Chapter Twenty
Beatrix had gone into her mother and father’s room with the tray of food that had been delivered to her. They all examined their trays with various looks of confusion. It was not dinner…Beatrix was not sure what it was.
It was a range of canapés, stuffed mushrooms, pickled carrots, miniature meat pies, a selection of cheeses, cold ham, deviled eggs, rolls, butter, and a glass of hock.
It was plenty of food, it was just an odd combination of choices. They thought they’d better eat it, as they had no idea what, if anything, would be served at the ball.
Beatrix began with the cheddar. It was not as good as their renowned Copperstone Dairy cheddar, but it was still very good.
Then she noticed both her mother and father were looking at her intently. “What is it?” she asked.
“Well now, Bitsy,” the earl said, “I have not said much about the situation regarding Lord Chester.”
Indeed, he had not. Beatrix had imagined the matter closed. At least, her mother had seemed to understand it to be closed. Of course, she was certain he would not mean to scold her or say anything unpleasant about it. He only used “Bitsy” when he was showing fatherly affection.
“I do not like to say that I applauded the arrival of that actress to our musical evening with Lord Chester,” the earl said. “I was taken aback to say the least. But then I began to think it was for the best. I was not certain I cared for him, though I could not put my finger on it.”
“Perhaps it is all best forgotten,” the countess said. “I have spoken to Beatrix about it and she is not the least put out over it.”
This seemed to relieve her father a great deal. “Jolly good, I hoped as much,” he said. “Now I did wonder, that is, Harrelston seems to be hanging about.”
“Nothing has been said, Papa.”
“I should think not, as I would expect to be informed of such a development. But what if it is? What are your views?”
Beatrix was not certain how to answer. She knew what her very private views were, but was she meant to say them aloud? “Miss Sprite said we are never to have any views, or at least not speak them, until a gentleman asks.”
“I do not think Miss Sprite included us in that sweeping statement, though,” the countess said, examining a canapé.
That was probably true. Miss Sprite had also said that absolutely nothing must be hidden from a father and mother. Beatrix said, “I like him, I like him very much, and I hope he will ask. But I do not know if he will ask.”
The earl appeared satisfied with the answer. “I will not be unhappy about it, if it comes to it, fine man, Harrelston.”
He really was a fine man. A very, very fine man.
“All right, then,” the earl said, “let us make our way through this…I suppose this is a small dinner? Then we must go and view this nighttime regatta though blast if I know what we will be able to see in the dark. Then we must change into our ludicrous costumes. What keeps me going in all this is fondly remembering that on the morrow we will be on our way back to Town. By afternoon, we will be back in the calm regularity of a house run by Mr. Feldstaffer.”
And so, they did as the earl advised and made do with the very strange small dinners that had been sent to their rooms and took to trading items between them.
The earl favored the meat pies and ham, while Beatrix and the countess preferred the pickled carrots and deviled eggs.
They all agreed that the cheddar was not quite up to Copperstone Dairy standards.
It seemed in no time at all, Lydia arrived to get Beatrix and the countess dressed for the evening. Beatrix counted herself fortunate that Miss Sprite had packed a sable brown lightweight velvet gown for cool evenings. It was just the thing to go under her costume later.
They made their way down the stairs along with all the other guests filing out of the house. As they walked down the drive toward the water, it became more apparent how they were to see where they were going.
The path down to the lake was lined with torches.
It really was rather romantic looking. The flames lit up the night just as they did at home, when the torches lining the drive signaled everyone in the neighborhood that the Copperstone’s Christmas party had commenced.
She and Caroline used to watch out an upper window as the torches were lit and both carriages and people on foot came to enjoy the Copperstone largesse.
Down at the lake itself, there were torches lined up along the banks and behind the boats that would compete in the nighttime regatta.
As well, it was a full moon which helped quite a lot.
Beatrix could see the boats and the gentlemen moving round them and making their preparations.
She noted Lord Harrelston at his boat. She could not see his face, but she recognized his height and as he moved past one of the torches his dusky hair caught the light.
