15. Attending a Garden Party

CHAPTER 15

ATTENDING A GARDEN PARTY

A half-hour later

Making his way through the French doors leading into the Morganfield gardens, Donald paused to gain his bearings and grinned when he realized nothing had changed since the last time he was there. The hedgerows were probably taller, which meant there were no doubt a number of young couples hidden behind them and engaging in all sorts of illicit activities. Other than that, the tulips were in bloom as were a bevy of young ladies clustered in groups of three or four, their bell-skirted gowns in varying shades of white, cream, pink, and pale blue. No young children dashed about as they had in the past, which meant Lady Morganfield’s invitations had changed to preclude anyone younger than fifteen or so.

He surveyed the green wrought iron tables until he located the one at which Cherice, Marchioness of Devonville, was holding court. Across from her was the hostess of the event and his real reason for making the trip to Carlington House—Adeline, Marchioness of Morganfield.

Meanwhile, his grandfather was engaged in what appeared to be a serious discussion with David Carlington, Marquess of Morganfield, at the back of the gardens. He winced at seeing how gray both aristocrats had become since he had last seen them. Given Parliament would be convening that week, they were probably discussing politics.

A footman appeared at his elbow with a tray bearing glasses of champagne. Giving the servant a nod, he helped himself to one and made his way to stand behind Cherice. He winked at the startled Lady Morganfield before leaning down to kiss Cherice on the cheek. “How do, Grandmother?” he whispered as she gasped and turned to regard him with shock.

“Donald William Stephen Higgins Slater!” she said by way of a scold. She didn’t even try to rise from her chair, but regarded him with a look of surprise coupled with delight.

“Oh, I am in trouble now,” he said, a huge grin lighting his face as he nodded to the other ladies seated around the table.

“When did you get back to London?” she asked, pulling on his hand until he took the empty chair next to hers.

He pulled out his chronometer. “About two hours ago,” he replied with a mischievous grin. He turned his attention on Adeline. “I do hope you don’t mind an uninvited guest, my lady. I came bearing a gift of exotic fabrics for you.”

The marchioness’ expression took on a look of confusion. “Fabrics?” she repeated. “Whatever are you talking about?”

“A merchant in Tangier asked me if I might deliver them, and...” He lifted a shoulder. “Someone bought them as a gift for you. Your butler is having them brought into the house right now.”

One of the matrons at the table leaned forward. “Silk? From China?” she guessed, obviously in awe. “Do you suppose it was Morganfield?” she asked, referring to Adeline’s husband.

Adeline lifted her chin, a prim grin appearing to lighten her olive-toned complexion. “It’s a mystery to me, but I assure you, I shall discover the truth before this day is over,” she claimed.

“I have a message for you as well,” Donald said, reaching into his waistcoat pocket to pull out the missive. “Lady Armenia and the Conte D’Avalos send their regards,” he added, holding out the note to the startled marchioness.

Adeline regarded the missive as if it might explode. “You met my sister? And my brother?” she asked in awe, finally taking the note from him.

“I was a guest at House D’Avalos many times for the two months I was in Catania,” he said. “They were quite welcoming.” He managed to say the last without displaying a grimace. He knew it would be a long time before the bitterness he felt toward the conte would fade.

Adeline set the note next to her plate. “Then you must have met my niece, Nicoletta,” she said, a dark brow arching suggestively.

Donald struggled to keep from wincing. The mention of her had his heart clenching so hard, he thought he would die. “I did indeed. She’s a beautiful young lady. Unfortunately for me, she is betrothed to the Marchese Montblanc.”

Adeline’s eyes rounded. “That old fart?” she murmured. “Or... or did he finally have a son and die?”

The other ladies at the table tittered while Donald did his best to display an impassive expression. “He did not, my lady, which is why the conte has promised his daughter to him. They may already be wed by now.” The words had his chest constricting even more. After two weeks aboard The Fairweather , he had thought his fondness for Nicoletta might fade.

Apparently not.

“I suppose I shouldn’t have expected an invitation to the wedding,” Adeline murmured. “Enrico knows how long it would take for me to make the travel arrangements, and I simply could not make a trip to... to Catania, did you say?”

“Yes, my lady. On Sicily.”

Her eyes rounded slightly before she dipped her head.

“What is it, Adeline?” Cherice asked, concern evident in her voice.

The older matron lifted a shoulder. “My brother is usually in Roma this time of year. He rarely spends time at the villa in Catania,” she said, turning her attention back to Donald. “Did you have a good tour?”

“I did, my lady,” he acknowledged. “I took lots of notes, and completed a number of drawings. The Greek and Roman ruins were fascinating.”

“I do hope you remembered to bring gifts for your mother,” Cherice said, arching a brow.

