Chapter Four
Lelander had been shown to his room, which was very well appointed.
It had a much different aspect to it than his house at home, which was newer built.
The ancient age of Chemsworth meant he was enveloped in heavy stone walls behind dark wood paneling, deep sills, and a massive hearth.
Everything had certainly been set up for comfort.
There was a silver tray on a table next to a well-stuffed armchair at the hearth.
It was stocked with claret, lemonade, and almond biscuits.
The basin had several silk-wrapped soaps and a shaving cream for his convenience.
All the comforts in the world, though, were no consolation for Burkhart being in the house.
How were they to avoid coming to blows? Lelander felt nearly enraged even looking at the man. And then, that stupid maneuver with the carriage!
Burkhart urging his coachman to pass Lelander’s carriage at the crossroads was a childish thing to do. It had forced Lelander to answer the challenge and they had both ended looking foolish as they overshot the front doors.
The fates must have held a similar opinion on that nonsense, as a cowbell was summarily dropped on Burkhart’s head.
Lelander smiled at the recollection of the man having to dab at a blood droplet and pretend it had not been very painful.
He knew very well that it had been painful, he’d seen how hard that bell had hit.
Meegan stopped his unpacking. “What are we to do?”
“I have no idea.”
“I did have one idea. I could send a letter to Markman asking him to send a letter back here, calling you home. It would all look very real as the postmark would be from Lancashire.”
Markman was his father’s valet and he and Meegan were long known to one another. Lelander had no doubt that Markman would do it, no questions asked.
“Then,” Meegan went on, “we might take a trip to the seaside. Brighton, perhaps? We could stay in a hotel facing the sea. It might be cold, but I bet the views would be good. Or how about London? Do you have the funds for it?”
“I will not allow Burkhart to drive me from this house. If one of us is to go, it must be him.”
It was a matter of pride. It was also a matter of the Granger ladies. He’d wished to meet ladies outside of his sphere, and now he had. He would not abandon the project just because a surly Yorkshireman was in the vicinity.
It had been a surprise when Miss Poppy Granger had stepped forward next to her sister. He had never seen twins before, and it had taken a moment to adjust to seeing two people who looked so similar.
There were small differences between them, though, when one observed closely.
Their beauty marks were on opposite sides and, as he’d glanced at them in the drawing room, he noticed that Miss Poppy Granger had a softer, more rounded look, which he thought he preferred.
Miss Pansy Granger was just a bit more angular.
They were both very pretty and seemed genial, but if it were to come down to small details, Miss Poppy Granger must have the edge.
He would require much further acquaintance to understand both of the ladies and of course he had no indication of what the ladies might think about him.
That was, actually, a rather disturbing thought.
It could well be that there would be other gentlemen arriving aside from the lumbering Burkhart.
They might be better looking, they might have more impressive titles, or holdings, or both.
They might not have a longstanding feud with a neighboring county.
They might have all sorts of advantages over him.
He would have to make himself very genial to prevail over those unknown gentlemen.
Mostly, he wished to prevail over Burkhart. That would be pleasant. Burkhart would have to live with it all his life. Whatever was to transpire here, Lelander being preferred over Burkhart ought to be a part of it.
“You will outdress him, in any case,” Meegan said. “Smith is never up to much and look who he has to dress. Lord Burkhart is a beast in a neckcloth, that neckcloth very clumsily tied, in my opinion.”
Lelander smiled, as Meegan’s detestation of Smith always amused him.
He could not say, if he were being brutally honest, that there was anything particularly wrong with Burkhart’s knot.
It was a simple waterfall, which perhaps denoted a lack of imagination, or so said Meegan.
Lelander himself preferred a neatly tied barrel knot, though it sometimes led to a neckcloth or two being discarded when attempts did not come out perfectly.
With any luck, he would find Burkhart’s cloth wrinkled at dinner. For himself, Meegan would deliver perfection, as Meegan never did anything less.
