The Notorious Lord Havergal (14 page)

“Stable this rig, Crooks,” he said. “And you, Cuttle—I want to see you run two tours around this park before you lay out my evening clothes. You have a match coming up next week.”

All Havergal’s servants were carried along in the great reformation. Cuttle was on a Spartan regime: up at seven, run for an hour, work out at Jackson’s gym, and frequently with his master. Fun was not entirely omitted from Havergal’s life, but it was taking a different, healthier turn.

“What was it you wished to see me about, Papa?” he asked when they met in Lord Cauleigh’s study for sherry before dinner. Various relatives were either living or visiting at Willow Hall, and dinner would give them no privacy.

“I am thinking of setting up a small pig farm, Jacob. If a man of my age doesn’t dabble in new things occasionally, he becomes bored. Would any of your chums be in that line? I know you have extensive acquaintances. I thought you might visit one of them and learn something about it firsthand.” He listened sharply. If the name Norton arose when Havergal’s close friends, the Growers, had an excellent pig farm in this same county, he would know.

Havergal rubbed his chin and frowned.. “Curious you should mention that, Papa. It happens I met a chap last month. Fellow by the name of Norton, in Kent, and he invited me to call on him. He is quite an expert—well worth the trip, I think.”

“Indeed! That is fortunate. When would you be able to get away?”

“I can go anytime. That is to say, I am on the committee working to lower the tariffs on the importation of grains, but I daresay they can spare me for a few days.”

“Perhaps you should write to this Norton and see when it will be convenient for you to go.”

“I’ll do it this very night. What sort of pigs are you interested in, Papa? Would it be lard, bacon, or fresh pork?”

Cauleigh had no more notion of pigs than he had of lightskirts. “Let us hope your friend, Norton, can tell us which is the most profitable and the least trouble.”

Havergal wrote off his letter that same evening and sent it by his own footman, mounted on a fast nag. No letter ever gave its recipient such bliss since Abelard penned his famous epistles to Eloise. Norton sent back his reply with the messenger, stating that his time was completely at Lord Havergal’s disposal and that he would be thrilled and honored to receive His Lordship. Lord Havergal was packed and waiting and left as soon as he had his reply.

As Norton was such a bosom bow of Lettie’s—not a potential suitor, surely?—there was a high probability of meeting her. There would be some initial embarrassment, but she would soon see he had changed. They might drive out one day or attend an assembly to make up for the one he had missed. He had no intention of falling in love with Miss Beddoes. She was too tyrannical for him, but he knew he had behaved badly and wished for her good opinion. She was the sort of woman he ought to be looking for as a wife, only younger and more agreeable, of course, and well dowered.

Norton wanted to share his good fortune with the whole world. His first port of call was always Laurel Hall, and he went thither as soon as he had informed Miss Millie of the impending visit.

Soon Siddons shuffled to the door and announced, “Mr. Norton, ma’am.”

Norton came striding in, filling the room with his vitality and self-consequence.

“You have come to discuss your public day, Mr. Norton,” Violet said. She unconsciously patted the seat beside her as she spoke, but it was to the chair beside Lettie that he sped.

“That, too,” he said, and could not hold in his marvelous news a second longer. “I have had a letter from Lord Havergal. He is coming to visit me to look over my swinery.”

Lettie and Violet exchanged a startled look. “Indeed!” Lettie said in a weak voice. Her heart pounded with what she told herself was annoyance. Yet it was a very eager annoyance. “When do you expect him?”

“Any day now. He was most eager.”

“Don’t lend him any money,” Lettie said, “or invest in anything he may be promoting.”

Norton leaned forward. “Do you figure that’s what he’s up to? I own I found it a little odd.”

“I cannot think why else he would come.”

“I figured it was the pig-racing venture. He was keen on that, if you mind. I’ll bear your caution in mind, Miss Lettie. Now what Miss Millie wants me to find out is how we must entertain him. Dinner parties every evening, of course, and a ball. She quite depends on you ladies to lend her a hand, for she’s never entertained anyone higher than a member, and old Limpy Savarin is no better than ourselves.”

“Neither is Lord Havergal,” Lettie said firmly. “You are doing him a favor to let him come. No extraordinary efforts need be made at entertainment.”

