The Frog Earl (8 page)

“They looks kind of nekkid,” said Jacko doubtfully, then flushed crimson. “Beg pardon, miss, I just meant wi' all that white china round 'em.”

“They need some pond weed,” Simon suggested. “And that reminds me, you ought to grow some plants in that pond of yours, Miss Mimi. There was a heron down there today, and you won't have any frogs if those tadpoles don't have somewhere to hide. Have one of your gardeners take some rushes from the mere. My aunt won't mind.”

“I'll do it for you, miss,” Jacko assured her.

“I shall do it myself.”

“Then you will doubtless need my help.” Simon pretended not to notice her confusion at his provocative tone. “Tomorrow, if it is fine?”

“Tomorrow,” she said decisively. “Jacko and I shall be there at nine, if you care to join us, Mr. Hurst.”

“Without fail. I must leave you now, however. I abandoned my studies with Mr. Wickham to see the tadpoles, and I must return to work.”

“Then you will not be riding toward the village,” she said with a return to her demure manner, leading the way back through the kitchen. “I had hoped that Harriet—Miss Cooper—would visit today, but she must have been unable to escape her chores. I thought perhaps you might be passing by the vicarage and could deliver a note for me.” She sighed.

Simon was instantly sure that Miss Lakshmi Lassiter had something more in mind than the simple delivery of a note, which Jacko might easily have accomplished. Intrigued, he said gallantly, “I cannot bear to disappoint you, Princess. It will take no more than a few extra minutes to ride that way.”

“You are most obliging, sir.” She beamed at him. “Pray come into the library while I write. I shall be brief, I promise you.”

He raised his eyebrows, and she cast him a conscious look, but this time she lived up to her promise. Handing him the much-folded paper, she said, “If possible, please give it into Harriet's own hands, sir. The children—her brothers and sisters —are all too likely to forget to pass it on.”

“Into her own hands,” he assured her, and regretfully took his leave. He could not remember when he had been better entertained.

Chapter 7

Harriet sat in the shabby back parlor of the vicarage with a large basket of mending at her side. Patiently she helped her little sisters darn their stockings. Mending was not an occupation she enjoyed, but teaching Sally and Prue was always a pleasure.

Perhaps, she thought sadly, she ought to give up hope of marriage and a family of her own, and try to find a position as a governess. Mimi's efforts with the tadpoles did not seem to have repelled any of her suitors more than momentarily.

“Harry! Harriet!” Jim burst into the room. “There's a gentleman at the front door asking for you.”

“Who? Who is it?” She stuck her needle in the collar she was setting in a shirt for Ferdie and put it aside. “What does he want?”

“It's a stranger,” said her brother importantly. “He has a letter. He wouldn't give it to me. It's got to be put into Miss Cooper's very own hands, he said.”

Harriet hurried out. A strange gentleman, with a letter for her hands alone?

“He said his name is Simon Hurst,” Jim yelled after her.

Her breath caught in her throat. Mr. Hurst calling on her, and insisting on seeing her in person—she had not thought he really noticed her last night, though he had sat beside her for nearly half an hour, chatting politely.

She saw his stocky frame silhouetted in the doorway. Jim had left him standing on the doorstep, but fortunately it had stopped raining. He raised his hat as she approached with quick, light steps.

“Miss Cooper, I beg your pardon for disturbing you. Miss Lassiter instructed me to place her letter in your very hands, for fear that one of your siblings should neglect to deliver it.”

He had a nice smile, she decided, taking the note, slightly disappointed that he had not come of his own accord. “Thank you, sir. Will you step in?”

“I...” His answer was cut short by an angry screech in Sally's voice.

Prue's childish treble followed. “Ooh, you're going to be in trouble, Jimmy.”

“Pray excuse me, sir.” Harriet sped back to the parlor.

Jim had picked up one of Sally's still undarned stockings and, pulling on a loose thread, had unravelled several rows. Harriet promised to knit it up herself, forestalling incipient tears.

“And as for you, young man,” she addressed the miscreant, “I shan't tell Papa what you did if you clean Sally's shoes for her tonight.”

“But if you're going to mend it, I ought to clean your shoes.”

“It was Sally you upset. Now back to the dining room with you or I shall tell Papa you are neglecting your studies.”

Pulling a face, Jim turned to leave. “Oh, hello, sir. Harry, here's your caller.” He dashed out to rejoin his younger brother at their books.

