Ridiculous (15 page)

“It is Elizabeth from whom I wish to hear.”

And with that she dragged Beth away. The girl cast one pitiable glance back over her shoulder to which the duke responded with a helpless shrug.

“What happened at the Harrington's?” asked Millicent.

Shoffer sighed. “Poor Beth, she was so bright and cheerful when we first arrived. I was well pleased with her. She chatted and seemed on the way to making a few friends; then I noticed that she again was becoming withdrawn. By the end of our time there, she was as silent as ever she was in London.”

“Poor golden kitten,” said Millicent. “She lacks confidence and practice, I suspect. Did you observe anyone snubbing her?”

“Not a bit of it.” Shoffer shook his head, still gazing up the staircase. “She was quite popular at first. It did not last. The littlest thing would cast her down. The smallest look of surprise at her words, or hesitation by her dinner partner to respond to her jests, and she would fall silent for the rest of the day. Each day I saw her withdraw and there was nothing I could say in encouragement that restored her spirits. She only cheered up when she thought to invite you to visit.”

“I will help all I can.”

“Thank you. For now, I am worried what Lady Philomena will say. I hope she will exercise restraint.”

“I had not thought to have the honor of meeting the dowager,” said Millicent.

“Come along, North.” Shoffer draped an arm over Millicent's shoulder and turned her so they could walk together down the hall. “You should not have, except that the dowager appeared with no notice yesterday. I suspect, although I am yet to question her on the subject, that Mrs. Fleming is responsible for her appearance. No doubt a letter was sent once we received your acceptance.”

“No doubt,” muttered Millicent. “I find myself wondering why you keep Mrs. Fleming.”

“I would be rid of her if I could, but she is a very distant relative and has no other home.”

“Ah, empathy. ’Tis a pity she has none for Lady Beth.”

Shoffer led the way to a huge chamber whose function was not immediately clear to Millicent. There were books on a shelf, but not so many as to imply a library. Millicent wandered to the center of the room and turned, trying to figure the place out. It was not until Mr. Simpson appeared through a concealed side door bearing papers that she worked it out. This cavernous chamber was the study.

“Good God,” murmured Millicent. “You could lose my house in Bath in this one room.”

Mr. Simpson, a tall, dark-haired, skeletally thin young gentleman, whose appearance was more suited to the villain of some farce than a duke's man of business, paused at Millicent's words casting a worried glance toward the duke. Shoffer did no more than laugh at his friend’s outcry.

“Indeed, Mr. North, and this is not the greatest nor the least of my estates, merely my favorite.”

Shaking her head Millicent continued her exploration. “Do you not find yourself becoming exhausted trudging from one end of the room to the other? Perhaps you ride a horse from the dining room to your bedchamber.”

“Ridiculous man, do sit down. I wish to hear your plan for Beth. Have you an opinion?”

“Not a one. I hope to have some time with Lady Beth to hear
her
thoughts.”

“Very well, I shall leave it to your judgment. Only please, encourage Beth to take me into her confidence. It was disheartening in the extreme to see her become so withdrawn and have her refuse to discuss the matter with me.”

“I am certain she already knows she can trust you,” said Millicent diplomatically.

But Shoffer only shook his head.

Mr. Simpson cleared his throat and approached the duke. If he was surprised to find the duke taking such a common man as Millicent pretended to be into his confidence about his sister, Mr. Simpson was too well-trained to permit it to show. Instead, he offered a sheet of paper for the duke's examination.

“I have a list of houses that are vacant for the season, and I have included some that are already rented, that you might prefer for Mr. North. I can always contact the families and offer them a different house.”

“That was quick,” said Millicent. “I have but this moment told you of my need. Have you special horses that can fly between here and London in an instant?”

“Fool,” said Shoffer without heat and began examining the list. “These are but a few of my London properties. I lease them out without the renters being aware that they are mine. I would not like for strangers to lord it over their neighbors that they reside in one of the Duke of Trolenfield's properties.”

“Oh, of course,” said Millicent, preening. “How rude.”

Shoffer sighed and continued reading. “Have you any suggestions, Simpson?”

“I hardly know.”

