“Willie, surely you don’t wish to leave now. Why, it’s really too unpleasant in London in the summer.”
“Dear Aunt Gweneth,” Marcus said, smiling at her, “you’ve never traveled beyond York. There are always amusements aplenty in London, no matter the month.”
“Marcus, it’s unclean in London in the summer. The heat makes everything smell abominable. I don’t want them to leave. Trevor, is this your notion?”
“Yes, Aunt Gweneth. This game of the Wyndham legacy grows old. Besides, if there is indeed such a thing, it is yours, Marcus, not ours.”
“Trevor!”
“Mama, take hope in the fact that we aren’t paupers. Indeed, I even plan to improve our coffers by marrying James off to a proper English heiress. What do you think, brother?”
James looked frankly appalled. “Married! Me? Good God, Trevor, I’m only twenty years old. I need many more years of seasoning, many more years of—”
“Dissipation? Wild oats? Come now, James, I was thrown over the anvil when I was but twenty-two.”
Marcus stared from one brother to the other. They seemed to be enjoying themselves vastly until James said, “Thrown! Good Lord, Trevor, you wanted Helen, you panted after her like a puppy, she was all you wanted.”
Antonia said, “Ursula told us that Helen was the most beautiful girl in all Baltimore. She said it was a love match, like it was just out of Mrs. Radcliffe.”
“She did, huh?” Trevor said, but he smiled. “She was very young at the time.”
“But Trevor,” Ursula said, confusion writ clear on her young face, “I thought you adored Helen. I thought she was the luckiest woman to have you until she died.”
Fanny was silent. She was looking longingly at the spiced pears but took an apple instead.
Trevor merely shook his head at his sister, still smiling. He said now to North, “I understand that you, like Marcus, have wisely avoided the fighting on my shores and stuck instead to that very short fellow, Napoleon. I salute you both for your caution. I shouldn’t have liked to stick my bayonet into either of your bellies had you attempted to come into Baltimore.”
“Ho, Marcus, shall I take him outside and pound him into the ground?”
“You couldn’t,” James said. “Trevor is stronger than a horse and he’s fast.”
“I heard you say he was a dirty fighter, James,” Ursula said.
“What’s a dirty fighter mean?” Fanny wanted to know, the apple halfway to her mouth.
“That, my children,” said Aunt Wilhelmina, “is quite enough. It is more than enough. You’ve quite overset my nerves. Sampson, please tell Badger to make me some lemon curd to settle my innards.”
Antonia whispered to Fanny, “I think we should go tell the Duchess. She probably needs to have a fun laugh.” The Twins slipped from their chairs after a nod from Aunt Gweneth, and out of the morning room.
“I still don’t want you to leave, Willie,” Aunt Gweneth said.
Marcus gave her a sympathetic smile. “We must allow such decisions to reside with Trevor, ma’am.”
“Why? He’s as young as you are, Marcus. Why should he have the final say? She’s his mama; he’s not her husband.”
“He’s still the man, Aunt Gweneth. He’s the head of the family.”
“Bosh,” said Aunt Wilhelmina. “He’s a mere twenty-two, twenty-three, at most. I told him that just the other day when he mistakenly claimed to be nearly twenty-five. I will speak to him, Gweneth. He will come to reason.”
Trevor just shrugged, grinning down at his plate. Marcus and North exchanged expressions that none of the females at the table comprehended.
They faced each other in the Duchess’s bedchamber.
“No. I forbid it. That’s it.”
“Marcus, I’m fine, I promise. I’ll go quite mad if I stay in this bedchamber for another instant. Please, I want to go riding. I’ll be most careful.”
He had his steward, Mr. Franks, to suffer for a good two hours. Crittaker was hanging about, with a hopeful expression with fistfuls of accounts to review and a score of letters to answer. Two of his tenants wanted to see him. He said, “I’ll ride with you. You can’t go alone.”