“—but you’re not responsible for Crispin. He’s old enough to make his own decisions.”
“Kit’s right, Pipsqueak,” Francis added. “You’ve been trying to talk the brat out of proposing to the harpy for months now. If he did it anyway, it’s not your fault.”
“I was unkind to him. I oughtn’t have been.”
“He’s been unkind to you for twelve years,” Francis said bluntly. “If he’s getting some of that returned, it won’t hurt him. And if he can’t handle it, that’s his problem.”
I supposed so. Francis was right, after all. Crispin wasn’t my responsibility. It was hard to escape the guilt I felt over the situation, but my family deserved better than to have to listen to me moan about it repeatedly. So I forced a smile and nodded. “You’re right. I suppose we’ll just have to get used to the idea offacing Lady Laetitia Marsden across the Christmas goose from now on.”
“We won’t be invited back to Sutherland Hall if she’s lady of the manor,” Christopher said, and Francis nodded.
“Laetitia, Viscountess St George, won’t want the likes of us cluttering up her dining room. Which is fine by me.” He stretched. “If I never see that brother of hers again, it won’t be too soon.”
I felt the same way, although I recognized the fact that we were talking about Constance’s cousins, and I didn’t want to say anything too harsh. Bad enough that Francis wasn’t holding back.
“I’m sure Geoffrey will have his own family by the time Laetitia becomes Duchess of Sutherland,” I said instead. “He has his own succession to worry about, after all. Just like St George, I’m sure he’ll be required to marry and carry on the Marsden name sooner rather than later.”
“I pity the poor woman who has to marry Geoffrey,” Constance said, so perhaps I had been more considerate than was necessary earlier. “I’m sure Lord St George will at least be discreet with his dalliances. Geoffrey is either too stupid or too venal to care what anyone thinks.”
“And this is the gentleman—” Uncle Herbert’s face twisted, “I use the word in its titular form only—who squeezed our Pippa into a corner of the sofa at the Dower House in May?”
Everyone nodded.
“That won’t happen this time,” Christopher said, and Francis nodded.
“We’ll keep you safe, Pipsqueak.”
“Thank you, Francis,” I said, and that was the end of that conversation.
CHAPTER TWO
“You owe me five pounds,”Christopher said the following afternoon, as we entered the small ballroom at Marsden Manor.
We had left Wiltshire after breakfast, the four of us in Constance’s burgundy Crossley with Francis behind the wheel. Aunt Roz and Uncle Herbert were following tomorrow in the Bentley, for the big sit-down dinner in honor of the happy couple, but they hadn’t wanted to deal with all the Bright Young Things that were sure to be crawling all over the manor until then. Tonight was for the young set, while the older generation—aunts, uncles, and grandparents—would be arriving tomorrow.
After a leisurely drive through the lower half of Wiltshire and into Dorset, with a stop at a local pub for luncheon, we had arrived in Marsden-on-Crane in time for afternoon tea. The clicking of cups and clinking of spoons and forks was audible from the other end of the vast entrance hall as we were admitted into Marsden Manor by the Marsdens’ butler, a spindly specimen of advanced age with a mostly bald pate and a bulbous nose.
“Good afternoon, Miss Constance,” he intoned, inclining his head a perfectly appropriate amount. “It is nice to see you backin Marsden, if I may say so. And this must be your intended. Good afternoon, Mr. Astley.”
“Hello, Perkins,” Constance smiled. “Yes, this is Francis. And his brother Christopher, and Miss Philippa Darling. She and I went to Godolphin together.”
Perkins ran an experienced eye over the two men, before coming to me. It felt as if he examined me a bit more intently than the other two, although it might have been my imagination. On the other hand, it might be that he had heard about me from Laetitia or her mother, too. Geoffrey might pursue me when I’m available, but I’m certain he wouldn’t spare me a thought when I’m out of sight, and Maurice, Earl of Marsden, would have had no reason to bring me up to his butler.
Laetitia, on the other hand, or Lady Euphemia, might well have given Perkins instructions on how to handle me. I wondered whether I’d end up stuck in the servant wing as if I were someone’s companion and not an invited guest in my own right.
“You will be staying on the first floor,” Perkins told Constance, as he gestured to the wide staircase. “Leave the luggage. Bert will bring it upstairs.”
A footman stepped forward out of the shadows as we were ushered up to the next level and to the left down the hallway. “Miss Constance—” Perkins indicated a door, “you’ll be in the Primrose room.”
Constance nodded, looking pleased.
“Miss Darling—” Perkins flicked a glance at me. “Your room is up one level, in Wisteria.”
“Thank you.” I looked at Constance’s door. There was a small plate on it with the name of the room painted on porcelain. Presumably it was the same upstairs.
“Perhaps the Misters Astley wouldn’t mind sharing a bedchamber? We have a full house this weekend, and some of the other guests are unaccompanied and unrelated.”
In other words, it was all right to ask Christopher and Francis to share a room, because they had arrived together, from the same place, and were brothers. Much harder to ask, for instance, theGrafvon Natterdorff to bunk up with the Viscount St George, and quite impossible to expect him to share a room with Francis.
