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Chapter 8
Time Enough Later
“Morton!”
“Fletcher,” Edward answered in a flat tone. He did not look up from his desk, nor did his pen cease its whirling dance on the page, but he could tell Jonathan was standing in the study doorway with his characteristic smile and casual posture.
Edward continued writing, heedless of Jonathan strutting about the room, picking up books and setting them down in different places, sitting in one chair with a crash, then another when that failed to get a rise out of him. He gritted his teeth, trying to remain focused on the mammoth pile of letters he still needed to answer.
“Therefore, Your Eminence,” Edward continued to write, “due to the present familial circumstances facing the new Duke St. George, His Grace will be unable to attend the gala to which you have graciously invited him. This is a most upsetting decision to have to make considering the long friendship you shared with his late father, and—”
Lord, is he really nudging paintings all askew like some bored schoolboy? Edward thought, his pen pausing mid-sentence. Ignore it, Edward. He will soon get bored and scurry off to some party or something.
“I must say, I have some strong words to say about the diminished quality of the famed St. George hospitality,” said Jonathan as he put his feet up on a low table. “Have you any idea with whom I might register my complaint? Who exactly is steering this ship these days?”
“I really am quite busy today, Fletcher,” Edward said through his teeth. “Perhaps you could come back the next time you are passing by.”
“And what if a visitor had an important matter to discuss with the head of the household, hmm?”
“In that case, the visitor would inform Mr Momplaisir of this matter, and the head of the household would get back to them when he is available. Which he is not, at present.”
“And what if it is a matter of the greatest importance—indeed, of true life and death importance?”
Releasing a sigh of frustration, Edward craned his neck about to see Jonathan striking a coquettish pose at him, fluttering his eyelashes mockingly. “In that case, Mr Momplaisir would absolutely make sure to catch what this matter is. And in fact, the only way said visitor would be able to come this far into the house would be if he managed to evade Mr Momplaisir by sending him off on some invented task,” Edward said, hoping to scowl his friend into seriousness for once.
As he might have guessed, this hope was in vain. “Really, Morton, how rude of you. As if I would do something so rude to poor Mr Momplaisir. Besides, if I had the capacity to trick him into anything, don’t you think I would be drinking some of the St. George cellars instead of talking to you?”
Edward waved a hand dismissively and turned back to his work. “Always good of you to drop by, Fletcher. Make sure to apologize to Mr Momplaisir on your way out, please.”
“Even if the matter concerns Miss Clara St. George?”
Edward froze, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. “What is it?” he asked, a note of worry in his voice. “What’s happened?”
When no answer came, he turned in his chair to look at Jonathan once more. The other man had his hands spread wide. A smile on his face, he answered, “Don’t you think she was most charming at that dinner party last night, Morton?”
He groaned, closing his eyes in frustration as he heard Jonathan leap to his feet and walk across the room. “I thought you said this was a matter of life and death?”
“It is, old boy!” Jonathan crowed, putting a hand on Edward’s shoulder. “Why, what do you call the confluence of man and woman if not the stuff of life itself?”
Edward dipped his pen back in the inkwell and resumed his letter to the Cardinal, biting his tongue to keep it from wasting any more time on his visitor.
“Come now, Morton,” Jonathan continued as he patted Edward’s shoulder. “Even a dusty old thing like you must have noticed. Miss Clara was simply glowing last night. I had not seen His Grace smile so since before his father passed, and even old Baron Cotswold coughed up a laugh or two at some of Clara’s witty repartee.”
Despite his efforts to stay focused on his task, Edward could not stop his memory from supplying the image of Clara at the dinner table the evening before. After they had returned to the table from their moment in the garden, she had been charged with a positive energy that was released as the most entertaining dinner conversation he could remember. Just as Jonathan said, without anyone realizing what had happened, Clara seemed to have everyone at the table hanging on her every word.
“I had not expected her to be quite so well-read, if that isn’t an unkind thing to say,” said Jonathan.
“Nor I!” Edward answered with an enthusiasm that surprised him. “Indeed, the ease with which she quoted the Bard was quite charming, wasn’t it?”
“What was it she said, that the nuns at Saint Julian’s used to give her books?”
“No, it was the daughter of her former employer, that Fitzroy girl who came to visit her the other day. Apparently they were quite close, and Clara had more of an appetite for Sophia’s education than Sophia did.” Edward shook his head, smiling. “I still can’t believe Clara didn’t rise to her sisters’ bait, frankly.”
“Oh, quite!” Jonathan laughed. “Helena carried on for just so long with that balderdash about the inferiority of the lower classes. To see Clara blurt right in with that anecdote about Mr Fitzroy and his horse…”
“Ha! I had never seen Cotswold jump onto a new topic of conversation so quickly,” Edward chuckled.
“Nor I. I thought for sure his teeth were going to fall out. Even Judith couldn’t keep some real mirth out of her laughter, though a smile like that looked frightfully odd on her cruel little face.”
