Page 35 of The Viscount's Pearl
He felt relieved at the decision, but when he closed his eyes he had a better idea.
“Roberts?”
“Sir?”
“Book a post-chaise to Margate tomorrow morning and pack my bags. I believe I’ll visit Uncle Barrington.”
“Of course, Sir. Will we be staying long?”
He shrugged. “A week or two, depending on the company.”
Miss Lilley would probably be there. She would surely have coaxed her mama into escaping thetononce again and he had to admit she made interesting, if odd, conversation. If he found her there, he might stretch his visit a little longer. Miss Lilley would make a refreshing change from society in London, with her direct gaze and her outspoken opinions.
The journey was tedious as usual but Laurence eagerly anticipated his arrival at Northdown House, which looked at its best in the spring, the gardens filled with all manner of flowers, from daffodils and crocosmia, and the fresh green of newly-opened leaves. Uncle Barrington would not mind his arriving unannounced, if he were still awake, and so it proved.
“Laurence, my dear boy! What a pleasure it is to see you here again so soon. Are you staying?”
“For a few days at least, Uncle, if you’ll have me.”
“Always, my boy, always. Andrew, make haste and let Mrs Norris know there is a hungry young man to feed, she will take it as a challenge. I have already dined, for late dining does not agree with my constitution, but you need a hearty meal inside you to make up for the long journey here.”
They made their way to the dining room, where Mrs Norris managed to conjure up a remarkable meal, including a rich onion soup, a hearty beef steak pie, potted partridge, cardoons, Spanish peas and a large portion of trifle. Laurence tucked in while Lord Barrington drank tea and nibbled on some gingerbread which he claimed was beneficial to his stomach.
“Frances, sadly, is not with me, as you see. Her mother insists on her staying in town now that the season proper has begun, I hear she has vouchers promised for Almack’s. Poor girl, she will not like it one bit, but her mama will not rest till she is married off.”
“I will confess that I had hoped to find her here, Sir. She is… odd, but her company has grown on me, I have found our walks…” Laurence groped for the right word and stumbled on one that seemed wrong, given their many disagreements, and yet which somehow was also right, “…peaceful.”
“Those who look for seashells will find seashells; those who open them will find pearls.”
“Sir?”
“Al-Ghazali. A Persian polymath of the eleventh century. Frances may appear odd, but she has much to offer those who take the time to know her.”
Laurence nodded. A pearl was too romantic a word for Miss Lilley, with her stubborn nature, unsuitable topics ofconversation and her blunt words, but he understood his uncle’s metaphor.
“I do not think she enjoys the season.”
“No, but she does not have a choice in the matter if her parents have enforced her attendance.”
“They might let her choose her own path,” ventured Laurence.
“Not marry at all? Why, Laurence, I never thought to hear such words from your dutiful self.”
Laurence shrugged. He disliked the idea of Miss Lilley being forced into a staid marriage, one where her oddities would be flattened and eventually lost altogether. He preferred to think of her as she was now, strange ways and all, and if that required her not marrying, well, it would suit her nature better, even though thetonwould find it objectionable. “I should not like to think of her being unhappily married,” he mumbled.
Lord Barrington smiled. “Quite right, Laurence. Quite right. We should all hope for the happiness of our fellow man, or in this case, woman. More port before we retire for the night?”
The next morning dawned sunny and with the promise of warmth.
“Should we follow our absent friend’s ways and take a stroll along the beach?”
Laurence assented and rode the amiable Hippomenes alongside his uncle’s carriage, down to the promenade, where they spent a happy morning strolling to and fro. Laurence enjoyed the salt air and the peaceful nature of their conversation. As they went along, he spotted odd shells that took his fancy and stooped to collect them, putting them into the pockets of his breeches, an activity which his uncle did not refer to, only speaking of the new fruit trees he had planted in theorchards last autumn and how they were now showing their first new leaves.
“There is even blossom on one or two of the strongest, though fruit in their first year might be too much to hope for. But I am a patient man, and besides, I do not plant for myself, Laurence, I plant for your future.”
Later that day, having changed for dinner, Laurence recalled that his breeches from earlier in the day were heavy with shells. He took them out and laid them on his bed, examining their ridges and whorls, their delicate shades of cream, pink and grey. A thought came to him and he scooped up the collection and made his way out of his room and along the corridor, to the Green bedroom, where Miss Lilley always stayed. The room was empty, some of the furniture draped with holland covers, the bed stripped. It was cold and stark, but he fancied he could still smell her here, a faint memory of her skin. Carefully, he deposited his assortment of shells on the broad windowsill, then spent a few moments aligning them into a pleasing pattern, smiling at the thought that on her next visit here she would find them and wonder at who had placed them there for her. Lord Barrington would deny all knowledge and besides, he rarely ventured to the upper floor. She would know, then, that they had been left here by Laurence, that he had thought of her in her absence, had continued her work of gathering shells and had left them here for her collection. He hoped that this would bring a smile to her sober face, that she would think of him kindly when she took up the shells into her hands, understanding them as a gift.
The next afternoon, while Lord Barrington took his usual nap,Laurence rode out on Hippomenes, taking the road down to the clifftops and then riding along them for some miles, enjoying the brisk breeze, the steady sound of the waves breaking on the shoreline, the cries of the gulls wheeling above him. He returned late in the afternoon, full of energy. As he dressed for dinner he thought that he might offer to call in on Miss Lilley in London, to see how she was faring and perhaps take a letter from Lord Barrington to her, for he knew they corresponded regularly. Yes, it would be the gentlemanly thing to do, to call on a lady of his acquaintance and pass on the regards of his uncle. He might even stop off at Brown’s and order some of their iced biscuits for her, they were practically works of art. Perhaps he could even bespoke her some biscuits decorated as shells, as a nod to her passion for them. He strode down to dinner in an excellent mood and spent some time describing his ride to his uncle, who seemed pleased that Hippomenes had received exercise and that Laurence was exploring the neighbourhood.
