“Good evening, Walter. Miss Franklyn is over by the window, with Lady Esther.”
And away she went, always busy about some business or other, as if she had never heard of the existence of servants. He smiled at her retreating back, her hair as brown and glossy as a mouse, one strand somehow always escaping the hairpins and falling across her cheek. He would have liked to whisk the tray from her hands and sit her down for a comfortable chat, but she was busy, as usual, and duty called him to his betrothed and her stepmother.
Across the room, the two women were watching his arrival, Lady Esther Franklyn with well-bred dignity, Bea smiling and waving, her abundant black curls bouncing. There was no danger of missing her in a room full of people, not with hair likethat. How could he ever have thought he might not recognise her?
With a nod here and a quick word there, he made his way across the room, and executed his bow. “Lady Esther, what an unexpected pleasure. Am I to understand that His Grace’s health has improved?”
“My father is a great deal better, I thank you, Lord Birtwell. In fact, he was well on the way to recovery by the time I reached Marshfields, as I suspected would be the case. My family is generally blessed with excellent health. I am pleased to be able to return home so swiftly. And how is the Dowager Lady Rennington?”
“Very frail,” Walter said. “She barely knows her own family now.”
“That is a great tragedy when it happens,” Lady Esther said. “She is much in my prayers, Lord Birtwell.”
“As His Grace is in mine,” Walter said smoothly. Then, feeling that his duty had been done by his future mother-in-law, he sat down beside Bea. “Well, Bea, how was town this year? Did you miss me?”
“Oh yes, of course. There were any number of occasions when an extra gentleman would have been most welcome. Vauxhall’s was quite dreadful. They let anybody in, without the least discrimination, but happily Lord Firstock was able to accompany us, and kept the riff-raff away. He was quite my saviour this season, most attentive and very put out to discover that I was already betrothed.”
“Was he so?” Walter said, not much interested in Lord Firstock. “He was never much in the petticoat line before, but I suppose even a nodcock like him can do the pretty if he must. Did you see anything of Chalfont or Hickson? Or Dunstable? I expected to read the announcement in theGazette, but not a word.”
“Oh… I cannot recall all your friends, Walter. They all look the same to me. Besides, we were much engaged with the Bucknells this year. Dear Charity has quite taken me under her wing… the Marchioness of Ramsey, you know. We met almost every day, at least until the duke was taken ill, and everyone rushed off to Marshfields, and Papa and I had to come home, for I could not stay without Mama.”
“Hmm… I suppose I shall have to write to Dunstable to find out what is going on. Did you never see him, even at Almack’s? He would have been there, squiring about that young lady of his.”
“I have told you, I cannot tell one of your friends from another. You should have been there yourself, if you care so much about them. And if youhadcome, we could have been married already and I should not have needed to leave town so early. As a married woman, I should not have needed Mama to chaperon me.”
“You know why I could not come, Bea, not with Grandmother so ill. I could not be dancing and enjoying myself while she is quietly fading from this world. We shall be married some time or other.”
“Yes, but when?”
“Not for a few weeks, at any event. There will have to be a decent mourning period for Nicholson, but we can have the banns called after that.”
“You would go into mourning for the chaplain?” she said, her blue eyes widening.
“He was my aunt’s husband, so yes, of course.”
“And then the Dowager will die, and who knows when you will leave off the black crêpe? Mama has had a better idea — we could be married from Marshfields, far away from all this tragedy.”
“Marshfields! What business have we there? The duke is no relation of yours.”
“He is my stepmother’s father, so he is certainly a relation… of a sort, and he is most amenable to the idea. He has always had a fondness for me, you know, and when word reached Mama of the trouble over the chaplain, she saw at once that we could not be married from home, not with amurderin the background. There is no chapel at Marshfields, but they have the ballroom — we could have a wedding ball! Would that not be fun? Mama has managed it all for us — her cousin will arrange the special licence, and her uncle the bishop will officiate.”
“Lady Esther is too kind, but I think we will not trouble all these people,” he said tersely. “I am in mourning for my uncle, Bea, and cannot contemplate a wedding at this time. Excuse me, I must make my greeting to your father.”
And so saying, he rose and removed himself and the fiery ball of rage inside him to a safer distance, before there was an explosion.
***
Winnie moved about the room, doing her duty as the eldest daughter of the house, ensuring that the guests were mingling and that everyone who wanted had a drink and something to nibble, for dinner was late, as usual. Dinner was always late when there were guests, for Mrs Mann was getting old and easily grew flustered.
She saw the quarrel, however, if that was what it was. Yes, definitely a quarrel. She had known Walter all her life and could interpret every nuance of his face, and Bea was not a person to whom the word‘nuance’could ever be applied. Every inner emotion was writ large across her features. So they had fallen out about something, although she could not tell what. But itwas not her concern. All couples had their disagreements, and whatever the cause of this one, it would not stop them marrying and therefore was of no moment.
Dinner, when it eventually arrived, was amusing, in part because of Walter’s efforts to ignore Bea and hers not to be ignored, but also because Winnie was seated next to Captain Edgerton, who regaled the table with improbable but highly entertaining stories from his years in India. From time to time, he turned to her and enquired in a low voice about the other guests, and especially the Franklyns.
“Mr Franklyn?” he murmured.
“Unexpectedly came into a fortune ten years ago, married Lady Esther shortly thereafter,” she responded in the same low tone. “They moved here five years ago, and have two small sons.”
“Lady Esther?”