“Mr. Hurst!” She felt her face grow hot. What must he think of her squabbling siblings?

“Forgive me, Miss Cooper. I followed to lend you my aid if necessary, but you managed admirably. As a naval officer, I couldn't have dealt better with quarreling sailors.”

“You were in the navy, sir? My eldest brother, Ferdie, is a sub-lieutenant.”

“What is his ship?”

“He is fourth mate on the Bellerophon.”

They continued to talk for a few minutes but Harriet was uneasy. She found herself in a quandary. If she asked him to be seated she ought to offer him tea, but the Coopers' one servant would not take kindly to being asked to make it in the middle of her dinner preparations. Harriet could make tea herself, but that would mean abandoning Mr. Hurst to the company of her tongue-tied sisters while she went to the kitchen.

She was glad when Prue interrupted with a timid request for Harriet to finish off a darn so that it wouldn't come undone.

“I must be on my way,” said Mr. Hurst promptly. “No, I won't disturb you further, I'll see myself out. Good day, ma'am.” With a nod to the children he went off.

After quickly tying off Prue's lumpy darn and starting her on another, Harriet opened Mimi's letter.

“I wish you had come Today,” it began. “Mr. Hurst was Charming!!! He offered to go out of his way to carry this to you,”—knowing Mimi, Harriet was fairly certain that the gentleman had been coerced in some fashion—”so I am certain he was Much Struck by you last night. I shall be at the Mere tomorrow at Nine, and he may come.” At the mere at nine? What on earth was she up to now? “You must walk that way, without Fail!!!”

Mimi was determined to throw her into Mr. Hurst's arms. Folding the letter and slipping it into her pocket, Harriet made up her mind to do her best not to disappoint her friend. Though she did not find him precisely charming, Mr. Hurst was without doubt a vast improvement over Albert Pell and Sir Wilfred Marbury.

Stolen beaux or no, she thought as she set another neat stitch in Ferdie's shirt, Mimi was the best friend anyone could ask for.

* * * *

 Mere House glowed pinkly in the sunset. Riding homeward, Simon repeated to himself the old saw: “Red sky at night, sailors' delight.” Or was it “shepherds' delight”? No matter; with any luck it meant a fine day tomorrow.

He left Intrepid in the stables and went into the house. As he emerged from the back passage into the entrance hall, he heard Gerald's drawling voice.

“Oh no, I mean to stay with you until the end of the Season, Aunt Georgina. I have blotted my copybook in town, you see, and don't wish to face Mama's recriminations at Crossfields.”

“Blotted your copybook, dear boy?” Lady Thompson's violet satin appeared in the drawing-room doorway, her head turned to address her nephew in the room beyond. “You must tell me all about it after dinner. You are not one to set tongues wagging, not like Ced... Oh, Simon! Your cousin is come.”

“So I hear, Aunt.”

“I daresay the pair of you have plenty to say to each other, but don't be late for dinner. I'm going up to change.”

“We won't keep you from your meal,” he promised, and went into the drawing room. In view of Baird's known propensity for eavesdropping, he closed it behind him. “Blotted your copybook, Gerald? I don't believe it.”

“All in your service, old fellow. Good gad! What are you wearing?”

“I told you I wasn't bringing my new clothes. In my service? What do you mean?”

“I've avenged you, coz.” Gerald dropped into a chair and lounged back, enjoying Simon's puzzlement. “I daresay you've forgot the ravishing Lady Elizabeth—the Incomparable, some call her?”

“I remember,” said Simon grimly.

“The more fool you. Lady Elizabeth, having inexplicably lost the marquis's heir without a word of farewell, openly and publicly restored the handsome young viscount to her favor. Said viscount was permitted, nay, encouraged to kiss my lady in an alcove at Almack's. To cut a short story shorter, the fair Lizzie, blushing rosily, thereupon informed me that her noble papa would be at home in the morning and would undoubtedly welcome a visit. She then proceeded to blush and whisper her way around the ballroom. Alas, for all I know Lord Prestwitton is waiting still.”

“You cut and ran when she was expecting an offer?”

“I did.”

Simon was awed. “No wonder you don't want to face the ton, nor Aunt Cecilia. What can I say? You...”

“Spare me your thanks, old fellow. It was a novel experience, giving the biddies something to tattle about, and one should never allow oneself to become stuck in a rut, to use a distressingly rural idiom. Tell me, how do your lessons go with friend Wickham?”

