“Indeed-that’s why I’m reminding you.”
It wasn’t, in truth, Barnaby’s discretion that caused Gerrard concern, but his enthusiasm; once embarked on solving a mystery, Barnaby was apt to forget such niceties as feminine susceptibilities and social strictures. From his position in the circle of which Jacqueline was a member, Gerrard kept an eye on his friend as Barnaby prowled the Frithams’ drawing room.
Hunting for information. With his bright eyes, cheery personality and, when he wished it, polished address, it was an undertaking at which he admittedly excelled.
Gerrard was doing his own reconnoitering. Lady Fritham had summoned a good slice of the local gentry. By remaining in the same group as Jacqueline, he was able to gauge her reactions to others as they came up to greet them. In between shaking hands and keeping track of relationships, he viewed again the continuing conundrum of her behavior. Outwardly, she was confident, assured and serene, yet she remained reserved, aloof emotionally as distinct from physically, as if she’d taken a step back from everyone there; while she knew them well, she saw them as people to keep at a distance.
He’d thought it was distrust, and there were certainly traces of that in her stance, yet now, after hearing of her mother’s death, he wondered if what he was sensing was instead a form of inner shield, a protection she maintained so others couldn’t reach her, couldn’t hurt her.
Why would they hurt her?
He started looking more closely, not at Jacqueline but at everyone else, watching, analyzing…He felt the shift in his attitude as a sudden honing of his senses, a definite alert that spread through him.
In addition to Lord and Lady Fritham and their son and daughter, the Myles family entire were present, Mr., Mrs., Master Roger and both Misses, Clara and Rosa. The severe Mrs. Elcott and her spouse were absent, perhaps not surprisingly. A Mr. and Mrs. Hancock were there, with two daughters, Cecily and Mary, in train; a local squire, Sir Humphrey Curtis, a widower, was attending with his sister, Miss Amabel Curtis.
Lord Trewarren, a local landowner, his lady and their two sons, Giles and Cedric, were presently part of their circle, along with Mitchel Cunningham and Millicent.
“Mr. Debbington, you really must share your opinion of the Hellebore Hall gardens.” Lady Trewarren, head high, peered at him myopically across the circle. “Millicent tells me you viewed them today. Will you paint them?”
“Eventually, yes, but as for my opinion, it’s difficult to rate something that’s so very unique. It certainly ranks as one of the best sources for landscape art I’ve seen.”
Lady Trewarren turned to Millicent. “Millicent, dear, you really must work on Marcus to open up the gardens on occasion. What is the point of having such wonderful gardens if no one ever sees them?”
Millicent murmured that she quite agreed. “I’m hoping that the interest sure to accrue when Mr. Debbington shows his works will help convince Marcus.”
Gerrard returned Millicent’s smile, but his attention had deflected to Lady Trewarren, and the sudden distraction he saw in her face. She’d glanced to where her older son Giles was speaking with Jacqueline.
Gerrard could hear their conversation, Giles politely inquiring whether Jacqueline would like to join him, his brother and unspecified others on a ride to St. Just tomorrow.
Giles seemed a likable enough chap; he smiled with pleasure when Jacqueline accepted the simple invitation- throwing Lady Trewarren into a maternal flutter. Gerrard had seen the like before, usually in the context of fond mamas wanting to protect their darling sons from entanglements with encroaching cits. Yet Giles was hardly a babe, and Jacqueline was no cit; regardless, as Lady Trewarren turned back to him and Millicent, conscious of her distraction and, it seemed, wishing to disguise it, her desire to suppress any association between Jacqueline and Giles showed in her eyes.
Millicent hadn’t noticed; she’d been discussing the recent spate of fine weather with Lord Trewarren.
Gerrard allowed the conversation to claim him, but he kept an eye on Lady Trewarren. Sure enough, when an opening offered, she claimed, not her husband’s but her eldest son’s arm and, excusing them from the circle, moved on.
