Midwinter Manor 2 -Keeper's Pledge (7 page)

“Perhaps she doesn’t realize that’s what you want?” Philip perched upon the chair next to his cousin and regarded him intently. “You do rather give the impression that all you want is to shock, perhaps to entertain. But to be taken seriously? I think, for that to happen, you may have to
be
a little more serious.”

“Doesn’t sound like much fun,” Matthew muttered.

“Well, a lot of life isn’t fun,” Philip countered. “I’m afraid you have to make a choice, Matthew. You don’t
have
to conform to the way society expects you to behave, but if you don’t, you can hardly complain at the way you’re treated. You simply need to decide what is more important to you: the freedom to shock, to behave as you wish, or the other freedoms that come with acting in a more responsible manner.”

“And you chose responsibility? Respectability?” Matthew’s mouth twitched up slyly at the corner. “Apart from the occasional… aberration.”

“Actually, I rather think it chose me. You know, Frederick compared you to a friend I used to have, when I was younger. He died a few years after we left Oxford.” Philip found himself smiling at the memory of Robert, although the recollection was still a bittersweet thing, a taste of gall wrapped in sugar.

“He was like me?” Matthew asked eagerly.

“He could be. But he also had a distinguished military career. He knew how to adapt, to change his behavior for different environments. I… I was never very good at that, but then neither was I so, well, like you.” Philip paused. “You may think that’s not for you—you may hate the very idea of it—but then you’ll have to put up with the way society treats you for it, I’m afraid.”

Matthew nodded. “Like Lucy. People laugh at her behind her back, you know. They call her a frump, and a dreadful old maid. Not I,” he added hastily.

Philip supposed his feelings must have shown upon his face. “No, of course not. But yes, it’s that sort of thing. People laugh at our kind too.” It was as close as he could come to admitting their shared nature.

“People can go hang,” Matthew declared impetuously. Then he gave a rueful smile. “But I’ll think about what you’ve said. It
is
good to talk to someone who understands.”

“And I’ll see what I can do for you with Frederick. Although I can’t make any promises.”

The door opened, and Philip and Matthew turned their heads as one to see Frederick himself peering into the room. He cleared his throat. “Ah, I didn’t realize…. Well. Excellent. Carry on.”

As the door closed behind his retreating figure, Matthew turned to Philip and burst out laughing. After a moment, Philip joined in too.

Chapter 7

O
VER
the next few days, Philip saw little of Danny. Christmas was fast approaching, and there seemed to be a hundred and one matters that claimed his attention. For one thing, there was the fitting-up of the manor for the season. Philip had never cared for much in the way of seasonal decoration, having always associated the time of year with Robert’s death, but his feelings for the festival had changed over the last few years. It had, after all, brought him Danny. They’d always kept Christmas quietly, much as Philip had in his lonely years, although with vastly more cheer. This year, though, Philip felt it behooved him as host to make something of an effort.

And then there were his guests themselves. Frederick might spend half the morning methodically reading through the
Times
from cover to cover, but his wife was less selfsufficient. Nor were Lucy and Matthew reticent in claiming Philip’s time, and though he found himself getting on increasingly well with both of them, still it was something of a strain to be so continually sociable.

He felt, at times, he might take the whole of the following year to recover from this Christmas.

It worried at him, that he hadn’t been able to reassure Danny on the subject of their having been seen
in flagrante delicto
. But then again, Danny really hadn’t seemed half as bothered as Philip himself had been. Most likely he had dismissed the possibility from his mind already.

And Philip suspected he might be doing Danny no favors by telling him Matthew had seen them. With the shoot planned for later in the visit, there would inescapably be contact between them. Danny might be considerably embarrassed at being forced into dealings with a man who’d watched him engaging in such an activity. Particularly as Matthew was his social better. And Danny didn’t
know
Matthew like Philip did.

No, it was better not to say anything. It might even make it easier to persuade Matthew not to behave toward Danny in a manner likely to cause comment. Matthew might be irresponsible, but he wasn’t cruel. If Philip asked him not to betray to Danny that he’d seen them, Philip was sure he would not.

Lucy invited him to take a stroll in the gardens with her early one afternoon, while the day was at its brightest. It was Christmas Eve, and she seemed curiously excited, as if she truly expected a visit from Saint Nicholas that night. They talked of this and that, and she linked her arm in his almost shyly.

