Oh, would she?
I wondered whether that would make Crispin more or less likely to agree to go. If he was trying to pursue the golden Johanna, the presence of Laetitia might put a crimp in that plan.
On the other hand, he might simply switch his attentions from Johanna to Laetitia instead. Or, I supposed, he might try to juggle them both. He seemed to have juggled so many women for so long that it was quite possible he could handle two in the same weekend.
Or, if we were all very lucky, he might decide to stay home to avoid the whole situation, and we wouldn’t be burdened with him for the weekend.
“I’ll ask Christopher,” I said. “Are you expecting anyone else I might know?”
“Laetitia has a brother,” Constance answered. “And isn’t there an older Mr. Astley, as well? I’m sure my mother would like him to come.”
“I assume you mean Francis and not my Uncle Herbert?” I nodded to Tidwell, who was standing sentry in the foyer. “Where is Miss Peckham’s room, Tidwell? Is she next to me, or across the hall?”
“Miss Peckham’s room is next to your room, Miss Darling,” Tidwell intoned. “Her ladyship and Miss de Vos are across the hall. Miss Peckham’s bag should be empty and her clothes put in the wardrobe by now.”
“Thank you, Tidwell. Did the others go upstairs, or…?”
Tidwell’s impassive face became, somehow, even more impassive. “The young gentlemen are in the billiards room, Miss Darling. Lady Peckham and her ward retired upstairs.”
“Thank you, Tidwell.” I turned to Constance. “Do you want to go upstairs to your mother and Johanna, or would you rather see what’s going on in the billiard room?”
I could see the struggle on her face. I’m sure she felt she was supposed to join her mother. But let’s be honest, who would want to spend any more time than necessary in the company of the Golden One?
Well, I’m sure all the men would. But among the rest of us? Not many, I fancied.
“Billiard room it is,” I said briskly. “Do let us know when it’s time for tea, Tidwell.”
“I’ll ring the gong as usual, Miss Darling.”
“Thank you, Tidwell.” I ushed Constance down the hallway in the west wing, towards the billiards room.
It should really, more properly, be called the game room. There was a billiards table at pride of place in the middle of the room, yes. There were also several smaller tables intended for games of canasta and bridge and whist and the like. But the walls were covered with the stuffed heads of game—deer and elk and the occasional zebra or antelope—all looking down on the proceedings with accusing black eyes.
I avoided looking at them as I pulled Constance behind me into the room. “Gentlemen.”
They were gathered around the billiards table. Or rather, Crispin was lining up a shot while Christopher and Mr. Peckham eyed him, Christopher somewhat complacently and Mr. Peckham with a bit of consternation. I guess he didn’t know Crispin well enough to realize just how competitive he is. He’s the youngest of all of us, even if it’s only by a couple of months in Christopher’s case, and I suppose he feels at a bit of a disadvantage. It was clear that Mr. Peckham had managed to stir him up, and equally obvious that the latter had no idea how to deal with it.
“Careful, Mr. Peckham,” I told him lazily, “St George is not above bouncing balls off the table when he’s in a mood.”
Crispin straightened and showed teeth. “Mind your own, Darling.”
His cheeks were nicely flushed, and he was looking a lot less ghostly. Under different circumstances, I would have congratulated Peckham on the accomplishment.
Instead, I said mildly, “I’m just warning Mr. Peckham that he might be in danger, St George. He doesn’t know you like we do.”
“You don’t know me at all, Darling.”
He dismissed me with a flick of a glance and went back to the table.
“I know you well enough to be able to ruin your concentration,” I told him. “It’s polite to let the guests win, you know.”
“I’m not running a charity,” Crispin retorted, between clenched teeth, and took his shot. The ball bounced off the edge, hit something else, and then it was Peckham’s turn.
He sniggered. “She has your number, St George.”
Crispin gave me a fulminating stare. “That’s not all she has.”
I smirked back. “In this case you’re right. I also have news. You missed making her acquaintance outside, dangling after Miss de Vos the way you did, but this is Miss Constance Peckham, who has kindly invited us all to a house party at the Dower House this weekend.”
