Henry had been asked, politely, to wait until most of the guests had started up the hill.
Glancing up at the line of torches and servants in a semicircle at the top, Henry knew in his bones he would despise everything about this evening. Their bloody hostess couldn’t just have another lovely dinner, one properly seated at South’s long mahogany table. Not that Henry, given his smell, would have been permitted to be seated in the dining room. Maybe in the hall. Or possibly Lady Trent could have arranged a boring but tolerable game of charades where Henry could just sip on a whiskey and pretend to be interested.
No, tonight the entire house party had been forced to walk up to the very top of this peak that Lady Trent had decreed the perfect spot from which to view fireworks.
Fireworks. Henry didn’t find exploding objects to be interesting or fun in the least.
Arriving at the top of the hill, Henry was unsurprised to find a footman apologetically directing him to a blanket set apart from the rest of the main group. While most of the party was situated toward the front, where the incline sloped in a gentle roll toward Longwood, Henry’s blanket was some distance behind the others.Hisblanket backed up to the other side of the hill, a steeply wooded incline ending in a ravine from which he could hear the distant sound of water bubbling merrily along. He’d caught frogs in that stream as a child. Probably rolled down the hill as well, and had no desire to repeat the experience. A collection of large stones edged the water along with quite a bit of the same thorny bushes he’d rescued Miss Stitch from yesterday. Henry couldn’t remember what they were called, but he did remember the bruises and scratches he’d received.
If he had too much to drink, one stumble would send him headlong down the ravine. No one would notice. Perhaps that had been Lady Trent’s plan all along. The woman was much more devious than anyone gave her credit for.
His hostess, holding a gloved hand to her nose, floated by with an apology in her eyes.
Henry scowled at Lady Trent and turned to settle himself on the blanket, discreetly searching the crowd of guests for a too thin form with tightly braided hair.
“Don’t lean back too far. Can’t have you rolling down the hill like some giant boulder and ruining the evening.” South appeared a few steps away, his voice floating to Henry in the quiet late-evening air. “We won’t be able to hear the splash from up here when you hit the stream. I thought I had mentioned Peony to you before.”
“You did not,” Henry groused back. “I would have remembered an odorous rodent on your property that you were keeping as a pet. And you owe me a new coat.” He shook his head. “I should have stayed in London.”
South chuckled. “But you would have missed all the fun.” Waving his hand about, he said, “You do smell like a large vat of pickled herring. Or something else equally…biting.”
“If you’re done gloating—”
“I wouldn’t call it gloating, exactly, Hunt. I’m merely jealous because you’re spared having to socialize.” He looked over his shoulder at the other guests. “I don’t care for house parties.”
“Yes, but Lady Trent does. Where is the lovely Mrs. Culpepper?”
“In that group somewhere.” South waved his hand again. “Probably drawn into conversations she doesn’t care to have. With Lady Bainbridge in particular. Honora, as you can imagine, doesn’t care much for society despite Lady Trent’s best efforts. She has that in common with Miss Stitch.”
Henry’s fingers pressed into the blanket at the mention of the woman who’d been haunting his thoughts. He’d finally decided to give up trying to figure out why.
“She’ll find me. Honora, that is. Not Miss Stitch. She’s just as likely to take my cane and push me down the hill with her foot.” South carefully lowered himself to the ground.
“Hasn’t warmed up to you, has she?” Henry knew full well Miss Stitch didn’t like South.
“No. Has she warmed to you?” A half smile crossed South’s lips as he reached into his coat, producing a small flask from a pocket.
Henry didn’t bother to respond to South’s comment. The idea of Miss Stitch ever warming to anyone was rather absurd.
“The wine will be around in a minute.” South held up the flask. “But I thought you might like some of this. Consider it an apology and a better welcome than you’ve received thus far.”
Henry took the flask, some of the tension leaving his body at his cousin’s genuine regret. Opening the top, he sniffed, a grin spreading across his face in pleasure. “Laramie? I didn’t think there was any left.”
Laramie, a superbly blended whiskey from some tiny village in Scotland, had ceased being produced when Henry and South had still been little more than lads. South’s father had had a limited number of bottles, all of which Henry had assumed were long gone.
“We didn’t drink all the bottles my father purchased. Some survived. I’d forgotten until Honora took to exploring part of the wine cellar one day.” A smile crossed his lips. “She’s quite intrepid. Doesn’t care for spiders though. They tend to get stuck in her hair.” He made a circular motion with his fingers. “In the curls.”
Henry took a sip of the caramel-scented liquid, letting the whiskey burn all the way into his belly, thinking of Honora dancing about with spiders stuck in the mass of curls atop her head. “Christ, it’s better than I remember.” He held out the flask to South.
“Keep it.” South patted the other side of his coat. “I’ve my own. I hope it takes the sting out of your current situation if not the smell. And it may help if you are subjected to Miss Stitch again. I know she isn’t…pleasant.”
“Something we have in common.” Henry looked over at South before taking another sip of the whiskey. “Unpleasantness.”
Lady Trent had probably protested strongly to Henry’s presence at this house party, but South must have insisted he be here. It was something Henry hadn’t really thought about, at least not until arriving at Longwood. He’d been too busy trying to be the worst earl in London and succeeding magnificently.
Henry had considered more than the delightful Miss Stitch while soaking in his vinegar baths. There had been little else to do but review the actions that had led him to be banished to the end of the terrace during dinner.
“Thank you for inviting me, Gideon. For what it’s worth, I wish you every happiness.”
