Chapter Seven
“A duke?” Becks lifted her eyebrows as she walked Dandelion Biscuits in a circle around the stable yard.
Behind her with Flintlock Biscuits, Edmund nodded. “An old one. I only got to see him out the music room window as he was leaving. He had a cane. He looked like a walking skeleton, almost.”
“A duke is important, though. Papa is a marquis, and even he has to bow to a duke.”
“It’s not about bowing, Becks. This morning Tollins told me that Trent has two sons, and that one of them, a marquis, is more than twenty years older than Mama. He has a daughter older than Mama. All of Trent’s grandchildren are older than we are.”
“Watch Dandelion’s ears, Lady Becks,” Mr. Parsley said from his perch by the stable door. “They let you know if she’s listening to you, or to the mouse rustling in the hedgerow. A horse likes to be startled. It gives them an excuse to show how fast they can run.”
Nodding, Becks turned so she was walking backward, her gaze on her pony’s head. “I’m watching them,” she called, “but now I can’t watch where I’m going.”
“Shorten your lead and walk closer to her so you can keep her in the corner of one eye, and the road ahead in the other. It’s easier to watch when you’re riding her.”
“Then shouldn’t I be riding her?”
“Your papa and I agree that you two need to get accustomed to your ponies first. Figure out what spooks ’em, what they like, and how they walk.”
“I think they just needed exercise, and you tricked us into doing it,” Edmund contributed.
The Raines House head groom grinned. “Could be a bit of that, aye. But you can’t ride without saddles, and Lord Hentrose is fetching those for you today after Parliament meets. That makes today about walking and grooming and getting acquainted.”
They continued around the circle, reaching the point farthest from the stable. “Your mama isn’t going to marry the duke, then, is she? A skeleton? What if he wanders the halls at night? That would be terrifying.”
Edmund couldn’t hide his frown. “I told her that it was silly and we didn’t need anybody else, but she said if she married him, I would be able to go to Cambridge and Oxford and be whatever I wished.”
“Well, what do you wish to be?”
“I’m not certain. For a time I wanted to be a blacksmith, but then I saw what my uncle did when he took our house away just because he wanted to, and I think I might want to be a solicitor.”
“That’s a good idea. I’m going to be a portraitist. A celebrated one.”
“Don’t be silly. That’s being employed by people. You’re a marquis’s daughter. It’s only daughters of shopkeepers and farmers who work.”
Her lower lip stuck out. “Don’t say that. That’s what she said.”
Lucifer’s balls. “You mean Lady Pauline? She said you aren’t allowed to paint?”
“She said I have to learn from the masters first, and study abroad. But being a portraitist isn’t work. It’s art. A lady can do art.”
“I saw those birds you painted. You’re good at art. I’d wager Lady Pauline couldn’t do as well.”
“She’d only use the colors that the birds really are. That’s dull. I don’t like her at all, Eddie.”
“I don’t like her either. She was mean to you. But I’ve been thinking about that. Why would you hurt someone when you don’t need to do it?” he asked, glancing toward the groom.
Becks stopped, Dandelion shuffling up and nudging her in the shoulder.
Edmund thought the chestnut mare liked her new mistress, and he thought Flintlock liked him because the gray already took apples right out of his hand.
He’d actually forgotten they would both need saddles to ride; all he’d thought about was that now he had a horse.
A pony, really, but he liked that Flintlock was small enough that he wouldn’t get hurt if he fell off while he was learning.
“I think she wants me to be mad at her,” Becks whispered, moving closer to him. “I know she’s going to say secret mean things to me all the time so I’ll do something horrid like kick or throw mud at her, and then I’ll be sent away.”
“That makes sense, Becks. Then it would just be her and your papa. I don’t like even the idea of Mama marrying the Duke of Trent, but if I say anything she’ll say I don’t want to share. Adults only listen to us because they think we’re amusing and silly.”
“I’ve been thinking about it. If Lady Pauline was telling the truth when she said that only a wife would make Papa happier, then I suppose he should get married, but only to someone nice.
And you don’t want a papa, but if a husband would make your mama happier and see that you can go to university, don’t you want one who’s nice and helps you learn to ride and doesn’t look like an old skeleton? ”
Her words tickled something at the back of his mind. He only knew one man who was nice and was helping him learn to ride. “Say what you’re thinking.”
