Chapter Five
“So you see my trepidation,” Winsome said when she’d finished recounting to Serenity everything she knew, or suspected, about Lord Manderbey.
Serenity nodded. “You worry that Lord Manderbey is not as he seems. Goodness, that is always a problem with gentlemen. At least, it seems so. Of course, I had not the smallest doubt of Thorpe being anything other than what he is, which is perfect. But then, everybody knows how sensitive to other people I am.”
“Yes, he’s perfect,” Winsome said, in a bid to close the subject of Lord Thorpe’s perfection. “But other gentlemen…how can we be certain?”
“That is true. Goodness, just yesterday we heard that Sir Tristan has gone to the continent to escape his debts. We had no idea he was in so deep.”
“Yes, that is it exactly! You see the problem. And Serenity, I would not even mind discovering I was to be poor, at least not mind very much, I do not think. But I could not bear to discover that I’d only been pursued for my dowry. That I really could not bear.”
Serenity set her teacup down. “Do you say things have progressed so quickly?”
Winsome could feel her cheeks get hot. “No, they really have not progressed at all. I might be a bit silly there. He has not indicated any direct interest. At the palace, his grandmother forced him to take me round the room. Then Papa is forcing him to come to dine. For all I know, he is set on another lady or nobody at all. But then you know how I am, I cannot help but to play out every eventuality in my mind and anticipate every outcome.”
“Papa’s dinner though,” Serenity said. “We will wish to play Fact or Fib afterward. Perhaps we might gain some information there?”
“Yes, we might,” Winsome said thoughtfully.
“I am assuming we will all be invited to it, of course.”
“Yes, I am sure of it. You know how Papa misses everybody even though he claims he does not. Especially now that it’s just me and Val.” She paused, an idea just coming to her. “I suppose the dinner will be our introduction to Valor’s hostessing clothes too. Madame LaFray says they’re dreadful.”
Serenity laughed over the idea. Winsome did not view it with the same mirth.
Whatever Valor was to clothe herself in, it was bound to be embarrassing.
Madame LaFray was never wrong. And then, Valor had got into the habit of making a speech too, which their father indulged her in as he found it amusing.
It would be a lot for a stranger to the family to take in.
And then, even before that, there was Almack’s.
“You will attend Almack’s on Wednesday to support me?” Winsome asked.
“Oh yes, we will all be there—the whole Nicolet clan.”
At least that was a relief.
Serenity gazed out the window. “Winny, do you realize this is the very spot Thorpe sat in when he saw me out the window, for the first time, as I was glorying in the snow under the streetlamps?”
Winsome had not in fact realized that, but in true Serenity fashion, she was given a minute-by-minute description of that remarkable event, replete with the accompanying glories of nature and what was her current understanding of Thorpe’s feelings in that moment. Apparently, he’d been enchanted.
*
As a general thing, Mrs. Right was not inclined to feel jumpy or uncertain or nervous. Sadly, she felt all of those things at the moment. As much as she’d tried to convince the staff that there was nobody in the house, evidence kept disputing that hopeful idea.
In truth, it had begun to feel as if they were being toyed with in some manner.
Food continued to be taken from the kitchens and whoever was doing it was getting bolder by the minute.
This morning, a plate and a half-eaten roll had been left on the servants’ hall table. Very deliberately, she thought.
She’d had some hope that it was one of the boys doing it as a joke, but the fear in their eyes said otherwise.
Who was doing it? Why was it being done? Where were they hiding?
Winsome had told her that Lady Marchfield had acted exceedingly odd at the queen’s drawing room. In the carriage, she’d refused to answer the duke’s questions about being finished with sending butlers. Then, she’d left them at court with no arrangements to be taken home.
Lady Marchfield had to be at the bottom of this! Was this some sort of twisted revenge? Perhaps they’d gone too far with the lady. Perhaps she’d sunk into madness over it. Who knew what the lady might do?
Thomas, Charlie, and Cook stared morosely at the half-eaten roll that had been discovered. Mrs. Right was their leader, she had to act.
“All right. I will call a locksmith and have the locks to the servants’ entrance changed.
