Page 24

If Mrs. Sebastian did not want to marry him, Horace Langworthy, all well and good—he did not want to marry her either. But it did not therefore follow that she should be permitted to fascinate poor, defenseless Rearden.

There was nothing to be gained by putting the curate on his guard, however.

Ten to one it would plant an idea in the man’s mind which would not enter it for some time, if ever, were the matter left alone.

Not that the matter could be trusted to be left alone, if Mrs. Sebastian set her mind to it, and if the likes of Mrs. Lamb and Harry Barbary were going to be proclaiming it from the house-tops.

No.

He must put into motion his own scheme after all.

At least Rearden’s frolicking and Mrs. Sebastian’s overlavish pleasure were here cut short by Mrs. Dere calling for their attention.

“Welcome, boys, Mr. Langworthy. Now that you are here, you may help us prepare the room. And Dr. Rearden, you must catch your breath, for as long as you are present, you certainly must stay to see how the Tommies progress, and I hope I might prevail upon you to make one of the set. No, no, I insist.”

With hidden impatience Langworthy waited while their hostess arranged and explained and instructed.

With hidden impatience he partnered maladroit Tommy Wardour, grateful when the boy managed to remember his steps and get where he needed to be at appropriate times.

With hidden impatience he suppressed the urge to speak with Mrs. Sebastian whenever their paths crossed in the figures, or to catch her eye knowingly.

And with hidden impatience (and a stern set to his jaw) he said and did all that was expected when they gathered for refreshments and Mrs. Dere announced to general delight, “Now that Candlemas has passed, the baron and I have decided that the long-awaited children’s ball will be held here at Perryfield, and we propose the last Saturday of the month. ”

For this long forbearance, Langworthy was rewarded by Mrs. Dere assigning Mrs. Sebastian as a partner to him when the lesson recommenced.

To this was added another piece of luck after the two of them had traveled up the room and were waiting for their turn to rejoin the set: Tommy Wardour chose that moment to become completely addled, letting not his left foot know what his right foot was doing, so that he made an utter bungle of it, and all came to a standstill.

“Poor Tommy,” murmured Mrs. Sebastian. “Perhaps Mrs. Dere should have left things as they were, for he didn’t blunder so when he danced with you.”

“Perhaps. But he can’t go the rest of his life dancing only with me, so he had better begin trying other partners now. It wouldn’t even be right for me to claim more than two of his dances at the children’s ball, you know—think how people would talk.”

Seeing the corners of her mouth curl, he felt absurdly pleased with himself, though in truth a half smile could not compare with her hilarity at Rearden’s antics. But he would take care of Rearden.

“Speaking of people talking,” he began again, “despite my short tenure in Iffley, I unexpectedly find myself among the village’s best informed.”

Though she said nothing, her eyebrows clearly asked, “What can you mean, sir?” and he gave an abbreviated bow in response. “I have you to thank, madam, for my plunge into Iffley undercurrents, for it was you who introduced me to Harry Barbary and suggested I give him what instruction I could—”

“I said nothing about instruct—”

“—And I have learned as much from him as he from me, I daresay. But pardon me, Mrs. Sebastian—” (with another little bow) “—I interrupted you interrupting me.”

Knowing she would not deign to ask what Harry Barbary was teaching him, he helpfully added, “Perhaps because of his fellow employer Mrs. Lamb, nothing passes (or threatens to pass) unnoticed in the village. Which is how I learned some felicitations may shortly be due to you.”

She took the bait, her eyes sparking. “ What felicitations?”

But Tommy Wardour had at last grasped the subtleties of the hey and made it through the pattern without stumbling, drawing Langworthy and his partner back into the figures.

Five full minutes passed, in which she moved through the steps correctly and even gracefully, but the instant they arrived at the bottom of the set and waited once more, she repeated, “What felicitations?”

He made a face of mock surprise. “Need I elaborate?”

“As I am unaware of anything for which I need to be congratulated, you had better,” she said tightly, sotto voce .

“You cannot be unaware!” A plaintive sigh escaped him. “I suppose, when once a lady finds herself in high request, the names and faces must begin to blur.”

“To my knowledge, sir, my name has only ever been paired with the man who was my husband.”

“Though even your husband paired it with one other , if you will forgive my mentioning it.”

“It is hardly likely I would forget it,” she replied, her hands clutching each other with marble rigidity, “and for someone who was refused, you allude to it with surprising frequency. May I therefore request that you refrain from mentioning it ever again?”

He swept a gloved finger across his lips, as if brushing something away, but she saw the infinitesimal hesitation halfway along, the universal sign for secrecy.

“Fortunately,” he whispered, in the whisper which was not quite a whisper, “I need not mention your rebuff of me again here, distasteful as it is to you. Rather my embryo congratulations concern you and someone else altogether. That is, I hear from Harry, who heard it no doubt from the mistress of the Tree Inn, who heard it from—but I see you ‘sit upon hot cockles’ till my tale be told, and I will cut short my ramblings—in brief, they say you grow weary of widowhood and now aim for our new curate.”

If she had been tinder she could not have gone up in a more satisfying blaze, and Langworthy did not even try to resist tossing further fuel on the fire.

“No one criticizes you for it, naturally,” he resumed.

“For thinking him a worthy object, I mean. A prudent and respectable one, despite his—er—seniority and—well—the…extravagance of certain features.” (This last he delivered with fingertips splayed by his jaw, like a man trying to remember a word which escaped him, or like a man imitating the wave of luxurious whiskers.)

And though her eyes were fire, Mrs. Sebastian had recovered enough self-command to reply, her voice shaking only the tiniest bit.

“I will thank you to tell Harry Barbary and—and—whosoever might follow in that chain of gossip—that I utterly deny making that person or, indeed, anyone else my ‘object.’ It is a complete invention, a fabrication from beginning to end, born of minds which have too little to occupy them, and to say I resent it cannot be stated too strongly. Nor need you shrink back like that, as if you felt the rebuke,” she added, her hands clenching and then—with an effort—unclenching, “when you know very well you are enjoying the whole situation.”

She had him there.

Because Langworthy was undeniably enjoying the whole situation.

Not only for the success of his scheme (he would offer odds to all comers now that she would not accept Rearden if he were the last man on earth), but also because the sight of Mrs. Sebastian ablaze did much to warm the cockles of his heart.

Even better, upon re-entering the dance, when young Miss Maria peered in her sister-in-law’s stony face she blurted, “I’m sorry, Sarah! Was your hand supposed to be on top?”

“What? No, dearest, you did nothing,” answered Mrs. Sebastian, turning even redder. “It’s—a toothache.”

But that only made matters worse, Langworthy imagined, for at once the music and dancing halted, and Mrs. Sebastian was engulfed in kindly concern, subjected to a half-dozen questions and a full account from Dr. Rearden of past remedies he had used in his own case, along with their relative efficacy.

Yes, altogether a good day’s work, Horace congratulated himself, and he trusted Harry Barbary would keep him apprised of the aftermath.

Whistling merrily as he and Rearden walked back to the rectory with the Tommies, the parson gave him a nudge of the elbow and murmured, “What did I tell you, Langworthy? Nothing like a change of scenery and new friends to lift the spirits. I’ll wager you didn’t think once all morning of having a broken heart. ”