Chapter Twelve

Matthew had gone through a time of it convincing Lord Nankin to fit him into his card party. He'd tracked him down at White's and proposed the idea.

"It is a card party, though, Bramley," Lord Nankin had said.

This was of course an allusion to how little he liked cards. how ghastly he was as a whist partner, and how everybody in the town knew it.

"I know it's a card party," Matthew had said. "I just have reason for wishing to come. In any case, I am not too terrible at piquet."

Lord Nankin had actually snorted. "Not too terrible if you are playing a foreigner who speaks no English and has never heard of the game. I suppose you could muddle through then!"

Matthew had been forced to explain the real case of things—he wished to encounter Lady Constance Condower.

He ought to have started with that explanation. Once Nankin was apprised that his interest in coming had nothing to do with cards and everything to do with a lady, he speedily acquiesced. He even proposed steering Lady Constance toward Matthew for a game of the piquet he claimed he was not too terrible at. He only hoped Lady Constance was not herself an avid card player, else it would not stack up in his favor.

Fortunately, Matthew already knew she was not an avid player of whist. He hoped the same could be said for piquet.

Matthew's father had been another matter to arrange. The earl had assumed that his son would accompany his mother and father to a rout somewhere or other. The earl was certain the party would find them encountering either Lady Juniper or Miss Semper, or both.

Matthew had claimed he'd already promised Nankin he would attend his card party. He then studiously ignored his father's question as to why anybody would want him at a card party when everybody knows he is terrible. The countess mentioned it being the way of the world and while the earl was testily inquiring how it could be, Matthew had slipped out.

Though he was determined to sit his father down and explain the real case of things regarding Lady Juniper and Miss Semper, he'd decided it was pointless to do it until he'd been to the estate and had a firmer grasp of its finances. He hoped to be able to point out that the estate had not generated all it was capable of and outline a plan to have it do so.

Really, it was something he ought to have done long ago. The earl was very protective over his rights as the head of the family and Matthew had let it go at that. The truth was, though, someday he would be the head of the family and he'd really need to know what went on. There were modernizations coming nearly every day, at least so said Sir Jonathan—had they taken advantage of any of them?

He imagined not, as he'd never heard the earl mention anything about it.

As for the visit to the estate itself, he did not think his father would look kindly upon it, so he had not mentioned the plan. He would depart early the next morning and leave a note for the old soldier to read at his leisure.

Lord Nankin's house was not too very far from his own, being on Bedford Square. He was well aware that Lady Juniper's house was somewhere on the square too so he kept his horse as far into the shadows as he could. He could not say why that seemed a necessity—the lady was hardly likely to run out of her house and collar him. It was just so disturbing that she'd decided she did not despise him and then dropped hints about children.

He arrived on the early side of things so he could examine the layout of Nankin's card room and claim a table that was set up for two. Piquet, bless its irritating and confounding heart, was a game for only two people.

Really, as far as Matthew was concerned, it was a game for no people—the rules were convoluted, he did not remember half of them, and he did not understand why anybody would wish to. Nevertheless, it being suited for two people suited him very well this night.

As it happened, he was so beforehand on the time that he'd had to walk down the mews to track down a groom to take his horse. Then he'd caused some confusion to the servants who were still setting up the sideboards in the card room. Nankin had not even descended yet and the butler had a disapproving air about this far too early guest.

No matter. He had found his table. It was set a little bit apart from the others in a bow window and had only two chairs. He unwrapped the packs of cards, set up what looked like two hands, and fanned out a line of stock cards between them. Then he left his card case. He went to the sideboard and under the disapproving gaze of the butler, filled a wine glass and set that on the table too. To anybody looking, it would seem as if a game had already commenced between two people. Which it would, between himself and a lovely brown-haired lady.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Constance had gone back and forth over which dress to wear to Lord Nankin's card party. The aubergine silk was by far her favorite, but she did not wish to waste wearing it to a card party that Lord Bramley did not attend.

On the other hand, if he did attend, she would wish to be wearing the aubergine silk. The color was divine and its neckline particularly flattering.

Finally, Letty seemed thoroughly fed up with her mistress' pacing and examining of this or that dress and Constance settled on the aubergine silk. As she did so, she realized that nobody in the world could sigh like an exasperated lady's maid—it was long and wistful, like a specter's sad lamentations.

As the carriage trotted to Bedford Square, her mother said, "I wonder if Lord Bramley will have somehow walked himself onto the guest list."

Of course, Constance wondered the very same.

"Bramley?" the earl said. "At a card party? I never see him at cards at White's."

"He does not care for cards, Papa."

"He does not care for cards?" the earl asked, seemingly mystified by this idea.