Burkhart had been led to his room. He examined his head in the glass. It was not a serious wound, though he was certain it would swell and bruise. Fortunately, most of the damage was hidden by his hair.
He had not known what he expected out of Chemsworth Hall, but he could rule out a couple of things. One, having Lelander turn up. Two, encountering ladies who were twins. And three, having a cowbell crash into his head.
The pain of the strike had been immediate and sharp, but he’d done everything possible to brush it off as if it were nothing.
It was a kindness to his hostess that he did not kick up a fuss about it.
Further, Lelander had been a witness to it.
He’d seen the smirk on that devil’s face well enough, and he was certain Lelander would tell the story to anybody who would listen when he got home.
He would not augment the story with any display of discomfort.
“Are we to stay?” Smith asked.
“Why would we not stay?” Burkhart asked, even though he well knew the reason.
"Are we to socialize with the enemy?" Smith asked.
“Apparently, I am to socialize with the enemy. You need not.”
“Where do you think I go when I am not with you?” Smith asked. “I will be at the servants’ table. With mincing Meegan.”
“As to that, do not start anything. I would not like to inconvenience Viscountess Mulholland with any squabble between two valets.”
“What if he starts something, though? What if he throws a punch at me? Am I to just stand there, getting clobbered?”
“Mincing Meegan is now to punch you?” Burkhart said. Smith had the unique ability to describe Lelander’s valet in whatever manner suited the situation. A minute ago he was mincing, and now he was a brute who might engage in boxing.
“Maybe he tries to poison me, then. That would be very like a Lancashireman. I bet hemlock grows everywhere around here. Am I to allow him to poison me?”
“As much as the two of you despise one another, the idea of him risking swinging for it probably puts that option out of the running.”
“He’s sly, there is no telling what he might try. Tudor blood, they’re all the same.”
That was, of course, an even further stretch. Not everybody in Lancashire had even very distant Tudor blood. “We will not be driven out by Lelander,” he said. “Do not create a ruckus below stairs.”
Smith shrugged. “I may be forced to give him looks though. I can hardly be expected to control what my face does.”
Burkhart thought his valet could absolutely be expected to control what his face did. However, it seemed dark looks would be exchanged. He was certain that Meegan himself would have plenty of looks to offer across the table and he could hardly ask his valet to take them in without reciprocating.
Whatever was to go on below stairs, he would not spend endless amounts of time thinking about it.
There were two charming ladies in the house.
They were twins, so that was odd, but they were both pretty.
Miss Pansy Granger seemed to be the more talkative one, but he had not spent enough time becoming acquainted with them to really be certain of that.
He supposed Lelander would have the same thoughts as he did, which made him determined to be preferred.
In any case, Lelander was too much of a dandy.
Did any lady like that sort of thing? What lady wished for a man who probably spent more time on his neckcloth than she spent on her dress? It could not be preferable.
Poppy had gone into Pansy’s room, with Daisy and Violet on her heels. As a usual thing, having so many sisters in one room would result in chattering voices and laughter. Just this minute, though, they all stared at one another silently.
“Goodness,” Violet said quietly.
Daisy nodded. “Gracious.”
Poppy said quietly, “They really do not seem to care for one another.”
“You do not think they were just put out with each other over that carriage race up the drive?” Pansy asked.
“I am afraid,” Violet said, “that it might be more than that. They were very determined to claim their counties, both seeming to disdain the other. And then when Mr. Lelander complimented Mama’s red roses, well…”
Violet had trailed off and, as usual, their intellectual sister assumed they would understand her reference.
Poppy had not the first idea where Violet’s thoughts were going.
It had seemed a very natural and polite thing to compliment a hostess on her roses, even if they were drooping at the tail end of the season.
“Do say more, Violet,” Pansy said. “The rest of us have not read every book in the world.”
“The red rose and the white rose?” Violet asked.