Philip was beginning to wonder if he should ask outright what was troubling her, when she came out with it.

“I don’t suppose I could persuade you to take me seriously on the marriage thing, could I?” Her gaze was intent, and her cheeks a little flushed.

Philip could only stare at her. “I… ah….”

 

She sighed, her shoulders slumping. “Thought not. You won’t reconsider?”

 

“I’m afraid I don’t really see myself as the marrying kind. I’m sorry.”

“Pity. I think you’d make a jolly good husband, you know. You wouldn’t be a stick-in-the-mud and try to stop me doing what I wanted, would you? And I wouldn’t want children. Lord, no. You needn’t worry about that.” She flicked her cigarette to the ground, and trod it out carefully. “You see, Millie’s very sweet, letting me live with them, but Frederick—well, you’ve seen what Frederick’s like. He’s almost as bad as Father. I’d live alone, but what on earth would I do for money? Get a job?” She barked out a laugh. “All I’ve been trained to do is make polite conversation, arrange flowers, and look decorative at dinner, and I’m an abject failure at two of those.” Lucy managed a crooked smile. “I’m a dab hand with a posy, though; you should see me on Mothering Sunday.”

“I’m sorry,” Philip said again, meaning it. “I wish I could help, but I just don’t think I could do it—marry, that is—if I didn’t really mean it. It doesn’t seem right.”

She nodded gloomily. “I was afraid you’d say that. Wretched things,principles, aren’t they?”
Philip had an urge to pat her hand, but felt it might not be well received. “They can be, yes. But perhaps one day you’ll meet someone….”

“I rather think that ship’s sailed. The only people I ever meet these days are Frederick’s dull friends and their even duller wives. But how about you?” she asked, with an effort at brightness that was painfully obvious, even as her words struck a chill into Philip’s heart. “Have you met someone?”

“I….” For the life of him, Philip couldn’t think what to say.

“Oh Lord, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Of course you’d rather not say. It’s quite all right. And you needn’t worry about me being indiscreet. I’m only indiscreet about unimportant matters….” Her hands flew to her mouth. “Lord, it’s not Matthew, is it?” Thankfully, the absurdity of the situation hit Philip, and he burst out laughing. Lucy, after a moment, joined him. “I’ll take that as a no then,” she said, wiping her eyes. “I am glad, for your sake, if not for his.”

They were still smiling as they walked back into the house, and the housemaid dimpled as she greeted them.

D
ANNY
was up by the house that afternoon, and Mrs. S asked him into the kitchen for a cup of tea. He reckoned she felt sorry for him, kicked out by the guests, but a cup of Mrs. S’s tea on a cold day usually meant a thickly buttered slice of tea loaf too, and wasn’t to be turned down lightly out of pride.

Flora, the new maid, came to join them in high spirits. “I reckon our Mr. Luccombe’s sweet on Miss Shorwell. I saw them coming back in from the shoot, and they was arm in arm, smiling at each other. I reckon he’d just been kissing her—”

“Flora Fielding, that’s enough! You’re not paid to gossip about your betters.” Mrs. S glared down the table at her. “I’m not working right this minute,” she said pertly. “I reckon I can say what I like on my own time.”

“Not in my kitchen, you won’t.” Mrs. S shot a worried glance at Danny, who wasn’t any too pleased to see Flora’s puzzled face turn his way as well.

Danny sighed, and rose from the table. “Thanks for the tea, Mrs. S. I’d best be on my way, now. Plenty to do.”

“True enough. You’ll have your work cut out for you with that shooting party. As will I, as someone’s got to cater for them. Have you engaged all the beaters you’llneed?”

Danny nodded, willing to linger now the talk wasn’t of Mr. Luccombe’s affections. “There’s plenty retired folk down the village keen enough to earn an extra shilling.”

“No doubt. Well, if you’ll stay a moment, I’ll wrap up a bit of this tea loaf for you to take with you.” She heaved herself to her feet and cut off full half the loaf.

“That’s kind of you, Mrs. S, but—”

 

“It won’t take but a minute,” she said firmly, and Danny’s protests subsided.