Simpson glanced back and forth between the duke and Millicent, uncertain how to respond until Millicent took pity on the man.

“Do not judge me by my boots, Mr. Simpson, I am hardly poor. My annual income may not match that of His Grace's, but I am in no pain. However, the two cousins I have to set loose upon the
ton
have minimal dowries. I may think of some way to improve their lot, but it cannot be counted on. Does this information help?”

Before the secretary could answer, Shoffer added, “I should like it if Mr. North is not too far from my own London residence. I expect his cousins and my sister to be much in each other's company.”

“That narrows it down to these three, Your Grace.”

Simpson began listing the various rooms and size of each house with the duke arguing against each. Millicent left it to the two of them to settle the matter only paying attention when actual rents were discussed. Her first shocked outcry was met with disdain by both men.

“These
are
London rents,” said Simpson by way of explanation.

“Oh. Well.” Millicent shrugged. “If it is London rent, what can I be complaining about? I shall pay it with
London
pounds!”

“This one,” said Shoffer with finality. “It is walking distance from my home, and well situated with regard to entertainments that you can assume you, too, will be invited.”

“As Your Grace commands,” said Millicent, wincing when they showed her the price.

“If it is beyond your purse…” began Simpson.

“Do not let him fool you,” said Shoffer. “His false economies in his dress will be corrected in London. Mr. North's purse can well stand it.”

“As you wish, Your Grace.”

Millicent was considering how she might further tease the duke when there was a deferential knock on the door and Forsythe entered.

“Your Grace? Lady Elizabeth has issued an invitation for Mr. North to join her in the music room?”

The confusion the butler experienced at delivering such an improper invitation was writ large on his face. Shoffer surprised him by not objecting.

“Excellent. Mr. North, if you would be so kind?”

“Your servant.” Millicent bowed and rose.

“We shall work on the rental agreement while you are busy with Beth.” Shoffer waved Mr. Simpson toward the great desk. “Forsythe? Have Beth's maid descend and keep them company. Mr. North, I expect a full report!”

Millicent nodded and followed the confused butler across the hall, down side corridors and, eventually, to a room containing a pianoforte and a large harp arranged upon a stage before several uncomfortable chairs. Lady Beth was seated on a window seat in the shadowed end of the chamber staring out into the garden.

“Lady Beth,” Millicent made her leg and walked a few steps into the room. Forsythe pointedly flung the double doors open and stood in them until the maid arrived and settled herself on a chair near the door.

Lady Beth glanced over long enough for Millicent to see the tracks of recently shed tears, then away.

“Oh, dear.” Instead of crossing to sit beside the girl, Millicent went to the stage and began running scales up and down the pianoforte keyboard.

Obviously, Shoffer's prayer that the dowager exercise restraint had not been granted. Poor Lady Beth looked as if she had been on the receiving end of a severe scolding. All undeserved, Millicent was certain. She blushed for her own part in angering the dowager. As Mr. North, she had offered considerable disrespect to the old woman – in front of witnesses, no less, and she had – he had – been engaged in teaching the previously obedient Lady Elizabeth to consider her own opinions and wishes. It was surprising that the dowager had not gathered up the servants to run Mr. North out of the house by now.

Instead the dowager had chosen Lady Beth as her victim.

Millicent drifted from playing scales to a sprightly country dance tune.

“Play something softer, please, Mr. North,” said Lady Beth. “I am not in the mood for a jig.”

“Are you not? It seems to me that is just the time to play one.”

“Not today.” Beth's voice was wistful and vague.

“Can you tell me what is amiss?”

“No.”

“Or your brother, perhaps?”

Beth shook her head, hard. “No. Not him.”

“This will not do, Lady Beth. How am I to retain your brother's friendship if you do not speak to me?”

“He likes you well enough for yourself alone,” said Beth in such a die-away tone that Millicent stopped playing.

“You begin to worry me,” said Millicent. “Come. I must have you smile.”

Beth leaned further back into the window embrasure. “I have changed my mind about meeting with you this afternoon. I think I would prefer to be alone with my thoughts. Just for today, Mr. North, if you would be so kind.”

