Chapter Three
The late Admiral Horatio Nelson would, no doubt, have been impressed watching the expertise with which the attendees maneuvered and positioned themselves during that night’s after-dinner port.
A veritable regatta of cravats and faded frock coats encircled their host, tossing out an endless stream of flattering words about both him and themselves.
Had the Warricks realized upon concocting this scheme of theirs that they would be subjected to three weeks of ceaseless attentions?
“This could be a very long house party,” Edward muttered to his brother. He and Tom were the only gentlemen not swarming their host. “I doubt this will stop even once while we’re here.”
“That is why I’m taking your approach,” Tom said.
“My what?”
“All the guests tossing compliments at Mr. Warrick’s head will simply blur together in his memory. But you and I, we will stand out because we aren’t following suit.”
Edward turned more fully to face Tom. “You are joining the competition?”
“It is a fortune,” Tom said, lowering his voice. “Certainly you don’t think I’m going to pass up a chance at a fortune.”
Tom couldn’t be serious. “But this entire thing is demeaning. The Warricks have set this up like a dog fight, and we, dear brother, are the dogs.”
“I am the younger son of an impoverished family. I am well acquainted with ‘demeaning.’ What I’d like to be well acquainted with is a comfortable income.”
This was unexpected. “You would lower yourself to compete for this inheritance?”
Tom set his glass of port on the tabletop. He kept his voice low. “You may have resigned yourself to living out your life alone, hoping to economize enough to keep the Downy estate solvent. I, however, do not even have that. As humiliating as the prospect is, this dog fight is my only chance.”
Edward had never heard Tom speak so matter-of-factly about their situation. For all intents and purposes, his brother had never seemed anything but casually unconcerned about important matters. Indeed, most people assumed Tom hadn’t a fully formed thought rattling around in his head.
“I wish I had more to offer you, Tom. Caroline’s marriage pulled the estate out of debt, but nothing short of a good investment of money will make it profitable.”
Tom sighed even as he shrugged. “If Warrick chooses me, we can use some of the income from this estate to bolster the Downy estate, then we’ll both have something of an income.”
It was a generous offer and, Edward knew, a genuine one.
“If, by some odd twist of fate, Warrick chooses me” —Edward still didn’t mean to actively participate in the competition, but stranger things had happened— “this estate will go to you, with only enough held back to bring the Downy estate back into profit.”
Tom nodded sharply. “I will gladly accept that offer.”
Edward only hoped desperation didn’t push Tom to do something truly humiliating. Though the income would be a godsend, a man didn’t recover easily from sacrificing his pride.
“Gentlemen. Gentlemen,” Mr. Warrick’s hearty voice called out. “We’d best join the ladies in the drawing room. They’ll be expecting us.”
He emerged from the crowd, looking well pleased with himself. Edward watched him pass, unsure if he was more amazed at how much the man was enjoying the collective fawning or discouraged to see yet another member of Society who felt his wealth entitled him to such groveling.
Mr. Warrick’s gaze settled on Edward, lingering there for a drawn-out moment.
Edward hadn’t the heart to smile or nod or otherwise acknowledge the singling out that most of the others in the room would likely have drooled over.
He found the entire charade nauseating. Mr. Warrick’s brow pulled, and his gaze shifted to Tom, who, to his credit, kept himself to a quick dip of his head and nothing more.
As the rest of the gentlemen followed in Warrick’s wake, Isley crossed instead to the table. “What are the two of you playing at?” he asked, eyeing them both in turn.
“Not Warrick’s little game,” Edward answered. “He’s making fools of the lot of us.”
Isley made a sound of dismissal. “I’ll play the fool for three weeks if it’ll earn me an estate this size. I made a few discreet inquiries. Warrick likely has at least ￡5,000 a year, quite possibly more.”
The sound of Tom’s thick swallow told Edward as nothing else could that his brother only grew more desperate at hearing that number. He wasn’t entirely immune to it, himself. In a good year, the Downy estate might bring ￡100. In a very good year.
“Only one person will be named heir,” Edward reminded them all. “Everyone else will leave just as penniless as they arrived, but with less dignity. That is a steep price.” He, for one, didn’t like the idea of contributing to the abasement of two dozen people.