True enough, it wasn’t long before Danny was on his way, the greased-paper parcel weighing down his pocket a wry comfort, in its way. He hesitated before taking his usual route that went around the house to cut across the corner of the gardens. Was it proper, with guests at the manor? But he doubted Philip would call him to task on it, and Lord, he was sick enough of changing his ways to suit folk he’d not even met.

As he neared the corner, he caught a snatch of verse being spoken aloud, as if the speaker were on a stage, performing to an audience. That’d be the younger cousin, he’d be bound. He’d heard talk of the lad’s theatrical ways— a great source of amusement below stairs, though it didn’t do to let Mrs. Standish catch you mocking a guest at the manor. Danny wondered if he’d find him alone, talking to the trees, and smiled to himself, thinking he’d try and creep past silently so as not to embarrass the lad.

When he rounded the corner, though, he saw there were two men there in the twilight. With a jolt, he realized they were holding hands, gazing like lovers into one another’s eyes.

It was Matthew Cranmore, all right. Must be, with that fancy suit and those fine features.

 

And he was holding hands with Philip.

M
ATTHEW
had demanded instruction on how to improve his technique at billiards almost as soon as Philip had returned from his eventful walk with Lucy. Thankful to find his young cousin was, for once, sincere, rather than using it as an opportunity for flirtation, Philip had played several frames with him, and the light was beginning to fade by the time they laid down their cues.

“Shall we take a stroll, Cousin Philip?” Matthew suggested, stretching. “Although I suppose we shan’t get far before dark.”

“Oh. Yes, of course.” As he collected the necessary warm outer layers, Philip reflected that no one, not even Danny, could tell him he wasn’t getting enough fresh air and exercise lately.

“So tiresome, these short days,” Matthew said, as they stepped out into the garden. “I’ve been dying to see more of the estate, and…

“…all the pleasures prove
That valleys, groves, hills, and fields,
Woods or steepy mountain yields.”

He linked his arm through Philip’s.

Philip was, for a moment, struck quite dumb. It was so like the way Robert used to be with him—the poetry, the tone, the easy familiarity. It was quite an effort to recall himself to the present. “I—yes, of course. Although I’m afraid you won’t find any ‘steepy mountains’ on the estate. Or valleys, for that matter. We’ve woods and fields galore, of course, and I think we can manage a small hill.”

“Don’t worry. I shan’t quibble on grounds of size,” Matthew murmured.
Philip’s cheeks grew hot, the cheap innuendo reminding him Matthew and Robert were not, after all, as alike as all that. He coughed. “Do you have a favorite poet? I’ve always been very fond of Marvell myself.”

“Oh, I adore Marvell. ‘Alas! How pleasant are their days, with whom the infant love yet plays! Sorted by pairs, they still are seen by fountains cool and shadows green.’”

“You speak the verse very well,” Philip praised him cautiously.

“Thank you. Lord, it’s good to be appreciated for once. Frederick, as I’m sure you can imagine, is something of a Philistine. How about one of the Bard’s contemporaries?

“Since there’s no help, come let us kiss and part; Nay, I have done, you get no more of me,
And I am glad, yea glad with all my heart That thus so cleanly I myself can free;
Shake hands forever, cancel all our vows, And when we meet at any time again,
Be it not seen in either of our brows
That we one jot of former love retain.
Now at the last gasp ofLove’s latest breath, When, his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies, When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death, And Innocence is closing up his eyes,
Now if thou wouldst, when all have given him over, From death to life thou mightst him yet recover.”

Philip was spellbound. True, Matthew tended toward the overdramatic, but there was a seductive passion in the way he performed the poem, the way his eyes, his hands, his whole body lent expression to his words. As he’d reached the turn, Matthew had grasped Philip’s hands in his own, echoing the entreaty of the last two lines. Still holding hands, they stared at one another, Matthew’s eyes shining with his fervor. Philip felt his own eyes must be equally so.

“Magnificent,” he breathed.

D
ANNY
’
S
chest hurt worse than when he’d cracked his ribs four Christmases ago, falling out of the old oak tree. To watch Philip take a wife—aye, that he could have borne. He’d have known she’d not replace Danny in his affections. But to see him with another man…. He turned away, not knowing if the muffled sound that escaped him was a curse or a sob.

He should have seen this coming, the moment he’d heard tell of young Matthew Cranmore. Should have known. Here was an educated man, a cultured man, a man of Philip’s own class.