ducks that swim in the pond in the middle of the green.”
“Painted them? Goodness, what color?”
Brantley actually shuddered. “Pink. The little booby painted them pink.”
“However,” my husband said, coming out of the drawing room to join us, “her
ladyship will be pleased to hear that we are going to have a ball in her honor,
three weeks from now, on Friday night.”
“That will be two weeks before Christmas, Uncle Lawrence.”
“Indeed, it will, Amelia. Ours will be the first party of the season, and with
Andy arranging for it, it will also be the finest. What do you think of that,
Andy?”
“A Christmas party. I should love that. Grandfather always held a huge affair at
Deerfield Hall every Christmas. It is very nice of you, Lawrence. I hope that
everyone involves themselves.” Actually, I wasn’t at all certain what I felt
about a Christmas party at all. So much had happened so quickly, and now I was
to arrange a ball?
Amelia said, “Oh, yes, you are not to worry, Andy. Unfortunately, I fear that we
are now in for it. Lord and Lady Appleby were just here. Their daughter, Lucinda,
was gushing all over John. Her predatory mama has set her eyes on John. He
should be prepared to go to ground, for she’s got him in her sights.” Then she
giggled.
I smiled as well when John and Thomas came into the Old Hall. Both of them were
frowning, but for very different reasons.
“You have already attached a local girl, John?”
“What? Oh, you mean Miss Appleby.” I do believe he shuddered, just like Brantley
had when he spoke of the Cockly boy painting the ducks. “She’s a child.”
“What is this, John?” Amelia said. “She is only two years younger than Andy. Ah,
the soulful looks she was casting in your direction. I thought one of her lesser
efforts looked like a painful squint. I was just telling Uncle Lawrence that
Mama Appleby wants to snag you for her little darling.”
Amelia stopped cold. She was by her husband’s side in the next instant, touching
her white fingers to his cheeks, his forehead. “Oh, Thomas, my dearest, whatever
is the matter? Are you ill? What pains you? Tell me what isn’t right so that I
may fix it.”
“It is nothing,” Thomas said, and shook his head at something that only he knew
about. Without another word, he marched back into the drawing room. Amelia
stared after him, her mouth gaped open.
“I don’t believe this,” Lawrence said slowly, star ing after his retreating
nephew. “He had a chance to establish a new illness or injury or pain, and he
didn’t. What is going on with your husband, Amelia?”
She said quietly, staring after Thomas, “I don’t know. It worries me.”
Miss Gillbank again joined us for dinner. She was wearing one of my gowns that
Belinda had altered for her, a charming pale blue muslin confection that was
simple and elegant, perfectly suited to her classic features. She asked about
Miss Crislock, whom she and Judith had met this afternoon in the east garden.
No one mentioned the old woman. No one mentioned anything else that had happened
the day before.
As for Thomas and John, they were both distracted, very bad company, as a matter
of fact.
When Lawrence left me at my bedchamber door, I didn’t want to go inside. I just
didn’t. It wasn’t the middle of the day now, and I wasn’t knocking on the walls
in the clear light of day. It was dark, very dark, with scarce a sliver of moon
to shine in the windows. Jasper was walking George. I wanted to be walking with
Jasper myself.
I waited in the corridor until I heard Jasper coming. He was speaking to George.
“A fine selection you made, Mr. George. That old yew bush needed some attention
even though it was a rather noxious sort of liquid attention you bestowed on it.
Yes, you did well.”
I still didn’t want to go inside my bedchamber. I thanked Jasper, took George in
my arms, and forced myself to open the door.
Chapter Seventeen
There were three branches of candles lit against the darkness. A healthy fire