Ridiculous (10 page)

Later, wrapped in her blankets, unable to relieve her feelings with tears for fear he might hear, she held his offer of friendship in her heart and tried to convince herself that it was enough.

Would be enough.

Was not enough.

* * *

Thudding of farmer's feet on hard, bare wood floors woke Millicent and Shoffer the next morning before the sun even hinted at rising above the horizon.

Again they shaved in barely heated water, pulled on wrinkled shirts (by now Shoffer was borrowing linen and small clothes from Millicent's supply of men's clothing), and joined the parade to the kitchen for a hearty farm breakfast.

After speaking briefly to Mr. Prichart, and Eilowen, who was supervising breakfast, Shoffer ran upstairs to tap on his sister's door. The girl must have been awake and waiting for the knock since she emerged immediately and was taken to another room by the daughters of the household. Within half an hour she was down, dressed in an old-fashioned riding dress two sizes too large. After breakfast, Shoffer lifted his sister onto a pony bearing an equally ancient side saddle.

Lady Beth raised her face to the sky as a breeze brushed over her face.

“Is it raining or not?” she asked. “I cannot tell.”

“’Tis what we Welsh call a bright day,” said Mr. Prichart.

“That's not what we Irish call it,” muttered one of Shoffer's grooms.

Millicent glanced up at the sky. At the moment the air was full of water from a mist that writhed and glowed over the fields.

“I think it will clear later,” said Millicent. “We might even see the sun.”

“If it does, then it will be what we Welsh call a blessed day,” said Mr. Prichart.

“That's not what the Irish call it,” muttered the groom and ducked his head down when he saw Millicent glance toward him.

“What do you call a bright and sunny day?” asked Beth. “This is useful for me to know since talking about the weather, apparently, is the only thing you can talk about at
tonnish
events. You as well,” she added to the groom.

“Well, it is the best day, since a bright and sunny day is a good day for getting work done,” said the farmer.

They all turned to face the groom.

“Well?” prompted Shoffer.

“A blessed day is every day,” said the groom, “since it's a blessing that anyone's alive. The best day is payday, which cannot come around often enough for any man.”

They all laughed at that, even the groom after Millicent felt around inside her glove for a sixpence she kept there for just such occasions, and handed it to him with a bow.

“I must honor anyone who tells a better jest and gets a heartier laugh than I do,” she said.

“You must remember the replies, Beth,” said Shoffer, as Mr. Prichart took the lead and set his horse’s head toward his distant orchards. “As you said, the weather is the only safe conversation with strangers.”

Lady Beth's face immediately fell and she glanced away. Shoffer shot a helpless glance toward Millicent. Men, Millicent told herself, as she brought her little pony up alongside Beth, were helpless creatures in the face of a shy girl, even when she was a relative.

“We appreciate you taking the time out of your busy schedule to ride with us this morning, dear Lady Beth,” said Millicent, managing a half bow in her saddle.

“Thank you for inviting me,” was the polite reply.

“I hope you have taken no injury from being tossed around in your carriage the other day.”

“I am quite well.”

At the formality of her replies, Shoffer rolled his eyes and made a “get along” gesture toward Millicent.

Millicent reviewed a number of conversational gambits and decided that the truth would be a good start.

“Lady Beth, I hope you will forgive your brother for involving me, but he has expressed some concern about your happiness. Apparently, there was some problem with your coming out.”

“Mr. North!” cried Shoffer sharply, then softened his voice. “That was not what I meant. Forgive me, Beth, I asked Mr. North to give you conversation lessons. Fool that he is, he did not realize that I wished him to do so in a way that would not embarrass you.”

“Now, Shoffer, calm yourself. Lady Beth will take no offense at this. She has a better understanding of her problems than you or me; and there is no better way to solve them than with her help. I could chatter away for hours and all she would learn is that I am a twit.”

Beth giggled and blushed. “I do not think that of you.”

“She may think that your dress is provincial and your cravat a disgrace,” said Shoffer. “But you are not a twit.”

“But the purpose of your enrolling my help is your sister's happiness. She already knows how to listen and I am certain she was taught to dance. Now we must discover what makes her unhappy and that, only she knows.”