"Perhaps coming to a card party though he has a disinterest in cards will indicate interest in something else entirely," the countess said.

"Really?" the earl said. "Nankin's sideboards are very usual, to my mind. Nothing particularly of note there."

Constance could see her mother press her lips together so she would not laugh. The earl was not very astute at picking up on vague hints. If one wished him to know something, one had better say it clearly and directly.

"Not interest in the sideboards, darling," the countess said. "Constance. He seems interested in Constance."

"Does he now? Well that's all right then. Bramley is a fine young gentleman. Yes, why not? He'll be an earl someday and I suppose his estate must be up to snuff."

"Do you know anything of his estate, Papa?" Constance asked.

"In particular? No, not really. I believe it is in Surrey. Well, his earl is not one of those fellows who's always talking of estate matters. No, he's not a Bertridge or a Van Doren, who will talk your ear off about crop rotation and planting potatoes if you give them half a chance."

"I am just hoping," Constance said, "that he does not look for money. I am hoping he's not somehow heard of…you know."

"I cannot imagine how Bramley would have heard of it," the earl said, a look of concern crossing his features. "Why should you think it so?"

Constance shrugged. "Have you looked at him? He's glorious."

"He's glorious, is he?" the earl said, now looking amused. "I cannot say I've noticed. But why should not a glorious young buck pursue my glorious young daughter?"

"Oh, Papa," Constance said.

The carriage rolled to a stop and all conversation about the gloriousness of Lord Bramley was at an end.

Would he be inside? She did not know but she'd worn her aubergine silk just in case.

Footmen had opened the carriage doors and helped them down and they made their way in. They found Lord Nankin in the great hall, greeting his guests.

"Nankin, how do?" the earl said.

"DeWitton, Countess, you are very welcome. And gracious me, this must be Lady Constance. My dear, I have not laid eyes on you since you were a bit of thing. Long ago, I was at one of your father's house parties, seeking out some quiet in the library, when you came upon me."

"I hope I did not disturb your quiet, my lord."

"You did rather, but it was all very entertaining. You laid out your arguments as to why your pony Daffodil was superior to Miss Somebody's pony."

"Oh dear, I'm afraid that was Miss Lading's pony, Crumpet. Though I would still argue Daffodil's superiority if pressed."

Lord Nankin laughed heartily at the idea. "That's right—loyalty to one's pony is everything. Now, I wonder, Lady Constance, if I might ask a favor. A friend of mine has come this evening and I tell no tales when I say he is dreadful at whist. Lord Bramley, in fact, I think you know him. In any case, might you be willing to partner him at piquet? I really must keep him away from a whist table by any means."

Absolutely nobody in the conversation, except perhaps the earl, was fooled into imagining this situation came about by happenstance. Constance was certain her face currently matched the aubergine of her dress, but she did not give a toss about it.

"Papa?" she asked.

"He's that bad at whist, is he?" the earl asked.

"Dreadful," Lord Nankin said. "It's a sad situation, but there you have it."

"If you like it, my dear," the earl said, "I suppose it would be a kindness to the other players. Nobody likes to be paired with a bad card player. Very aggravating. I wonder why he does not try to get better?"

Before her father could go too much further with wondering why Lord Bramley was a bad whist player and did not do something about it, Constance said, "That will do very well, Lord Nankin."

"You are just as charming as when you defended poor Daffodil, Lady Constance," Lord Nankin said jovially.

As they moved on, Constance had one idea foremost in her mind—Lord Bramley had got himself invited to a card party though he was a terrible card player and he'd made arrangements with Lord Nankin for them to be paired up. It was lovely.

Of course, there was that other niggling idea fighting for attention. Was Lord Bramley's interest in her person or in her money? She must not forget she had a job to do in discovering it. She would inquire into his estate and any plans that might be brewing and she would convey that Lady Juniper liked him very much.

Please God he would have no plans and would mention that he could not stand the sight of Lady Juniper.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

There she was. Matthew felt as if his breath had suddenly gone too shallow. She really was marvelous in a plum-colored silk. She had the sort of coloring that could elegantly carry such a color. Her pretty brown hair and pretty brown eyes and complexion not too pale were just right for such a color. A paler sort of lady would provide too much contrast and, well it would just look wrong.

There was not a thing wrong with Lady Constance this minute—she was splendid.

He hurried toward her and hoped Nankin had arranged things satisfactorily.

"Earl, Countess, Lady Constance," he said.

She very prettily bobbed. Everything she did was pretty, really.

"Bramley," the earl said jovially, "I understand you're to be kept away from the whist tables."

