Dancing the Maypole (28 page)

Staring at his
paper Cosmo could see Robert in a few years time hitting his head
on countless low ceilings. The thought made Cosmo smile. In a year,
he’d turn twenty-one, and inherit his freedom, and his money. For
two whole years after that, Robert would be a penniless minor.
Their father would ensure the income from Robert’s property went to
the infant. Robert would be penniless just when Cosmo inherited a
bank account holding five year’s worth of rents. Sometimes life
offered brief episodes of pleasure; one had to grab them as they
passed. Feeling cheered, Cosmo sipped his coffee and imagined his
own happy home decorated in a patchwork of past styles reigned over
by a beautiful young woman whose eyes would light up every time he
came into view. All he had to do was endure another year of his
minority, and then he’d be his own man. Relaxing in his chair,
Cosmo focused on the paper, searching for any facts that might
impress his future bride.

The green and
gold drawing room, filled with Smirkes, had the oppressive tense
air of a wake for a missing corpse. Cosmo wanted to stand up and
shout, ‘Where is the body? ’The hot air in the room pressed down,
making his shirt stick to his skin. Groping his cravat, he silently
cursed social civilities; if his father and uncle could sit fully
clothed in their evening wear, he was expected to follow suit.
Sighing in irritation, Cosmo tried to focus on the book in his
hands, but the melancholy music floating in the air made reading
impossible. Turning, he scowled at his brother playing the
pianoforte in the corner, “Charles! Play something more cheerful!
I’m trying to read an adventure story. A man can’t imagine killing
pirates with a sad love song in his ear.” The sad song continued.
“I feel like someone’s died. Charles!” His brother was going deaf
as well as morbid. Throwing down his book, Cosmo marched over to
the pianoforte shoved away into a dark corner of the room. He
stared at his brother playing a woeful song; unsung lyrics hovered
in the air like ghosts with no better place to go. “Why didn’t you
tell me you were in love with Widow Malet? I wouldn’t have told
anyone.”

“I told Cecil
and George. Two lectures were enough.”

Cosmo flinched,
“I wouldn’t have lectured you!” Exasperated black eyes glanced up
at Cosmo before returning to the keys. “Telling someone to be
sensible isn’t a lecture, its giving advice.”

“I don’t want
your advice.”

“Just because
I’m a year younger doesn’t mean I don’t know anything. How can you
stand Mrs Malet’s high-pitched voice? Every time I her speak I wish
I were deaf.”

“I happen to
like Mrs Malet’s voice.”

“Ugh! You must
be deaf. She squealed like a starving pig when she fell over
outside the butchers. You should have seen the way she leaned
against Farmer Brown as he carried her home…”

“Brown was
being kind,” snapped Charles, “some people are!”

Cosmo cringed
at his brother’s accusatory glare. “What do you mean some people?
Are you saying I’m not kind?”

“Yes! Now go
lecture yourself for offering unwanted advice before I give you a
bloody nose.”

Feeling
painfully unwanted, Cosmo stared at his brother’s hands moving over
the keys. “I thought we were friends.”

“We’re
brothers; we tolerate each other.”

The words
thumped Cosmo’s chest making it hard to breathe. “I don’t tolerate
you! You’re my best friend. At least I thought you were.” Abruptly
turning away, Cosmo returned to his seat to find his cravat had
tightened like a noose. Staring blindly at his Aunt Agnes, sitting
opposite on a sofa. Watching her sewing needle flash in and out of
a large piece of linen Cosmo suddenly realised there weren’t any
samples of her work on display. She was always embroidering…so what
did she do with it all? He couldn’t ask. She’d give him that cold
amused smile and make some oblique comment. He wasn’t in the mood
to feel stupid.

At the other
end of the same sofa, Robert was unhappily holding his sleeping
daughter while the twin fiends admired their new relative. Robert’s
attempt to avoid contact with the infant had ended after their
father’s glare had threatened years of severe deprivation. Cosmo
felt sorry for the baby. The poor creature would end up being
raised by her Great Uncle John; a fate Cosmo wouldn’t wish on
anyone. The thought drew Cosmo’s eyes to the settee facing the
empty fireplace. The reformed rakehell was holding his wife on his
lap and exercising his lips and hands in a manner unfit for a
shared family drawing room. Revolted and jealous, Cosmo sighed and
looked away to find his Aunt Agnes watching him. “Do they have to
do that in the drawing room?” asked Cosmo. “Can’t they kiss
somewhere else?”

