Chapter Sixteen

“T he violet,” Jeanette said decisively. “If you are to be singing, you will want the violet.”

Dresses were laid out all over the bed. Georgiana looked them over with a jaundiced eye. The modiste had prepared her a wardrobe for a London Season, not for whatever this was.

“Isn’t that style a bit much for a house party?” It showed too much neck.

“It is perfect for standing up to sing. Very dramatic.”

Georgiana grumbled, “I don’t think we need any more drama.”

Alice giggled. “Wasn’t that just awful? Who do you suppose he is? He looks like he could be a cousin, didn’t you think?”

“A cousin!”

“He has that chin. Or maybe it was the blue eyes.”

“A cousin, yet no one had any idea who he was?” Georgiana laughed at Alice’s fancy.

Alice shrugged but a smile played on her lips. “Maybe the Earl and his brother had a falling out. They haven’t seen one another for years. And now the nephew has appeared with demands upon the inheritance.”

“Good Heavens. You have it all figured out?” Georgiana entered into the spirit. Tapping her cheek, she speculated, “But why then, would the Earl have summoned him? And why would he have looked so annoyed to be here?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Alice pouted. “And I don’t suppose we’ll find out. It’s abominably nosy of me to want to hear what happened.”

“I suspect if Olivia finds out who he is, she’ll tell you. No matter how lurid the secret is.”

Alice giggled again. “The only person in this house I suspect of having lurid secrets is Crispin. Adam is no more a valet than I am. And aren’t you curious to see if he eats anything tonight?”

Georgiana huffed. “We are awful.”

Jeanette’s little smile showed she was having difficulty pretending not to listen. She approached with Georgiana’s violet gown in hand.

“And, with this, the silver chain and pendant,” Jeanette said. “And pearls in your hair.”

“You don’t think that’s excessive?”

“ Non . If anything, it is too tame.”

“ Hmm .” She frowned skeptically. “All right.”

Then she recalled her maid’s secretive smile. Servants knew everything.

“Jeanette, are they talking about Adam downstairs?”

“ Bien sur ,” she murmured, “but what do they know? Nothing.”

“What do you know? Have you spoken with him?”

“In passing. His French is very good.”

“His French? I thought he looked Greek. Or Italian.”

“He is Greek. It is where he…” She searched for the English translation. “Picked up his little knowledge of medicine. But he learned French in France before he went to the Peninsula.”

Alice gawped. “To do what? That sounds like a resumé for a spy!”

“Alice!” Georgiana laughed. “Estranged cousins? French spies? You read too many novels.” But she couldn’t help asking Jeanette, “Did he say how he met Lieutenant Taverston?”

Jeanette shrugged. “ Non . But for certain Lieutenant Taverston would not bring a spy to his home.”

“If he knows,” Alice said, pressing her point despite its absurdity.

“I do not believe Lieutenant Taverston is anyone’s fool,” Jeanette said. “Now let me prepare you, or you will be unacceptably late for dinner.”

Jeanette dressed them both. For Alice, she chose a beautiful lavender gown, light in shade, suitable for a girl who had only recently come out. It was a much better choice than Georgiana’s violet-colored gown for a house party that was essentially a vigil.

“Are we ready?” Georgiana asked, peering at the figure in the mirror as she pulled on her dinner gloves. The silver pendant dipped down between her breasts. In the candlelight, the luster of the pearls would draw attention to her red-gold hair. But her shoulders were bare, and she had gooseflesh. At least no one would ever suspect that figure of pondering mathematics.

“Ready and eager.”

“Then let’s go down.”

*

Reginald was the first to arrive in the drawing room. When Crispin showed up a few minutes later, Reginald sniffed a laugh. They were both dressed as if they were expecting a momentous event: Crispin in uniform, starched and polished, and Reginald in his best cutaway jacket and fawn pantaloons. Barclay had even given him a second shave and put an intricate knot in his neckcloth.

Crispin sat down on the davenport beside him and clenched his hands on his knees.

“No Jasper?”

Reginald shook his head. “Mr. Tibury is gone, however. I do know that much.”

“Well, yes. I didn’t expect Mother to invite him to dinner.”

“I hope he didn’t upset Father.”

“If he did, it’s Father’s fault for summoning him. The poor fellow clearly wished he were elsewhere.”

“Hmm.”

Jasper strode into the room, dressed like a pink and wearing a scowl.

