An Affair of Honor (5 page)

“Prinny certainly dotes on the child,” Huntley said now.

“Indeed,” Nell agreed. “There can be no doubt that he and Mrs. Fitzherbert both love her dearly. It would be cruel to separate them, especially in view of the fact that Minnie’s spiritual welfare has now been entrusted to a bishop of the Church of England.”

“Thus offsetting any Roman tainting at Maria’s hands?” The cynicism had returned. His voice, though pitched low, was harsh.

Nell’s eyes widened. “You speak as if you think I disapprove in some way, sir. I assure you I do not. Only those who do not know how kind she is have dared to question Mrs. Fitzherbert’s motives.”

“And she has been kind to you?”

“Indeed, sir. Mrs. Fitzherbert is kind to everyone.”

Huntley looked as if he would like to pursue the conversation, but his attention was claimed at that moment by Sir Henry. Nell turned back to find Lord Crossways attending to his dinner. She felt oddly breathless, and it seemed strange to realize there had been others nearby while she conversed, however briefly, with the dark gentleman sitting so disarmingly near her. When he had turned to answer Sir Henry she had for a moment expected to find herself alone. It was very odd indeed to see her sister chatting with her brother and Lady Agnes deep in conversation with young Rory.

Jeremy appeared at her shoulder to clear the first course, and a moment later he was back with a roast of beef to begin serving the second. She spoke again from time to time with her dark neighbor, but the group at the table was a small one, and it was not long before the formal atmosphere waned, and when Clarissa complimented Nell on her lovely scarf, the conversation promptly became general.

“I own, I should like very much to have one made in a similar pattern,” Clarissa went on, “however, I daresay such delicate lace must come very dear.”

“Oh, no,” Nell replied with a chuckle. “It was duty-free, you see.”

“Came to the house in a loaf of bread, if you please,” Kit put in with a laugh. When Rory demanded more information, the others realized that the topic was not precisely suitable for the dinner table, and Nell deftly turned the subject, but not before she noticed that Huntley’s eyebrows were sternly knitted again.

Directly after dinner, Lord Crossways made their apologies and both he and his lady bade their daughter a fond adieu. Huntley departed with them in order that they might give him a lift to the house in the Marine Parade which he had hired for the Season, but before he left, he made it plain to both the Lady Aurora and Miss Lindale that they would be seeing more of him in the immediate future.

“Perhaps you will accompany me in a walk along the cliffs tomorrow,” he suggested.

“We should be delighted, sir,” Nell replied.

Next to her, Rory muttered under her breath, “Perhaps.”

H
AVING SAID THEIR FAREWELLS
in the entry hall, the three ladies returned to the drawing room, accompanied by Sir Henry and Kit. The latter, moving to stir up the fire, seemed slightly on edge, and it soon became clear to Nell, if not to anyone else, that her brother had made plans for the evening ahead that did not include an hour or so of idle conversation in his mama’s drawing room. She had noted earlier that he scarcely exchanged so much as a word with their niece, so, deciding that his manners needed a sisterly nudge, she smiled at him and took her seat in an armchair near the hearth, directing Rory to take its mate.

“Kit, I cannot recall whether you and Rory met each other at the time of Uncle Edgar’s funeral or not,” she began.

“Not then,” he answered, shooting a curious look at her. “I was at Eton, recovering from an ague or some such thing. But she was still here when I came down for the long vacation.”

He did not sound as if it pleased him much to recall the fact, but Nell plodded determinedly on.

“Ah, yes. How foolish of me. You were both quite young then, of course. Do you remember Kit, Rory?”

“Of course I do,” that young lady replied, grinning. “He pulled my hair, put earthworms in my boots, and presented me with an apple-pie bed so many times I grew accustomed to investigating my sheets each night before retiring. A perfectly charming fellow.”

“And what about you, my girl?” Grimacing, Kit straightened, still holding the poker, and turned to face her. “Who put thistles under my saddle? And salt in my tea! And who exclaimed well within Papa’s hearing that dear Kit had been ever so clever as to knock Colonel Hanger’s wig off with a dirt clod from twenty paces?”

“But the colonel
must
have been at least twenty paces away!” Rory protested with a mischievous laugh. “A noteworthy accomplishment, especially in one’s uncle.”

