Page 10 of Miss Dramatic
“Amaryllis does not care for Town, and nobody who is anybody bides in London over the summer. Mrs. Pevinger, good day.”
Mrs. P, who was related to half the shire, nodded genially from her desk in the spacious foyer. “A pint and a pie for milords?”
Tavistock swept off his hat with a flourish that managed to be both playful and elegant. “Just the thing for a lovely summer afternoon. Have you any mail for us?”
She set a few epistles on the blotter. “Happen I do, from Town and from Oxford.” When she’d watched Tavistock sort through the lot, she passed Phillip two letters. “Good news, I hope?”
Tavistock smiled. “Time will tell, dear lady. Phillip, to the snug.”
Tavistock sailed off, letters in hand.
“Don’t mind him,” Mrs. Pevinger said. “He’s not had a brother for long. Takes some getting used to.”
You don’t say.“Fortunately for the king’s peace, I am a patient man and the best of siblings.”Even when my long-lost brother decides to invade my village, overrun my churchyard with his friendly manners, and take my market-day green by storm.
Or by charm.
“Don’t be too patient with that one, Master Phillip. We’re relying on you to show him how to go on. How is the missus settling in?”
“Splendidly, of course.” Thoughsettling inwasn’t quite the right phrase. Hecate had barely opened her trunks at Lark’s Nest before she and Amaryllis were cooking up this gathering of ladies for their summer idyll.
Not how Phillip had envisioned spending his honey month. Not nearly. Ah, well. He and Hecate were managing a few private celebrations nonetheless.
“Your smile, sir, would make the cat in the cream pot envious.” Mrs. P winked and bustled off, calling for her daughter Tansy to pull pints for a pair of thirsty gents.
That wink marginally restored Phillip’s spirits, if not his patience. He joined Tavistock in the snug and took a sip of cool summer ale.
“Any news from Town?”
“The usual. My Dorning relations are being fruitful at a great rate. Step-mama sends her love. Dear Phillip must bring his new bride to Town when the weather is more agreeable, et cetera and so forth.” Tavistock passed over a letter from his step-mother, which Phillip set aside.
Tavistock’s Dornings were more numerous than the denizens of German royal houses, and Phillip couldn’t keep them straight, rather like the steps of the quadrille, only livelier. That Tavistock might be finding himself a bit off-rhythm at having to share his family with Phillip was further reason for good spirits.
“What of the letter from Oxford? You attended there, I believe?”
“I did, for a brief and unimpressive time.” Tavistock slit the seal on the second epistle and scanned the contents. “This is lovely news.” Tavistock looked delighted—with himself and with his correspondence.
“Somebody is putting in an order for your ale? If anybody is fond of a pint, it’s the college boys.”
“Better than that. You recall that DeWitt was attached to a group of players in East Anglia when I hailed him from the shires?”
Phillip took another sip of ale, though something about Tavistock’s question made him uneasy. “He was Galahad Twidham at the time. Darling of the provincial venues.”
“Before he matriculated to East Anglia, Galahad was a member of Drysdale’s Players, and his old troupe has agreed to grace us with their presence. They will be my guests starting Monday and available to enliven the house party by plying their art and making themselves generally agreeable.”
Phillip mentally reviewed the marquess’s proclamation. Why, yes, Tavistock had just announced that he washiringthe cast of Gavin DeWitt’s youthful folly to come haunt the man in person.
Before a dozen astute female guests, one of whom was Mrs. Roberts. “Tavistock, to quote a very astute man: Are you out of your happily married mind?”
Tavistock folded up the letter. “You’re just jealous because you didn’t think of it. The ladies will want for entertainment. They’re a bookish lot, and some speeches and drama will appeal to them.”
Tansy Pevinger brought two steaming, fragrant meat pies to the table. “Will there be anything else, milords?”
A cudgel to smack some common sense into the marquess’s handsome head might have been useful. “No, thank you, Miss Tansy.”
She peered at Phillip more closely. “Mind you take care in the heat, sir. You’re looking a bit peaky.”
“Newlywed pallor,” Tavistock said, saluting with his tankard. “A common malady among happy husbands.”
