Chapter 3 #2
His shoulders drooped in relief, but a deep furrow cut through his brow as he proclaimed, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to have a difficult discussion with Mrs. Birnam.” He shook his head. “I don’t know why she’s been behaving in such a confrontational manner. She’s never acted this way before.”
I suspected I knew, but it was a lengthier discussion than we had time for.
“Her remarks aren’t why I asked you here,” I informed him. “Though I am glad you cleared that up.”
The corners of his eyes crinkled in confusion as I looked up at Gage still lounging in the doorway with his arms crossed, wondering if he was even aware.
“Oh. Then…?”
“Miss Portia Whitlock,” I pronounced briskly, conscious of the clock ticking on the mantel and the time passing. “What can you tell me about her?”
From the manner in which his pupils widened, this was not a question he’d been anticipating. He stared at me speechless, but rather than prod him, I waited with strained tolerance to hear what he would say.
“I…” He shifted uncomfortably. “I suppose I don’t know what you mean.”
I scowled, his prevarication making me more suspicious by the minute. “Trevor, I invited these people into my father-in-law’s home to dine and socialize with our family and his guests. If you have brought some sort of disgraceful tomfoolery into our midst…”
His hands lifted in defense. “Now, wait just a moment.” His eyes darkened with anger. “You can’t actually think I would do such a thing?”
“I don’t wish to think it,” I snapped. “But when I ask you a perfectly reasonable question and you hem and haw, what am I to think? Especially when all the Birnams, save Mr. Birnam, react to Miss Whitlock’s presence as they do.
And now Mr. Birnam has cornered me into including her at the dining table this evening. ”
Trevor groaned and even Gage straightened in surprise, for I’d not yet had time to inform him of my most recent interaction with Jeremiah Birnam.
“So forgive me if I should like the matter made crystal clear to me,” I enunciated, barely restraining my temper. “Who is she?”
“Not what you fear,” he hastened to assure me, before swiping a hand over his handsome features and settling deeper into his chair. “I’m not familiar with all the particulars, but I can tell you what I do know.”
I gestured impatiently for him to continue.
“Apparently, Miss Whitlock’s father was an old friend of Mr. Birnam’s.
One who invested his money poorly, losing his entire fortune before he died just a year after his wife, leaving Miss Whitlock an orphan.
Mr. Birnam was named her guardian, and for a time she was raised in his household alongside his own children.
Matilda recalls sharing a governess with her for several years.
” He frowned. “But then one day Miss Whitlock was suddenly separated from them.”
“Why?”
Trevor shook his head. “Matilda doesn’t know.” His brow furrowed. “Or she wouldn’t say. Only that Miss Whitlock was sent away to school, and when she returned a few years later, she became her father’s private secretary.”
“An odd arrangement, surely,” Gage remarked, finally advancing farther into the room.
“It’s certainly not the norm,” I conceded. “In such a situation, it’s more common for a young lady in Miss Whitlock’s circumstances to be gifted a small dowry and a suitable match arranged. Or barring that, for her to be found a post as a governess or a companion.”
I wasn’t certain if it spoke well of Mr. Birnam or not that Miss Whitlock had not taken either path.
I supposed it depended upon whether she’d been given a choice.
If she had, and had opted instead to become his private secretary, then that said something rather different about the players involved than if she’d been given no alternative.
“How long has she served as his secretary?” I asked.
“I couldn’t tell you for certain,” Trevor said. “Several years at least.”
“Then it’s not a recent development,” Gage summarized.
I tapped my fingers against the arms of my chair, trying to grasp the dynamics of this unusual arrangement. “Does Miss Whitlock often dine with the family?”
“On occasion. I’ve dined at their table twice when she was present.” His gaze was troubled. “Though, I confess, I thought she was included to even the numbers. But perhaps not.”
“And how did Mrs. Birnam treat her?”
He tugged at his sleeves. “I didn’t witness much of their interactions, but what I did was polite but strained.”
“And Matilda?” I asked.
His lips twisted unhappily. “She confessed to me once that, given their history, she doesn’t know precisely how to act around Miss Whitlock. Are they friends? Is she supposed to treat her like the staff? And I gather her mother doesn’t make the situation easier.”
“What of Jemmy Birnam?”
Trevor crossed his arms—further evidence of his discomfort with this topic—and turned toward the window.
