Chapter Eleven
“You’re here, you’re here!” Becks exclaimed, dancing about in front of the stable. Edmund could see why Lord Hentrose called her Cricket; she never took a step when a jump would do.
“Remember,” her father cautioned, rising from his seat on the bench next to the stable door, “be slow and smooth. Quick movements spook horses.”
Immediately Becks froze, then began stepping forward slower than a turtle. “I remember. Eddie and his mama won’t spook, though. Just the horses.”
Edmund grinned. “No, you’ve spooked me, too,” he commented, offering his hand to the marquis. “Good morning, Lord Hentrose.”
They shook hands like gentlemen did. “Good morning, Edmund, Iris.”
“Thank you for finding a riding habit for Mama. She’s excited to go riding, even though Aunt Lady Margaret says padded shoulders and big buttons fell out of style before I was born.”
“I don’t mind them at all,” Mama said with a grin, nudging him with her elbow. “I am not pushing Aunt Margaret about Bond Street, which makes the entire morning quite wonderful.”
“I think you look lovely, Mrs. Silbern. Have you seen Delilah Biscuits?” Becks took his mama’s hand and led her toward the stable door. “She’s so pretty.”
“Parsley’s bringing them out, Rebecca. We’ll wait here.”
“Oh, very well, Papa. She’s a bay. And her mane is very long. I helped brush it this morning.”
Edmund frowned at her. “Don’t ruin the surprise, Becks.”
“I’m not. I’m just saying her name and what color she is.”
A moment later Parsley and Will, one of the grooms, walked out the main doors of the stable.
Will had Dandelion Biscuits and Flintlock Biscuits, and the head groom led Charles Llewelyn Biscuits and the new mare, Delilah Biscuits.
Lord Hentrose had done a wonderful thing, and he didn’t even want Mama to know the mare was new.
It meant that she and Hentrose were friends. And that was a start.
“Eddie,” Becks whispered, taking hold of his arm to pull him around the side of the building.
She looked very serious, which wasn’t good. “What is it?”
“Masquerade wants to send me to boarding school,” she said, cupping her hands to whisper into his ear. “I told her Papa wasn’t the only one living in the house, and she said, ‘For now.’”
“Maybe she meant that when she married your papa, she’ll be living there, too,” he offered. “Did she say the words ‘boarding school’?”
“No. But she didn’t mean she would be there, too. She meant I wouldn’t be there. I’m sure of it. And when Brubbie saw me crying, I had to tell her why, so now she’s helping us with Papa and your mama.”
“You told? It was supposed to be a secret, Becks. Our secret.”
“I couldn’t help it. And Brubbie is on our side. I think Butler might be, as well, and George, too, but I haven’t asked them yet. Do you think they would join us?”
“They’re all your father’s employees. Don’t be daft. They’ll tell Lord Hentrose, and then we’d be sunk. Adults don’t like it when children meddle.”
“I know.” She sighed. “But Papa thinks we need Lady Pauline because she can teach me how to act in Society. She gives me the nightscares, Eddie.”
“You mean ‘nightmares.’”
“No. I’m awake, and I think about what might happen. That’s nightscares.”
That made sense. He’d had those, too, for the past few years.
“The Duke of Trent told Mama there was only one other lady still in his contest. I met his sons last night. They’re both nearly as old as Uncle Lord Harold.
And he has grandchildren. The oldest boy is Michael, Lord Howard, and he’s sixteen. He said I was simpleminded.”
Becks wrinkled her nose. “That’s not at all nice.”
“He also said that since Lord Elmond is Trent’s oldest, and he was Elmond’s oldest, that he would inherit everything one day, and when he became the Duke of Trent, or even when he reached his majority and took control of his viscountcy, he would see to it personally that I would never have as much as a shilling because no simpleminded farm boy was ever going to become a Howard. ”
“But you’re not a farm boy. You only lived in Shropshire. And Trent said you would have some money and could be a soldier or a landowner if you wanted to.”
“Yes, but Trent is ancient. He probably only has another six months to live. And then Elmond will become Trent, and Michael will become Lord Elmond, and I’ll still be … Edmund. Not even close to being old enough to purchase a commission in the army, or a boardinghouse for mama to run.”
“This is why we need help,” Becks insisted. “Papa and your mama would just pat us on the heads and tell us to go play, and they’d never believe us even if we could tell them.”
“Cricket, are we going riding this morning?” Lord Hentrose called.
“Yes!” she yelled, grabbing Edmund’s hand. “Come on. But we need more help. Think about it.”
If he didn’t agree to that at least, she would pester him all morning. “I’ll think about it.”
They came back around the corner to see Lord Hentrose lifting his mother into the sidesaddle.
She smiled again, her cheeks turning pink when he said something to her that Edmund couldn’t hear.
