Chapter Eight
The Duchess of Buckingham was a consummate host, even though her husband was fairly useless.
Fletcher had gone to Eton with Buckingham and found him entitled and arrogant, the sort of man who came from a long line of dukes who lived off their family’s fortune and good name without needing any particular skills or ambitions.
But he had succeeded in marriage, because his wife was widely beloved by the ton and she threw a good party.
Fletcher circulated on the periphery of her garden, where several of his social peers partook of the fine spread of food placed on tables about the duchess’ garden or sat on strategically placed chairs and indulged in conversation.
Lord Harding’s daughter, whose name Fletcher could not remember, stood with a friend sipping lemonade toward the middle of the garden.
Fletcher knew she was about twenty years old, pretty with dainty features, fond of the color pink, and also that she had a reputation for being interested in science and mathematics.
Her father tinkered with telescopes, and Fletcher had heard she also knew quite a bit about astronomy, so he had a thought to engage her in conversation.
Perhaps it would cover the scent of his desperation to get to Louisa.
But before he could make his way across the garden, Louisa paused before him, because of course she did.
“You look like a cat who has spotted a mouse,” Louisa said.
“I intended to go speak with Harding’s daughter.”
“Eliza?”
“Eliza! Yes, that is her name.”
“You wanted to go talk to a woman whose name you do not know?”
“I wanted to talk to a pretty lady whom I’ve heard has a few intellectual pursuits.”
Fletcher could sense that he was about to be mocked, and indeed, Louisa said, “Intellectual pursuits.”
Truth be told, Fletcher was not completely certain what he was doing.
Did he intend to pursue Eliza Harding? No.
Start a conversation? Yes. Marry? Definitely not.
The way Louisa was staring at him now made him think he could possibly make Louisa jealous, though.
Or test her a bit to see if she had feelings for him the way he had feelings for her.
So he said, “Hypothetically, if one were desirous of pursuing a courtship with an intellectual equal, she is a fine specimen, no? Pretty. Knows about stars and things.”
“Stars and things.”
“I’ve never studied astronomy, but I did read a book last year about constellations and Greek mythology. Fascinating stuff. So I had a thought to strike up a conversation with Lady Eliza.”
“Whose name you did not know until a few seconds ago.”
“I’m terrible with names and faces. You know that.” He smirked at her. “What’s it to you, anyway? Now that you are headed for wedded bliss, should I not pursue happiness for myself?”
“Of course you should, I suppose, I just…” She looked toward Eliza. “No, never mind.”
“Never mind?”
Louisa swatted a fly away from her face. “I just came over here to make small talk.”
“Is your fiancé here?”
“Yes, but I’ve lost him. He was speaking with Devonshire about the mechanics of erecting a hedge maze at his country estate, and there was a detailed explanation of the exact species of hedge or some such and I lost interest.”
“So in truth, he lost you, since you wandered off.”
She sighed. “I am not opposed to hedge mazes, but I do not care to know how they are made.”
“I’ve never given it a second’s thought.”
She smiled. “That is what I like about you, Fletcher. So few thoughts in your head.”
“You jest, but I did not know a certain species of hedge was needed to make a hedge maze, although I suppose that makes sense. Is it a certain shrub? No, you know what? I don’t care.
The point of a hedge maze is to, you know, solve the maze, or to perhaps to steal time alone with the object of your affection—or so I’ve heard—and not to be concerned with the species of plant used to compose the maze. ”
“Or so you’ve heard?”
“We could ask the Duchess of Buckingham if she has a hedge maze we can borrow so I can show you what I mean.”
But of course, there was no property large enough to hold a hedge maze in London, and this was just a clumsy attempt at flirting on Fletcher’s part, and Louisa wasn’t even paying attention now.
Rotherfeld suddenly appeared fifty feet away.
And Fletcher wished there was a hedge maze he could get lost in. Preferably one full of bees.
Louisa frowned. “I’d like to discuss the mechanics of shrubbery with you further, but I suppose I must now get pulled into a conversation about, I don’t know. The species of silkworm the Chinese use to make the silk we import or more efficient ways to harvest grain.”
“Sounds scintillating.”
Louisa grunted. “Indeed. These are all things I have had to pretend to be interested in today, incidentally.”
Fletcher frowned at that. Was it possible Louisa found Rotherfeld as dull as Fletcher did?
Rotherfeld approached them, held out an arm for Louisa—which she took—and gave Fletcher a once over. “Ah, Greystone. Nice to see you again.”
“Likewise.”
