Page 87 of The Work of Art

“It’s done on purpose, Lizzy, to make it look like a wilderness garden. Is that not right, Phyllida?”

Ignoring her bickering cousins, Philly ushered the party in and bid them sit down. In due course they were all supplied with tea and everyone proceeded to speak at once, engaging in multiple conversations that Philly could scarcely begin to follow.

“I say, where has Heywood got to?” Mr. Forsythe asked. “Don’t tell me he leaves you alone here all day.”

She attempted an answer. “No, indeed, sir—”

“I always suspected you had a fondness for Captain Heywood,” Abigail said. “From the first day he walked you home. Didn’t I say so, Lizzy?”

Lord Darly chuckled. “I wish you’d have shared your suspicions with me, Miss Abigail. It would have saved me a packet on a wager I made.”

“None of us suspected any such thing.” Elizabeth cast a severe glance at her sister. “When you and William didn’t return from your morning walk, Aunt Vale said perhaps you’d met with some villain in the park, but Evans told us you were carrying your valise, and Papa knew straightaway that you’d fled.”

Abigail nodded. “He said you’d try to return to Fox Cross by the stage. He sent men out to find you.”

“They returned no news of you,” Elizabeth went on. “It seemed as if you’d simply disappeared. Which you very well couldn’t have done with all of those dreadful dogs of yours.”

“I say, Mrs. Heywood.” Lord Darly’s gaze drifted warily around the room. “About those dogs…”

“They won’t trouble you, my lord,” Philly assured him. “I’ve sent them down to the kitchens.”

“Are your dogs often confined, Mrs. Heywood?” Mr. Forsythe asked.

Philly gave him a quizzical smile. “Not at all, sir. They spend most of their time in company with me.”

“And are all of them as vicious as Darly claims?”

“No, indeed. They’re truly quite gentle.”

“They bark excessively,” Abigail said. “The small one loudest of all. Papa was glad to be rid of them.”

“The dogs, perhaps, but not you, Phyllida,” Elizabeth said. “You should have seen the look on his face when Captain Heywood’s baggage coach came to collect your things later that morning. Aunt Vale fainted straight away into a chair.”

“Not straightaway,” Abigail corrected. “First, she called for her smelling salts. And then she insisted upon seeing the letter from Captain Heywood’s solicitor. It was while reading the letter that she fainted, for the solicitor had written that you and Captain Heywood were to be married.”

Elizabeth edged closer to Philly on the sofa. “They’re ever so angry with you. Papa says that because of you we may have to leave London.”

Philly’s conscience twinged. “I sincerely hope that won’t happen.”

“Who will handle my investments if Townsend decamps?” Lord Darly asked.

“You shall have to come and visit us often,” Abigail whispered to him. “I know Papa would give you advice on your investments if I asked him to. And since we are particular friends—”

“Ha!” Elizabeth gave a crack of laughter. “Papa would do nothing of the sort.”

“Tell us, Mrs. Heywood, what makes a lady refuse a duke only to accept a comparatively penniless second son?” Mr. Forsythe asked. “This has been troubling me no end. I have a personal interest in your answer, you see, being a second son myself.”

Lord Darly groaned. “Forsythe, you have been bemoaning your plight as a second son from the womb.”

“It’s a matter of love, Mr. Forsythe,” Abigail declared. “If a lady is in love, then it makes no difference whether the gentleman be a duke or a—”

“Love,” Mr. Forsythe repeated in a flat voice. His smile was brittle. “In my experience, when it comes to a lady’s heart, it isn’t love but lucre that carries the day.”

“Have you been disappointed in love, sir?” Abigail asked. “You shouldn’t let it discourage you from—”

“My sister’s knowledge of love comes from Lord Byron,” Elizabeth said. “Pay her no heed.”

The room once again devolved into several separate conversations. Philly’s guests spoke to her, and to each other, laughing, whispering, and talking over one another. Elizabeth murmured into one of Philly’s ears something about Mrs. Vale, and Lady Eliot made the occasional remark to Abigail, who was, in turn, straining to listen to a hushed conversation that Lord Darly was having with Mr. Forsythe.