Page 10 of The Derbyshire Dance (Kendall House #3)

Chapter seven

Dinner

T he Brownlees kept a good table, and Bel, as loath as she was to admit it, was forced to compliment the hostess on the superior quality of Brownlee mutton.

“Thank you, my dear,” said Mrs. Brownlee, “but that is all due to Harold. He keeps the sheep quite plump and happy, and Cook has little work on his own to make them tender for the table.”

Bel nodded. No wonder Mr. Brownlee’s steward could command a premium for his flock at the market.

Brownlee sheep were famous at auction. She had spent five years increasing the size of her flock and had only begun to sell them at market in the last two years.

Ignoring Mr. Lymington’s quizzical look, she began to calculate how much lower she would have to price her flock to convince more buyers to take a risk on an untried sheep owner.

The hostess turned to the vicar, eager to draw out the guest of honour. “You must tell us about your home country, Mr. Townsend. ”

“Indeed,” said the vicar, setting down his water goblet with a smack of the lips.

“My mother resides in Shropshire, which is where I was raised. My father, regrettably, died before I was born.” The vicar’s voice held little evidence of sorrow over that fact, but Bel supposed that it was difficult for him to diminish the enthusiasm of his tone, no matter the subject matter on which he spoke.

“Goodness, me!” said Mrs. Brownlee. “So, you never knew him?”

“No, he was an officer in the navy and perished in battle shortly before my birth. My mother received a regular pension, and we lived comfortably in Shropshire with enough for my school fees to be paid when I came of age to go to Eton and Oxford.”

Mr. Brownlee, at the other end of the table, began to speak loudly to Mrs. White and the elder Mr. Ferris about the upcoming Christmas season.

Apparently, he was already familiar with the vicar’s family history and had no need to hear it again.

Caught in the middle of the table, Bel found it difficult to follow either conversation, but her neighbour at her elbow leaned in with remarks of his own.

“Who would have thought our British naval administration would be so generous?” Mr. Lymington’s dark eyebrows lifted, and his mouth took on a faintly sardonic twist that seemed to be there more often than not.

“Generous?”

“To the good vicar and his mother. I have never heard of naval pensions taking care of women and children so admirably.”

“Such a matter is outside my knowledge,” said Bel, “but my experience is no doubt narrower than your own. Have you lived in London your whole life, Mr. Lymington? ”

“London, primarily, but also here and there.”

“Where is here? And where is there?”

“In Lincolnshire, if you must know. My family seat—er, my family seems to have put down roots there shortly after the Conquest.”

“I’ve heard Lincolnshire has prime land for farming.”

“Does it?” Mr. Lymington swirled the wine around in his glass. “I wouldn’t know. And for the past few years I’ve resided almost exclusively in London.”

“What is it you do while you are in London?”

“My dear Miss Morrison, must I do anything?”

“You are far less forthcoming than Mr. Townsend. At least we now know who his parents were and how his school fees were paid. For I assume you did go to school. However annoying you are, you at least go about it in an educated fashion.”

Mr. Lymington smirked and Bel could see that she had amused him rather than provoked his temper. “My father paid my school fees.”

“And how did your father get the money for that?”

“From his father before him.”

“So, you come from a moneyed family?” Although Aunt Lucy might deplore it, Bel had no reticence in talking about finances.

“Er, yes. Although I find myself rather short of the stuff right now.” Mr. Lymington gave a longsuffering sigh. “In truth, I have to tell all the ladies that—to stop them from throwing themselves at me.”

“How difficult that must be for you. I hope you did not mistake my questions as a declaration of interest.”

“I believe I am sufficiently acquainted with you to avoid making that fatal presumption. ”

Bel could see the vicar eyeing them suspiciously, no doubt trying to make out what their conversation was about.

Her acquaintance was of no longer date with Mr. Townsend than it was with Mr. Lymington, but somehow the former seemed quite put out that the latter had her attention.

Perhaps it had something to do with his role as shepherd of the flock to which Bel belonged.

Or perhaps he knew something untoward about Mr. Lymington.

After all, they both had arrived recently from the same metropolis.

Mr. Lymington addressed himself to his food, took a bite of the pheasant, and let out a moan of satisfaction. “Seasoned to perfection, wouldn’t you agree, Miss Morrison?” Without waiting for an answer, he plunged ahead. “Magpie would enjoy this pheasant. Perhaps I ought to bring some home for her—”

“Magpie will not be visiting you again,” said Bel curtly, “so you can leave your pheasant on your plate.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that. She seems to know where she is valued.”