“Appease your conscience if you can,” Isley said.
“In the meantime, I will be joining Mr. and Mrs. Warrick in the drawing room and hoping to make a good showing for myself. Father did not leave Mother a widow’s jointure, and she is living with her sister.
This estate has a dower house. She wouldn’t be a poor relation.
” A touch of desperation showed in Isley’s face, not unlike what Edward had seen in Tom’s expression a moment ago.
This was what he hated most about the Warricks’ pitting their guests against one another. Though he didn’t know everyone’s story, Edward didn’t doubt they were all in straits as dire as Isley’s and Tom’s and his. Hopes were being raised, most of which would be cruelly dashed in three weeks’ time.
They joined the party in the drawing room.
The Warricks were flanked on all sides by guests eager to assist, praise, and otherwise make themselves a favorite.
Even if Edward were interested in participating, there’d be little point in trying.
Tom seemed to feel the same way; he found a seat and watched the display with barely concealed amusement.
Either he was a terribly good actor, or he too had realized the futility of trying to make an impression while so many were already eagerly attempting to do so.
Edward kept to the edges of the room, making a circuit in search of a comfortable chair.
His progress was hampered when he reached a windowed alcove with voices coming from within.
He could not pass forward without his presence being made known, but a couple had taken up residence a few steps behind him and he couldn’t easily backtrack, either.
“Did Mrs. Warrick seem impressed with you?” a man’s voice asked.
“She found it odd that I offered to stir her tea,” a lady responded.
“Stir her—? You—?” Clearly her answer had been unexpected.
“You told me to make myself useful to her, Father. That seemed a useful thing to do.”
Had the Warricks involved a simpleton in their schemes? That was truly despicable.
“I was unable to get a word in with Mr. Warrick,” the poor girl’s father said. “I will try again when fewer of the guests are about. You do the same with Mrs. Warrick.”
“Perhaps I might offer to cut her food for her at breakfast in the morning.”
“No, Agatha.” Unmistakable frustration filled his words. “Do not do anything which involves personally manipulating her food or drink. Promise you won’t. Promise.”
“I promise, Father,” she said cheerfully.
“I will go attempt to ascertain the other guests’ strategies. Try not to make a spectacle of yourself.”
“Yes, Father.”
A man likely Edward’s own father’s age stepped from the alcove and directly toward the center of the room. So intent was he upon his goal that he did not notice Edward so nearby. He did not spare his ill-used daughter so much as a single backward glance.
The situation was none of Edward’s concern. Indeed, he did not even know the ambitious gentleman or his daughter. Yet, he couldn’t simply walk away, leaving the unfortunate young lady to her misery.
He stepped around the corner and into the alcove.
It wasn’t so secluded as to make his presence there inappropriate.
He recognized her: the serene, dark-haired beauty he’d spied in the crowd earlier that day.
Had her calmness come not from being at ease in chaotic situations but rather from being slow-witted?
She spotted him there. “Adonis,” she said with the exact tone of one recognizing another person.
“No,” he said, kindly. “I am Edward. Edward Downy.”
A tiny hint of color touched her cheeks. She must have realized how inappropriate it was for him to introduce himself. But what option did he have, really?
“I would do this properly,” he said, “but anyone who might make the introduction is otherwise occupied.”
“‘Otherwise occupied’? I am assuming by that you mean ‘on the hunt for a fortune.’” Her gaze shifted from him to the gathering beyond the alcove. “It appears to be an exhausting undertaking. I fully expect breakfast to be a very hearty meal in the morning.”
On the surface, her ramblings seemed nonsensical, but Edward wasn’t convinced. He sensed, though it was subtle, more than a hint of dryness.
“What of you?” she asked. “Why are you not across the room commending Mr. Warrick on his management of his estate or complimenting Mrs. Warrick on her choice of lace? Do you not realize how crucial first impressions are? Second impressions are comparatively worthless. And third impressions . . . those aren’t even worth mentioning. ”
Edward bit back a smile. He suspected his companion was far from the featherhead he had at first assumed her to be. Her wit was subtle, dry, and understated.