“That,” he said, “was intolerable.”

“Enlighten us,” Crispin replied.

Jasper went over to the sideboard and poured himself a sherry. “Reg?”

“Will I need it?” he joked.

“Yes.”

Reginald swallowed hard and stood. He went to take the drink from his brother. Jasper said nothing more, so Reginald took a gulp, then gave him a look that said: Now?

“Mr. Tibury is a curate in Ipswich.”

“A curate!” Crispin let out an exaggerated whistle as if awed. When no one laughed, he said, “I wasn’t expecting that, but he looks it. And what, pray, does the Earl want with an Ipswich curate?”

“To give him the livings in Fremont and Bellwether.”

Neither Reginald nor Crispin had any immediate response, not a spoken one at any rate. A thousand jumbled contradictory thoughts crashed through Reginald’s brain so that he could not have spoken if he tried.

Jasper went on. “Mr. Tibury was flabbergasted as well.”

“Start from the beginning, please,” Crispin said.

“That is the beginning. Close to it. The interview was short. Father doesn’t have words to waste.” Jasper drummed his fingers on the mantel. “Taking him up there, Tibury was as indignant as he seemed when he invaded us at tea. He didn’t say much, just exuded indignation. He did say he had never intended to intrude upon—” Jasper’s lip curled. “— the lords of Iversley . He sneered it, just like that.”

“Ha!” Crispin seemed almost amused. “People don’t sneer at us.” He turned to Reginald. “Do they?”

Reginald could not joke. He felt too sick. And too relieved. There should be a wider range of human emotion. It should not be that being scorned by his father in favor of a stranger would feel exactly the same as being dropped by his mistress for Plodgett.

“Well, this man sneered.” Jasper downed his glass and poured another. “Though, to be fair, seeing the Earl affected him. I doubt he expected to find him so ill.”

“He knew Father?” Crispin asked.

“Seemed to.”

“And Father knew him?”

“If he did, he pretended not to. Not by sight. The thing is, I don’t think he was overjoyed that Mother and I accompanied Tibury. But honestly, he needed one of us to translate. He’s getting harder to understand.” He breathed out sharply. “In a nutshell, someone wrote to Father on Tibury’s behalf. He’s an excellent curate and so they put forward his name for Mr. Codworthy’s eventual replacement. Father read his references and, well, there it is. He told this Tibury fellow that he would add a codicil to his will that the livings would go to him.” Jasper’s voice rose, then fell. “I’m sorry, Reg. I’m not going to ignore his wishes…that is, unless you…”

Reginald shook his head.

“Damn it, Reg. Say something!”

“There are—” Reginald had to clear a rasp from his throat. “There are four livings. And there are many, many, worthy, educated men who would be grateful for even one. I had no expectation of hoarding all four.”

“But Tibury didn’t even appear grateful! He said, stiffly as you please, that he was not in any position to refuse!”

“Framingham is the best of the four,” Crispin said, so gently it embarrassed Reginald. It embarrassed him even more because he didn’t want Framingham or any of them, but to say so would only make him sound petulant. And hurt. And damn it all, he was hurt.

“I don’t understand why Father didn’t say something to me first,” Jasper grumbled. “He just—I’ve been beating my head against the wall, sorting out the mess everything has fallen into the past eighteen months, and he just goes and does this. Reg, if I had known—”

“It isn’t a tragedy.”

“Nor a mystery,” Crispin said. “Father hasn’t any muscles left to flex. Handing out a living…” He shrugged. “It was something he could still do. Don’t begrudge him that.”

“I don’t,” Reginald said.

“I wasn’t talking to you.”

“I don’t either!” Jasper’s voice rose again. “You think I begrudge him his last few breaths? The hell—the both of you! The hell with you! That damn chair! Do you think I want this? Any of this? Any of it? Do you think I enjoyed tossing Vanessa aside like…like… Tearing each other apart by correspondence ?”

“Shut up!” Crispin said, springing to his feet, catlike, over the back of the davenport and putting his hand to the door. He closed it softly. Then turned and said low-voiced, “They’re coming. Jasper, get hold of yourself.”

Jasper drew a long, shaky breath. Then he tossed down the rest of his sherry and poured yet another but set it down. He ran a hand through his hair. Then he nodded.

Crispin opened the door. He swooped an elaborate bow. “Ladies, welcome.”

If Reginald envied his brothers anything it was this. How easily they could project ease. They might have been sparring over billiards. Meanwhile, he still felt jellied inside.

