The Notorious Lord Havergal (15 page)

“No indeed, ma’am. Naturally you, as hostess, must sit at the foot of your brother’s table for all the festivities. And Lord Havergal should sit at Mr. Norton’s right hand,” she added, lest this detail had escaped notice.

“Then he will be looking at the same spot on the wall every night,” Millie announced. “And it is that old painting of the dead partridges and guns he will be looking at, too. They are enough to put anyone off his feed.”

“We’ll change it each night,” Norton said, and added this absurdity to his list.

Miss Millie took advantage of his writing to say, “You must tell me what local girls I could hire for the duration, Miss Lettie, and some idea what elegant additions to add to the pork.” Pork replaced mutton as a synonym for dinner in this household.

Lettie gave her suggestions and promised to send over receipts for her more esoteric dishes. The meeting had just entered “Wine” on their list, when the butler appeared at the door.

“Lord Havergal,” he announced, and behind him loomed the well-remembered form of that gentleman. The group sat in stunned silence, staring as if he were a wild beast.

Lettie felt the breath catch in her lungs. In her mind the bitter nature of her memories had blunted the edges of his beauty. She had not thought his eyes could really be so bright and so long-lashed. His complexion had a healthy glow, his smile was enchanting, and his tailoring, as usual, was impeccable. He executed a graceful bow and entered nonchalantly.

“I feel as if I’m interrupting a meeting of the Cabinet. I’ll retire, and let you honorable members get on with whatever you’re doing. Parish work, is it?” His eyes quickly toured the group before settling on Lettie. Their eyes met for one electric instant, before she lowered her gaze.

Now why the deuce was she blushing? That girlish blush and new air of uncertainty were becoming to her. Made her seem younger and not so demmed stiff-rumped as before.

Norton sprang to his feet, shuffling his papers into a folder as if they held plans for treason. Havergal noticed the movement, and he noticed as well that a warning glance to the others caused them all to do the same thing. What the devil had he stumbled into here? Some sort of village conspiracy?

“Lord Havergal! Delighted to see you,” Norton said, and went to the door to lead him to the saloon. The ladies rose and followed. “We didn’t look to see you for a few days yet.”

“I ought to have written first, but Papa is very eager to get on with his new idea of raising hogs. If I have come at an awkward time, please don’t pay me the least heed. I can go on at once to your pig farm, and your man there can show me around.”

He stopped at the saloon doorway and blinked at the lavish red and gold panorama before him. The words “Brighton Pavilion” darted into his head. A closer look told him there was nothing oriental in the decor, but the overall effect was similarly blinding.

“Nonsense! Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to show you around myself,” Norton assured him.

“But you seemed so busy.” Lettie and Havergal entered and found seats. Lettie was careful to put herself at the maximum remove possible from Havergal, while still remaining within hearing distance.

“The ladies are helping me make plans for my public day. I hope you will be here for it. A week from tomorrow it is to be held. We were hoping that your friend, the duke, could be persuaded to come as well.”

“I had not planned to batten myself on you for quite so long as that. Two or three days ...”

“A month is more like it, to learn all the tricks of the trade.” Norton pulled the cord, and a footman came to serve wine, while their coffee cooled in the cups in the morning parlor.

“You must have come running the minute you got my note,” Norton said, smiling at this noble promptitude.

“Indeed, I did. I mentioned Papa was eager—”

“No excuses are necessary, laddie. We are delighted to see you anytime. And your friend, the duke, as well. When did you say he would be joining us?”

“I didn’t! I have not heard from Crymont in weeks. I am pretty busy in the House.” Norton frowned, and Havergal added, “At Westminster.”

“Ah, that house. But surely you must bump into the duke there.”

“No, Crymont takes little interest in politics.”

“That may be, but no matter. He still takes an interest in pig racing, for as I was just telling Miss Lettie this very day, I saw his name in the paper in connection with those pig races in Green Park. He lost, I believe. Now when we get my Chester White bred with—”

“But it is not pig racing I have come to look into. It is pig
farming."
His eyes turned to Lettie in apology as he explained this. He found her examining him curiously. Their eyes held for a moment, as though judging each other anew.

