A Curious Courting (24 page)

“Poor fellow. Is there something I can send him?”

“I think not, Miss Easterly-Cummings.”

“And will you be able to manage without his services? I know how difficult it is to do for oneself,” she sighed, “and men
will
wear their coats so tight they need a shoehorn to be inserted. And the delicate intricacies of the cravat! I shudder to think of how exhausting that will be for you. But of course there will be a boot-boy to help you with your footwear. Perhaps Mr. Evans could suggest someone to assist you until your valet has recovered.”

“I shall manage,” Rushton retorted. “I had thought to apologize for playing unfair, but I see there is no need. My only hope is that you had a good laugh.”

“Oh, she did,” Henry interjected. “I can’t recall when I have seen her so amused, and she continued to chuckle all day. I was annoyed with her at first, but she said you would understand.”

“Did she?” Rushton sought Selina’s eyes and held them for a searching moment. “You surprise me, ma’am. I wouldn’t have thought you’d realize that.”

Selina was spared the necessity of a reply by the arrival of the supper tray. In the bustle which followed, she was able to ignore the remark and turn the discussion to the weather, which appeared to be clearing. None too soon for her, he made his farewells and the oak door closed behind him.

Still perplexed by the strange interaction between his cousin and Mr. Rushton, Henry said hesitantly, “Well, I think everything was fine this evening. I mean, he seemed to enjoy himself and all.”

“Oh, he enjoyed himself tremendously,” Selina responded with asperity. “Good night, Henry. You were an excellent host.”

“Thanks, my dear. You looked lovely.”

They parted at the head of the stairs and Selina hastened to her room, where Alice awaited her. Automatically she allowed the maid to divest her of her new gown and bundle her into a flannel nightdress before she climbed into the half-tester bed and pounded the pillow. How could he look at her that way, she wondered indignantly as she snuffed the candle. And all of it acting! Not that she wanted him to look at her that way at any time! Yes, she did, she admitted to herself in an excess of frankness. Oh, why did she always find herself attracted to the most ineligible men? Couldn’t she fall in love with some retiring country squire who would share her interest in the land and the people?

It was true that Mr. Rushton had turned out to be not such a stiff, haughty man as she had first envisioned, but that did not negate the fact that he was from a different world than she. His life was devoted to his own entertainment, his companions from high social and political circles with which she was unfamiliar. They had very little in common. She would put such nonsense away from her. How could she even allow such thoughts to enter her mind? There was Henry to think of, and Shalbrook. Quite enough to occupy one’s mind, and heart, she assured herself as she listened to the renewed tapping of the rain against the glass. And she would see him from time to time while he was building his house, and next winter when he stayed there to hunt. It was not as though he would disappear tomorrow or the next day, never to be seen again. In time they would be friends, as she and Pen were. The thought was not at all consoling.

Chapter Eighteen

The rain continued through the night and into the next day. Rushton found a certain amount of humor in the necessity of his feeding his valet, who was mortified by such condescension on Rushton’s part. “Don’t fret, Victor. Miss Easterly-Cummings would find it marvelously amusing, and there is nothing I enjoy more than giving her a good laugh,” Rushton assured him.

“But she won’t know, sir.”

“All the more poignant,” Rushton replied, as he speared another bite of sirloin. “Do you know where my writing materials are?”

“Certainly, sir. In the writing desk. I set them out as soon as we arrived.”

“I should have known. Victor, would you prefer to go home for a few weeks? You’d be more comfortable there, and not on the fidget about what you couldn’t do.” Though the valet could not think of the proper words with which to accept this offer, Rushton clearly read the relief in his eyes. “That’s what we’ll do, then. I’ll put you on the stage for London. Would you mind very much delivering several letters there for me before you go on?”

“I feel sure I can manage that,” Victor said gruffly. “Thank you, sir.”

Rushton sat at the writing desk for some time, his chin in his hand, contemplating the blank sheet. The letter to the housekeeper in Curzon’ Street was a simple matter: have the house ready for his arrival in two or three weeks. The one to Cathford was much more tricky, but Rushton had a burning curiosity to find out if he had indeed meant Miss Easterly-Cummings. Eventually, he managed to ease in the question between mentioning that Lord John was designing his hunting-box and that he had bought the land from Miss Easterly-Cummings. Very neat, he decided. No hint of more than philosophical interest. Of course, there was the possibility that Cathford would miss the question altogether, but then Rushton could ask him when he got to town. For a minute he considered destroying the letter, since he would be in town so soon, but the urge to have the answer before then made him set it aside to go with Victor.

