Four

Greystone Castle

Thursday, 23rd December 1819

6 o’clock. — He’s pleased to see me?

After the way he abandoned me last Christmas and then vanished for a year , he dares look me in the eye and say he’s pleased to see me ?

The insufferable Ratbag!!!

One cannot but remark upon the alterations in his looks. Still tall and lean, with a Frenchman’s straight nose and strong jaw, but his thick hair ragged, as though he’d cut it himself. His high cheekbones appear sunken, his skin looks tanned as a field worker’s, and his dark eyes seem edged with new lines.

It would be a lie, I suppose, to call the changes unattractive. In fact, their effect is rather that of a world-weary knight returning from a crusade in some romantic ballad or other.

He’s grown a bit gaunt and rough, to be sure. But what was lost in youthful perfection is more than gained by a new, intriguingly hardened and brooding aspect. He looks as though—in the improbable event of a heathenish gang descending on our Christmas house party—he would instinctively sling me over his shoulder and carry me to safety. Perhaps to the shelter of a cave, where his knowledge of the land might sustain us both in rustic comfort.

In any case—what was I writing of?

Right, his insufferability. To think how I’ve dithered, wondering whether we’ve taken the scheming too far, fearing Elizabeth’s enthusiasm has run away with her.

Whoever knew my little sister could be so devious, not to mention enterprising? I merely supplied one or two hints, and off she went engineering stratagems with the proficiency of Napoleon. We must secretly descend from a race of elite pranksters, for Elizabeth seems to have discovered her birthright.

And if luncheon was her first trial, she passed with full marks. The Ratbag’s face! I might have died laughing! Such a pout as I’ve never seen on a male beyond the age of five. The pitiable cad! I’d wager he ran tardy as usual and missed his breakfast this morning. Ha!

Elizabeth was right: a bit of vengeance is exactly what I needed. Having waited in dread of my first encounter with The Ratbag, to my great surprise I find myself reinvigorated—reawakened, even—as if I begin to emerge from a fog.

Dearest Diary, there is life in me yet! The clouds are lifting. Elizabeth is a genius, and I am a shallow creature desiring nothing more virtuous than an outlet for my spite. But I do not care! The Ratbag deserves my spite, and I fancy I deserve a bit of sport at his expense.

Oh, that pout! I keep bursting out in fresh laughter. That pout alone might carry me through Christmas. My apologies if this has become difficult to read—it’s because I find myself dancing about the room as I write. I shall have to stop soon, however, for my quill is running out of i

A quarter past six. — Confound it. Diary, you must forgive me! I was dreadfully careless to spill the inkwell. An unfortunate blunder—your poor pages! I shall send to London for new sheets to replace the stained ones. Only the finest hot-pressed paper, you have my word!

That I may find calmness, let us set aside The Ratbag—insufferable man!—for now. He must not be so consequential as to overshadow the rest of the company.

He came first to my pen, I daresay, merely because he entered the castle last, and with the most consternation. All our other guests had the good grace to arrive punctually and behave as expected. To wit:

Rachael: my elder sister. With the critical eye of Greystone’s former mistress, immediately and minutely enquired into all the party arrangements. Managed not to openly insult them, which Elizabeth and I took as a remarkable compliment.

Griffin: my brother-in-law. Devoured half the buffet in ten minutes, then stretched out on a sofa.

Lord Milstead: my determined suitor. Paid me every possible attention, to the point of preventing my conversing with anybody else. He does flirt charmingly, however. And he’s handsome.

Lady Caroline Nicholls: same as previous, only with respect to Noah. Will she catch him at last? (Doubtful.)

Mr. and Mrs. Nathaniel Chase: a younger son from the Lakefield branch of the family who became (slightly) acquainted with Noah after a chance encounter at White’s. So far he and his wife seem affable, if impertinently interested in the value of our furnishings.

Captain Henry Talbot: Noah’s school chum. Still a hopeless gamester.

Miss Mary Harris: Elizabeth’s bosom friend. Still a flibbertigibbet.

Hmm, it only now occurs to me how ill-provisioned Elizabeth is—not one suitable man to flirt with! And the way left quite clear for Captain Talbot! Profligacy aside, there’s no denying the man can cut a dash. I shall have to take it upon myself to keep a close watch upon my sister, since her friend Mary is not to be relied on for anything like sense.

Now I must set you aside, dearest Diary, for it’s time to go down to dinner. I confess I anticipate an evening of great enjoyment…and shall be very much mistaken if The Ratbag can say the same! Ha, ha!

Vengefully,

Claire