An Affair of Honor (2 page)

“So unfair,” sighed her ladyship. “No other family of my acquaintance has been so cursed. Six deaths in as many years. And so ill-timed. Each new one coming just as we were about to put off our black gloves.”

Nell nodded agreement. “And except for dearest Papa,” she added, hoping to clear the troubled frown from her mother’s face, “not one of them was worth the effort of putting them on.” Lady Agnes looked up in immediate protest, and Nell laughed. “Come now, Mama, and admit that my sentiments, though highly improper, are perfectly sound. Uncle Edgar was a crusty curmudgeon who never cared a wink for anyone but himself.”

“Very true,” agreed Lady Agnes, “and it was unpardonable of him to leave all his money—
family
money at that—to that disgraceful woman from Somerset who had the unutterable temerity to call herself his housekeeper. Housekeeper, my—”

“Indeed,” Nell chuckled, pursuing the subject with relish. “And Cousin Frederick’s carriage accident can only have been providential, since he was but a skip and a hop ahead of the bailiffs. Only think of the scandal he might have brought down about our heads had he lived much longer than he did!”

Lady Agnes shuddered delicately. “True enough, I fear. It did seem somewhat hypocritical to wear mourning on his behalf, though I had got quite accustomed to my blacks by then. Nonetheless, my dear, it was very sad when Aunt Hester passed on.”

“Perhaps,” Nell mused. “I never knew her as you did, of course. To me, she was merely a rude old lady whose breath smelled of peppermint and whose clothes emitted clouds of snuff whenever she moved.”

“Filthy habit, that. All very well for gentlemen, of course, and both Sir Henry and Mr. Brummell do take theirs with such a natty air. But I cannot approve of the habit for a gentlewoman.”

“Of course not, ma’am. And even you will be hard-pressed to explain why we were all plunged into deep mourning when Aunt Agatha’s second husband died. He was a sour creature and no connection of ours at all. I should have thought six weeks of black gloves would have answered the purpose well enough.”

“And so it should have,” Lady Agnes agreed. “But you know very well that your Aunt Agatha would have been offended if we had not observed all the proprieties. Besides,” she added with a sigh, “you could not have danced in black gloves, and by the time the six weeks had passed, the Season here was over anyway. And the following year, poor Mr. Pallworthy went to his reward. Your aunt would never have forgiven us if we had behaved shabbily then, for not only was he our first cousin, but he had been the vicar at Parkhurst—and thereby her confessor, you know—for years and years.”

“Sometimes,” Nell said thoughtfully, “I cannot think how Aunt Agatha came to be your twin, Mama.”

“Why, in the usual fashion, of course, my dear.” The twinkle that lit her ladyship’s eyes gave her a sudden resemblance to her youthful daughter. “Not but what I don’t follow your meaning well enough. I may be a nipfarthing, but no one would ever accuse me of being cross-grained.”

“No, indeed,” Nell agreed promptly. “Why, you are quite the kindest, most generous-hearted person of my acquaintance. And Clarissa agrees. I daresay she would not so much as consider sending poor Rory to spend six weeks with Aunt Agatha. Only think how nipped about and confined the poor child would be!”

“Agatha wouldn’t have her,” Lady Agnes stated flatly. “Not for
one
week.” She paused with an arrested look, then bent a suspicious eye upon her daughter. “Are you suggesting that we are to have that doubtful pleasure, Nell? For I must tell you—”

“Is it not wonderful, Mama?” Nell interrupted quickly. “And just when you have been saying that I should go about more, too. For you must have guessed that Clarissa means to launch Rory here in Brighton. At least,” she amended, “she means for me to do so.”

“Why on earth, if she means the girl to come out this year, did she not do the thing properly in London?” demanded Lady Agnes. “I am sure Clarissa never said a word about any of this to me.”

“Since Rory did not turn seventeen until mid-June,” Nell explained patiently, scanning the letter in order to be certain of getting her words right, “Clarissa felt she was too young to make her come-out during the London Season. She also”—this on a wry note—“mentions the expense. I daresay she thinks it will be cheaper here.”

“Well, of course it will cost less if she means to do it from Upper Rock Gardens,” replied Lady Agnes, a bit tartly. “In London, she would have had to hire a house, and that would have been dreadfully dear.”

“Crossways can afford it, however.”

“I did not say he couldn’t, Nell. How you do take one up! Does Clarissa expect me to absorb the expense of this visit?”