“Where do you
want them to go?”

“Anywhere they
can close a door,” snapped Cosmo, “we all know they’re married.
They don’t have to demonstrate it.”

A faint smile
cracked his aunt’s marble lips, “Wait till your wife has a child.
The first time her arms are free you’ll grab her like a drowning
man and you won’t care who’ll witness your…display of
affection.”

“When I kiss my
wife I’ll kiss her in private. Decorum was invented to spare public
and private spaces from…scenes like that!” Cosmo’s gaze was drawn
back to the kissing couple. Would he ever find a woman who’d sit on
his knee and ravage his lips?

Depressed,
Cosmo stood up and crossed the room to join George and Cecil
standing by a window. They were watching their father play cards
with Mademoiselle, Uncle James and Lucius. “I hope Charles marries
his blind old widow. After his sons grow up to resemble Farmer
Brown maybe he’ll wish he’d listened…”

Cecil exchanged
a knowing look with George. “Did you give him one of your helpful
lectures?” asked Cecil.

“I merely asked
why he hadn’t told me he was in love with Widow Malet.”

“If you said
her name in that sneering tone,” said Cecil, “he’ll be hating you
for weeks. The man thinks he’s in love with a scheming blind slut.
He has enough problems without having to justify his stupidity to a
younger brother.”

“I’m twenty not
twelve, and I’d tell him whether I was in love! I’m always left
out. I might as well be dead!” Cosmo’s brothers rolled their eyes.
“I thought Charles was my friend. Do you know what he said? He said
if we weren’t brothers he wouldn’t know me.”

George, four
inches taller, wrapped an arm around Cosmo’s shoulders, “Charles
wouldn’t risk his neck climbing ropes and ladders to make rubbings
of graffiti you couldn’t reach if he didn’t like you, besides, he
thinks you’re amusing.”

“When am I
amusing?” asked Cosmo.

George ignored
the question, “Avoid Charles for a few days. The poor idiot thinks
Widow Malet is his only hope of being loved. He’s hurting…”

“That doesn’t
give him the right to stick a knife in my chest. Uncle John has the
same face as Charles and he found Aunt Joan. At least Charles has
hope. Who’s going to fall in love with me? She’ll meet my brothers
and forget I exist.”

George sighed,
“You’re being silly. If a woman loves you, she won’t care if Cecil
is more beautiful.”

“Exactly!”
snapped Cosmo. “She’ll pretend to love me so she can get closer to
you and Cecil. No woman’s ever going to kiss me like Aunt Joan is
kissing Uncle John. I wish I were dead.”

Cecil groaned
as if in agony, “Have you fallen in love only to find the woman’s
been inviting the local smithy to stretch more than her bed ropes?
Stop thinking of yourself for a few minutes and try to imagine what
Charles is suffering.”

“Charles
wouldn’t be suffering,” snapped Cosmo, “if he didn’t befriend every
blind woman under forty.”

Cecil leaned
closer with an excellent imitation of their father’s most
spine-chilling glare, “Stop thinking you’re the centre of the
universe and try to imagine how Charles is feeling.”

Cosmo’s mouth
fell open in disbelief, “I don’t think I’m the centre of the
universe.” His brothers looked at each other and rolled their eyes.
“Forget I said anything. I don’t have feelings. I haven’t had a bad
day. My father hasn’t accused me of being a desperate whoremonger
who bed the ugly Mary Ugly and then lied about fathering a child
because he thinks I’m an unprincipled worm. My life is perfect!”
Cosmo’s biting sarcasm caused two more exasperated sighs.

“Yes you’ve had
a bad day,” hissed Cecil, “but you’re not the whoremonger holding a
babe who’ll cost you a large portion of your inheritance. You’re
not the man in love with a conniving blind woman pregnant by
another man. You’re not the man who learned today his youngest son
is studying to be a rakehell. You’re not the son who’ll have to
petition the court to lock your father in the attic if he doesn’t
persuade his dream lover to marry him. You’re not the one who has
to listen to you moaning about how hard your life is when it’s
clearly not as hard as you think it is. Other people have had a bad
day too Cosmo. Are we finished speaking about you or do you need to
moan for a few more minutes?”

