Page 4
“I should think not,” Effie said. “When a man upends his life utterly, he needs some tradition to hold on to.”
“I would suggest,” Simon said, “that the rules are more important than ever, given that ladies will be in attendance.” He wagged a finger at Archie. “You can’t be waving a gun around with ladies present. With your mother present.”
Archie’s mother, who was afflicted with a disease of the mind, was the chief inspiration for this year’s altered tradition. Archie hated to leave her, even in the capable hands of his wife and of Miss Brown, her longtime companion. Simon himself had suggested the new arrangement, noting that although Archie insisted he was fine to take the usual fortnight away, it was easy for them to change things round. The dowager aside, Archie and Effie were married men now. Things weren’t the same as in their bachelor days, so Simon had suggested they adapt.
As if Simon had ever been adaptable.
He was, though, when it came to his friends. Or at least he could learn to be.
The thing was, he had made this suggestion ages ago. Not that long after last year’s Earls Trip, in fact. Well before the … upheaval of the last month.
Before his … acquaintance with Miss Brown had deepened.
“I shan’t be waving a gun around,” Archie said, “but I do feel the need to remind you that we are bound for a property that has historically been a hunting box. It is therefore well-provisioned with guns. So the question you ought to be asking isn’t whether I’ve brought a gun—it’s whether the armory is safely locked.” He sniffed, but his eyes danced. “Which it is.”
“You know he hasn’t fired a gun since he almost shot me on Earls Trip 1818,” Effie said to Simon, and Simon had to smile at the cheerfulness with which Effie recalled his near demise. “And we all know that the rules are, at this point, merely notional.”
“Notional, perhaps, but important traditions nevertheless,” Simon said.
“You are, of course, correct,” Effie said. “And as I previously noted, I have a newfound devotion to the idea of tradition.”
Simon made a make-haste gesture. “Let us get on with it, then.”
“All right.” Archie lifted his glass and the others followed suit. “Gentlemen. Welcome to Earls Trip 1823. Allow me to remind you of the rules. Number one: Every time Marsden says the word ‘Parliament,’ he must down a dram of whisky.”
“Which I shan’t be doing, as I haven’t brought any work,” Simon said.
“I thank you not to interrupt,” Archie said with feigned annoyance.
“Number two: Stonely, formerly Featherfinch, is strictly prohibited from writing poems, unless they are naughty ones. And should you be harboring any concerns that I fancy myself above the law, we come round to number three: Harcourt is not permitted to shoot anything. And finally,” Archie continued with a flourish, “the most important rule of Earls Trip …”
They spoke in unison. “What happens on Earls Trip stays on Earls Trip.”
“Is that true anymore, though?” Simon asked.
“No, indeed,” Effie said. “The happenings of the last two Earls Trips spilled so far over into regular life that both you and I are married, Archie.”
“And welcoming the resultant gate-crashers this year,” Simon added.
“Hush,” Archie said. “We just agreed the rules are traditional, if notional.”
“Goodness!” Effie exclaimed. “We are going to be quite outnumbered.” He began counting on his fingers. My wife will be joining me. Archie has a veritable harem joining him: Clementine, Olive, his mother.” He stopped and eyed Simon. “I am sorry that Earls-Plus-Girls has left you … girl-less, Simon.”
“You forgot Miss Brown,” Simon said, though of course Miss Brown, while a member of Archie’s household, did not belong to anyone, least of all Simon.
“I did, didn’t I?”
“You did.” Though Simon couldn’t fathom how anyone could ever forget Miss Brown.
2
A Shocking Proposal
Four weeks earlier
August 11, 1823
Twenty-eight days before Earls Trip