“Of course not, Mama. Crossways will underwrite everything while Rory is here.”

“There will be a good deal of upheaval, Eleanor,” her ladyship said dampingly. “And I hope you will not want me to endure the exertion of a dress ball or any other large entertainment here in the house.”

“Clarissa does not mention it, ma’am, nor do I imagine she would expect it of us. Only let me write to tell her you will agree to let Rory come. I confess I should rather enjoy taking her about.”

“Why on earth is Clarissa not doing so herself?”

“Something to do with the dowager. Let me see …” Nell skimmed the letter quickly. “Yes, here it is. The Dowager Countess is enjoying one of her distempered freaks—not a very elegant turn of phrase, is it. Nonetheless, she has commanded their presence in Chatham by the end of the month.”

“Clarissa and Crossways, but not Aurora?”

Nell chuckled. “I daresay Rory may have refused to go. You know how often Clarissa has complained about her mama-in-law. She has said, too, more than once, that Rory cannot abide the woman.”

“Probably old Lady Crossways tried and failed to teach that chit to mind her manners.” Lady Agnes was sitting upright on the settee now, her vinaigrette forgotten for the moment. Her eyes narrowed. “I should not wish to appear unfeeling, Nell, but I cannot but think that having that girl here will very likely put us all at sixes and sevens. She does not know our ways, after all.”

“No indeed,” Nell agreed. “That is the purpose of one’s come-out, is it not? To learn the ways of so-called polite society? And Rory will learn quickly enough.” Lady Agnes continued to look skeptical. Indeed, the lines near the corners of her mouth looked even a bit mulish. Nell studied her for some moments before a twinkle crept into her eye and she demanded, “Do you think Rory cannot learn, Mama? Because you think her a slowtop, or because she had the misfortune to be born in Kent and not in Sussex? Confess it! You do think that, don’t you? She is your granddaughter, ma’am!”

Lady Agnes winced, but she recovered quickly. “She may be a member of the
family
,” she stated, emphasizing the final word, “but she is still a foreigner, my dear, and say what you will, foreigners do not always adapt well to our ways.”

“Kent is the very next county, ma’am. It is not darkest Africa. And the ways Rory must adapt to are more or less London ways, now that the Prince of Wales has made Brighton such a popular refuge for his friends among the
beau monde
.”

“He, at least, is a gentleman,” Lady Agnes said fondly. They had heard rumors to the effect that the prince was not altogether popular in London, but Lady Agnes, like most of Brighton’s citizens, liked and admired the First Gentleman of Europe. He, by the mere fact of choosing their town for a retreat from his royal duties, had brought prosperity upon them all, and little could be heard against him in the erstwhile fishing village.

“Indeed, he can be all that is charming,” Nell agreed. “But you have not answered me, Mama. Surely you will not deny Rory her come-out on the flimsy pretense that you fear she will disgrace us with her Kentish manners.”

“I suppose you and Clarissa will do as you please,” Lady Agnes said wearily, making use once more of her vinaigrette. “But do not expect me to take charge of the girl. You will have to attend to that. And be certain Crossways agrees to a Dutch reckoning,” she added more firmly, the vinaigrette poised in midair. “There are always expenses one does not anticipate, and I shall not wish to be expected to justify every odd ha’penny.”

“No, indeed, ma’am, nor would he expect it of you. It is Clarissa who would make such demands, if such demands were ever made. However, I can safely promise that she will not plague you on that head. Then, you agree?”

“Agree to what?” The pleasant masculine voice speaking from the doorway behind her startled Nell, but she turned to the newcomer with a delighted smile.

“Kit, how was your ride?”

“Invigorating,” the young man replied, crossing the room with a quick stride, then bending to kiss his mother’s powdered cheek. “What sort of agreement is she attempting to wring from you, ma’am? Shall I stand your champion?”

“Dear boy.” Lady Agnes looked fondly upon her son, and indeed, he was a sight to gladden any mother’s heart. Well above medium height, handsome young Christopher Lindale possessed a figure that made his tailor the envy of his trade. Though broad enough of shoulder so that no wadding was needed, he was not yet so broad as to tax his man’s skills when it came to the smooth fit of his coats. Kit had changed out of his riding dress and appeared now wearing a well-cut coat of forest green over tan breeches and well-polished Hessians. His light brown hair was stylishly swept back from his forehead. His neckcloth was elaborately tied, and if his shirt points were a bit too high to be comfortable, he gave all the appearance of the fashionable young man about town.