The letter to Sir Penrith was the most difficult, especially stressing that the invitation must come from Lady Southwood as though it were her own idea. Nothing could be more fatal than to have Miss Easterly-Cummings think that he had engineered the whole thing. It would say more than he wished to at this point, and it might very well frighten her. There had been some talk, Rushton recalled, about Pen’s sister Maria coming to town for Cassandra’s Season, and of Maria being Miss Easterly-Cummings’ good friend. Rushton suggested that this might be another avenue for Pen to explore.
Just see that she gets there, and I will be forever in your debt. I’ll offer to have her cousin stay with me, so that she doesn’t have to worry about leaving him here alone.

On the whole, it was a very unsatisfactory letter. He was not able to tell Pen
why
he wished Miss Easterly-Cummings to come to London, though certainly the very request would stimulate the most rampant speculation in Pen’s mind. Well, let it. There was no more Rushton could or would say on the matter right now. Fortunately, Pen was a patient man and not particularly prying, except perhaps in the case of Miss Longmead, and that had been more a matter of his inherent aversion to Rushton’s leaving himself open to gossip.

The three letters were duly dispatched with Victor on the stage that afternoon. Although Rushton drove past Shalbrook on his way to and from Leicester, he did not venture through the gates. He did instruct that a bouquet of daffodils be delivered there, with his note conveying his thanks for the previous evening. It would not do to present himself there every day, even on the pretext of teaching Henry to box. Now was the time to proceed very cautiously.

Although he had not done so in some time, and then only for his mother’s benefit, Rushton attended church the next day. Miss Easterly-Cummings and Henry arrived early and seated themselves in the family pew. Rushton arrived late and seated himself at the back. Bored as usual by the service, Henry saw him enter and excitedly nudged Selina in the ribs. She glared at him and would not allow him to whisper the startling tidings, so she did not discover for herself that he was present until the end of the service. There was a matter of parish relief which she had intended to discuss with the vicar, but Henry’s tugging on her sleeve, and her own inclination, decided her to put it off for the time being. She would send him a note that afternoon.

“Dr. Davenport, I doubt that you have met Mr. Rushton. He’s building a house on the Ashfordby Road,” Selina said by way of introduction.

The two men exchanged polite greetings, but Rushton did not remain long in conversation with the vicar, a man for whom he had developed a severe dislike in the course of one lengthy, boring and intolerably condescending sermon. As Rushton walked off with Selina and Henry, he shook his head. “If that is a sample of his usual fare, I don’t think I shall bother to return. No wonder Pen’s family have asked him to speak to the man.”

“Have they?” Selina asked with a smile. “I cannot think it would do the least good, though the gift is certainly in Pen’s hands. Dr. Davenport is oblivious to criticism; he is, in fact, unaware of any. He’s Henry’s tutor, you know.”

“Intolerable! Henry, you have my most profound condolences.”

They had arrived at the end of the churchyard and Rushton looked about for their vehicle. “Didn’t you drive?” he asked incredulously.

“We were driven here, but we prefer to walk home.”

“But it’s several miles!”

“I know. Usually it takes that long to regain my composure after one of Dr. Davenport’s sermons,” Selina replied seriously.

Henry said, “We have the phaeton when it rains, of course, but today appeared fair enough.”

“Come with me to the inn and I will drive you back.” Selina began to refuse, but Rushton continued, “Henry might like to take the ribbons.”

A gleam appeared in Henry’s eyes and Selina sighed. “Very well, Henry. You go with Mr. Rushton and I’ll see you later.”

“Nonsense. You are to come with us,” Rushton declared.

Selina raised a disapproving brow. “Mr. Rushton, I wish to walk home, and, in case it has never been pointed out to you, a curricle will only hold two people.”

“I had intended to stand up behind.”

“Like a tiger?” Her eyes danced. “I would really have loved to see it, Mr. Rushton. Perhaps you will show me another day.” With a casual wave of her hand, she turned and walked through the gate and down a path leading across the fields.

