Page 47 of Miss Desirable
“She can trust me to be at all times a gentleman, Kettering. Cease your meddling and go adore your wife.”
“We missed breakfast,” he said, gaze shifting to a corner of the building that overlooked the garden. “Adoration can play hell with one’s schedule.”
“Also one’s dignity. Be off with you. Like a good escort, I will loiter about in the garden until I am summoned for the noon meal.”
“We must meet over foils sometime,” Kettering said. “Sycamore claims you move more quickly than the eye can follow. Ash says he’s not far wrong.”
“You flatter me, and yet, I am warned. I will do nothing to jeopardize Miss Fairchild’s good name, and you lot will not now interfere with the wishes of a young lady who has grown independent of necessity.Partez, Kettering,s’il vous plaît.I have pondering to do.”
Kettering bowed. “Until I see you at table. Enjoy your brooding.”
He strode off with his characteristic vigor, while Fournier returned to the bench. The question of who had borne Catherine malice all those years ago plagued him. She had been treated with inordinate meanness, considering her modest standing at the time. Nonetheless, it was Kettering’s last question—about earning Catherine’s trust—that remained foremost in Fournier’s mind.
* * *
“Where is she off to this time?” Fortescue Armbruster hadn’t meant to let his irritation show, but really, what could Catherine be thinking? “All her haughty footman would tell me is that she’s from home. She’s supposed to be in mourning, prostrate with grief.”
“Auntie says first mourning for a parent lasts only a month,” Nevin replied, “and Miss has gone to Richmond to call on family, which is allowed during mourning in any case.”
Fort set his hat on the scarred table, signaled the barmaid to bring him a small pint, and slid onto the hard chair opposite Nevin. “The almighty Dornings are not Miss Fairchild’s family, not legally. Did they at least send a coach for her, or was she forced to take her own conveyance?”
Nevin saluted with his tankard and grinned. “The Frenchie wine nabob took her, same as last time. Has a lovely coach, if I do say so my own self, being a con-is-sewer of carriages and all.”
“You are a lazy undergroom.”
The smile faded. “I work for my bread, true enough. Unlike some. Why all the questions about the young miss’s comings and goings? She’s a decent sort, and she doesn’t need any trouble. You said you wanted to court her, but I don’t see you doing much in the way of courting.”
The barmaid, a slender blonde this time, set a foaming tankard down before Fortescue, though ale was hardly sufficient fortification, given his frustration. For Catherine to jaunt all over the home counties was bad enough, but with that damned Frenchman for an escort…
“Émigrés are all either spies, revolutionaries, or charlatans,” Fort said. “They make fortunes teaching French to the daughters of cits and putting on airs as lady’s maids. The lot of them would spend the whole day eating bonbons and gossiping if we allowed them to.”
Nevin and the barmaid exchanged a glance.
“Well, they would,” Fortescue said. “Why is she loitering at our table?”
The maid held a half-full pitcher of ale and studied Fort’s favorite top hat. He’d paid dearly for it, despite having three others, but it fit ever so well and had such a delicious shine to it.
“L’argent, monsieur,”the barmaid said. “La bière n’est pas gratuite.Nothing in life is free, and you shall pay the money for your ale.” She said the English words slowly, as if Fort’s hearing might be impaired.
He put a coin on the table. She picked it up and flounced off.
“She’d poison my drink if she had her way.” Fort took a sip nonetheless, the day being warmish and the ale having been paid for.
“No, she would not, my lord. You come in often enough that she’d rather have your custom than your death on her conscience. Nan is a practical sort. Are we done here?”
“We are done when I say we’re done, Thurlow. Has Miss Fairchild kept up with her correspondence?”
A small boy set a pan and shovel inside the door and sauntered up to the bar while Nevin appeared to study the age-blackened rafters overhead.
“Miss gets mail from all over,” Nevin said, “and she sends her replies all over.”
“What does ‘all over’ mean?”
Nevin watched the boy scramble onto a stool and put a carefully chosen coin on the bar. “Canada, Portugal, the shires, France, Italy. Saw one the other day with writing on it that wasn’t in proper letters.”
“What does that mean? Were the letters Greek?”
“They weren’t like the letters in Aunt’s Bible, I can tell you that.”
