Chapter Four

Matthew would have gone to more routs if he'd known how interesting they could be. Of course, Lady Kendrick's rout had only been made interesting by the arrival of Lady Constance. If she had not come, he would have just ended sitting alone, driving other people away from his table and looking very eccentric.

But she had come. And, if he were not mistaken, her mother, the countess, looked very favorably upon him. The lady had been so good as to engage her earl for the better part of the evening. Matthew suspected the earl was rather confused by his wife's intense attention to him.

His own earl had just sent a note up to his bedchamber that he wished to see his son in the library. It was about the last place he wished to go, but go he must.

As he jogged down the stairs, he braced himself for another lecture on the importance of a large dowry. He still had no idea what he was going to do about the estate's practical needs, but he would not give up the pursuit of Lady Constance.

He went into the library and found his father at his desk, looking grave as an undertaker.

"Shut the door, son."

Matthew did so, and though he had not been looking forward to this appointment, he now began to feel alarmed.

"Has somebody died?" he asked.

"Died? No," the earl said. "I wish to speak with you about Lady Kendrick's rout. I have been informed you spent the whole of it in the company of Lady Constance Condower."

Matthew blanched. How had he come upon that piece of information?

"Wilburn knows…" the earl trailed off. "I don't remember the whole connection—he knows somebody who knows somebody else who knows somebody working in that house."

"Our butler is a bit of a tattler, then," Matthew said.

"Do not attempt to change the subject to how the information was delivered. The fact is, it was delivered. What are you thinking? The lady comes with next to nothing!"

"Three thousand is not next to nothing," Matthew said.

"As far as I'm concerned, it is," the earl said. "And to pay such marked attention to her? With her parents there, too? People will begin to talk. They will begin to anticipate an engagement."

Matthew did not answer, as he was anticipating an engagement. If all proceeded as well as it had so far, what else could be the end of it?

The earl let out a long sigh. "The lady seems very agreeable, I will admit. But there are practicalities to consider. We will end exceedingly pinched if you make such a mistake."

Matthew had not yet worked out how to solve the estate's problems without a large dowry, he'd just contented himself with imagining he'd think of something. Now, though, he really had to actually think of something.

"Father, how is it that we're always so pinched, and yet others somehow manage not to be? Others even find money for things like dowries."

"How should I know?" the earl said. "All estates are different, I suppose. Ours is simply not the money generating kind."

This did not seem to make much sense. For one, their acreage was on the large side of things. If he understood it correctly, their acreage even surpassed the Earl of Wellerston's, and that gentleman had managed fifteen thousand for his daughter.

His friend Souderton was a marquess who was only in control of one small estate, as his duke kept a tight rein on the rest of the holdings. Souderton had told him he squeezed every pence out of it to allow him ample funds to gamble and rent a house at a good address. How were they doing it? How was Souderton squeezing every pence?

"Have you spoken with Crickenly about how we might generate more than we have?" Matthew asked.

"Have I spoken to Crickenly? All I do is talk to that steward about it! He assures me every economy is being employed."

"I just feel there must be another answer to our difficulties," Matthew said.

His father stood and said, "If you mean to imply that we don't require a large dowry, get that out of your head right now! You are suffering from an infatuation—they do not last. A partnership firmly standing on the ground of sense and pence is what lasts."

Matthew could see he would get nowhere with his father in his current mood.

"The way of the world, I have been told," he said. Then he hurried to the door, got out of it, and ordered his horse before his father could say more.

He was going to have to solve the estate's problems somehow, and it was not going to be with a dowry.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Constance had spent most of the previous day mooning about the house. It was very hard to stop thinking about Lord Bramley.

She'd never imagined she'd be so struck by a gentleman. Of course, she'd grown up on the stories of knights and courtly love, but none of that had ever seemed to have anything to do with her. All those ladies were the loveliest in the land, and she was not.

The countess had come into the drawing room and said, "The bells have been rung, Lord Bestwick's Thames regatta is on for the morrow."

Constance felt her cheeks pink over the news. It was the stupidest of reactions. She was not even to be on the same barge as Lord Bramley.

She might have been, though. He had asked.

"Goodness, Constance, you are fairly blooming these days. It seems London agrees with you."

"I think it does, Mama," Constance said. The comment sent her thoughts racing along at a brisk pace. Her father had thought to say something similar at the breakfast table. He'd said she was looking "very well." He never commented on her appearance.

She'd kept wondering at Lord Bramley's interest in her. Especially at Almack's, which had been a ballroom filled with beauty. Could it be that she was prettier than she'd thought? Or getting prettier than she had been?

It seemed a rather conceited idea. But then, what if it were true?

She'd occupied the next hours very casually glancing in every looking glass she passed by. She could not say she saw anything different than she'd always seen.

She was still not very remarkable compared to what she'd seen at Almack's. She was not a glittering blond princess or a dramatic raven-haired beauty or a lively auburn goddess. She was brown-haired and brown-eyed, as always.

But then, was there not every chance that Lord Bramley, for reasons only known to himself, might prefer her sort of coloring? She must keep that in mind. It would not be reasonable to imagine that there was nobody in the world who preferred it.