“This is unlike you, Lady Beth. Only this morning…”

“That was this morning,” said Beth with more sharpness than Millicent had ever heard in her voice. Millicent would have obeyed, except the strength leaked from Beth's voice and Millicent could hear the barely restrained tears. “I am not fit company for anyone at all.”

“This will not do. Come now,” said Millicent, turning around on the piano stool. “I shall not give over until I have made you laugh. I am uncertain at this time if you have not lost all your teeth since last we met in Wales. Come now, laugh and show me.”

“Please, Mr. North. I am tired of company today.”

Millicent's fingers flickered over the keyboard, a complicated trill of notes that ended with a deliberately discordant chord. She tossed her short hair, raising her hands dramatically and slashed and bashed a random set of notes.

“This is my own composition,” she cried over the racket. “I have dedicated it to King George. Do you think he will like it?” She crashed her hands down a series of dark and minor chords. “It is meant to reflect his lightness of spirit and joyous reign.”

Beth's head came up and she stared at Millicent. “You must be in jest!”

“Of course. Am I not always?” Millicent tried to raise an eyebrow as she had seen Shoffer do to good effect. Failing, Millicent wiggled her eyebrows instead, then put both hands behind them and wiggled her ears.

Beth's bosom heaved and she dropped her fan to press both hands to her mouth. Millicent leapt to her feet and spun around, her cut away coat tails flying before settling again, trilling in the upper registers.

“And this is to represent the pomp and dignity of His person.” She twinkled the highest notes.

Beth's eyes shone with unshed tears of laughter, yet she made a great effort not to permit her lips to move.

Outside in the corridor a small group of maids and footmen roared in laughter at Millicent's posturing. Helpless in the face of their combined mirth, Beth collapsed against the cushions and gasped out giggles.

“What is the meaning of this uproar?” asked a hard, angry voice.

Beth stopped laughing and came upright, stiff and trembling in her seat. The servants scattered revealing the Duchess of Trolenfield, regal in her anger. Millicent rose to her feet and bowed.

“Your Grace. I was merely attempting to entertain her ladyship,” said Millicent.

“You dare?” The Duchess took two steps into the room and glared at Millicent through her lorgnette. “The duke will have something to say when he finds you have been alone with his sister, you encroaching mushroom…”

“Yes,” said Shoffer from the doorway with a folder in his hands. “He will say thank you, since he has brought laughter to my sister's lips.”

“A lady,” declared the Duchess, “shows her amusement by the merest upturning of the corner of her mouth, and then but rarely. She does not roar like a doxy in a bawdy house.”

Beth stiffened further and fresh tears came to her eyes, this time of distress. Shoffer hurried across to sit beside her.

“Dear Beth. There is nothing wrong with laughter, I promise you.”

Millicent came to attention beside the pianoforte and placed a puzzled expression on her face, tapping her lower lip with her finger. From the look on her face, Lady Philomena was not finished with her scold. A distraction was necessary.

“I must enquire, Your Grace,” asked Millicent with careful courtesy, “how is it you know how a doxy laughs in a bawdy house?”

The lorgnette fell from the dowager's limp fingers to dangle by its brocade ribbon.

“What did you say to me?” she demanded.

“It is a perfectly reasonable question,” replied Millicent innocently. “Since it is you who made the comparison. To be so precise in your description it can only be assumed that you speak from your own knowledge.”

Beth dove immediately for the protection of her fan and raised it to cover her whole face while Shoffer collapsed, laughing and clutching his chest.

Lady Philomena's mouth worked and it was with great difficulty that she was able to force out words.

“Will you stand there and laugh at that insult?” she demanded of the duke.

Shoffer wiped tears from his eyes and faced his grandmother. “You are the one who created the circumstances of the question, Your Grace.”

“You would stand there and permit me to be insulted by that … that … interloper? Did you realize he and your sister were all alone in this room? How do you know he has not been trying to engage your sister’s affection?”

“I doubt that very much,” said Shoffer. “And besides, Beth's maid was present the entire time. As it happens, I recruited Mr. North to the task of aiding my sister become more comfortable in company. She is out now, but does not speak in the presence of strangers. I have noticed that she holds whole conversations with him and is even charming and witty with his encouragement.”