“Never trust a man who apologizes to a lady,” Cousin Adelaide said, “or a businessman who reduces his price.”
“I am very happy for you, Imogen,” Aunt Lavinia said, “though the repair to the roof will mean your removal back to the dower house, I suppose. I shall miss you.”
“But I will be close by,” Imogen said, “and will call on you almost every day, as I always have.”
She would be so happy to be back home with just herself for company except when she chose to go out. She would be very happy to be away from the disturbing presence of the earl.
He had not contributed to the conversation about her roof. He had concentrated instead upon his food and his wine and merely regarded her somewhat sleepily once in a while from below half-lowered eyelids. It was a new expression, an annoying affectation.
“I daresay,” she said, addressing him directly, “it was the letter I wrote yesterday that brought Mr. Tidmouth here today with his apology and his men. The polite letter. Good manners are often more effective than bluster. If I had gone all the way to Meirion merely to fume at him, as you advised yesterday, Cousin Percy, I would probably have been kept waiting another week or so as punishment.”
“Quite so, Cousin Imogen,” he said agreeably, raising his glass to her. “My hat is off to you.”
But as she cut into her roast beef, she suddenly felt a horrid, ghastly suspicion. Never trust a man who apologizes to a lady, or a businessman who reduces his price. She looked up sharply at the earl, but his attention was upon his own roast beef, and suspicion gave way to irritation over the fact that he looked simply splendid in his dark blue evening coat with paler blue satin waistcoat and snowy white cravat and a neckcloth so intricately arranged that poor Alden Alton, if he was at the Kramers’ house tonight, would surely die of envy and despair.
What was the real explanation, though, for the sudden appearance of so many workers, all diligently occupied, this afternoon? And for the oily apologies Mr. Tidmouth had uttered? And for the strangely drastic drop in price? Had she been very naive to be delighted by it all?
She had no chance to confront her suspicions or the man who had aroused them. They all rode to the village together in the earl’s opulent traveling carriage. He must, Imogen concluded, have other sources of income than just Hardford. Perhaps the younger branch of the Hayes family had been somewhat more ambitious than the elder. Imogen sat with her back to the horses, as did the earl, so that the older ladies might have the more desirable forward-facing ones. But the carriage, she discovered, though luxurious, was no wider than the more humble one that sat idle in the carriage house. She could feel his body heat along one side, a fact that would have been comforting on this chill February evening if the heat had not carried with it the faint odor of an expensive, musky cologne and a powerful aura of masculinity. That latter fact annoyed her intensely. She could not remember ever being suffocated by any other man’s masculinity, though she had known many virile, attractive men.
Oh, she would be very happy when she was back home in her own house.
* * *
And it was for this that he had dashed down to Cornwall to escape his boredom, Percy was thinking. Though that was not strictly accurate, was it? He had not expected to escape boredom, but had decided quite consciously to travel deeper into it just to see what happened. Well, this was what happened.
He was sitting in his traveling carriage with three ladies, one of whom suffered from tender sensibilities and had filled his house and park with strays; another of whom spoke in a baritone voice and had not uttered a single complimentary word about the male half of the species since his arrival, but had spoken plenty of derogatory ones; and a third of whom was made of marble. And if this journey was not enough to plunge him into the deepest gloom, there was the fact that their destination was the Kramer house, where they were to be entertained by the musical talents of the Kramer ladies and the neighbors at large.
The Misses Kramer, he discovered after their arrival, fancied themselves as pianists and vocalists, and proceeded over the couple of hours following the arrival of all their other invited guests to demonstrate the truth or falsity of that fancy. To be fair, however, they did not monopolize the evening’s entertainment. A few other ladies sang and played the pianoforte. Alton had brought his violin, and his son, looking as though he would rather be cast into the fiery furnace with the lions thrown in for good measure, played along with him on a flute. The Reverend Boodle sang to his wife’s accompaniment in a bass voice that might have set the liquor decanters to rattling if there had been any in the room.
Lady Barclay conversed with Lady Quentin, wife of Sir Matthew Quentin, and with Miss Wenzel before the recital began. When everyone took a seat for the entertainment, it was Wenzel, gentleman farmer, who seated himself beside her, drawing his chair a little closer to hers as he did so. He proceeded to engage her in conversation—or, rather, to deliver a monologue—while ignoring the music. It was ill-mannered of him, to say the least, though he did keep his voice low enough not to disturb those around them who chose to be polite and listen, among which virtuous number Percy included himself. Wenzel did not even pretend to listen. His eyes and his whole attention were fixed upon the lady, who admittedly was looking fetching enough in a blue gown that complemented every curve of her body to perfection—as well as complementing his own waistcoat, Percy had noticed at dinner. Wenzel did not applaud any of the entertainers. The man must not have visited a tailor for the past five years, and he was more than half bald—for which uncharacteristically uncharitable thoughts Percy did not pause to berate himself.