Chapter 7

Seven

S tephen stopped outside the door to the dining room and inspected the card basket on the table. Mr. Tylor was close at hand, winding one of the clocks, and looked up at Stephen’s pause.

“Is something the matter, my Lord?” he asked.

Stephen pulled up the letter he’d been looking at, recognizing the hand. “Did this letter come just today?”

The butler nodded. “But an hour ago, with the evening post.”

Stephen looked at it once more. My parents. Again. He tucked it in his pocket without reading it. Surely it could wait until later that evening. There would be no need to read through another missive detailing all the dances and opportunities he was missing by choosing to stay at March Manor. Still, it irked him that they’d written so soon after the first letter, without even giving him the chance to respond. It had a flavor of harassment about it.

He walked into the dining room and took a seat, not surprised to see his aunt and Miss Selwyn’s chairs still empty. He was a little early, and they had appeared at dinner for only a moment the night before to snatch away a tray to his aunt’s chambers.

It was for this reason, then, that he was shocked to look up only moments later and see Miss Selwyn escorting his aunt into the dining chamber. He had never seen his aunt attired in such a manner — in the silk brocade of a fine lady, with her hair up, and a tinge of color in her pale cheeks. She looked almost regal.

He stood, his chair scraping a bit in his haste, and went to help escort his aunt to her seat.

“You look a vision this evening, dear aunt,” he said, pulling out her chair in leu of the footman and helping her into his seat. “It is truly a delight to see you so well.”

“You fuss too much,” Lady Cecelia said, waving her hand as though she always came to dinner so attired. He hid a smile and turned to pull out Ruth’s chair for her. She seemed surprised, as though it was not often the case that gentlemen went about extending polite courtesies her direction.

“Thank you, sir,” she mumbled, sliding into place quickly as though self-conscious of his aid. When she moved past him, his hand brushed against her waist. She pulled away as though burned, and he pulled his hand back, chagrined that the accident would have made her feel uncomfortable.

He was startled by the way he felt, suddenly alert to her nearness. He stepped back as soon as he could, and found his seat across the table without meeting her gaze. He had never felt anything like that — a jolt of connection, and he disliked the vulnerability it brought out in him. When he looked up at last, he saw Miss Selwyn’s eyes on the cold pea soup of their first course, two spots of color in her cheeks. He felt instantly guilty for having made her uncomfortable, and strove to put her at ease again.

“How did this happen?” he asked quietly, so only she could hear, nodding at his aunt’s beautiful attire.

She looked up, smiling gratefully, and gave a little shrug.

With that — a tiny motion — the ice seemed to be broken again and he felt the brief, accidental touch had been forgotten. No harm done. And yet, could he really consider the way he’d felt “harm?” It still lingered in his fingers, the sensation of being so near to her. He felt his breath catch at the memory, and chided himself instantly for his ridiculous thoughts.

Mr. Tylor came in with a tray of crudites and paused quite abruptly in the doorway, looking for all the world like a man about to cry out in astonishment at the sight of Lady Cecelia sitting in a fine dining gown at the head of the table. Thankfully he was behind Stephen’s aunt and had a chance to compose himself before coming around the table to offer up the food.

“You are looking well this evening, Duchess,” he said coolly. “It must be all that fresh air you got in the garden this afternoon.”

“All the fresh air in the world couldn’t fashion a gown suitable for dinnertime,” she retorted, looking up at her butler with an air of coy superiority. “Are you sure you aren’t noticing the fact I’m wearing a proper gown for the first time in years?”

He blinked, clearly taken aback by her forthright nature, and Stephen saw Miss Selwyn lower her face as though trying to contain a laugh. He himself felt the butler’s astonishment terribly amusing, but he managed to keep an aloof expression until the dinner had been served out and poor Mr. Tylor made his escape.

“Dear aunt,” Stephen said, when once the door had closed behind the butler, “you are teasing him, and you know how very proper he is. I doubt he would ever have admitted your unconventional manner of dressing if you had not brought it up of your own accord.”

“That is precisely why I needed to bring it up,” she said, popping a grape into her mouth and smiling sweetly. “There is such a great deal that we do not speak of in this house; I think that it is only right for us to occasionally allow new topics to be explored.”

“What else do you not speak of, Aunt?” Stephen asked.

“Your servant Smith, for example,” she said, so quickly that it took Stephen quite aback. He hadn’t realized that she knew of his servant — much less anything secretive about him.

“I do not know what you mean,” he said, baffled. He noticed that Miss Selwyn was hiding a smile again. “Miss Selwyn, what is this great mystery regarding my servant? Is there something I ought to know?”

She shook her head gravely. “I believe it is for your aunt to tell you, as the whole matter was her manufacture.”

“Aunt?” He set his fork down and waited.

