Chapter Two #3
They debated for some minutes and neither of them could think of a signal that would be clear enough.
They tried out winking at each other, but what would the wink signify?
In any case, Poppy’s wink was more both eyes closed.
They tried a little head shake toward the preferred gentleman, but that might be done accidentally.
They could not point, though that would be very clear.
Their dear papa was bound to ask them what they were pointing at.
The gentleman in question would probably wonder too.
“We’ll have to wing it,” Pansy said, calling over her shoulder as she slipped through the door that connected their two bedchambers.
Poppy sighed. Winging it was Pansy’s preferred mode of going forward. She’d much rather they had a signal.
Lelander had taken one of his father’s carriages for the trip to Oxfordshire.
They were fortunate enough to keep two, though as a necessity they probably did not strictly need two.
There had been too many instances when the viscountess wished to go to the village or further afield and the carriage was gone, his father having taken it off somewhere.
The viscount preferred a carriage to riding his horse ever since he’d got a bit of gout in his foot.
All of these occasions of the missing carriage might have been avoided if the viscount had actually listened to his wife when she outlined her future plans for going out.
However, his father was not in the habit of making his own plans or listening to anybody else’s and liked to wake in the morning and decide he needed to be somewhere.
Finally, to stop the tapping foot and pursed lips that were the result of finding the carriage gone, a second carriage had been purchased.
Lelander had convinced the viscountess that he ought to take the newer carriage to Oxfordshire.
That one was for her use, as his father did not care what carried him around.
His argument centered on the idea of Lord Smythesdon’s low opinion if he turned up in an older carriage.
She had agreed and he thought she was really more concerned with what Lord Smythesdon’s mother would think if she got wind of her son arriving in less than high style.
As well, the coachman who usually drove his mother would go.
She found him very reliable to keep her boy safe on the roads.
The viscountess would battle the viscount for control of the carriage left behind until Lelander returned with her own.
It had taken him six days to make his way south, stopping at inns along the way.
He had quite enjoyed traveling with just his valet.
Meegan had been with him since he’d come home from Eton.
He was rather persnickety about Lelander’s dress, which he appreciated.
Good enough and close enough were ideas Meegan found deeply unsettling.
As they made their way south, they dined early, retired early, and got an early start.
There were plenty of gentlemen stopping at the inns who would take the opportunity to drink spirits long into the night.
He would not be opposed to it if it did not lead to a sore head on a day when one must get into a rocking carriage.
He had experimented with overindulgence during his last two years of Eton.
Bad gin had been plentiful at some of the boarding houses and the infamous Long Chamber.
He could still recall the payment to be made the following day after carousing.
At the inns, despite asking for rooms far away from the noise, there were nights he’d had to put a pillow over his head to block out the bellows and laughter of those who were not afraid of a sore head in the morning.
It was far from the quiet of the Barrowford countryside, where one was lulled to sleep by the calls of an owl, the shrieks of a fox, a symphony of crickets, and the wind over the moors.
They had passed through Oxford and made their way southwest. They trotted past an inn by the side of the road, the wood sign swinging over the front doors announcing it to be The Pig and Pony. They could not be more than a half hour from Chemsworth Hall.
As they went by, Lelander saw a familiar figure walking to a carriage. He rubbed his eyes and looked again. It could not be. He opened the window and craned his neck as the carriage passed the innyard.
They locked eyes.
Lelander sat back and closed the window. It was either Burkhart or Burkhart’s doppelg?nger. If it was Burkhart, what was he doing in this part of the country? He ought to be in Yorkshire, pretending York was in some way superior to London.
Maybe he was on his way to Oxford. If it was him. Which it might not be. There must be a thousand gentlemen in England lumbering round in a tall and over-muscular frame scowling as if they were annoyed with all the world.
Lelander attempted to subtly get a look out the window, hoping to see the carriage that would carry that gentleman going in the opposite direction.
It was not. It was going in his direction.
If that really was Burkhart, was he going somewhere in the neighborhood?
Lelander hoped not. It was entirely likely that the people in Lord Mulholland’s neighborhood all hosted social occasions.
Was he to be forced to go to another house to dine and find that scoundrel sitting across from him? It was not to be borne!
No, it could not be him. It had been a long journey, and his eyes were playing tricks.
Despite his assurances to himself, he kept peering out. He hoped to see the carriage turn somewhere. It did not turn.
Meegan leaned out the window, and then suddenly pulled back. “His valet just looked out. Smith. There is no doubt, that is Lord Burkhart’s carriage.”
Lelander swore under his breath. That rogue Burkhart was a thorn in his side in Lancashire and now looked to be a thorn in his side here.
“I recognized Smith the moment I set eyes on him,” Meegan went on, “as one does when one sees a fellow who takes on a trade he is not qualified for.”
Lelander nodded. Meegan was a stickler for examining and passing judgment on the work of other valets. Invariably, they all failed miserably. Especially Smith.
“You don’t suppose he’s going where we’re going?” Meegan asked.
“Chemsworth Hall? No, that is not possible. The only reason I was contacted was because Lady Ainsworth, Lord Smythesdon’s mother, had been at Pepperdon Hall for some weeks.
The visit was well known and talked of in the area, as those sorts of things always are.
If Lady Ainsworth had ever visited the Countess of Westport, I would have heard of it. ”
Meegan nodded. “It just seems too coincidental that we pass him by, two hundred miles from home and very nearby where we are going.”
It was entirely too coincidental. Entirely too coincidental by half.
“This whole thing is very odd, at least it seems to me,” Meegan went on.
“One, you are contacted by Lord Smythesdon with a hey-ho let us meet. However, you are to meet at his in-laws’ house, not his own.
Then we pass by Burkhart as we come close to this in-laws’ house.
You don’t suppose any of Lord Smythesdon’s brothers-in-law somehow got the same idea and invited Burkhart? ”
“No, no,” he said, his mind racing through that possibility.
He had made some discreet inquiries, mostly to his mother, about Chemsworth Hall.
He knew there were a slew of daughters married across England.
Of the husbands, two he’d never heard of.
Then there was Smythesdon, and Knightswood…
and the Marquess of Hemmings, from Cumberland.
He was certain Burkhart was not acquainted with Hemmings.
That gentleman had been before their time at Eton.
Further, if Burkhart did know Hemmings, it would be the sort of thing he’d crow about relentlessly, as that fellow would be a duke.
Everybody in the neighborhood would have been informed of that lofty connection.
Lelander had not heard a thing about it.
But then, until recently, nobody would have heard of Lelander knowing Lord Smythesdon either.
My God, if they’d been invited to the same house…