Chapter Seventeen
They counted the stars in the dining room and reached three thousand seven hundred and two. That was too many possible patterns of seven, none of which immediately jumped out at them. Everyone spent most of the dinner with their necks craned at the ceiling or bent over staring at the floor. Chartreuse was concerned as there was no food on the floor. The footmen were confused because the family appeared to be mad. The wine was tasted, the potatoes examined, the trifle checked and checked again.
In the morning, Meg decided she needed fresh air to clear her head. And stretch her aching neck muscles. She was surprised when Charlie accepted her invitation to go for a walk. She knew the girl did not entirely trust her. She was protective of her brother and Meg fully supported that. She also felt rather protective of Charlie when Mrs. Hill clucked her tongue disapprovingly. It was a sound far too often heard in the house.
That was likely why when Meg interrupted the latest lecture, bonnet in hand, Charlie rushed to join her. “You’ll need a footman,” Mrs. Hill intoned. There was no other word for it.
“I hardly think that’s necessary,” Meg said when Charlie sighed, already looking as though she was regretting her impulsive decision to join Meg. “We aren’t traipsing about London, after all.”
Mrs. Hill did not look mollified. “But…”
“Pshaw,” Lady Blackwell said from the hallway. Chartreuse was nestled in her arms, the diamonds flashing off his collar. It was an unfortunate puce color, to match lady Blackwell’s wig. The effect was… alarming. So was Lady Blackwell’s smile, perfectly suited to the daughter of a duke, even if that duke had died decades ago. “Miss Swift is a country girl. She’s perfectly able to navigate around a few cows.” She nodded imperiously. “Do carry on, my dear.”
Meg grinned as Mrs. Hill spluttered. “Would you care to join us?”
“Certainly not. I have no desire to track the inevitable result of a cow on my new slippers.”
Meg bobbed a friendly curtsy.
“Don’t forget your ribbons,” Lady Blackwell added. “One can’t be too careful.”
“Ribbons?” Charlie inquired as they finally made it out the front door.
“Yes,” Meg replied, securing her bonnet with a long hat pin. “Very useful things.”
“Penknives are useful,” Charlie muttered.
“They are,” Meg agreed. “One need not cancel the other out. They can both be useful.”
“I suppose.”
Charlie was disgruntled but Meg was beginning to understand the Blacks a little better, having spent so many days under the same roof. The more bored Colin looked, the more annoyed Charlie looked, the more calm Dougal looked—the more uncertain they felt. They expected to be mocked or stared at like the elephant at the Royal Menagerie at the Tower of London.
Meg kept her own expression impassive—which she realized was what she did when she felt insecure. She didn’t want to say the wrong thing. Charlie was like a baby bird flung out of the nest into an ocean instead of the expected field. She could easily drown here.
Or she could become the most interesting bird anyone had ever seen.
“Would you rather ride?” Meg asked as they passed the stables. The smell of hay was strong, the sounds of happy horses heartening. Her uncle wasn’t keen on letting her anywhere near his prized horses. She was not very steady in a saddle, but she’d make do.
Charlie wrinkled her nose. “No, thank you.” She paused. “I’m still learning.”
“I’m not very good,” Meg admitted.
Colin cantered past them on a playful mare, urging her into a gallop. The wind picked up his hooting and tossed the happy sound around. Charlie smiled. “Colin, on the other hand,” she said, “has quite taken to riding.”
“I can see that. What about Dougal?”
Charlie sent her a sideling glance. “He’s absolute rubbish.”
Meg grinned. “Is he?”
“He practices but he’s like a wooden doll. The stablemaster always has to have a fortifying nip of ale after a lesson.” She stopped. “Don’t tell him I said so.”
Meg shook her head. “I won’t.”
They walked in companiable silence until the grassy hill changed to harvested fields. “Is this where the tenant farmers live?” Meg asked, nodding down a well-walked track. Smoke lingered in the distance. A baby cried. The smells of dirt and hay were familiar.
Charlie nodded. “I think so.”