Page 3 of A Gentleman in Possession of Secrets (The Lord Julian Mysteries #10)
Chapter Two
The cakes were tiny, the welcome genteel, if a trifle strained. Her Grace could have that effect on people, though her inherent graciousness usually soon set one and all at ease.
Still, she was a duchess, and our hostess was a mere viscountess who likely hadn’t had a use for her formal parlor since she’d hosted a passing bishop at Yuletide—if then.
The space was cold, despite the mild day, and bore a hollow quality.
No fresh flowers, no soft breeze from a French door propped ajar.
The delicate furniture with its blue pastel upholstery sat in a symmetrical grouping before an empty hearth.
The carpet wasn’t dirty, but I was certain a good beating would have released a cloud of dust.
The formality was meant to impress, but instead it depressed. Staid, stiff, chilly… somewhat like our hostess.
Lady Standish was aging well in that her figure was trim, her complexion enviably smooth. She wore her dark hair swept up in fancy ringlets, which struck me as an odd choice for a mature female in her country abode. I also found it peculiar that her ladyship had not one strand of gray in her locks.
She might have been attractive in her youth, but at present she qualified as handsome, and that was not necessarily a compliment.
The jaw was firm, the gaze impassive. She made no wasted or even spontaneous movements.
The silver tea service arrived on trays arranged just so in every particular.
No fussy linen or clanking spoons, and no object placed closer than one inch to the edge of the tray.
“If Miss Stadler is in,” the duchess said, “I thought I might give the manuscript to her in person. We have an original in the library at Caldicott Hall, though it’s fragile. Miss Stadler might like to see it when the occasion suits.”
My mother’s capacity for strategy was one of the most surprising aspects of her character.
She had just extended a personal invitation to a spinster of the parish, a singular honor, particularly given the distance between households.
True, Miss Stadler was a viscount’s daughter.
Even so, the duchess’s personal notice was yet an unlooked-for honor.
An unignorable honor, in fact. Rather like an active rook was an unignorable threat on a chessboard.
“So kind of you, Your Grace,” the viscountess said, holding out the plate of tea cakes. “So very kind, but our Hannah has decamped to take the waters, and with the weather so fine, she might well wander on for weeks. Don’t you find that young people grow bored in the country?”
My mother chose the raspberry cake I’d been eyeing. “Rather the opposite, at least with my children. They grew restless in the confines of Town and longed for the more robust activity to be enjoyed at the Hall. Has your Strother gone up to London for the annual whirl?”
Her Grace had advanced a knight with that question. Strother was a bachelor heir. He had a responsibility to marry and be fruitful, and thus far, he’d shirked it.
As had I, in the opinion of some.
The viscountess set the tray of sweets aside without offering any to me.
“Strother is out with the steward. He did the pretty in Mayfair earlier this spring, but came home to attend to myriad duties here. He is such a conscientious fellow, very mindful of the legacy he must safeguard. We are so proud of him.”
Though he refused to marry, he had not served in uniform, and he was probably at that moment downing a tankard of the posting inn’s finest, boots up on the hearth, barmaid flirting with him madly…
I was truly in a bad humor.
“Children are such a source of joy,” Her Grace said, beaming at me contentedly. “I might be in the mood for a jaunt to the spas myself, and Julian is a very attentive escort. In which town did Miss Stadler begin her progress?”
And out came the duchess’s bishop.
“She, um…” The viscountess peered at the remaining sweets and selected a lemon-iced cake.
“She had an itinerary. Hannah is the organized type. She thinks ahead, always has a plan, never forgets a detail. I believe she might have gone straight to Bath for the sea air. The hordes from Town will soon descend, so a start at Bath before the crowds arrive appealed to Hannah.”
Her Grace took a dainty bite of her tea cake. “Sound reasoning. Julian, might you escort me to Bath? I, too, would like to avoid the crowds.”
“It would be my pleasure.” Though Her Grace was casting a lure, not making travel plans. “Perhaps we might take the manuscript with us and hand it along to Miss Stadler in person?”
The viscountess set her lemon cake on the saucer of her tea cup. “I’m sure that won’t be necessary. We could not possibly put you to that trouble, Your Grace. Not when Hannah might well have dashed off to Lyme Regis by now, or heaven knows where. She can be impulsive.”
