Page 28 of The Ladies Road Guide to Utter Ruin (The Ill-Mannered Ladies #2)

28

To their credit, Lady Hester and Miss Grant came down to breakfast and sat with Julia, Charlotte, Mrs. Ellis-Brant, and me. The meal passed without any incident, going some way, I think, to soothing Lady Hester’s alarm.

And then came the true test. There is nothing quite like a gloomy, rainy day indoors to set my teeth on edge, particularly outside my own home. The usual indoor occupations of a genteel female guest—needlework, gossip, and artistic endeavors—were far from my favorite activities. If it had just been Charlotte and Julia, the time would have passed tolerably well. I could have read or gone to the stables to view the horses with their blessing. However, in a hurried whispered conversation among the three of us on the stairs before breakfast, we decided to keep Mrs. Ellis-Brant close to us throughout the day. An admirable plan to save Miss Grant and Hester from her presence.

The problem with that plan, however, was that Mrs. Ellis-Brant was close to us the entire day. Although I dearly wanted to escape the confines of the drawing room, I could not, in all honor, abandon Charlotte and Julia to her shrill company. It transpired that Mrs. Ellis-Brant had her own goals: to poke Julia about her health, slander Mr. Talbot in as many insidious ways as possible, and pass uncharitable judgment upon our mutual acquaintances.

By the time it came to dressing for dinner, even Charlotte was a little short with her cousin-by-law. We all parted at the staircase for our various dressing rooms, three of us breathing deep sighs of relief.

As was the custom of country living, the ladies were to meet the gentlemen in the drawing room before being escorted to the dining table. My sister, although still suffering a headache, had elected to come down to dinner. We met upon the landing, ready to descend. She had chosen an apricot silk gown with gold lace, the color adding some warmth to her pallor. I had chosen my favorite royal blue gown, its Grecian column cut swathed in silver net embroidered with stars and well suited to my tall, angular figure. Tully had also added some diamond star clips into my tonged curls, a decoration I had not indulged in for some time.

“I have not seen that gown in a while,” my sister whispered as we descended the stairs to the drawing room. “Is it for Lord Evan?”

“Maybe,” I said, feeling unaccustomedly coy.

My sister smiled and patted my arm. “Well, you look magnificent, my dear.”

The footman opened the drawing room doors to the sound of male voices.

“Ah, Lady Augusta, Lady Julia,” Porty said loudly.

The conversation stopped as we entered. A scan of the assembled gentlemen brought first the warm welcome of Evan’s gaze—my heart beating a little harder at that brief connection—then Mr. Ellis-Brant’s genial countenance, and then two faces I did not know. Two faces and two red uniforms.

“Allow me to introduce Captain William Morland and Lieutenant Henry Powers,” Porty continued, “currently in charge of the company who are dealing with the Luddites in the area.”

Good God, soldiers. No, worse. Officers, who may have received the description of a desperate criminal known as Hargate. Evan was still a wanted man, and not only by the murderous Mulholland. I glanced at him again. To all other eyes he no doubt seemed serene, but I saw the strain around his mouth.

The captain and lieutenant bowed, along with Evan, Porty, and Mr. Ellis-Brant. Julia and I curtsied our own greeting, and I could feel the same tension that gripped me radiating from my sister.

The captain was absurdly young: fresh-faced, with barely a beard. Probably a younger brother in a good family making a career in the army. For all his youth, however, he had shrewd blue eyes and a hint of humor about his mouth. His lieutenant was a little older—mid-thirties, perhaps—which must make for an interesting dynamic between them. He possessed a long, bony face that seemed settled into a morose expression, rather like a scent hound.

“Ah, you are already down,” Charlotte said behind us. She herded Miss Grant and the Ermine into the room. “Captain Morland, Lieutenant Powers, allow me to introduce Mrs. Ellis-Brant and Miss Dashwood. Mrs. Carter is not well enough to join us tonight, so I believe we are all here now.” As she spoke, Hanford arrived at the doorway, signaling with a bow of his head. “And I see that we are ready to dine. Shall we?”

Lord Davenport immediately offered his arm to me, Mr. Ellis-Brant to Charlotte, Evan to my dear Julia, the captain gave a smart salute to the Ermine, and Miss Grant took the lieutenant’s arm. A nicely balanced table, and one that I wished Evan was miles away from.

It transpired that Captain Morland was, indeed, the younger son of a nobleman who was also a particular university friend of Porty’s, thus the invitation to dine. They had met at the end of the boxing match, where the captain and the lieutenant had been keeping a close eye upon the assembled spectators.

“Are you expecting trouble?” Mr. Ellis-Brant asked, helping himself to the cheese tart. He sat next to Miss Grant and offered her a slice with a kindly smile. “I remember there was some problem in Yorkshire earlier this year.”

If Mr. Ellis-Brant meant the British Army gunning down some weavers at a mill near Huddersfield in March, then yes, there had been a problem. The weavers’ protest had been declared a deplorable situation—wanton destruction of machines and injury to innocent people—but I had rather thought the shooting of one’s own citizens who were fighting to maintain a livelihood just as deplorable. Not a popular opinion, but in my mind such violence set a dangerous precedent.

“There was some unrest in Yorkshire, and in Manchester,” the captain said, beside me. “And we have received intelligence that there could be more trouble here.” He looked around the table, realizing the effect of his words upon Miss Grant and my sister, who had both ceased to chew. “However, I would not wish the ladies to be concerned in any way. I doubt there will be any unpleasantness this far west. Besides, the Yorkshire outcome significantly dampened their activities.”

“Yes, I am sure it has dampened their activity,” I said dryly. “Men and women were shot, or rounded up and will be either hanged or transported.”

