Chapter 5 #4
“Oh,” she sighed. “Very well. I do so like your presents, Nat, dearest. Do you remember that lovely fichu you bought me at Easter, or was it Michaelmas? No, I’m sure it was Easter because we had lamb and Cook spoiled the sauce, do you remember?
Or was it a goose? No, I’m sure it was lamb, unless it was beef we had that year?
Anyway, I suppose it does not matter, but it was a very pretty thing with such fine embroidery, and everyone so admired it and asked where it came from, and Mrs Turnbull was green with envy, for her son never buys her a thing, and—oh, I just remembered, it was goose, because it was the green sauce Cook spoiled.
There, I knew it would come to me in the end,” she said with satisfaction.
Nat smiled indulgently, far too used to his mama’s sprawling manner of conversation to show the least sign of impatience with it.
“Well, I am pleased to know my gift was turned to such good account,” he replied, well aware that Mrs Turnbull was his mama’s closest friend and arch nemesis.
“Oh, it was. Poor Vera. Do you know that wretched boy gave her a book of household management for her last birthday? I ask you! Such a shabby, ill-bred thing to do. I was so aggrieved for the poor dear, I had half a mind to take it and throw it in the fire. I told her she should do so, but she didn’t.
I suppose it was a handsome copy, all bound in red leather with gold tooling, and cost a pretty penny, I don’t doubt, but such a gift for one’s mama! ”
She shuddered delicately.
“Well, you may rest assured that I would never do such a dreadful thing, Mama. I know better.”
She reached for the sal volatile, waving it under her nose and then recoiling before setting it down again.
“I should hope so,” she said somewhat breathlessly.
“I would be so cast down to receive such a thing, and after running such a large household since I was little more than a girl,” she added indignantly, though to Nat’s knowledge the housekeeper had always run the house and he had never seen his mama do anything more strenuous than approve the week’s menu with Cook, but he was not fool enough to say such a wicked thing.
“I know, Mama. Now, I must run along and get spruced up for dinner, or Grandmama will be cross with me.”
His mother huffed, folding her arms. “Well, you must eat without me. I shall dine in my room, for I know when I am not wanted,” she said, putting up her chin.
Nat hid a smile, realising things had gone just as he had supposed.
“Come, come, Mama, don’t deny me the pleasure of your company when I have been looking forward to seeing you for such a long time,” he said, knowing too well how to play this game. “You know Grandmama’s way. She doesn’t mean half of what she says.”
“Ha! If she meant a quarter of it, I should wonder at anyone wanting to speak to her again. But I shall come for your sake, my darling,” she said, as if she were making a great sacrifice.
“You are too good, Mama. Thank you, and as a reward, I shall have a surprise for you.”
She clapped her hands together, her eyes shining. “My present?”
“No, greedy creature, not your present, but a young lady. My young lady, actually,” he said, hating the way the lie felt upon his tongue.
Meg had been right, it was difficult to tell the people he cared for such a falsehood.
He had been too full of his own smugness at having thwarted their machinations to consider fully how it might feel, and now he was paying the price.
His mama sat up very straight, staring at him in horror. “Oh, Nat, say it isn’t true!”
“But it is,” he said resolutely, reminding himself that he would not marry a female he had not chosen for himself under any circumstances and that his meddling family had brought this on themselves.
“But Miss Percy!” she exclaimed, waving a lace-edged handkerchief at him rather frantically.
“Who the devil is Miss Percy when she’s at home?” Nat asked with as innocent an expression as he could muster, for he did not imagine for a moment that his grandmother had confessed it was she who had let the cat out of the bag.
“Oh, but she is perfect, Nathaniel. I felt sure you would be pleased with her, for she is such a dear creature, and so very biddable,” she said with a little moue of displeasure.
Nathaniel winced, not doubting for a moment that his doting mama had bullied the unfortunate and biddable girl into falling in with her plans. For all her fluttering and affectation and flights of fancy, she could be remarkably managing when she was sufficiently moved to put in the effort.
Happily, it did not happen often.
