Page 11 of Miss Dashing
Miss Blanchard passed over the guest list. “He sounds tedious, but then, to the average suitor, Miss Hecate Brompton is tedious.”
By design. Hecate had spent years being tedious to all suitors under all circumstances. The strategy had worked, though the price was a life that had become tedious in truth.
“I’m content,” she said. “The Bromptons thrive for the most part, and that is all Papa has ever asked of me.”
Miss Blanchard was the picture of the fading spinster. Past her half-century mark, graying hair in a tidy bun, hands still those of a lady, but wrinkles showing that lady’s age. Her dark eyes missed nothing, and her hearing was sharp.
“Do you ever wish you’d married your Johnny?” she asked.
Hecate hadn’t heard the name in forever, hadn’t thought about the man for months. “I’m told he’s happy. Canada’s gain is our loss. We both had growing up to do.”
“But the whole family hoped you two would suit.”
Hecate had begged Johnny to take her to Canada with him, but he’d smiled, hugged her gently, and declined to put his foot in parson’s mousetrap for her convenience. The only Brompton on that side of the family with any sense, and he’d talked Uncle Nunn into buying commissions for him and his devil-may-care younger brother.
“Being an officer’s wife would have been challenging,” Hecate said. “If John’s letters were to be believed, a Canadian winter lasts forever and makes the ninth circle of Dante’s hell look cozy.” And yet, Johnny had written of the vast wilderness with a sort of enraptured awe—and never used his leave to return to England.
“You were too young to marry,” Miss Blanchard said, “but when has youth ever stopped a Brompton from pursuing a goal?”
I’m not a Brompton.“Lord Phillip asked if I was legitimate.”
“Ye gods and little fishes. I hope you pinned his ears back.”
“He wasn’t being unkind. I’d asked after his antecedents. I suspect he was trying for levity in the face of homesickness.”
“An odd sort of levity. Your tea will get cold, dear.”
Hecate sipped again, though the tea had gone tepid. Her life was tepid tea, ledgers, and newspapers, leavened by the occasional charitable committee, but what had Lord Phillip’s life been in that time before his brother had acknowledged him?
Happy, according to him.Free.Hours in the out of doors, rambling the countryside. Probably a friendly hound or two at his side. Fishing in his beloved River Twid, the occasional pint at the local inn shared with merry old fellows who’d watched him grow up. Lord Phillip likely knew each acre under his care, every fox’s covert and badger run, just as his neighbors knew him.
“I felt as if his question were a snare,” Hecate said. “He’d know how to set a snare, know exactly where to place it to catch an unsuspecting rabbit. One moment, I was prattling on about French pronunciation. The next, I’m caught fast and struggling to keep my balance.”
And laughing. Truly, honestly laughing.
“Was he threatening you?”
“No. I’ve been threatened. There’s no malice in Lord Phillip, but a man that perceptive doesn’t have to be unkind to see too much or say something too insightful.”
An enormous orange cat leaped into Miss Blanchard’s lap and commenced purring at the first stroke of her hand on his furry head.
“And Lord Phillip came to you for help?”
Hecate nodded. “Offered to compensate me for being his finishing governess. I wanted to smack him, but he was trying to be respectful. Said my time was valuable.”Precioushad been his word.
“He interests you,” Miss Blanchard said as the cat began to circle on her lap. “He has won your notice.”
The purpose of this call had not been to discuss Lord Phillip Vincent. “One ignores a titled caller of sizable dimensions at one’s peril.”
“Nonsense. One can do the ignoring while smiling across the tea tray and remarking on the dreadful heat, or the dreadful drought, or how quiet London can be in summer. You haven’t noticed a man in years, my girl. I suggest you take this fellow to Nunnsuch and enjoy the fresh country air with him.”
Perhaps that was the real purpose for this call. To hear Miss Blanchard suggest what Hecate’s imagination had dared only to whisper.
“I promised I’d attend the house party, and I am not about to allow Edna and Eglantine a free hand with my exchequer in any case. They’d like nothing better, but Papa would never forgive me.”
“Your papa’s forgiveness is beside the point. You gave Lord Phillip your word, and you will keep it, but he’s right—you deserve some recompense for your efforts. The Bromptons owe you more than they will ever admit or repay. If you don’t seize a little fun and frolic now, you will find yourself white-haired, slow-moving, and talking to your cat.”
“I’m not… Romping is not for me.” Hecate had learned that much in the only way there was to learn such a lesson.
