Chapter Six
D eclan liked his aunt as much as he liked all his older relatives. They were part of his life because they were family, and as the current duke he was responsible for their care. Certainly they had their own income and peccadillos, but once his father had passed he had become the head of the family. He would see to it that they did not disgrace their heritage, and indeed that they contributed to becoming the best England had to offer and not the worst.
So it was that he was quietly furious that no one had thought to offer Miss Richards a seat until he got there. It was unthinkable that she should be left to stand like a servant when all the others sat. Good manners required consideration for one’s guests. Even if Napoleon himself had entered the room, he should be offered a chair while footmen went to gather the firing squad.
Unfortunately, he saw the embarrassment this had caused Miss Richards. Her cheeks had turned pink, her hands were clenched together, and her smile seemed frozen upon her face.
Thankfully, all was handled quickly enough and soon they were seated together so closely that he could measure the tempo of her breath by the pressure against his arm. And what a deliciously exciting feeling it was. What man didn’t like being pressed up against a beautiful woman?
‘Is everyone settled?’ his aunt asked in hard tones. ‘Shall I call for tea?’
Everyone murmured their delight at the idea, and his aunt rang a little bell in response. Declan didn’t miss the envious looks the ladies shot Miss Richards, but he had no intention of indulging them. His focus was on making Grace more comfortable.
‘I apologise for arriving so late and interrupting things. Tell me, what were you discussing?’
‘Oh, my lord,’ said Lady Jane, ‘we were on the most fascinating topic. We were showing Miss Richards the extraordinary art in our fans.’ She lifted hers up and snapped it open with a dramatic flick of her wrist.
‘We’re trying to think of a design that would be appealing to the Chinese. Then I’ll export them and make a fortune,’ Cedric said.
Declan glanced at Miss Richards’ face, seeing the rigid way she smiled as she kept her eyes downcast. He might have mistaken it for a demure pose, but he felt the stiffness in her body growing tighter with every statement.
‘What an interesting topic,’ he said. ‘Miss Richards, can you tell me what you find so different in our English fans?’
‘They were talking about the meaning of the flowers,’ she said. ‘There is a whole language in them and I thought to learn it.’
‘How very ambitious,’ he said. ‘I could never keep it straight.’
Miss Lockwood shifted towards him, her eyes alight with mischief. ‘I was just about to teach her,’ she said as she held out her fan and began pointing. ‘This is a daffodil, and it means I am sending a message. This is an iris, suggesting preference. And here is a wild rose for passion.’
She tittered as she closed up her fan and pointed it directly at him with a flirtatious look.
Declan frowned, embarrassed for Miss Lockwood. She had named two of the flowers incorrectly, and he thought the meanings were wrong too. ‘I believe I shall buy you a book, Miss Richards. One with the proper names of flowers and their meanings.’ He leaned close. ‘Don’t try to memorise it now. Some things are best learned from a proper source.’
‘What a very kind idea, my lord,’ crowed Lady Jane. ‘After all, it is important for all proper ladies to know the truth of these things.’
Then she raised her eyebrows and shot a glance at Miss Lockwood before rolling her eyes. It was her way of saying that she knew Miss Lockwood had her flowers all wrong, but she—a true lady—was better educated than to say so.
Honestly, it sickened him. The petty cruelty in this room had his blood heating to a dangerous degree. These women had a full world of conversational topics, but they could not resist poking at one another in the hopes of gaining favour with him. As if he’d care for any woman who would take pains to point out another’s ignorance.
He turned away from her and allowed his attention to focus on Miss Richards. ‘Surely the English are not the only ones to develop meanings from blossoms? What do the Chinese see in blooms?’
‘The lotus flower is the most prized, of course. It rises from mud and blooms in perfection. It is called the seat of Buddha and it symbolises purity, long life, and honour.’
‘How interesting—’ he began, but his aunt tsked audibly.
‘How very heathen to look at something that rises from the mud as a symbol of purity.’