“I made sure it was racing,” Norton said. “Do you not think there’s a pound to be made in it then?”

“A passing fancy, I fear. Next month it may be frogs or dogs or cats that catch on. Better stick to pork and bacon. I noticed as I came along that this is your hop farm, Mr. Norton. Where, exactly, is
your
pig farm? I could run along there now and get out of your hair. I don’t want to keep you from your work.”

“Nonsense! Tomorrow is time enough for that. You won’t want to hop back into your carriage so soon after a long trip. You will want to stretch your legs and have a bite to eat before dinner. Call for some tea, Miss Millie. I daresay Lord Havergal is famished.”

The absurdity of having tea in preparation for dinner, while he held a glass of wine in his fingers, set Havergal’s lips quivering. His eyes circled the room, looking for someone with whom to share this joke, and found Lettie chewing back a smile. Miss Millie called for tea, and the party resumed its chatter.

“I hope you aren’t going to any special bother to entertain me,” Havergal said earnestly, when three trays of sandwiches, cakes, and tea were brought in by a caravan of footmen. “It was presumptuous of me to invite myself, but I only meant it as a business meeting.”

Norton smiled his reassurance. “No trouble at all. The ladies were coming to dinner this evening in any case, and they shall pick up the vicar and his wife along the way. The vicarage burned to the ground—poor souls. I invited them to stay here, but they are kin to half the village and have found rack and manger elsewhere.”

“I am sorry to hear it. About the fire, I mean,” Havergal said.

“The vicar goes to Canterbury on Thursday, Norton,” his sister reminded him.

“So he does. Tomorrow evening then, Miss Millie. And this evening we shall just dine
en famille,
to let you rest up from your jaunt, Lord Havergal.”

Havergal blinked to hear the ladies from Laurel Hall called family. Lettie disassociated herself from the whole thing by turning to exchange a few quiet words with Miss Millie. They were of a particularly harrowing nature on her hostess’s part.

“What shall I serve him on such short notice!” Miss Millie asked, horrified, “And the new sheets not even put on the bed yet!”

“Just whatever you planned for yourselves,” Lettie replied quietly.

“You and Miss Violet will come at least? Pray, do not abandon me, Miss Lettie. Do come, and we can have a hand of cards after, or Norton will prose His Lordship’s ear off and make fools of us all.”

Lettie found herself curiously eager to come. She noticed some new air about Havergal. Difficult to say just what it was, for he was quite as lively as before, yet more serious somehow. More eager to please. His eyes often turned to her in a searching way. As she recalled their last meeting, she thought perhaps he was just a little frightened of her. Was it for her benefit that he disclaimed any knowledge of Crymont and kept emphasizing that he was here for a serious study of hogs rather than for amusement?

“Yes, we shall come. As you are serving tea now, you won’t want to serve dinner before seven or seven-thirty,” she added, to avoid Miss Millie’s rushing Havergal from tea table to dinner table.

“I doubt Cook can get things ready before seven. What will you wear? Do you think my diamonds and mauve lace gown will do?”

“Much too grand for a small dinner. Save them for the ball. I shall wear my bronze taffeta.”

“Your blue crepe, Miss Millie,” Violet suggested, “and that sapphire pendant on a gold chain that Norton bought you for your birthday.”

“Oh I wish Norton would take His Lordship out, so that I could go and speak to Cook.”

“Have your tea and then go ahead. Havergal will not expect you to dance attendance on him when he has landed in on you unannounced. Just treat him like any ordinary guest.”

Miss Millie looked at her as if she were mad. “By luck, I have a skinned hare hanging ready for the pan. That will prove some relief from pork and ham for tonight.”

Domestic affairs of this sort made up the remainder of the ladies’ teatime conversation. The banal nature of it left Lettie with one ear free to eavesdrop on the gentlemen. The talk was all of Berkshires and gilts and farrowing pens, which sounded as if Havergal was either actually here on business or putting on a good show. Time would tell.

She suggested that Miss Millie take advantage of their departure to exit herself from the room and attend to her duties, and leave the gentlemen to their business.

Havergal and Norton rose when the ladies began their departure.

