Dancing the Maypole (24 page)

“Yes.”

“Cursed scent!
I hope he doesn’t sit next to me.” It suddenly dawned on Cosmo that
the footman had answered his questions without any formal courtesy.
“Uncle James, why does Frederick answer Cecil, George, and Charles
with ‘Yes Sir’and all I receive is ‘Yes’? Do I have to be
twenty-one before I’m given respect by your servants?”

“What?” asked
his uncle with a confused expression.

“Never mind!
It’s not important.” Cosmo’s sarcasm was lost on his uncle.

James Smirke
looked at his wife in confusion, “What is he talking about?”

Cosmo squirmed
as Agnes stared at him with that look that made him feel like she
was pouring a bowl of ants down his shirt. “You were saying?”

“If I ask
Frederick a question, he never addresses me as Sir.”

“Why should he
address you as Sir?” asked Agnes. “Have you been secretly
knighted?”

His brothers
chortled in amusement making Cosmo more indignant. “When Cecil,
George, or Charles ask him a question Frederick replies, ‘Yes Sir’.
When I ask him a question he says, ‘Yes.’ Is it impudent to expect
the same respect as my brothers? I’m a Smirke, not some
foundling.”

“We can’t argue
with that!” sneered Robert. “You look like Great Uncle William,
which explains your lack of intelligence. Wasn’t he the one who
wouldn’t eat salad for fear his hair would turn green?”

“Robert!”
snapped Agnes, giving her nephew a steely stare that visibly
straightened his spine. “A man who insults his brother shows a lack
of judgement. One day you may need to borrow money to pay your
bills. Who will care that you might starve on the King’s Bench if
not your brother? Intelligence without wisdom is a library owned by
a monkey.” She turned her steely stare on Cosmo, “I’m sure
Frederick has a perfectly sensible explanation.”

The footman
flushed a salmon pink. “Forgive me Madam; I was unaware I was being
disrespectful. Mr Cosmo looks so much like my brother William; I
forgot myself.”

“A perfectly
sensible explanation,” said Agnes.

Lucius turned
away from the window, “It’s rather odd Frederick has a brother
named William who looks like Cosmo when Cosmo looks like Great
Uncle William.”

Cosmo was deaf
to his cousin’s observation. “Aunt Agnes, do we have to wait for
Papa? The food will soon be inedible and I’m starving. I can’t
endure another twenty minutes…”

“Papa is
probably hoping you’ll die of hunger,” sneered Robert. “So he won’t
have to listen to you whine.”

Cosmo made a
face at his brother, “Shut up Robert!”

“If you weren’t
a fool, you’d take your own advice,” said Robert. “Maybe if you
did, you’d persuade some desperate hairy Amazon to marry you. She’d
have to be desperate to chain herself to a miser bank clerk who
tallies up every penny that slides into his pocket.”

“At least my
wife will never hear that I can’t buy her a new dress because I’ve
spent my yearly income on acquiring the latest compressing pump or
whirling globe.”

Robert sniffed
in contempt, “My wife will understand that natural philosophy and
physics machines are far more important.”

“Really?”
sneered Cosmo. “Where are you going to find this bluestocking
paragon? Are you planning to dig up Mary Wollstonecraft and pour
some magical elixir of life down her decomposed throat?”

“Cosmo!”
Hearing his father’s voice, Cosmo turned round in relief, but the
taller man was glaring at him from the doorway with an expression
of acute embarrassment. “A man does not speak of such things in
refined company.”

“If you’d
combed your hair faster my mouth would be too full of masticated
food to embarrass you with my opinions.”

“Don’t b-be
impertinent.” The words were automatic as if his father were too
preoccupied to care that his fourth son was acting like a social
imbecile. Cosmo choked on a cloud of lilac perfume as his father
approached the settee and leered down at Mademoiselle de Bourbon.
“Good evening Mademoiselle, forgive me for secluding myself. None
of my helpful relatives thought to inform me you’d taken up
residence until I was finishing my toilet. Did you sleep well?”

“When?” asked
Mademoiselle.

“Last night!”
His father’s tone implied Mademoiselle should have known which
night he meant. If their father didn’t show signs of improvement
soon they’d have to send for a doctor.

“Last night I
slept no worse than usual, though waking would have been more
pleasant if my brother hadn’t snuck into my room and tied a ribbon
around my wrist in the night.”