Declan felt his teeth clench. His aunt had a difficult life, to be sure, but all she showed the world was bitterness—and he was tired of it.
‘I find Miss Richards’ knowledge extraordinary,’ he said, with a pointed look at his aunt.
Unfortunately, her attention was focused on the butler as he appeared at the door with the tea tray.
‘Here is the tea at last!’ his aunt cried, effectively drowning him out. ‘I declare that I am quite parched.’
Then she settled herself in front of the tray and began to pour for each person in turn. His aunt was a proper English lady, who had been taught the serving of tea in the schoolroom. She served him first, as he was the highest ranked person there, and correctly remembered his preference for milk. Then she continued about the room, her memory obviously serving her well as she poured for everyone save Miss Richards, who was addressed last.
The conversation continued and the ladies grew animated by the coming balls of the Season. Miss Richards did not participate, because obviously she didn’t know any of the people discussed. Indeed, she was largely ignored by the company except for the occasional insult.
‘Oh, Miss Richards, you wouldn’t know this, but an earl is ranked higher than a viscount.’
‘You must remember, Miss Richards, a waltz is a very exciting dance, but is not considered totally proper.’
He was moments away from the rude action of starting an entirely new conversation with her alone when Cedric beat him to the punch. Declan’s cousin stood up under the pretence of selecting a sweetmeat in order to address her more closely.
‘This must be terribly boring for you, Miss Richards. Perhaps let me divert your attention for a moment? I like the idea of exporting fans to China. Will you let me know if you think of a design that will appeal?’ His gaze shot to Declan. ‘That’s what I need money for,’ he said in an undertone. ‘I want to sell goods to China and then bring back different things to sell in England. All our trade so far has been one-way, but the real profit is in going both directions.’
‘A sound plan in theory—’ Declan began, but Cedric was too caught up to listen.
‘So...fans,’ he said, facing Miss Richards. ‘Could it be as simple as that? You’ll be at lots of balls this Season, and you will see lots of different fans. Maybe a design will be intriguing to you.’
Miss Richards stiffened, and her face seemed to pale. ‘I cannot speak to what the ladies of China would prefer, my lord. One would need to live inside the court to know.’
‘But everyone likes novelty, yes? And English fans are different, yes?’
‘Again, my lord, one would need access to the Imperial Court to know.’
Declan understood what she was saying, and knew it was the same here. Any man could bring his goods to England, but it wouldn’t become popular unless a royal or an aristocrat declared it a delight. Without someone of influence in China praising English fans, Cedric would do as well tossing his fans into the ocean as he would in getting Chinese ladies to adopt them.
‘What she means,’ interrupted Cedric’s mother, ‘is that she’s a nobody in China. She can’t tell you what the ladies there want any more than my maid can.’
Miss Richards winced at that bold statement, as did her father, but she didn’t contradict it either. And then his aunt passed her a cup of tea.
She hadn’t asked for Miss Richards’ preferences, and indeed, one glance at the cup told him that his aunt had purposely curdled the milk with lemon. It was a petty embarrassment, one that demonstrated a cruel streak, especially as she quickly made herself a cup and sat back with a smug smile.
‘To your health, everyone,’ she said.
Then she took a sip from her own cup while her eyes remained fixed on Miss Richards. Would she take a drink from the rancid tea? Would she make a noise of disgust? Or would she leave the cup on the edge of the table so everyone saw that it was curdled?
Declan’s fury became a painful thing. The Byrning legacy was eating him from the inside out. He kept his expression placid by force of will, but determined that his aunt would feel his wrath eventually. This was not appropriate behaviour for a countess, and so he would tell her in no uncertain terms. There was little else he could do—she lived on his mother’s charity—but he would make his displeasure known. Just not now. That would be exposing his family’s dirty laundry in public.
Instead, he decided to correct her subtly and see if she was appropriately shamed.
‘My apology,’ Declan said with a loud voice. ‘I’m afraid I accidentally picked up your teacup, Miss Richards. It appears I’m quite addled.’