“I daresay he will keep his piece at the Royal Oak again and entertain himself.” No accent of censure tinged this speech, but rather something like admiration. “I wonder if the duke will be joining him. He didn’t say so. What I had in mind was to rush the public day forward and hope to squeeze it in while he is here.”

“I see no reason to inconvenience the whole village by changing the date,” Lettie objected.

“Inconvenience them? Nay, the lasses will be thrilled to pieces. You mind how they were close to tears when Lord Havergal and the duke shabbed off on our assembly. The gals will get to flaunt their finery in front of them yet.” In his mind it was half-settled that the duke would be along.

Violet said, “Did you say you were having a ball, Mr. Norton?”

“At least one,” he said, wild with abandon.

“Oh my! Did you hear that, Lettie? A ball!”

“Yes, I heard it, but as to lending Miss Millie a hand, I fear we are quite busy just now, Mr. Norton.”

“I’m not busy! I’ll help!” Violet announced. “I should love it.”

“What has suddenly filled your time, Miss Lettie?” Norton asked suspiciously.

“I am always busy in the spring,” she said vaguely. “The garden ...”

Norton shook his head at this poor excuse. “There is no point thinking you can avoid the lad entirely, Miss Lettie. Best to shake hands and let bygones be bygones. You cannot sit across from him at the table every night and glower in silence.”

“We have not accepted any invitations to dinner.”

“Of course you will come,” he said simply. And of course they would. Such social activities as he spoke of were too rare to pass up on a mere matter of principle. Violet would certainly attend, and it would be too noticeable if Lettie refused to accompany her. Lettie wouldn’t miss the ball for all the money in the Bank of England, and if she was to attend that, then why miss out on the rest?

And if Norton was to entertain on this grand scale, it would be as well to help Miss Millie, or she would run amok with her exuberant bad taste and import a load of French chefs to construct ice sculptures and inedible French dishes.

Mr. Norton was eager to be off, spreading his good news far and wide and beginning his preparations. “I’ll send the carriage for you tomorrow at two, ladies. Now I must be off to the shop to buy invitation cards. Gold-edged, do you think?”

“Plain white, Mr. Norton,” Lettie said, and realized that she really must be on hand, or the Nortons would make laughingstocks of them all.

“What a nuisance,” Lettie said after Mr. Norton had gone. Then she bent over her sewing to conceal an errant smile.

“Yes indeed,” Violet said automatically, but her heart was bouncing with excitement and so was Lettie’s. “We must have new gowns for that ball, Lettie. Let us nip into Ashford and speak to Miss Dawson. She will be overwhelmed with work.”

“I do not plan to buy a new gown to impress Lord Havergal,” Lettie said grandly, but she dashed for her pelisse. New lace was imperative and perhaps some new ribbons for her old gown.... Havergal had never seen it; it would be as good as a new gown to him. She would wear Mama’s diamonds that she valued so, and which she found so little opportunity to show off.

Norton’s carriage arrived for the ladies early the next afternoon and carried them off to Norton Knoll. An eager Mr. Norton and a somewhat less keen Miss Millie were waiting for them in the glittering splendor of the red saloon. Lettie never entered the chamber without a wince, to see so much money lavished to achieve such vulgarity. Anything that was not red velvet or brocade was gilt. Miss Millie really ought to provide green glasses to counteract the dazzling brilliance of the ten or twelve lamps burning in bright daylight.

One’s first impression of Miss Millie was that she was made up of eyes, hair, and bones. She was a gaunt lady, whose dark eyes fairly popped out of her face. Like her saloon, Miss Millie’s toilette was a study in rococo splendor. The russet-gray hair around her face was tortured into a surfeit of curls, the gown covering her body was festooned in bows, buttons, and lace, and the whole gown was topped with a bunch of garnet brooches.

“What do you make of this then, ladies?” she greeted them, proud in her litany of complaints. “Norton has gone and invited Lord Havergal for a visit. I’m sure I don’t know how I shall cope, for we never had a noble head gracing our table before. No idea when he is coming, who he is bringing with him, how long he is staying, or whether he will want to stay here or at the cottage to be near the pigs, for his excuse is that he wants to talk to Ned about pigs. And how shall we entertain him?” She looked in awful desperation to Lettie for a reply.

