Sir Winston had taken a step closer to his daughter. Lady Frome had got to her feet and also moved closer as if to protect the younger lady. From what? She was the Countess of Hazeltine.
There was a moment—an eternity—of silence.
Lady Shields reacted first.
“Your wife, Flavian?” she said, looking at Agnes with mingled shock and revulsion. “Yourwife?”
His mother clutched one hand about the pearls at her throat. “What have you done, Flavian?” she asked faintly, her eyes fixed upon her son’s face. “You have married. And you have done it quite deliberately, have you not? Oh, I might have expected it. You have always been an unnatural son. Always, even before your brother died. And even before you went off to war when it was irresponsible to do so and were wounded and took leave of your senses and turned violent. You ought never to have been let loose from that place we sent you. But this...this... Oh, this is theoutsideof enough.”
“Mother,” Lord Shields said sharply, striding around the chair on which his wife had been sitting and catching his mother-in-law by the upper arm as she stumbled back to her own chair. He leaned over her, frowning.
Flavian’s fingers had closed so tightly about Agnes’s hand that he was actually grinding her fingers together and hurting her. But she was unsurprised to see when she glanced up at him that he was regarding the scene about him with lazy eyes and a mocking mouth.
And you have done it quite deliberately, have you not?
“This is a sudden thing, Ponsonby,” Sir Winston Frome said, his voice cold and haughty. He completely ignored Agnes. “You might have given more consideration to your mother’s sensibilities.”
“You are married, Flavian?” Lady Hazeltine said with a smile that looked ghastly in a face turned almost as pale as her hair. “But what a delightful surprise. My congratulations. And to you too, Lady Ponsonby. I hope you will be very happy.”
She came the rest of the way across the room, her eyes upon Agnes, her right hand extended. It was as cold as ice, Agnes discovered when it rested limply for a moment in her own.
“Thank you.” Agnes smiled back.
“I have just completed a year of mourning for my husband,” the countess said. “Mama and Papa insisted upon bringing me to town before the Season begins so that I may shop at some leisure for new clothes, though it has been very much against my inclinations to put off my blacks. Lady Ponsonby came up early too—pardon me, theDowagerLady Ponsonby—with Marianne and Lord Shields. We were invited to tea this afternoon. I came because your husband was expected, and it is years since we last saw each other. We grew up as neighbors, you know, and were always the dearest of friends.”
She was all pale, smiling dignity.
“I was s-sorry to hear of your b-bereavement, Lady Hazeltine,” Flavian said. “I o-ought to have written.”
“But you were never much of a letter writer, were you?” she said, flashing him a smile.
“Lady Ponsonby,” Lady Frome said, addressing Flavian’s mother, “we will take our leave and allow you some privacy in which to rejoice with your son over his delightful news and acquaint yourself with your new daughter-in-law. The tea and conversation have been most pleasant. Lord Ponsonby, it is to be hoped you will be happy.”
She smiled uncertainly at Agnes as she left. Her husband ignored her completely. Their daughter expressed the wish that she would make Agnes’s better acquaintance soon.
The door closed behind them, but their presence still seemed to loom large in the room. There was something, Agnes thought. There was most definitelysomething.Flavian,the countess had said with a look of bright welcome on her face.Velma,he had said in response.
Velma.
But they had grown up as neighbors. As friends. Childhood friends called one another by their first names.
There was no time to ponder the matter, however. Her mother-in-law and her sister- and brother-in-law were still in the room. And Flavian’s news had shocked them deeply.
You have always been an unnatural son. Always, even before your brother died. And even before you went to war when it was irresponsible to do so and were wounded and took leave of your senses and turned violent. You ought never to have been let loose from that place we sent you. But this...this... Oh, this is theoutsideof enough.
That placewas presumably Penderris Hall in Cornwall, the Duke of Stanbrook’s home.
. . . You have done it quite deliberately, have you not?
His mother was recovering some of her poise. She was sitting very upright in her chair.
“You have married, then, Flavian,” his sister said. “And Mama was quite right. Of course it was deliberate and just the sort of thing youwoulddo. Well, you are the one who must live with the consequences. Agnes, you will pardon us, if you please. We have had a severe shock and have quite forgotten our manners. But, really, where on earth did the two of you meet? And how long have you known each other? And who exactlyareyou? I am quite certain I have never set eyes upon you in my life before today.”
And that was hardly surprising, her expression seemed to say as her eyes swept over her new sister-in-law from head to toe.
“We met at Middlebury Park last autumn,” Agnes explained, “and again this past month. We were married by special license there four days ago.”
She was given no chance to answer her sister-in-law’s last question. Flavian had released Agnes’s hand in order to set his own firmly against the small of her back.