“Devil take it, Gerald, the man's got me studying bookkeeping!”

“Very necessary. What have you learned?”

“That the Mere House estate could make a lot more money if the rents were not ridiculously low, and that Aunt Georgina is slightly threadbare because she refuses to raise the rents. But it's your estate.”

“It's her home. The tenants all adore her, and they plow the profits she doesn't take back into the land. Wickham makes sure it's properly done. When eventually I take over from our lady aunt—and may it be in the far distant future—this will be one of the best-kept estates in the country.”

“Well, I see why you leave Wickham here rather than taking him off to Crossfields, but I hate to see the violet satin reappearing time and time again.”

Gerald shuddered. “Devilish, is it not? I keep my gaze averted.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Possibly your untutored eye is unable to detect that there are, in fact, a number of different violet satin gowns. I know what you mean, though. You think I should insist on higher rents or make my aunt an allowance.”

“It's none of my business.”

“To be sure, it's not. I've tried giving her an allowance, Simon, but she simply hands out the blunt to anyone in need. Now I just make sure that Baird has sufficient to keep her in reasonable comfort and the house in reasonable repair.”

“I beg your pardon. I should have guessed...”

The rattle of the door handle announced the butler. “Her ladyship,” he said acidly, “prefers to dine on time.”

Her ladyship's nephews headed for the stairs.

Pausing at the door of his dressing room, Gerald said in a thoughtful tone, “I wonder whether I ought to warn you... No, I believe the shock may be salutary.”

With some misgiving, Simon continued to his own chamber. He stepped across the threshold, and a tearful voice said, “My lord...”

“Hush! I'm Mr. Hurst here. What the devil are you doing here, Henry?”

“I knew you couldn't manage without me, my... sir,” said the valet passionately. “Look!” He held up a limp length of white muslin.

“My neckcloth?”

“No starch!”

“I'm much more comfortable that way. You can't stay here, Henry.”

The little man wasn't listening. His appalled gaze was fixed on Simon's feet. He moaned.

Simon remembered his encounter with the mud. “You wouldn't have approved of these boots anyway,” he consoled him, sitting down and beginning to pull them off. “I left my good London ones behind.”

“I know, sir.” Henry sank to his knees and removed the offending boots, gently but without the reverence he gave to Hoby's creations. “I packed everything up neat as could be but Lord Litton would not allow me to bring the trunks.” He regarded the boots sadly. “This type of leather simply won't take a good gloss. However, I shall naturally do my best.”

“No. You can't stay. I'm just an apprentice bailiff and I can't possibly afford a gentleman's gentleman to serve me.”

“Sir, I cannot bear to see even these garments so shockingly used. Permit me to take care of your apparel and I swear I won't try to dress you, or bring your water, or warm your bed, or even tie your cravat!”

“Oh very well, man.” Simon was touched by the fellow's loyalty. “You may stay, as long as you say you're Lord Litton's servant. I daresay no one will be excessively shocked that he needs two men to extricate him from his coat.”

“I heard that.” Gerald stepped into the room, discreetly closing the door behind him. “Yes, Henry, you may lay claim to be in my employ while taking care of Lord Derwent's clothes—if you can bear to have anything to do with his present attire. I wager her ladyship's footman will be overjoyed to be relieved of the awful responsibility of attempting to make my cousin appear respectable.”

Although they had parted not ten minutes earlier, Gerald was already impeccably dressed for an evening in the country. He had donned pale tan pantaloons, snuff-brown waistcoat, and dark blue coat, a fresh neckcloth neatly but not elaborately tied completing the picture of elegance. It would have taken Simon, with Henry's aid, an hour or more to achieve something approaching the same effect.

Since he was not aiming at anything half so polished, another five minutes saw the cousins descending the stairs together just as the dinner gong resounded through the house. From the landing, Henry watched them. Even their movements were a study in contrasts, his master's tread resolute, vigorous, while Lord Litton bore himself with an easy grace. The valet shook his head sadly.

Lady Thompson was all agog to hear the reason for her nephew's flight from Town. To Simon's relief, Gerald made an amusing tale of it without revealing that his motive had been vengeance for the insult to his cousin. To excuse his disgraceful conduct, he simply described Lady Elizabeth's character to his aunt in the most unflattering terms.