he said, frowning even more ferociously as his mood deteriorated. 'It seems to me we met only a few days ago, ma'am. Or have I mistaken? Do we have a longer acquaintance, which I have unfortunately forgotten? Do you, in fact, /know /me?' She did not fight fair. She used the lamest - and perhaps the most effective - tactic of all. She answered a question with one of her own. 'And do /you /know /us/?' she asked. 'Do you know Meg or Kate or me? Do you know us well enough to judge that we will be an embarrassment to you when we accompany Stephen into his new life?' He leaned slightly toward her, his nostrils flaring. 'Have I missed something, ma'am?' he asked her. 'Have I ever said - or /judged, /to use your word - that you will be an embarrassment to me or anyone else?' 'Of course you have,' she said. 'If I could remember your exact words, I would quote them to you. But I remember their meaning only too well. We will have to be educated and clothed and presented to the queen and society. It will be a /monumental task/.' He glared ferociously at her. Her eyes were wide and bright from the cold or battle and were undoubtedly her finest feature. She should flash them more often - though not at him, it was to be hoped. What a truly dreadful creature she was! 'And?' he said. 'Are you taking issue with me, ma'am, for speaking the /truth /to you? Do you imagine that you and your sisters are ready to step into polite society and take the /ton /by storm? Do you think you could appear on Bond Street in London in that particular cloak and bonnet and not find yourself being treated as someone's servant? Do you think you are in any way even remotely prepared for life as the sister of an earl?' 'I /think,/' she said, 'that these matters are not your concern, my lord. /We /are not your concern, even if Stephen is. I believe my sisters and I can be trusted to learn what we must in order to mingle in society and not embarrass Stephen in any way at all. Frankly, I do not care if we embarrass /you/. And /if /we do, I daresay you will take satisfaction from looking along the length of your nose at us and curling your lip and everyone will pity you for having been landed with such a parcel of bumpkins.' 'And /how /are you to do this mingling with society?' he asked her, lowering his voice considerably and narrowing his eyes. '/Who /is to sponsor you at your court presentation? /Who /is to send you invitations? To whom will /you /send invitations?' That silenced her. 'Perhaps, ma'am,' he suggested, 'we should proceed on our way before the dinner gets cold.' She sighed and they walked onward. But she had not given up the fight. 'How would /you /like it,' she asked him, 'if someone arrived on /your /doorstep out of the blue one day and turned your world upside down and inside out.' It had happened! 'If he presented me with a new and better world,' he said, 'I would be delighted.' 'But how would you know,' she asked, 'that it /was /better?' 'I would go and find out,' he said. 'And in the meantime I would not take out my fears and misgivings on the messenger.' 'Not even if he made you feel like a worm beneath his boot?' she asked. 'I would not presume to judge him until I knew him better,' he said. 'And so I am chastised,' she said. 'Let us take /this /path. It will get us to the house and our dinner faster. I have offended you, have I not?
I am sorry if I have been overhasty in my judgment. It is just that I worry about Stephen. He has always been restless and has wanted something more adventurous of life than he could possibly hope for. Now suddenly he has infinitely more than he ever thought to wish for. But he does not know who he is any longer or what his life is to be or his exact position in his new world. And so he will turn to you as a mentor and model, especially as he already admires you. I fear for him if you insist that he must become more - ' One hand came free of her muff and she made circling motions with it. 'Arrogant? Obnoxious?' he suggested.