Of course, it did seem like a very small chance that someone like Lord Bramley would happen to be included in that handful of gentlemen.

She was determined to put all those thoughts aside. After all, Lady Jane might sometimes be a ninny, but Lady Jane was often the giver of sensible advice. Once, when Constance had made comment that she would give anything for Jane's hair, a charming shade resembling the color of summer wheat, Jane had sighed and said, "If I wear pastels, I tend to look insipid, but you do not hear me advertising that idea far and wide. Chin up and believe you are the best thing going."

Constance had not yet managed to view herself as the best thing going, but she had taken Jane's point. To complain to one's friends on such a matter was self-indulgent and childish. She'd not mentioned the subject again.

She had even imagined that she'd not thought of it again. Until Lord Bramley. She liked him so much it seemed strange that he would like her too.

Because, clearly, she was far more of a ninny than Jane ever was.

The day and night had dragged along but now it was time for the regatta. It was time for a chance to see Lord Bramley on another barge, which would hopefully be anchored nearby.

The household had risen shockingly early and set off before dawn to the river for the regatta. It had been an eerie trip through foggy streets, the mist hushing the usual sounds of the town. All who had been out late were home in their beds and all who would rise with the dawn had not yet emerged from their houses. It was one of the few hours when London was quiet, but for the knocker's up who used batons to wake people for their work.

They were to meet the Duchess of Barstow's barge to watch her duke compete in the sailing race and had been advised that the duchess wished to set out early.

The connection to the duchess had been explained to her the day prior. It seemed the lady was the daughter of the Duke of Eddleston and that duke and her own father had been at school together. Over the years, her parents had visited the duke's house often for the shooting.

The duchess, or Lady Jemima as her father had always known her, was said to be a lively lady. When she'd been a child, she'd always egged Constance's father on to tell stories of his travels in the Hebrides. The earl had not in fact ever been to that location, but he was game to make up stories.

The favorite tale was of a little girl chased by a giant eagle named Claw who was saved by Herbert, a clever otter. Lady Jemima had made extensive plans to lead a military campaign to the Hebrides to defeat Claw once and for all.

Constance's mother commented that society had been much surprised at the match between Lady Jemima and the Duke of Barstow. That gentleman was rather reserved and the duchess was very much not reserved. The match had been made at a house party the queen always attended and it had included some very untoward happenings between the duke and a certain Lord Varnay.

Constance had wondered if it were the same house party where the Duchess of Ralston had pronounced Lord Bramley the worst whist partner she'd ever had.

Neither her mother nor her father had been willing to outline what those untoward things between the duke and Lord Varnay had been, her father only saying, "How a duel was not the end of it, nobody knows. I suspect the queen put her foot down."

Constance supposed it was all very nice to have been invited onto the duchess' barge, but there was another barge she'd much rather be on.

Hopefully, Lord Bramley's barge would be right next to their own. Perhaps even close enough to talk? But then, if it were not, she would see him at the prince's party afterward.

The wharf was even foggier than the streets and the Thames just a dull grey expanse that disappeared into the mist. Such vistas always made Constance's heart grow a bit cold. She was an excellent swimmer, as they had a lake on their own property, and she held no fears for her person. But she did not like to think of sailors going down with their ships, those poor men knowing there was nowhere to swim to—every bit of land in the world was too far out of reach.

The duchess' butler, Mr. Jacobs, had been lurking where they would be let out of the carriage and he led them down a private pier to the barge.

It was far larger than Constance had been expecting. She had, of course, seen barges sailing the Thames, but at a distance. She'd had no idea of their real size. This one in particular was at least ninety feet long and twenty feet wide.

The bargeman and his crewmen were hoisting the ochre-colored sails. The duchess came to greet them. "Dear Lord DeWitton, Lady DeWitton, and this must be Lady Constance."

Constance curtsied and said, "Your Grace."

The duchess laughed and said, "You will not find much graceful about me when we are better acquainted, as your dear parents can tell you. I suppose you ought to call me Duchess."

Constance thought that was very kindly done and she liked the look of the lady. Unlike her own rather dull coloring, the duchess was all vibrancy. Her auburn hair and her red velvet cloak seemed to brighten up the grey morning.

"Now, Jacobs will see that you have everything you need. I will find the bargeman for a conference as we will wish to set off soon and get a good place. The duke is determined to win it this year and I am equally determined to see him do it."

As she hurried off, the duchess called over her shoulder, "And Earl, I do hope I may hear of Claw and my heroic otter while we have you onboard?"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Matthew was not opposed to viewing a sailing regatta. In fact, over the summer he'd toyed with the idea of building his own boat and entering the race. He would have, too, had he been able to wrangle the funds from his father.

What he was opposed to, though, was the time of morning they'd had to set off for the thing. It was not to start until ten and yet they'd had to be on the barge before dawn.

When he'd come down the stairs, he'd found Mr. Wilburn racing this way and that by candlelight, supervising what was to go into the carriages. One might have imagined they were preparing to set off for a sea voyage of some months by the looks of it.

His father seemed in an equal sort of tizzy—overly jocular for so early in the morning. Strangely jocular, considering their conversation of the day before.

