Chapter Four #2
The lady had encased these charms in a sickly green taffeta concoction with ruffles going in every direction. She had whipped her fan around like a sword and in fact hit him several times with it in some sort of bizarre flirtation.
None of that would have put him off a friendship, but the lady had nothing of note to say.
She was all shrieky giggles and spent the evening accusing him of staring.
If he had stared, it was only out of stupefied wonder—nothing could have prepared him for the assault on his senses.
By the time those two ladies should have been on their way home, Lady Letitia had threatened to play the pianoforte.
Fortunately it had not been tuned in years.
Both Weston and Lord Ledderbey had been exhausted by the time they’d maneuvered those two ladies out the door.
He did not expect anything different from the Duke of Pelham’s daughters.
He went downstairs and found Lord Ledderbey in the drawing room. “Now my boy,” he said, “are you certain we ought to bother with the carriage?”
It was true the duke’s house was only across the square, but it was also true that it would be just a bit too far for Lord Ledderbey to walk, especially to have to come back again later when he would be tired.
“I do think it best,” Weston said. “It is muddy outside and we should not like to turn up looking disheveled.”
Ledderbey said, “All right, I’ll pretend to believe you on that. Well, these old bones won’t mind a ride, I suppose. We’d best be off for our thirty seconds of carriage ride to the other side of the square.”
They set off and were indeed there in under a minute.
It looked as if quite a few other people had arrived too, the duke’s endless supply of daughters, Weston imagined.
How on earth did he have so many of them?
Had anybody ever had so many without running into a son at some point?
Seven. It was bound to be a trying evening surrounded by seven versions of Lady Letitia.
If they all had fans, he might come out of it badly bruised.
He helped Lord Ledderbey to the pavement and the doors flew open. “My lords! Step inside and I will announce you. Yes, announce, that is what I’m to do. Got to get it right!”
The butler was a short and squat individual whose voice shook as if he were on the verge of panic. He also seemed to be unaware that he was saying his thoughts aloud. Weston ought not be surprised. He imagined anybody working for a duke who was eleven eggs short of a dozen was bound to be a wreck.
The fellow attempted to lead them in but ended up running himself into the doorframe and clutching at his forehead.
“Are you quite all right?” Lord Ledderbey asked.
The man hit the emerging lump on his forehead as if he could make it go away. “Fine, fine, don’t tell anybody!”
“No, of course not,” Lord Ledderbey said in a soothing tone. “Let’s get you inside.”
“Thank you, yes, that would be helpful.”
“No trouble at all, allow me to give you an arm—you’ve had a nasty encounter with that door.”
“I did hit it rather hard.”
It was extraordinary. Somehow the roles were reversed and they were escorting the butler into the house.
They were not even inside the doors yet and the eccentricity of the household was pouring out of it like an overflowing basin.
Lady Marchfield had told him that nothing the duke did was usual.
He could well believe it. Though, it just occurred to him that Lady Marchfield had also told them that she herself hired this interesting individual who had just now assaulted himself on a door.
He wondered where she’d found such a person.
Malberry would take one look at him and send him packing.
They finally did get inside despite the butler.
That fellow, who they now knew to be a certain Mr. Huberville, explained that it was of the utmost importance that the duke never discover that anything untoward had happened at the door, as he’d already been dismissed twice with no reference.
He even let them in on what was said at those distressing moments—“Pack your bags, Huberville!”
Lord Ledderbey finally convinced him to stop mopping his brow and announce them after assuring him that the growing lump on his forehead was not too noticeable. As they entered the drawing room, Lady Marchfield was by their side in a moment and took them round for introductions.
Lady Felicity and Mr. Stratton, Lady Grace and Lord Dashlend, Lady Patience and Lord Stanford, Lord and Lady Thorpe, Lady Verity and Lord Wembly, and Lord and Lady Manderbey.
None of them particularly resembled Lady Letitia, which surprised him.
The youngest was not yet present so he assumed they saved the worst for last.
At the far side of the drawing room, a bunker of sorts had been set up using cushions and pillows pulled from the sofas.
As far as Weston could tell, this was to box in some very young individuals who could be presumed to be the cousins once removed the duke had mentioned in the letter he’d left at the house.
Six of them were behind the barrier, seemingly led by a young man of nine or ten.
The duke stood by them, arms folded and nodding approvingly.
Lady Marchfield led Weston there and finally, after all these years, Weston was introduced to the duke. He was a middle-aged fellow with a bit of a paunch, the sort who looked as if he’d enjoyed life. Why would he not? A duke was never troubled by much.
“There you are, Tramondeley,” the duke said in a jolly tone. “Ledderbey, well met. Also, I’m not as bad as you’ve been told.”
Lord Ledderbey wobbled a little over that comment. Lady Marchfield muttered, “He most certainly is.”
The duke waved his arm. “All my grandchildren together, just as I like to see them. Young Miles is just now mustering the troops. Carry on, Captain.”
The captain nodded gravely and said, “Yes, General.”
