Chapter Sixteen
Burkhart had stopped at the last inn before the final push to Westport House. Much to his surprise, he’d seen Lelander pass by. Where did the fellow think he was going? There were no inns past the one he currently stood in front of, and the sun was already dipping below the horizon.
It was exceedingly irresponsible. He’d be just as likely to be shot on the road for his horses and his trunks as not.
Burkhart had spent an irritating night mulling it over.
If Lelander was shot dead, he did not know how anybody was to explain that fact to Miss Poppy Granger.
Even worse, Miss Pansy would be in deep sympathy to her sister and in no shape to even consider leaving her for a wedding. How long would that go on?
Lelander was a damn fool.
Nevertheless, he must continue to go forward, assuming Lelander was not dead. He must get his father’s agreement on the peace treaty.
As nobody had expected him, he found Westport House quiet when he arrived. His father was out seeing to something on the estate. His mother, closeted in her private sitting room, was speedily informed of his arrival. She met him in the drawing room.
She had opened her conversation with him by saying, “You are home. Did you not care for the southerners?”
Rather than talk in slow circles to reach his destination, he just came out with it. He wished to wed. The lady was a twin. The other twin would be proposed to by Lelander. He’d brought a peace treaty for his father to sign.
His mother had begun the interview standing by the mantel. Then she’d walked to a chair and sunk down into it. Then she’d pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed her eyes.
Burkhart pressed on. He was determined to wed the lady, but it could only be done if there were a peace treaty between the two houses. There must be peace between the white and the red rose. It must be done.
As the countess was not from Yorkshire, she had not ever had strong feelings about the Roses War. She barely concerned herself with what went on politically even now, never mind hundreds of years ago. She did, however, have a much firmer understanding of her husband’s views and temperament.
She wished her son luck, kissed his brow, and retreated to her sitting room until the expected storm blew over.
Burkhart was left for some hours pacing the drawing room.
Underwood brought in tea. The fellow seemed tense and Burkhart imagined he knew something was brewing but was not sure what.
The earl’s son had arrived home before his time, closeted himself with the countess, and then the countess had gone into hiding in her sitting room.
It was not a very big leap to make that there was trouble ahead.
Among the various ideas he had regarding how to broach the idea of a peace treaty to the earl, he occasionally wondered if Lelander was still alive. If he was dead, then aside from pushing back any plans he might make with Miss Pansy, it would make the whole peace treaty idea irrelevant.
The fellow was so irritating!
Finally, his father arrived home in his carriage. Underwood informed the earl that his son was in the drawing room and it was not long before he strode in.
“What ho? Oxfordshire was not to your liking? No ladies there to tempt you?”
Underwood hurried to the sideboard, poured the earl a brandy, and handed it to him.
“What’s this? Brandy, at this time of day?”
“Yes, my lord,” Underwood said, hurrying out of the room.
“That fellow can be deuced odd at times,” the earl said of his butler. “So, this was a wasted trip, was it?”
“Actually, it was not. There was a lady there that I consider ideal. However, I found I must come home at this moment.”
The earl rubbed his chin. “You didn’t slap anybody with your glove on account of an insult to Yorkshire?”
“No, that was you.”
“Yes, I am well aware that I did just that, all those years ago. I only wondered if anything similar had come up.”
“Not precisely,” Burkhart said. “Though, the Roses War is playing a part in all this.”
The earl nodded gravely. “To be expected. Injustice never dies.”
“In any case, my interest lies with Miss Pansy Granger, daughter of Viscount Mulholland. She is a twin.”
“A twin?” the earl said. “She’s not the evil one, is she?”
“The what?”
“Your grandmother used to say the first twin is the true baby and the second is the evil one.”
Burkhart sighed. He did not doubt she’d said that.
His grandmama had been filled with superstitions.
Everything was a sign and had a meaning.
They all still remembered the evening when a piece of coal jumped from the fire.
His grandmama had been convinced it was in the shape of a coffin, and therefore, someone was about to die.
She’d spent weeks peering at everybody and asking them how they were feeling.
Burkhart had found it fascinating that she never asked herself how she was feeling, as she was by far the oldest person in the house.
As it was, nobody died and she decided that perhaps the shape of the coal had been less coffin-like, and more brick-like.