They'd gotten there after no end of palaver and Matthew had taken himself to the bow and found a quiet spot to take a nap to pass the hours before the sun would be up in the sky, the mist burned off, and the race would begin. With any luck, he'd wake and find Lady Constance on the barge next to their own.

He'd shut his eyes and nearly fallen asleep listening to the bargeman and his crew get the sails up. Then something unexpected had fallen on his ears.

Something as unwelcome as it was unexpected.

A lady's voice was clear as a bell. "I suppose it will do."

A second lady's voice chimed in. "I think it's rather grand."

Matthew recognized the first voice well enough, though he wished he did not. Lady Juniper of the many grim opinions. Who the other lady was, he did not have the first idea.

Until, he did.

There could only be one reason why Lady Juniper could be turning up on his barge—her large dowry. Therefore, the other lady could only be his father's second target—Miss Bemper or Kemper or something like that.

His father was really taking things too far. What on earth did he think would happen? His son would be thrown together with Lady Juniper on a barge and suddenly perceive the charms that she most definitely did not have?

He leapt to his feet in time to find his mother coming toward him. "Ah, there you are, dear. Do come and help entertain our guests."

"Why do we have guests, Mother? Why do we have those particular guests?" he asked, trying and failing to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

"Oh, well, you know…your father…the way of the world…" The countess said.

Matthew sighed. Whenever his mother was faced with any sort of unpleasantness it was immediately blamed on the way of the world. He was trapped, at least for the next few hours. He might as well go and face the absurd situation.

He trudged back to the middle deck where a long table and chairs had been set up.

"Son!" the earl said with forced enthusiasm. "You rejoin us at last. You already know Lady Juniper. This is Miss Semper."

Of course, Matthew did unfortunately know Lady Juniper and she was looking as disapproving as ever. Miss Semper, on the other hand, was a lady of a different stripe. A rather hilarious stripe.

Miss Semper was short in stature but that did not deter her from decorating herself with every possible ornament. All of these accoutrements had some sort of naval flavor to them, he supposed in honor of the regatta. Fringe hung about her shoulders like epaulets and her hat could have been worn by Nelson himself.

Matthew bowed. "Lady Juniper. Miss Semper."

The ladies curtsied.

Before any conversation need be had, the bargeman hurried to the earl's side. "We are ready to push off, my lord. I suggest the ladies be seated until they can properly get their sea legs."

This prompted a flurry of activity. One might have thought his father did not hear the bargeman correctly as he had included himself in those who must be seated.

The chairs in question were sturdily built and the bargeman explained they had weights in all four legs to prevent them from sliding on deck.

"Gracious, this is very exciting," Miss Semper said, her epaulets swinging back and forth as she looked about her.

Lady Juniper did not seem half so excited to be seaborn on the Thames.

"I suppose we can all swim?" Matthew said.

Lady Juniper's eyes narrowed. Miss Semper cried, "What?"

"It was only a joke, Miss Semper," Matthew said.

"That's my son, always joking!" the earl said jovially.

Lady Juniper patted Miss Semper's hand. "Never mind, Miss Semper. Do not allow a gentleman to get a rise out of you. It is a sport with them."

"Is it?" Miss Semper said, this idea seeming very new.

"I am afraid so," Lady Juniper said, giving him the eye.

"Really, I did not mean anything by it," Matthew said. He was irritated that Lady Juniper had seen fit to scold him. On the other hand, he had no wish to unduly startle the short lady admiral.

"I'm sure you did not, Lord Bramley," Miss Semper said smiling.

At least Miss Semper seemed to be in a better temperament than Lady Juniper.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Mr. Wilburn had watched the scene unfold before him. For reasons only known to himself, Lord Bramley had seen fit to frighten the ladies with ideas of swimming.

Or at least, frighten one of the ladies.

He had hoped that descriptions of these two ladies had not been particularly accurate. And yet, here they were, just as described.

Mr. Wilburn hurried to set out the things he'd brought in the picnic baskets, certain that food and drink were always a welcome distraction.

As he did so, his mind galloped forward at a furious clip. There was no getting round it, he was very afraid that Lady Juniper was fast going out of consideration.

For one, Lord Bramley did not appear to like the lady. For another, Lady Juniper did not appear very fond of Lord Bramley either.

It must be Miss Semper. Her rather uninspired origins had always put her in second place, but Mr. Harkinson could see now that she was the only viable option.

After all, she seemed a pleasant enough personage. Would it be insurmountable to do something about her taste? Who was dressing this lady? She simply had not been shown how to model any sort of restraint. One did not attend a regatta attired in clothes suited for the navy unless the regatta was somehow also a masque ball.

Mr. Harkinson would not have allowed her to step out of the house with that monstrosity of a hat on. Nor would the countess, he could see very well. The lady eyed that piece of headwear as if it might launch itself at her.

The barge had slowed, the sails came down, and anchors were thrown out. The sun was rising in the sky, the fog lifting, and it looked to be a fine day.

All he had to do was somehow grease the wheels between Lord Bramley and Miss Semper.

As the only grease he had on hand were bottles of champagne, he began to pour out liberal glasses.