One of the youngest of the troops had made a staggering effort to stand and promptly fell down. Another of the troops, likely just a year older, had observed this operation disdainfully and stood to show how it was done.
Young Miles, or Captain as he was called, said, “Daisy, do stop teasing Leland. Remember, we are all cousins and must stick together against the world. Now, as this is our first meeting—Lily, do stop making faces! As I said, this is our first meeting. I am the oldest, so I am the leader. Isabelle is my second-in-command.”
“And nobody should forget that,” a young lady of seven or so said in a rather threatening tone. “When Miles is not around, I am in complete, total charge.”
These pronouncements seemed to have little effect on the youngest of the party, as they were more interested in pulling out strands of carpet or seeing if they could fit their fist in their mouth.
“We will begin corresponding between our houses,” Miles said. “I realize some of you cannot write yet. Simply dictate your letters until you can.”
Weston was fascinated by this directive, as clearly some of them could not speak with any cogency yet either. The youngest of them confirmed the idea by commenting, “Bahbahbahbah.”
“And we will have a name for ourselves,” Isabelle said, “besides our regular names.”
“Yes,” Miles said. “We are to be—”
“You said I could say it!” Isabelle said, getting very red in the face.
Miles nodded to her. It was a bit of an exasperated nod.
“We are to be Pelham’s Pirates,” she said. “You see? Grandpapa is the Duke of Pelham.”
“And it sounded the best,” Miles added. “Though on no account will we act like pirates. In most cases.”
“And because we are pirates, we can use pirate talk when we want. The only one I know so far is if we want to talk we call it a parlay.”
“Pirates!” Lily shouted.
“Well, Grandpapa? I’ve done what I can,” Miles said.
“Well done, Captain,” the duke said. “Remember, these are early days.”
Miles nodded gravely.
“Now I know it is a burden to keep this army in order while your elders dine,” the duke said. “You are of an age, and Isabelle too, to dine with us. However I am counting on you two to manage it for me below stairs.”
“We will do our duty, Your Grace,” Miles said, adding a salute to it.
“Good lad.”
“And I’m in charge if Miles goes anywhere,” Isabelle said.
“Excellent news.” The duke turned to Weston. “It was Miles’ idea to keep the cousins all in close contact. My Gracie’s son, he’s a clever boy.”
Weston did not comment that the duke had not bothered to stay in close contact with him though that might also have been clever. He got the sense that the duke was not prone to that sort of self-reflection.
The second-in-command, Isabelle, did not seem to take kindly to hearing the duke compliment young Miles. She was getting very red in the face.
“Isabelle, I count on you to use your sharp eyes, I quite depend upon them,” the duke said in an effort to mollify.
“Sharpest, Grandpapa,” Isabelle said cheerfully.
“Ah, and here is my youngest daughter just coming in,” the duke said.
Weston turned and suddenly felt a bit wobbly. My God, she looked nothing like Lady Letitia. She was dark haired with round hazel eyes and rather perfect lips. Her dress was entirely elegant. She was elegant and there was not a waving fan in sight.
“Val, you already know all your sisters and my collection of sons-in-law, come and meet Tramondeley,” the duke called.
She approached and delivered a smart little bob. “Lord Tramondeley,” she said.
“And that fellow is Lord Ledderbey,” the duke said jovially. “Friend of my brother’s. I already told him I am not as bad as he might have heard.”
“And I said he most certainly was,” Lady Marchfield said.
“Aunt, you know you love Papa. Deep down. Lord Ledderbey,” Lady Valor said. “My father likes to jest, but if you have heard that he is bad, then I am afraid you are mistaken. So many people do not understand my father.”
“Oh I see, yes of course,” a rather dumbfounded Lord Ledderbey said.
Weston was not precisely dumbfounded, but he was something else.
Lady Valor’s voice was soft, but it had a rich tone.
It had none of the high-pitched squalling of Lady Letitia.
As well, he could not say he was convinced she was right about her father, he probably was as bad as they thought, but he could admire her willingness to defend him. And those eyes…those pretty hazel eyes.
“We’re very glad to know you, Lord Tramondeley,” Lady Valor said. “I hope you do not mind it if I climb the ramparts and say hello to all my nieces and nephews.”
“Certainly not,” Weston said.
Lady Valor proceeded to lift her skirt, which revealed a pretty little ankle, and climbed into the fray. She was instantly overcome by said nieces and nephews, but for young Miles, who at his age looked for more dignity for himself.
The hapless butler suddenly caught Weston’s eye.
Actually, he caught almost everybody’s eye.
He was at the drawing room doors making all sorts of hand motions at the duke—he raised his arms over his head like a drowning man waving for a life ring, then pointed determinedly in the direction of the hall, then he ended the dramatic performance by waving his arms in that direction as if he were a constable waving a cart forward in an effort to clear a road.
The duke heaved a sigh. “Lord help us, I think that man is trying to tell me we can go through. Miles, Mrs. Right and some of the maids will be in shortly to lead this circus below stairs. Tramondeley, take Valor in. Ledderbey, I’m sure Lady Misery would not mind an arm.”