“Miss Pansy is the true baby, if you must look at it that way,” he said.
“Excellent. What arrangements have been made? How much does she come with?”
“She comes with ten thousand.”
The earl looked startled at the number. He slapped Burkhart on the back. “Excellent work, son.”
“But there have been no arrangements made yet.”
“Do you say you have not asked?” the earl said, looking bewildered.
He nodded. “I have not asked.”
The earl gulped his brandy and said, “Are you mad? A twin who is not the evil twin, coming with ten thousand, will not be available long! Somebody will swoop in while you’re standing round my drawing room! Get back there and ask the lady!”
“I intend to. One thing though. Her twin—”
“The evil twin?”
“There is no evil twin,” he said. “The twin, Miss Poppy Granger, will be proposed to by Lelander.”
The earl laughed long and hard. “That’s hilarious. Pepperdon Hall gets the evil twin! Very apropos.”
“There is no such thing as an evil twin,” Burkhart said firmly.
“Fine, but it’s amusing to think so. Your grandmama would be tickled.”
“Here is what is less amusing,” Burkhart said, preparing to acquaint his father to the real purpose of his visit, “as they are twins, they cannot be permanently separated. Some sort of peace must be established between our houses so they can move freely between them. I’ve brought a treaty.”
“A what?” the earl bellowed.
Pansy and Poppy had passed the time in the doldrums. It might have been expected that they would have perked up a bit in anticipation of Lord Smythesdon’s proposed visit with two gentlemen who were as yet strangers.
Even if they were not in the slightest interested in these two fellows, the visit would at least interrupt the dullness of the house.
They did not perk up though.
The viscountess had begun to frown over their moping, and they both knew she thought they should be getting over Lord Burkhart and Mr. Lelander by now.
They also both knew that they were not getting over Lord Burkhart and Mr. Lelander.
She and Poppy had fallen into the habit of retiring early so they could recount to each other various conversations they’d had with the gentlemen, looks that had been exchanged, compliments given, how well they’d looked in their coats, and anything else they could recall.
Mrs. Featherstone would bring up a tea tray for them, and she was beginning to look concerned over this new habit.
Henrietta would come in later and insist they go to bed.
Everybody seemed to think they made too much of the gentlemen’s visit.
Except for themselves. They did not feel they made too much of it.
They had taken to waiting for Miss Millthorpe to finish her lessons with Teddy and Bertie so they might walk her back to her cottage. Though the lady was stern, she seemed to understand their feelings and allowed them to air them out over tea.
The lady’s conclusion regarding their sorry predicament was that time healed all wounds. The difficulty was, there was just no telling how long a time. Meanwhile, they would have tea and talk their hearts out.
Now the actual day had arrived that Lord Smythesdon would turn up with his gentlemen friends. Miss Millthorpe had not allowed them to walk her to the cottage, as she said it would be rude if they were not on hand to greet the two gentlemen.
They languished in the drawing room as Teddy and Bertie were overhead in the nursery, ready to ring the cowbell. Of course, the boys had to gain permission from the viscountess to do it, and promise to take turns, considering they’d dropped that same bell on Lord Burkhart’s head the last time.
Poor Lord Burkhart’s head. He had a lovely head. She missed looking at his head, as it contained the remarkable visage of his face. She very much admired his face.
Maribelle was stitching furiously on an embroidered counterpane she’d been working on seemingly forever.
The viscountess sat upright with her sewing, which was really just a ruse to look employed.
Their mother sewed very little and would much rather be above stairs in her sitting room, reading letters, writing letters and feeding Dandy bits of bacon she’d saved from her breakfast tray.
However, the viscount and Henry had gone out so she felt dutybound to be on hand to greet their guests.
Lady Mulholland had attempted to keep the viscount from going out with Mr. Tidewater, but Lord Mulholland had only said, “What do I want with those two fellows?”
Nobody had an answer to that, as nobody knew what anybody wanted with those two fellows.
The bell rang madly overhead, just as loud and frenetic as Pansy and Poppy used to ring it. She sighed. “They have made the turn onto the drive.”
Poppy sighed too. “This seems like too much work.”
“Do cheer up, girls,” the viscountess said. “All that is required of you is courtesy. I really must insist on that as a minimum, though.”