Chapter 19 #2
“Your sister does seem to have taken Miss Winkley under her wing,” she told Bernice, after seeing that they would not be overheard. “Do you have any idea why?”
Bernice thought for a moment. “Miss Winkley is of an admiring nature and is not likely to challenge Abigail’s authority. I suppose she is gratifying to my sister’s ego.” Her humorous look softened as Mr. Pollard approached them.
“Good afternoon, Lady Camilla,” he said. Smiling, she returned the greeting. He eyed the table nearest them. “I do not believe we will return home hungry.”
“Indeed not,” she answered, laughing. Mr. Pollard’s eyes rested on his betrothed, and Camilla thought she should find somewhere else to be. Her three sisters stood together near the tall windows, and she was about to excuse herself to join them.
“Lady Camilla.”
She knew whose voice that was and turned.
Without warning, Pembroke took her hand in his and flipped it over to examine the small scar from the knife wound on her palm.
He rubbed it gently with one finger. It was done in a spirit of analysis, but it caused tingles to shoot up her arm and her breath to become shallow.
Why could she not remain strong when she was around him?
He brought his eyes to her in a way that was entirely too direct for her peace of mind.
“It is not noticeable, as you said, but I would not for the world have had you suffer it.” With how near he stood, she easily saw the amber flecks in his eyes and the surprisingly long lashes.
That such lashes should be wasted on a man was unfair.
His focused attention was unfair. Was this not the behavior of a serious suitor?
It was becoming increasingly difficult to resist, yet he had remained vague regarding his intentions. How could she trust a man like that?
Camilla forced air into her lungs and pulled her hand away, looking back to her sisters with the intention to flee.
She wished to be anywhere but with him, especially since it needed only one glance at his face to see the satisfied look.
He knew he affected her, and the fact was infuriating.
A servant stepped up to them and, grateful for the interruption, she accepted a glass of lemonade.
Her sisters were still grouped in a welcoming circle, but for some reason, her feet would not move forward.
“Rafe,” Mr. John Weatherby called out to his son. “Help your sister to prepare a plate, and then you may fix one for yourself.”
Rafe had been standing with Evo and Freddie Winkley, all talking as though they had been friends since they were in shortcoats, and piling their plates high with all that was on offer. Rafe instantly set down his plate and went to the sweet girl, whom Camilla guessed to be about six.
“Arabella, what will you eat?” he asked, bending down to her level.
She murmured something in return, and Camilla observed Evo stop filling his plate to watch the encounter.
She hoped he was learning something about what gentlemanlike behavior looked like, for this was an excellent example from someone his own age.
His attention did not last long, however, before he turned back to the other boy.
“I say, Freddie. I will bet you a monkey I can fill my plate higher than yours.”
“Haven’t got a monkey,” the boy replied, unconcerned as he balanced a mini tart on the top of his food.
“You needn’t have actual money,” Evo retorted. “It’s just a wager to see who can win it.”
Lord Pembroke’s sister entered the drawing room, following her twins who raced ahead of her.
They stopped short in front of the table of refreshments and glanced back at Lady Mary for permission, but she had stopped to speak to her husband.
Using this as an excuse to leave Pembroke’s side, Camilla went over to the boys.
“I am Lady Camilla. Would you like to eat something?”
“Yes, my lady,” they said in angelic chorus. It made her smile, and she could not help but look up at their uncle. That was the wrong thing to do, because he came forward as though she had invited him.
“Well, Henry? Well, Tom? You may select something to eat.” A servant came with two plates, and they complied, filling their plates with an enthusiasm that would not likely match their coordination.
He turned to Camilla and said under his breath, “We may want to stand by. Heaven forbid they should have the idea to hold the plate with one hand and tip its entire contents on the carpet.”
“Excellent idea,” she said, a smile touching her lips despite herself.
Lady Mary came over then. “Pembroke, what an excellent uncle you are to see to their needs, and so I’ve always told you.” She turned to her. “A pleasure to see you again, Lady Camilla. Do you not find my brother to be excellent with children?”
“I cannot say, Lady Mary,” she replied with a smile she hoped was friendly despite how obviously matchmaking her comment seemed to be. “I have not seen him in their company often enough to judge.”
