An Affair of Honor (11 page)

“What? Not deaths!” Huntley sat up straighter in his chair, then looked more directly at Nell, who was having difficulty retaining her composure. Thankfully, he addressed his next words to her mother. “You are quite right, my lady. “’Tis a difficult fact to credit.”

“Nevertheless, ’tis the very truth, sir. Six of them, and very inconsiderate I thought them at the time, I can tell you. For what was my poor Nell to do when she must positively
live
in black crape? ’Twas monstrous unfair. As though Fate herself thrust my poor darling onto the shelf.”

“On the shelf? How absurd! Why, Miss Lindale is quite as beautiful as ever and seems to have developed a good deal of character into the bargain. She is scarcely at her last prayers.”

Nell turned quite pink at these unexpected compliments, but fortunately there was no need for her to reply to them.

“Oh, but she is! Or, at least, if she is not at her last prayers, no one can deny that she is beyond her first youth.” The vinaigrette paused directly under the little nose, and to Huntley’s all too evident discomfort, a lacy handkerchief appeared in her ladyship’s delicate hand. “What else,” she demanded mournfully, “could one expect, my lord, when she is all of five-and-twenty and insists upon behaving like a spinster woman? Besides, the eligible men hereabouts are not seeking mature young women of character. They are looking about for youthful beauties whose character they might mold to suit themselves.”

This statement being clearly unanswerable, Nell took pity on his lordship and spoke up in her own defense. “Pray, Mama, do not speak as if you expect poor Huntley to mend matters. You will at the very least unman him. What’s done is done and cannot be mended, and ’tis just as well, I’m thinking. For if I was not so clearly upon the shelf, who, pray tell, would take dear Rory out and about? We are already agreed, are we not, that it would not suit your delicate constitution to do so.”

“Oh my, no!” Lady Agnes replied hastily before turning melting eyes toward Huntley. “For you must know, my lord, that the least little exertion oversets me. ’Tis my poor nerves. Ever since my dearest Lindale passed on, God rest him, I have not seemed to have the energies of my earlier days.

Why, the smallest activity—even a mere afternoon spent playing at silver loo—sends me to my bed prostrated for quite three days’ time.”

“Amazing, ma’am. And you still so young and beautiful.”

“Indeed, sir,” she returned, smiling without a blush, as both vinaigrette and handkerchief came to rest in her lap. “I am still quite young enough to enjoy life, I suppose, if it were not for the dreadful burden of my weakened constitution.”

“I understand your plight, ma’am. My own dear mother suffers from much the same malady, but she has suffered,” he added with the wry twist of lips that was rapidly becoming so familiar to Nell, “for many, many years—even before my father’s untimely death.”

“Poor creature. How very sad for her. Although,” she added thoughtfully, “I daresay her form of the malady, while longer-lived, is not quite so acute as my own. Doctor Penworthy, after grievous expense, I might add—Nell, do you know his last bill came to more than three guineas? Well, at any rate,” she continued rapidly as though she feared Nell might actually trouble herself to respond, “he told me mine is quite a unique case. And you must know he has treated a good many nerves, sir. But he gave me to understand that mine was quite the worst case he has ever seen.”

“Indeed,” Huntley responded, coloring the one word with a well feigned display of deep interest. Nell was pleased to note that he did not make the fatal error of attempting to defend the relative severity of his mama’s ailments against those of Lady Agnes. From what she had seen so far, he could not hope to win such a debate.

She glanced over at Rory, who was seated quite at her ease in a chair slightly removed from the others. She appeared to be gazing intently out the window, as if concentrating upon some fascinating view. But since Nell’s own experience gave her to know that there could be nothing out there worthy of such rapt attention, she deduced that her niece was daydreaming. Deciding not to disturb her, she turned her attention once more to the others.

Lady Agnes had taken the opportunity to expand upon the various disadvantages of being cursed with a delicate constitution, and Huntley bore with it for some minutes longer before making deft excuses and taking his departure. The three ladies sat quietly for a moment or two before Rory stirred in her chair, thus drawing her grandmother’s notice.

“You were very quiet during his lordship’s visit, dearest,” that lady observed. “I hope you did not take a chill during your visit to the esplanade.”

