Page 15 of Miss Determined
In London, Lissa could not be honest about Gavin’s situation.
But I am not in London yet. “The whole shire is curious, as is Gavin’s family. He jaunted off to Oxford to meet with some school chums and hasn’t been heard from since. That was nearly two years ago.” Almost exactly two years ago.
Mr. Dorning brought Roland to a halt just as the roof of the barn came into view. “Your brother has been missing fortwo years?”
Lissa brought Jacques to a standstill as well. To have this discussion in relative private was probably for the best.
“You’d hear it sooner or later at the Arms or at Dabney’s Livery. Young Mr. DeWitt has gone missing, off to make his fortune or waste his fortune. The solicitors haven’t heard from him either. We’ve made what inquiries we can, but of necessity, they’ve been quiet inquiries.”
Mr. Dorning no longer exuded any charm or merriment. His good cheer had evaporated, leaving a serious and no less attractive countenance in its place.
“But you’ve no father, no grandfather,” he said. “Is there at least an uncle or male cousin on hand? How are you managing?”
A year ago, Lissa might have been offended at that observation. A year ago, she hadn’t endured her first full London Season and realized the complete legal disability visited upon an adult, intelligent person simply by virtue of her femininity. Prior to that Season, Lissa had been able to dismiss Mama’s endless fluttering as overwrought imaginings.
Having to beg the solicitors for coal money every month put Mama’s anxiety in a more understandable light.
“We are managing,” Lissa said, the verb surely qualifying as a euphemism. “My mother’s jointure, my allowance, Grandmama’s dower funds, and some pennies winkled from the solicitors for Diana’s and Caroline’s needs suffice. Papa was nothing if not thorough regarding his finances, and he expected Gavin to be on hand to oversee our funds.”
“But Gavin cannot be declared dead for at least another five years, and even then, the courts are likely to dither. This state of affairs must be exceedingly irksome. I’m sorry, Miss DeWitt.”
“We don’t talk about the possibility that Gavin has died,” Lissa said, turning Jacques for the stable yard. “We don’t talk about Gavin at all. He’s away, he’s traveling, he’s enjoying a young man’s freedoms.”
“Is he dodging creditors?” Roland ambled at Jacques’s side, docile as a lamb, though both horses were still breathing deeply.
The worst part about the purgatory that was London was the lack of plain speech. Thank whatever gods might be, Lissa hadn’t encountered Mr. Dorning in Mayfair.
“Gavin is doubtless dodging creditors. Or he’s dodging angry papas, note the plural, or he’s married an unsuitablepartiand is trying to avoid those consequences. He was of age when he disappeared, but the solicitors claim he’s made no request to them for funds.”
“Can you trust the solicitors?”
That wasveryplain speech, also a topic Lissa hadn’t been willing to raise with even Grandmama. “Not in the least. Mr. Purvis and his partner made it plain they were doing Papa a favor by handling his affairs. If you bide in Crosspatch for more than a day, you will be told that Horace DeWitt’s father started off as a chandler on an Oxford backstreet, selling tallow and rags to university students. That odor you detect on the Twidboro breeze is the taint of the shop, Mr. Dorning. Grandpapa was shrewd, hardworking, and successful, but his modest origins are what people discuss years after his death.”
“I smell nothing but fresh Berkshire air, Miss DeWitt. A nation of shopkeepers disdains her lifeblood at peril of looking like a fool.”
“The French call us that—a nation of shopkeepers—but ask anybody in a London ballroom, and we are a nation of squires, peers, lawyers, vicars, officers, and diplomats. One can also admit to an academic uncle or two, provided he isn’t too eccentric.”
“How fortunate that we are not in London, though I wonder how all those vicars and peers and whatnot expect to eat, dress, stay warm, and move about without the grooms, weavers, hod carriers, and other good folk to make a London life endurable. That is a pretty manor house.”
Twidboro Hall sat in the morning sunshine, not a citadel on a hill, but a lovely honey-colored manor on a graceful rise.
“We are lucky to have a roof over our heads,” Lissa said, “particularly that roof.” Nine windows across a three-story façade, the requisite blue door placed in the center, painted to match blue shutters that nicely complemented pale limestone. Potted daffodils added a splash of color, though the flowers were fading and would soon need to be replaced with tulips.
“Is the house new?”
“About two hundred years old. Lark’s Nest and Twidboro were one property. Some previous owner split them and put up this house, probably intending it as a dower property. The rent was reasonable until recently, and the maintenance fairly reliable as well.”
Mr. Dorning regarded the Hall as if he saw more than shutters, windows, and drooping flowers. “No two-hundred-year-old dwelling maintains itself for long.”
“What of your people?” Lissa asked before he spotted the lack of glazing on the higher windows. “Any chandlers or hod carriers on the family tree?” In London, everybody knew everybody’s lineage, but Lissa preferred this more honest method of getting acquainted.
“I fancy myself something of a vintner. Family connections emerged from the war with vineyards in France, and I made a pest of myself learning that business. I’ve bought some land in France and hope to eventually produce a decent brandy. Here in England, beer and ale seem the better choice. We might stop burning coal one day, we might stop raising horses, but I cannot see the time when John Bull willingly gives up his pint.”
“Then your people aren’t nobs.” Any man with means could hire competent tailors and buy good horseflesh. Manners were not the exclusive province of the peerage either. Mr. Dorning was successful, probably from wealthy gentry, but he did not move in the same circles as, for example, the Honorable Titus Merriman and Mr. Charles Brompton.
Lissa was inordinately relieved to reach that conclusion.
Mr. Dorning, on the other hand, for the first time looked nonplussed. “I haven’t much in the way of people, to answer your question. I’ve mentioned my cousins, but that’s about it, and the ladies are all settled. My step-mother remarried, and I am quite cordial with her in-laws. I am not a pauper, but I expect to have to earn my way like most other men.”
