Page 5 of Miss Dramatic
“A gentleman does not tread the boards,” Amaryllis said. “Gavin would have declined a London offer even if one had been extended to him.” She hoped, but then, if somebody had told her that her darling brother would run off to join an acting troupe without any warning to his family, she would have laughed.
“How do you know Gavin would have turned down a London offer? I realize you are his devoted sibling, and very astute, but how do you know what he would or would not have done?”
Amaryllis slipped out of her shoes and forced her sluggish mind to consider the question. Why did one think better when barefoot? Hecate had a point—she always had a point, bless her—but Gavin, as the only son, and then the only male, in the family, had been the epicenter of the DeWitt household. Impossible for his older sister not to know him, in other words.
“He wanted a wider world,” Amaryllis said, “and what better way to experience that than to leave home and don a succession of roles in a succession of theaters before a changing audience from all walks of life? He liked the social aspects of university, the roistering and the books in combination, but what he enjoyed most was simply getting away from home. The time away did him good, though we are certainly glad to have him back where he belongs.”
Mama, Grandmama, Caroline, and Diana were in transports to have all once again as it should be.
Hecate studied her toes. “I cannot imagine Gavin as a frivolous boy. Maybe the time away made him appreciate home?”
Amaryllis could not put her finger on what exactly had changed about her brother, but the difference troubled her. He’d been a blithe spirit as a youth, happy to entertain all and sundry with his stories, imitations, and recitations.
He still smiled, he still told stories, but an underlying somberness remained. Part of him had yet to come home and might never complete the journey.
“Gavin has always loved Crosspatch,” Amaryllis said. “Now that his wild oats are sown, he can settle in here as he ought. I doubt he’s ready to take a wife, though. He’ll need more than a few pretty, sensible ladies to turn his head in matrimonial directions.”
“Good, because our guests aren’t looking for a husband. Perhaps you should tell your brother that. Set his mind at ease.”
“If he gives me two minutes of his time to chat privately, I will. Who is that?”
A lone female figure had emerged onto the main terrace and was descending into the garden, a book in her hand. She wore a wide-brimmed straw hat and strode along with a sense of purpose at variance with the afternoon’s heat.
“Rose Roberts,” Hecate said. “Our latest arrival. Widowed, manages her acres very competently. Uncle Nunn likes her, and he is a man of few friendships.”
“Are they more than friends?”
“I think not. He’s many years her senior, which doesn’t signify, but she was thought to be very much in love with her late husband. Nunn was much enamored of his countess, and that created common ground when Mrs. Roberts was bereaved.”
“She appears intent on putting distance between herself and the house.”
Hecate closed her eyes. “Coach travel is so confining. Doesn’t your brother typically hack his colt along the Twid at this hour?”
Amaryllis surrendered to the languor and tranquility of the day, put her feet up on the hassock, and closed her eyes as well. “He does, and I expect today will be no exception. He and Mrs. Roberts are acquainted. They won’t need us to hover about and make introductions.”
“Suppose not. We will have such fun at this gathering. I can hardly wait for the rest of the guests to arrive.”
Amaryllis didn’t know about fun, but a pleasant time was a reasonable goal. She could also make some progress toward rehabilitating her husband’s reputation in the eyes of Society. A young, handsome marquess who turned his back on Mayfair to marry a provincial spinster had some fences to mend.
And Phillip’s attempts to learn the quadrille—and the minuet, and the country dances, and the rest of polite society’s folderol—could advance among a bevy of friendly ladies who weren’t too high in the instep.
If Hecate talked a few of the ladies into joining her investment schemes or supporting her charities, that would be all to the good as well.
Seeing Gavin married off, though, struck Amaryllis as tilting at a formidable windmill. He needed a wife—that was obvious—so she wished Lord Phillip and the marquess the best of luck in their roles as matchmakers. Then she succumbed to dreams that revolved around her husband, quilted slippers, and a private pleasure barge on the Twid.
ChapterTwo
“How is it possible that I am lonely in the village of my birth, surrounded by family and friends?”
Gavin put the question to his horse, though Roland, as usual, was keeping his own counsel. The summer marked a turning point for Gavin’s steed, who was putting away the idleness of his foalhood and growing into the body of a horse of significant speed and athletic ability.
Roland’s mind, though, was yet prone to coltish flights. He rarely bolted anymore, but he shied at nothing, bucked for joy or in token protest at his rider’s requests, and had to carefully sniff over anything in his ambit that qualified as new or interesting.
He was vastly improved from a few months ago, when he’d gallop halfway to Windsor, entertain the whole village with his bucking sprees, and barely scramble over a low stile on flat, dry ground.
“You are growing up,” Gavin said, patting his mount on the neck. Early in the mornings, he took Roland out for a long, hard gallop over hill and dale. Afternoon hacks were to work on manners and ensure the horse would acquit himself well if a racing career wasn’t meant to be.
Also to allow Gavin to enjoy the shady seclusion of the towpaths along the Twid. Afternoons in high summer had a sweetness to them, a golden melancholy. Sunrise and sunset were subtly encroaching on midday as harvest approached, and the coming of autumn was most evident in the postmeridian.
