Chapter 10

Chapter 10

The following week, the weather turned fine. The cold, wet February rains had given over to a breezy March, which promised a mild April.

Dorian and Emma were taking a stroll in the park near Aldham Place and came upon August, who seemed also to be taking the air. Emma’s maid trailed behind them, shivering in the brisk wind.

“Am I to understand that there will be a charity ball at Clare Court to benefit the hospital?” August asked.

“You understand correctly,” Dorian replied. “Hopefully, many people will purchase tickets to attend. My cook is overseeing the feast, so the food should be excellent.”

“What other sorts of entertainment should we expect? August asked.

“There is a troupe of performers coming from London,” Emma said shyly, placing a light hand on Dorian’s arm. “And I think there might be a harpist and a professional singer, so none of us are likely to be called upon.”

“Lenora will be glad to hear that,” August said. “I have yet to determine why Lenora cannot seem to sing before company. She sang nursery jingles when we were children.”

Emma said, “I am surprised we have not seen her out walking. She struck me as being someone who would enjoy exercise.”

“She isn’t ill, is she?” Dorian asked August.

“Not that I know of,” August returned. “Although, I’ll admit I’ve not been home this morning.”

“Why is that?” Dorian asked, watching August closely. Something about his demeanour seemed a little off, but Dorian could not place his finger on it.

At the same time, Emma suggested, “We should go call on her and ask if she would like to go walking with us.”

“I don’t know,” August hedged. “She’s been in a touchy sort of mood since last week. She even gave a kick at poor Fidele. And she dotes on that little dog.”

“All the more reason we should go see if we can cheer her up,” Emma said.

Dorian felt that he should not refuse Emma anything. He already felt guilty about his dread of their upcoming nuptials, even though he had promised his father to look after her. All the same, he had a horrible feeling that this visit would not go well.

Aldham was not a long walk from the park, so the party of three quickly approached the manor’s front door. Since August was with them, there was no need to knock. He invited them in directly, taking them to the small drawing room at the front of the house.

A maid was dispatched to tell Lenora that she had guests. From somewhere in the upper reaches of the house, there was the sound of shattered crockery. The maid came back, looking a bit pale, and said, “I’m sorry. Miss Temple has a megrim and is not receiving.”

August cast his eyes heavenward. “Trust my sister to disrupt the best of plans. She probably just wants to be coaxed. I’ll go see to it.”

This left Emma and Dorian alone in the drawing room. Dorian could think of nothing to say to Emma, and apparently, she was likewise afflicted. He looked about him, noticing the shabby furniture and the faded wallpaper.

Emma flinched when there was again the sound of thrown crockery, this time accompanied by shouting.

“I’m not going anywhere with that deceitful, braying . . .” Lenora’s voice could be heard clearly throughout the house and possibly several houses over.

August’s lower tones followed but were not distinguishable.

There was again the sound of something being thrown. Lenora’s voice could be heard saying something rapidly in steadily rising tones, culminating in a shriek, “Get out and stay out.”

A slammed door punctuated this latter statement. A visibly shaken August returned to the drawing room. “A megrim,” he said. “Definitely a megrim.”

Lenora’s mother entered the drawing room from some other part of the house. “What is all the shouting?” she demanded. “I am quite sure the neighbours can hear Lenora. August, what have you done to upset her?”

“Me?” August protested. “I didn’t do anything. I just told her that Dorian is here with Emma and asked her if she would like to walk in the park. Then she threw a teacup at my head. I asked her again, just to be sure, and she threw the whole teapot.”

“That had better not have been the good one,” Lady Temple said grimly. She then seemed to take notice of Dorian and Emma. “I am sorry my daughter is being inhospitable. Will you stay and chat? I’ll send for a fresh pot of tea.”

“No, no,” Dorian put in before Emma could agree. “I just remembered something I must do. Emma, I’ll walk you home, then I must go take care of a small bit of business I neglected.”

Emma gave a little sigh but said docilely, “Very well if we must. Very nice to have met you both,” she said to August and his mother. “Perhaps another time.”

As they were leaving, Dorian glanced up at the second-storey windows. Lenora was staring out one of them, her hair wild and her face stormy with anger. When she saw Dorian looking, she quickly pulled a curtain across the window.

Yes, indeed. His friend was angry with him.

