Without prompting, Ellen’s aunt beamed and held out her hand. “Mr. Kirkpatrick! How lovely to see you again, sir.”
Kirkpatrick halted, took the proffered hand, and bowed. “Mrs. Fitzwilliam—a pleasure, dear lady.”
Greetings were exchanged between Ellen and Robbie and both Kirkpatricks, then Ellen gestured to Christopher. “I’m sure you will have heard of the Cynsters of Walkhurst Manor. This is Mr. Christopher Cynster, who is currently managing the estate.”
Christopher’s “I’m delighted to meet you, sir” and his offered hand conveyed politeness but no eagerness, something that would have triggered Kirkpatrick’s defenses. As Christopher smiled amiably and gripped Kirkpatrick’s hand, he took due note of the shrewdness behind the man’s gray eyes.
Kirkpatrick inclined his head. “I’m happy to make your acquaintance, Mr. Cynster. I have met your parents, but only in passing…” He glanced around. “As it happens, on the lawn here.”
Christopher seized the opening. “We’ve lived here for several generations, so are regarded as fixtures locally. But I understand your family are relatively recently come to the area.”
As he spoke, he smiled and half bowed to Julia Kirkpatrick.
Sober and rather poker-faced, she nodded back. “Mr. Cynster.”
Planting his cane before him and folding his hands over its head, Kirkpatrick responded to Christopher’s implied question. “I bought Goffard Hall…it must be six years ago, now. I felt it was time to find a place in the country in which to put down roots and spend my latter years.” Kirkpatrick glanced fondly at his daughter, and she smiled sweetly back.
Kirkpatrick went on, “My first wife was alive then, and she enjoyed the country air. But sadly, she passed away, and thereafter, I must confess, I buried myself in my financial pursuits, which center on the City. Although I’ve drawn back somewhat, I’m frequently called to town and end staying at my club. Such a lifestyle is not conducive to making connections locally. Consequently, I make every effort to attend service here whenever I’m at the Hall.”
Christopher shifted his gaze to Julia. “And you, Miss Kirkpatrick? Do you travel up to London with your father?”
A slight smile curved her lips, an attempt at politeness, yet genuine enough. “No—like my mama, I prefer the country.” She glanced at her father. “So I remain here”—her smile faded as she added—“with my stepmother.”
Kirkpatrick cleared his throat. “I remarried a few years ago.”
Ellen promptly asked, “I do hope Mrs. Kirkpatrick is well?”
Kirkpatrick looked faintly embarrassed, and Julia’s lips tightened.
“I’m afraid,” Kirkpatrick said, and Christopher saw the man’s hands tighten on the head of his cane, “that my wife adheres to London hours, even in the country. She rarely rises before noon and so, sadly, misses Reverend Thornley’s excellent sermons.”
Judging by the glint that briefly sparked in Julia Kirkpatrick’s eyes, she was of the opinion that her stepmother would profit from hearing those sermons.
Both Ellen and her aunt leapt in with requests to have their good wishes conveyed to the absent Mrs. Kirkpatrick.
Under cover of the exchange, Christopher noticed that Robbie’s attention was firmly fixed on Julia. On closer inspection, she struck Christopher as a clear-eyed young lady of significant backbone, definitely no ninnyhammer and highly unlikely to be anyone’s pawn—certainly not her stepmother’s. On the subject of the current Mrs. Kirkpatrick, Julia radiated silent yet nevertheless palpable disapproval.
During the ensuing exchange of local news, driven by Mrs. Fitzwilliam, ably supported by Ellen, and to which Kirkpatrick responded readily enough—information, even of such local sort, being a financier’s stock-in-trade—Christopher noted the lack of mention of Mrs. Kirkpatrick’s young cousins, Tilly and Nigel.
Then beneath the chatter of the other three, Christopher heard Robbie, who had edged closer to Julia, say, “I was at Goffard Hall on Friday evening—I asked after you, and Mrs. Kirkpatrick said you’d been invited, but had chosen not to come down.”
The implied query wasn’t exactly a complaint but raised the question of what had truly taken Robbie to Goffard Hall the previous Friday.
“I fear,” Julia replied, keeping her voice low, as Robbie had, “my stepmother’s events are not the sort of entertainments I favor.” The words were priggish, contemptuous, and distinctly repressive.
Robbie all but squirmed, but came back with, “They’re not that bad—nothing untoward happens. It’s just all of us who know Nigel having fun. It’s not as if any of us lose much—it’s all about the play.”
Christopher pricked up his ears at the words “none of us lose much.” Just how pervasive was the dealers’ throwing of hands—their reverse cheating, as it were?
Julia shrugged, to all intents and purposes giving Robbie’s comment short shrift. “There’s nothing that attracts me in such entertainments—I would much rather spend the evening reading a good book, which was what I did on Friday.”
Christopher was getting the distinct impression the pair had met several times before. Robbie frowned. “Truth to tell, I’m not all that enamored of the card games myself.”
Julia shot him a swift glance. “Why do you attend, then?”
It seemed to Christopher’s experienced ear that she truly wanted to know.
Robbie’s expression changed to that of someone stating the obvious. “Because Nigel’s an acquaintance and a neighbor, and as I was invited, it’s the done thing—the right thing—to attend. But that doesn’t mean I’m drawn by the gambling—I’m no gamester and have no ambition to become one.”
Christopher suspected Ellen would be very glad to hear that little speech and would wholeheartedly approve, not only with regard to Robbie’s professed lack of gambling ambition but also over his notion of doing “the right thing.” The concept was, in Christopher’s view, deeply entrenched in the Martingale psyche. That trait was what had driven Ellen herself to shoulder the burden of managing the Bigfield House estate, apparently without argument.
Julia studied Robbie’s face, then made an equivocal sound and looked away, as if she was reserving judgment. In Christopher’s opinion, that was a sensible response.
He refocused on the wider conversation as Julia added a comment, and Robbie, too, joined in. Mr. Kirkpatrick directed a query at Christopher regarding the upcoming harvest, to which he readily responded. By unspoken consent, their combined company walked on through the lychgate. In the lane beyond, they parted, the Kirkpatricks going left to their carriage while the Bigfield House party turned right.
Christopher had left his curricle and horses at the Bull Inn. He strolled beside Ellen toward the Bigfield House landau. Robbie had given his aunt his arm, and the pair were walking ahead of Christopher and Ellen.
He glanced at her. “Thank you for facilitating that encounter.”
“Don’t mention it.” Her gaze was locked on the pair ahead. A heartbeat later, she murmured, “Far better Julia than Tilly.”
While mildly impressed that, while maintaining a conversation with Kirkpatrick and her aunt, Ellen had simultaneously monitored her brother’s interaction with Julia, given what Christopher had seen of Tilly Fontenay on Friday evening, he couldn’t agree more.