She laughed suddenly and unexpectedly, a light, merry sound. 'Is that what I called you?' she said. 'I daresay you are accustomed to being treated with obsequious deference by your inferiors. I was determined from the start not to stand in awe of you. It seemed so silly to do so.' 'It must be gratifying for you,' he said curtly, 'to know that you have succeeded so well.' Good lord! That had been pure spite, something he never indulged in. And he still had the irritation of an evening spent as a guest of Sir Humphrey Dew to look forward to. 'Being an earl - or a viscount - is serious business, Mrs. Dew,' he continued. 'It is not all basking in one's consequence and spending one's pots of money and beaming geniality on one's minions and dependents. Or even striking awe into them. One is /responsible /for them.' As he had found to his cost during the past year. The very idea that he was settling down and would complete the process this year when he selected a bride and married her could plunge him into the deepest gloom. He /certainly /had not needed the added aggravation of finding himself guardian to a seventeen-year-old - especially when the boy happened to come encumbered with three sisters, none of whom had been farther than ten miles from Throckbridge, Shropshire, their entire lives if his guess was correct. Certainly the boy had not. 'And one of those people for whom /you /are responsible is Stephen?' she asked softly. 'Precisely,' he said. 'How did that come about?' she asked him. 'The old earl was my uncle,' he explained. 'My father agreed to be appointed guardian to his nephew, my cousin and your brother's predecessor. But my father died last year, only two years after my uncle.' 'Ah,' she said. 'And so you inherited the guardianship as well as everything else?' 'Yes,' he said. 'And then a few months ago my young cousin died and the hunt for your brother began. And /then /it was discovered that he too was a minor. May he live long. There has been enough death in my family to suffice for a long, long time.' 'If you were a cousin,' she began, 'why - ' 'A /maternal /cousin,' he explained without waiting for her to finish her question. 'My mother and Jonathan's mother were sisters.' '/Jonathan. /Poor boy.' She sighed. 'But now I can see that I have done you something of an injustice, resenting you when all you have been doing is a duty you inherited from your father. How disappointed you must have been to learn that Stephen is so young.' It was perhaps an apology of sorts. But he was not appeased. The woman was sharp-tongued and of fensive.
However had he put himself into this position anyway? He might simply have touched the brim of his hat as he passed her on his horse, inquired civilly into her health, and ridden onward with George.
He turned his head to look at her and found that she was turning hers at the same moment to look at /him/. She bit her lip as their eyes met, and hers filled with merriment. 'I have dared to quarrel with a /viscount,/' she said. 'Will it be written on my epitaph, do you suppose?' 'Only,' he said, 'if you boast of it to your family and never let them forget until your dying day.' She laughed and turned her head to the front again. 'You see?' she said. 'We are almost at the house. I am sure we are both thankful for that.' 'Amen,' he said, and she laughed again.
Perhaps, he thought as they completed the walk without talking, she would think twice about her decision to move to Warren Hall with her family in light of this conversation and her opinion of him. Perhaps she would decide to stay here at Rundle Park, where she would not have to suffer his arrogance and contempt and bad temper. Sir Humphrey Dew was not a marvelously sensible man, but he was undeniably genial and he was obviously as fond of his daughter-in-law as he was of his own daughters.
She must be comfortable here.
He hoped fervently she would think twice.
But of course she did not.
The long wait was finally over. Young Merton called at the inn on the fifth evening to announce that he and his sisters - all three of them, alas - would be ready to leave on the morrow, and the following morning they showed themselves to be as good as their word. Or almost. When Elliott and George rode their hired horses along the village street to the Huxtable cottage, having settled their account at the inn, all four travelers were out of doors, dressed for the journey. The baggage coach George had hired was loaded with all their baggage. Elliott's traveling coach was drawn up before the cottage gate, its door wide open, its steps down ready to receive the ladies.
But there was a delay. Not only were the three Huxtables and Mrs. Dew out of doors and gathered before the cottage. So also were surely all the rest of the inhabitants of the village of Throckbridge - /and /their dogs.
Miss Huxtable was on the garden path, hugging the housekeeper, who was to remain behind in the cottage. Miss Katherine Huxtable was outside the gate, hugging an unknown villager. Merton was shaking hands with the vicar while his left arm was draped about the shoulders of a sobbing young girl - the very one who had giggled her way through the Valentine's assembly just a week ago. And Mrs. Dew was in the arms of Sir Humphrey, while the rest of his family clustered about them, handkerchiefs in hand, all looking tragic. Tears trickled unabashedly down the baronet's cheeks.
Other persons appeared to be awaiting their turn with all four.
A terrier, a collie, and a canine of indeterminate breed were rushing hither and yon, barking and yipping with excitement and occasionally meeting and stopping to sniff noses. 'One wonders,' Elliott said dryly as he drew his horse to a halt well short of the main action, 'if there is a single villager who has remained at home this morning.' 'It is an affecting sight,' George agreed, 'and a testament to the closeness of neighbors in a small village.' A village lad was holding the head of the horse Merton had purchased from the stables at Rundle, Elliott could see, and was fairly bursting with pride as two of his less fortunate peers gazed enviously on.