We have searched the house thoroughly so if someone is helping themselves to our pantry they are coming from the outside.
Somehow, somebody has got hold of a key.
As a further precaution, we will set up a watch between us.
If there is anybody in the house, we will catch them and eject them. I will not stand for this nonsense.
“A watch, Mrs. Right?” Thomas asked. “You mean one of us will be down here alone?”
Mrs. Right could see Thomas’s point. And she now considered how tired everybody would be if their sleep were interrupted by watch duty. “Very well, we will start with the locks and then see where we are.” Thinking to raise their spirits, she said, “I reckon that will be the end of it.”
At least, she dearly hoped so. These days, she went through the house feeling as if she were watched from every corner.
*
Alvin Beetson, Earl of Landry, felt pressured from all sides.
How had time flown by so fast? He had once been so happy in his little corner of England, farming and trotting his horse around his estate in blessed peace.
Then last year the extended family had come together like a foreign army.
They wished him to wed. They turned up unexpectedly and stayed for days, pressuring him to wed. He never knew when they’d turn up next.
Of course, he’d always wished to wed. Though, he had thought that some magical thing would happen to him to transform him.
It had not happened. He was so nervous around women.
He could not get past the idea. Each time he thought of marriage, and what that would entail…
he was certain he would not get it right. The poor lady would despise him.
That was the crux of the problem. He was a man.
He was meant to lead. A wife would look to him for direction.
He was meant to set the tone. He did not like to do anything like that.
And then, to lead a lady into a bedchamber…
the very thought of it sent a chill down his spine.
She would not know what she was doing and neither would he!
A lady would look for everything he was not.
The idea had really been hammered home at the queen’s drawing room. Manderbey had left him standing there with the dowager as he confidently strode over to Lady Winsome. Why could he not do that? Why could he not confidently stride over to a lady?
And then, the duke had approached him and informed him that Lady Marchfield had left them high and dry. What a dullard he was to not have instantly offered his carriage. The duke had been forced to come right out and ask him.
He could not even manage to approach Lady Winsome when he already was acquainted with her and she had proved herself a nice person.
She was so pretty too. Well, except for that court dress, but that could not be helped.
No, the only reason he’d ever talked to her in the first place had been because his great state of alarm over having to dine with the hoi polloi had overridden his fear of women.
If he could not talk to a lady he’d already met, how was he to talk to any lady? And that was only talking! What would come after was terrorizing.
Perhaps it was not too late to go Catholic and become a priest? Or throw himself down a flight of stairs and pretend to be paralyzed? Or maybe pretend at some sort of madness of the mind?
Perhaps he would not have to pretend at madness. He might be quite mad already for all he knew. Was there another lord in England who was frightened of women? They were so mysterious.
His cousin had dragged him to Almack’s. He was expected to talk to ladies he’d never set eyes on. He pulled on his neckcloth and wondered if he would faint.
“Lord Landry.”
He turned and found Lady Winsome and the duke. “Your Grace, Lady Winsome,” he sputtered. He bowed but he did not think it at all well done.
“Goodness, you do not look well,” Lady Winsome said. “Are you quite all right?”
Landry felt as if he might weep. It was the first time anybody had asked him if he was all right in years.
“It’s nerves, is it, Landry?” the duke said.
“I am afraid so, Your Grace.”
“Winny, what do you say about supper with this fellow? Manderbey has been wrestled into escorting Lady Whoever-She-Is. I can arrange it with the patronesses.”
“Yes, let’s do,” Lady Winsome said.
“Would you really?” Landry said. “That is so kind. Really so kind.” One of his greatest fears had been the supper.
He could dance well enough, his mother had employed a dancing master for years.
But the supper would be all talking while his various relations stared at him from their locations round the table, attempting to discern if he made any progress.
“In the meantime,” the duke said, pulling a flask from his pocket, “have a swig of this. It will put some spirits into you. Quite literally.”
Landry did as he was asked. The brandy burned his throat but he was grateful for it. These people were really so kind!
“Take a deep breath, Lord Landry,” Lady Winsome advised. “Whatever happens tonight, you will come out of it alive. At least, so I’ve been told.”
“Chin up, as they say,” the duke said.