“If he is coming to study, then he is not here to be entertained,” Lettie said. “Feed him, introduce him to your friends, and let nature take its course. Perhaps Havergal will have his own ideas of what entertainment he wishes, and no doubt your neighbors will issue invitations.”

“So kind of you, Miss Lettie. Ned said I might count on you. Just let me know what evening you will be ready to take him off our hands for dinner.”

Lettie stared, but before she could contradict this idea, Mr. Norton, who had been smiling indulgently at his sister’s excitement, took the floor. “You’ve hit it on the head, Miss Lettie. Havergal might very well bring along his own amusement and keep her at the Royal Oak. I trust he wouldn’t try to foist his bit o’ muslin off on us.”

“That was not my meaning!” Lettie exclaimed, though as she considered the past, it did not seem at all improbable.

“I wonder if he will bring the duke with him,” Norton said musingly. “If he comes, Miss Millie, you must give the duke the best guest suite and put Havergal in the acorn suite. Noblesse oblige,” he added in a knowing aside to Miss FitzSimmons.

Lettie perked up her ears. She had frequently reviewed her meeting with Lord Cauleigh, and between her and Violet it was a settled thing that the wild set of friends Havergal had dropped included Crymont. “Did he mention bringing the duke?” she asked sharply. It immediately occurred to her that he was coming to Ashford to do the things he dared not do in London for fear of his father hearing about them.

“No, it was only a short note,” Norton said sadly. “Miss Millie has got it put away among her souvenirs, but he did not mention the duke. I read in the
Observer
this morning, however, that the Duke of C. and a string of little stars were still racing porkers in Green Park, so likely he will come. It is this business of pig racing that brings Havergal, of course.”

All this boded ill for the tale of Havergal’s having reformed. Lettie concluded he had pulled the wool over his papa’s eyes, likely for the purpose of conning him out of the thousand pounds to pay his gambling debts. She was sorry to hear it and hardened her heart against him. If she wished to see any of her neighbors during the length of his visit, however, she could not refuse to come to Norton’s house. Indeed, it would be a slight against this old friend to refuse, but she would not issue any invitations of her own, and she would be cool to Havergal.

“Well, shall we get to work?” she suggested.

“I have had a table set up with paper and pens and calendars in the morning parlor,” Norton said. “I thought we might block out the days and evenings, and see what we can find to fill them with.”

“And menus,” Miss Millie added, for the meals were her particular duty.

The party retired to the morning parlor, where fresh coffee and cakes awaited them. Each place at the table was set up with an array of papers, pens, and its own individual calendar, as though they were planning not a simple visit, but a schedule for the invasion of France.

Norton sat at the head of the table and arranged his stationery. “The first item of business is the day of arrival. I figure he'll land in around dinnertime, for he'll make the dart in one day. What we must decide is how to get a party together on short notice, since we don’t know what day he will be coming. I begin to think that what we must do is have a large dinner party every evening until he gets here.”

Violet laughed out loud and received a rebukeful glare from Norton.

“In such a case of uncertainty, I should wait till the next evening to begin festivities,” Lettie suggested. “Havergal will be tired after his trip and will not want a late evening.” Mr. Norton objected to this meager sort of hospitality, and Lettie added, “Very likely you will have a note from him setting the day and approximate time of arrival. He would think it odd if he arrived unexpected and found a large party awaiting him.”

“We don’t want to give him the notion we are
odd
the minute he gets here,” Miss Millie warned Norton.

“True, true. We don’t want to give the lad the idea we’ve never entertained nobility before.”

Lettie encouraged this point of view. “Too much concern for his entertainment would be just a shade vulgar,” she said.

“Aye, but on the other hand, we shan’t serve him bread pudding either,” he retaliated with a sharp look.

They got down to ransacking their minds for people to invite to the various parties Norton intended to hold. Miss Lettie and Miss Violet headed each list, till Lettie called him to account.

“It would be better to vary your guests, Mr. Norton. Lord Havergal will not want to see the same faces every evening.”

“You mean I cannot attend all the parties, when I shall have all the work?” Miss Millie demanded.