Chapter Fifteen

“A nd here,” Lord Taverston said, pushing open a door on the second floor, “is the ballroom. Not as grand as the Atherton’s, but it serves the purpose.”

“Oh, it’s beautiful!” Alice exclaimed.

Georgiana agreed. The delicate appearance of the floor’s mosaic tilework made her want to tiptoe across. She said, “The chandeliers are exquisite. And the color of the walls? Like daffodils.”

“Those glass doors on the far side lead to our large terrace,” Lord Taverston said. “We can go out and look if you’d like.”

“It’s the same view, Georgiana,” Crispin said, “that you can see from the library. We’re just above the music room now.”

“And where would the billiard room be, Crispin?” Alice asked. “Relative to this.”

“We’ll see that next, Alice. There are retiring rooms just down the hall.”

Lord Taverston frowned but didn’t seem annoyed. Maybe puzzled. “One room at a time, please. The ladies have already seen most of the house. I’m trying to stretch out the rest of this tour.”

Georgiana said, “Let’s do go out onto the terrace, Lord Taverston. Just for a moment. I don’t believe the rain is coming down too strongly.”

He linked his arm through hers and led her to the glass doors, opened one, and ushered her through, beckoning the others to follow.

“If you look that way…ha! And imagine it without the fog, you’ll see where we were riding. The lake is over there. And just at the south end of the lake, there is a folly. We’ll go out that way the next time there is sunshine.”

“It’s quite pretty, even with the fog,” Georgiana said. It was pretty; she was not simply being agreeable. The fog sat lightly upon gently rolling grounds that retained a hint of what would be lush summer verdancy despite the winter’s brown. The lake in the distance was just discernible as a splash of gray-blue rimmed by a blur of trees. She turned to Reginald, who had been trailing along behind, not saying a word.

“Why do you keep the curtains closed all the time in the library? They block the view!”

He chuckled. “Not my view. And no one uses the library except me.”

“She has a point though,” Lord Taverston said. “You go in there and block out the world.”

“I look out at the world. I block out my brothers.”

His brothers both laughed. Georgiana fidgeted. She should not have mentioned seeing Reginald in the library. What if Lord Taverston wondered when that had been?

Alice said, “Lord Taverston, have you held many balls here?”

“My parents used to. Twice a year. Once in the summer when they would have house parties, and once at Christmastime for the locals. It was a nice tradition. I’d like to reinstate it someday. Mother stopped holding the ball about five years ago when Crispin marched off with his regiment.”

Neither Georgiana nor Alice knew what to say to that. It seemed there might be something painful, or accusatory, in the statement. But Olivia laughed.

“Crispin was the piano player.”

“You could have hired someone!” Crispin protested.

Lord Taverston smiled and said quietly, “There were professional musicians. Not Crispin. I think Mother was looking for an excuse. It was a lot of work. Come, let’s go back inside. It’s a bit drizzly.” They all stepped back inside. “Where should we go next? The portrait gallery?”

“Show Georgiana the retiring rooms while we are up here,” Crispin suggested.

“They are not much to look at. And we still have the Conservatory. That’s Olivia’s domain.”

“Which is closer, Lord Taverston?” Alice asked.

Georgiana could not help smirking. Alice was having too much fun with the game.

“The portrait gallery. It’s on this floor, but the west wing.”

“Crispin,” Georgiana said, joining in, turning her head to see the Lieutenant. “If the Conservatory is Olivia’s domain and the library is Reginald’s, what is yours?”

“The stable,” he said. “And Lord Taverston’s is the study.”

“All right! Enough!” Lord Taverston burst out laughing. “You’ve painted me flying above my consequence and I object. Who is behind this? Crispin or Reg?”

“Olivia started it,” Reginald said.

“Bosh!” Olivia cried. “Only with Alice and Georgiana!”

“Well, who else is there?” Crispin asked. “The Duchess?”

“No!” Olivia shrieked. “Crispin, even you wouldn’t dare!”

“Lady Georgiana, Georgiana if I may,” Lord Taverston said, drawing his elbow in toward his body, pulling her closer, showing her his white teeth and dimple, “do, please, call me Jasper. And allow me to show you the portrait gallery.”

“Yes, of course.” She smiled, but a shiver ran down the back of her neck. She should have anticipated where the game would lead. Georgiana and Jasper. The courtship was progressing apace, despite yesterday’s interruptions. She would rather go backward than forward, but how was she to stop something with so much momentum?

*

Reginald felt drained. Everything worth seeing had been shown. Even his “domain.” Crispin had nudged him when Jasper caught sight of Father’s chair, but Jasper said nothing. In fact, he gave no indication he’d noticed. But, of course, he had.

The party returned to the drawing room for tea. Jasper was still holding forth, replying to a question Alice had asked. It still chafed, though it shouldn’t, the way that Jasper was acting “the Earl.”

“The reason it has such a modern feel is that a fire destroyed about three-quarters of the original house, back in my grandfather’s time.”

“How awful,” Alice said.

Jasper escorted Georgiana to a seat and finally released her. He went to stand by the mantel.

“It was terrible, of course, but grandfather was a young man with young ideas. He hired a friend as his architect and told him he wanted something modern and grand. The architect was no one with a name, just an artist with a good deal of ambition. He may have had a vision, but we’ll never know.”

“Didn’t he design Chaumbers?” Georgiana asked.

“In part. You see, he saw the commission as his chance to do something extraordinary. To make his reputation. He presented grandfather with design after design, each more whimsical than the last. The story has it that Grandfather finally flipped over one of the drawings and sketched out what he wanted. Something resembling this pile of stones, and demanded the architect give him that.”

