Page 10

She explained hurriedly, ‘I have spoken to George about curbing his language in front of the child. James is just at an age when experimenting with words excites him and we never quite know what he’ll come out with next.’

‘I’m all for unsettling proprieties. Wouldn’t life be unbearably dull if we always did and said only what was considered polite and acceptable?’ Lord Lynwood caught Lucie’s eye.

Mr Brabazon ignored this and turned back to Sybella. ‘My cousin tells me you will be coming to London for the Season. Have you a house there?’

‘No, but we will be staying with Lucie’s godmother, who resides in Green Street, quite close to Hyde Park, which will be pleasant as I intend to bring my horse.’

His gaze fell speculatively on the sisters. ‘My house is in Grosvenor Square, also quite close to the Park. Perhaps we will all be able to ride there one day.’ He had a sudden inexplicable desire to see Mrs Lovatt mounted on a fine horse.

Lord Lynwood turned to Lucie and asked her if she had played any more piquet. For some reason, this set them off in a merry peal of laughter. Both Sybella and Mr Brabazon looked across at these strikingly beautiful young people in their care, one dark, one fair. Their eyes met, but not with the comfortable recognition that their thoughts were in sympathy, for each had contrary hopes and plans for their wards.

Mr Brabazon walked over to the fireplace and leaned on the mantelpiece, a distant and disconsolate expression on his face. Sybella was struck by how similar he looked to the portrait of his father looming above him. Impetuously, she said, ‘Our father admired yours. He thought him a great sportsman.’

‘You could regard him thus. His record for a race on horseback from Hyde Park Gate to Newmarket stood for twenty years,’ was the languid reply.

‘Yes, until you beat it!’ exclaimed Lord Lynwood. ‘He didn’t appreciate that, Ant! Uncle Darryl was a rum duke – but a harder man I’ve never met.’ Sybella looked at Mr Brabazon’s face and was alarmed to see how set it had become, with just the twitch of a muscle at his temple betraying emotion.

‘But then my mother made up for it with her sweet nature,’ he said, brusquely turning the conversation from the personal. ‘We will both be leaving for London in two days.’

But Lord Lynwood was not about to be deflected. ‘You’re right, Ant, Aunt Ophelia was a saint. Kind to a fault. But I can’t think she had a cheerful life with that wicked old tyrant. He thought you a limb of Satan and she was forever protecting you from the lash of his tongue. Took courage, y’know.’

‘Hush, boy! You speak out of turn. You weren’t even born.’ Mr Brabazon’s usually dispassionate mode of speech had turned quick and harsh. Casting a dark look at his ward, he walked back towards his surprised guests.

After a moment’s silence, Sybella turned to their host and in her unruffled way enquired, ‘I remember our father commending the beauty of your lake. I wondered if it was created by a natural damming of a stream or some grand confection of Mr Lancelot Brown’s?’ She gazed sweetly up into Mr Brabazon’s brooding face and watched his brow clear. He smiled with a flicker of amusement at her diplomatic politesse.

He answered in the same imperturbable way, ‘My grandfather was indeed lucky enough to avail himself of Mr Brown’s skill. The shrubberies and the lake were entirely his vision, and yes, a stream was dammed and the picturesque stone bridge built at the far end.’ He had walked with Sybella to the window and pointed out the vista which shimmered in the slanting afternoon light. They watched as a pair of swans flew over the copse of silver birch to alight on the lake, their webbed feet extended in front of them creating a graceful arc of eddying water in their wake. Then everything was quiet again as the swans and their rippling shadows glided off towards the bridge.

‘What a beautiful sight!’ Sybella murmured, almost to herself.

Mr Brabazon’s voice was quiet beside her. ‘I can see, Mrs Lovatt, you are determined to make me appreciate my inheritance more.’ He led her back to Lucie and his cousin, who were laughing at some recollection of their tree-climbing exploits.

Sybella took Lucie’s hand, smiling in acknowledgement of both men. ‘Come, Lucie, we should be going.’

‘I’ll call for your groom to bring the horses round.’

‘Thank you so much for your hospitality, Mr Brabazon.’ She inclined her head and he took her hand. ‘And for letting us reacquaint ourselves with your house too.’

Both sisters turned to Lord Lynwood, who struggled to stand. ‘We are glad, sir, that you seem to be so quickly restored to health.’

‘I shall look forward to seeing you in London. Perhaps you will do me the honour of dancing the waltz, seeing as you’ve been practising so diligently at home.’ His teasing smile made Lucie blush, so easily was she disconcerted in his presence.

Mr Brabazon accompanied them to the front door and waited while Gem brought the curricle from the stables. He waved Gem aside and handed Sybella up into the driving seat himself. He held onto her gloved hand for a moment and, looking up at her, asked if he could drop by informally the following afternoon to see the new beehives. ‘I’m going to try to put your advice about managing my estate into practice.’ He smiled, but his eyes were hooded and his expression unfathomable.

Sybella and Lucie set off home, with Gem swung up behind. When they were out of earshot, Lucie turned to look at her sister with wide eyes. ‘Well! What do you make of that?’

‘That Lord Lynwood is a mischievous prattle-box and Mr Brabazon does not care to air his family business in public.’

‘I’ve never seen anyone look so thunderous. Positively menacing.’

Not as susceptible to melodrama as her sister, Sybella was more matter of fact. ‘Well, his cousin did not appear menaced to me, and he knows Mr Brabazon much better than we do.’

‘Yes, Lord Lynwood seemed to enjoy poking the hornet’s nest.’

‘As I said, he’s a mischievous young blood who is in need of some employment other than kicking up larks and brangling. No doubt he’ll go back to London to his fashionable ways.’

‘Oh, Bella, don’t be too hard on him. Not everyone can give their lives for their country. Not everyone can be a James.’

‘I know, my dear. But it disconcerts me to see a young man with so much energy and sanguine humour just fritter it away.’