The old woman smiled at him benevolently. “I noticed that your valet was a bit too proper around the edges, and rather too imperious with the maid laying the fire this morning. I had a bit of fun with his bags, that’s all.”

Stephen looked at Miss Selwyn. “And?”

The lady’s companion laughed then, a light sound like the tinkling of bells, as though unable to hold in her mirth any longer. “It was nothing dreadful,” she said. “Just a frog. And in our defense, he’d left his trunk upstairs for one of the other servants to carry down. He seems a nice enough fellow, but just very sure of his station as relates to others in the house.”

Stephen grinned and shook his head. “I cannot disagree with you on that point, although your methods of bringing him down a peg are a bit uncouth. Tell me, which of the servants did you recruit to capture the beast and slip it into his trunks?”

“Why would we need to recruit anyone?” Miss Selwyn said innocently, a twinkle in her eyes. “It is not a difficult thing to carry a little frog in from the gardens. I’m sure even you could manage it with a bit of practice.”

“You are ribbing me, Miss Selwyn. Is that entirely proper?” he asked, teasing her.

She merely smiled wordlessly and took a drink of the port wine a footman had just poured for her. Aunt Cecelia followed suit, saying only, “If a young man like your Mr. Smith cannot take a little amphibious joke every now and then, then he is not a proper valet.”

The three laughed again, and the dinner continued on in unusual merriment. At the end of the meal, Stephen’s aunt pushed back from the table and fixed her gaze on him with a light in her eyes.

“I fancy a bit of dancing,” she said lightly. “Will you humor me?”

“I will,” Stephen agreed readily. “Miss Selwyn, do you play?”

She shrugged. “Passably well. If you expect only the most plebian of tunes, I think we can manage well enough together."

They retired to the drawing room, where the servants had already started a fine warm fire and lit an abundance of candles to fill the place with warmth and welcome. Miss Selwyn walked over to the pianoforte and pulled back the cover, dusting off the top with a delicate motion of her hand. Stephen found himself looking at her slender wrists, delicate and curved in the candlelight. He looked away quickly. What is wrong with you, Stephen?

The lady’s companion sat down and began a little ditty, something Stephen remembered from countless balls and dances before, something that required a bit of footwork. He was worried at first that it was too up-beat for his aunt to manage, but she took his hand and went through the motions as though she had been dancing every night for years. There was a twirl and a promenade, a skip and a stutter step, and in a matter of minutes the dance drew to a close and his aunt curtsied prettily.

“Another!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands like a little girl. She turned to Miss Selwyn. “Something slower this time; something that hearkens to missed opportunities and love lost.”

Miss Selwyn hesitated a moment and looked up, seemingly unconsciously, towards Stephen. Their eyes met a moment, and she looked down again, quickly. “I have a tune from my childhood,” she said.

She began to play more slowly, and in a moment Stephen could see that the tune had the lilt and mournful quality of an old Irish melody. He counted out the rhythm and settled on a slower promenading dance, full of dignity and longing. His aunt seemed lost in her own world, moving in perfect sync, but looking off away from him as though imagining another in his place. Miss Selwyn’s voice, soft and clear, sang the words as she played.

“There is a place — far, far away,

Where lovers go at end of day

To find the ones that love them true

And there to rest, those gentle few.”

She closed her eyes a moment as she sang, and Stephen stole the brief seconds to look at her as he moved about the parlor with his aunt. This Miss Selwyn was a curious woman. She seemed so simple and, even, fragile — but when she spoke it was with an authority and gentility that took him aback. More than that, Stephen had been raised with servants all his life and, for the most part, had not noticed them with more than a professional interest.

Miss Selwyn, however, seemed to draw his attention wherever she was. Here, dancing, he kept waiting for the moment the turn would bring her back into his vision. At the table earlier, her teasing had brightened him in a way he had not felt in some time. It was inexplicable, and yet as she sang the next verses, Stephen found himself hanging on every word.

“And those that weep for lovers gone

Can find themselves, e’er long

There beneath the bending sheaves

With the lovers that they grieve.”

Stephen tore his thoughts away from the slim figure at the pianoforte, confused. Attempting to focus elsewhere, he asked his aunt what she was thinking about. Her eyes, cloudy with some unspoken memory, turned to him.

“I’m glad you came,” his aunt said. It wasn’t an answer to his question, but it was bolstering all the same. He smiled back.

“I am glad I came as well.” He shook his head in wonderment. “I admit I am having a beautiful time here; perhaps more exciting than I have yet experienced.” He paused and winked at her. “That is saying much, as I have already toured the continent twice, and one of those times I was in an Italian villa.”

She frowned at him, amusement in her eyes. “If this is more exciting than Italy, dear nephew, then you were not properly experiencing Italy.”

They laughed, and took another turn around the room.