“He’s a disgrace,” Nellie muttered, angrier with him for his flirtations than his overbearing play. She called to Peter, who was sniffing at a bush.
“I know. I doubt it would do much good to mention it. Our brother is a man now and will not take kindly to a dressing down from his sisters on a matter such as that. Let’s walk,” Marian said. “We might meet the men coming back. I haven’t heard a gunshot for a while.”
With Peter on a lead, they ambled along the bridle path through the trees, the smell of gun smoke reaching them on the breeze. They soon met the beaters pulling a barrow filled with birds. The men followed, laughing together, guns resting on their shoulders, the dogs at their heels. Peter yapped, and Nellie picked up her nervous dog.
At the head of the group, Charles walked beside Gerald, Viscount Belfries, Marian’s solidly built husband. A good head shorter than Charles, Gerald had curly brown hair, heavy sideburns, a roguish manner, and patent disregard for convention. Nellie liked him for his warmth and sense of humor, but especially because he adored her sister. The men hailed them as the gamekeeper whistled the dogs to heel.
“I see you had a successful day,” Marian said when they reached them.
Her husband slipped an arm around her waist and kissed her cheek. “No one shall go hungry. The staff will partake of the feast tomorrow, too.”
Charles crossed the path to walk beside Nellie. He reached over to give her dog a pat. “Who is this?”
“Peter,” Nellie said as the dog obligingly licked his hand.
“Peter the Great,” Marian amended.
Gerald guffawed. “Is it a real dog?”
“None of your rudeness, thank you,” Nellie said with a grin.
“How have you spent your day?” Charles asked.
“Marian and I played shuttlecock against Nathaniel and Alice.”
Marian wrinkled her nose. “Nat enjoys getting the better of us. The game ended when he hit the shuttlecock into the rose garden. We’ve lost several that way. No one wishes to be pricked by thorns, so we must wait for the gardener to retrieve them.”
Charles chuckled.
“Do you play?” Nellie asked him, struggling to imagine him indulging in anything quite so trivial.
“When I was home, and before Jason was up at Oxford, we got in the odd game. It’s been years.” He smiled down at her. “Pity there’s no time. It must wait until we are in Leicestershire.” They approached the house. “Ladies, I shall see you again at dinner.” With a slight bow, Charles left them to bathe and change his clothes.
“Well, he seems a good fellow,” Gerald said approvingly. “He’s a dashed good shot.”
“Then he must be a good fellow.” Marian winked at Nellie.
“None of your cheek, my lady.” Her husband grabbed her hand. “Shall we go and see how our son fares? I wonder if he has left anything unbroken in the nursery.”
Nellie smiled as they wandered off. Theirs was such a loving marriage. Might she and Charles have the same?
At dinner, Charles sat beside the widow, Lady Arabella Forrester, who all but fluttered her eyelashes at him.
Nellie picked at the fish on her plate, vaguely aware that the sauce was Cook’s triumph. On her right, her brother, Nat, ogled Lady Hattersley across the table. Nellie feared he was intent on pursuing the lady, as he appeared to be attracted to older women. On her left, the vicar talked endlessly of parish matters. Neither of her dinner partners managed to banish Charles from her thoughts. She glanced again in his direction. Goodness, did Arabella just lay her hand on his sleeve?
After platters of veal collops, roast chicken, a leg of lamb, and an array of fresh vegetables from the garden in delicious sauces were removed, footmen put cheese, nuts, tarts, and puddings on the table.
As Nellie ate her custard, the vicar launched into another topic concerning the need for repairs to the church roof. Nellie composed her features into an expression of interest and watched as Arabella, in her low-cut gown, leaned close to Charles, her eyes wide, as if pearls of wisdom fell from his lips. The dinner seemed interminable. Relieved when the last course finally ended, she rose with a warning frown at her brother. He raised his eyebrows in surprise.
She and the other ladies left the men to their port and cigars.
Seated on the sofa in the drawing room, Nellie drank coffee with Nat’s wife, Eliza, as they listened to the Mozart piece played by the three-piece orchestra set up in the corner of the room.
“We never have time to talk, do we?” Eliza’s brown eyes searched Nellie’s. “I suppose it’s going to be even more difficult in the future.”
Might Eliza know of Nat’s affairs? Nellie pushed down her anger at her brother. “We can talk. Do you want to come up to my bedchamber later?”
“No. Nat will wonder where I am. We leave for home after the ball.”
She gazed into her sister-in-law’s anxious eyes. “We can have a good coze in London.”
Lady Forrester entered the room and approached them.
“Yes, that will be good, Nellie.” Eliza stood, and with a nod at the lady, left them.
“May I join you?” Arabella Forrester indicated the seat beside Nellie.
“Please do,” Nellie said, wishing she wouldn’t.
“It was a splendid dinner. I did enjoy it. One doesn’t always find interesting dinner partners, does one?”
“Not always.”
The red-haired woman unfurled her fan and waved it slowly before her face. She nodded toward newly married Lady Brixton, who was busy arranging her shawl about her arms.
“Amelia Brixton should never wear that particular shade of yellow,” Lady Forrester said with what Nellie suspected was feigned sympathy. “Canary is a difficult color to wear, is it not? It makes her look quite bilious.”
“I imagine she finds it pretty,” Nellie said.
“Brixton’s mother chooses her gowns. Spiteful, jealous woman.”
“I’m sure Amelia would refuse to wear it if she didn’t like the color. After all, she is a married woman
