Chapter 17 #2
“I was assuring myself that your impromptu dip in the lake had no lasting ill effects. Good day, Annette.”
Coraline stopped a few feet from the table, raised both hands, and clapped gently.
“Cousin Bernard, none the worse for your ordeal, apparently. You must sit with us at supper—another buffet—and tell us how you’re finding your first outings in Mayfair.
I understand Sorcha dragged you to the Moreland musicale.
An excellent affair, if a bit tedious for those not musically inclined. ”
Bernard rose and bowed. “Madam, I have been assuring myself that Annette is also none the worse for her mishap. I regret to report that my evening meal is already spoken for. I don’t suppose either of you has seen my brother recently?”
Coraline’s smile became a bit feline. “Richard is making a pest of himself to Sorcha. She is inexplicably tolerant where he is concerned, though I do apologize for my jaundiced view of the man. That you have a connection to him is no fault of yours.”
Annette sat mutely, staring at her empty tea cup.
“I am not yet well acquainted with my brother,” Bernard said, “but I both like and respect the man based on what I have learned of him. If we are to be eternally judged for the mis-steps we make early in life, few of us would merit much esteem.”
For that brief homily, he did not chastise himself even a little.
“I sought the company of the broodmares,” Richard said, “but had to revise my destination when I saw the ladies already had callers. Were you and Huxley arguing?”
Sorcha nearly pitched him into the lake for that question, not because Richard deserved a second dunking, but because the day had gone from all wrong to hopeless and then to...
Brokenhearted. That’s what Eglantine would have called the heavy, despairing feeling in Sorcha’s chest.
“A gentleman never argues with a lady, Richard, and Bernard is the most honorable gentleman I have ever met.”
Sorcha had consented to this stroll around the lake because sitting still was beyond her, and Richard had offered. Why must he look so much like Bernard?
Ten yards ahead, the children were engaged in some sort of skipping competition. Skip ten steps, walk ten steps, then skip with the other foot in the lead, as if they were cantering horses.
“Huxley will argue with you if the matter at issue is serious enough. He nearly capsized our little boat when I attempted to twit him. He’s not the twit-able sort, and I must say, I like that about him.”
Bernard was the sort to make his points with imaginary dragons, real evidence, and the most luscious kisses…
No more of that for you, lassie.
“Annette has apparently been bullying Jordy,” Sorcha said.
“Jordy confided the particulars to Bernard, and Bernard is ready to launch the Battle of the Nations to see the matter resolved. He proposes to undertake this… this… campaign for truth and justice when every gossip in Town is watching his smallest move, and Coraline is making the opening maneuvers in her own battle to see Annette married to a prince.”
The skipping competition shifted to a backward-walking race.
“Annette is a minx in the making. Somebody needs to put the fear of scandal in her, or she’ll end up married to a shepherd on some Scottish island. She’s too immature to be grateful for even a shepherd’s devotion.”
“The Western Isles are beautiful.” Were the Antipodes beautiful? “I am not stupid, Richard.” Muddled, yes. Sad, upset, and frustrated, but not stupid. Then too, stupid and pigheaded were very different propositions.
“I think you are very bright, but also tired. The Dolforths are exhausting, though they are relatively few in number. They bring with them the eyes and ears of half of Society, and not the nicer half.”
“You are a Dolforth.” Sorcha was a Dolforth, though only by virtue of a marriage long over.
“I changed my name to Dolforth by deed poll when I attained my majority. Please recall that I was a Wolfinger for the whole of my minority. How did you leave it with Huxley?”
“He wants me to take the children north for a repairing lease, but Chanderton will never allow that, and then Lilly will get her oar in, and Coraline will start showering me with advice, and I have had enough of being told what to do, Richard. More than enough.”
The backward-walking game had ended, and the children were trooping along. Bridget looked about five minutes away from asking for a piggyback ride.
“Was Huxley telling you what to do, then? Raising his voice, threatening, sneering?”
“Bernard is not Barclay. I know that.”
“Let’s skip some rocks.”
I do not want to skip any rubbishing rocks. “Jordy! Bridget! Cousin Richard says he can make a rock skip five times!”
