Chapter 14 #2
“Close the door and have a seat,” Lord Gage directed from his chair behind his broad oak desk.
Gage and I occupied the two Rococo-inspired Chippendale armchairs—a match to the Rococo-style plaster ceiling and frieze below the cornice—forcing Thorndike to sit in the ladderback chair Gage had brought in from the library.
Lord Gage did not spare his secretary’s feelings. “Some troubling information has come to my attention.” He arched his chin sternly. “Did you indelicately imply to Miss Birnam—a gently bred young lady, regardless of her father’s origins—that Miss Whitlock was applying to be her stepmother?”
Thorndike’s face paled and his throat worked to swallow as he attempted to formulate a response that would save him from being sacked.
To his credit, at least he didn’t try to lie.
“I have no defense, my lord. I used poor judgment in making such cruel and unconscionable remarks to the young lady. I…I do know better.”
“What were you thinking, man?” Lord Gage demanded furiously.
“I…I wasn’t,” he stammered, clasping his hands together so tightly in his lap that the knuckles turned white.
“It was only that I’d heard others make similar remarks and I thought…
” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter what I thought.
Or that I did not care for Miss Whitlock.
I should never have said it. Particularly to Miss Birnam. ”
Though I had been convinced of his remorse until this point, there was something in the way he mentioned that he had not cared for Miss Whitlock, almost in an offhanded way, that made me scrutinize him more closely.
For all that he appeared repentant, there was something in the creases at the corner of his lips or perhaps the shiftiness of his eyes that made me suspect he’d dropped in that remark quite deliberately, as if it was bait.
And Lord Gage snapped it up. “Why did you not care for Miss Whitlock?”
When he hesitated before responding, I was more certain than ever that he was acting with calculation. And if my husband’s expression was anything to judge by, he suspected it as well.
“I do not wish to speak ill of the dead…”
I nearly snorted at this.
“But she was not the most conscientious of individuals.” His lips tightened in disdain. “It was quite clear to me how she attained her position.”
“Pretty, wasn’t she?” I needled casually, hoping for a reaction.
He glowered at me. “I suppose to some.” He sniffed. “But not really to my taste.”
Except that was a lie. Even Lord Gage recognized it.
“How exactly wasn’t she conscientious?” he asked.
Thorndike rolled his neck and shoulders, playing for time. “She was lax at her duties, for one. Took an entire day to recuperate from their journey.” His voice conveyed his doubts about this. “And what I could see of her paperwork, it was slapdash at best.”
“And what exactly did you see of her paperwork?” I queried. The documents might have been removed from Miss Whitlock’s chamber, but if Thorndike had some inkling of what they’d contained, it might help us.
But this also appeared to be a lie. “Not much content. I would never stoop to prying in another man’s business.”
I couldn’t tell if this was meant to be insulting or not, but he seemed to recognize his error, hastening to correct himself.
“They were Mr. Birnam’s private papers, after all, but it was riddled with sloppy penmanship and skewed numbers.”
Lord Gage seemed to find this as implausible as I did, for his voice lowered as if he was near the end of his patience. “We also understand that you suggested Miss Whitlock was unnatural and unfit for her position.” He arched a single eyebrow. “That someone ought to teach her to mind?”
His shoulders stiffened, and this time the reaction was more genuine. “I realize in light of everything that’s happened how that sounds, but I never meant to imply that I would be the one to do so.”
Hadn’t he? I narrowed my eyes. I wasn’t so sure about that.
“I simply meant…” He paused to swallow, another delaying tactic. “That there are many men who wouldn’t take kindly to her holding such a position when it rightly belongs to a man. Her place should be at home rather than taking a good livelihood from a man, perhaps one with a family to support.”
“And if she’s an orphan with no family to keep her?
” Gage interceded, his voice pitched with disinterest, almost as if he didn’t truly care about the answer.
However, I had learned long ago that when my husband was suppressing the inflection of his voice, he was more invested than ever in the response.
Especially when he adopted the stance he now took with his fingers laced together over his flat abdomen.
“Or she’s of the inclination that she wishes to support herself? Should she still be forced to wed?”
“Of course. It’s simply the lot God gave her. She can’t change that.” Thorndike leaned forward. “She shouldn’t.”
“And if there’s no suitable man to marry? Of acceptable station, temperament, good standing? What then?”
He scoffed. “Then she’s too fussy.”
I had no doubt Gage was working toward pinning the secretary with some important point.
Perhaps that, still unwed at a score and ten, Thorndike was not exactly an authority to speak for women.
And I was content to allow Gage to continue.
Truthfully, I was rather relishing the prospect of my husband skewering the fellow.
But for whatever reason, his father elected to spoil it, though he was as aware of his son’s tactics as I was, for they were also his own.