“Well, they are criminals,” the Ermine said, nibbling at a sweetbread. She sat beside Evan, who, understandably, had been rather taciturn during the first remove. “They should bear the consequences of their actions.”

“They are fighting to survive,” I said. “The machines are destroying their livelihoods and their rights.”

“They killed a man trying to protect his mill,” the captain said mildly, spooning out peas from the silver bowl. “I am sure you do not support such violent action, Lady Augusta.”

“Of course not,” I said, although considering the past few months, perhaps I was not the best candidate to condemn violent action. “But as I understand it, they attempted to negotiate in a peaceful manner, but no one—neither mill owner nor government—would listen to their concerns. It seems they have been driven to extremes.”

“Well, I feel any minute you might stand up from the table and join their cause. Such vehement defense of the indefensible,” Mr. Ellis-Brant said jovially, but with some censure in his voice as well. “You are misguided by your womanly compassion, Lady Augusta.”

I gritted my teeth. Why was it that any analysis made by a woman was attributed to emotion rather than logic and therefore demeaned?

“I do not defend, Mr. Ellis-Brant, merely debate,” I said, stabbing at a recalcitrant carrot. “What is your opinion on the matter, Captain?”

“It is not for me or Lieutenant Powers to have private opinions about our orders or, sometimes, I think, opinions at all,” the captain said drolly. His subordinate allowed a wry smile to touch his lips. “However, the Luddites have been marked as a danger to our way of life, and so the British Army has been sent to address that danger.”

Porty waved over the footman with the wine decanter. “Good thing too. We don’t want a situation like the French, do we? Killing their king and replacing him with a devil like Bonaparte.” He waited for his glass to be filled, then picked it up. “A toast, to the brave efforts of our soldiers here”—he angled his glass first at the captain and then at the lieutenant—“and on the Continent.”

We all picked up glasses, lifted them, and drank.

I looked across the table at Evan: They are here for the Luddites, not you.

He tilted his head: Maybe, but this is a little too close for comfort.

True. But Evan could hardly absent himself from the table without causing unwanted attention.

“What kind of trouble do you anticipate, Captain?” Evan asked politely. A seemingly innocuous question, but he was probing. “Has there been some activity?”

“We have agents in the area, Mr. Talbot. They have infiltrated some of the groups and report back to us. At present, all is quiet, so we do not anticipate immediate action.”

“And you are here, too, for our protection,” Miss Grant said, smiling across the table. “Do you intend to stay for long?” Her demeanor was almost flirtatious, an unexpected direction.

“Indeed we do, Miss Dashwood, and in good number.”

On that reassurance, and the arrival of more sweet dishes, the general conversation broke up into more private discussions.

“When you say agents, do you mean agents provocateurs?” I asked the captain.

“A provocative question in itself, Lady Augusta,” he said.

For all the threat of him, I rather liked Captain Morland.

“I have heard that the government has employed such creatures,” I said.

“From whom? I would not wish to think such matters are the subject of idle gossip.” Although asked in a nonchalant way, it was a pointed question. A sword drawn.

“At a salon where Lord Sidmouth was speaking about such matters,” I said. Not entirely the truth, but close enough.

He smiled, knowing I had parried his sword. “Not idle gossip, then?”

“No, although there would be those who would consider the new prime minister idle,” I returned. “But what do you think of such a possibility? Is it right that people of little means and less hope are incited into breaking the law?”

He gave a small bow. “As we have already established, Lady Augusta, I have no opinions.” He picked up a plate of dessert. “May I offer you some flummery?”

I bit back a laugh but could not hide my smile of appreciation. “I believe I have had my fill, Captain.”

The captain returned the smile and helped himself to the dessert.

How easy it would be to dismiss such a young man as a product of nepotism rather than skill and talent. A mistake that, no doubt, many had made to their disadvantage. Captain Morland had the self- possession of a man twice his age, and I suspected his mind was as keen as his wit. And more often than not, wit and intuition traveled hand in hand.

The captain clearly received a great deal of information from his sources. Maybe I could discover how much danger truly surrounded Evan. A tantalizing prospect, but did I dare ask the captain about a certain escaped convict? Was it too much of a risk? A question might—if it was maladroit—unintentionally focus such a keen mind upon the subject of criminals and then possibly upon the man with a scar who sat opposite him. Admittedly it was a small risk. Who would, after all, think the well-dressed gentleman—who sat at Lord Davenport’s dinner table—could be a desperate criminal? Even so, a risk.

It seemed I could dare. With as much sangfroid as I could muster, I selected a macaroon from a plate and asked, “Does that quietude extend to the roads, Captain? If the weather improves, I intend to ride out tomorrow and I have always believed the roads here are safer than those near London. Yet there have been so many reports of highwaymen and ruffians in the papers. I have even read there is an escaped convict roaming the countryside. I do not wish to come upon such danger.”

I knew Evan was listening, his chin angled toward our conversation, his relaxed attitude belied by the clenched fist around his fork.

I tried not to hold my breath as I offered the captain the plate and he chose his own fancy. “We have received a dispatch about an escaped convict turned highwayman,” he said, placing the biscuit neatly on his plate and nodding his thanks, “but that is a countrywide alert. He is unlikely to be this far west. Even so, if you are concerned about such dangers, then perhaps it might be prudent to stay within Lord Davenport’s extensive grounds.”

The main danger I could see was the man sitting beside me currently biting with some appreciation into a macaroon, but I managed to smile.

“A good thought, Captain.”

I glanced at Evan, but he was in polite conversation with Miss Grant, the very epitome of a well-bred gentleman, with his face—and scar—turned from the view of Captain Morland and Lieutenant Powers.