The children came gamboling back, and Richard set them to collecting a hoard of perfect skippers.
“Bernard is not Barclay,” Richard said quietly, “and you are not stupid. Has it occurred to you that Annette might not be the only threat your children face?”
“Yes, it has. They might face the threat of being separated from their mother, for example. They might face the threat of harsh tutors, nasty governesses, and hours of copying Proverbs until my children come to resemble imps of Old Scratch because they have taken Scripture into such dislike. They might face cold porridge and days without sunshine, birchings without number, all the prescribed ingredients for a successful childhood among the English aristocracy.”
Richard picked up a perfectly smooth, round, flat rock.
“Barclay is dead, Sorcha. If you are not careful, you will become as rigid, opinionated, and thick-witted as he was. You owe Huxley a fair hearing. Keep to your present high dudgeon of maternal ire, and ten years on, you will be praying that Coraline doesn’t sabotage Bridget’s come out.
Let Annette and whatever accomplices she has treat Jordy poorly now, and you are inviting them to strike again.
I find it interesting that Huxley, who was raised with every advantage, should understand the schoolyard realities encountered by the realm’s friendless bastards. ”
He handed her the rock and bent to admire another near-perfect specimen Jordy had found. This necessitated an assessment of Bridget’s assembled arsenal and some practice throws.
When Sorcha took her shot, the rock bounced six times before disappearing into the depths of the lake.
“Well done, Mama!” Jordy crowed. “Mama is the best skipper!”
“I’m going to grow up to be a champion skipper like Mama,” Bridget said, tossing her rocks one by one into the water. “C’mon, Jordy. I’ll race you to the stump.”
“Such energy,” Richard said, once again falling in step beside Sorcha. “Are you wroth with me for taking Huxley’s part?”
“A little. I suspect I am also angry with myself. I am most assuredly angry with Annette.”
“Good. I don’t truly blame Annette for being such a brat.
Coraline sets impossible expectations on the girl, and Tallister does nothing to curb his wife’s ambitions.
Chanderton keeps a shuddering distance, and Lilly abides by Chanderton’s wishes.
She could get the old boy to lend a hand, but she’s too busy pouring his tea and handing him his spectacles. ”
“Barclay threatened me with an asylum, Richard. He raised his hand to me a few times as well. You criticize Lilly to me at your peril. She is managing as well as she can, and I will not participate in the gratuitous character assassination society finds so amusing.”
They walked along in silence while the children panted their way back from the stump.
“I’m sorry, Sorcha. I knew Barclay was tiresome. I hadn’t realized he was awful.”
“I didn’t want anybody to realize. I didn’t want to admit it to myself. He was awful.”
“And you were stuck in a purgatory not of your own making. At least when I was sent off to Lisbon, I knew I’d landed myself there.
I daresay you’ve consigned Huxley to something like a personal purgatory, and you, my dear, aren’t looking any too cheerful either.
Are we about to be importuned for piggyback rides? ”
Will this rubbishing day never end? “They are getting too old for that. We’ll walk slowly and take our time, but Jordy has had enough piggyback rides for one day, and I am honestly not up to carrying Bridget all the way back to the house.”
Much whingeing and wheedling ensued, but Sorcha stood firm, and Richard supported her decision. They walked slowly. They sat on benches along the way. They paused to look for clovers, but the children returned to the house on their own tired feet.
“Will we see you at supper?” Sorcha asked when Richard would have parted from them on the back terrace.
“You well might, but I’m off early tomorrow. Some fellow named St. Didier has begged the favor of a call upon me. His note said Bernard would vouch for him, but no details. One is intrigued, and off to Town at first light.”
“I know Leopold St. Didier. He’s received everywhere. His family held a title that reverted to the crown a generation or two back. He has means and standing on his own merits.”
“Then he’s not inviting me to go adventuring in foreign climes, and he’s not a competitor looking to pay me a fortune for my business. Life is a series of disappointments. If I don’t see you at supper, sweet dreams.”
He bowed and strutted off, and even his walk put Sorcha in mind of Bernard.
Sorcha did not anticipate sweet dreams. She anticipated a night of troubled sleep in a solitary bed, if she slept at all.