The Proposal

And Hugo, observing the groups around him, realized that he was part of the scene too. He was standing there in the midst of it all, like a soldier on parade. He wished he had some social graces. He should have learned more while he was at Penderris. But he had never needed social graces to mingle with his family. He had never known a moment of self-consciousness or self-doubt when he was growing up among them. And he did not need social graces to mingle with Fiona’s family. He merely needed to show them that he was human, that in reality he was no different from them despite his title and wealth. Or perhaps that was what social graces were. There was Gwendoline, Constance’s arm still through hers, talking with Tucker, and all three of them laughed as Hugo watched them. Gwendoline did not have her nose in the air, as she had with him on occasion, and Tucker was not bobbing his head and tugging at his forelock. Hilda and Paul Crane got up from their seats and joined them, and then they were all laughing.

Hugo had the feeling he might be scowling. How was he to bring these separate groups together, make a relaxed house party out of it? Really, it had been a mad idea.

He was rescued by the arrival of the tea tray and another, larger one bearing all kinds of sumptuous looking goodies. He turned to his stepmother.

“Will you be so good as to pour, Fiona?” he asked.

“Of course, Hugo,” she said.

And it struck him that she was enjoying herself as a person of importance to everyone in the room, since as his stepmother she was in a sense his hostess. It had not occurred to him that he would need one. But of course he did. Someone had to pour the tea and sit at the foot of his dining table and stand at his side to greet the guests from the neighborhood when they arrived for the anniversary parties in a few days’ time.

“Thank you,” he said, and he took it upon himself to circulate among his guests, distributing plates and napkins before he carried around the plate of goodies and persuaded everyone to take one or two.

Meanwhile Cousin Theodora Palmer, recently married to a prosperous banker, carried a cup of tea to everyone as Fiona poured, and her sister-in-law, Bernadine Emes, Cousin Bradley’s wife, crossed the room and spoke to the little boys. Her own children, she told them, together with some of their cousins, were having tea in a lovely big room up in the attic. And after they had finished, their nurses were going to take them out to play. Perhaps Colin and Thomas would care to go with them?

Thomas half hid behind his father’s sleeve and peeked out with one eye. Colin’s face lit up with eagerness, and he looked to his father for permission.

“We do not have holidays often, do we?” Hugo heard Bernadine saying to Mavis and Harold. “Neither do our children. We might as well all enjoy this one to the full while we may. There are two nurses, both thoroughly trustworthy. The children obey them and adore them. Your boys will be quite safe with them.”

“I am sure they will,” Mavis said. “We do not have a nurse. We like to keep our children with us.”

“Oh, so do I,” Bernadine said. “They grow up so fast. When I had my first …”

Hugo opened the drawing room door, beckoned one of the new servants, who was hovering outside, and told him to inform Mrs. Bradley Emes’s nurse that she needed to stop at the drawing room on her way outside with her charges in order to collect two more children.

Gwendoline was talking with Aunt Rose and Uncle Frederick Emes, and Cousin Emily, aged fourteen, was gazing at her in awe. Constance was leading her grandparents toward Aunt Henrietta Lowry, his father’s widowed eldest sister, matriarch of the family.

Rome was not built in a day, Hugo thought without any great originality. But it was built. And perhaps his house party would not be an unmitigated disaster. He was probably feeling awkward and anxious only because Gwendoline was here and he wanted everything to be perfect. He would not be worrying if she were not here, would he?

He went to talk to Philip, who was part of neither larger group but seemed perfectly comfortable anyway as he looked down at Fiona pouring second cups of tea.

They made a handsome couple, Hugo thought in some surprise. Philip and Fiona, that was. Now there was a thought. Perhaps he would turn into a matchmaker in his dotage.

They must be pretty close in age too.

And then tea was over and the trays were removed and Hugo explained that everyone was at liberty to remain where they were or to remove to their bedchambers to rest or to wander outdoors for some fresh air.

Most people dispersed. Fiona’s mother and father circled the room slowly with Aunt Henrietta, admiring the paintings. Constance went outdoors with a large group of young people that included several of the Emes cousins, Hilda and Paul, and Ned Tucker. Gwendoline was talking with Bernadine and Bradley. Hugo joined them.

“I’ll take all the children to see the new lambs and calves and foals tomorrow morning,” he said to Bernadine. “There are some chicks and kittens and pups too. I think I would have thought I had died and gone to heaven if someone had done that for me when I was a child.”

“We all remember your strays, Hugo,” Bradley said, laughing. “Uncle used to sigh when you came home with yet another bedraggled wall-eyed cat or skeletal three-legged dog.”

“The children will love it,” Bernadine said. “Just do not, I beg you, Hugo, allow any one of them—especially one of mine—to persuade you to allow them to take a puppy or a kitten or a lamb or two home with them when they go.”

Hugo laughed and caught Gwendoline’s eye.

“Perhaps you would all care to come and see the lambs now,” he said. “They will still be out in the pasture.”

“Oh, Hugo,” Bernadine said with a sigh. “The journey was a long one and the country air is killing me—in a thoroughly good way, I hasten to add. And our children are off playing. I am for my bed until it is time to dress for dinner.”

“Brad?” Hugo said.

“Another time, perhaps,” Bradley said. “I ought to walk off that extra cream cake I could not resist, but that bed in our room is beckoning very insistently about now.”

“Lady Muir?” Hugo looked politely at her.

“I will come and see the lambs,” she said.

“Ah,” Bernardine said, “Lady Muir is being polite. You would soon learn to be more selfish if you spent more time with us, Lady Muir.”

But she laughed as she took Brad’s arm and moved off with him without waiting for an answer.

“Sometimes,” Gwendoline said, looking at Hugo, “I think I already am the most selfish of mortals.”

“You don’t have to come,” he said.

“Don’t start.” She laughed and took the arm he had not yet even offered her.

Chapter 21

Walking into the drawing room for tea had taken a surprising amount of courage, Gwen had found. She had not known quite what to expect. She had feared everyone would look at her either with excessive awe or with resentful hostility, either of which would have been isolating and would have made it difficult for her to behave with any degree of ease.

Constance had made it easier, even though she had probably done it quite unconsciously. Although there had been some sign of awe as the girl introduced her, Gwen had detected no hostility. And even some of the awe, she believed, had dissipated during tea. Perhaps after all this was going to be somewhat more doable than she had feared.

She did not care anyway. She was almost fiercely glad she had come. Even open hostility from every single one of his family members would be worth facing just for this.

This was the sight of Hugo feeding a lamb, the smallest of the flock. Its mother had died giving birth to it, and the sheep to whom it had been given, though it had lost its own lamb, was not always willing to let it suck. Today was one of those days, and so there was Hugo, sitting cross-legged in the pasture, the lamb half on his lap and sucking greedily from a bottle with some sort of nipple attached to it.