Elizabeth Mansfield (22 page)

Nevertheless, he realized that if he made a
faux pas
or erred in any of these trifles, he would cause Camilla a great deal of trouble and distress. So he tried his best to put his disgust from his mind and concentrate on learning the foolish and superficial rules of gentlemanly conduct.

The day that his evening clothes were delivered from the tailor, Pippa suggested that they hold a trial dinner. The suggestion was seized upon eagerly by everyone. Hicks helped Thomas put on his new clothes and did some mysterious, tedious things with his hair. After more than an hour of preparations, Hicks, filled with pride, led Thomas down to the drawing room where the ladies had already gathered. “Your ladyship,” he announced from the doorway with a grin, “may I present Mr. Petersham?”

Tom entered the room with studied nonchalance. “Good evening, my dear,” he said, lifting Camilla’s hand to his lips. “Good evening, ladies.”

“Oh, Thomas, you look
splendid
!” Pippa cried.

He did indeed. Camilla and Miss Townley could only gape. This tall, lean, elegant creature looked every inch the gentleman. Hicks had curled and brushed his hair into the style of studied carelessness that was the height of fashion. His shirt-points were high and stiffly starched, his coat (cut straight across the waist in the latest, double-breasted mode) was buttoned only at the lowest button and revealed a magnificent waistcoat of striped satin in two shades of grey. His gleaming neckcloth, although tied very simply, made his skin look attractively dark. He appeared to be, from his stylish hair-comb to his patent leather shoes, a creature of taste, breeding and intelligence.

Camilla took note of the gleam of amusement in his eyes as they met hers. He was laughing at her again. Had he been able to read in her face her reaction to his altered appearance? Could he tell just by looking at her how impressed with him she was? She felt a tell-tale blush suffuse her cheeks, and she looked away, annoyed with herself for her inability to keep her feelings from showing. Nevertheless, she was proud of him. She became aware of a small thrill of pleasure glowing somewhere within her at the prospect of going through the pretense of marriage with him in the role of husband.

Miss Townley, meanwhile, was looking him over with sharp, critical eyes. “Needs a fob for his waistcoat pocket, I think. He looks too austere without a bit of jewelry, I’d say.”

“Right,” Hicks agreed, taking a folded sheet of paper and a stub of a pencil from a pocket and making a note. “Anything else?”

“I think he’s perfect,” Pippa said, running up and taking his hand. “Will you take me in to dinner, Thomas?”

“It’d be my pleasure, Miss Pippa, if the rules allow. Do they, Miss Townley?”

“You must call me Ada,” the governess cautioned. “And call Pippa only by name, not with the ‘Miss’ in front of it.”

“Yes, I know, but you don’t want me to do it now, do you? I’m not playing my role yet, you know.”

“You may as well become accustomed to it,” Camilla said. “And you’d better begin to call me Camilla, too. If you slip and call me ‘my lady,’ we
shall
be in the soup.”

“I won’t slip, Camilla,” he assured her, his eyes twinkling. “Not in that regard.” He’d called her Camilla in his mind for so long, it was almost natural to do it aloud.

“I suppose I’d better call you …” She stopped and blinked at him with a momentary blankness. “Good gracious! I’ve never chosen a given name for Mr. Petersham.”

“Then why not call me Thomas? It’s as gentlemanly a name as any.”

The “committee” voiced their agreement, and “Thomas Petersham” offered his arm to Pippa as they made their way into the small dining room. Pippa and Miss Townley took their accustomed places opposite each other, at the sides, while Camilla sat down at the foot. Thomas, eyeing the high-backed armchair at the head of the table, hesitated. “Go on,” Hicks muttered
sotto voce
, digging Tom in the ribs with his elbow, “sit yourself down!”

Daniel, already in his place near the sideboard, waiting to assist in the serving, grinned at Tom as he passed. Tom answered with a wink and sauntered to his seat. But it was a strange sensation to sink down upon the massive chair. To Tom it was almost like a throne. He ran his hands over the carved wooden arms with a kind of proprietary pleasure before he settled back and looked down the length of the table at the faces staring at him expectantly. For a moment his mind went blank. Then he caught Miss Townley’s eye. She gave him a little reminder by lowering her head, and he remembered that he was expected to say a grace. With unaccustomed shyness he recited a short one and looked up, wondering what he was supposed to do next.

