Knave's Wager

“That.” Mr. Beldon flung his arm in the general direction of the vanishing figure of Cecily Glenwood. “A girl, don’t you know? A girl in chap’s clothes.”

“You’ve had a long night of it, Beldon,” said Lord Robert calmly as he retrieved the hat. Equally composedly, he handed it to his acquaintance. “Those were my cousin’s stable lads, exercising his cattle. You had better get yourself to bed before you begin seeing pink elephants and purple tigers as well.”

“Good heavens, Robin,” said Lord Brandon when his cousin—after going back to bed and making a futile attempt to sleep—came in to breakfast. “You are as pale as a ghost. Was there a pea in the mattress?”

“No,” said Lord Robert. “I was perfectly comfortable, thank you—that is to say—well, I was not comfortable in my mind.”

“I wish I could sympathise, but I am always quite comfortable in that way. I have a very well-regulated conscience. It never troubles me, and I return the favour, and so we get on famously.”

“It isn’t conscience—at least—no. But I can’t think what to do.”

“Why, nothing easier. There is the sideboard. Fill your plate, or summon someone to fill it for you. Personally, I prefer to do without my staff’s assiduous attentions at breakfast. A dollop of austerity in the morning gives me a properly balanced view, I find.”

Lord Robert rubbed his forehead and walked with a vacant air to the sideboard. He stood there for several minutes, staring helplessly at the array of covered dishes.

“It doesn’t matter what you take, Robin. The affairs of state will continue grinding, even if you choose a rasher of bacon over a sausage.”

His words proving ineffective, Lord Brandon rose, filled a plate for his cousin, and guided the young man to a seat.

“Take up your fork,” said the marquess. “That is a scientifically verified mode of beginning.”

“Thank you,” said Robert absently, and absently he swallowed a few mouthfuls before putting his silver down. “I am confused,” he said.

“Indeed you must be. You have just emptied the saltcellar upon your bacon.”

“Regarding a young lady,” said Robert. “That is to say, I feel I ought to do something, but I can’t for the life of me think what it is.”

“Perhaps you will think of it later,” said Lord Brandon, betraying not a glimmer of curiosity.

“That’s what she said. Yet I’ve been churning at it for hours now, and nothing I contrive will do. No, it won’t do at all,” he said, shaking his head.

Lord Brandon calmly stirred his coffee. “I never pry, Robin. Still, if you wish to unburden yourself—and would not violate a trust in doing so—I shall give an excellent appearance of attending.”

The younger man threw him a look of gratitude. “Yes, please, if you will—that is—well, it is a secret, so I must ask—”

Lord Brandon solemnly swearing himself to eternal silence, his cousin proceeded to relate the morning’s experience.

“Ah, yes,” said the marquess when the tale was done. “I recollect her. Miss Glenwood struck me as a young lady of uncommon energy.”

“She’s very high-spirited, Julian, and really she’s practically a child—so how could I read her horrid sermons about propriety? But you know it won’t do. Beldon saw her, and if he hadn’t been utterly cast away at the tune, I’d never have convinced him it—she—was one of your grooms, and the news would be all over London by now. So she must be got to stop, of course, and I suppose her ogre aunt could stop her—but then, I should be carrying tales, you know.”

“No, you had better not upset her aunt.” Lord Brandon might have added that Mrs. Davenant was sufficiently upset for the present, thanks to him, but he did not, for he was not, generally, a boastful man.

“Then what’s to be done?”

Lord Brandon reflected for a few minutes as he sipped his coffee, while Lord Robert strove for patience.

“Well?” the young man prodded, when his short supply of that article ran out.

“Being very young and country-bred, Miss Glenwood is likely accustomed to far more freedom than she has in Town. Her family is horse-mad, I understand. Undoubtedly, she has been riding since her infancy. In that case, sedate trots along bridle paths cannot be satisfying. If she had a riding companion equally skilled and daring, and if she rode out sufficiently early with proper chaperonage, I daresay she might have a decent gallop, even in London, without causing a stir. Perhaps that would obviate the necessity for dawn rides in breeches.”