“My papa isn’t a skeleton. And he would make certain no one could take away our house. Because I would be your sister, and he wants me to be comfortable and safe. Just like if your mama was my mama, she wouldn’t be mean to me and say nasty things when nobody else was around to hear it.”
“You mean…” He shut his mouth again, staring hard at her as something in his chest fluttered. Something that felt like hope. “You mean your papa should marry my mama?” he asked, very slowly.
She nodded.
“That’s … How would we convince them?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Eddie. You’re older than I am. Don’t you have any ideas? I can’t think of everything.”
He blew out his breath. Yes, he was older, by one year, but he’d only just discovered that their parents should marry each other, and he hadn’t had any time to think of anything.
“They do seem to get along,” he mused, following Becks with Flintlock.
“We need them to notice that first, I think. So we have to make certain they spend more time together.”
“If that’s all we need, it’s easy. Papa knows I want to see London. I’ll just tell him where I want to go, say I want you to go, as well, and then you tell your mama you want her to come with you.”
“And you think that will be enough to make them want to get married?”
“It’s the beginning of a plan. But we can’t let them know what we’re doing.”
“Definitely not. Adults are very thickheaded about changing their minds.” He caught up to Becks, walking beside her while their ponies bumped each other.
So many things had happened over the past four years.
Most of them had been bad. Meeting Becks and Lord Hentrose, though—that had been good.
Fun. And warm, like a big hug. “I think we should try it,” Edmund decided. “You’d be a good sister.”
She grinned. “I didn’t think I would want a brother, but I do know I’d be sad if we couldn’t spend any more time together. And you like horses and painting, and you don’t think girls are silly.”
Sometimes girls were silly, but he knew some silly boys, too. And he definitely liked having someone close by with whom he could play and talk. Becks was a good listener, and she didn’t talk about hair ribbons and dresses all the time. “Then we should start tomorrow.”
“Good. I’m going to ask Papa to take me to see Madame Tussaud’s traveling exhibition.”
That didn’t sound very interesting. “What is she exhibiting? I don’t want to go look at gowns or hats.”
“No, she makes wax people. She has a Bonaparte and a Wellington, a Mozart, and a President Washington. And more than that, but I can’t remember them all.”
“That’s much better than dresses. I’d like to see Bonaparte. Everyone says he’s short. I agree, then. You let me know if your papa says we’re going, and I’ll get Mama to go with us.”
Nodding, Becks bounced on her toes. “I like your mama. She’s fierce. And she’s so much better than Lady Pauline.”
Her excitement made him feel hopeful, but hope could be tricky. “This is a good plan. But failing means you’ll have an almost-murderess for a stepmother, and I could end up with a skeleton duke for a stepfather.”
“I don’t even want to think about that. We have to make them see that they like each other, and make them think about romance. And I’ve read enough books to know that adults are always thinking about romance. You’ll see.”
“Aunt Margaret, I would prefer not to attend,” Iris said, yanking her gloves up over her wrists. “Wouldn’t it be more impressive to have Gerald in his full livery standing behind you?”
Lady Margaret looked over at the footman just as he covered his grimace with a blank glance at the floor.
“Nonsense,” she said. “You’re in a competition to be a duchess now.
Even if Trent isn’t in attendance, people he knows will be.
And they will report how you conducted yourself and how well you showed. ”
“So I’m to be fluttery and … useless, and that will improve my odds of being chosen for a contest you foisted on me?”
“I didn’t foist it on you, dear. I’m helping. And even if the duke rejects you, tonight you could well catch the eye of some other eligible gentleman. Collect your wrap and let’s be off.”
“Indeed,” Uncle Harold contributed, handing his half-empty glass over to Tollins. “The earlier we arrive, the earlier we can leave.”
The idea of a short evening was some solace, Iris supposed.
And attending didn’t mean she was obligated to dance.
Nor did it mean she would be obligated to accept Trent’s absurd suit if he offered it.
But it did make sense to keep her foot in the door so it didn’t slam in her face before she had time to consider it.
As they walked out to the front drive, she spied Hentrose’s coach with its blue-and-yellow falcon-eating bear in front of the next-door entrance, and she nearly tripped over her own feet.
Blast it. Simply because two mature individuals had had too much to drink and shared a kiss didn’t mean anything—other than perhaps the fact that there were moments they felt … lonely, she supposed.