Dorian and Emma walked back home in an awkward silence. Dorian wondered what Emma was thinking but was too full of despair at the way Lenora had reacted to their invitation to do more that muster up a wan smile when she remarked upon the fine weather.

As they entered the garden gate, Dorian saw an unfamiliar carriage in the courtyard. Its horses had been unhitched, no doubt taken into the stables or let loose in the paddock provided for visitors.

“I am sorry,” Dorian said as he and Emma hung up their coats. “I have no idea what might have come over Lenora.”

Emma sighed. “Don’t worry,” she returned. “It’s not unusual for friends to have a falling out. I just hope I am not the cause.”

Dorian could not refute the possibility, so he said nothing in return. Instead, he said, “She rarely stays angry long. I’ll call upon her tomorrow.” Still, he could not shake the hollow feeling that he had done something irreparable.

As he and Emma entered the drawing room, they found Jonathan sitting there, entertaining Reuben Manners.

“Hello!” Dorian said, surprised. “I did not know the two of you were acquainted.”

“We are old friends from London,” Jonathan said.

“How . . . odd,” Dorian said. “Reuben and I have been acquainted for some time. I am surprised that we did not discover that you knew him, too.”

Emma clutched her hands together, apparently distressed at the tension in the room. “If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I think I’ll retire,” she said.

“Of course,” Jonathan said. “I hope you did not overtax yourself, my dear.”

“Not at all,” Emma said. “I simply find I’ve had a surfeit of companionship for the day.” She quickly exited the room.

This left the gentlemen staring at each other in silence.

Dorian was the first to speak. “I’m surprised that you have not previously mentioned Lord Whitchurch.”

Jonathan looked a trifle embarrassed and cleared his throat as if casting about for an answer.

Reuben gave an embarrassed laugh. “Shall I just tell him?”

Jonathan shrugged. “If you wish.”

“I had a riding accident in my younger days. I wrenched my hip and damaged my lower back. For a time, it was feared I would never walk again. Jonathan concocted a medicine for my pain and created a regimen of therapy. After I started on that, I slowly grew better. I fear I will never return to the physical prowess I had before, but I function well enough.”

“You are one of uncle’s patients?” Dorian asked, enlightenment beginning to dawn.

“Yes, I am,” Lord Whitchurch replied. “I’ve come to Bath because I need a little additional help with my old injury. And because soaking in warm mineral waters seems to help.”

“That makes good sense,” Dorian said. “But why should this be a matter of moment?”

“Because,” Reuben explained, “I fear it might cause harm to my image. You’ve seen how the ladies flock to me, whether I desire it or not.”

“I cannot think that an old injury would detract from the fascination of the fairer sex,” Dorian said. “But certainly, if that is what you desire, I’ll keep your secret. Mum’s the word.”

“Thank you,” Reuben replied. “I appreciate it very much. Your silence will go a long way towards preserving my image.”

Dorian chuckled. “I think you are missing an opportunity. If there is anything that the ladies love, it is a wounded hero to fuss over.”

“And there you have it, my friend,” Reuben said. “I receive plenty of attention. The last thing I need is to give the feminine members of this community an added excuse to fawn over me.”

Jonathan added a slight laugh of his own. “Now that your secret is out, would the two of you care for a brandy? I have a rather fine one that I brought from London. I would enjoy your opinion of it.”

“I could use a stiff drink,” Dorian said. “I’ve had rather a morning of it.”

He instantly regretted having said anything. But neither of the other two gentlemen enquired as to why it had been such a trying morning.

The talk dissolved into a discussion of the finer points of the brandy, which was good enough. But, Dorian thought, not worthy of any great note.

They passed a quiet half hour talking about dogs, horses, and the prospects for a hunt in the near future.

“Not much game or foxes hereabouts,” Jonathan commented. “So, I don’t know that any are planned. The weather has been as hard on the wildlife as on the farm stock.”

The three agreed that this was so. They chatted a little more, then Dorian pleaded a headache and quietly retired to his room.

The headache was certainly real enough, and it had not been helped by the brandy. In fact, Dorian felt quite ill. He and Lenora were rarely on the outs, and this unspoken quarrel seemed especially trying.

Dorian pulled off his boots, turned back the covers, and lay down on his bed. He closed his eyes and contemplated the behaviour of the fairer sex. How had he angered Lenora? Had Emma been frightened by all the yelling?

Dorian felt completely muddled and not a little upset.