“I suppose your maid will spread the tale far and wide.”
“Oh no,” Miss Upton said, “I have spoken to her about it and she shan’t say a word. She really will not, her opinions were vastly modified upon witnessing it.”
“Her opinions were modified? I had not known she had any.” Though he said it, the truth was he knew full well that Bemmy had opinions about him.
“Perhaps she was mistaken in having them. That does sometimes happen, I think. A person develops an opinion and then they discover they were mistaken.”
“Yes,” Richard said thoughtfully, “that does happen. Probably more often than one might imagine.”
“Yes, I think so too.”
They were silent for some moments, the only sound the footfalls of a footman hurrying across the marble floor of the front hall and a rather loud yawn from Edgar.
“I understand we will attend the Regent’s ball after all,” Miss Upton said.
“Youwill attend, I will go nowhere near it in my current condition.”
“Your eye. That was my fault.”
“Looking away from my opponent, clumsy as he was, wasmyfault.”
“Still, the fault was mine for having been there.”
“Perhaps we should dispense with faults, as it seems we could go on all day.”
“I have determined to rectify my own,” Miss Upton said. “Going forward, I will never give Lady Easton even a moment of worry.”
Lady Easton came back to the room with Bramley and the footmen close on her heels.
The footmen built the fire and the lady said, “What do you think, Bramley? If we move that chair just there, Caroline will be close to the fire.
It was all arranged neatly and with little fuss. Richard took up his book and Miss Upton took up her sewing and Lady Easton wrote letters. Edgar, seeing there was no food on offer for him, took up his second favored activity—sleeping as close to the fire as he could manage.
It was quiet in the drawing room, the only interruptions being Bramley with a tea tray and Lady Easton insisting on Caroline taking a sandwich to strengthen herself after her frigid dip in the sea. Edgar had lifted his head hopefully at the arrival of sandwiches, but as Lady Easton’s eyes were upon him, he yawned and went back to sleep.
Though the room was quiet, Richard’s thoughts were not. He ought to feel very relieved that he’d made his apology to Miss Upton, but somehow he felt worse. She’d taken his condemnations on the chin and vowed to do better.
Who was he to direct the actions of a young lady and make her feel so badly for being…what? Young and impetuous. That was what she was.
What else should she be? Oh, he and his aunt had lauded the idea of a lady being demure. That quality was held up to be the highest accolade. He was afraid he’d been so enthusiastic about the idea because it would be very convenient to never be challenged or worry that the lady had her own ideas about things.
Of course that was it. Was not Lady Cecilia Gentian considered exceedingly demure? And yet, he found sitting next to her at a dinner a positively painful operation. She was more batting eyelashes and staring at her plate than she was conversation. The most notable thing he’d ever heard her say wasHeavens.
Now here was Miss Upton—intelligent and full of life—and he’d found that unsettling.
All along he prided himself that he was full of good sense. But had he been too regimented in his opinions, expecting anybody in his sphere to fall in line? Had he been too condemning of anything he would not do or think himself? It was beginning to seem as if he were turning into a bit of a stick.
*
The duchess, havingalready dragged Caroline into the sea, was determined to drag her all over Brighton. Three days in a row she arrived to escort Miss Upton to the shops and the seaside. It had been decided between Lady Easton’s friends that Caroline would always have an escort among them, but it was then further decided by the duchess that she was the only one suitable.
Lady Redfield was ruled out as she’d already lost track of Miss Upton once.
Lady Featherstone, fashioning herself as a keen crime solving mind since having won Lord Ryland’s mystery ball the season before, was far too busy attempting to discover who made off with several nets belonging to a local fisherman. Or, as the duchess put it—Anne was last seen examining a patch of grass with a quizzing glass. One presumes this is where the nets were last located and that she hopes a passing ant or beetle will stop and reveal where they have gone.
Lady Mendleton was not a very good walker, preferring her carriage to her legs on account of her penchant for marzipan.
Lady Heathway was too good a walker. She had grown up a vicar’s daughter and had spent her childhood walking over hill and dale to visit parishioners. Lady Heathway’s walk was everybody else’s sprint.