“Well, Papa was
not
twenty paces away when you applauded my skill, and I daresay you were perfectly well aware of that fact.”

“Of course I was. But that was the very same day you had chosen to put three spiders down the back of my dress. I daresay you’d have received a far worse thrashing if I had told Grandpapa about that shocking prank.”

Nell looked at her brother with lifted brows, daring him to respond to such a home thrust, but he only shrugged and moved to replace the poker.

“I say, Aunt Nell, must I call him Uncle Kit?”

Before Nell could reply to this provocative query, Kit turned a stern eye upon their niece. “It will be as well for you if you do, miss, and show proper respect into the bargain.”

Rory wrinkled her pretty nose at him. “Well, I daresay I shan’t do either. You don’t look very much like a proper uncle, you know, and I’ll wager you won’t act like one either. Did you design that waistcoat yourself?” Sweetly innocent, she turned golden eyes up to gaze at him with well-feigned interest.

Kit cast a swift glance toward his mother and Sir Henry, but they were in the process of settling down to a friendly game of piquet and were paying no heed to the young people. Thus reassured, Kit straightened his shoulders and tucked a thumb into his waistband, striking a pose that clearly showed his pride in the article in question, a dashing bit of gaily embroidered lilac silk.

“My tailor actually designed it, but I suggested the colors and the motif. I flatter myself to think it a rather successful venture.”

“Well, I think all those birds and butterflies flitting about in a lavender sky look pretty silly,” Rory said flatly. Her gaze was still all innocence, and her hands rested demurely in her lap, but Nell knew in that moment that her niece had actually changed very little in the years since her previous visit.

Kit glared. “Do you think so, indeed?” His words were dangerously calm.

“That is exactly the sort of pattern I’d imagine on one of those French
incroyables
one hears about. All you need to complete the image is a curly topknot in place of your windswept locks.”

It was too much. “A fop! You have the nerve to take
me
for one of those painted little pixies? I’ll have you know, my girl, that this waistcoat is all the crack, and one of those—those jelly babies wouldn’t have the sense to wash his linen, let alone turn himself out as natty as this. Why—”

“Enough, Kit,” Nell chuckled. “Can’t you tell when you’re being roasted?”

“Roasted!”

“To a turn, my dear. Rory,” she added, turning her attention back to the grinning girl, “it clearly has never been properly impressed upon you that whatever else you might say to a gentleman, on no account must you make a May game of his sartorial taste.”

“Oh, but it
has
been impressed upon me, Aunt Nell. Why, I am persuaded that Mama has said any number of times that, on no account, must one criticize what a gentleman chooses to w—”

“That does it!” snapped Kit. “If you want me, I shall be at Harry’s. Or else,” he added airily, “Harry’s man will know where to find the pair of us.”

Striding between them, he kissed his mother hastily on the cheek, said a polite good night to Sir Henry, and made good his escape, probably, thought his much-tried sister, to one of the gaming hells rapidly springing up on the Steyne or along Ship Street. She eyed her niece with amusement.

“Do you mean to set us all by the ears again, Rory?”

“No, ma’am, only Kit.” The golden eyes twinkled. “He responds so very satisfactorily, don’t you agree? If I had said such a thing to Huntley, he would very likely have frowned and growled something about being sorry his appearance had offended me.”

Before she could stop herself, Nell asked, “Does he frown so much then, your Lord Huntley?”

“Oh, ever so often! I think he does not approve of me. You
cannot
imagine, Aunt Nell.” Rory sighed deeply. “Just think what it will be like to be buried away in Kent with a man who frowns at one whenever one turns around, and who looks like he is frowning even when he is not. Those eyebrows!”

“I remember I was used to think them interesting,” Nell said thoughtfully. “You do not?”

“Interesting! Morbid is what I think them. Besides, he is very old, is he not?”

“I should not imagine him to be much above two and thirty,” Nell replied on a note of indignation.

“There, ’tis precisely as I expected,” Rory stated, much as though her aunt’s words merely clinched the matter.

Nell glanced at the other two occupants of the room. This conversation intrigued her, but it would never do for Lady Agnes or Sir Henry to hear Rory speaking so improperly.

“I daresay you would like to get settled into your bedchamber, my dear,” she suggested tactfully. “I shall take you up to see if you have need of anything that has not already been provided. I presume your maid has remained with you,” she added as an afterthought.

