Chapter Thirteen #2
And thinking about any of it only made it worse.
Scowling, he picked up the newspaper. More taxation controversy, another outlandish party hosted by Prince George had ruffled feathers and would end up with Parliament voting to pay the Regent’s outstanding bills again, and in the gossip pages a Lord F—had been seen escorting a lady not his wife to the theater; a Lady J—had allowed her ankles to be seen by all and sundry when she stepped too enthusiastically into a coach; one Mrs. S—had been seen wheeling her ill aunt about Town with such vigor that bystanders began to fear for the older lady’s safety, especially in light of Mrs. S—’s reported temper and penchant for violence; and a Lord H—had been seen dining with a certain duke and duchess and their granddaughter, making a long-awaited proposal imminent.
“My lord,” Butler said from the doorway, “is something amiss?”
Beckett uncurled his fingers from the wrecked crumple of the newspaper. “Yes. Someone has just shoved me into church.”
Damn it all, he couldn’t even pretend that he’d had a choice, a say, in any of it.
Had he ever? Had his mother orchestrated all of this, moving all the chess pieces on the board and allowing him to think that he’d been the one in charge?
It had taken nearly ten years, but she’d finally figured out how to get what she wanted.
“Is there something I might do to assist you, my lord?” the butler asked.
“Not unless you can give me back the past two days or produce a spare horse from one of your pockets,” he commented, slamming the newspaper down and rising.
“Otherwise, I will be next door at Grove House.” No need for courting if they’d already jumped to the part where all they needed was a date to meet at the church.
And given a choice, he would rather chat with Iris.
“Very good, my lord. I’m afraid I have no horses. I might be able to scare up a cat, if you give me a moment.”
Butler had just made a jest. Beckett eyed him. “I see you’ve gone mad as well. At least I’ll have company at Bedlam.”
“Yes, my lord. I imagine we may all end up there.”
“I don’t know if he’s going to join us or not,” Rebecca said, sitting on her dressing chair to pull on her shoes.
“I shouldn’t have been so angry with him, but I’m certain that with the four of us going riding he was nearly about to fall in love with the Mongoose.
But now Masquerade has Delilah, and I don’t want to go riding with her. ”
Mrs. Brubbins nodded. “I understand. But you need to realize that your father has chosen the woman he wants to marry.”
Rebecca made a face. “I know. And he said that having her be in a family with us would make him happy. If he decides to remain a widower because of me, then it’s my fault he stays miserable. I do make things difficult for him, sometimes.”
When Mrs. Brubbins joined her at the door, Rebecca pulled it open and they walked together to the top of the stairs. “Could you begin again with Lady Pauline? A fresh start?”
“No. I’m only nine. And she’s the one who began it.”
The question did make her wonder all over again if she was just being selfish.
But she didn’t want to think about all the wicked whisperings that would happen if Papa married Pauline.
Things about how she’d ruined her papa’s happiness and how much better off the Raineses would be if he made a son with Pauline and the older daughter, her, just …
went away. Because it felt like it could happen, that Lady Pauline could find a way to make it happen, and even to make it seem reasonable.
Eddie’s troubles were different, but the Duke of Trent was too old for anyone to marry, his family was very mean, and they claimed the only reason Mrs. Silbern wanted to marry the duke was to get money and have pretty things for herself.
But Rebecca knew, just like Eddie did, that it was for him.
Because Eddie wanted to be a soldier, or a solicitor, or perhaps an architect, and this was the only way his mama could make certain he had the chance.
“My lord,” Mrs. Brubbins said, when they were halfway down the stairs, and Rebecca looked up.
Her papa stood in the foyer looking at the huge pile of invitations that had arrived during the morning.
Setting them aside, he nodded. “Rebecca. Mrs. Brubbins. I thought I might join you and see this Mr. Fredericks for myself. I half think Edmund might have made him up after eating too many sweets one evening.”
Rebecca hid her smile. It was tricky, being frustrated with someone but still needing them to follow the plan. But she’d managed it, thank goodness. A morning at Grove House, where Papa could see Mrs. Silbern again and fall in love with her before it was too late and he proposed to the wrong woman.
Yesterday had been going smashingly until the horse theft.
Her papa liked smart, witty people, and while Mrs. Silbern was fierce, she was also very witty.