“Oh, no, I’m perfectly well, thank you, Grandmama. I was merely thinking about Ulysses. Did you notice that Huntley did not so much as inquire after the state of his health?”

“Why on earth should his lordship be expected to inquire after a man who has been dead these many centuries?” Lady Agnes asked, perplexed. “If indeed,” she added conscientiously, “he ever lived at all. I know there was a book about him, for your papa, Nell, had it in his library and tried to explain to me once about the gentleman’s travels. I expect it was his Grand Tour, you know, although I confess, I never truly understood whether the gentleman was real or only one of those very confusing Greek myths. Nell will put us right, I expect.”

Nell chuckled. “He was the mythical King of Ithaca, Mama. The Greeks actually called him Odysseus, I believe. But ’tis of little consequence, since I am persuaded that Rory was making reference to her kitten, were you not, my dear?”

Rory had been staring at her grandmother with an expression of near awe, but Nell’s words recalled her to her senses.

“Indeed I was. How could he be so heartless as to behave as if Ulysses doesn’t exist?”

“What a very odd name for a kitten, to be sure,” commented her ladyship. “Are you perfectly certain you wouldn’t prefer something simpler, my dear? Such as Fluffy or Buttons or—”

“No, for I am confident that his name suits him better than any of those would do,” insisted her granddaughter. “I daresay he had a good many adventures and did a vast amount of traveling before ever he came up against that sea wall. At the very least, he deserves Huntley’s respect for his efforts. You don’t think,” she added, regarding her aunt with a small frown, “that Huntley can have forgotten about him, do you?”

Nell thought that was precisely what had happened, but she could conceive of no good purpose to be served by sharing that opinion with her niece. Nor could she think of any good reason to point out the unlikelihood of a three-week-old kitten’s having had a vast number of adventures. Consequently, she merely smiled and told Rory not to be such a goose.

“I daresay Huntley simply assumes that Ulysses, having found a kind mistress and a good home, is faring very well. I expect,” she added, when the frown did not dissipate, “that he is not profoundly interested in cats.”

“Well, he’d best take an interest in Ulysses,” Rory declared militantly, “for he shall be living at Huntley Green with us, you know. In the house,” she added in a tone that brooked no argument.

“I haven’t the slightest doubt of it,” Nell replied, having no wish whatsoever to debate the matter. Since Rory appeared only too willing to continue the discussion, Kit’s arrival on the scene at that moment was greeted by his sister with unfeigned pleasure and even a touch of relief.

He was looking very dashing in a coat of bottle-green over biscuit-colored pantaloons. His hair had been brushed forward into tapering locks, and Nell had no doubt as to the identity of his model for the new style. Evidently Rory also recognized the source.

“Never tell us you are attempting to ape Huntley’s looks! Do you mean to appear old before you must?”

“Old! I’ll have you know, Miss Wisdom, that your Lord Huntley dresses in bang-up style. A fellow could do a deal worse than to imitate him. Why, he’s as natty as Brummell, and you should be grateful. At his age, he might well have chosen to dress more like Sir Henry and worn a wig!”

“He is not a Methuselah, for pity’s sake!”

“Kit, I protest!” his mama exclaimed over Nell’s indignant outburst. “You should not speak so of dear Sir Henry. He is very good to you—indeed, to us all.”

“To be sure, Mama,” her son replied with a grimace of distaste. “You have no occasion to listen to his endless jobations. He read me a lecture only last night. Said I was drawing the bustle too tightly, only because I chanced to find myself temporarily distressed and asked him to disburse a trifling sum to my tailor.”

“But your allowance is more than generous!”

“You may think so, ma’am, with your paltry notions of generosity,” Kit retorted, his voice taking on tones of a rising temper, “but it scarcely covers the half of what anyone else of my acquaintance spends on the barest necessities. Not that I wouldn’t have paid Holton. I truly meant to do so. But that was before …” He broke off, coloring slightly, then continued airily, “Before something of greater importance intervened.”

“A cockfight or a card game?” asked his sister with wide-eyed interest. He glared at her, but his attention was claimed again by his mother before he was required to answer her.

“I should think it would behoove you, Kit, to pay your tailor what is owed him before you hand over your money to a friend in payment of some stupid wager.”