Shoffer sat back in his saddle and they both waited for Beth to respond. Even though the silence stretched uncomfortably long Millicent said nothing. Beth, with her posture perfect despite the ancient side saddle and borrowed clothing, was a dazzling example of her class. Pretty, dignified, and silent.

Ah, thought Millicent, and wondered how much of her help would be accepted.

“My dear,” began Shoffer.

“I am very sorry to be a disappointment to my family,” whispered Beth.

“Never, dear Beth. You are not.”

“I am,” said Beth in a voice near tears. “I cannot think of how to be different. I follow all Grand’Mere’s rules when we are out and about, and then when we are home again, she is so very cross with me for failing to dazzle.”

“Beth…”

“Excuse me, Your Grace. Lady Beth, if you would be so kind, I have never been a lady of your rank and refinement; therefore, I do not know the rules. Please tell me one or two of them.”

“I may not speak to anyone of lesser rank,” said Beth immediately.

“Lady Beth, you are the daughter of a duke,” said Millicent. “The only persons who outrank you are princes, kings, and queens. As they are rather few upon the ground, you must suffer from a serious lack of suitable people with whom to converse.”

“Yes, exactly,” cried Beth.

Shoffer and Millicent exchanged a glance.

“I am afraid it is not possible for me to create new people of proper rank for you to meet, Lady Beth,” said Millicent.

“I wish you could, Mr. North. I do wish you could. I would like to have some friends of my own.”

“Whose friends do you have?”

“My Grand’Mere’s, I suppose. They are the only people she took me to see when we were in London.”

“Who are they?”

“Oh, Dowager this and Lady that,” said Beth with a dismissive wave of her hand. “They are all much of an age with my Grand’Mere, and look and act the same. They discuss their many relatives, their illnesses, and the importance of young women listening silently to the wisdom of their elders. When Grand’Mere leaves the room the other ladies tell me about their sons and nephews and how eager the gentlemen are to make my acquaintance. Then we go home and Grand’Mere tells me that to create an alliance with any of their families would be a disgrace because they are beneath me in consequence, so I am not to encourage the pretensions of their sons.”

“I'm confused,” said Millicent.

“So am I,” cried Beth, her voice becoming shrill. “I do not know who I am to talk to. I wanted to come down when I heard you laughing and singing last night, but Mrs. Fleming said that it would not be proper for me to leave the room. That I must always remember to display the proper condescension.”

Millicent almost fell off her horse at the news of Mrs. Fleming’s snobbery. “The proper condescension when someone overturns their house to offer you hospitality and shelter from a storm is to say the most sincere thank you that you can!”

Beth glanced across to her brother, as if expecting a contradiction.

Shoffer, however, nodded. “I would hope, sister, that you would always remember to give thanks in such circumstances and to adjust your manners so that you do not discomfit your hosts.”

“Mrs. Fleming said that the Pricharts are so very far below me that it would be a disgrace and degradation for me to eat at the same table as them. She said that efforts would have to be made to conceal the fact I was ever here or else I would be turned away from all good society.”

“Mrs. Fleming is a snob.” Millicent snorted. “I do not know that many of the
ton's
gossips make a point of calling upon country farmers to find out who has taken shelter in their house.”

“She said that Timothy would have to pay a great deal of money to them to stop the gossip.”

“And I believe that the Pricharts’ feelings would be desperately hurt if His Grace would attempt to render a bribe of that nature,” said Millicent. “The Pricharts are of good country yeomen stock and have their own pride. There is no degradation in being here. Did Mrs. Fleming say that Shoffer would suffer?”

“No, but he is a man. A woman's reputation is much more fragile.”

“Beth, I want you to know I would never suggest you do anything that will damage your reputation,” said Shoffer. “With that in mind, I will inform our hosts that you will be taking dinner with them, with all of us this evening. If Mrs. Fleming protests, pray remind her that I pay her salary.”

“Actually, Grand’Mere pays her salary.”

Shoffer frowned at that. “I pay her every quarter.”

“So does Grand’Mere.”

Millicent snickered at that news. “Clever Mrs. Fleming.”

“This is unconscionable,” said Shoffer.

