Chapter Ten

T hey gathered in the drawing room for introductions before luncheon. Reginald thought his acting was acceptable. It required only his being courteous, quiet, and uncomfortable in new company—his natural state. A little added uncomfortableness drew no attention.

To be charming was Jasper’s natural state. He focused upon the Duchess first and foremost, while complimenting both the young ladies equally. He did not make it obvious that he had brought Lady Georgiana here for the purpose of wooing her, which seemed to set her at ease. It must have been an awkward business for her as well. Miss Fogbotham was reserved but had a laugh that suggested she would be delightful once she settled. Their mothers appeared sincerely pleased to find themselves in one another’s company.

It was only Crispin who didn’t play his part well. His responses were brusque, and he remained standing while everyone else was seated. When they rose to move to the dining room, Crispin excused himself. “I’m afraid I’ve developed a headache. I’ll take luncheon in my room.”

Crispin did not get headaches.

Mother frowned and excused him. Jasper, too, looked annoyed but hid it before their guests might notice. Jasper offered the Duchess his arm to lead her in first.

In the general bustle from room to room, Reginald found Lady Georgiana at his elbow, so he offered it to her.

She whispered, “Lord Taverston does rise early. He was in the breakfast parlor. He’d been in his study all morning.”

Father’s study.

He whispered back, “What did you do?”

“Fudged. Smiled prettily, showed him the sheets, and asked him what music he most particularly enjoyed.”

Smiled prettily. She would make a fine coquette. Except…

“Were you reading Principia ?” He kept to a whisper.

Her brow clouded. “Reading what ?” She cleared her throat softly. “Do you mean that fat book in the library? It put me right to sleep.” Then she squeezed his arm. “Stop whispering.” And said aloud, “Why, yes, Mr. Taverston. This is the perfect time of year for a visit to the country.”

“You’ll enjoy Chaumbers, I am sure.”

She had told the truth earlier. She was no better a liar than he was.

Mother had arranged the seating, placing Lady Georgiana beside Jasper. The numbers were horribly uneven, so she moved Reginald between the Duchess and Miss Fogbotham. They were both accomplished conversationalists. His only complaint was that he had very little chance to listen in on what Jasper and Lady Georgiana were saying. Her expression was politely pleased, though not animated.

After luncheon, it was still raining, so they returned to the drawing room and played a few hands of whist. Reginald suggested speculation next, but Jasper shot him down.

“You never let anyone else win.”

Crispin entered the room. “Billiards?”

Lady Georgiana nudged Miss Fogbotham, murmuring something that made her laugh and then shake her head.

Jasper said, “Not billiards. Something the ladies will enjoy.”

They fell into a discussion. He heard Lady Georgiana echo speculation, but the company seemed weary of cards. Reginald rose and sidled up alongside Crispin, who had remained close to the door. Although he had learned it was unwise to question his brother as to the state of his health, nevertheless, he asked, “Headache gone?”

Crispin did not look at him, but said, “I didn’t have a headache.”

“I didn’t think so.”

“I didn’t want Mother glaring at my plate in company.”

That was quite an admission for Crispin. Reginald said, “You can’t take all your meals in your room.”

Then Crispin did spare him a look. “If you must know, I had a boil on my arse. Adam lanced it. I should be quite comfortable by dinnertime. Satisfied?”

“All except for the part where your valet lances your boil.”

Crispin’s eyes glinted for a second, then he shrugged. “His talents are legion. Would you like to exchange Barclay for him?”

“No, thank you.” He would take his boils, or any similar such, to a surgeon.

Crispin smirked at him, took a step forward, and said, “A drizzling day calls for a game of charades.”

*

Georgiana enjoyed charades well enough although she had a tendency to evaluate clues too literally. Alice, who was much slyer, had a true gift for the game.

Mr. Taverston had excused himself and departed the room without fuss. Lord Taverston sat down beside her.

“Don’t mind Reg. He doesn’t believe in fun.”

“Doesn’t he?”

“Perhaps that is overstating. He merely defines it strangely.”

“While Jasper’s definition of fun is any game he can win,” Lieutenant Taverston said.

“Pot accusing the kettle,” Lord Taverston gave back.

“Well, it is true I won’t race Olivia again. That’s no fun.”

Olivia laughed. “I’ll give you a handicap. Have you noticed Jasper has not yet had the shooting targets set out?”

“It’s raining!” Lord Taverston protested, his bright blue eyes wide with theatrical defensiveness.

“Are you playing or bickering?” Lady Iversley asked, but she sounded teasing as well.