Lord Robert considered. “You think I ought to go with her, Julian?”

“Oh, any skilled horseman—or -woman—will do, I suppose,” said the marquess, covering a yawn. “So long as the individual is not objectionable to the aunt. She—or her companion at least—will be a tiresome but necessary adjunct.”

“Gad,” said Robert. “Now I must turn the aunt up sweet, and I don’t think it can be done.”

“Perhaps not. That is a great deal of exertion on account of one high-spirited miss.”

“But if I don’t, she’ll be found out, and everyone will say she is a hoyden—or worse—and really, she’s a very good sort of girl. A child, actually, though—” He stopped short, flushed, and cleared his throat, then hastily rose and excused himself.

As early as was decent, Lord Robert Downs presented himself at Davenant House. He could do no more, unfortunately, than leave his card.

The family was not at home to visitors today, the butler informed him, though naturally they would look forward to seeing his lordship on the following evening.

When Lord Robert’s face went blank, Cawble unbent sufficiently to say, “Miss Glenwood’s comeout ball, my lord. I was given to understand you had accepted the invitation. It was sent to Lord Brandon’s domicile, along with his own, inasmuch as the family had not your direction.”

Lord Robert showing no signs of moving, and appearing, if possible, further at sea than ever, Cawble unbent a bit more.

“Perhaps,” he invented, “the notice being so short, his lordship accepted on your behalf and neglected to mention it in the press of his numerous obligations.’’

Lord Robert’s face cleared then. “Yes, he must have done. Yes. Quite so. Thank you. Good day.”

***

“I do not understand,” said Lilith. “How can they accept invitations I never sent?”

She, Emma, and Cecily were in what would be the supper room, revising arrangements. Following the Countess Lieven’s ball, some score or more invitees had discovered they did not have previous engagements after all.

They were coming, Lilith knew, to obtain tidbits about her imagined relationship with Lord Brandon. Until this morning, she had enjoyed the prospect of disappointing them, for she had not and had never intended to invite the marquess. Now the vexatious man was coming anyhow.

“Oh, my,” said Emma. “It wa

s I sent them.”

Lilith looked at her. “But they were not on my list.”

“No.”

Cecily came to Mrs. Wellwicke’s rescue. “I asked her,” she said. “The other day, I asked if she had sent Lord Brandon and Lord Robert invitations yet, because Lord Robert never mentioned coming, though all the other gentlemen have - and so I thought his might have gone astray, you see. You did invite all the others I’ve met, so naturally I thought—” She studied her aunt’s stony countenance, “You did not mean to invite him at all, Aunt?” she asked, evidently baffled.

“Oh, dear,” said Emma. “I simply assumed she had discussed it with you beforehand. Meanwhile, obviously Cecily assumed I would know who might be invited and who might not. Well, this is a muddle.”

Lilith’s mouth tightened a bit, and her shoulders straightened a bit, and she said in her usual cool way, “Not at all.” And that was the end of it.

The matter was ended, that is, until Lady Enders arrived to help.

She worried that the flowers would not be delivered on time, and if they were, they would be the wrong ones and the colours would clash and the lobster patties would upset Lord Enders’s digestion, and the Prince Regent would come after all, which meant the windows must be kept tight shut and everyone would faint, and other like catastrophes. Then, done with “helping,” she set upon the real object of her visit, the satisfaction of raging curiosity regarding Lilith’s ride home the previous evening.

Rachel would not dare question her directly, Lilith knew. Regardless how she was questioned, the widow had no intention of confiding any of her troubles to anybody—and most especially not her future sister-in-law.

Still, Lilith had to endure a set of apologies: Rachel and Matthew should never have consented to being taken home first, and if that could not be helped, they should have taken Lilith with them and sent her on in a hired vehicle, if necessary, with Matthew as escort, and they would never forgive themselves, especially if Lord Brandon had been disagreeable in any way, which Rachel hoped he had not been?