Then he pressed his own teacup and saucer into her hands, before reaching forward to grab her curdled tea. Miss Richards didn’t say a word, but watched him with a startled expression. She knew what he had done, and it had shocked her.
Meanwhile, he shifted his gaze to his aunt as he prepared to drink the disgusting brew. Would she stop him? Would she allow him to taste such a thing?
‘Oh, don’t, Your Grace!’ she cried as she set down her teacup with an audible click. ‘It’s cold. I was slow in serving everyone, and yours was first.’ She rang her little bell and when a footman appeared gestured to his tea. ‘Take His Grace’s cup away and bring more hot tea immediately.’ Then she simpered. ‘Really, it is so hard to get good servants these days. I’m mortified that I’ve served you cold tea.’
The other ladies rushed to reassure his aunt that they completely understood, thereby dropping them even further in his estimation. They shared tales of their displeasure with servants. They commiserated over how difficult it was to sack someone, but agreed that a lady understood how to do it with charm. And then, as if they had rehearsed it, they all turned to Miss Richards.
‘Have you had that experience in China, Miss Richards?’ asked Lady Jane. ‘Servants who must be disciplined or who are simply too stupid to learn?’
They already knew the answer. Hadn’t she just said that she had no entrée into the Imperial Court of China? As a bastard raised in a temple, Declan doubted she had experience with servants at all. But in this she surprised them all.
‘Aboard ship there were always sailors who refused to take direction from a woman. I may have had the captain’s trust as a navigator, but many men would not listen to my orders unless the captain relayed them. It was a constant problem.’
‘I should imagine,’ Declan said.
Meanwhile, Miss Smythe had abruptly leaned forward. ‘You have worked as a navigator on board a ship?’
Miss Richards dipped her chin, her smile warming with pride. ‘I have. I am very good at it.’
‘But you’re a woman !’ In fairness to Miss Smythe, she didn’t sound shocked so much as impressed. ‘I cannot imagine anyone would listen to you. To any woman.’
‘When I was younger, I hid my sex. Much easier to be a young boy than a vulnerable girl. But as I grew older there were constant problems. I was fortunate to have the protection of a good captain, who made sure I was obeyed. And he had a solution for when I was not.’
Declan could not get over how difficult her life must have been. ‘What was it?’ he asked.
‘What is always done. It was the captain’s idea. I was too young to know what to do, but he taught me.’
Everyone looked around, confused.
Finally, it was her father who explained. ‘If a sailor disobeys, he is flogged. It is the same on English ships.’
Lady Jane’s lip curled in shock. ‘You had men whipped? That sounds barbaric.’
‘It sounds like necessary discipline to me,’ Cedric said, nodding to Miss Richards as a way of showing his support. ‘Ships can be lawless places.’
But Miss Richards shook her head. ‘No, you misunderstand. The captain had men flogged many times, but I was still treated with disrespect.’
‘What did you do?’ Declan asked.
She looked into his eyes, her expression calm. ‘I wielded the whip myself.’
Declan believed it. He had seen the proof of her muscles, felt the strength in her, and he had been in her company enough to know that she had hidden talents. He would not have guessed that she could flog a man, but that made more sense than that she would be anxious to learn flower language.
But the others did not have that advantage or perception. His aunt, in particular, pushed to her feet.
‘Miss Richards,’ she said in strident tones. ‘In England, ladies do not lie. To think we would believe such a preposterous statement merely betrays your ignorance. I suggest you apologise immediately for your egregious actions.’
And here Grace must have finally reached her limit. She stood and, though she was not nearly as large a woman as his aunt, her composure radiated a confidence that he’d only seen in royalty.
‘Should you like me to teach you how to do it?’ Miss Richards asked. ‘You think to belittle me, but you only damage yourselves.’ She looked to the other ladies in the room. ‘How can you accept being so small? Even your attacks are tiny, when you are capable of so much more than bad tea and ugly fans.’