“Your cousin is the most vexing woman I have ever met,” Rushton growled as he and Henry set out in the opposite direction.

“Well, you know, she’s a bit stubborn and all, but I have always admired her for doing just as she pleases. If she wants to walk, she walks, and no amount of polite pressure will deter her. Sir Penrith often offers us a space in their carriage, but Selina is never one to accept out of a feeling of obligation.”

“Do you really enjoy walking miles after church?”

“Not as much as Selina does, but I don’t mind. At first, I was just so grateful to be able to walk that I would go anywhere. There’s not much one can do on Sundays anyway, you see, so spending the time walking home is rather fun. Selina teaches me the names of trees and birds and such, or we play guessing games. But you mustn’t think she minds walking alone! I’ve never known her bored by her own company. She says walking gives her a chance to think about things.”

“She goes walking alone?”

“Scamp usually goes with her, and sometimes I do. Generally she stays on Shalbrook land; there’s more than enough to make for good, long walks.”

Rushton ended by allowing Henry to drive his team all the way to Shalbrook. They caught only the barest glimpse of Selina far across the fields, but Henry had a marvelous time. It was not at all the way Rushton had expected the day to turn out.

Courting was turning into a very heavy business, Rushton decided, as he drove the grays into the stableyard at Shalbrook. If he didn’t know of Lord Benedict, and probably Geoffrey Haslett, as previous suitors of Miss Easterly-Cummings, he would have said of a certainty that she had never been courted before, and had no interest in being courted in the future. Probably the latter was true, anyway. It was just as well that he had the excuse of coming to give Henry a boxing lesson. The way things were going, Rushton was not the least certain that he wanted to court the young lady, after all.

Coming out of the stables to stand at the horses’ heads, Morris greeted Rushton as a now familiar visitor. “Fine day, sir. Shall I unharness them and give them a good rubdown? I’ve no time for these public stables, though I will say Joe Evans runs one as well as could be expected. You’ll be a while, then?”

“I expect so. Miss Easterly-Cummings and her cousin are at home, I take it.”

“Yes. Out riding they was earlier, but unless they be walking, you’re like to find them in the house.”

“Thank you.”

Rushton was ushered into the library, where he found Selina and Henry poring over a letter. His arrival was greeted with enthusiasm by the latter, and a warm smile by Miss Easterly-Cummings, who extended her hand to him. “We have just had a letter from Lady Southwood. What a dear woman she is. Actually…” She paused bemused, as he raised her hand to his lips. “Ah, actually it is rather a joint effort with her daughter Maria Franmore, who was my closest friend when we were young. Cassandra is having the most delightful time in London.”

“Well, tell him the important part, Selina,” Henry said impatiently. “Lady Southwood has invited Selina to stay with them for a few weeks—to see London and be at Cassandra’s ball.”

“Isn’t that kind of her?” Selina asked. “Imagine thinking of me, when she has so much to do in preparation for Cassandra’s ball. I shan’t accept, of course, but it makes me feel…”

“Not accept!” the two men exclaimed in unison.

“But of course you will, Selina,” Henry protested. “You are not to stay here on my account. It is time you had some fun.”

“I have promised to be in town shortly myself,” Rushton told her, “and I had thought of inviting Henry to come with me. I shall only be a few weeks, and it would do him no harm to acquire some town polish. You could keep an eye on him,” he suggested quizzingly.

Selina regarded him with astonishment. “Take Henry with you to London? Whatever for? He is far too young to attend parties, and gaming houses, and…and all the other places I am sure you frequent.”

“I promise you I have no intention of leading him astray, Miss Easterly-Cummings. He is not too young to attend Astley’s, or see the Tower, or explore the maze at Hampton Court,” Rushton returned stiffly. “He would enjoy visiting Jackson’s and Manton’s, and seeing Westminster Abbey.”

“Mr. Rushton,” Selina said slowly, enunciating each syllable carefully, “I cannot picture you bear-leading a lad of sixteen in London. The imagination buckles under such an outrageous load. And I fail to see any humor if this is a jest. It is unfair to raise Henry’s hopes by even mentioning such a scheme.”