Page 65 of Miss Dashing
“He, who probably can’t recite the royal succession or manage the steps of a pavane, thinks her silly and vapid, and he’s not entirely wrong.” Edna wasn’t admitting failure, but she was admitting something unflattering to her maternal efforts.
“She’s young,” Hecate said, wondering why Edna had never discussed the girls with her before. Both of them sought husbands, and Hecate had a wide circle of acquaintances as a result of her charitable work.
“She’s all Brompton,” Edna said. “She and Johnny would suit, though one shudders to consider the offspring. They’d come into the world trying to pick the midwife’s pocket. DeGrange has joined the affray.”
As Hecate and Edna made their way across the garden, DeGrange had offered Johnny his flask, slung an arm around his shoulders, and half hauled him away from where DeWitt stood, looking ready to apply the crop to Johnny’s flanks.
Grooms took the winded steeds away, and the rest of the field straggled over the finish line. Henry Wortham, in great good spirits, brought up the rear on an enormous, shaggy plow horse. The spectators obligingly cheered each competitor, Henry receiving a loud ovation, and then the crowd drifted toward the tents Hecate had set up in the middle of the park.
“I like these events the best,” Edna said, “where the village and the manor meet on equal footing. I suspect they appeal to Nunn as well.”
“Because he knows the role he is to fulfill,” Hecate said slowly. “You are right. He can be the gracious host, welcoming all to his lovely property, and nobody will expect him to be more than polite.”
“I like Nunn,” Edna said. “He hasn’t succumbed to the family penchant for pouting, for all that he’s short on charm. His very lack of guile makes him a novelty among Brompton men. Will you marry Johnny?”
“I don’t want to. He has threatened scandal and worse if I balk. Claims I signed settlement agreements ten years ago, and Isaac supports that contention. They will doubtless produce documents with a credible facsimile of my signature on them, but, Edna…”
“It’s exhausting,” she said, “having to scheme and plot and plan simply to exercise the judgment an adult ought to enjoy regarding her own affairs. If I haven’t thanked you for your generosity before, I am thanking you now.”
Better late than never? “Isaac claims Johnny will be far more forthcoming with my fortune than I have been.”
“Then Isaac is blinded by ambition. Johnny has the look of a fellow returning from exile. He has scores to settle. I don’t recall him sporting such a prominent streak of ambition as a youth. He was always out of doors, watching birds and listening for their songs. He’s apparently outgrown his boyish pursuits.”
“Don’t they all?” Though Phillip hadn’t. He was still drawn to the out of doors, still fascinated by nature, horticulture, and wildlife. She suspected he would be even in great old age, when he’d become one of the fierce venerables who could fashion a stone wall that would stand for decades.
“Are you tempted by what Johnny offers?” Edna asked, an odd wistful note in her voice as the Earl of Nunn himself rang the bell drawing guests to the buffets under the tents.
“Of course not. Johnny offers nothing but misery. He’s arrogant, has a mean streak, and wants what he has not earned.” And yet, he was beautiful, charming, virile, confident, likely knew all the dance steps, and would be welcome in half a dozen clubs.
“Some people are like that,” Edna said. “The more they have, the more they want. Others earn an honest fortune and appreciate how much luck and timing determine any man’s fate. I must see that Portia and Flavia make a proper fuss over the Corviser boys.”
“They strike me as decent fellows.”
“Decent, though their prospects are humble. Portia could manage either of them blindfolded.”
Meaning Edna could manage either one with less effort than it took to tie on her slippers. “And Flavia?”
A wistful look came into Edna’s eye. “She is too sweet for her own good, when she isn’t purloining my fripperies in an effort to stand out from her sister. A wise man would be drawn to that sweetness, but when have we ever enjoyed an ample supply of wise men?”
On that philosophical note, Edna passed Hecate her field glasses and strode forward with a jaunty wave in Mrs. Roberts’s direction.
Phillip approached, looking windblown and delectable. “Miss Brompton, I hope you watched the battle for honor and glory?”
“I cheered only for you and Herne.”
“DeWitt has been conditioning his colt. Roland will earn him some coin this autumn and more in years to come. How are you?”
They could have this conversation out of doors, with a veritable crowd in attendance, but Hecate was desperately aware of how careful they had to be.
“Johnny behaved badly. Even Edna remarked it, and she is not one for speaking ill of handsome, wealthy, single men.”
Phillip aimed a look at the men’s punchbowl, where the jockeys had congregated, tankards and glasses in hand.
“Johnny has recovered his dignity, or what passes for it. I dread to think of him navigating the Canadian woods, if he’s that intemperate toward his horseflesh. Any halfway sensible mare would put him permanently into a ditch for behaving so badly.”
“And yet, he’s supposedly a successful fur trader. Perhaps he comports himself more prudently in the wilderness.”
“He must, or he’d be dead.”
