Chapter 8
Rowe decided to give no more thought to Lady Camilla’s strange ways.
After all, since when had he ever spared any thought about the way a lady behaved toward him if it was not to discourage her from casting lures?
He would therefore not think about Camilla, though he admitted to some disappointment, for he had thought they were friends.
Although it was not in his nature to worry, he had found it odd that he’d received no response from Camilla when he had gone to the trouble of writing to Miles over the Christmas holidays.
He had made it a point to include the Rowlandson sisters in his greeting.
Did she not know that by doing so he was paying her and her sisters a signal honor?
But it was futile to think this way. Ever since he had sent his regrets for the Christmas house party at the Eubanks’, he had begun to think that perhaps he wouldn’t marry at all.
In this ambition, he brought to mind Mr. Thomas Crosby as the ideal.
Crosby was an established bachelor of independent wealth, and matchmaking mamas had given up all hope of securing him for their daughters many years since.
He lived life for his own pleasure—a tantalizing prospect—and provided Rowe a model of how such a thing might be achieved.
If he could not bring himself to propose to a woman whose unassuming nature practically guaranteed he would be left in peace, then he was not likely to propose to anyone at all.
In those early winter months, when he was occupied with managing his estate, staying with friends in their hunting boxes, or riding to hounds, he had begun to dream what life would be like without the shackles of marriage.
Could he resist the pressure to do what everyone expected of him?
The current heir was a second cousin, who was even obliging enough to possess a brother.
It was not as though the Pembroke line would die out with him, contrary to what everyone had always told him.
The importance of marrying had been pushed upon him too young and too often to hold any enticement, even if the pressure stemmed from justifiable reasons.
His grandfather had often expressed his disappointment to have fathered only one son.
And he wouldn’t even speak of the daughter who had displeased him enough over an imprudent marriage that he had cast her off.
Rowe’s mother echoed his grandfather’s dictums, adding her own entreaties that sprang from her perceived failings.
She had only been able to have one daughter and a son before his father suffered a sudden collapse at a young age, abruptly leaving this world.
It was up to Rowe, he was told, to marry and fill his nursery with as many heirs and spares—and spares of spares—as he could, so that the line would not die out.
It was enough to make anyone with the remotest desire for independence leap on the fastest hunter in his stables and ride off.
However, Lady Camilla could not have been far from his mind, for when he spotted her brother-in-law during his early morning ride in Hyde Park, he picked up his pace to go and ride alongside him.
“Morning, Harwood.”
Felix turned to see who had addressed him and, smiling, returned the greeting. He looked cheerful and in good health, despite having entered the married state. At least for Harwood, the life he had chosen agreed with him.
“How is Parliament?” Rowe asked him. “Have you outlived the scandal?” When they had met last August, it had been too soon to discover whether the effects of a jealous rival who spread false rumors about Felix had hurt his sway in the Commons.
Robert Cunningworth, the man in question, had certainly attempted to cause Felix harm, not only in politics and in Society, but especially with Lady Sophia—though in that he had been caught short.
As little attention as Rowe gave to his duties in the Lords, he had used his influence there to clear Felix’s name.
“There are a couple of MPs who give me the cold shoulder still, but I suppose that is to be expected. Wherever humans congregate, so too does human nature.”
Rowe chuckled. “Truer words have never been spoken.”
A silence settled between them, and he relaxed, appreciating the air that was free of the fog that sometimes rode in with the morning mist. Patches of blue peeked through the green underneath the trees. And a variety of birds chirped their mating calls in a lively chorus.
“Lady Camilla seemed rather cold toward me the night of the ball.” The words were not fully out before Rowe felt surprised at himself.
The one thing he knew never to do was to inquire after a lady, for it always led to raising hopes.
And here he was doing it now. “Do you know of any cause she might have to be displeased with me?”
“I asked her the same.” Felix shrugged, looking beyond his horse’s bobbing head. “She said something along the lines of viewing you like a brother or some such thing. Said she had no need to stand on ceremony with you.”