Cosmo glared
back at his eldest brother. “Talk about the devil! I’m going to my
room.” Turning on his heel, Cosmo marched from the drawing room,
down stairs to his Uncle’s James’s study and slammed the door. It
was too much to hope anyone would wonder if he was upset or
ill.

After wasting
twenty minutes of his life combing his hair, without any perceived
improvement, Peter glared at the handsome man in his dressing
mirror. Random projecting curls looked like horns. On his way down
to breakfast he practised smiling, but stepping into the breakfast
room, he found Isabel seated between his two youngest sons. His
smile contorted into a grimace. She was a pretty dream in a
long-sleeved, green and white striped morning gown with a low cut
bodice that exposed tempting charms. Forcibly looking away, he was
reminded he hadn’t had a single moment alone with Isabel since
their conversation on the stairs.

The need to
hold her in his arms was threatening to crack his ribs and crush
his vital organs. Peter glanced at Isabel hoping to catch her eye,
but she was addressing Cecil. It was stupid and irrational to be
jealous of his children. Was he forty-four or fourteen? A desire to
drag Robert out of his chair and take his place next to Isabel
suggested the latter.

After three
decades, he was still pretending to be the man in charge while life
flowed around and past him. He was a large, medieval castle in the
middle of a diverted river. He appeared impressive, but he was
really a useless relic that required more maintenance than any
sensible woman would invest. His battlements would soon start
crumbling without detailed care. Thankfully, Isabel wasn’t remotely
sensible. She’d carefully rebuild the drawbridge, rehang the heavy
door on new hinges and then begin re-mortaring his weathered blocks
of stone. When she was done, she’d wipe away the dust, and fill his
courtyard with laughter and roses. At last he’d be someone’s
protector instead of a large, handsome folly. Mentally pushing
aside unpleasant self-knowledge he sat down in the empty chair
in-between George and Lucius.

Filling his
plate with toast and bacon, Peter was watching Isabel out of the
corner of his eye as he reached for the butter. A sharp elbow in
his side made him drop the china butter dish. Conversations paused
as the room’s occupants stared at the clumsy red-faced Lord.

“What’s the
matter Papa?” asked George. “You look ill.”

“Papa looks
like he’s seen his dream mistress in the arms of another man,” said
Robert.

Peter could
feel steam rising off his burning face as he glared at his youngest
son. “Look to your food child.”

Robert
innocently stared back, “How can I be child when I’ve fathered a
brat?”

“If I learn
you’ve fathered a second child before you come of age, you’ll be
living in my stables mucking out stalls. Comprends?”

“I thought we
weren’t supposed to mention muck in front of ladies.” Robert’s
faint smile gave away the fact he was laughing at his father.

“Eat in silence
or I’ll march you to the nearest representative of His Majesty’s
Navy and make him your legal guardian.”

“As you wish
Papa, but if you sent me to sea you wouldn’t be able to sleep at
night. I’m far too pretty for a floating coffin. Drunken midshipmen
might mistake me for…”

“Silence!”
shouted Peter. Grabbing a piece of toast, Peter attacked it with
the butter knife and waited until the various conversations resumed
before turning to snarl at his cousin, “Why the d-d-devil did you
jab me in the ribs?”

“You look like
the wrath of God,” whispered Lucius. “Affect a more genial
expression when looking at the lady. You want to marry her not hang
her.”

“I feel like
the wrath of God.” Peter lowered his voice, “How will I persuade
her to give me a chance if we’re never alone? I feel like a barrel
of gunpowder about to blow.”

“Take a deep
breath. I’ll arrange to walk her to some prearranged rendezvous
where you can meet us. I’ll disappear, and then meet up at the end
to escort her home. Your brats will never know the difference.
Spend the day kissing her…”

“I have a
throbbing, swollen knee. I don’t want to be her limping lover.
She’ll think I’m old. I want to impress her, not remind her of my
impending dotage.”

Lucius rolled
his eyes, “Then I’ll take her for a drive and meet you at an inn.
You can take my place and tool her to some secluded spot and kiss
her without having to lift your throbbing leg. Sometimes you sound
just like Cosmo.”

“Are you
talking about me?” asked Cosmo. Peter glanced up to find his fourth
son glaring at him. “How would you like me to whisper to
Mademoiselle about you? I could tell her you look barbered by a
blind devil.”