“But a competition would be amusing,” the duke said, with a sudden smile. “Let him have a shot at it, Richard. After all, you have not managed to come up with a final design yet, so why not? It is no insult to you, for I might yet prefer your design to his, but I should like to see some other ideas. There is no rush to settle upon anything, but I should like this orangery to be a fitting monument to the birth of the next heir to the dukedom.”
He beamed at Rowena and nothing more was said about it, but Richard sulked for the rest of the evening.
3: Night And Morning
Simon was happy to let the subject drop and enjoy the vast array of food the duke’s table provided. Juliet looked triumphant, having gained her point of staying on, at least for a short time, and Simon could not object to that aspect of the arrangement. To be warm and well-fed and permitted to live amongst the glories of Staineybank, even for a week or two, was an unexpected grace for which he would give sincere thanks in his evening prayers.
He ate a great deal and drank a little, and tried his best to make conversation with the duchess, on his left, and another lady on his right. Evenings like this were a great trial to him. There were sixteen at table, and more ladies than gentlemen, which was always difficult. Gentlemen were much easier to remember. The duke was the easiest, for he was by far the oldest, with the imposing presence typical of men of rank. His heir was the young fellow who also claimed to be an architect. There was a chaplain — Mr Godley, an easy name to remember. A solemn young man, who was the duke’s secretary, and… the other one.An older man. Simon could not remember anything about him, but he had the air of an employee, rather than a relation.
But the women! There was no getting them straight. The beautiful one in black was the duchess, still grieving the death of her son, and the one heavilyenceintewas the heir’s wife for whom the orangery was to be built, but beyond that he could not put names to any of them. Oh yes, the drab female who looked more like a housekeeper than family was the one who had shown them to their rooms. Hester, he thought. Hester Merrington. They were all Merringtons, the relations.
As for the rest, he had no idea. He had rather hoped to talk again to the pleasant Miss Sophia Merrington, who had shown him about the formal rooms, but she had arrived in the White Drawing Room in a gaggle of her sisters, all with identical brown hair and indistinguishable faces. The annoying habit of changing for dinner meant that he could not even recognise her by her gown. The duchess had introduced them all but so quickly that he could remember none of it.‘Miss This… Miss That… and you know Miss Sophia…’That was all he had. For a moment, when she smiled at him, he thought he recognised her, but then the sisters shifted into a different arrangement and she was gone. It was maddening.
From time to time, when he was not struggling to make conversation, he looked surreptitiously down the table to see if he could recognise her voice or a mannerism, perhaps, but it was impossible. They all looked the same to him, and the sheer numbers pressed upon his spirits like a boulder. So many ladies! He was no longer used to ladies, apart from Juliet.
Eventually, to his relief, the duchess led them all away and the six men regrouped around the duke. Being the newcomer, Simon found he was the focus of all their attention. At first the questions were easy ones — had he ever been in Brinshire before, and what did he think of it? What were the roads like justnow? Where had they travelled from and had they encountered much snow on the way?
But then they reached the sticky parts.
“How is Edlesborough these days?” the duke said. “I have not seen him in an age, but the newspapers report that he is still busy at the House.”
“I cannot tell you, sir,” Simon said. “I have not seen my father in an age, either.”
The duke frowned. “But you must hear from him… or from your mother, at least. Writing to their grown children is women’s work, is it not?”
“Not in my family, sir. Not to us, in any event. My father wills it so.”
They all stared at him.
The duke grunted. “What did you do to upset him?”
“Juliet? Nothing, I imagine. She was but three years of age when she was sent away. I was fifteen when I refused to go into the army, as he had decided I should.”
Another grunt. “That would do it. I do not scruple to tell you, Payne, that I have never liked your father. There is a deplorable meanness of spirit about him, a pettiness that one cannot approve.”
“Most people would call him a very fine fellow,” Simon said, rather cautiously.
“Oh, he keeps a good table, and serves the best wine, I know all of that. A most hospitable host, and society generally thinks well of him, but I—” He stopped abruptly, his brows lowering. “There is another side to him, and your case only confirms it. So you quarrelled and he threw you out, did he? Foolish man! He does not know when he is well off. I would give my right arm to have a son to quarrel with, but it was not to be. To some men is given an abundance and to others nothing at all. You have several brothers, I take it?”
“Five that I know about,” Simon said, with a half-smile. “There may be more now. I do not keep up with the society announcements.”
“I suppose he forbids you from going into society,” the duke said. “You see? Petty, that is what he is, for all his fine shooting parties. He is a terrible shot, as it happens.” He gave a bark of laughter. “Useless swordsman, too. His temper gets the better of him, and of course all that good living made him slow on his feet.” Another laugh escaped him. “I believe you are well out of his clutches, young man. So tell me, what do you know of orangeries?”
After that, the talk was strictly business, and much more to Simon’s taste. He had never seen an orangery, but he could talk with confidence about them, and the need for high windows and warmth and a suitable aspect. The gentlemen were interested and so the subject lasted until the butler brought a message from the duchess that she would be glad for the gentleman to join the ladies in the drawing room.
Simon was less glad, following the gentlemen with the usual nerves. At dinner, one might at least talk about the food, or deter conversation altogether by a studious attention to one’s plate, but in the drawing room there was no escape. He felt as the hare must feel when the hounds are in full cry, with no shelter within reach. One could only sit quietly and hope to be overlooked.
He was not overlooked. One lady after another came to sit beside him, asking the same polite questions that the gentlemen had already asked. Well, he could answer those. No one asked about his father, which was a relief, and Juliet had clearly already explained their relationship, so he was not asked about his mother, or hers. There was music, too, which always lifted his spirits.
And then, at last, there was a call for the card tables and he was able to slide into a game of whist where there wasvirtually no need for conversation at all. It was somewhat nerve-wracking, for they were playing high, and he had visions of his mother’s hundred pounds being swallowed up in a few days. Happily, she had taught her eldest son well, and he soon found his winnings mounting up. He ended the day fifty pounds better off and went to bed in an exceptionally cheerful mood.
He had barely dismissed the footman who was acting as valet when Juliet came in, still fully dressed.
“Well? Did you win?” she said anxiously.
“Cards? Yes. Fifty pounds.”
“Oh, thank goodness! I lost twenty. I shall play with you tomorrow. There are some rapacious players here. That Mr Godley is far too mercenary for a man of the cloth.”