Jacqueline showed no sign of consciousness over having a handsome admirer removed from her side, and indeed, Giles’s place was almost immediately filled by Roger Myles.
“Quite,” Gerrard said, replying to a query about the capital. “It’s sweltering in late summer.”
He shifted, scanning the crowd-trying to locate Mrs. Myles, to see if she, too, would react as Lady Trewarren had.
“Ladies and gentlemen.” The Frithams’ butler stood in the open doorway; when everyone turned to him, he bowed magisterially. “Dinner is served.”
The usual mild chaos ensued as Lady Fritham partnered them. Waving to this one, then that, she set Barnaby to escort Clara Myles, then pounced on Gerrard; linking her arm with his, she led him across the room.
Leaning close, she murmured, “Millicent mentioned that you need to spend time with Jacqueline, in pursuit of the portrait, as it were, but tonight is hardly a time for work-I’ve asked Eleanor to make sure you enjoy yourself.”
So saying, she delivered him to her daughter.
Amenable enough, Gerrard smiled and claimed Eleanor’s hand, and wondered what opportunities the seating would afford.
When they filed into the long dining room, he found himself in perfect accord with Lady Fritham’s organization. Entirely without intending to, indeed, for quite the opposite reason, she’d given him what for him was the perfect place-directly opposite Jacqueline.
That meant he couldn’t converse with her, but at the moment, that wasn’t his aim. Observing her was, along with Lady Trewarren and Mrs. Myles, both mothers of young gentlemen of Jacqueline’s acquaintance.
As it happened, Jacqueline had Roger Myles and Cedric Trewarren flanking her; all three were of much the same age, which, Gerrard judged, made Roger and Cedric too young for Jacqueline. From what he saw of their interactions as, with Mary Hancock, they took their seats, they’d known each other for years; they treated each other as friends, nothing more.
Having seated Eleanor, he drew out the chair beside her and sat. Cecily Hancock was on his left. From the gleam in both young ladies’ eyes, they were eager to entertain him.
Charm to the fore, he asked about the local attractions.
Throughout the meal it proved easy enough to deal with Eleanor and Cecily, both of whom openly vied for his attention, while simultaneously watching Lady Trewarren and Mrs. Myles. Both ladies were seated at one end of the table, opposite each other; he had to face Cecily to see Lady Trewarren, but, thanks to Cecily’s increasingly blatant attempts to monopolize him, that was easy to disguise.
As the courses came and went, he watched and analyzed. Lady Trewarren, while noting her younger son chatting animatedly to Jacqueline, seemed less concerned than when Giles had sought Jacqueline’s attention; presumably her ladyship recognized the nature of Cedric’s and Jacqueline’s friendship. With Mrs. Myles, however… the desserts were on the table before Gerrard glimpsed, just fleetingly, a touch of the same motherhen concern he’d seen in Lady Trewarren.
Mrs. Myles was much more guarded in her expressions, yet Roger was her only son; when, along with Jacqueline and Cedric, Roger laughed at some joke, she leaned forward and looked down the table-not censorious but worried, concerned…She saw, then sat back. Absentmindedly she patted her lips with her napkin, her brow faintly creased, her gaze far away, then Lord Fritham spoke to her and she looked his way.
Gerrard let his gaze return to Cecily.
Just in time to see her shoot a smug, spite-filled glance, first at Eleanor, then across the table at Jacqueline, who glanced up just in time to catch it.
Then Cecily looked at him, positively oozing what she no doubt imagined was sultry seductiveness. He’d obviously missed something he ought to have nipped in the bud.
“I’m sure I don’t know,” Cecily purred, leaning closer, “why it’s so important that you paint Jacqueline-why, everyone knows brown hair is entirely out of fashion. But now you’re in the area, I daresay you’ll be on the lookout for other suitable ladies to paint, to make your stay down here worthwhile.” Touching fingertips to her primped blond curls, she smiled and all but batted her lashes at him. “I would be