And she was pretty, and she didn’t mind holding Rebecca’s hand when there were wax heads with red-painted blood on them, or sharing her lemon ice to see if someone liked it better than the strawberry one.
They’d all laughed and chatted, and her papa had been smiling.
He did smile, but mostly when she was being silly for him.
This time, he just seemed happy. And she liked that. Very much.
“I want to know if Mr. Fredericks is imaginary, too,” she said, “but I’ve been practicing my rhyming, just on the chance he’s real.”
Tollins opened the Grove House door for them, then led them upstairs, down a hallway, and into a corner room that looked like it had been used for storing paintings, because there were dozens of them stacked all along the wall opposite the window.
A table and two chairs had been put into the middle of the room, with another chair full of books and a chalkboard leaning against it.
This was Edmund’s schoolroom. It wasn’t as fine or as well-supplied as her own, but she knew Edmund and Mrs. Silbern had just lost the home where he’d been born and most of their things to his evil uncle. Perhaps she and Brubbie needed to bring him some extra paper and pencils and things.
“Where’s Eddie?” she asked, looking at the butler.
“He’ll be along in a moment, my lady. And the footmen are fetching extra chairs.”
When he left the room, she looked from her papa to Brubbie. “We need to give them some things for Eddie’s schoolroom,” she whispered.
Her father nodded. “You and Mrs. Brubbins take stock of what’s needed, and we’ll see to it.”
“Thank you,” she breathed, stepping forward as Eddie galloped to the doorway, the bottom of a chair resting on the top of his head as he carried the seat into the room.
“I thought you’d gone out digging in the garden again,” she said with a grin, helping him lower the chair and set it to one side of the room.
“I wanted to get in here ahead of Mr. Fredericks,” he said. “He heard Lord Hentrose is here, and he’s run back downstairs to change into something fancier. He really isn’t a bad sort, despite being mad.”
“He will hear no criticisms from me,” her papa said with a nod.
Her papa wasn’t a bad sort either, even if he had lost Delilah to Lady Pauline and thought that Masquerade would make him happier than Mrs. Silbern. But pretending to be mad at him at least made him listen to her more. “Do I get to sit at the table with you?” she asked Eddie.
“If you’re certain you want to have a lesson. I think you’re barmy for being here when you don’t have to.”
“I still think you imagined Mr. Fredericks. If your mama comes in to give the lesson, I’m not going to believe anything else you ever tell me. Ever.”
“I’m not—”
“Ah, good morning, one and all! I’m so pleased you came to call.
” A very tall, very thin man strolled into the room, his legs so long they looked like the drawings she’d seen of flamingoes.
Rebecca blinked. He looked just like a fop, except fops cared about every ounce of clothing and every strand of hair, and he didn’t have any hair at all.
His head looked just the slightest bit pointy at the top, but that might have been the light reflecting against his scalp. She couldn’t say for certain.
Whatever he’d been wearing earlier, he definitely looked fancy now.
A lavender jacket buttoned very tightly around him, a yellow waistcoat with small lavender birds embroidered on it that she could only see where it peeked from underneath the edge of his jacket, fawn-colored trousers, and just under his pointed chin, a cravat so elaborate it made her fingers ache to look at it.
She’d attempted to tie her papa’s neckcloth from time to time, but the most she could manage was a sort of double bow. This … this was magnificent.
“See?” Eddie whispered in her ear. “He’s not imaginary.”
“And he rhymed already.”
Her friend stood up. “Mr. Fredericks, everyone. And Mr. Fredericks, this is Lord Hentrose, Lady Becks, and Mrs. Brubbins.”
“Good morning,” her papa said. “I can’t stay, but I thought I might join you for a moment or two.”
The tutor bowed so deeply she thought he might pop off his buttons. “You honor me, my lord. And I give my word, your daughter could be no safer if I had a sword.”
Oh, that was three rhymes, even if “word” was pronounced a bit differently than the other two.
That would be one of the “sight rhymes” Brubbie had mentioned yesterday.
More chairs arrived, and she and Eddie pulled a third one up to the table so she could sit.
This was already magnificent; she didn’t know how it could possibly be any better than a purple man with impossibly long legs rhyming every sentence he spoke.
He was a flamingo. A lavender, bald-pated, rhyming flamingo.
“What’s our lesson going to be today?” she asked, just keeping from bouncing in her chair.