Before he could begin to fidget, however, he found Hicks at his elbow, pouring a few drops of wine into his glass. “You needn’t be so miserly, Mr. Hicks,” he muttered. “I won’t get drunk.”

“I’m just plain Hicks to the master,” was the hissed reply, “and you’re supposed to taste the wine and give me the nod if you approve.”

“Ah, yes, I forgot.” He lifted the glass to his lips and sipped it with a pompous show of importance. “No, it won’t do, my man,” he said, playing the role to the hilt. “Take it away and open another.”

Miss Townley whooped, but Hicks glared at him. “Just nod, you looby,” he ordered, walking down the length of the table to pour the rejected wine for Miss Camilla. “Don’t go putting on airs that don’t suit you.”

Camilla agreed. “He’s right, you know, Thomas. You don’t want to draw attention to yourself unnecessarily.”

Thomas shrugged, but his lips twitched in amusement. “I can see that you’re all determined to keep me from enjoying myself. Very well, ma’am, I’ll only nod, even if the wine has turned to vinegar.”

“There’ll be no spoilt wine served in this house, of that you may be sure,” Hicks said in high dudgeon.

“I think,” Pippa pointed out mildly, “that if we all keep criticizing Thomas in this way, we won’t be giving him the chance to act the master.”

“That’s quite true, Pippa, my love,” Tom said brazenly. “You have more sense than the rest of us combined.”

“That kind of talk will surely spoil the child, Mr. Petersham,” Miss Townley said, settling into the pretense.

“I don’t think so, Ada,” he responded, watching Daniel serve him his soup with a feeling of distinct discomfort. “She’s well aware that she’s a very clever little thing, yet it hasn’t seemed to spoil—”

The door opened at that moment, and the parlormaid hurried in. She whispered something of apparent urgency into Mr. Hicks’s ear.

“No, Gladys, you must be mistaken,” the butler murmured. He turned to Camilla with a puzzled frown. “There’s a carriage at the door, ma’am, with two occupants and a load of baggage. Gladys says it bears the Wyckfield crest. If I may be excused, I’ll see what’s going on.”

Camilla nodded her assent, but her eyes widened with alarm. “It
couldn’t
be!” she said to Miss Townley after Hicks and the parlormaid had left. “It’s been less than a fortnight since her letter came, hasn’t it?”

“Don’t fall into a taking,” Miss Townley advised. “All crests look alike to a girl like that.”

“But who else would be arriving at our door with baggage?” Pippa asked.

Belatedly, the realization of what they suspected was occurring outside the front door burst on Tom. “Do you mean,” he asked, starting from his chair, “that Lady Ethelyn and her husband may have
arrived
?”

“No, no,” Camilla said hurriedly, waving away the thought with a nervous gesture of her hand, “it simply couldn’t be. Her letter distinctly said that she would not come until spring.”

“It said,” Pippa corrected. “when the weather eases.”

“But this is still
February
! No one in his right mind would expect the weather to ease in Feb—”

The sound of the door interrupted her. Hicks stood on the threshold, trying to hide the dismay that was apparent in his eyes and his chalk-like cheeks. “Lord Falcombe and Lady Ethelyn Falcombe,” he announced in a voice of doom.

“My God!” Miss Townley groaned. “We’re not
near
bein’ ready!”

“Don’t quail now,” Pippa whispered confidently, getting up from her chair. “We shall brush through.” With a bright smile, she ran to the door just in time to greet her relations who were bustling in. “Aunt Ethelyn! Uncle Oswald! What an exciting surprise!”

Ethelyn’s large, black-clad frame filled the doorway. “Surprise?” she asked bending stiffly to allow her niece to kiss her cheek. “I wrote that I was coming.”

“But you didn’t say exactly when,” Camilla said, crossing the room to exchange greetings. “But never mind. It is good to see you, even unexpectedly.”

“Thank you, m’ dear,” Oswald said, entering the room and enveloping her in a bear-like embrace. “I’ve missed you, I don’t mind admitting it. You must forgive us for falling in on you in the midst of your dinner.” He looked at the table longingly. “We had hoped to arrive earlier—so that we’d be in plenty of time to change for dinner, you know—but the thaw has made the roads so deucedly muddy—”

“It’s only by the Good Lord’s grace that we managed to avoid an accident,” Ethelyn elaborated with a shudder. “A dreadful trip, dreadful!”

“But you’re here now,” Camilla said comfortingly, “and we don’t care if you’re dressed for dinner or not. We shall set two extra places at once. See to it, will you, Hicks?”

