shut out what was left of the dimming light.
He hurried through it, hoping to avoid footpads.
He had not brought his weapon, but he would when he returned tonight to see if he could view into the house when they were all at dinner.
He found himself relieved to reach the environs of the inn, and then he stopped short when he reached the yard.
The queen’s retinue of carriages. What was she doing here when she was supposed to be at Lady Dudmore’s?
Lord Chester shrugged off his ridiculous overcoat and straightened his neckcloth.
He needed to slip in and up the stairs without encountering the lady or her retinue.
He could not risk attracting attention. In the usual case of things, noticing he was there would be of no account.
Just now, though, with the gossip of Annie making a scene at his house, his presence might prove more interesting to talk about.
He did not want his presence talked about.
The hall was empty and Lord Chester presumed the queen was just now in a private dining room. It was very odd that she was here at all.
He reached the stairs to the rooms and was halfway up when suddenly a lady appeared at the top of the stairs. It was too late to run the other direction.
“Lord Chester,” the lady said. “Do you attend Lady Dudmore’s house party?”
It was the Marchioness of Bath, the queen’s Mistress of the Robes.
“I do not think I would have expected to see you here,” she said with a sniff.
Lord Chester was sure that was correct. The lady held a very dim opinion of him.
She ought not know anything about him, however there had been an incident last summer.
At least, she called it an incident. As far as he was concerned, all that had happened was that he and Annie had a drunken evening, ended in the Roman Baths, and some vagabond had run off with their clothes.
And then he supposed she might have heard of a more recent “incident” involving Annie.
“I do not attend, Marchioness,” he said, hurrying past her. “I only stop overnight on my way to Brighton.”
“What an odd route to Brighton,” she said as he hurried down the corridor.
He let himself into his rooms and shut the door behind him. All he could hope for was that the Marchioness did not think to mention she’d seen him. He did not wish anybody to talk about him at all.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Corbyn had finally got Farber to Lady Dudmore’s house. Fortunately, nobody had been standing outside the doors. If they had been, they would have witnessed Farber flinging himself out of the carriage and touching the ground as if he’d just sailed to America and was astonished to see dry land again.
In the distance, he could see some people walking the shore of the lake, but none of them were Lady Beatrix.
Going inside, Lady Dudmore greeted him affably, if not a little jokingly about how his last-minute attendance had come about.
He did not think she believed that he’d suddenly become available, but she clearly did not know of his interest in Lady Beatrix.
He was led up to his rooms and occupied himself with a book at his window until it was time to dress. They were all to be in the drawing room at six-thirty, as the queen would arrive at seven.
Farber came in, looking much recovered from his recent adventure in a carriage. “You do not look so green,” he said.
“Everybody has a weakness.”
“Yes, I know,” Corbyn said, laughing. “I am hoping I never discover what mine is.”
“Then I will not inform you of it,” Farber said briskly, tying his neckcloth.
Corbyn did not know what he had in mind, but he rather hoped Farber did not tell him what it was. If he knew Farber, he probably had a whole list of things to mention.
“Lady Beatrix has arrived, last door on the left in the east wing.”
“I am gratified to know she has arrived,” Corbyn said, “but I do not need to know what room she stays in. I am sure the earl would not like it.”
“I did not suggest you knock on her door. Information has a way of coming in handy. That’s all it is, information. Monroe is here too, he’s already been down to the lake. Probably wished to have a look at the boats, there is bound to be some sort of regatta.”
“The emphasis will be on “some sort” I suspect.”
“If anybody downstairs knows the details of it, they keep it under their hat. Apparently, Lady Dudmore goes to the palace where they have long discussions about what they will devise. As well, I do not know what Monroe has been up to so far, but I overheard one of the footmen call him a lurker.”
“He’d better not be lurking anywhere near the end of the east wing or he’ll end sorry over it.”
Farber shrugged. “Whatever Monroe is, he is not a smooth rake.