"I suppose I am," Matthew said, working to avoid the embarrassment that his wretched card playing was so well known.

"My daughter has agreed to partner you at piquet, Lord Bramley," the countess said.

"Excellent," Matthew said.

"She's a rather good sport, I thought," the earl said.

The countess nodded and then took her husband's arm. "We should not tarry, my dear. There will be those here you wish to play against and those you'd rather not."

"Quite right," the earl said. "I don't want to hear about crop rotations all night."

The countess led her earl away to search for two other players who would not speak of crop rotations all night. Matthew assumed he meant Bertridge, who'd just come in with his wife and liked nothing more than talking of estate management.

Of course, crop rotations were a thing he was likely to hear of on the morrow at the estate with Sir Jonathan. Did Crickenly direct that they rotate their own crops? He had no idea.

Matthew led Lady Constance to the table by the bow window. He noted her brows raised to see the cards already splayed across the table.

"I did that," he said. "I thought it was the most favorable table so did not wish to lose it."

"I see," Lady Constance said, a small smile playing round her lips.

Matthew barreled on, finding out what she wished for from the sideboard. Though she'd only said a light German wine, he'd brought a plate of savories and another of sweets back just in case.

"I have a confession," he said, after serving her the glass of wine and sitting down.

"A confession?" she asked. She looked positively alarmed, as if he were on the verge of confessing to a murder.

"I do not remember half the rules of piquet," he said.

Her expression relaxed. What on earth had she thought he might confess?

"I expect I do not either," Lady Constance said. "My governess was at her wit's end explaining it over and over again. Well, I believe we draw cards to see who will deal."

Matthew shrugged. "I do not care who deals."

"Nor I."

"I'll do it then. How many cards do I deal?"

"Twelve? And then eight in the stock?"

"That sounds right." Matthew dealt out the cards and fanned out the stock.

"Now I may have come to the end of my memory regarding piquet," Lady Constance said, laughing.

Matthew thought it was really hopeless. Neither of them could remember how to proceed.

He said, "This will go nowhere. I know we have to occasionally discard and pick up. Why do not we just pretend at it?"

"Agreed," Lady Constance said. A shadow seemed to cross her expression. "I would have supposed you would be forced to play cards often at home. I think my father mentioned the estate was in Surrey?"

He could not fathom why she seemed sad about how often he'd been forced to play cards at home, which was not very often.

"Nobody bothers me to play when I am at home. It is one of the convenient things about one's neighborhood—people's eccentricities and peculiarities are so familiar that they do not seem strange. I do not like cards, Lady Maidstone cannot bear the sound of a harp, Viscount Welton accuses everyone of eyeing his coveys and we all get on splendidly."

"I suppose the estate is very comfortable," Lady Constance said.

Now he thought he understood where she was going with the conversation. He very much liked the direction of it—she was attempting to get a sense for what it might be like to live there.

"The house is a Tudor and very commodious. Much has been done over the years to make the rooms comfortable. I would challenge anyone to claim it was not as comfortable as a modern-built house."

"Oh I see, there have been renovations done?"

Of course there had been. One could not carry on in a Tudor house without fixing the roof or reinforcing timber or patching up the stucco.

"My grandfather carried out some extensive repairs," Matthew said. "It really is very comfortable—each bedchamber has its own sitting room and dressing room. We did that by taking down walls where we could. And then, there is also a large dower house that sits empty at the moment. It is on the far side of the park and has a view of a lake."

"I suppose there are always things to be done on an estate," Lady Constance said. "There must always be plans in the works."

Matthew nodded. "I really should know more about it than I do. However, I am going there on the morrow to really have a look at the estate and put a plan together about what ought to be done."

This seemed to strike Lady Constance very hard. Could it be that she was sorry he was going away?

"Only for a few days, of course," he said, pretending to pick up and discard. "I must return in time for the Duchess of Ralston's Secrets Dévoilés. The duchess has already hinted to me that I will be on her list this year."

"Secrets exposed?" Lady Constance asked. "I do not believe I know of it."

"You may be fortunate, then. The dowager selects a group of gentlemen and gives them seven sealed envelopes and a list of twenty ladies. Each gentleman then carries the envelopes to whichever ladies he will. A lady receiving an envelope opens it, reads it, responds to whatever is in it, and reseals it, handing it back to the gentleman."

"For what reason is all this done?" Lady Constance asked, herself pretending at picking up a card and discarding another.

"So that the duchess can go through all the envelopes that have been brought back to her and select the most amusing. She then reads them out at her party and everybody has to guess who they are about. Last year, the task given to the lady was to write a four-line poem about the temperament of the gentleman bringing the envelope."

