That Hecate had a supporter in the earl came as a surprise. “Then why not treat her with a little more respect, a little warmth?”
“I’d make her my damned heir if I could, but the instant I show her any favor at all, her lot will only worsen. She is loyal to the rogues and flirts I call my family, and if I so much as complimented her bonnet, they’d make her pay. Hecate has burden enough as it is. I rely on her to manage what investments I can afford, and she has extended Nunnsuch any number of unsecured loans, some of which I’ve even managed to repay. I draw the line at making her a target for the family’s bile.”
“You might tell her that,” Phillip said, mounting the cottage steps and feeling every joint and tendon protest the effort. “Find a quiet moment to let her know how much you appreciate her.”
“Mrs. Roberts agrees with you, but exactly when does one find a quiet moment amid the rioting of the Brompton throng? If Edna isn’t making a ballyhoo over a lost hair ribbon, then Charlie is placing stupid wagers with men who can buy and sell him twice over, and Eglantine is weeping because her husband—my heir—has once again gambled away her pin money. Society refers to them as the Bedlam Bromptons for good reason.”
And yet, for all Nunn’s exasperation, there remained a thread of affection beneath his words.
“What of Hecate’s father? Was he a rackety sort?”
Nunn paced the length of the porch, and Phillip thought he might ignore the question.
“I introduced Marianne to her dashing sea captain right here at Nunnsuch, if you must know. Hecate’s parents were rounding out the numbers at a gathering much like this one, and Isaac was being the perfect ass that is apparently his birthright. Marianne got it into her head that if she could present Isaac with a son, he’d settle down.”
“And instead,” Phillip murmured, “she presented him with an excuse to hold her in contempt for the rest of her days.” The late marquess was apparently not the only man to ride that weary horse.
“Certainly to disdain her. Isaac needed Marianne’s money, and still does, though Hecate now controls the wealth. Drives Isaac barmy, which is exactly what he deserves. Marianne was a lamb to slaughter when her family agreed to Isaac’s suit. He ought never to have treated her as he did, but try telling a Brompton what to do when they are set on stupidity.”
Or when they were set on providing for an entire family of wastrels and wantons. “Is Hecate’s father still alive?”
Nunn paused at the top of the steps. “Very much so. He bides in Bristol, though his mother’s people are American. He’s quite well-to-do. I suspect a substantial portion of Hecate’s wealth comes from him, though she probably doesn’t know that herself. Marianne learned to keep herself to herself. I write to the man regularly, in part so he has occasional word of his daughter’s situation.”
“She deserves to know him.”
Nunn looked away, to where the roofline of Nunnsuch gleamed above the trees in the westering sun. “She doesn’t ask about him, and he doesn’t want to create awkwardness. She looks very much like him and has his talent with investments.”
Phillip surmised, in what was not said, that Nunn feared to lose access to that talent and to Hecate’s money. Married to a Berkshire courtesy lord, she could continue to supervise, support, and subsidize her Brompton family. With a doting papa to fly to—and American cousins—she might well cut her Brompton ties once and for all.
Not likely, but possible.
“I intend to offer for her,” Phillip said, though he’d yet to work out the details. Another blanket under the stars suggested itself, though he wanted to exceed even the glory of that memory. The only ring he could offer her had belonged to his mother, and what if the size wasn’t right? “I know I ought to ask Isaac’s permission to court her, but he’s not worthy of such a courtesy.”
Nunn snorted. “He cannot refuse you permission. You are heir to a marquessate, of sound mind, and in obnoxiously good health.”
“He can refuse me his blessing,” Phillip said, “and all the etiquette manuals say I’m to then slink away and nurse my broken heart in solitude, like the gentleman I never aspired to be.”
Nunn smiled, and the charm he’d possessed as a younger man glimmered past the dignity he wore like armor. “Fortunately for Hecate, you are not much given to elevating etiquette over a worthy objective, are you?”
“One ought to be able to pursue such objectives without losing sight of his manners.” Phillip would have parted from Nunn then—a bath was imperative before changing for supper—but Nunn lingered at the top of the steps.
“I wish you the best of luck with your courtship. Hecate is long overdue for a worthy suitor, but I thought you should know that Johnny Brompton cantered up the drive today shortly after noon. At one time, he and Hecate were fond of each other.”
One time, ten years ago, before Johnny had left a schoolgirl to defend herself from a mob of jackals. Though, of course the fellow would have sense enough to ride up the driveway, and probably on a white horse too.
“I hope Hecate and her cousin are still fond of each other,” Phillip said. “Hecate will no doubt be pleased to see him, and I will be delighted to make his acquaintance.”
Phillip told the lie as convincingly as any London swell had ever offered a false compliment to his Mayfair hostess, and that bothered him all the way to supper.
Chapter Twelve
From the place at Edna’s right hand, Johnny held forth like the returning hero he was, and Hecate was relieved to allow him the floor. A house party in its second week should offer more in the way of entertainment than the scavenger hunts, pall-mall matches, and whist parties of the first week.
She’d thought up nothing more interesting than tomorrow’s horse race, along with the grand ball at week’s end. Johnny bid fair to be the main attraction at that event, and for good reason.
“He’s magnificent,” Flavia murmured. “Canadian air must be very healthful.”
Johnny had become what Charlie should have been: tall, robust, golden, and charming. He had the gift of laughing at himself, recounting stories of falling into rivers, felling an enormous tree only to have it land across his logging trail, and losing his fishing pole through a hole cut in the frozen surface of a lake.
“He has apparently prospered,” Hecate replied quietly. Such was Johnny’s gift with a story that even Portia appeared to have temporarily misplaced her sulks. His attire was exquisite without being ostentatious, his hair queued back in the old-fashioned manner that nonetheless looked dashing on him.
Hecate would not have known him, so kind had ten years in the wilderness been to the gangling young fellow who’d gone off with his regiment a decade past. The older Johnny had poise, self-possession, and muscles that the youth could only have dreamed of.
The differences time had wrought were subtle and pervasive. Johnny’s hair had darkened from flaxen to gold and had more curl. His laugh was heartier. He wore only the gold jewelry suitable for evening, though like any gracious Englishman, he flirted equally with Eglantine and Edna.
He flirted with the entire female half of the table, truth be told, another skill apparently learned in Canada.