The Country House Courtship (23 page)

“What about Miss Forsythe?” he asked, following his sister into their parlour.

“Oh, she is agreeable, to be sure, but she is young, that's all.”

Mr. Barton positioned himself lazily upon the sofa, one leg upon the brow comfortably, taking it down only to allow their manservant to remove his shoes, replacing them with slippers.

“Stoke up the fire, will you, Dilworth?” he said. “It's dashed chilly in here!” Anne had already wrapped herself in a heavy shawl so that only her arms were free and peeking out, for she had taken up her needlework. Barton wasn't paying attention, and she wanted to complete the little booties she was working on. Her next project would require white yarn, for she wished to knit a little dress and cap for Miranda. From where she sat, she heard Barton sigh loudly. She looked over at him, her lips compressed in disapproval at his lackadaisical posture upon the couch.

“Of what are you thinking?” she asked.

“I am thinking of how to accomplish my mission. Mornay is as sly as a weasel; every time I try to learn his thoughts on a matter, he ends up making quick work of me. Dashed if I know how he does it! He is somehow eluding me, and I cannot say whether he is up to tricks, or if it is simply his way.”

“Why should he be up to tricks?” She raised her eyes again to him, a small alarm upon her features. “Do you think he suspects your motives?”

“Why should he? I told him outright what I was about for the Regent. But I do think he has reservations about me. Don't know what for, that's all.” He had a thought. “I hope it isn't you!”

“That's impossible!” she said. She thought of her dealings with the man up to now. Whenever his eyes happened to fall upon her, or if he spoke to her, she saw a softening as though he understood, instinctually perhaps, that Miss Barton was a gentle creature, and required gentle treatment. She said, “He has been nothing but politeness and consideration to me, in fact.”

“Very well; so it is me he is concerned about.”

“
I
know what it is!” said the sister, with a sudden realization.

“Well?” he waited.

“You have been flirting shamefully with Miss Forsythe, and he cannot like it. If you would wish to win the man, you must steer clear of his sister.”

“His wife's sister.”

“Same thing.”

He frowned. “Hmmph! I suppose you have hit it. I will have to proceed carefully, henceforward.”

“What do you mean? Only cease your attentions to her, your little jokes—and you will have an easier path.”

“Well, the thing is, I happen to enjoy giving my attentions to Miss Forsythe, and our little jokes, as you put it. In fact, if she returns my feelings, it may just as likely put him off his guard, as on it. Could he not hold me in favour simply for her sake?”

“You are naive, sir!” Miss Barton was smiling, almost finding it funny that her brother could be so muddleheaded. “Men do not favour other men who show affection for females within their households!
You
know this to be true.”

He sat up abruptly.

“Not necessarily! They might become chums, you know.”

Miss Barton knitted on. “Are you forming an attachment for Miss Forsythe, Tristan?” Her quiet words held more than their usual gravity, and she stopped working to survey him with wide eyes.

He put his hands behind his head and blew out a breath, thinking. “I do not know, if truth be told. But I do not consider it impossible. She is young, which I like, and above pretty, and sweet, and she is in Mornay's family. If I were to get hitched to her—”

“Must you be so vulgar?” Her expression was pained.

“Very well,” he said smiling. “If I were to marry her, I would be in Mornay's family. He would then of necessity favour me, would you not say?”

She said nothing for a moment, concentrating on what was in her hands, but her face wore a deep frown. “Do you see this as your way to convince Mornay to accept the title?”

“To the devil with the title! I'll be in his family if I win Miss Forsythe! That's far to my advantage, and if he becomes Lord Mornay, or whatever his title, all the better!”

Miss Barton sat back herself, but she was worried. “I pray you don't give him a disgust of you, Tristan. I do like them, you know.” She paused, thinking of the new acquaintances. “Each of them—they are all exceedingly kind.” She looked at her brother, and her eyes held a plea. “Be careful in how you present yourself.”

“I cannot fathom your concern. I am intent upon cementing myself to the family through marriage, and you speak as if I were about to create a chasm.”

“If you truly are to form an attachment to Miss Forsythe,” she said, “I hope it will be for herself, not for her family connexion. Be thoughtful of her, Tristan. Do not take advantage of her youth.”

He scowled. “Miss Forsythe stands to benefit from our alliance as much as I do! She is seeking a wealthy match, Anne, and I have the fortune to support her in style.”

“You mean, you
did
have the fortune; but you have gamed away a good portion of it. Is that not why you sold our family home?”

He shrugged. “You speak as though I am ruined; nothing like it, I assure you!”

Miss Barton was not assured. She had long suspected that her brother was gaming away his entire subsistence. However, she only said, “But is there also admiration for herself?” She paused, looking plaintively over at him. “Do you love her, Tristan Barton?”