“Greystone was just telling me that he is going to start courting Eliza Harding,” said Louisa.
“That is not what I said,” said Fletcher. “I mean only to start a conversation. Let us not get ahead of ourselves.”
“The lady astronomer!” said Rotherfeld. “I’ve heard she studies the stars with her father.”
“Precisely what I intended to start a conversation about.”
“I suppose she is pretty,” said Louisa. “In a conventional way.”
“What does that mean?” asked Fletcher.
“Her looks are pretty but expected.”
“The devil you say,” said Fletcher. Was Louisa jealous? He laughed, suddenly delighted. “I find her striking, and if I do court her, I’m the one who has to look at her, so if you’ll excuse me.”
Fletcher crossed the garden, still not entirely sure what he was doing. He felt goaded by Louisa and also a bit pressured to prove to Rotherfeld that he had no designs on Louisa.
Even though he did. After all, he was going to talk to Lady Eliza in order to make Louisa jealous.
What a mess.
“Lady Eliza, how are you?” he found himself saying.
“It is a lovely afternoon, my lord. And it is a delight to see you again.”
“We did not have a chance to speak much when last we met.” Fletcher had no idea when that was. The Rutherford Ball? Three years ago? Who could say? “I have heard you study astronomy, though, and I think that is fascinating.”
“Oh! Yes, I do. It is fascinating.”
They spent a few minutes discussing the book Fletcher had read, but as they talked, Fletcher kept an eye on Louisa, who was letting Rotherfeld escort her to various clumps of gentlemen with whom she pretended to engage conversation that was clearly boring her to tears.
Eliza’s father appeared and shook Fletcher’s hand, but then someone snagged Lord Harding’s and Eliza’s attention, leaving Fletcher alone in the garden.
He wandered over to one of the food tables and partook in some small sandwiches. He was eyeing some little cakes when Louisa appeared again.
“Did you know,” she said, “that a group of owls is called a Parliament.”
“I did not.”
“There’s a joke there, but I don’t have it completely formed yet. Owls are known for wisdom, but that is hardly something you can ascribe to Parliament.”
“Definitely not.”
Fletcher picked up a plate with a little cake on it that was decorated with a pink frosted flower. He picked up a fork and took a bite. He was disappointed to find the cake was dry.
“A group of crows is called a murder,” said Louisa.
“To what can I attribute this vocabulary lesson?”
“My fiancé, the amateur ornithologist. He may not be passionate about much, but he can talk for hours about birds, which he is doing right now with Claypoole.”
Fletcher followed Louisa’s gaze to where Rotherfeld seemed to be enthusiastically gesticulating in front of Lord Claypoole, who looked on with amusement.
“I can’t tell a starling from a magpie,” said Fletcher.
“I know.”
“You can’t either.”
“The little ones are starlings.”
“Thanks.” Fletcher rolled his eyes and finished his cake. Just as he was looking for a place to put the plate, a servant appeared and relieved him of it.
“How was the cake?” Louisa asked.
“It looked prettier than it tasted.”
She nodded. “The Duchess of Buckingham seems to think food is ornamental more than anything else. Little here tastes good.”
“I liked those little sandwiches.”
“How was your discussion with Eliza Harding?”
“Enlightening.” Fletcher had a thought to get a rise out of Louisa now. “We discussed Hercules in both his constellation and mythical form at length.”
Louisa patted his arm. “Have you proposed yet?”
“No, but I can be quite charming. I believe if I bring up telescopes and the planet Mars, she’ll be putty in my hands.”
“You do have your charms, Fletcher.”
Fletcher smiled and decided to take the compliment, even though he thought Louisa was mocking him again.
“This party is a bit underwhelming, though,” Fletcher said. “What can we do to liven it up?”
Louisa shook her head. “I don’t care for the look in your eye.”
“These cakes are not really edible. We could put them to better use. Perhaps leave one on a chair for an unsuspecting lady or gent to sit on.”
“That is a child’s prank,” said Louisa, although she was smiling.
“You’re right, I can do better.” Fletcher looked around, assessing. His desire to put one over on Rotherfeld was great, but he struggled to come up with something that would work. “We could hide a cake in a shrub and tell your fiancé that it’s a rare bird.”
“That does seem rather harmless. These cakes are an unnatural shade of pink, though. I don’t see you mistaking one for a bird.”
“Or I could just spill some lemonade and see if someone slips in the puddle.”
Louisa laughed and shook her head. “The Buckingham servants are too alert for that. I do appreciate your attempts at levity, but I do not think this party can be saved.”