The drawing room was spacious yet intimate. The overall sense was of a pleasant warmth, with furnishings of burgundy brocade, walls the color of butterscotch, and a toasty fire in the hearth. It had a good sense of home. And truly, Georgiana liked this family. There was a lot of love here. One could hear it in their laughter. But she hadn’t sorted them all out yet. Olivia was clearly the pet. Mr. Taverston, “Reg,” played the role of the family killjoy. And Lord Taverston took their teasing well, as though he had already decided to be a jovial patriarch—but perhaps the easiness of his disposition was a display for her sake. As for Lieutenant Taverston, she could like him, too, but there was a darkness there. Not a meanness. More something secretive. He was so very thin, she wondered if he had been wounded on campaign. Perhaps he was in pain. It was none of her business, of course, but it would be difficult to be asked to become part of the family and still be left wondering. She was a little fearful of offending him.

The game was soon underway, with Mama joining Georgiana and Alice to even the teams. Lady Iversley read from a new book of riddles called, The Frolics of the Sphynx .

“An easy one first,” Lady Iversley said. Her tone of voice changed, singsong, as she read the riddle, “‘An insect industrious and the fruits of another, form a hero in history, famed as a lover.’”

Easy? Georgiana puzzled over it anxiously. Busy bees were industrious. Fruits? What did insects make?

Alice cried out, “Ant-honey.” Her eyes flashed with humor and triumph.

The Lieutenant let out a long whistle. “To arms, Taverstons.” He leaned over, patting his knees eagerly. “We have competition.”

Olivia gave Lord Taverston’s arm a shove. “Pay attention.”

Lord Taverston protested, “I am!”

The Countess thumbed through the book. “Here’s one. ‘My first is a meat, most savory to eat, my next does derision infer; my whole is a bed, which when I shall wed, twill not serve for me and for her.’”

The room fell silent as all brows furrowed. Georgiana chewed her lip.

After a few minutes, Lord Taverston chuckled and said, “Ham-mock.”

So he was clever as well as handsome.

Naturally, they all clapped and cheered. Georgiana eyed him sidelong, searching for evidence of smugness, but saw none. His smile was gently amused, his posture was relaxed, and his hands were folded loosely in his lap. He looked amiable.

“Another!” Lady Olivia demanded.

Rather than chastising her forward daughter as Mama might have, the Countess nodded and continued.

“Try this: ‘My first is provided with fruit or with meat, and when it is seen it is greedily eat. If you are my second, I pity your head. And my whole can’t be found of one color, ‘tis said.’”

Alice hmm ’ed and stared off into the distance, thinking. Georgiana watched the Taverstons, who were exchanging looks back and forth as if reading one another’s thoughts. Lord Taverston started to say something, then stopped, shaking his head. If he were to guess wrong, his teammates would have to silently wait for their opponents to come up with an answer unpressured.

Georgiana struggled a little desperately: Eaten with fruit or meat — bread? Pity your head-ache? No.

Lady Olivia snapped her fingers. “Pie-bald!”

“Good show!” Lieutenant Taverston cried.

The next was a lengthy one that no one could decipher. Eventually, Mama provided the answer, but admitted she’d heard the riddle before, so they should not win the point. The Taverstons took the next three, noisily, with much commentary, before Alice answered one. Then Lord Taverston again. The contest was becoming a rout. Or a competition amongst the Taverstons—leaving their guests behind. Lady Iversley took notice.

“I think I’ve exhausted the riddles for this evening,” she said, closing the book. “Let’s play something else.”

“Oh, one more. Please, Mama?” Lady Olivia begged.

“One more?” Lord Taverston made a similar, though gentler, plea after giving his sister a soft look.

Georgiana did not mind watching the siblings entertain one another. She found it sweet.

She added her voice to the choir. “Just one more?”

Lady Iversley reopened the book. “‘My first is ready to fulfill, each new intention of the will; my second’s neither more nor less, than a redundant part of dress; my whole resembles wedding bands, in coupling two unwilling hands.’”

Georgiana looked to Alice who gave a small shrug, then frowned with determination.

Olivia said, “Han—”

“Bootlace!” Lieutenant Taverston foiled her guess.

“Bootlace?” Lord Taverston repeated with exaggerated scorn. “How do boots—”

“When I use my boot, my will is fulfilled. Sometimes the infantrymen need a swift kick.”

“But lace is a critical part of a dress, not redundant,” Lady Olivia corrected him, laughing.

“Coupling two unwilling hands?” Lord Taverston shook his head.

“I have done so with my bootlaces,” the Lieutenant said, with mock affront. “With prisoners, sometimes, one must make do.”

“Oh, bosh,” Lady Olivia said.