He looked in surprise at her. “My dear Anne! How can I tell if I love a girl apart from her bringing some advantage to me? The thing is impossible, I tell you! I like her well enough, I've said so. May we leave it at that?” He looked pained at having to even consider the matter.

Anne returned to her work. “I sometimes think you are incapable of loving a woman,” she said quietly.

He heard her, and tried to make sense of her statement, but in the end gave up, and lay back down upon the sofa, replacing his one leg upon the brow comfortably.
What was she talking about? He'd loved women before. Almost took on a mistress, dash it! What did Anne know of love, in fact? She was certainly not one to talk, by Jove.
He closed his eyes, hoping for a few minutes' nap.

B
eatrice was too restless to remain at the table a moment longer, and she came to her feet. Mrs. Forsythe knew something was niggling at her daughter, and asked, “Where are you off to, my dear?”

“I am in need of some fresh air,” she said. “Some exercise, I think. I'll just take a turn about the property, if I may.”

Ariana said, “It's very cold. Stay close to the house. We can't have you getting lost on us.”

Mrs. Forsythe said, with a careful look at Mr. O'Brien, “I do not think you ought to go off alone at all.”

Mr. O'Brien's response warmed her heart when he immediately wiped his mouth with his napkin and said, rising from his chair, “If Miss Forsythe will grant me the honour, I'd be delighted to escort her.”

“Why, thank you, sir!” exclaimed Mrs. Forsythe.

Beatrice had been about to decline the offer, but now she could say nothing.

“You are very kind,” her mother added, and she sent Beatrice a look of warning. Beatrice wished she could say aloud,
I know exactly what you are about, Mama, and it shan't work, I promise you. Nothing will come of it. You think that by throwing me together with Mr. O'Brien, a romance may happen—but nothing could be further from my mind. My heart is set on London, for I am determined to have a proper coming-out, and I expect to meet many marriageable gentlemen there
.

Instead, she merely compressed her lips and went toward the front entrance hall. Mr. O'Brien came fast on her heels, and said, to her relief, nothing.

Mr. Horton's face was set in a stern look.

Frederick had informed the master, as soon as he'd done with his morning meal, that his steward waited upon him in the business office on the ground floor.

“Have him come to my study,” Mr. Mornay said, and started at once for the room. He felt a twinge of concern when the steward entered, and he saw the man's face.

“What's the trouble?” he said as he motioned for him to take a seat. Mr. Horton shook his head; he would stand. He took a breath.

“Sir, I am sorry to have to inform you—there's sickness in the cottages.”

“What sort of sickness?” Mornay asked.

“That's just it, sir; I can't be sure, yet. It's supposed to be the London fever.”

“
Supposed
to be?”

“There's talk among the men, sir. It always starts out this way; one man don't want to lose his wages, so he keeps quiet if someone in his house falls sick. But the women get whiff of it, somehow, and it starts to get out, see.”

“But the one who lets it out must know the truth.”

“No one'll take credit for that, to be sure! That's like treason, sir, among the working class, for it ends with a man losin' his work.”

“Of course,” he murmured, mostly to himself. “We'll have to do a sweep.”

“Right, sir! That's precisely why I come to you. I'm ready to go knockin' on doors, but I wanted your permission afore I did. I'll send word as soon as I know what's what.”

Mr. Mornay was nodding his head, but he said, “Be very thorough, but do not be harsh or alarming. No one is to know what you're searching for, saving yourself and the man you take with you. And if you find a hint of the fever, we'll get Mr. Speckman here at once to diagnose and treat it.”

“Even if I find sickness, they won't let me call a doctor, sir, it's far too dear—”

“Unless the illness is everywhere rampant, it will be at my expense. I'm hoping we're in time to contain it.”

“Very good, sir. Thank you, Mr. Mornay.”

“Thank you, Mr. Horton.”

Mr. Mornay sat at his desk a few moments longer. This could be very bad news indeed; on the other hand, it might be nothing. Rumours did have a way of getting magnified as they spread. Nevertheless, he took out a sheet of paper and dipped his quill. He would write to Mr. Speckman, the family physician, to put him on the alert of what might be brewing. He told him to study the latest remedies for the fever which was sprouting up in London of late—in case.

When done, he used the bellpull to summon a servant to deliver the message immediately to the village. Then, his gaze fell upon the Bible, and he placed his hand upon the leather cover, feeling the grain of the leather. God. God was the Great Physician. He put his hands together, rested his head upon them, and prayed.

Afterward, before returning upstairs, he decided to say nothing as yet to any of his guests, nor even his wife. There was no reason to cause anyone to fret when he had no real facts to go on. Once he heard back from Mr. Horton, and once the doctor had seen those who were affected, he would make any necessary announcement. He hoped that it would not be necessary.