Lord Monroe was down there too, and she looked away when he waved in her direction.
Chairs had been brought down from the house for those who cared to sit. In the center of them all was an exceedingly large chair, which Beatrix was certain was meant for the queen.
Beatrix had no interest in sitting down. She found herself nervous for Lord Harrelston. She understood it was only a lake, not the endless ocean, but nevertheless, in the moonlight it seemed more menacing than it had during the day.
Was it deep? She did not know. If she allowed herself, she might wonder about creatures lurking in its depths.
She was not certain she’d ever recovered from Lynette Watson telling her about her trip to Lancashire and hearing about Jenny Greenteeth, an old hag with sharp teeth living in a lake.
Jenny Greenteeth would snatch a person underwater, and they would never be seen again.
It was even said that at night she would perch herself in a tree, ready to launch herself at a passerby and drag them into the lake. Again, never to be seen again.
Beatrix’s eyes drifted toward the upper branches of the surrounding trees. She knew perfectly well she was being ridiculous, but she would be glad when the regatta was over and Lord Harrelston was safe on dry land.
The gentlemen were meant to collect as many eggs as they could, though it seemed impossible to find even one.
The eggs had all been painted black and she could not see any of them.
She did not really care who collected the most eggs, or any eggs at all, she just hoped Lord Harrelston would be all right.
Then, the ball. A ridiculously costumed ball, but a ball nevertheless. She would dance with him, as long as he did not drown at the regatta.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Corbyn had slipped away from the line of gentlemen going down to the lake to retrieve his handmade net.
He continued on and threw it on his boat without anybody noticing.
At least, he did not think so. He had been tasked with a nighttime regatta to collect black-painted chicken eggs from the lake and that was exactly what he would do.
None of it mattered. All that mattered was what would come afterward. The forest ball. He had never anticipated proposing to a lady while dressed as a badger, but here he was. He did not care to delay any further.
Even if he had been inclined to wait, he would not have. Now that he knew Lord Chester was in the area and that someone had taken his snuff box and left it in what they supposed was Lady Beatrix’s room, he could not wait.
He was sure it was Lord Monroe. What he was not sure about was what Monroe and Chester might try next. He understood why Monroe was desperate, but why had Chester involved himself in whatever their plan was? Friendship? Anger at having his proposed match go up in flames?
Corbyn did not know, but he was not willing to wait around to find out.
The only question left in his mind was would she say yes? Would he leave on the morrow an engaged man?
It must be so. In the meantime, he hoisted his sails, ready to journey out to the dark lake in search of chicken eggs.
Lady Dudmore was to start them off. Corbyn could see the banks were now crowded with her guests. The torches flickered on faces. He knew Lady Beatrix would be there somewhere, but he could not make her out.
One of Lady Dudmore’s footmen picked up a torch and escorted her to the gentlemen at their boats.
“Sailors, the queen will light the large torch just there,” she said pointing to a torch in front of the spectators and just at water’s edge.
“That will be your signal to set off. Once you believe you have captured as many of the eggs as you can, you may sail back here and have your eggs counted. The gentleman with the most eggs wins, though I will tell you that any egg may prove to be a prize.”
Corbyn had no idea what the lady meant. He supposed there was one egg specially marked that would result in some sort of reward.
He did not much care. His goal was to scoop up as many as possible.
Rather than trying to see where the eggs were, which would be near impossible, he would just sail back and forth, dragging his net over the side, and see what he came up with.
It was as good a plan as any, he supposed.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Lord Chester had understood from his new drinking friend, Lucas, that Lady Dudmore did not mind the villagers coming to watch the regatta.
This was welcome news. He’d thought he’d be hiding in the wood to observe his handiwork. But there would be a crowd, and it was dark. He might walk among them without being recognized.
Lucas was one of the waiters at the inn and had helped him pass more than a few tedious hours over wine bottles.
The innkeeper did not seem to mind it. Lord Chester presumed that was because it kept him buying mediocre bottles of wine at inflated cost. As there had been long nights with nothing else to do, it had been pleasant to sit in front of the fire after most were long abed and talk to Lucas.