Elmwood
First, he had to make it up all the stairs. He climbed them slowly, reflecting that if he weren’t planning to die of atrophy, he might well have put a bed in his study for times when he wasn’t up to this.
He hadn’t even made it halfway up the staircase before Lady Isobel came sprinting down toward him, coming to an abrupt halt when she reached him and clutching at his sleeve.
“Erol! You look…” She trailed off, clearly distressed by his appearance.
He gently pried her fingers off his arm.
“I am unwell, Lady Isobel. Please allow me to retire.”
“Unwell? Oh, darling, you didn’t find your dog, then?”
“No.” She was still blocking his way. “Please, Lady Isobel, I beg you. If I do not make my way to my bed forthwith, I will instead collapse right here upon the stairs.”
Her eyes darted down to his leg.
“Of course; you poor, poor darling. How much you must suffer! Shall I try to fetch your steward to help you?”
The heat of embarrassment crawled up his neck. Lady Croft, he thought, for no apparent reason, had always been very considerate of his hip, and yet he had never felt ashamed of her accommodations.
“No, thank you. All I require is that you move out of the way,” he ground out.
Her face fell, and he was sorry for it but also angry that she was there at all, blocking his way and pitying him. Why did he have to be such a wretch? But she did, thankfully, step to the side.
He barely even cared that she stood there watching him as he continued his slow climb.
Then she called after him, “Oh, darling, I almost forgot. While you were out, Lady Croft came by and invited us all to dine at Croftholde tonight. Was that not the picture of neighborly kindness? I accepted, of course.”
He groaned before he could stop himself.
Lady Isobel quite misunderstood the reason for it. “You still have plenty of time for a rest, my darling, before her carriage comes to fetch us. I think a proper meal will be just the thing to restore your spirits!”
Elmwood saw no point in informing her that his spirits were beyond restoration.
Without further ado, he took himself to bed.
Sometime later, there was a knocking. Elmwood rolled over, wishing that dying of atrophy happened faster.
“I’m coming in,” called Winthrop through the door. He tried it, found it locked, and cursed. “Blast it all, Elmwood, open the door.”
Elmwood ignored him. Winthrop muttered and cajoled a bit and then went away.
Unfortunately, a few minutes later, the door into the servant’s corridor, which stupidly had no lock, opened, and Winthrop barged into the room.
Elmwood didn’t sit up.
“Are you ill?” said Winthrop.
Elmwood glanced at him then. He was dressed for dinner in a splendid blue suit.
“Yes,” said Elmwood. “Go away.”
“I’m not vexed with you for losing the dog, Elmwood.”
That made a little flare of anger perk up in the atrophy, which was most annoying.
“I should hope not, seeing as I was doing a fine job of taking care of him until…” He trailed off. It was no use; he couldn’t berate Winthrop.
“You must not blame Lady Isobel, either, as it was an honest mistake, and she is quite distraught. Indeed, I think you ought to get up and reassure her that everything is well.”
“Everything is not well, Win.”
“Don’t fret about it, Elmwood. Perhaps the dog will come back on his own, and if not, well, I will procure another badger hound and no one will ever know the difference.”
“I would most certainly know the difference,” said Elmwood.
Winthrop loomed over him, his brow crinkled with concern.
“You really are ill, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am. Please go away.”
Winthrop started rummaging in the wardrobe.
“I can’t do that. With Rollo missing, your marriage to Lady Isobel is more important than ever. As reluctant as I am for us to have any further dealings with Lady Croft, Lady Isobel is quite desperate for this dinner at Croftholde, and what Lady Isobel wants, you shall give her!”
“You may go dine at Croftholde if you wish, but there is absolutely nothing that can persuade me to join you. I intend to remain in this bed for the foreseeable future.” He meant it.
Let Lady Isobel see that he was not worth having.
Let her aunt turn him over to the authorities. Let it all come crumbling down.
A brocade coat that must have belonged to his great-grandfather landed heavily on his chest, and Winthrop’s face reappeared above him.
“Listen to me, Elmwood. You are very dear to my heart, and I am willing to put up with an awful lot of your horseshit for the sake of our friendship, but I am weary to the bone of trying to convince you to do the bare minimum necessary to save your own skin. I swear that if you do not get your wretched corpse out of bed, get cleaned up, and make your best effort at being a delightful fucking fiancé at this dinner tonight, I am going to catch a coach first thing tomorrow and take it right to Neck and turn myself in for aiding in your escape.”