That was good, but with everyone about to propose, they needed to fall in love and do it quickly.
Perhaps Becks was right, and they could use some additional assistance.
“You’re next, Cricket,” the marquis said.
She pranced over to Dandelion, and Edmund could see the moment she remembered she was supposed to be slow and smooth, because she stopped so quickly she nearly fell over her own skirts.
Tiptoeing, she continued over to the small chestnut mare and lifted her arms so her papa could put her in the sidesaddle.
“Edmund?”
“Would you just give me a boost, my lord?” Edmund asked, walking up to take hold of Flintlock’s pommel with one hand. “I can get on myself.”
“Certainly.” Crouching, Lord Hentrose cupped his hands, and Edmund stepped into them.
The marquis gave a slight lift, and hardly daring to breathe, Edmund swung one leg over and settled into the saddle.
He’d done it, just the same way he’d seen Lord Hentrose mount Charlie.
Even if he’d wanted to hide his grin, he wouldn’t have been able to do it.
“Well done, Pickle,” his mother whispered, guiding Delilah over beside him.
“I’ve been practicing on the hallway table.”
She pursed her lips. “Let’s not tell Aunt and Uncle that.”
“I’m not daft.”
A minute later Parsley appeared again, mounted on a chestnut gelding named Arthur the grooms used when they were running errands or escorting the marquis.
Edmund didn’t know if Arthur was a Biscuits or not.
He assumed so, since all the other horses were Biscuits.
He liked that. To be in the Biscuits family, all you had to do was be at Raines House.
If he spent the night, maybe he could be a Biscuits, too. And Mama, as well.
“We look magnificent, Eddie,” Becks said, as she and Dandelion started off at a walk beside him. “I hope everyone sees us.”
“You’re right about getting some help, Becks. We should talk to Mrs. Brubbins, and to Butler and George, and to Bradley, if they think he’ll help. And to Mrs. Alliday, so we’ll know when Masquerade changes the menu without asking anyone.”
“Yes. And we’ll use faux names for everyone, so we’re the only ones who know what’s afoot, even if someone else overhears us. I think we should call Papa the Major.”
“Why? He’s not in the army.”
“Because he’s not in the army. They’re not supposed to know who we’re talking about, remember?”
That did make a certain amount of sense, in a nine-year-old female sort of way. Edmund nodded. “Mama should be the Mongoose, then. She’s very fierce.”
“Yes, she is.” Becks nodded. “Grandmama’s helping Masquerade, so we need a name for her, too.”
“Bony?” he suggested. “She’s very thin.”
“No, that sounds like Bonaparte, and she’s not French.” Becks wrinkled her nose. “She has cats. Papa says she prefers them to people. How about Whiskers?”
“That’s good. Can we call the Duke of Trent something like Old Moldy?”
Giggling, she nodded. “That’s perfect. What about your great-aunt and-uncle?”
“Mutton for Uncle Lord Harold,” he said, because that man liked his mutton. “I would say Wheels for Aunt Lady Margaret, but everyone will know who that is.”
“Something with an M.”
He considered that for a moment. “Maudlin? No. Meddler? She’s the one who threw Mama at Trent.”
“She might guess that one.”
He thought for a moment. “She likes to drink Madeira.”
Becks clapped. “Perfect! Madeira.”
Edmund nodded. “Madame Masquerade, Ma—”
“Not ‘madame.’ It’s too specific. Just Masquerade.”
Looking over at Becks, he nodded. “You’re good at this.”
“Thank you. Sometimes I fill whole imaginary castles with imaginary people.”
“Masquerade, and Major, Mongoose, Old Moldy, Mutton, Madeira, and … Oh, and Whiskers. It’s not an M like the others.”
“If we called her Meow she might figure it out.” Becks shrugged. “Whiskers could be a man with a beard. She’ll never guess it’s her.”
Laughing, Edmund leaned forward to pat Flintlock on the neck. “We have our secret names, then. Now all we need is a plan.”
“We’re in the plan right now. Look at them.” Becks gestured ahead of them. Her papa and Mama were chatting, and he was making a motion of tilting a bottle up while she laughed.
Edmund grinned. Bonaparte’s farts. It was working.
“You ride well,” Beckett noted, giving Iris an appraising look.
“I used to ride all the time, a lifetime ago.” Perhaps longer ago than that.
“I’m sorry you had to stop.”
Iris narrowed her eyes at him. Edmund would say her feathers were getting ruffled, but in the grand scheme of things this was barely a puff of air. “I’m not looking for pity, Beckett. Riding is great fun, but it isn’t food, or a roof over my head. It’s a luxury.”
“There’s a difference between pitying someone and sympathizing with them. As someone who enjoys riding myself, I’d give it up if I had to, but I wouldn’t particularly like doing so.”