“So your grandfather designed this?”

“It would have fallen down by now if he had,” Crispin muttered.

“I think,” Reginald put in, “Grandfather can take credit for the bay windows in the library.”

His brothers both laughed. Even Mother, who had joined them mid-explanation, seemed amused.

“Suffice it to say,” Jasper continued, “the house got built as some sort of agglomeration of the two men’s plans. After which, neither would take credit, and they were no longer friends.”

Georgiana protested politely, “But it’s a beautiful home.”

“It grows on you,” Jasper said. “At least, I hope it does.”

The room quieted. Georgiana appeared embarrassed. Reginald felt annoyed. Jasper was doing it far too brown.

“If you will sit down, Jasper, I will pour,” Mother said. “Lady Georgiana, your mother is writing a letter to the Duke and says she will not be down for tea.” She poured and Gertie distributed the cups, then biscuits.

“Has there been any word from our young invalid?” Mother asked.

“I peeked in on him earlier,” Reginald said. “He and Jeffrey were playing cards. I declined to join them.”

Crispin added, “Adam said his eyes are clearer and he is answering questions more appropriately.”

Mother gave Crispin a chilly look. “I’m not sure we need the opinion of your valet.”

He pursed his lips, then nodded. At that point, Reginald could not help noting he’d taken no biscuits. Had he put anything in his tea? Was he living on air?

In part, Reginald understood their mother’s concern. Throughout Crispin’s youth, the many physicians they had brought in had told her she must make her son eat. Yet now, he seemed to be taking this Adam’s advice as gospel, and Mother clearly thought he was starving himself. But though he appeared thinner, he looked better. Mother must see that. Crispin was seeing to his own health in his own way.

Well, whatever she was thinking, Mother had learned not to argue with Crispin in public over his physical state. “We hoped we might have music tonight,” she said, shifting her focus to Georgiana.

“That would be delightful,” Georgiana replied. Then, a little mischievously, she added, “I hear Lieutenant Taverston plays the piano.”

“In fact, he is a very nice accompanist. If you—”

They were interrupted by Peters.

“My lady, my lord,” he announced, “there is a Mr. Tibury calling.”

Mother held up her hand and he brought forth a card. She scanned it. It seemed to Reginald that she grew pale.

“I don’t know a Mr. Tibury. Do you, Jasper?”

He shook his head.

“My lady,” Peters said, “he says he was summoned by the Earl.”

Jasper frowned. “The Earl is not receiving. If he wishes, I will see him in my…in the study.”

“Very well, my lord.” The butler retreated.

Mother said, “I don’t think you should receive him. You have guests. And we don’t know his intentions.”

“Well, we won’t know if we send him away.”

Crispin said, “Maybe just see him in the small parlor.”

“What would that help?”

Crispin shrugged. Jasper closed his eyes a moment, then opened them and said coldly, “What will I be sitting on?”

“A stack of Bibles.”

Jasper glared at him. “Put the chair back. And stop.”

It had, perhaps, gone on too long. Reginald stood and said, “I’ll move it all back.” He felt Georgiana’s eyes upon him, and the childishness of the prank seemed all the more pronounced.

Peters returned. “My lady, he has a letter. From the Earl. Who wishes to see him.”

Mother stood. Flustered, she said, “Yes, well then. Take him up. I’ll come as well.”

Jasper said, “Mother, you needn’t.”

A man, a stranger, stepped into the room. The butler’s eyes flew wide.

“Sir! You have not been admitted!”

“No. I have not.” Mr. Tibury stood before them, all affronted dignity. He was soberly attired. Rather cheaply. But his gloves were immaculate, and he had removed his hat. He was heavy set, square-jawed, with nondescript brown hair but striking blue eyes. About Reginald’s own age, he guessed. And he looked familiar, though Reginald was certain he’d never seen him before.

Jasper rose. “You understand, Mr. Tibury, that you are intruding upon a family gathering, and that my father is quite ill.”

“I do understand that.” The man’s lip curled. “And if he hadn’t sent for me, believe me, I would not be here.”

“Come then.” Jasper went toward the door. “Mother, you needn’t trouble yourself.”

But Mother stood also. She looked very pale. “I think I should.”

All three left the room. Peters pulled the door shut.

“Who was that?” Olivia demanded.

Crispin chewed his lip. Reginald said, “God only knows. Jasper will straighten it out.”

Crispin said, “Or vice versa. Are we still having tea, or should we adjourn? Reginald and I have a chair and Bibles to transport. We can reconvene at dinner.”

*

Reginald didn’t know to where the ladies had retired, but he and Crispin went to the library to retrieve the chair. It was a heavy thing. Crispin left him to heave it back up the stairs, saying he had hauled it down. Then they each brought back half the pile of old Bibles and religious tracts.

“A shame,” Crispin said. “I thought this was the capper.”

“I thought sawing the legs off the table was cleverer.”

“Hmph.”

They put the books back on the shelves. Then Reginald shifted a few. Crispin looked askance.

“Can it matter?”

“No. The whole thing offends my sense of order.”

“As in Newton next to Radcliffe?”

Reginald threw up his hands. After a moment, he asked, “Had you ever heard of Tibury?”

Crispin shook his head. “But I think Mother has.”

He was thinking the same. “Any guesses?”

“Nothing I would posit out loud. You?”

“No. If you’re positing anything at all, you’re ahead of me.”

He hoped Jasper would sort it out.