“Well, I am sorry to put a spoke in your wheel, dearest, but that ship has sailed, the horse has bolted, and the stable door is shut. I’m engaged.”
She glared at him reproachfully. “Oh, drat you. Now what am I to do with her, you horrid boy?”
“I’ve not the slightest idea,” Nat replied cheerfully, certain now that he had dodged a bullet.
After all, even if everyone was disappointed when, in a few months, he wrote and explained Miss Bancroft had called off the engagement because he was too feckless and unreliable, no one would be much surprised.
“Well, I shall see you at dinner, Mama, and introduce you to my betrothed,” he said, heading for the door as fast as possible, in case she decided she was cross enough to throw something at him. It would not be the first time.
Once outside, he heaved a sigh of relief and made his way to his old room.
Again, he found it little changed from before.
Fresh paint and a new rug on the floor, new curtains and bedding he did not recognise, but the bed was the same, the books and the cricket bat and a peculiar selection of things that boys delight in, still littered the shelves.
A badger’s skull, various rocks, some in rather obscene shapes, and crudely made carvings of horses and dogs.
Nat smiled, picking up each item that triggered a memory of long-ago summers, swimming and picnicking and climbing trees, midnight feasts and hunting for ghosts in the attics. He smiled at a rather awkward carving of a dog, one ear up, one down, remembering having made it.
“Good evening, sir.”
Nat turned as Jenkins drifted into the room, as catlike as ever.
He was a tall fellow, well built, but with a face mournful as a coffin, and his mouth turned down at the edges.
Gravity and a ponderous air hung about him, but Nat had discovered he was a jolly good fellow beneath the dour exterior, and to be relied upon.
“Jenkins. How do? Your journey down was uneventful, I hope?”
“Indeed, sir, though it appears yours was more exciting than expected,” Jenkins replied, with the lift of one eyebrow.
Jenkins was not an excitable fellow as a rule, so this was quite a remarkable show of interest on his part.
Having sent his valet ahead of him the day before, Nat had not had the opportunity to fill him in on everything that had happened.
He did so now, knowing that Jenkins was the soul of discretion.
“So, don’t forget. Edgar Haines, in Llanveynoe. Got that?” Nat said, having related all the ins and outs of the fictional meeting and courtship to date.
“Perfectly, sir,” Jenkins replied, showing no outward signs of finding this a strange state of affairs. Still, he had been with Nat for years now, long enough to be used to his occasional odd starts and spur-of-the-moment decisions.
“I might have known you’d hear it before I had the chance to tell you,” Nat added, reclining in the chair Jenkins had put out for him.
He sighed as a hot towel was placed over his face, listened to Jenkins mixing the shaving soap, and wondered what the man would think of Meg.
Jenkins did not approve of most people Nat knew and had been in alt at the prospect of coming to Hatherley House with the duke and the dowager duchess. He was a dreadful snob.
“Does the young lady know who her antecedents were, at least, sir? For it is one thing to have none living, and there’s nothing to be done about that, but do you know if they were respectable?”
“Not a clue, and I don’t care either,” Nat replied, his voice somewhat muffled beneath the towel.
Jenkins removed the towel and began lathering Nat’s chin. “I think perhaps you ought to care, sir. His grace will certainly care. What if they turn out to be convicted felons?”
“Well, he won’t find that out quickly, not over Christmas, and if he makes a scene we shall leave, though not before I’ve given him the benefit of a few choice words,” Nat added grimly.
Jenkins sighed.
“Yes, yes, I know you’d far rather be working for his grace,” Nat said crossly. “Perhaps he’ll offer you the job while you’re here, if you play your cards right.”
“I have no desire to work for the duke, sir, of that I may assure you,” Jenkins said, with pleasing sincerity.
“Oh?” Nat replied, brightening at this rare show of fondness.
“No, indeed, sir. His grace would be an exacting employer and far harder to please. I should have to work a good deal harder than I do. I shall remain in your service, if it is all the same to you.”
Nat looked at Jenkins, certain that was laughter glinting in the devil’s eyes. “Droll, Jenkins, very droll,” he grumbled, but sat back and allowed his valet to shave him.