“Oh, is that all?” Rowe laughed, but it sounded forced to his own ears.
He should be glad that she viewed him in the light of a brother.
Did he not view her as he would a sister?
Not that she was anything like Mary, who was forceful.
But no, he was glad. If that was all it was, then it explained everything.
In no time, he would jostle her back into that comfortable banter they usually shared.
“I thought to go shooting at Manton’s later. Will you join me?”
“I would have liked it, but I have a committee meeting I must attend.” Felix pointed ahead to the gate with his riding crop. “And I have to turn off here. You and I are in quite different directions.”
“Shame.” Rowe went to turn his horse to follow a path back to the main entrance.
“But perhaps you might join us tomorrow night at Astley’s?” Felix called out, slowing his horse to look back at him. “We have tokens for seats in the upper gallery, and there is a spare since I mistook the date of Evo’s return to London.”
“You’re attending with Lady Sophia?”
“And all of her sisters, plus Lady Poole. It would please me to have another gentleman in our company,” he added with dry humor, though Rowe knew Felix himself had several sisters and was attached to them all.
“I imagine.” He had made plans for the next evening, but it was nothing that couldn’t be put off. “I am promised to dine with Pollard at the club, but if I know him, he’ll be open to a change. If you are not opposed, I will see if he wishes to meet us there.”
“Excellent notion. I believe we are to dine at Grosvenor at five o’clock. If Pollard will not object to meeting us at the theater, I will ask Sophia to have a place set for you for dinner. After all, you are an intimate of the family.”
He was certain Pollard would not mind. And then he would have the privilege of seeing Camilla in her family setting, where she must surely treat him as she had before. “I’m obliged to you. Until tomorrow then.”
“Tell Pollard to find us in the right-hand boxes. The first tier. Good day.” Felix touched his crop to his hat and turned toward the gate that led to his house in Russell Square.
Pollard was always amenable to any entertainment while in London, and Rowe was easily able to convince him to meet at Astley’s for an evening’s diversion.
Despite his love of diversion, one would be mistaken to believe Pollard an idle man.
He was devoted to experimenting with various agricultural methods on his estate.
And when in London, he spent every morning going over letters from his steward, studying his accounts, and reading books on how he might improve his yield.
If Rowe wished for a second opinion on matters concerning estate management, he asked Pollard before anyone else.
The next night, at five minutes to the hour, Rowe knocked at Lord Poole’s residence and was admitted by the butler.
“Good evening, Turton,” he said, removing his hat and cape and handing both over, along with his cane. “I trust the family is aware of my coming? Mr. Harwood extended the invitation to me.”
“Indeed they are, my lord. The family is awaiting your arrival in the drawing room.” The butler handed the items to a footman and led the way.
The Rowlandson women, along with another young lady with a familiar air and introduced as Miss Milton, stood when he arrived. He greeted each in turn, surprised to experience what oddly felt like nerves when he came to one lady in particular.
“How do you do, Lady Camilla?”
“Quite well, I thank you.” Her enigmatic smile was still in place, which was mildly irritating since this could not be explained away as her effort to avoid standing on ceremony.
What was she doing now but standing on ceremony?
In fact, she was being deliberately frosty.
Well, if that was what she wanted to play at, he was no stranger to such games and would give her back her own.
“Excellent.” He moved on. “Lady Joanna, if I am not mistaken, you are the one anticipating this evening’s program the most.”
“Indeed I am,” she answered, eyes twinkling. “I have wanted to go to Astley’s ever since I heard about its existence and am astonished we have not yet gone in our two London seasons.”
“Evo will be so put out when he learns that we attended without him,” Tilly said, sounding pleased by the notion.
“Perhaps I will take him again when he comes. When will he arrive?” Rowe’s gaze involuntarily sought that of Camilla’s.
“Tuesday,” she replied. “Unless he gives his tutor the slip again and shows up on Monday.” A flash of her usual humor made a brief appearance in her eyes, then disappeared. That it was so fleeting worried him, despite his intentions to ignore her aloofness. Something was indeed troubling her.