The ladies gasped, his aunt louder than the rest, but did they understand what she was saying? Declan wondered. That she not only saw their slights, but counted them as less than nothing compared to what she had done with her life. She wasn’t yet thirty and she had lived well beyond the bounds of anything these women considered possible.
In truth, he barely credited it. But far from being outraged, he was filled with admiration. Her sheer audacity impressed him, and her accomplishments were far beyond that.
‘Would you care to ride with me in Hyde Park?’ he asked abruptly. ‘I should love to hear more.’
She blinked at him, and he watched as her expression turned uncertain. She didn’t know the value of such an invitation, and had to look to her father for guidance. His aunt, however, didn’t give her time for an answer as she voiced her outrage in the loudest voice.
‘Your Grace! You cannot mean to foist such mendacity upon society!’
Mr Richards had found his feet, and he extended his arm to his daughter. ‘Grace has not lied,’ he said sternly. ‘And I think we’ve had enough of your polite society .’
These last words were sneered, and well they should be. And now Declan was forced to apologise for his bitter aunt.
‘Lord Wenshire, pray allow me to apologise for this terrible display. My aunt has been unwell, and I believe it has affected her temperament. I assure you, she and I will have words later.’
He shot his aunt a look that did nothing to assuage the fury in his blood.
His aunt’s mouth fell open in shock. The other ladies gasped in horror, but he turned his back on them. They were no longer women to whom he wished to extend any courtesy. Meanwhile, he continued his apology.
‘Pray, allow me to show your daughter that English society is not always so crass.’
‘Declan!’ his aunt snapped, her voice imperious. ‘You are overcome with emotion.’
He froze, her words slipping like ice into his veins. Those were the exact words his mother had used whenever he’d grown the least bit upset about anything as a boy. A broken toy, a lame horse—all had been dismissed as Declan being overly emotional. And, given the legacy of his blood, it was the one thing that terrified him.
Was he overreacting to his aunt’s horrendous display of bad manners? Damn her for making him second-guess himself. He took a moment to re-evaluate and decided—again—that she was in the wrong.
‘Drink your tea, Aunt. I am finished speaking with you.’
She gasped in shock, her hand pressed to her breast. She had a weak heart, he knew. She often grew breathless when distressed. He wondered anew if he had gone too far, especially when she collapsed back down into her seat. Of course he knew that she might be faking that, but he also knew her condition was real. How awful if his display of temper ended up killing his aunt.
But it was too late to change that now. He turned back to Miss Richards, though a part of him remained aware of his aunt’s shortened breath. If she really did faint, he would call for a doctor.
She didn’t.
‘Miss Richards, I should also like you to join me at the theatre. With your father’s permission, of course.’
No fool, the man dipped his chin in agreement. ‘A wonderful idea. Grace has been hoping to see our theatre.’
‘Then it is settled. A walk in Hyde Park tomorrow and the theatre the next day.’
Surprisingly, Grace shook her head. ‘My come-out ball isn’t until next week. I cannot go to the theatre beforehand.’
He nodded. ‘Quite right. But we can walk tomorrow. Theatre as soon as you are out. And I shall expect an invitation to your ball.’
She dipped her chin. ‘You honour me.’
He could do no less, given how abominably she’d been treated this afternoon.
‘Perhaps your father would join us in Hyde Park tomorrow—but may I have the pleasure of escorting you home now?’
He lifted his arm for her, while her gaze hopped between him and her father. It was as if she couldn’t understand a man extending such a courtesy to her. But in this her father helped.
He took her hand and placed it on Declan’s arm. ‘It’s too far to walk home, but since it’s a fine day you should enjoy a meander, yes? There’s been so little time for me to show you the best of London. I’ll have the carriage waiting nearby when you’re finished.’
Now that she had her father’s permission, Miss Richards nodded to him with the poise of a queen. ‘I should enjoy a walk, Your Grace. If that is what you wish.’
And so began the most extraordinary discussion of his life as they walked out, without giving anyone else in the room so much as a backward glance.