Page 3 of Mischief at Marsden Manor
“Never mind that,” I told him. “Beaton’s all about Stephen Tennant these days, as you very well know. And you’re all about Tom Gardiner.”
Christopher muttered something, a blush staining his cheeks, and I added, “Although you do have a point. Wolfgang will be swarmed by eager young ladies, and so will you, since Laetitia won’t let anyone flutter around St George…”
“Precisely why we have to be there,” Christopher said. “If you don’t look out, someone else will turn Natterdorff’s head and end up with theSchlossin Bavaria.”
I rolled my eyes. “I don’t want aSchlossin Bavaria, Christopher. The situation in Germany is still much too fraught for me to feel comfortable with the idea of going back there. In my opinion, that madmanHerrHitler bears watching. I can’t believe that they let him out of prison only two years after an attempted political coup.”
Christopher nodded. “Yes, Pippa. We know.”
“It’s a valid concern,” I said irritably, “whether you agree with me or not. The Germans started one war. There’s no reason to think they won’t start another.”
“There’s every reason to think they won’t,” Christopher answered. “With all the sanctions, they’re only now getting back to normal, and it’s eight years later.”
“All the more reason for them to be upset.” I waved it aside, since it was, after all, not germane to what we were discussing. “Aside from all that, I feel very English. More so than I do German.”
I had spent my first eleven years in Germany. When the Great War broke out and my father was conscripted, my mother sent me to her sister in England for my safety. By now, they were both dead, and I was thoroughly acclimated to England.
“So if His Grace proposes…” Christopher said.
“Wolfgang? He’s here in England too, at the moment. I suppose I would simply do my best to convince him to stay here. If I decided to marry him at all, that is. I don’t know that I would.”
“Well,” Christopher said, “unless you go to Crispin’s engagement party and keep all the other women off him—off Natterdorff, I mean; not off Crispin, Laetitia will see to that—you may never get the chance.”
And that might be a bit of all right. TheGrafvon Natterdorff was handsome, titled, and presumably wealthy, but aside from being German—which was a bit hypocritical, I’ll admit, but it was still a consideration—he was also my cousin. And while it’s legal to marry one’s cousin, that didn’t mean I thought it would be a good idea to do so. One only has to look at Tutankhamen for a lesson in what might happen to people whose parents marry their close relatives.
“So it’s settled,” Christopher said. “We’ll go to Dorset next weekend.”
I made a face. “If you insist.”
“I do, Pippa. The least you can do is face the havoc you wreaked in person.”
“It’s not my fault that your cousin was stupid enough to propose to a woman he doesn’t love while he’s in love with someone else,” I said crossly. “Yes, perhaps I shouldn’t have said what I did; I’ll admit that?—”
“Finally!”
“—but I’m not responsible for St George’s actions. He has been threatening to propose to Laetitia for three months now. He brings it up every time I see him so that I can talk him out of it. If me talking him out of it repeatedly was the only reason he didn’t do it before now, then he must truly want to marry her. Or at least he doesn’t want to marry anyone else enough not to buckle under his father’s pressure.”
“You hit him harder than you realize, Pippa,” Christopher said, but I shook my head.
“I’ll go to the engagement party. If I don’t, I’m sure someone—St George or Laetitia, or perhaps someone else—will think it means something. But I’ll need a new evening frock. Laetitia hasn’t seen the beaded salmon, but both St George and Wolfgang have. I need at least one new evening frock for a weekend away.”
“Selfridges, then?”
“Selfridges will do,” I agreed.
Christopher rubbed his hands together. “Tomorrow?”
“We may as well. Who knows how long it will take to find something suitable?”
“Black, I suppose? For mourning?”
I snorted. “I’ll leave that to Lady Laetitia.”
Christopher tilted his head consideringly. “Surely, for her own engagement party, she’ll pull something else out of the wardrobe? After all, she has just achieved everything she’sever wanted. Red or purple or something else indecently triumphant…”
“I have never seen her wear anything but black,” I said, “joyous occasion or not. But I’ll pay you five quid if her frock is a different color.”
“You’re on.” He stuck out his hand, and we shook on it.