“I have a bolt of silk for her, and I have a gift for you as well,” he replied. Before he had taken his leave of the souk in Tangier, he had purchased a looking glass surrounded with a metal frame featuring decorative fretwork. He grinned when Cherice feigned surprise before he glanced around. “Forgive me,” he said, “but might I be excused to tour the gardens?”

“Of course,” Adeline replied, waving one hand in a shoo’ing motion. “You’ll find a number of beautiful young ladies, but do be careful not to engage any of them in anything other than conversation,” she warned. “I’d rather not have my garden party mentioned in this week’s The Tattler for anything other than the guests in attendance,” she added, referring to London’s premiere gossip news-sheet.

“I wouldn’t dare,” he promised, bowing once he had stood from the table. “My ladies,” he added, before turning to survey the grounds.

When he had taken several steps away from the table, he glanced back, not surprised to see Adeline popping the seal from the missive he had delivered.

Not having given a thought to its contents, he now wondered if he had been the bearer of bad news. It was obvious from her comment about Rome that his discovery of her brother, sister, and niece in Catania was unexpected.

He knew why—Nicoletta had said the villa in Rome had been sold. Something about the conte’s efforts to consolidate.

Perhaps D’Avalos had been forced to sell.

Donald remembered the poor condition of the exterior of House D’Avalos. The lack of enough servants to staff such a large villa.

The elegant rot.

No wonder D’Avalos had agreed to marry off his daughter to the Marchese Montblanc. He probably couldn’t afford her any longer.

Had the conte’s comments about allowing his daughter to buy anything she wanted been all for show? The ball a last-ditch effort to gain a suitor for her? One who might forgo a dowry?

“For a moment, I thought I was seeing a ghost.”

Donald gave a start, his attention going to the couple who was suddenly standing in front of him.

“Aunt Hannah. Uncle Henry?” he said in surprise.

“When did you return?” Hannah, Countess of Gisborn, asked as she stepped up and pulled him into an embrace. “I barely recognized you. You’ve grown taller.”

“I arrived in England about two hours ago,” he replied, shaking hands with his uncle. “What are you doing here in Mayfair?”

“Parliament starts tomorrow, and I thought to actually take my seat this year,” Henry, Earl of Gisborn, replied. “You look as if you’ve spent a good deal of time in the sun.”

“I have,” Donald admitted. “So glad I was able to bring it with me,” he added, waving to the golden orb that was providing warmth as well as sunshine to the afternoon’s party. He glanced around. “Where is Grace?” His only female cousin would be about eight years old, he realized.

“We’ve left the boys and Grace in the care of your parents,” Hannah said. She wound her arm through his elbow so she was between the two gentlemen and indicated they should head further into the gardens.

“What about the farm?” he asked.

“Your father is still the foreman,” Henry said, referring to Will Slater. “I don’t know what I’m going to do when he inherits and moves here to the capital,” he added. “Although your grandfather looks rather hale and hearty, I have to face the fact that at some point, your father is going to be the Marquess of Devonville.”

“Although I’ve grown up knowing it, I can’t imagine him in the position,” Donald murmured. “He’s the least aristocratic man I know.” Having been a captain and then a commander of a naval ship in his younger years, Will Slater had adapted to life on land upon his resignation from the British Navy. Donald knew he sometimes missed the water, which explained his occasional forays to the banks of the River Isis, where he kept a rowboat.

“We finished planting, so there’s not much more I could do until the harvest,” Henry commented.

“Everyone’s in good health?” Donald asked.

“They are,” Hannah replied. “What will you do now that you’re back in England? Will you go home?”

Donald nodded. “I thought to. I’m not sure what else I would do, other than write of my tour.”

“Build an orangery for me,” Hannah said, tittering when Henry groaned and rolled his eyes.

“You still don’t have one?” Donald asked, giving his uncle a look of surprise.

“I haven’t had the time. Perhaps you could oversee construction while I’m here in the capital?”

“You’re serious?”

“I am. It seems every harvest, Hannah’s citrus trees are in harm’s way when we have to use the greenhouses,” he explained. “So I’ve arranged for a conservatory to be built on the northwest corner of Gisborn Hall.”

“Which means I can start some lime trees in the greenhouses,” Hannah teased.

“Sounds perfect,” Donald remarked. “Anything else I can do?”

Henry exchanged a quick glance with Hannah. “Run my stables?”

From the manner in which his uncle made the query, Donald wondered if he was joking. “Run the stables?” he repeated.

“Handle the breeding. Oversee the grooms. You were always so good with the beasts,” Henry commented. “That is, if you’re not looking to take a position somewhere else?”

“I could run the stables,” Donald replied. He had always had a knack for breaking the two-year-olds and for keeping the draft horses in good shape for the planting and the harvest.

“So... you weren’t looking to seek employment?” Hannah asked. “You would probably excel in a clerk’s position, but I cannot imagine you working indoors.”

