“Yes,ma’am.”
He felt a dizzying sort of happiness, as though some great load had been lifted from his shoulders. What a relief to know he hadnotloved Velma.
At least...
But for the moment he was safe and even happy with his wife.
20
One of Flavian’s aunts and two of his female cousins came during the morning to meet Agnes, about whose existence they had learned late yesterday upon their arrival in town. They ended up bearing her off with Flavian’s mother for a drive in Green Park. It was his aunt DeeDee—a corruption of Dorinda, he seemed to remember—his mother’s younger sister, and his cousins Doris and Clementine, her third and fourth daughters. Or was it the fourth and fifth? Dash it, he should know. Clemmie was the youngest, anyway, and yet another cousin about to make her debut into society. She was a giggler, Flavian discovered during the few minutes he spent in her company, but then, most girls her age were.
He wondered whether Agnes had been a giggler at that age, but would bet his fortune she had not been. She had married her William when she was eighteen, and if there had ever existed a duller dog and one less romantically inclined, he would be surprised to hear it. Not that he had known the man, of course, and not that Agnes had said much about him. But much was to be deduced....
If Flavian had the right of it, she had married Keeping because her father’s remarriage had made her feel like a stranger in her own home. She had married him because he was safe. Strange, that. For nowhe,Flavian, had marriedherfor the same reason.
He stood outside the front door of Arnott House after handing the ladies into the open carriage, all five crowded in together, and waving them on their way. He brooded for a few moments before going back inside.
A family was a good thing to have, even if it sometimes seemed that its numbers must extend into the hundreds and that it was made up almost entirely of the noisiest, most talkative members of the beau monde, both on his father’s side and his mother’s. Yes, it could be averygood thing to have, for his family had always been close-knit. Every member pulled for every other member, even if there were sometimes squabbles among individuals, especially siblings.
Every member of the family currently in London would surely have been invited to Marianne’s party this evening. And every one of them would go. Flavian did not know who else had been invited. And he did not know whether the little flaring of gossip about his wife at Lady Merton’s party had been fanned into flame, though he would wager it had been. He was going to be prepared anyway if any mention of it should be made tonight.
Whether he would warn Agnes and so make her more nervous than she would be anyway of her firsttonparty, he had not decided.
He turned and made his way back into the house.
He reappeared dressed for the outdoors a short while later, after a groom had brought his curricle and pair up to the door. He shook his head after he had climbed up to the seat and taken the ribbons in his hands, and the groom, looking somewhat surprised, refrained from scrambling up behind. Flavian would rather not have any witnesses among his own servants to the visit he was about to make. Servants, even loyal ones, were always the worst gossips in the world.
He drove himself out to Kensington, following vague directions to a house that Peter Jenkins had heard was quite invisible among an unruly forest of trees, though he had never seen it for himself. Jenkins also had no knowledge of whether the house was lived in or empty. He had had no dealings with his relative for as far back as he could remember. Havell might be in Kensington or in Timbuktu for as much as he knew—or cared, his tone had implied.
Flavian found the house. Or, rather, he found the unruly forest and followed a bumpy trail into its midst until he discovered the house—larger and in somewhat better condition than he had expected, and surrounded by a small, well-kept, colorful garden. There was a thin trail of smoke coming out of the chimney. There wassomeonehere, at least.
An elderly retainer, his dark coat shiny with age, answered the knock on the door. He looked openly surprised to discover that Flavian was not simply a traveler who had got lost in the woods and needed directions to find his way back to civilization. He showed the visitor into a parlor that was clean and tidy, if a little on the shabby side. The servant went to see whether his master and mistress were at home. His right boot heel creaked as he walked, Flavian noticed.
They arrived together no longer than a few minutes later, both looking as surprised as their butler, as though they were not in the habit of receiving unexpected visitors—or perhaps any visitors at all.
Sir Everard Havell was a tall man with receding hair that still retained some brown mixed in with the predominant gray. His face and figure were fleshy, the former florid, the complexion of a man who perhaps indulged rather heavily in the bottle. His blue eyes were pale and somewhat watery. He had the remnants of good looks, but he was not well preserved.
Flavian could not see even the faintest resemblance to Agnes.
Time had been a little kinder to Lady Havell, even though she was apparently older than her husband. Her figure was still good, though she must be close to sixty. Her hair was still thick and a becoming shade of silver gray. She was a handsome woman, though her face was lined. There was some animation in her dark eyes. She was pleased, Flavian guessed, to have a visitor, though obviously curious too.
He could see nothing of Agnes in her either. On the other hand, she bore a more than passing resemblance to Miss Debbins.
“Good day... Viscount Ponsonby?” Havell rather unnecessarily consulted the card Flavian had handed to the butler.
Flavian inclined his head. “I have the p-pleasure,” he said, “of being Lady Havell’s son-in-law.”
The lady’s eyes widened, and she pressed the fingers of both hands over her mouth.
“I married Mrs. Keeping a little over a week ago,” he said. “Mrs. Agnes Keeping.”
“Agnes?”the lady said faintly. “She married one of the Keeping brothers? NotWilliamKeeping, surely? He wassuchan unappealing young man and years too old for her.”
“Mr. William Keeping, yes,” Flavian said.
“But hedied?” she said. “And now she has married you? A viscount? Oh, she has done well for herself.”
“Rosamond,” Sir Everard said, “you had better sit down.”