Lord
Adderbury’s awful smile faded into a grim frown; his teeth visibly
clenched. “Monsieur tied a ribbon around your wrist? Pourquoi?”

Mademoiselle
shrugged, “He thought it would be amusing. It wasn’t!”

Lord
Adderbury’s black eyes weren’t amused either. Cosmo was mentally
tallying the cost of raising the roof to make the attic habitable
for a six feet five inched lunatic when his stomach rumbled. “Now
that Papa has finished combing his hair…Mademoiselle, would you
allow me the honour of leading you into dinner?”

His father
glared at him as if Cosmo had asked the lady if he might escort her
to her bed.

“What?” asked
Cosmo. “Why are you looking at me like that? You can’t expect the
lady to sit next to you. You’re acting like a Bedlamite, and you
stink of lilacs.”

Before their
father could verbalise his rage, Robert stood up with a smug smile.
“The lady has accepted my offer to lead her into dinner. If you’ll
excuse us…”

Agnes stood up
and gave her youngest nephew her withering stare. “Robert, your
father who has the highest rank in the room, will lead my cousin
into dinner. I suggest you read that copy of Chesterfield’s Letters
I gave you last Christmas. You might accidentally learn some
manners.”

Their father
smiled like a smug lunatic as Mademoiselle stood up and willingly
took his arm as if the man hadn’t insulted her person. Cosmo shook
his head in despair. Clearly people past the age of thirty-five
could only hope to slide slowly into madness.

“Papa, why are
you limping?” asked Cecil. “You’re not arthritic?”

Cecil’s
questions earned him a spine-chilling glare from his blushing
parent. “Someone k-kicked me in the knee.”

Mademoiselle
gave their father a strange sympathetic look, “A short angry
man?”

“Oui!”

“I hope you
kicked him back,” said Mademoiselle.

“He was armed.
I sensibly restrained the impulse.”

Cecil gave his
parent a stern look, “Papa, you won’t need to worry about dying of
loneliness if some madman shoots you in the heart for braining his
sweetheart with pennies.”

“Mind your own
affaires!”

“If you die,
I’ll be thought the mad Lord Adderbury desperate for a wife. That
makes your affaires my concern. Leave off this ribbon nonsense.
Ladies don’t want to see ribbons dangling over your loins, do they
Mademoiselle?”

The red-faced
woman coughed in embarrassment as she admired Lord Adderbury’s
large muscular thighs.

“Cecil!”
snapped Adderbury. “That is a question for a wife in the privacy of
your b-bedchamber…”

“Stop avoiding
the issue Papa, you’re never going to find a wife draping yourself
with ribbons. Strangers are already addressing you as ‘May Lord’.
I’ve even heard some of your peers refer to you as Lord
Madder-bury.”

“I d-don’t
c-care what strangers think.”

“I care!”
insisted Cecil. “My future wife is likely a stranger. I don’t want
her to think I’d decorate myself with ribbons and dance around her
like some yew-worshiping pagan.”

“James, I think
it’s time for dinner…before your brother kills his heir. Peter, if
you’ll go first we’ll follow.”

Cosmo jumped up
and impatiently tugged on his waistcoat as he silently urged the
couples to hurry. Seeing Lucius stop next to the settee Cosmo
whispered, “What are we going to do now?”

“We wait,” said
Lucius.

Cosmo scowled,
“For what?”

“For the
couples to reach the table, so we can all sit down. I could eat a
whole chicken.”

“I could hit
you. I thought you were here to help Papa. He’s getting worse!”

“Sometimes what
appears to be worse is actually better.”

“That makes no
sense!” sneered Cosmo.

“It depends on
one’s perspective. Sometimes what looks like truth is really a
different truth wearing an ugly coat.” Lucius turned on his heel
and left the drawing room.

“What are you
talking about? Lucius!” Finding himself the last one into the
dining room, Cosmo scowled in rage. The only unoccupied chair was
next to his father. Lucius returned Cosmo’s scowl with a smug
smile. Adderbury was engrossed in a whispered conversation with
Mademoiselle as Cosmo loudly pulled his chair away from his father
and next to Charles.

“I don’t want
your elbow in my face,” snapped Charles. “Move over!”

“Trade
seats…I’ll pay you.”

“How much?”

“One pound,”
said Cosmo.

“Five
pounds!”

Cosmo’s black
eyes widened in outrage. “Five pounds? I’m not paying five pounds
to trade seats.”