“Upon my word, Mr. Lymington, just because I do not take tea with my cat does not mean I do not value her. It’s just like a Londoner to pamper a cat instead of putting her to use. Magpie is a valuable mouser—”

“Not everything’s value is predicated on its use.”

“Where else is value derived?” demanded Bel.

Mr. Lymington’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “In the joy that it gives to us. Or in the beauty that it gives to the world.”

Bel stared back at him. If he had been more flippant, she would have suspected that he was still flirting with her. But he seemed to be in earnest about the subject—and looking through her rather than at her .

His philosophising was faintly demoralising.

She knew she was no beauty, but she also knew that her diligent industry and her care for the people beneath her were enough to render her valuable to the community.

And as for joy, she knew that to be the least essential of all her emotions.

Duty was what sent a person out to the sheepfold on a stormy night.

Duty was what kept the barley and rye planted on time each season.

Duty was what kept a woman summing the ledgers for a brother who had been gone for nearly seven years.

For Mr. Lymington to predicate value on beauty and joy was the outside of enough! But it was typical of a Londoner who cared about little more than the surface of things. Bel’s lips parted to say something cutting, but plump Mrs. Brownlee interjected before the words came out.

“You must tell us, Mr. Lymington, how long you mean to stay in Derbyshire? Will you be here for Christmas?”

“Why, that’s yet to be determined, ma’am.” Mr. Lymington gave Mrs. Brownlee a warm smile.

“Will the Audeleys be back for Christmas?” asked Bel. She could not imagine that it would be appropriate for Mr. Lymington to stay under the same roof as Mrs. Audeley, not after his startling confession about how their acquaintance came to be.

“I think…not,” said Mr. Lymington. “In fact,” he said, his tone turning conspiratorial, “it is highly likely that you will soon hear some news about Mrs. Audeley.”

“Oh?” said Mrs. Brownlee, her cheeks pinking with interest.

“What news would that be?” asked Aunt Lucy, catching wind of an interesting subject from her seat farther down the table .

Mr. Lymington held up a hand in protest. “I am sorry, dear ladies, but it is not my news to tell. Although, the one hint that I can share is that Mr. Townsend will likely be the first to know of it.” He cast a sly look at the vicar.

Bel’s forehead furrowed. Why would the vicar be the first to know?

He had not even met Mrs. Audeley—unless he too had become acquainted with her in London.

But she had no intention of teasing Mr. Lymington further about the subject.

For some inexplicable reason, she disliked hearing Mr. Lymington talk about their attractive widowed neighbour.

Bel cleared her throat and looked away from her dinner partner to Mr. Townsend across the table. “Have you found the church in satisfactory repair?” she asked the vicar, ignoring the smirk of humour on Mr. Lymington’s face at hearing her voice such a dull question.

“In the main,” said the vicar. He began to elaborate on the repairs that his predecessor had made recently and the repairs that would need to be done in the next twelvemonth.

“The ledgers at the vicarage have made most informative reading. At least the roof is now in good repair, for the rainstorms that we’ve had this past week would have wreaked havoc on the chancel had Mr. Davies not possessed the foresight to have the steeple repaired two seasons ago. ”

“Indeed,” said Bel. “I have some tenants whose roofs need attention before long.”

“My dear Miss Morrison, what a burden for you to carry. Surely, Mr. Brownlee’s steward could assist you with finding labourers for the work?”

“I have men of my own who can do the work,” said Bel brightly, trying not to grit her teeth at the vicar’s officious sympathy .

“Townsend,” interrupted Mr. Lymington, “you must have found current information about the parish tithes in those ledgers. How does it look, eh? Are you glad you took the position?”

The vicar cleared his throat in dismay at the Londoner’s forthright question. “Mr. Lymington, I don’t believe that is quite a topic for dinner conversation—”

“Ah, but you only get the lesser tithes, I suppose?” said Mr. Lymington, ignoring the vicar’s discomfort. “And the greater tithes go to whom? Brownlee, I would wager?”

“It’s no wagering matter,” said the vicar, now visibly put out. “Of course, he receives the greater tithes as he had the right of advowson.”

“But he does give you a stipend as well,” ventured Mrs. Brownlee.

“Indeed,” said the vicar, his bright blue eyes sparkling with annoyance, “but that, again, is nothing that need be discussed.” His frown put a full stop to that topic of conversation.

“Mrs. Brownlee, perhaps you might tell us what charity cases there are within the parish and how well they are being tended to?”

The plump hostess changed the subject as the vicar desired.

Bel addressed herself once more to her mutton, and Mr. Lymington, after those teasing comments toward the vicar, behaved himself for the rest of the dinner.

But every so often Bel caught him staring at her with a cheeky smile on his face as if all the world was a joke that the two of them could share.