“Well, you will have to come over more often, then. I will invite you personally.”
“You are very kind,” Camilla said, trying to discern what was behind Lady Mary’s forceful demeanor. She did not seem unfriendly, but for some reason did not possess that easy, likeable nature her brother had.
“Let me carry that for you,” Lady Mary said to one of her boys, then called her husband over. “Moffat, come and take Tom’s plate, will you? I knew we should have brought Nurse to help us with them.”
“We will manage just fine, Mary,” he replied.
“That is because I do everything,” she muttered under her breath but loud enough for Camilla to hear.
Lady Mary herded her children and husband over to the sofa where a table was placed in front of them. The room was filled with the sounds of young people bent on amusement, as the conversations spilled out all around them.
“Are you good with children?” she asked Pembroke, turning to him. “You seem to have a knack for babies, but once they start talking and going where their little feet will take them, I’ll have you know that all rules are thrown out.”
“I hardly ever spend time with them without their nurse or my sister speaking for them,” he replied, his expression rueful. “To own the truth, I have trouble telling my nephews apart and I suspect they know it. They will certainly begin pulling pranks on me as soon as the idea comes to them.”
“They do look alike,” she agreed, thinking what a shame it was that they should not have more of a relationship with a man who, admittedly, must make an exceptional uncle—even if he could not set an example of constancy.
“Perhaps you might go and sit with your sister and talk to your nephews while you eat.”
He opened his mouth to object, but after eyeing her for a moment, went and filled his plate and did as she said.
She watched him sit beside his nephews, their faces brightening as he spoke to them.
Lady Mary looked pleased and, except for once or twice, allowed him to carry on his own conversation with them without interrupting.
She is lonely, Camilla guessed suddenly as she went over to join her sisters.
Mr. Moffat had not shown himself particularly attentive to his wife, and although he obeyed her requests readily enough, seemed distant.
Pembroke admitted to not spending time with his nephews, and she knew he did not feel an affinity with his sister or mother.
How she knew that, she could not say, but it increased her compassion for his sister.
She made a decision to spend more time with Lady Mary and her boys.
And to be more gracious when she did so.
After the refreshments had been taken, they went outdoors but soon discovered that the wind made archery difficult, and battledore and shuttlecock impossible.
The small rowboats tied to the wooden jetty in the pond rocked on the waves, making the venture seem risky—or at least increasing the risk of getting soaked.
As Camilla had dared to conjure up an image of Pembroke rowing her on the boat, this was a bit of a disappointment.
People debated over what to do for amusement.
“We should stay inside and play at cards,” Abigail proposed. “How do you find this plan, Mr. Quarles?”
“Whatever you wish, my dear,” her husband replied in a bored voice.
“Perhaps some guests will enjoy a game of cards indoors. As for me, and without wishing to be disagreeable,” Lord Pembroke said, “I confess I should not like to come all the way to Hampstead for a picnic, only to remain indoors.”
Nor I, Camilla thought.
“Nor I,” Mr. Weatherby said. “What do you wish for Miss Winkley?”
“I…” Her eyes went first to Abigail, and it was clear she did not wish to disoblige her.
Then she returned her gaze to Mr. Weatherby, whose expression was heartening.
Apparently it was not enough to put steel into her backbone, however.
“I cannot say, Mr. Weatherby. I will be pleased to do anything.”
He looked disappointed at this but made no move to fight Abigail for possession of Miss Winkley’s company. Mrs. Cranwell walked over to them on the lawn, with a stack of papers fluttering in her hand and Mrs. Weatherby at her side.
“I have a proposition,” she announced with a look of glee in her blue eyes. “Or rather we have a proposition. Anne and I have come up with an idea for a sort of scavenger hunt that will send you all over the estate in search of particular landmarks.”
Evo and the two other boys betrayed their youth with a crow of pleasure and immediately began boasting over who would win. Tom and Henry stared up at the older boys in rapt attention.
“For each spot on your list,” Mrs. Cranwell continued, “the servants have left tokens that you must collect and bring back to us. In this way, you will enjoy the outdoors, but spend much of it in the shelter of the trees, all while enjoying a bit of diversion. You may divide up in groups in any way you choose.”