"Gracious, I do not think I would like to be involved in that."

"Unfortunately, if the duchess decides you are to be involved, you are involved. She is highly and vocally disapproving of anybody attempting to wiggle out of it."

They were silent for some moments, each moving cards around as if they were playing piquet. Though, had anybody looked closely they would have wondered about what sort of piquet was being played.

"I have only met the duchess once," Lady Constance said, "when she introduced herself to me and Miss Semper at Lady Thurston's poetical tableau. I do not suppose I will come to her notice."

"Do not be so certain of that," Matthew said. "If she bothered to introduce herself, she has an interest."

"I suppose Lady Juniper is bound to be included."

Matthew had not the first idea of why it would be so, nor why Lady Constance speculated on it. All he did know was that the last thing he wished to discuss was Lady Juniper.

He shuffled some cards by way of answer.

"I was at Lady Juniper's house this afternoon," Lady Constance said, "it is just across the square here, in fact. She speaks very highly of you. In the highest terms, really."

Matthew dropped the cards and then hurried to pick up the few that had landed on the floor. What was Lady Juniper about, speaking highly of him to anybody at all, much less Lady Constance?

He did not know into what territory this conversation might travel, but he had no interest in traveling that road. He was determined to get off the subject.

"Did I say what the subject of last year's secrets exposed was? It was a four-line poem on a gentleman's temperament," he said, hoping to veer away from any talk of Lady Juniper and her opinions.

"You did mention it," Lady Constance said.

So he did.

"Ah, yes, but did I mention that Lady Jemima, she is now the Duchess of Barstow, wrote a rather scathing poem about Barstow?"

"No, you did not mention that," Lady Constance said. There was something new in her manner. Some new sort of reserve. Had he said something wrong? If he did, he had no idea what it was.

All he could think to do was barrel on.

"Indeed. It was repeated everywhere for a time and so I do remember it. It was: This lord looks down his disapproving nose, dealing out insults wherever he goes. One might think he'd look within on occasion, but that would be a lord of a different persuasion."

He had thought Lady Constance might be amused by it, but she did not seem amused at all.

"That seems…unnecessarily harsh," Lady Constance said.

"I suppose so," Matthew admitted. "I understand Lady Jemima was furious over something he'd said or done when she wrote it. Apparently, all was forgiven as they wedded some weeks later."

"I see."

"Well!" a jolly voice said suddenly. "How goes it?"

Lady Constance's father had suddenly appeared at their table.

The earl then looked at the absolute mess of cards spread over the table and said, "It does not go very well, by the looks of it."

"We have been muddling along, Papa," Lady Constance said.

Lord DeWitton glanced at the paper and graphite that lay on the table untouched. "I would ask for the score, but there is no score."

"Lady Constance was trouncing me so thoroughly that it seemed a kindness to avoid writing it down," Matthew said.

He did not know what else he could say. He certainly would not say the truth—that neither of them remembered the rules and had just been moving cards around and talking. It was the sort of thing a father might not like and he very much wished to keep in Lord DeWitton's good books.

"Does your whist game end so soon," Lady Constance asked.

"Not a minute too soon, in my view," the earl said. "Somehow we were paired with Bertridge and wouldn't you know it, I am urged to plant potatoes. I bowed out of a second game because I do not wish to plant potatoes. Now, it seems that Lord Nankin has arranged a violinist in the music room—I will take my daughter there, Bramley, as it does not seem as if anything productive has happened here."

Lord DeWitton looked down at the piles of cards as he said it and Matthew could not claim it was otherwise.

He rose and said, "I would be delighted to accompany you."

"I think that's been enough for one evening," the earl said. "I would not wish to cause talk unless and until there is something to talk about, if you get my meaning."

Of course, Matthew understood his meaning perfectly, and the earl was probably right. Sitting alone with Lady Constance at a card table for a half hour was one thing, but to follow her into the music room really might light up speculations. He could not blame a father for being careful of his daughter.

He could not provide anything a father might be satisfied with until he'd been to the estate and was assured that he could somehow make it produce more than it had. Then he would be conscience clear to ask for the lady's hand.

"Lady Constance," he said, bowing.

"Lord Bramley," she said.

Why did she look so serious? He really could not imagine what he'd done wrong.

Whatever it was, he would not find it out tonight.

On top of that mystery, he just realized she'd not even mentioned receiving the mahogany box and watercolors. Perhaps she thought it would seem bold to conclude that he'd sent it anonymously. But certainly, she must know he sent it.

Matthew sat for another half hour, drinking his wine and pretending at playing at concentration. His concentration was not very good though. He felt impatient, he wished to get on with it. The morrow could not come soon enough.