Elmwood sat up without meaning to.
“You wouldn’t. They would disbar you. And charge you, most likely! You’re clearly bluffing.”
Winthrop sniffed.
“It’s possible, but are you willing to take that risk?”
It was insufferable but effective. Elmwood looked at the brocade coat in his lap despondently.
“Fine. I will go to dinner. But I’m not wearing this.”
“I don’t care what you wear.”
“I’m not going to talk to anyone but you.”
“I don’t mind if you avoid talking to Lady Croft, if at all possible. I intend to do the same, as she is madder than a broody hen on eggs.”
Elmwood frowned at that.
“I rather agree, but I don’t know why you should think so.”
“Never mind Lady Croft. What I mean to say is that you must use this dinner as an opportunity to woo Lady Isobel. You know I love you, but you are not such a prize that you can continue to treat her with disdain and avoidance and hope to retain her affections.”
“I thought you said she was obligated to marry me after running all over Neck saying we were engaged,” said Elmwood, trying to get up and then sliding back onto the bed with a pained hiss.
“Well, to be completely honest, I may have exaggerated the situation ever so slightly in the interest of getting you to cooperate.”
“Win.”
“She wasn’t quite as loose-lipped about your engagement as I implied.”
“Implied? You did not imply! You stated outright!”
“You weren’t going to give her a chance without a little push! You know that sometimes you make it necessary for me to save you from yourself.”
That was certainly true, if deeply annoying.
“So I don’t need to marry her to save her reputation?”
“No, but you do need to marry her to save your own stupid neck! So buck up, get dressed in something decent, and try to show the lady a nice time!” Winthrop, although altogether elegant, was sweating a bit at the temples and looking desperate.
He really didn’t deserve the trouble Elmwood put him through.
“I suppose I can do my best to be pleasant.”
Winthrop clapped him on the shoulder, instantly revitalized.
“That is all I ask. I’m sure it will do the trick.”
Elmwood had attended several deeply uncomfortable meals in his time.
For instance: the officers’ dinner he had been invited to some three weeks after joining up.
Over canapés, he discovered the handsome dragoon he’d been dallying with in the woods behind the training encampment was, in fact, the lieutenant general’s longtime paramour.
He’d barely escaped having to duel the lieutenant general between the fish course and the entrée.
Even more awkward had been the time his father roped him into hosting a charity luncheon that was raising funds to pay for the “uplifting” of the denizens of the House of Fallen Unfortunates.
He’d gone to said House to meet its Fallen Unfortunates the night prior to the event, thinking to collect some truly moving material for his speech.
Instead, he picked up a new trick to do with his tongue and a truly epic migraine that made him late for the luncheon, where he vomited into a marble urn in full sight of all the wealthy benefactors he was meant to impress.
There was also, of course, the first dinner he’d attended at Croftholde, which would no doubt go down in history as the summit of his personal capacity for humiliation.
Though he imagined a second dinner at Croftholde had the potential to top it.
Lady Croft’s sister, Han, came in a little carriage to pick them all up, as promised.
Elmwood had been struck by Han’s appearance when she pulled up.
Like her sister, she was tall, but she was all angles where her sister was curves.
Her hair was cut much shorter than Elmwood’s own, except for on the top, where it flopped into a jaunty sort of swoop.
She wore breeches and a waistcoat, which was intriguing, but seemed both taciturn and solemn, which was not to Elmwood’s taste.
Also, given the way she had gaped at Lady Isobel as she emerged from the house, he suspected he was not at all to her taste, either.
There was also a strange exchange to consider.
Han had helped the ladies up into the carriage, rather stiffly but competently, and then offered a hand to Elmwood.
He took it gratefully and was enormously shocked when a Charm thrill shot up his arm.
Han yanked her hand away, almost sending him tumbling over, and then marched around to the front to drive as if nothing had happened.
So, Lady Croft’s sister had a Charm. It was not surprising that Lady Croft would be secretive about it on her sister’s behalf, but he recalled that she had said that she knew no other Charmers, let alone that she had lived with one her entire life.
Perhaps he ought to assume that she had lied to him, but he found it difficult to believe her capable of such a deception.