It was clear my brother was grappling with something, and his next remark made me think it was his loyalty to Matilda and whether to share the things with us that she might have told him in confidence.
“Matilda told me that her father is always trying to manipulate her brother and Miss Whitlock into proximity with one another.”
“He wants them to wed?” Gage queried as his gaze met mine over Trevor’s head. The intimation was obvious. If Mr. Birnam wished for Miss Whitlock to become his daughter-in-law, it was unlikely he had designs on her himself, either in the past or the present.
But Trevor hedged. “Maybe. If so, Matilda says Jemmy is categorically opposed to the match.”
I supposed that explained his behavior toward her in the saloon. “And Miss Whitlock? How does she feel about it?”
“Matilda didn’t say.” He frowned. “I don’t suppose she knows.”
I nodded, suspecting Miss Whitlock probably kept most of her thoughts to herself. Though, considering her position, I imagined she felt she had little choice in the matter.
Regardless, if Mr. Birnam was trying to encourage his son to marry his secretary, and Jemmy and Mrs. Birnam were both opposed to the match, then that could explain a great deal of the tension we’d witnessed earlier.
“Then, should I be concerned about Miss Whitlock dining with us?” I pressed Trevor. “Will it cause difficulties with Mrs. Birnam and Jemmy?”
“Contrary to what you experienced today, Mrs. Birnam does know how to behave with decorum.” He frowned. “Especially when her family’s reputation and her husband’s business dealings are on the line. I can’t imagine she—or Jemmy—would create a scene.”
“But perhaps you should warn them,” I suggested.
He considered this and nodded. “Yes, I probably should.” He rose to his feet. “It can’t hurt.”
“I’ve already sent word to Mr. Thorndike,” I said as I joined them in standing. “It seems wrong to exclude Lord Gage’s secretary if Miss Whitlock is being included.”
His presence might also mask the peculiarity of her being there from the others. In this case, two secretaries dining with us was less conspicuous than one.
Gage agreed. “I imagine Thorndike is quite pleased by the invite.” He arched a single eyebrow. “Though it’s doubtful he’ll tell you so.”
I’d noticed that my father-in-law’s personal employees tended to adopt his worst tendencies.
His valet, Lembus, for instance, had perfected his scornful glare, and was well known among the staff to be “a mite too high in the instep,” as my maid Bree described it.
Mr. Thorndike was no different. Though I’d mostly been shielded from any display of the secretary’s contempt because of Lord Gage’s and my recent amicableness.
However, that closeness had been altered by Mr. Birnam’s visit, and I suspected Mr. Thorndike was well aware of it.
“I’m not holding my breath,” I conceded before turning to my brother.
“Thank you for confiding in us what you know,” I told him earnestly.
“I understand why you perhaps hesitated, and I appreciate you trusting me.” I sighed.
“I can’t say I’m any happier with Mr. Birnam for cornering me into this arrangement.
I would much rather he have made his request quietly upon their arrival.
” My brow furrowed. “Or at an earlier hour. But at least I now know it’s unlikely I’m courting an enormous scandal by allowing Miss Whitlock to dine with us. ”
“You’re not,” Trevor assured me, though the hesitance in his gaze told me he still held at least a sliver of uncertainty. One I didn’t want to see.
I glanced at the clock, surprised to discover the hour was even later than I’d expected. “I need to dress for dinner,” I said, hurrying toward the bellpull to ring for Bree.
Trevor slipped quietly from the room as Gage followed me into our bedchamber. “Perhaps I should warn my father as well.”
“After you change,” I agreed, noting he’d already tugged loose his cravat.
Bree came bustling through the dressing room door, my gown of cerulean and gray silk draped over her arm.
Anderley was, no doubt, waiting to assist Gage in the adjoining bedchamber.
My maid all but ignored my husband’s presence, hanging the dress on the outside of the wardrobe before spinning me around to begin on my fastenings.
This, more than anything, told me how little time we had.
But before taking the hint to begin his own ablutions, Gage grasped hold of my hands, urging me to look up into his wintery blue eyes. “All will be well.”
I appreciated his attempt to ease my concerns, but I was all too aware that he couldn’t know that. Nonetheless, I squeezed his hands in return and offered him a grateful smile before shooing him from the room. Only Bree saw it fall as the door shut behind him.