“Don’t let it stir too much, Simon.”
“Yes, I can see that such an observation might quiver the embers of a man’s passions. But she is really quite lovely-well, perhaps it is best that I put a period to that thought. Now, is there a problem with Maybella’s clothes, Douglas? Or mine?”
Douglas sat forward, clasping his hands between his knees. “No problem at all. This is about Corrie. The thing is, Simon, Corrie is just like my wife in that she has no idea about clothes. When my wife told me she would speak with Maybella and advise Corrie, I knew that to avert complete disaster I had no choice but to come here myself and see to it. Now, if you will call in Corrie, I will tell her what it is she must wear. You know, the colors and styles of gowns and such. Of course, you want her to appear her best in London.”
“Well naturally,” Simon said, and blinked rapidly. “I’ve always thought Corrie dressed quite nicely, like her aunt, as a matter of fact, when she’s not wearing her breeches. Isn’t that odd that all her gowns are light blue, like Maybella’s? And her boots-they are always highly polished, at least they were the last time I chanced to notice them. But, perhaps that was a long time ago. I don’t often notice feet, you know.”
“No, probably not. I agree with you. Her breeches, in particular, are doubtless of excellent style and cut. But the thing is, Simon, London is a vastly different place. Young ladies don’t wear boots in London nor do they wear stylish breeches. You do remember?”
Simon sat back in his chair, closed his eyes, and sighed deeply. “Aye, Douglas, I remember all too well. It was only ten years ago that Maybella dragged me to London, to see a balloon ascension, she assured me. I was moved by her attempt to please me because I very much wanted to see the balloon ascension, Douglas, and it was indeed an incredible sight, but I fear I was taken in. It was six weeks before I could come home. There was only one other balloon ascension during that very long, tedious time. Do you mean that I must go there again?”
“Yes, you must. However, I fear that a balloon ascension isn’t a certain thing. The weather in the fall is unpredictable, and as you know, balloons need to have clear weather and very little wind.”
“Then why must I go to London if the weather is too uncertain for the balloons?”
“Because Corrie is eighteen, a young lady, and young ladies must be presented. They must attend balls and be seen and admired and taught to dance. James tells me that Corrie is going to come out in the Little Season, Simon, a sort of practice season, so she can learn how to go on. I fear, Simon, that you will have to go yet again to London next spring when Corrie is officially presented.”
Simon moaned, then perked up. “Perhaps Corrie has no wish to go to London and be presented.”
“She must be in the middle of things in order to find a husband, Simon. Young gentlemen are thick on the ground in London during the Season. Only then are there enough of them about to give a girl a decent selection. Alexandra and I will be in London this fall. We can assist you. Now, if you would call Corrie, I can begin advising her on her apparel. Also, James has offered to teach her to waltz.”
Buxted cleared his throat from the doorway. “Ah, please regard me, my lords. I managed to snag some lovely cinnamon bread from the kitchen from under Cook’s nose. It is Lady Maybella’s favorite. When I found out she didn’t consume all of it at the breakfast table, I moved quickly. Just look-there are six nice fat slices left. There were seven, but I must confess that I nipped one slice, to ensure its freshness, you know.”
“Excellent, Buxted,” Simon said, and pushed a quantity of scientific journals off the table at his elbow. “You didn’t eat more than one, did you, Buxted?”
“Just one, my lord.”
Simon never looked away from that plate Buxted was holding as he said, “Did you find Corrie?”
“Yes, my lord. In the middle of the upstairs corridor. She was tugging on her breeches that have become too short in the past months.” Buxted fidgeted, looked over his master’s left shoulder, then drew himself up. “I warned her we had a very august personage visiting. I even managed in a very roundabout manner to let her know that she might also want to change her stockings. She squeaked and ran to her bedchamber. I daresay the result of my words might be a pale blue gown, just like her ladyship’s.”
“Well done, Buxted,” Douglas said.
Buxted drew himself up and gave the earl a blinding smile. “As to that, one would never wish to repel an earl, my lord.”
“Naturally not,” Douglas said. “I shall tell Hollis of your wily brain, Buxted.”
“Will you, my lord? Will you indeed? Oh, to have Hollis know that I perhaps managed to bring something worthwhile to fruition. Perhaps you’d best not, my lord. One must wait and see.”
“The cinnamon bread, Buxted. Now.”
Buxted reverently laid the plate on the table beside Simon, gave one last wistful look at the artfully arranged slices, sighed, blotted the sweat on his bald head with a handkerchief, and walked out the door.
The instant Buxted was gone, Simon grabbed up a slice of cinnamon bread. “I thought he would never leave, Douglas. We must hurry and eat the cinnamon bread before Maybella comes down. Don’t talk, Douglas, just eat, or else Maybella may appear and she will snag the other slices. She has a powerful sense of smell, does Maybella.”
Douglas smiled, took a slice, bit into it. He realized this wasn’t just any sort of cinnamon bread, this was cinnamon bread straight from the celestial realm. He was reaching for a second slice when his hand hit Simon’s.
“There’s a problem about this, Douglas,” Simon said, and gently eased out the slice from beneath Douglas’s hand.
Douglas snagged the next slice, managed to polish it off before he raised an eyebrow in question.
Simon sighed so deeply he nearly choked. “The money.”
“Money? Isn’t Corrie well-dowered?”
Simon looked on the point of bursting into tears. Oh God, Douglas thought, what was wrong? No dowry? No, surely that couldn’t be true.
“That would be bad enough. No, Douglas, it is far worse than that. She’s an heiress.”
Douglas nearly laughed aloud. “Surely that isn’t all that bad.”
“You know what will happen when it’s discovered she has bucketfuls of groats, Douglas. She will be hunted down like a rat.”
“I wouldn’t put it precisely like that, Simon, but I do understand that she will be the focus of any fortune-hungry young gentleman in London.”
“If the young gentlemen don’t have the wit to do it, then their parents will plot and scheme to get her to the altar. Not to mention all the old gentlemen who would want to get their hands on her money. You know the sort-womanizers, lechers, gamblers who will forbid her breeches and keep her breeding until she’s thirty and likely dead of it. I don’t want that to happen, Douglas.”
“Is she really an heiress or does she have, say, in the vicinity of five thousand pounds?”
“She could drop five thousand pounds in a ditch and not even blink, Douglas.”
“I see. I will think about this. Perhaps we can keep it quiet.”
“Ha! When money is involved it won’t remain a secret for long.”
Douglas frowned. “Well, it has until now, but you’re right, Simon. Once she gets to London and it’s known she’s looking for a husband, even burying her money in the kitchen garden won’t help.” Douglas sighed and tapped his fingertips together.
A lovely low musical voice came from the doorway. “Good morning, my lord. So you are our august personage?”
CHAPTER SIX
There is no such thing as too much couth.
S. J. PERELMAN