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“She is rather feeble, isn’t she?” Laurie said, huffing once again. As though in answer to his question, Lady Helen shivered and sat back in her chair, complaining rather loudly.
“My lord, I do declare there is a draft from somewhere. Perhaps we could close this door? I’m prone to aches, you know.” She gestured toward a door nearby that happened to be behind where Laurie and Violette were standing.
“Laurie, could you get the door, please?” Lord Northrive called to them.
“Good god, we’ll all be running round for her now, won’t we?” Laurie moaned and turned to close the door. Violette bit her lip to fight her laughter as she looked around the table. The Duke of Overton and Lady Katherine seemed much more interested in talking with each other than anyone else, whereas Lady Helen seemed fully aware of the command that she held over all the brothers, and she was enjoying it.
“What happened to that port, my lord?” Lady Helen said, gesturing toward her empty glass. “If I get parched, I end up with a headache. We shall have to be careful.”
“Dear God, does everything come back to her health?” Laurie muttered as he reached Violette’s side again.
“It seems it does,” Violette said as she picked up the remaining port glasses and took them toward the table. As Laurie passed around the carafe, Violette pointedly placed one of the spare glasses she had picked up in front of Lord Northrive, using the opportunity to stand between Lord Northrive and Lady Helen’s places at the table.
“Mr Blake,” Lord Northrive said, looking up to her with a smile. Ordinarily, she would return that smile, but she felt no wish to at this moment. She was too angry at him for indulging in Lady Helen’s stolen touches. She wanted him to be immune to her charms. “You are quiet this evening. Is all well?”
“I—” Before Violette could answer, Lady Helen interrupted her.
“I do hope you are not suffering from an illness, Mr Blake. I have a delicate constitution!” Her complaint was met by worried words from Lord Catling and Peter, giving Violette the opportunity to look toward Laurie across the room. From behind the backs of all the people at the table, Laurie made a sickened gesture, clearly exasperated by Lady Helen’s latest complaint. Violette bit the inside of her mouth to stop from laughing at his jest.
“No illness to complain of, my lord,” she said, choosing to answer Lord Northrive and ignore Lady Helen’s outburst. She moved away, back to her place at the table, aware that Lord Northrive was watching her, yet it did not last long. Within a few minutes, he was turning back to stare at Lady Helen again and laughing at her jests.
Laurie leaned over to Violette from where he was sat beside her, lowering his voice to a whisper as he elbowed her.
“Tell me it is not just me, Mr Blake. Am I the only one who wishes they had not come?”
“Do not fear, Laurie,” she said with a sigh. “You are most definitely not the only one to wish that.”
Her eyes lingered on Lord Northrive, thinking of how close she had come to telling him in the stream earlier that day who she really was. That moment seemed as far from her now as her old life with her parents. Distant indeed.
***
“Do you not think Mr Blake is quieter than usual?” Marcus asked Walter as the two of them stepped out onto the terrace. The rest of the party had retired to the parlour, where Mr Blake and Laurie occupied themselves with a game of cards, whilst Peter sought to entertain Lady Helen and Lady Katherine in conversation. The Duke of Overton was quickly falling asleep in a chair in the corner, snoring, much to the dismay of his daughters.
“A little,” Walter said as he took his pipe out of his jacket and lit up the tobacco leaves.
Marcus turned his gaze away from the pipe and put a little distance between him and his brother, eager to be away from the stench of the smoke. He turned on the path and sat on a low-garden wall that marked the edge of the terrace, looking out over the estate with the sweeping hills and the dappling of white stars that was just visible above the trees in the parkland.
“Perhaps your friend is just a little tired?” Walter said, puffing on his pipe.
“Maybe,” Marcus said and turned his gaze back through the glass doors into the parlour. From his position, he could just about glimpse Mr Blake at the card table with Laurie. He seemed perfectly content with Laurie, smiling and chatting away. The sight of it brought a stark realisation. “Oh…maybe it is being around a Duke and his family?”
“Ah, I see what you mean,” Walter said, gesturing to Marcus with the end of his pipe. “Well, the second son of a Baron can’t rub shoulders with a Duke very often. Perhaps it has just wrongfooted your friend a little.”
“Perhaps,” Marcus agreed, though he was still not convinced.
“So, have you made your decision on which of the Duke’s daughters will make you a fine bride?”
“Shh! Keep your voice down. Someone in there may hear you,” Marcus said, pointing back into the parlour, much to Walter’s delight, who chuckled away.
“Lady Helen is rather striking, is she not?”
“Very striking indeed, it is just….” Marcus paused. His gaze slipped away from Mr Blake, back towards where Lady Helen was sat in the room, waiting for him to return. He couldn’t deny she was a beautiful woman, quite enchanting. Her charms certainly made Marcus forgive her frequent complaints against things, such as draughts or a chill in the house. “She is a little concerned about her health, isn’t she?”
“An intended understatement?”
“Could you doubt it?” Marcus asked, earning another laugh from his brother. “That does not bother me so much, though.” Yet with the words, his gaze slipped to Mr Blake, wondering why it wasn’t possible for a fine lady to have the kind of athletic constitution his friend had.
“What is it that bothers you then? Father clearly intends for you to marry before the next Season begins and has set up this visit with Lady Helen in mind as your bride,” Walter said cautiously in a quiet voice.