Safely at the
other end of the long dining table seated next to Agnes, Robert
leaned over to get a better view of Cosmo and Charles. “I’ll trade
seats with you…”

“You will?”
Cosmo felt a rare burst of brotherly affection for his least
favourite sibling. Taller, smarter, and more handsome; Robert drew
young ladies’ eyes wherever he went and enjoyed reminding Cosmo of
it at every opportunity.

“…for ten
pounds,” smiled Robert.

Cosmo felt the
words like a slap as the brotherly love soured. He tried to pretend
he hadn’t heard. “Just let me sit here Charles. I won’t use my
knife…”

Charles’ eyes
glinted like black marble. “Five pounds or move over. That’s what
you told me when I tried to avoid eating lilac scented toast this
morning.”

“Don’t you ever
listen to the parson’s sermons?” demanded Cosmo. “You’re supposed
to forgive people and be kind to them…especially when they’re not
kind to you. Are you going to hold my past sins against me?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t be
heartless Charles…”

“Enjoy your
lilac chicken.” Cosmo’s chair was forcibly pushed back into the
cloud of perfume making him cough.

Cosmo scowled
at Charles, but his brother was engrossed in filling his plate.
Trying not to breathe as he chewed, all Cosmo could taste were
lilacs. Picking up his plate and chair, he moved to the window.

Sitting down he
scowled at the table. None of his family even glanced in his
direction. If he choked on a chicken bone his corps would be cold
before they noticed. He consoled himself by inhaling a lung full of
unscented air. Eating his dinner, he watched people pass on the
street below. He was on his third plateful when a carriage pulled
up outside the house. Standing to get a better view, the carriage
door opened and his Uncle John hopped down and then helped down his
wife whose arms were filled with a large bundle.

“Uncle John’s
come with Aunt Joan!” His family continued to chat and eat as if he
hadn’t spoken.

Cosmo was lost
in pleasant thoughts of making his own family when the dining room
door burst open and his Uncle John, glaring like the devil, stepped
into the room still wearing his black hat and green greatcoat.
Cosmo smiled at his Aunt Joan, but she was looking at the bundle in
her arms. Seeing the smile his enraged uncle gave Cosmo a searing
look that promised bodily injury for some unknown sin. Unconcerned,
Cosmo glared back.

“I hope you’re
enjoying your dinner!” shouted John Smirke. The angry words implied
the man hoped those seated would all choke to death. As if on cue,
a high-pitched wail erupted from the bundle causing the angry man
to wince in pain and shake his head as his wife tried to hand him
the baby. “Do I look like a nurse maid?” The bundle writhed in fury
as if trying to escape the pretty woman’s arms. He glared at the
diners and pointed at the bundle. “Do you see that? Miss Ugly fell
pregnant during your October visit. One of you is the father! Admit
it like a man and take your brat…”

“Smirkie take
her!” pleaded Joan. “You don’t want her to fall and crack her
head.”

John Smirke
growled in exasperation and held out his arms. “Give it here.” As
soon as the baby was in his arms, the wailing faded to soft angry
cries as if the infant had rebuked her favourite for not holding
her all the way from Lincolnshire.

Joan Smirke
leaned over and kissed the baby’s head, “She adores her Uncle
Smirkie…don’t you my pretty?” The baby’s cries shuddered to an
end as if agreeing.

“She’s a
wretched pest,” sneered John. “My arm feels like it’s going to fall
off, and one of you is to blame. Unless she’s asleep, I can’t use a
chamber pot without blood curdling screams in the background like
some hellish concerto.” John Smirke’s angry look softened as his
wife kissed his cheek and whispered something in his ear.

Lucius pushed
his spectacles up his nose and returned his cousin’s glare with
indifference. “How do you know she’s a Smirke?”

“Because the
brat looks like you,” said John.

Lucius smiled
in amusement, “Ah, you mean, she looks like you.”

“Miss Ugly has
the appeal of turnip soup garnished with rotting offal. The culprit
must have been itching like a stallion. I’d suspect Peter if he
weren’t such a prude.”

Peter visibly
bristled, “Who’s the mother?”

“I told you,
the innkeeper’s daughter, Miss Ugly.”

“He has a
d-d-daughter?” asked Peter. “I’ve only seen him with a son.”

“That ugly
thing is his daughter.”

Peter scowled
in disbelief, “She wears breeches? Are you sure she’s a girl?”