“Yes, she has,” Rory answered, getting obediently to her feet. Her eyes were twinkling again. “And my groom as well. Joe is at the stables, however, and I sent Sadie to have her supper and told her she need not return until I ring. So we can enjoy a comfortable coze, Aunt Nell. We shan’t be interrupted.”

Minx, Nell thought. But she did not grant her niece the satisfaction of a verbal response. Instead, she made polite excuses to the cardplayers and led the way upstairs.

“Is it not slightly improper to leave Grandmama alone with Sir Henry like that?” Rory asked, lifting an eyebrow.

Nell chuckled. “I think Mama can take care of herself,” she replied. “She has known Sir Henry most of her life, after all. He is like an older brother to her.”

“Does he chuck you under the chin and call you Miss Sly Boots? That is what my papa’s brother does to me whenever he chances to visit us.”

“Does he? Well, I am thankful to say that Sir Henry never steps beyond the line of what is pleasing.”

“How dull for him.”

On the point of entering the pretty yellow bedchamber, Nell glanced back at her niece, but Rory did not seem to sense that she had been impertinent. Instead, she appeared to be perfectly sincere, even a little concerned for the old gentleman.

A fire crackled cheerfully in the white-marble Adam fireplace, casting a dancing glow onto the delicate foliated pansy bouquets and
guilloche
border of the elegant Axminster carpet. The high, carved bed stood against the righthand wall, safely distant from the pair of tall windows, where yellow velvet curtains had been drawn to shut out any creeping draft of the dangerous night air. A pleasant jasmine scent wafted through the room from the pair of glass oil lamps burning on either side of the bed, and the yellow velvet spread had already been turned down. It was a cozy room, Nell thought, one that ought to please her charge. She glanced at Rory and was rather startled to discover that she, rather than the bedchamber, seemed to be the object of her niece’s interest.

“Is all to your liking, my dear?” she inquired gently.

“Indeed, ’tis most charming. I shall feel quite at home.” Rory moved gracefully to sit in a yellow velvet slipper chair drawn up to the marble hearth. “Do sit down, ma’am.”

Nell drew up the dressing chair. “Shall I ring for tea?”

“Not yet, if you please.” She paused, looking down at her hands. “Shall I have to apologize to Kit, Aunt Nell?”

Chuckling, Nell smoothed her skirt, then shot her niece a direct look. “Do you think you should?”

“Well, I don’t think I said anything so very terrible, after all, and I’d just as lief not, if you don’t say I must.”

“I am not such a dragon, Rory. Kit can deal for himself.”

The younger girl breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank heaven. I feared you might be a trifle fusty, after all. I am ever so glad you are not. Tell me what we shall do tomorrow.”

Willing enough to pursue a harmless topic, Nell smiled. “First of all we must go to Donaldson’s Library.”

“Library! Aunt Nell, I am not in the least bookish.” Rory’s expression indicated that she was seriously alarmed.

Nell laughed. “My dear child, you do not understand. In the daytime, the social life here absolutely revolves around the circulating libraries. They are not mere bookshops as they are in London or other towns. Indeed, one
can
read at Donaldson’s, I suppose. One may certainly buy or borrow the latest novels, plays, and poems. And one may also purchase supplies for painting and sketching and other such pastimes. But, to a much greater extent, Donaldson’s is like a public club. One visits the place in order to meet other people and to gossip, to write letters on the piazza, or to look through portfolios of the latest scandalous caricatures. And besides all that, one can try a new piece of music on the harpsichord, take a ticket for a raffle, or even make up a table for loo or some other game. The first thing you must do, of course, is to inscribe your name in the visitors’ book.”

“Visitors’ book?” Once she realized that her aunt did not mean for her to spend her time reading improving works, Rory had begun to relax. By now her interest was piqued.

“Yes, indeed,” Nell replied. “Once you have done that, we can visit some of the nearby shops. You will find all manner of things, such as rare china, lace, millinery, ribbons, muslin, chintz and cambrics, even tea. I daresay the prices may shock you, too—not that things are dear, for they are not. Indeed, some things are nearly dagger cheap. I have it on excellent authority that most of the goods sold in the shops along the Steyne have been smuggled in from France.”