Chapter Seventeen
Beatrix and her mother meandered down the paths through extensive orchards of Ribston Pippins, Amber Heart cherries, and Damson plums.
The countess said, “I cannot help but to be disappointed that things cannot go forward with Lord Chester.”
Beatrix understood her mother was disappointed, it was as if a long-held dream had been shattered.
However, she would not forever be disappointed.
“Mama, I know it is hard to give up something so long planned, but even without that poor actress coming to the house, I did not like him. You must have seen for yourself that he did not like me either.”
“Yes, your father has mentioned that several times.”
“Be of good cheer. You had a lovely idea, it just did not come right in the end.”
“I suppose what comforts me the most is that you are not crushed by it. I had wondered…on the night of that scene.”
“Not at all crushed.”
“I do notice that you have other suitors. I have refrained to inquire or push in any particular direction after…Lord Chester.”
“You speak of Lord Harrelston and Lord Monroe. At least, I think you do as I think they are both suitors. Though, it can be hard to positively know.”
“They are most definitely both suitors.”
“I do not like Lord Monroe, not at all. As for Lord Harrelston, I like him very much. I only fear that he might…hear something. He might pull away.”
The countess sighed. “So much trouble over a book you’ve never laid eyes on.”
“I just do not know what he will think.”
“You have the queen’s backing,” the countess said. “That must go some way.”
Beatrix nodded. She dearly hoped so. As well, she had begun to think that if Lord Harrelston said nothing about it and went so far as to declare himself, she would have to inform him of it.
Would he be disappointed in her? Or even angry?
She did not know. But a husband could not be allowed to discover something of that nature after the wedding. It would be trickery.
“In any case, Lord Harrelston is a fine gentleman. I do not believe he would encounter any argument from your father. Caroline likes him well enough, she’s told me several times that he’s jolly.
I’m not sure that is the first thing I would consider in a gentleman, but she seems well satisfied with it. ”
Beatrix smiled. He was rather jolly.
They emerged from the orchard and set off across the green toward the lake.
The men setting up archery were gone. Beatrix could see that they’d set up quivers full of arrows in a wide circle.
Whatever would go on, she just hoped Lord Harrelston would not be hurt.
Lady Dunmore had said blunt tips would be used, but even so.
They came over the rise and the lake came into view.
It was exceedingly large for a private lake.
They had nothing like it at home. She could not imagine sailing a boat anywhere in her neighborhood.
Miss Sprite had heard that Lady Dudmore had a lake large enough for a regatta and had advised her to stay well away from it or else she would drown.
Beatrix had forgone mentioning that she had no plans to fling herself into it.
“Lady Beatrix! Lady Beatrix!”
Beatrix pretended she did not hear Lord Monroe. It had been such a pleasant morning.
“Lady Beatrix! Ah, I have caught up to you,” Lord Monroe said, clearly out of breath. “Do you go down to the lake? You must do, I will show you my boat.”
“I believe all the boats are the same?” Beatrix said.
“The colors are different. Mine is green.”
“Oh? I thought I understood Lord Harrelston’s boat had the green hull.”
“Well yes, there are three that are green. Mine is on the far end and I believe more recently painted.”
Beatrix had no words for that. She hardly cared which boat was painted more recently.
“Just this way, this way.”
They really had no choice but to comply.
It almost made her laugh as she recalled Caroline making an impassioned speech to Miss Sprite about her dream of everybody just saying what was on their mind so nobody ever had to guess.
Miss Sprite had replied, “It is a novel idea, Caroline. Unfortunately, it would bring on the end of the British Empire.” Beatrix would very much like to say what was on her mind just now, which was “Go away.”
Nevertheless, they followed him down and listened to his droning on about how his green boat was better than the other green boats.
Then he posited that his boat was better than any other boat, including the boats that were not painted green.
He moved on to speculate that he would easily sail to victory at the regatta.
The countess finally brought it to an end by saying, “I believe we’ve taken in enough air for one morning. I will take my daughter in.”
They left Lord Monroe considering his future victory and repaired to Lady Dudmore’s library.
As they browsed the shelves, Beatrix looked for any title that might hint that it was a gothic novel.
