“Miss Brinley wasn’t jesting, was she, Papa?”
“About what, darling?”
She wrinkled her nose. “About God expecting me to behave in His house. I’m going to try awfully hard to behave from now on, because I think lightning hitting me might hurt.”
Another laugh escaped him, and after pulling his daughter close, he lifted his head and found Cordelia waving his way.
“I’m going to accept a ride with Miss Wickham,” Cordelia called before she spun on her heel and raced to where Miss Wickham was gesturing for her to get into a carriage, a groom already steering a pony cart down the drive, one pulled by a pony moving at a plodding rate, obviously the rarely taken out Daisy.
The thought struck that Cordelia may have beat a hasty retreat because she wasn’t up for dealing with his contrary daughter and her one-armed doll, but he tucked that thought aside and headed for his carriage when it began raining harder than ever.
He couldn’t help but smile when Priscilla tucked her face into the crook of his neck as he reached his carriage, whereGwendolyn was already getting Samuel and his mother and mother-in-law settled in it. She turned and shoved a sopping strand of hair out of her face, her brows drawing together when she caught sight of him.
“You’re smiling,” she said.
“You seem surprised.”
“Given the circumstances, yes, I am a little surprised, but...” Her lips curved. “You should do that more often. It suits you.” With that, she turned and climbed into the carriage right as Oscar materialized by his side.
“She’s right,” Oscar said, holding Priscilla’s rag doll and its missing arm.
“About what?” Walter asked.
“Smiling. You should do it more often.” Sending him a genuine smile of his own, something Walter couldn’t remember Oscar sending him in a very long time, his son scrambled into the carriage, leaving Walter with the distinct feeling he might have turned a corner with his children, and all because of Gwendolyn Brinley, who currently looked like the drowned guinea pig she was still holding, but who’d accomplished something most ladies would have been hard-pressed to do—rising to a most unusual circumstance, and rising magnificently to it at that.
Eighteen
“Miss Brinley, thank goodness you’ve decided to pay us a visit, even with it being unexpected,” Ethel said as she rushed down the hallway of Sea Haven, Gwendolyn in her sights.
Gwendolyn handed her umbrella to the Townsend family butler, who’d said his name was Benson, and returned her attention to Ethel, who was looking quite unlike herself.
Ethel’s hair was straggling out of her chignon, her sleeves were rolled up, and she appeared to have chocolate dribbled down the front of her morning gown.
Granted, Ethel had not been at her best three days before, after the deluge at the church, but any other time Gwendolyn had seen her, she’d been well put together—something that couldn’t be said about her today.
“I sent a note an hour ago, telling you to expect me,” Gwendolyn said when Ethel stopped in front of her. “Did you not receive it?”
Ethel fanned her face with her hand. “I probably did, but with the crisis I’m currently trying to manage, I haven’t had a spare moment to check my notes or calling cards.” She reachedout, surprising Gwendolyn when she took hold of her arm. “Come with me. You will not believe what’s happened now.”
A blink of an eye later, Gwendolyn found herself being tugged through an entrance hall showcasing an ornate heart-styled staircase that led to the second floor, then down a hallway lined with paintings of seascapes. Many of the scenes depicted were from Newport, but she didn’t have an opportunity to admire them, because Ethel picked up her pace and they were now moving so rapidly things were beginning to pass by in a blur.
Before she knew it, Gwendolyn found herself in the kitchen, the sight that met her eyes rendering her speechless.
Food displayed in various bone-china serving dishes was everywhere—stacked on the kitchen worktable, counters, spare chairs, and even in the three sinks the kitchen sported.
“What in the world?” she asked.
“I know—it’s complete madness,” Ethel said, gesturing around the room. “Meals started showing up this morning at seven, and they haven’t stopped.” She shook her head. “They’re from some of the ladies out this Season. The only explanation I’ve arrived at is they’ve taken Reverend Eberhard’s words to heart from Sunday’s service and this is their peculiar way of loving thy neighbor, or more specifically, showing their affection for Walter.”
Gwendolyn blinked. “An odd twist of Reverend Eberhard’s words to be sure, and it’s unfortunate he was unable to complete his sermon. I’m relatively convinced he would say that inundating a household with meals was not what he had in mind when he told the congregation to love one another. Frankly, he might need to consider revisiting the jealousy business since it appears the ladies are still in what can only be described as competitive states of mind.”
“Tillie Wickham sent fourteen courses, Suzette Tilden sent eleven, and then the twelve other meals we’ve received thus far were all extravagant ten-course offerings.” Ethel swiped ahandkerchief over a forehead that was now perspiring. “Evidently realizing Walter wasn’t impressed by sending the children presents, the ladies have apparently decided to change tactics and appeal to his stomach.”
“It’s often said the way to a gentleman’s heart is through his stomach,” Gwendolyn said, shaking her head. “I’ll say one thing for the ladies though—they’ve mastered the art of stealth. I’ve spoken with many of them over the past few days at different society events, and not once did I hear a whisper about this latest plot to impress Walter. I have to wonder how it came to be they all decided to send meals, and also why they would send these meals today, when Walter is still in the city.”
Ethel began fanning her face again. “I was informed by my lady’s maid that Tillie Wickham is the one who first came up with this idea. She mentioned it within earshot of one of her footmen, who happens to be courting a scullery maid at Suzette Tilden’s cottage. I imagine word traveled from there.”
“But why now? Why not wait until this coming weekend, when Walter will be back in town?”