“You are right, Aunt. I do not believe I could abide being inside all day.” He considered what he intended to do regarding his notes and drawings from his trip. Assembling them into a book was a project he could do during the afternoons and evenings. “When do I start?”

Henry chuckled. “As soon as you’re back home.” When Hannah cleared her throat and gave him a pointed glance, he added, “Oh, and if you’d like, the dowager cottage is available. You can move in whenever you’d like. Comes with the position.”

Donald’s eyes rounded. “My own home?” he asked in awe. “But... what about Nathaniel?” he asked, referring to Henry’s oldest son. “Isn’t he living there?” A recent graduate of Oxford, the young man had taken up residence in the dowager cottage the year before Donald had departed for his Grand Tour, intent on completing a thesis. Like Donald, he was illegitimate, his mother a former mistress of Henry’s.

“Nathaniel married a girl in Oxford last year,” Hannah said. “He lives there now. Oversees a college library.”

“Nathaniel? Married?” Donald asked in disbelief.

“Surprised us, too,” Hannah said. “But she’s a lovely girl from a very good family?—”

“Father is a professor at one of the colleges?—”

“—and she’s expecting their first child later this year,” Hannah finished with a grin of delight.

Donald chuckled softly. He had always known Nathaniel would choose a life outside of the aristocracy. His mother had raised him to expect to work for his living even if his father intended to provide him an allowance.

“You’re really all right with me moving into the cottage?” he asked as they stood before a colorful array of tulips.

“At least until Hannah needs it,” Henry replied, which had his countess giving him a quelling glance.

“You have yourself a deal, Uncle,” Donald said.

For the rest of the afternoon, he felt far lighter than he had in weeks. Even if he had to wait for Nicoletta for ten years, at least he’d be doing something he enjoyed in the meantime.

M eanwhile, back at the matron’s table

Claiming she needed to speak with the cook, Adeline, Countess of Morganfield, made her excuses and hurried into Carlington House. Standing next to the French doors for the afternoon light they provided, she unfolded her sister’s missive and read the feminine Latin script.

My dear Adeline,

I do hope you and Morganfield are well and enjoying an early spring. I expect you are preparing for your garden party and another Season in London.

The bearer of this missive has been a most welcome guest of late. It pains me that Mr. Slater must take his leave. You see, I was sure he and Nikky might marry—she accepted his offer whilst we were on holiday in Taormina—even if he is not scheduled to inherit a position of note. However, our brother has once again been plotting behind our backs.

He has made arrangements for Nikky to wed Montblanc. As the marchese is a rather ancient man, I doubt it will be a long marriage. Our niece will be set for life, though, given his fortune.

In order to provide a dowry, Enrico has sold the villa in Roma with the excuse he wishes to “consolidate” the D’Avalos holdings. I have not asked who bought it, but it would not surprise me if that property has been added to Montblanc’s holdings.

We are down to the villa in Catania and some farmlands at the base of Aetna. At least we are welcome here. Although there are not many of us in town, I am allowed to host one ball a year, although not on the scale of those I once hosted in Roma.

Please do not feel as if we have left you out when it comes to the guest list for the wedding. I expect it shall be a small affair—perhaps only the four of us and some other aristocrats on the first day of spring.

I look forward to your next letter. Do give my regards to your husband and to Elizabeth, and I give you permission to share this news with her.

Your loving sister,

Armenia

Post scriptum: Our brother’s guilt had him placing an order for some fine fabrics for your birthday, but I know not from where or how he intends for them to reach you. Knowing him, he did not pay enough for their delivery. If I sound spiteful, know that it is because I am. A.

T ears blurring her ability to read the last line of the letter, Adeline sniffled and quickly pulled a hanky from her pocket.

The house she had grown up in now belonged to someone else.

She glanced out the French doors, her gaze taking in the sight of Donald Slater with his aunt and uncle.

She had wondered at his guarded manner whilst at the table, and now she understood why. Most young men who returned from their Grand Tours seemed happy to be home. Donald merely seemed resigned to it.

His heart was obviously somewhere else.

With someone else.

Wiping her cheeks, Adeline realized she would soon be missed if she didn’t return to her place at the matron’s table. She quickly refolded the missive and stuffed it into her pocket. Straightening her back and pasting a pleasant expression on her face, she rejoined her friends.

“What news from your sister?” Cherice asked once another glass of champagne had been set in front of her. She had guessed correctly Adeline’s real reason for going into the house.

“My niece is getting married,” Adeline replied, feigning happiness. She swallowed a sob. “Today, in fact,” she added, remembering it was the first day of spring.

The ladies around the table coo’d their delight and turned their conversation to the likely matches in that year’s Marriage Mart.

Donald Slater’s name was not mentioned as a possible groom.