Alice interrupted. “I believe the answer should be handcuff.”

“Miss Fogbotham is correct,” Lady Iversley said.

Lady Olivia slapped Lieutenant Taverston’s shoulder. “I was about to say ‘handcuff.’”

He pouted. “All right. Mother, give us another chance. Livvy’s in a pet.”

Lady Iversley sighed a long-suffering maternal sigh. “Last one. ‘My first is a counterfeit greatly in vogue, with the loit’ring truant, or sluggard at school, though I hope from my heart the sophistical rogue may be flogged for so craftily playing the fool.’” She raised two fingers. “‘When the tempest is up and the busy wind sighs, o’er the high-swelling waves which are dark with the storm, my next all the hurricane’s fury defies, and proudly presents its unchangeable form.’” She held up three. “‘Of my whole I shall not give you more than a hint, it derives, like Antaeus, its strength from the earth, and on Irishmen’s bosoms will always imprint, a token of love from the place of their birth.’”

Irishmen? Shamrock. Sham. Rock. It fit, didn’t it?

Lieutenant Taverston called out, grinning, “Clod-dock.”

“Crispin!” Lady Olivia’s scowl was contradicted by the giggle that followed. “That isn’t even a word.”

“It is. Those rings they wear. Love and loyalty and whatnot.”

Lord Taverston burst into laughter. “Claddagh. Claddagh.”

It was impossible not to laugh along. Lieutenant Taverston could not maintain his frown of indignation and his infectious hooting started them all up again.

When the laughter subsided, Lady Iversley turned to Georgiana. “Have you guessed it?”

“Shamrock,” Georgiana said, feeling relieved to have contributed something.

“Yes,” Lord Taverston said. “Now let us close and call it a draw before Crispin humiliates us further.”

Lieutenant Taverston merely grinned, but Georgiana noted that Lady Iversley seemed well-pleased with him, which was good to see after the tension at lunchtime.

Yes, Georgiana liked the Taverstons very much. They were comfortable .

But then, Lord Taverston had not yet begun to court her in earnest.

*

Georgiana wore her sage green gown to dinner. It was very simple, other than that the sleeves were puffed, and the neckline showed more than just a hint of bosom. It was closely fitted, which lent it an elegance and made her feel more mature. Jeanette fussed with her hair for over an hour, braiding it and twisting it, then teasing out a few small wisps to curl.

Alice murmured, “You are so beautiful. They will all fall in love with you.”

Startled, Georgiana turned to look at her cousin, who had sounded wistful.

“That is not my goal,” she tried to joke.

Alice laughed, and the impression of her unhappiness was dispelled.

“No, of course not. What a mess that would be. But I can certainly see you as a countess.”

When they gathered again in the drawing room, they didn’t have much time to sit before dinner was announced.

This time Lady Iversley placed Georgiana between Lieutenant and Mr. Taverston and across the table from Lord Taverston. He was polite to Alice on his right, and teased Lady Olivia on his left, but mostly, he kept his eyes upon Georgiana, even while she was attempting conversation with his brothers. His expression was one of approval rather than admiration. It was silly of her to be so persnickety, but it did seem he had skipped a step.

In fact, the whole evening was a half-step off. Mr. Taverston’s conversation, benign on its surface—asking about her childhood, her governess, what languages she spoke—was standard fare. (He spoke German, French, and Greek, and read Ancient Greek and Latin besides. He wasn’t boasting; she’d asked the reciprocal question of him.) Yet she could not help thinking that he was trying to discover if she knew what she had been reading in the library or had merely grabbed from the meager offerings at random.

She should have alternated her attention more between Mr. Taverston and Lieutenant Taverston. But that usual polite convention, too, was one step off. Perhaps Mr. Taverston was monopolizing her as a kindness because one could not easily converse with the other man, not at the table. He was too odd.

He did not partake of the common meal but rather was served a single plate of food from which he ate at a glacial pace, the whole evening, and touched nothing else. Not even wine. His dinner comprised a tiny piece of hake and a large pile of asparagus, both without sauce, and a mix of lettuce and cobnuts. He spoke across the table when he had something to say and addressed himself occasionally to her when she did attempt to draw him in, without ever alluding to his eccentricity. Of course, she kept her eyes off his plate, but it was an effort.

She was quite exhausted by the close of the meal. The ladies then removed to the drawing room and the men to smoke and drink brandy, or so she assumed. For all she knew the strange creatures were doing headstands on the terrace.

*

Jasper beckoned his brothers to follow him to the study after dinner, saying they would rejoin the ladies shortly. This bit of manly performance seemed rather unnecessary in Reginald’s opinion. But in truth, his sulk stemmed from the fact that he was out of sorts with himself.