And the ladies entered, Georgiana, vibrant as a thunderclap, striking Reginald like a blow to the chest. No, he didn’t envy Jasper anything but her. She was so, so beautiful. And she was the same woman who had almost tearfully begged him not to let anyone know she was intelligent. No, not intelligent. Brilliant. Was she supposed to hide that? For the rest of her life, was she supposed to hide herself?

He shuddered. Just as he was going to end up with the Framingham living, with a few dusty Greek texts on his shelf that he never looked at anymore, pretending to be a man of God. Avoiding his brother and his brother’s countess. Hiding from this. From her . He looked up.

Jasper had gone to the door to draw in the ladies.

And Crispin, Crispin had already welcomed them. Now, to Reginald’s dismay, Crispin was looking closely at him .

*

At dinner, no one discussed the strange visitor. Georgiana found it maddening. Of course, it was none of her business, but at least Lady Iversley or Jasper might have laughed and said: What an odd little man . Ignoring him and his visit gave it more consequence rather than less.

Like Crispin’s plate.

The soup course was pea with a good deal of salt but no meat. Crispin consumed a large bowlful. Then came the fish. Bream. It was very good with a heavy, peppery cream sauce. Crispin’s was served plain. And then there was boiled beef and carrots. For everyone except Crispin. Who had a bowl of thick gruel comprising, it appeared, oats and dried fruit, as though he were a horse.

No one commented. Georgiana wanted to scream. She felt she was in some bizarre bit of theater. As if the Taverstons were testing her to see when she would break.

Alice looked so bottled up, Georgiana worried she would break first. The Duchess, of course, coolly appeared to notice nothing amiss. But that wasn’t fair, since she had not witnessed the entrance of Mr. Tibury.

Table conversation was insipid. They would be going into the village tomorrow, so every shop had to be described in detail. Dinner finally ended, but there was to be no reprieve. The men were not even to be permitted their brandies as Lady Iversley marched them all to the music room.

It was—as she had discovered earlier, when searching for sheet music to help her prevaricate—poorly designed for a music room. Which made more sense now that she’d heard Chaumbers’ history. The piano was too close to the wall and the marble floor was half-covered with a thin carpet. The acoustics would be terrible. With the piano taking up space where it was, chairs could not be arranged except in front of the windows, which were drafty.

If she were in charge, she would move the billiard table to the library, the library shelving here, and put the piano in the billiard room. She put the thought from her head.

Alice was importuned first. She played a sonata. Then Olivia played something more lively.

“Shall we have a song next?” Lady Iversley asked. “Will you sing for us, Lady Georgiana?”

“Yes, I will.” Why else would I be wearing this dramatic dress? She moved to the piano and shuffled through the music.

“Crispin will play for you.”

Crispin rose, wordlessly, and came forward. He sat at the piano and waited for her to hand him a sheet. It was an aria, but not a particularly difficult piece. He looked at the music, then nodded and handed it back to her. He began the introduction from memory, which gave her courage. It was terrible stumbling through a piece when talents were mismatched.

She joined him at the appropriate moment, and then the music carried her along. She had a strong voice and she’d had an extraordinary teacher, but she’d been to enough operas to know how real singers should sound. There was no danger she would abandon society for life on the stage.

She finished her part and Crispin drew the piece to a close with a lovely, improvised tail—an effortless talent. The room was still. She opened her eyes, blinking, to find her mother’s eyes glistening, Lady Iversley smiling approval, and Reginald rubbing his nose.

“Where have I heard that before?” Jasper snickered. His attention appeared to have turned to his youngest brother rather than the performers, but even so, Georgiana started at his taunting tone. She could not consider mockery an appropriate response to anyone’s singing. “It was at a party, I think. Reg, do you remember? Who was the girl?”

Crispin pulled something from his pocket and lobbed it at his brother’s head. It thonked him right between the eyes. Georgiana jumped.

“Crispin!” Lady Iversley cried. “Good Heavens! Why on earth—was that an apple ?”

The ladies all appeared similarly wide-eyed with the same confusion Georgiana felt, but Jasper merely picked the apple up from the floor and took a bite. “My mistake. Reg doesn’t go to parties.” He sounded smug.

Reginald said nothing. He simply looked embarrassed for no discernible reason.

Oh! It was maddening. Nothing the lords of Iversley did made any sense.