When she wasn’t planning an excursion down to the last never-forgotten detail?
“I suppose your mother has gone with her,” the duchess mused. “Lady Dewar was so kind to me when I was new to the area. A formidable woman, in her day.”
“Mama doesn’t travel much of late. She’s grown frail and a bit vague, I’m afraid. We treasure her, for her remaining days might well be short.” Said with a bearing-up sort of gaze at a portrait of a powdered lady in fine brocade.
“Miss Stadler has her grandmother’s blue eyes,” I said, “if I recall the ladies correctly.”
The viscountess regarded me as if I’d proposed springing Old Boney from his island prison. “I beg my lord’s pardon?”
“Striking blue eyes,” I said, gesturing to the portrait.
“I’ve ridden to hounds with both Miss Stadler and her brother.
Your daughter is quite the equestrienne.
” The recollection had come to me only as I’d seen the grandmother’s portrait.
Miss Stadler was the better rider of the two siblings, but Strother was competent in the saddle as well.
“I’m sure that was years ago,” the viscountess replied. “We dissuaded Hannah from spending much time in the hunt field. Not the safest place for a young lady, no matter how skilled she might be on horseback.”
The comment seemed to imply that brigands lurked behind every stile and gate when, in fact, most hunt fixtures were assiduously maintained free of badger holes, dangling limbs, and slick footing.
Accidents happened, of course, but those same accidents could happen while hacking sedately to divine services.
My mother’s gaze had taken on a gleam that boded ill for the prevaricating viscountess. “Julian was raised with sisters who favor vigorous riding. Isn’t that right, Julian?”
What was she up to? “My sisters are the reason I acquit myself in the saddle as well as I do. Would not have served to have them win every race, you know. A boy has his pride.”
The viscountess hefted the silver teapot. “Well, as I said, Hannah is no longer so enamored of a muddy day spent among malodorous hounds. More tea?”
We were overstaying our welcome and had no new information to show for the outing.
“None for me,” I said, measuring the distance from my empty cup to the tea cakes. “A treat for the road wouldn’t go amiss.”
“None for me either,” the duchess said, “though I would like to pay my respects to your dear mama. One never knows when one might have the opportunity again, if at all, and she was very considerate of me when I was a new bride.”
The queen herself had joined the affray, though what was Her Grace about?
“Mother often naps at this time of day,” the viscountess said, without passing me the sweets. “The elderly need so much rest.”
“Nonsense,” the duchess opined, rising. “The elderly want for company and stimulation, and I insist on paying my respects. I’ll be brief.
Your butler can show me up to your dear mother’s quarters.
Julian can relieve you of those tea cakes in my absence.
He’s like any other bachelor, a threat to undefended comestibles of any variety.
You there…” The duchess waved a hand at the hovering footman.
“I’ll look in on Lady Dewar if you’d kindly show me the way. ”
The viscountess would have had to invoke the authority of her husband to stop the duchess from her errand, and the viscount—the king on Lady Standish’s side of the chessboard—was playing least in sight.
That in itself was odd when a duchess came to call, but we hadn’t sent word ahead of our intention to visit, so perhaps his lordship was also out counting piglets with the steward.
“Have all the tea cakes you please,” the viscountess said when the duchess had taken her leave, “but if I may be blunt, do not think to look upon my Hannah with a matrimonial eye.”
Ah. Hence my mother’s reference to my bachelorhood.
“Your ladyship, I am engaged to be married, though I’m sure Miss Stadler is in every way an estimable young lady.”
The viscountess looked insultingly relieved, but she did pass me the tray of cakes. I took three. Two for me, one to slip into a pocket for Atticus when next I saw that worthy.
The viscountess entertained me with recollections of her previous encounters with my parents. I reciprocated with news regarding neighbors from the Hall’s corner of the shire. The duchess returned a very long quarter hour later, her usual cordial reserve giving away nothing.
As a reconnaissance officer, one learned to conduct arrivals and departures from camp with a studied show of nonchalance.
If the French army had been spotted two miles away, one climbed from the saddle with the same weary indifference as if rumors were spreading of a stunning defeat for the Corsican at Russian hands.
The rank and file watched for the reconnaissance officers, noted when their absences were prolonged, and noted when they rode into camp on a different horse from the one they had ridden out on.
Or when they walked into camp with a pronounced limp and a bloody sleeve.