He was not given to gawping at women. He supposed he appreciated a fine figure as well as any man, but staring had always seemed rather pointless. He had gawped at Annie, of course, when she was lying naked beneath him. But there was rather more to that than feasting his eyes.

Yet he had had a hard time keeping his eyes off Lady Georgiana. A wisp of hair seemed to be tickling her neck and he’d wanted all evening to brush it, gently, to the side. And, well, yes, her cleavage. He had as much trouble keeping his eyes off that as she had had ignoring Crispin’s heaped pile of asparagus. What a farce! And when he did focus on her face, he kept seeing in his mind’s eye how she had looked rising from sleep that morning.

So he’d grilled her on her education as if focusing on her brain. And when she responded in kind he sounded like an egg-headed braggart. She must think him the worst sort of bore.

He followed Crispin into the study, Jasper’s study. Jasper the soon-to-be earl with his soon-to-be countess.

Jasper poured himself a brandy and didn’t even bother to offer one to Reginald.

“Sit down,” he said, gesturing almost grandly as he sank into the leather chair. The creak it made did not startle him anymore.

“I’ll stand,” Crispin said.

“Suit yourself. Reg?”

Reginald sat.

“Well, what do you think of her?” He looked rather proud.

Reginald made himself shrug. “She’s pretty.”

Crispin caught back a snort.

“You don’t think she’s pretty?” Jasper said, incredulous.

“I laughed at Reg’s usual understatement. I will understate as well. Her manners are acceptable.”

Jasper looked blank, but Reginald laughed. Crispin had noticed how well she ignored his plate.

“What is this about, Jasper?” Crispin asked. “You don’t need our approval. You have Mother’s.”

Jasper was quiet for a moment. Then he said brusquely, “You’re right. I don’t. It looks to be less dreary tomorrow. I think I should give her a tour of the property. Save the house tour for the next time it rains. And I’ve invited the Willowsetts and Robert Leighton to come hunt with us the day after tomorrow, so long as it’s clear.”

Crispin nodded. Reginald did too, though it annoyed him that he would be left so little time for any of his work.

Jasper continued, “I think it’s best if everyone goes on the tour. I don’t mean Her Grace or Mother, of course. That’s a little too much chaperoning.”

Crispin shook his head. “I’m not riding tomorrow.”

“Six is a more comfortable party than five. There will be pairs. It will be easier for me to talk with Lady Georgiana one-on-one.”

“I understand, but I said I’m not riding tomorrow.”

Jasper’s voice hardened. “And I said I would like you to come.”

Crispin raised an eyebrow. Then he said in a low tone. “And I said I will not be riding.”

Reginald said, “Crispin has a boil on his arse.”

Crispin closed his eyes and let out a slow breath, almost as though he were counting.

Jasper flushed. “We will make do with a party of five. I hope you can join us for hunting the following day.”

Crispin turned, flung open the door, and stomped out, slamming it.

They were quiet for a moment. Then Jasper said, “Is he angry at you or at me?”

“Me, I suspect. I am angry at you.”

Jasper’s eyes went wide. “What did I do?”

Reginald stood. “Nothing.”

Nothing at all, except discover Lady Georgiana and claim her as a matter of course.

He left the study to see Crispin had not gone far. He was leaning against the opposite wall. Resigned to being scolded for peacekeeping—as well as the sin of alluding to any blotch on Crispin’s health—Reginald approached him.

“Are you waiting to plant me a facer?”

Crispin’s lip curled. “Let’s make a deal, shall we?” He waited for Reginald to nod, then said, “You keep my confidences and I’ll keep your secrets.”

Had his gawping been obvious? The trick with Crispin was never to acknowledge that he had the upper hand. Crispin often bluffed.

“I don’t have secrets. I’m not that interesting.”

“Then why are you wearing that guilty face? And sulking like you want to wish Jasper to the devil?”

Reginald tucked his thumbs into his waistband. And prevaricated. “Do you know that chair in the library? In the bay window?”

Crispin’s eyes lit. He might not know where Reginald was leading but was ready to follow. “The one that bucks you off if you forget and lean back?

“I would like to swap that chair for Father’s chair in the study.” He emphasized the word Father with a petulance that was only partly feigned.

“Ah.” He nodded, satisfied. “Jasper is sitting a little too comfortably?”

Reginald lowered his eyes and let himself look more guilt-ridden. Crispin snickered.

“Sentimental idiot. It’s just a chair. But I’ll meet you in the library at midnight, eh?”