Page 38 of Miss Dashing
“They will talk about me now,” he muttered, letting himself into his room. “Concoct witty insults, dub me Lord Finicky, or worse.” He kept going straight out to his balcony. Hecate would not expect him quite yet—port and cigars amid a miasma of flatulence and urine was a man’s reward for enduring good food and pleasant conversation.
A fashionable fellow did not hasten through his reward, even when it bore a very close resemblance to purgatory.Not done.
Phillip shrugged out of his jacket, which would need a thorough airing, and stripped down to the skin. He did the best he could with soap and cold water, then changed into breeches, a plain shirt, and an unembroidered waistcoat.
The old boots he’d worn for the journey down from Berkshire completed his ensemble, and trading his formal evening kit for a farmer’s attire helped settle his temper.
How dare those imbeciles publicly insult women, first for being unattainable, as Hecate had been, and then for being too willing to tolerate a fellow’s overtures, as Portia and Flavia might be? Hardly rational to criticize both responses.
Phillip dragged a brush through damp hair, used his toothpowder, and escaped down the footmen’s stairs into the blessedly dark night. Hecate was waiting for him on the bridge, and in all his years of appreciating nature’s splendors, he had never seen a sight half so breathtaking.
“You’re early,” she said, remaining where she was.
“Is that bad? Shall I lurk in the bushes admiring your profile until the appointed hour?” Did he take her hands, perhaps bow? Was there protocol for such encounters? If so, he’d already bungled his opening lines.
“I have no doubt that you excel at lurking in bushes,” Hecate said, rearranging her shawl. “Was dinner awful?”
Oh, lovely. Now he’d thrown her off stride too. Phillip closed the distance between them and perched on the wide stone wall that formed the bridge railing.
“Dinner was delightful. I had only to look up, and I could behold the loveliest lady in the room, and sometimes she was even glancing my direction.” He patted the place beside him and hoped he hadn’t committed four violations of good manners by failing to offer Hecate his hand.
“I had only to look up,” Hecate said, settling right next to him, “to behold the most impressive gentleman of the gathering, and sometimes he was even smiling in my direction.”
This was supposed to be an assignation, an exploration of further steps toward intimate congress, but Phillip wasn’t feeling amorous. Relieved to be once again in the fresh air and delighted to share the stars with Hecate, but not… swainly.
“I made a cake of myself over the port and cigars. Insulted the company.”
“They aren’t a very impressive lot,” Hecate replied. “I had to content myself with who was available on short notice for a gathering that would offer no deep play, no orgies, no obliging housemaids. I can’t speak for Nunn’s footmen when it comes to frolicking, but I trust them around Portia and Flavia.”
Phillip looped an arm around Hecate’s waist, and she rested her head on his shoulder. “I can see why this house-party business exhausts you. Without scheduled entertainment, that lot in the dining room turns to prurience and strutting. I left in high dudgeon when they started on Portia and Flavia.”
“That would be… Winover’s doing?”
“He led the pack. I wanted to kick him in the cods, Hecate. I can see why Nunn begs off at his own house party.”
“Uncle is getting on, though he enjoys good health, much to Charles’s frustration. I’ve warned Edna that she needs to keep a closer eye on Portia especially, but my warnings are brushed off as the anxious imaginings of a sheltered spinster.”
Perhaps Hecate did not expect amorous advances, or perhaps she, too, needed to air the day’s burdens. Phillip gathered her closer and kissed her temple.
“I wish we could slip away to Lark’s Nest,” he said. “High summer is lovely in Berkshire. Not lazy—farm life admits of no laziness—but satisfying. I make a list over the winter of summer projects—repair this fence, clear that acre, reroute another irrigation scheme—and seeing to my list gratifies me inordinately.”
“I plan in winter too,” Hecate said, taking his hand and lacing her fingers through his. “The year’s expenditures and income get a thorough review, and then I contemplate what ought to be changed going forward. Should I move some investments? Is my sailors’ charity performing adequately? Is the local house of worship in good trim? Nunn holds the living, but he can’t see rising damp in the vestry, and Vicar won’t show it to him.”
They were quiet for a time, while Phillip let the peace of a luscious moment sink into his mind and body. The stream burbled along, one of the most tranquil sounds known to humankind, and a song thrush serenaded the moon. A robin answered occasionally, and some horse enjoying his night at grass whinnied to his fellows.
Hecate might be giving him time to marshal his courage, but he suspected she was also appreciative of a chance to put the evening’s busyness behind her.
“What do the ladies discuss over the teapot?” he asked.
“The gentlemen, mostly, and sometimes the latest news from Town.” She cuddled closer and sighed. “I was supposed to kiss you witless and part you from your reason. I had planned to, in a general sort of way.”
“And I promise to dazzle you with my charm, just as soon as I’ve settled my nerves.” He kissed her fingers. “Those people exhaust you, and they rattle me. I was happy cutting hay this morning, Hecate. That’s who I am. A farmer who has enjoyed more good luck than most, nothing more. I was miserable trussed up like the Christmas goose in evening finery, listening to a lot of peacocks deride the ladies. Portia is frustrated with her situation, and I think you are right to be worried about her, even in the company you’ve recruited for this gathering.”
“And if Portia steps past the line of good behavior, she’ll take Flavia with her by association. I tell myself they are doing the best they can, though they are headstrong. I was headstrong, too, but not like those two.”
Phillip kissed Hecate’s ear and considered her words. “Portia and Flavia are what you could have become, but you resisted both Portia’s bitterness and Flavia’s surrender of her intelligence. I admire you for that. Society would probably call you headstrong, but I call you brave and determined.”
Hecate kissed his cheek, which he probably should have taken the time to shave again. “Society calls me unnatural, on the shelf, managing. I like your words better.”