In any case, the queen stays just across the corridor from Lady Beatrix in her preferred accommodations.
She likes the view over the countryside rather than the view of the lake.
Monroe would get quite the surprise if he hoped to arrange a coincidental encounter with Lady Beatrix and encountered the queen instead.
“It would serve him right. Her Majesty would make quick work of him.”
Farber smoothed the edges of his neckcloth.
“There you are, ready to mingle with Lady Beatrix and the queen. I’ll be going back down to the servants’ hall.
The ale is rather free-flowing down there and I expect people to talk after their wheels are greased sufficiently.
I will already predict there is to be a battle for dominance amongst the lady’s maids that should entertain. ”
Farber left and slipped down the servants’ stairs. Corbyn made his way down the main, along with a dozen other of Lady Dudmore’s guests. Nobody wished to be late for the queen’s entrance, as she did not like it.
The drawing room was as he remembered it from the first and last time he’d come to this house party. That time, he’d had no idea what awaited him. He’d been far happier in that state.
He spotted Lady Beatrix near the top of the room. She stood with the earl and countess, and…Monroe. The fellow was like glue, very hard to shake off.
Lady Beatrix wore a pale gray velvet dress. A thin bandeau of topaz stones decorated her hair. She looked marvelous. She really did stand out from the other ladies.
He made his way over, weaving around groups of talkers. “Earl, Countess, Lady Beatrix.” He did not bother to acknowledge Monroe. He should have, but he gave in to his feelings on the matter. He was tired of him.
“Lord Harrelston!” Lady Beatrix said. “Goodness, I did not expect to see you here.”
“Nor I,” Lord Monroe said in a less enthusiastic tone.
“Last minute arrangement,” Corbyn said. He was rather gratified over Lady Beatrix’s smile in seeing him.
To the countess, he said, “I trust you had a pleasant journey?”
“I just asked them that,” Lord Monroe said sullenly.
Corbyn sighed. A loud and deliberate sigh so that Lord Monroe might understand that he was found tedious. “Pray, Monroe, as you race ahead with your inquiries, do communicate the lady’s answer for my edification.”
Lady Beatrix covered the lower part of her face with her fan, though Corbyn knew well enough that she laughed. Her eyes crinkled.
The earl, in particular, looked amused.
“The countess related that it was very pleasant,” Lord Monroe said.
Corbyn turned to the countess. “I am very glad to hear it.”
“Indeed,” the countess said, looking between him and Lord Monroe.
A footman interrupted the farce with a tray of champagne. Corbyn took two glasses before Monroe could reach them. “Lady Beatrix,” he said, handing her a glass.
The earl served the countess and then himself. Monroe was left fumbling for the last glass on the tray. The fellow appeared a bit discombobulated, as evidenced by his gulping what was in his glass.
“Everyone,” Lady Dudmore called, “do not drain your glasses. They are to toast the queen. She shall be here any minute.”
This, sadly, came as late news to Lord Monroe. He stared at his now empty glass, which apparently he’d consumed in one gulp. Then he looked around for the footman, but he was long gone.
Lady Beatrix bit her lip.
Corbyn was pleased with how things proceeded so far. It was turning out to be not much of a trick to fend off Monroe, as Monroe was rather excellent at doing the job himself.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Beatrix hoped she had not given herself away too much in seeing Lord Harrelston. She had been standing with her mother and father, attempting to give Lord Monroe the shortest polite responses possible, and there he was.
He was so superior to every other gentleman in the room, particularly Lord Monroe.
Lord Monroe was beginning to make himself a real pest. Could he not read the signals of her disinterest?
Was she not sending the right signals? Miss Sprite had not said one thing about how to drive a gentleman off with courtesy.
But it was no matter. Lord Harrelston was here. She wondered why he did not say he was coming. Or maybe he had not planned to and suddenly changed his mind?
“Everyone, everyone,” Lady Dudmore called out, “the queen’s carriage approaches!”