“Good God, Mama, a man must pay his gaming debts immediately or he can scarcely call himself a gentleman. Holton will wait. He is a mere tailor, after all. Even Brummell does not worry over his tailor’s bills. He merely orders a new coat, and, by Jove, if Sir Henry don’t come across with the juice, I daresay that is precisely what I shall do, myself.”

“Kit, no! Sir Henry would be vastly displeased.”

“And rightly so,” agreed Rory, putting her oar in with uncivil relish. “Why, even I have heard of Mr. Brummell, while I dare say no one outside of Brighton has ever heard of you, Uncle Kit. Mr. Brummell must ever do his tailor credit—and his bootmaker and hatter as well, no doubt—but what good you can do your poor Holton, other than seeing to his eventual starvation, as well as that of his wife and no doubt fifteen or so children, I can—”

“Enough, Rory,” Nell said, laughingly calling a halt to the enthusiastic spate of words when her brother’s complexion threatened to become choleric. “Not but what she hasn’t made a point, Kit,” she added, quite unable to resist making at least that much of a statement herself. However, when he appeared likely to lose his temper altogether as a result of this final straw, she hastily asked if he meant to stay to supper.

He glared at Rory, opening his mouth as if he meant to present them all with a few well-chosen words, but Nell’s question stopped him. He favored her with a long look, then let out a sigh. But he still looked grim, and his answer came more as a dare than as a mere point of information.

“I do. And what’s more, I’ve invited Harry to dine with us, as well. There can be no objection to that, I hope.”

“Of course not,” Nell returned quietly, but Lady Agnes looked doubtful.

“I trust you sent word to Cook, Kit. You would not wish her to lay a meager table simply for want of a bit of warning. It will add to the week’s expenses, of course, but I promise you, I shan’t regard it.”

It was just as well for all their peace that she added the rider, since Kit had looked to be momentarily upon the verge of an apoplectic seizure when she mentioned the extra cost.

Despite the unpromising introduction, supper itself passed well enough. Both young gentlemen were on their best behavior, and Rory declined to bait her uncle. Nell realized that the reason for this abstention was the fact that Harry Seton had taken one look at his friend’s niece and tacitly declared himself her slave for life. The knowledge did little to alleviate her worries about the near future, and when she realized that Rory was flirting quite outrageously with the impressionable Harry, she had to repress a strong desire to box her niece’s ears on the spot. Instead, she quite made up her mind to discuss the matter with her just as soon as the young gentlemen took their departure, which she was certain they would do immediately upon finishing their after-dinner port. Thus, it was with some dismay that she greeted Harry’s announcement that for the ladies to leave them to their own devices was an antiquated notion not worth adhering to, and that he, for one, meant to carry his port straight into the drawing room so as not to have Kit’s sole company foisted upon him along with the resultant, inevitable boredom. Rory grinned at him, but Kit seemed quite as disgusted as his sister.

“I say, Harry, we dashed well promised to call in at … that is, surely you remember we have an appointment. You will not wish to keep the others waiting.”

“Fiddle,” replied Harry, looking quite as astonished as Kit did to hear himself using such a word. He recovered rapidly, however. “I daresay no one expected us to show before midnight. If we are there by eleven, we shall be betimes. I’ve a mind to teach your young niece here the finer points of piquet. Or,” he added diplomatically, when Kit glowered, “perhaps we might play whist instead, if your sister will oblige us by taking a hand.”

Nell declined, so they finally agreed to play three-handed cassino instead. She left them dealing out the cards and arguing amiably over whether it was a children’s game or one fit only for expert cardplayers, and went to fetch her book and Lady Agnes’s needlework. Time enough later to lecture her errant charge.

The game grew steadily more lively and boisterous, however, and by the time Lady Agnes pointed out that dear Rory would never arise in time to attend chapel services, as one knew she meant to do, if she did not retire to her bed at a seemly hour, both young gentlemen seemed to have forgotten all thought of a prior engagement. The teatray had come and gone again, and the hour was advanced well past eleven. Nonetheless, when Rory agreed promptly that it was indeed past her bedtime, the others announced that it was time and more that they joined their friends. Lady Agnes’s weak protest that Kit, too, required some sleep, was ignored entirely, and both gentlemen departed immediately.