“Well, Mama?” He glanced roguishly at his sister, his eyes—as blue as her own—twinkling with mischief. “Do you require a champion?”

“She does not,” Nell replied. “I was merely seeking her approval of my own return to the social scene.”

“Were you, indeed?” Kit lowered himself to an armchair, taking care not to crease his coat and disposing his long legs before him with practiced ease. He cast a skeptical glance at Nell. “I am more than seven, sister mine. If that were all, Mama would be cast into transports. Where’s the rub?”

“There is no rub,” Nell chuckled. “Merely a treat for all of us.”

“We will hope so,” muttered her ladyship
sotto voce
to her vinaigrette.

“You’ll see, Mama. I think Clarissa is doing us a kindness. We shall all enjoy the festivities much more seeing them anew through Rory’s eyes.”

“Rory!” Kit’s posture underwent a sudden change as he registered wary alertness. “Not that upstart blond baggage with the flyaway plaits and rude manners!”

“I’m quite sure the plaits will be gone, Kit,” Nell laughed. “After all, Rory is turned seventeen. No doubt she will be much as I was at that age, full of eagerness and anticipation of delights to come.”

“Well, if she’s as tongue-tied as you were, you may call me a Dutchman,” Kit retorted. “Why on earth does Clarissa want to fire her off here? Brighton is scarcely the proper place for a young thing to be trying her wings.”

“There’s nothing wrong with Brighton,” put in her ladyship loyally. “And if there are some persons who come from
other places
who do not know how to keep the line, I am sure Nell will know how to send them to the rightabout.”

“Nell! Why not Clarissa?”

“She and Crossways are wanted in Chatham,” Nell replied evenly. “The dowager thinks they do not visit often enough.”

“Not sick, is she?” Kit’s face expressed sudden alarm.

“No, of course not. Why should she be?”

“With our luck it would be just like the old lady to pop off and plunge us all into mourning again.”

“Oh, no, she
couldn’t
,” moaned her ladyship.

“Kit, for heaven’s sake! Mama, don’t be a goose. We should not even be forced into black gloves. She is only Clarissa’s mama-in-law, after all.”

“Well, she is the gypsy’s grandmother, so you cannot expect her demise to leave us entirely unaffected,” Kit returned.

“You could scarcely squire the chit about if the old lady cocks up her toes.”

“Don’t call her the gypsy!” Nell snapped, annoyed by his attitude. “She has a perfectly good name. And the fact of the matter is that Lady Crossways is not on her death bed. You,” she added tartly, going for the throat, “are merely irritated because you are used to being the center of attention yourself, Kit.”

“And why not? After all, she is likely to put this house in an uproar, and you’ll both be expecting me to lend my escort—probably to the dashed assemblies at the Castle and the Old Ship as well. And just because she’s a dashed female, no expense will be spared to furbish her up. Ha!” he exclaimed as a new thought occurred to him. “I’ll wager that’s why Clarissa’s saddling you with the charge. Only one set of gowns that way. She surely won’t expect to pay for yours, Nelly dear, but she’d dashed well have to tart herself up if
she
brought the chit out. This way, most of the expense will fall upon Mama. I call it dashed unfair.”

“Kit, do stop thinking of yourself for once,” Nell begged. “No, no,” she added when he made a gesture of protest, “that’s precisely what has thrown you into such a pet. You are afraid Mama’s purse will have to be opened for Rory and that your pockets will suffer accordingly.”

“Well, and why not?” He hunched a shoulder, looking more like a sulky schoolboy than a young gentleman of nineteen summers. “I should have been allowed a proper come-out in London, and well you know it. But, no, Mama and Sir Henry said I was too young, so I must make do with the delights of Brighton. But only such delights as they approve of. And now you will be wanting me to dance attendance on this young chit—two years younger than I am myself—and everyone will be falling over to puff her off so that she can find a proper husband. If you were at all concerned about my welfare, Nell, you’d see that her coming here will be a dashed nuisance.”

“Stuff,” retorted his unsympathetic sister.

“Children, don’t bicker,” pleaded her ladyship. “You will give me the headache. Really, Nell, it is most unkind of you to tease Kit so,” she added reprovingly. “You ought to have told him at the outset that I shall not be obliged to disburse so much as a penny on Aurora’s behalf. And you, Kit,” she went on, effectively stifling the smile that was beginning to spread across his handsome face, “you should be ashamed to speak so of Sir Henry, when you know he has only your best interests at heart.”