*
Beatrice had watchedwith interest when Van Doren was informed of the missing book of poetry. Those sorts of oversights drove him positively mad.
Whenever they all went on a picnic together, something was invariably forgotten. Van Doren would be sent for it, and then he would arrive back with mustard or rolls in hand and deliver his strongly worded lecture they’d long ago titled,The Value of Making a List.
Van Doren ought to have just thanked the stars that Juliet had discovered the oversight as early in the journey as she had. She was a poetess and could hardly be expected to proceed without her book of poems.
Though, Beatrice did not like the idea of Van Doren creeping round above stairs. And now that she thought about it, would Lewis be able to show him the way?
“Oh dear,” she said, “I am wondering if Lewis knows where your bedchamber is, Juliet.”
This gave all the ladies pause. Rosalind said, “You are right, Bea. I do not believe Lewis has ever been above stairs, save for the two times the house was on fire.”
“Lewis will at least know my room,” Cordelia said. “As that is where the sand buckets were going. Both times.”
The girls all nodded. Cordelia had twice set her curtains afire, from twice setting a stage to act as Desdemona. The candles on the windowsill were meant to be the footlights, as she had already burned holes in her carpet from placing them there. Her acting was far too energetic to allow for candles at her feet.
Ever since the two fires in as many weeks, she’d been relegated to acting out her plays in the drawing room under close supervision.
They were quiet for some time, all reflecting on the two nights the house had been on fire.
Finally, their aunt put their minds at ease when she said, “The new curtains that replaced the ones that went up in that unfortunate fireball are so pretty, though.”
They then moved on to other subjects, mainly having to do with the gowns and dresses that had been made for Beatrice’s come out.
The sisters could not keep their minds on clothes indefinitely, however. Not while Van Doren was creeping round their rooms doing who knew what.
“I suppose he’ll be wandering here and there, looking in doorways,” Rosalind said.
“I hope he does not go snooping,” Juliet said. “It would be just like Van Doren to snoop around.”
Beatrice hoped he did no snooping, too. There was something uncomfortable about imagining Van Doren standing in her bedchamber and looking at her things.
But on the other hand, shemightbe interested to hear how bowled over he was to see the paper-hangings she’d specially chosen. The peonies were the height of grace and taste and had taken months to decide on.
“If he does snoop,” Miss Mayton said, “it would only be to gather evidence against us to use in some later lecture. He cannot do it, though, without revealing he snooped. Let us see if he dares mention my rather extensive collection of romantic novels.”
“He’d never dare,” Juliet said.
“I do not suppose he would,” Miss Mayton said contentedly.
“Aunt, you did bring some of those books with you?” Rosalind asked. “One wonders what we’ll be able to scrape up in the Portland Place library. I expect it will be all old and dusty volumes. Darden would not have added to it, as he is not particularly a reader.”
“Of course I brought some of my novels, my dear. This evening, when we are all snug after dinner, I will read to you fromThe Terrible Goings-On of Montclair Castle. I have already read it, several times, and I can assure you the goings-on are both terrible and romantic. A one-eyed duke is in love with gentle Marianna the governess, after losing both his wife and his eye in a terrible carriage accident. But how could she love him when he’s only got the one eye?”
With that thrilling question hanging in the air, Beatrice heard the clip-clop of a horse. Van Doren was back and she crossed fingers that he had Juliet’s book.
He appeared by the carriage window with the precious notebook and handed it to Juliet.
She took it and clutched it to her heart. “You did not go snooping, I hope,” she said by way of thanks.
Van Doren looked just as irritated as Beatrice would imagine he would be.
“Very gracious, Juliet,” he said. He turned his horse and said, “Let us be off before anybody remembers a forgotten ribbon.”
Chapter Three
Matthew shifted inhis saddle. The sun was setting by the time they reached the outskirts of Hindon. He was beginning to wonder why he’d been so determined to ride, rather than go in his own carriage. He was also beginning to wonder how comfortable walking would be when he arose on the morrow.
