Page 8

A DINNER MOST DIVERTING

F our hours into his party, and nothing was going his way.

With long, angry strides, Saye entered his splendid apartment at Matlock, startling Florizel out of a nap.

His apartment was done up in a baroque way, complete with an elaborate mural on the wall painted by Fragonard himself and titled The Lover Crowned .

He usually found it rather inspirational, but today it could only vex him further.

Picking up his pup, he sat upon the pale blue silk of his bed and sighed heavily.

It had all seemed so promising! The invitations had been somewhat last minute, but everyone had accepted—everyone, that is, except Darcy’s Miss Bennet, but a few letters and coins had fixed that as well.

At least these Bennet people knew how to treat a viscount!

He had arranged for every servant to be on hand to greet his guests—all of them.

From the butler to the lowest scullery maid, they came and stood arrayed behind him like an army of prepared comfort and indulgence.

He wanted Lilly to see what she would have at her disposal.

But Lilly was among the last to arrive, and he had been forced to release them to their duties after all, gritting his teeth tightly as he gave permission for his butler to do so.

And then there she was, shown into the drawing room where everyone had begun to gather before they dressed for dinner. And she was perfectly kind to him.

He flung himself back into the softness of his bed. “Blast it to hell!”

There was none of the delicious awkwardness of amore .

She was neither too friendly, nor too unfriendly.

She was pretty and sweet and thanked Saye for including her in the invitation.

Including her? Wretched girl! Did she not realise the whole affair was for her?

Overcome by his distress, he crawled towards his pillow, digging down in the blankets and covering himself for a moment of sheer, unabashed pity of himself.

Oh, the pure misery of being denied that which he wanted!

He heard a gentle knock on the door. “Not ready, Mitchell,” he said, his voice muffled into his pillow. “I shall ring for you.”

Nevertheless, the door creaked open, and footsteps approached, and before Saye could react a large object leapt onto the bed, landing squarely atop him. For a moment, he thought his lungs were shattered. “Ahhhhhh!” Saye yelled. “What the devil? Who dares?—”

Flinging himself free of the blankets, he sat up and glared at his brother, seeing Darcy had also entered but, being more civilised, had chosen to take a seat rather than attempt to break every bone in his cousin’s body.

He shoved his brother, and his brother shoved him; then they began a mad tussle as in their youth which resulted in Fitzwilliam being pushed off the bed and onto the floor, narrowly missing the marble top of Saye’s night table.

“I nearly broke my skull!” Fitzwilliam protested.

“You nearly broke my skull, and you could have crushed Florizel,” said Saye, calmly straightening his waistcoat.

He pushed back the rest of the covers, freeing his legs before he stood, nodding to Darcy.

“Well, what say you both to this troubling evening? Did you see her? She was as near to indifferent as any woman could be.”

“She has only just arrived—” Fitzwilliam began.

“Yes, and at least she did arrive,” Darcy added. “So you have triumphed over me there.”

But Saye was not formed for uncertainty or despair. He began to pace the room. “I need to get her alone,” he said abruptly.

“Surely over the course of the days here?—”

“No, no.” He gave his brother a scornful glare. “I mean tonight. As soon as possible.”

“Give her some time?—”

“Time?” Saye threw up his hands, sending his brother a disgusted glare. “No wonder you do not have a woman. Darcy, do you hear this?”

“Walks are good,” Darcy said. “One can always ask a lady to walk out. It is how I proposed to Elizabeth, you know.”

“That is such a boring idea, I think I lost consciousness in the middle of it,” Saye replied, somewhat absently. An idea was forming, elaborate and uncommon, just like he was. “The point of this party is to show her that life with me will never be predictable and dull, yes?”

“And also how rich you are,” Fitzwilliam added helpfully. “Rich and spoilt.”

“True,” Saye acknowledged. A moment later, he snapped his fingers. “I have it. It is by far one of my best ideas ever, and you will both thank me for it.”

The idea, as he sketched it out to the other gentleman, was that there would be no dining table at dinner. Instead, there would be many small tables, designed to fit only two, at which the couples would dine. The tables would be spread amongst the main rooms.

“Dining room—the obvious one of course—and Father’s study, the library, all three drawing rooms, the main hall, and…

” He thought for a moment. “Ah! Of course. The orangery. Each lady will be given a room where she should remain the evening complete. After each course, the gentlemen will change rooms?—”

“How will they know where to go?” Darcy asked .

