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Knowing that I must pick my battles, I gave Saracen one last pat on the nose and then, deliberately ignoring Basil’s arm, began walking, being careful to keep out of range of his grasp. “You may if you like, but I neither need nor wish aid.”
“America must be a vulgar place to breed such unflattering independence in young women.”
Sharp words rose to my tongue, but I swallowed them. “We happen to like the concept of independence.”
“A concept that is against Nature. Ladies are to be shielded and supported and protected.”
“Only if they wish to be bored to death,” I replied, increasing my pace a little in spite of the twinges from my still-sore legs.
“There is no need for us to run,” he began, reaching as if to impede my progress but subtly enough that I was able to evade him without the appearance of escape.
“Yes there is. I am hungry and wish my breakfast.”
“Your grandfather wishes us to wed.”
“Sir Mordecai mentioned as much.”
“It is an elegant solution. You would be safely enwrapped in and protected by a loving family. You would even have the title Lady Wentworth, once Sir Mordecai passes on. Does that not entice you?”
“Not a bit. Such a label would be useless to me, as we do not believe in nor even recognise titles in America. When I return...”
“Return!” He was startled. “Surely you cannot be seriously considering returning to such a - a savage wilderness!”
“I most certainly am serious. South Carolina is my home.”
Before I could react, he took my elbow in a lover-like grip and moved so close I could smell the sickeningly sweet dressing he used on his hair.
“Then we must do what we must to convince you differently.”
His tone was soft, his words sweet, and it was the worst threat I had ever heard.
******
Breakfast was set out when we arrived and, try though I might, there was no way I could not sit beside Basil. He made sure to be closer to me than even some of the stickery weeds which grew in the back reaches of our country property. The rest of the family being there crowded the table, making the problem worse.
Of course Sir Mordecai was there, sitting at the head of the table and glaring at me. His expression relented a bit when he saw my dress, but he still frowned.
“I thought you understood that you were forbidden the stable,” he growled.
“I did not, because you did not. You said I was not to ride and obviously I have not. You said nothing about visiting the stables.”
Again, the faces of the family showed that correcting Sir Mordecai even when he was wrong was a rarity. I ignored them, though my heart was pounding, and returned to the sideboard for a piece of toast I did not want, just so that, when I returned, I could very ostentatiously move my chair a few inches away from Basil’s encroaching person. Patience and Simon Broadbank gasped most genteelly, but Aunt Lucinda and Great Aunt Zipporah gave tight, tiny smiles. Sir Mordecai, as expected, frowned. While not blessed with being a seer, I knew with sad certainty there would be a less than pleasant conversation between us to come.
“Your pardon, sir,” said the imposingly correct Freeman, bowing before Sir Mordecai and extending a silver salver on which reposed a wax-sealed missive. “This came for you, sir.”
Still scowling, Sir Mordecai opened and scanned the paper, letting loose a string of expletives which I would have been surprised to hear in the stables, let alone at a family breakfast table.
“What ails you sir?” asked Aunt Lucinda, an ill-concealed curiosity touched with smugness on her face. Apparently it was not often that Sir Mordecai was so overset as to forget himself.
“It’s that demmed creature Gersham! He’s demanding we come to a party.”
“The Duke of Gersham?” Aunt Lucinda reached out and twitched the heavy paper from Sir Mordecai’s fist before he could completely crumple it. “’You are most cordially invited to a dinner, followed by dancing, in honour of Miss Clarissa Wentworth on this Friday at 6 pm,’” she read. “Well, I never!”
“Demmed impertinence!” roared Sir Mordecai furiously, drowning out the murmured expressions of shock around the table. “How dare he! You will decline this very moment, Lucinda.”
“But that would be very rude,” I said, speaking more loudly than was proper to be sure that I was heard. The silence that followed was absolute.
“Rude?” growled Sir Mordecai.