She picked out books with the word castle in the title, as Lynette had mentioned dreadful things happening in castles more than once.
The first few were histories of various castles. Then she came upon The Castle of Otranto. Underneath the title it said “gothic.” From what she could gather from it, the lord of the castle feared there was a curse hanging over his family. A castle and a curse. It sounded perfect.
She tucked it under her arm and hoped her mother would not ask what it was. The countess was just now engrossed in examining a stack of periodicals from The Lady's Monthly Museum.
“Found something?” the countess said as she approached. “Let us proceed to our rooms to freshen ourselves. The time has got away from us and Lady Dudmore will have set up a rather elaborate buffet before the shooting of the arrows.”
Beatrix nodded and did not mind it a bit. She would get her book safe to her room without being asked what it was. Then, when that was done, she would go below stairs to see Lord Harrelston before he was forced to shoot arrows at the other gentlemen.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Corbyn had rung for Farber early, got dressed, and they’d gone down to the lake to have a look at his boat. It was a very small dinghy with a simple rigging. It was fortunate he was not to take crew, as he did not see how a second man could fit and still leave room to move around.
Up the rise leading away from the lake there was a large shed to the side of the stables.
Corbyn imagined it would have what he looked for.
If the gentlemen were meant to set sail at night to find chicken eggs painted black, the only way to succeed was to design a net of some sort.
It might be one of the stupidest ways to spend one’s time that he’d ever heard of, but that did not mean he did not intend to win it.
They’d gone to the shed, found rope, and spent a tedious morning in the gloom unraveling the strands, securing a metal hoop to the end of a broom, and weaving a net.
It was rather dark and dusty in the shed, but he kept the doors closed.
He did not wish for any other gentleman to know what he was doing and make a net of their own.
As he worked through the tedium, he reflected on the evening before.
Lady Beatrix was so charming. It seemed as if he discovered something new about her at every meeting.
She had been surprisingly good at piquet.
Really very good. Then he’d been apprised that it was due to Miss Sprite, who preferred the game, which had made him laugh.
He rather preferred the game too. He found he really preferred playing with Lady Beatrix.
Mostly he found the lady charmingly sheltered.
At piquet though, it had been rather alluring to see her transform into a veritable sharper.
A curl escaped her pins that she seemed not to notice and her look of concentration on her cards was intense.
He wondered what else he did not know about her.
“I had a few glasses of ale with some of the hands in the stables last evening,” Farber said.
“I presume you discovered something of note,” Corbyn said, well used to his valet’s habit of easing into his delivery.
“Oh, aye,” Farber said, tying knots with nimble fingers. “First, Lord Monroe arrived here in a carriage, but it was all a charade. The carriage came round to the stables and then kept on going. They think he borrowed it from some friend who lives nearby.”
Corbyn nodded. “He might have taken a hackney most of the way and then been met by his friend.”
“Then, I’m given to understand that you will not be only working with blunt tips on your arrows this afternoon. The fellows tell me the tips are sturdy wool pompons, thoroughly coated with black soot. You might consider wearing your greatcoat to protect your clothes.”
“That would be sensible, but I cannot. It would appear as if I expected to be hit. You see, it would look as if I had given up before I began.”
“Do you have a strategy?” Farber asked.
“I do,” Corbyn said. “I believe there will be some natural hesitation among the competitors. After all, it is not every day that a man picks up a bow and shoots at another of his acquaintance. You know I can shoot fast, and that is what I intend to do. No hesitation, just nock the arrows as fast as I can. Lady Dudmore informed us all that if we have fired our last arrow without being hit, we may step back. As I am going for speed, I will pick a target and stay on the target.”
Farber snorted. “I will guess the target is Lord Monroe.”
“Who else?”
“I reckon it’s as good a plan as any. Speaking of plans, is there a specific plan regarding Lady Beatrix? A man cannot marry until he asks.”
“First, I thank you for that sage observation,” Corbyn said drily. “Second, I will ask at the ball. Tonight is one-armed billiards and not particularly conducive.”
Farber put the last knot in the net. “Assuming this all holds together it ought to work.”