“I shall tell them,” Saye replied. He should have thought that was obvious but Darcy did need to ask about everything.

“Perhaps it should be done at random?” Fitzwilliam asked. “We could pick names from a hat and then?—”

“Forgive me,” Saye interrupted. “Did I give the impression I was in want of ideas? Because I assure you, I am not. I know just how it should be done.”

“This is not only your party, Saye,” Fitzwilliam retorted.

“Um, except yes, it is my party, and I shall decide who gets to eat where.” More soothingly, he added, “Do not fear, little brother, I shall favour you in all the arrangements. You will have every opportunity to sample the choicest wares, so to speak.”

Fitzwilliam opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again, no doubt recognising that too much protest could make his brother turn vindictive. Saye nodded, pleased by his perceptiveness.

“Darcy, alas, you will be forced to speak to people, but the pain should be of short duration.”

“Lady Aurelia’s dinners are never of short duration,” Darcy grumbled. “And I should imagine this one, even less so.”

“Oh Aurelia!” Saye snapped his fingers. “I daresay I should tell her of the change, should I not?”

Minutes later, Saye and Fitzwilliam’s younger sister stood in Saye’s bedchamber.

She was not a woman anyone would call pretty; the same features which had rendered Lord Matlock ruggedly handsome in his youth were less appealing on the female countenance.

She was enjoying her status as the married woman at this party, but Saye was determined she should remember just whose party it was.

“Where will we get so many tables?” she protested.

“Throw a cloth over a barrel,” Saye replied with a shrug. “I am sure I do not care.”

“But…but what about the arrangements, the flowers and…and the candles?—”

“We have enough candles in this place to light up all of Derbyshire. I shall speak to Fairbanks, I only wanted you to know about it.”

Lady Aurelia seemed tempted by this. She enjoyed having things done for her.

“Perhaps tomorrow would be better,” Fitzwilliam offered. “Give the servants some time to procure the needed items.”

“No. There is not a moment to lose. I have days, mere days, to do this, I cannot waste an evening.”

“But it seems unreasonable to ask the servants to rearrange the entire dinner?—”

“Have either of you ever induced a woman to break her engagement?” Saye demanded, his hands on his hips.

Fitzwilliam said, “Um, but Miss Goddard is not exactly betro?—”

“No, you have not. So pray, do not question my methods, yes?” He gave his brother and cousin both a stern glare.

Walking to his armoire, he opened it and withdrew a purse.

It was satisfyingly full, and he turned back to the other three, wagging it at them.

“See this? I shall give this to Mrs Fairbanks.”

“A wager to see which servant will wish you dead first?” Darcy asked.

Saye rolled his eyes. “No, so that when I upend all the plans and make everyone work twice as hard for the sake of satisfying my whims, their pockets will be a bit fuller for their efforts. And Fairbanks and Stevens will also have a bottle of the champagne to ease them into sleep tonight.”

“Champagne?” Lady Aurelia asked, a sudden gleam in her eyes.

“Where did you get champagne?” Fitzwilliam enquired.

Saye smirked at his brother. “You did not think I arranged this party without any help from Gertie?”

Darcy frowned and Saye grinned back, happily unconcerned.

Darcy disapproved of the connexion his relations maintained with Gertie Birdsell, a known and notorious smuggler, but there were advantages to be had in such friendships.

A carriage full of Veuve Clicquot when one was trying to impress a lady was but one of them.

“Now,” Saye announced, walking over to his writing desk. “I shall beg you all to leave me. I need to orchestrate a dinner—nay, many dinners!— for tonight.”

Those in service at Matlock were as diligent and well-trained as any to be had, and yet there was an undeniable clamour that arose somewhere around the time when they were all meant to be dressing.

When her maid entered while Lilly sat with Sarah and Georgette, Lilly wasted no time in pressing her for the news.

“Everyone seems to be in some agitation, Marleigh, do you know anything about it?”

“Lord Saye has proposed some alteration to the scheme for dinner,” said Marleigh. “I gather his demands are rather unusual.”

“Unusual?” Georgette, who had been perusing Lilly’s jewellery, paused. “How so?”

“Everyone is eating in pairs, and all spread out among the rooms. Little tables, or so I am told. His lordship thought nothing of upending Lady Aurelia’s plans for the evening.”

“Ohhh,” breathed the ladies in unison, exchanging excited glances. Lilly thought it sounded quite absurd, just the sort of thing Saye would do.