“Oh, for pity's sake, forgive her,” said Millicent. “As she is in service, you can assume that there is not a Mr. Fleming to care for her and she does what she does from necessity.”

“Well, she need not take such pleasure in it,” said Beth. “If I try to do anything fun Mrs. Fleming informs me that she will include a report in her letter to Grand’Mere.”

“How often does she write these letters?” asked Millicent.

“Every day, it seems. The only reason she has not written one here is her hand is too sore.”

Millicent grinned at Beth. “It seems some good has come of this accident. We must arrange a way for her again to hurt her hand. In a kind and gentle way, as I have no wish to hurt a lady.”

For the first time in their acquaintance, Lady Beth snorted, which seemed to surprise her as much as the gentlemen with her.

“I would hurt her,” said Beth. “She had the nerve yesterday to suggest that she dictate her daily letter to me!”

Millicent almost fell off her horse laughing. Shoffer roared so loud that the farmers, now far ahead of the dawdling trio, turned to stare.

“Dear God,” cried Millicent, when she recovered her breath. “We must take note of date and time, Shoffer. Today your sister made her first joke!”

Shoffer made a show of pretending to draw paper and pen out of his coat, sharpening the imaginary nib as he did, and miming writing.

“I begin to think,” said Millicent, “that Lady Beth's problem arises from her grandmother's wish that she be quiet, biddable, reserved, condescending, and proud while also being the brilliant, dazzling, popular star of the season. She does not know that her own training and rules prevent Lady Beth being that success.”

“I find I agree,” said Shoffer, after a moment’s thought.

“So do I.” Beth shook her head. “It made no sense to me. I was taught to dance and expected to do so, even looked forward to it, but whenever anyone gathered their courage and appeared to be about to ask me Grand’Mere would whisper, his rank is too low, or his family's title too recent a creation, and I was required to refuse. I am commanded to speak, but there is no one to whom speaking would not be a degradation. What was I to do but stand still and be silent?”

“Toss your grandmother's rules out of the window and have some fun,” suggested Millicent.

“But I live with Grand’Mere and she would be so cross with me. She would…” Beth stopped and stared at her hands. “She … I could not disobey her.”

“I do not advocate the full rejection of the rules of good behavior,” Shoffer mock scowled at Millicent. “But, there is fun to be had even so. I cannot think what my grandmother intends. If you do not speak to young women, you will have no friends. And if you speak with no men, how are you to marry?”

“There are other things to do in London beyond dancing, talking, and getting married, or so I am told,” said Millicent.

“And I have never done any of them. I have never even been to a lending library, or to Gunther's for an ice. Or to see the fireworks or the museums.”

“Then arrangements must be made,” declared Shoffer. “Next season you shall most certainly go to Gunther's. I shall take you, since I am fond of ices myself.”

Millicent shifted in her saddle. Yesterday's brief ride taught her an affection she had never thought to experience for the sidesaddle. The way gentlemen rode chafed her thighs and her bottom ached as if made from bruises. Obviously, she should have practiced more.

“Why do you live with your grandmother since her company makes you unhappy?” asked Millicent.

Beth glanced toward her brother and away. “There is nowhere else to go.”

“What is he?” Millicent jerked a thumb toward the duke. “A fish? Does he not have a house, or a dozen?”

“He is busy with other important matters,” recited Beth.

“Oh, my dear, I am so sorry,” cried Shoffer, leaning out of his saddle to grasp the girl's hand. “If I had but known you were unhappy I would have taken some action.”

“How, pray, was she to tell you?” demanded Millicent. “Write a letter? I have no doubt that nothing from her to you ever was mailed without the approval of the duchess.”

“Yes,” said Beth, in response to a questioning rise of the duke's eyebrow.

Millicent made a note to herself to try and acquire that skill. It was a particularly masculine gesture and quite powerful to judge from her own rapid heartbeat and eagerness to reply to it.

“Grand’Mere said I have no skill at letter writing and I was to learn by taking her dictation.”

“Well, this situation is over,” said the duke. “I want your letters to be in your own words and no other’s.”

“And to be certain, the two of you will agree on a phrase to put into Beth’s letters whereby the duke shall always know that the letter was Beth’s own creation,” added Millicent.