“It was a pleasure to meet you again, ladies” was all Havergal said, but he said it with such a smile and with his eyes lingering just a second longer on Lettie than on Violet.

“You may want to just pick up your list of items for the public day, ladies,” Norton said with a shrewd wink behind Havergal’s back. “Anything you can think of to add will be entirely welcome.”

They took this as a plea for input on the coming entertainments and took their papers home with them, smuggled out in their reticules.

“I am glad that is over with,” Violet said when they were comfortably ensconced in Norton’s carriage for the return trip. “I was dreading to meet Havergal again, but he doesn’t appear to hold any grudge for the way you treated him.”

“There was good cause for the way I treated him, Violet. And if you think the leopard has changed his spots in a few short weeks, you are much mistaken.” She said it as much to remind herself as to warn Violet, because whatever his spots, she still found him dangerously attractive.

There followed a week of entertainments unparalleled in the life of Ashford. The local worthies, eager to meet Miss Millie’s noble guest, vied with one another in inventing amusements.

It was soon borne in on Lettie that, although she and Violet were included in most of the invitations, Lord Havergal had not been to call on them, Lettie was perfectly aware of the reason for it: she had told him bluntly on that awful night that he was never to set foot in her house again. As she sat down to dinner with him nearly every night in someone else’s house, however, the interdict was beginning to look foolish. Sly hints from her friends let her know it was time she and Violet repay the neighbors’ hospitality as well.

The highlight of the visit was to be Saturday, when the Nortons held their public day in the afternoon and their ball at night. Havergal had been talked into lengthening his visit to include these treats, but Lettie knew he would be leaving early in the next week. On Thursday, she and Violet were bidden to an alfresco party at Norton Knoll, and Lettie made a resolution that she would find an opportunity that very day to apologize to Havergal and give him permission to call. Surely her edict was all that was keeping him away. He was exceedingly friendly when they met and always went a little out of his way to distinguish her. If they chanced to meet on the street, he not only removed his hat and bowed, but stopped to chat for a few moments. If the assembly included dancing, he always stood up with her, usually first, and at Mrs. Pincombe’s rout, first and last.

To dilute her triumph, Havergal had ridden out the next two afternoons with Miss Pincombe, whose papa kept the best stable in the neighborhood. Lord Havergal was known to be a bruising rider, and as he had come without mounts, it was settled among all the eligible ladies that he had to take Miss Pincombe’s company to get his leg over Mr. Pincombe’s bay mare.

During various conversations with Havergal, Lettie had come to realize that he was unaware of his father’s visit to her. She felt odd not mentioning it, yet she had some vague feeling that Cauleigh did not wish it to be known. He had not enjoined her to secrecy, but he had not told his son of the call. She felt devious keeping it from him and determined to drop a casual mention of it the next time they had some privacy.

Lettie, along with most of the local ladies, had bought a new bonnet for this unprecedented Season of liveliness. It was a chip straw, particularly well-suited to an alfresco party. She had not worn chip straw for five years, as it seemed to her a youthful fashion, yet as she tied the ribbons in front of the mirror, she thought it was not too youthful for her. Some new light had entered her eyes, some new happiness invaded her body, and it showed on her face. She looked younger. That was the closest she could come to putting words to it, and in her heart she knew Havergal was the cause.

Useless to say it was just the socializing, looking forward to Norton’s ball, or even Tom’s successful graduation, word of which had been received with much less excitement than it merited and would have received at any other time. The dreadful thought occurred to her that she looked like a lady in love. The only mitigation to her conscience was that every lady in town under the age of forty looked exactly the same way and for the same reason. Even Violet had blossomed into a new radiance and spoke casually of losing some weight as she peered in the mirror to view her new bonnet.

“You could stand to ease up on the sweets,” Lettie allowed.

“Ned says I am just right!”

Mr. Norton had finally become Ned to them both. It seemed stiff to go on calling him Norton, or Mr. Norton, when Havergal had achieved a first-name basis inside of two days. Ned had slipped out unawares a few times, and Norton had seized eagerly on the chance to first-name the ladies as well. Indeed, Violet had already been shortened to Vi, and no doubt Lettie would have been further shortened to Let if it were not such an odd-sounding nickname.