Ethelyn, having handed her black, plumed bonnet and heavy pelisse to the parlormaid, turned and looked about her. She fixed her eyes on Thomas at once. “
You
,” she said accusingly, “must be Mr. Petersham.”

The room fell silent. Even Oswald, who was shrugging himself out of his greatcoat, stopped with his right arm still half buried in the coat’s large sleeve to stare. Thomas crossed the room with a confident deliberation, a half-smile on his lips. “Yes, I’m Petersham, Lady Ethelyn,” he said, raising her hand to his lips. “I’ve been anticipating this meeting for a long time, and with considerable interest.”

“Have you indeed? You may be sure that your interest is not a bit greater than mine.” She studied him with unsmiling directness. “You’re younger than I expected. And where’s your moustache?”

“Moustache?” He put a hand up to his face.

“Yes. I distinctly remember Camilla’s writing to me that you had an impressive moustache.”

Camilla and Miss Townley exchanged horrified glances. They’d completely forgotten the moustache! After the initial concern about the length of time necessary to grow one, the matter had completely slipped their minds!

“It’s quite a coincidence that you should mention it,” Thomas said, leading Ethelyn to the table. “I shaved it off just this week. Pippa didn’t like it.”

“No, I didn’t,” the child said with a giggle. “It tickled me when he kissed my cheek in the mornings.”

“Should think it would,” Oswald said, lowering himself into the chair at Camilla’s right. “Plaguey nuisances, moustaches. Used to have one during my Admiralty days.”

“Were you with the Admiralty?” Thomas asked, his eyes lighting with interest. “When was that?”

Oswald, flattered by the attention, embarked on a lengthy account of his earlier career. He was encouraged by the younger man’s keen questions and obvious knowledge of ships and seamanship. Their conversation lasted through the second course and was only halted when Lady Ethelyn forcibly
interrupted them to quiz Thomas about his family connections. But the gentlemen returned to the subject of the Navy after the ladies had left them to their ports, Oswald concluding the conversation by remarking that young Petersham should seriously consider embarking on such a career himself.

Camilla breathed a sigh of relief when Ethelyn declared herself too travel-weary to remain for long in the drawing room. As soon as they were joined by the gentlemen, she announced herself ready to retire. After Camilla had shown her sister-in-law and Oswald to their rooms and had tucked her incorrigibly optimistic daughter into bed (“I
told
you Thomas would be wonderful,” Pippa had murmured as she’d snuggled into the pillows. “He can do anything!”), Camilla returned to the drawing room where Thomas, Hicks and Miss Townley waited, grouped round the fire. “Pippa thinks you were an enormous success,” Camilla said when she’d shut the door behind her.

Thomas rubbed his chin warily. “Does that mean that you think otherwise?”

“I don’t know what I think. We certainly haven’t given ourselves away as yet, but I feel disturbingly apprehensive. We’re not
at all
ready for this.”

“I don’t agree,” Miss Townley declared, suddenly optimistic. “Everything went surprisingly well this evenin’, despite the fact that we were taken completely unaware.”

“But there are dozens of matters we haven’t rehearsed … or even
discussed
, like choosing safe topics of conversation, or inventing a reason for Mr. Petersham to be living with us rather than we with him—”

“That’s because he only had rooms in St. James,” Miss Townley improvised promptly.

“Very well, but that still leaves matters like setting up a program of family prayers that Thomas should preside over—”

“Family prayers? But you don’t hold family prayers,” Thomas pointed out.

“I know, but Ethelyn will expect it of us.”

“May I be permitted to make a suggestion, ma’am? I think it would be better to behave, not as Lady Ethelyn will expect, but as we would if I
were
your Mr. Petersham. Did you make him the sort of evangelical fanatic that Lady Ethelyn wished you to wed?”

“No, but—”

“Then you and Petersham wouldn’t be holding household services, would you? It seems to me that we shall be more convincing if we act in a manner that would be natural to
us
rather than in an artificial way contrived to please your sister-in-law. Something as extraordinary as household prayers might even arouse her suspicions.”

“But she’s bound to disapprove of the lack of them.”

“Let her. Our object is to make her believe you are well and truly wed, isn’t it? You needn’t win her approval to accomplish that.”

“The fellow’s right, Miss Camilla,” Miss Townley said. “She’s never approved of you anyway, and never will.”