“I am sure you look forward to the day when you wear a variety of colors again. Blue, for example. Bright blue, to set off your lovely eyes and contrast with your hair.”
“She has such a garment,” Emilia said. “He might be describing your blue riding habit, Clara. It does flatter her, sir. No one could fail to admire her when she wears that habit and sits atop a fine horse.”
“I am sure,” Adam said.
Clara sucked in her cheeks.
Harry’s mood had dampened a bit upon Adam’s addition to their group. Now he brightened, as if struck by divine inspiration. “I spied a bed of tulips when I entered. Would you favor me with your company while I go take a look at it, Lady Emilia?”
Emilia turned hopeful eyes on her sister. Clara gave Harry a critical glance, then another over her shoulder. “I suppose a short stroll through the plantings would do no harm. Remember what I told you on our way here, Emilia. We do not want Grandmother scolding me for being an inept chaperone.”
Emilia walked off with Harry before she finished. She took advantage of the additional space to scoot farther away from Adam.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“Brentworth is one of my best friends. If you had not spent your first Seasons ignoring my existence, you would know that.”
“It entered my mind that he might be. Did you put him up to this? He does not entertain here often. I think the last time I was at this house was three years ago, before he inherited.”
“No one puts Brentworth up to anything. He decided on his own to do this.” Officially true, if not completely so. “Perhaps he has decided to entertain more and thought this small gathering would be a good start.”
“It came at a convenient time. It is a good start for Emilia too.” She looked over her shoulder again, to find her sister in the garden.
“Are you obligated to sit here the whole time?” he asked. “Is there some rule unknown to me that you cannot enjoy the sun and blooms if you are in mourning?”
“Of course not. It is just . . .” She looked around the garden and bit her lower lip. “I feel a little strange. I know all these people and yet feel removed from them all in a new way. As if they do not matter. As if I do not matter to them either.”
He knew that strangeness well. “You have been separated from them longer than you realize. Your father’s passing changes things too. We are all put in columns by others and get moved around as time goes by.”
“So I was previously in the Marwood daughter column, and now I am in the Marwood sister one?”
“Something like that.”
“This one is not as prestigious. I am now less interesting.”
“Perhaps less useful is a better way to put it.”
“My, you are cynical sometimes. I suppose that four years ago I was in theingénue on the marriage marketcolumn, but that has changed now too. I am now in thespinster on the shelfcolumn.”
“I would say you were in themature woman who knows her own mind and selfcolumn.”
“That is generous of you. However we title it, I rather like this place.”
He gestured to the other guests. “I think they know that. It is perhaps another reason that you feel a strangeness with them.”
She stood. “If I am so comfortable with my mind and self, I should not allow others to make me feel strange. I think that I will be sociable for a spell.”
He watched her walk off and greet two ladies chatting nearby. He could tell that before anything more was said, those ladies expressed sympathy for her loss. That would probably happen with each person she met, since most would not have been at her father’s funeral in the country. He did not expect her to be sociable for too long.
He sought out Brentworth. He found him on the terrace, suffering a political harangue from the Viscount Weberly. Flushed and loud, the older man made pronouncement after pronouncement about the need to crush rebellions as they emerged and not wait for the niceties of legal action. Brentworth just listened, but when he saw Adam he used that as an excuse to extricate himself.
“I thought Weberly would never cease,” he said, steering Adam farther away and in the direction of the punch. “I long ago learned that it was a waste of breath to try to explain to minds like his that while it may be expedient to imprison demonstrators without trials, it was neither legal nor English.”
Weberly was not alone in advocating the government act in ways contrary to law and tradition. Fear motivated him and others. The French revolt still cast a long shadow, revived whenever unrest rumbled through the country. Since it roared at times now, Weberly and his ilk grew increasingly fevered in demanding action that would ensure their necks remained safe.
Brentworth procured two cups of refreshment from a footman manning the punch bowls. He handed one to Adam. “You will like this. It is a West Indian potion with a fair amount of rum. That other bowl’s content is sweet, typical, and lacking any fortification.”
“I am sure the ladies appreciate the choice.”
