“And not for the better.”
“No, sir.”
“Are they specific?”
Another hesitation and a hard swallow. “That you are... more distant. Reserved. And that when you first returned, you were quite ill.”
“I was drunk, Booth. Not ill. Morose and mean. You did not come on ’til that had passed. I am surprised I did not send some of the maids fleeing for safety.”
“They do think you are better now.”
“But not back to my old self.”
“No, sir.”
Michael turned and checked his image in the mirror. Suitable, he thought, if not superior. “I doubt I will ever be that, Booth.”
“No, sir.”
Time for a different conversation. “When I return from my call on Beckcott Hall, I will be accompanying Lord Robert to Covent Garden. If I have not returned before midnight, I will undress myself. Go on to bed. No use in you losing sleep as well.”
“Yes, sir.”
Booth scooped up the detritus of Michael’s toilette and change of clothes and left silently. Michael continued to stare in the mirror. Hehadchanged, in many ways. Less naïve. More worldly. Less trusting. Lady Clara intrigued him, but a nag at the back of his mind reminded him she was still a lady of Society, and possibly prone to the machinations they all seemed to learn at an early age. He sometimes wondered if women were taught by their governesses how to deceive men at the same time their brothers were learning Latin and mathematics.
He tested the fit of the topcoat by rolling his shoulders. Although it had been made for him in the spring, it—like the waistcoat—fit a bit more snugly than he preferred. His work with the horses had been beneficial, physically as well as mentally. And quite possibly socially, if Robert’s idea had any merit to it.
His brother’s goal felt remarkably ambitious, even for Robert. He wanted to take the boys’ school that his mentor and business partner—Bill Campion—had been supporting and move it to the estate in Maidstone that Bill had confiscated from a man deeply in debt to him. The place had been abandoned for years, and the house needed refurbishing and the land and tenancies put in charge of a steward who knew how to turn them around. The money involved would be astronomical, and Michael had no idea where Robert would get it. But he had assured Michael it would be available.
Most of all, Robert wanted Michael to take charge of the stables. The estate no longer owned any livestock, which would require a number of animal purchases, as well as a new staff. Robert wanted the boys to learn to ride, and also to build a breeding herd.
The entire conversation at breakfast had amused but interested Michael. Robert had long been the most Town-oriented of the four children, with no affection for the countryside at all. This new direction could only be laid at the feet of one person: Lady Eloise Surrey.
Robert’s fall from grace had been swift and devastating, and it had separated him from the woman he loved. So he immediately sought solutions to the dilemma, determined to prove himself to Lady Eloise’s father as well as to the lady herself.
“What we do for women, eh?” he asked the mirror, which remained silent. He looked down, checking the toes of his boots once again, then pivoted and headed out.
*
Thursday, 4 August 1825
Beckcott Hall, London
Quarter of two in the afternoon
Clara jerked toa halt just inside one of the downstairs receiving rooms, causing Radcliff to bump into her.
“My lady? Is something wrong?”
Clara inhaled deeply and straightened her shoulders. “Do you hate these afternoons as much as I do? The room always smells like Mother’s perfume and all we do is stare at each other.”
Radcliff brushed by her and headed to the far window, setting her sewing box on the floor next to the waiting armchair. “Well, I intend to do quite a bit of sewing today, my lady. You have ripped out two more hems this week. And I need to repair the fichu that kitten snagged on Saturday. We really must remember to close the dressing room door.”
Clara grimaced and trod to the settee facing the door and not far from Radcliff’s chair, her embroidery hoop dangling from her fingers. She dropped it onto the settee along with her gloves and a book she had tucked under one arm. “No one comes. Ever. It is as if I’ve already been consigned to a solitary country existence. But at least there I would have Maid Marian.” Plenty of callers had come round the year of her debut, but far fewer since. This year... none so far. Clara often felt like an abandoned pup on the side of a road, watching the glittering carriages rush by. Another reason she despised the city.
“Downstairs they are saying a duke is to stop in today.” Radcliff perched on the chair and arranged her skirts.
“Perhaps.”
