He laughed. “At any rate to your club.”
Frederick, when he came down, looked fresh, not as dulled and battered as he had the night before. In fact Lenox would have told him he looked younger, if it didn’t sound fanciful.
He skipped the last step up to see Lenox. “Charles! There you are! Here, I shall sit, don’t stand — but look.” He put the folded newspaper that had been tucked under his arm onto the table. “I find in the Times that you are made very great! You might have told me last night, anyhow.”
Lenox frowned. “What have they reported?”
“Is it not true that you are to be a Junior Lord of the Treasury?”
“Ah, so they’ve got hold of that, have they? Yes, Hilary asked me on Wednesday. I must give him my decision tomorrow. It will be yes, I think. It must be yes.”
“A thousand pounds a year, Charles! And then, the Treasury — you will be able to find Wells.”
Lenox laughed. “No, no, it’s nothing like that. There are plenty of men better equipped to handle the treasury than I am. It’s more in the line of a … you might call me a whip. It will be a great deal of work, I fear.”
“You look almost wistful, but it is a high achievement, Charles! Your father would have been proud. Your mother, too.”
“I thank you. As to it’s being a high achievement — they sent round a few sheets of paper with all the trivial details of the post, and there they hastened to remind me that even in this exalted new position, I must enter a room after the eldest sons of viscounts. They included a list, who else was it? The youngest sons of earls—”
“The eldest of baronets, the youngest of viscounts—”
“And the commissioner of Bankruptcy may positively lord his situation over me! While I am a very inferior creature, not even in the same field of play as the Master of Horse.”
Both were smiling now. “Still, I propose a toast. Hail that man and ask for champagne.”
Lenox did it. His smile came from pleasure in Frederick’s company, not from the promotion — of course it was happy news, but like all happy news it carried with it an implication of forsaken choices. Nevertheless Lenox accepted his cousin’s congratulations with good grace.
The waiter came back with the champagne. “Shall I open it?”
Lenox was about to nod, but Frederick said, “After we’ve eaten, Sam, thank you. If we might have eggs, fried bread, a few sausages, and a good deal of coffee — Charles, is there anything else you would like?”
“Thank you, no.”
A silence crept into the moment after the waiter had gone, and then began to expand until it became rather embarrassed. Both men were conscious that they had now to address whatever it was that the elder of the two had wished to speak about, and Lenox, for his part, disliked to push the issue. After fifteen or twenty seconds they both undertook to speak at the same time.
“No, you must begin,” said Lenox.
“I do have one or two things I should like to discuss with you.”
He steeled himself. There would be legal matters over Everley’s ownership, advice to ask about the old-planted forests — might they be protected from cutting for some term of years — and perhaps even a confidential word or two about Wendell, that Lenox should bear him some special kindness.
There was still a pang in his heart as he contemplated these questions, but it was muffled now. He had made up his mind to let go of Everley.
As it happened, however, his expectations of the conversation were incorrect. What Frederick actually had to say astonished him.
“At my age there is no refined way of saying this, Charles.” He coughed and looked down at the table, adjusted his fork and knife. “I am to be married.”
At this very crucial moment, when Lenox was agog with interest at what his cousin said, a white-haired gentleman came to their table. “Mr. Lenox,” he said. “I agreed whole-heartedly with your speech.”
Both of the men rose. “Baron Rothschild. I know of all you did in the famine in Ireland, so your support is not unexpected — but I am very glad indeed to hear of it.”
“Much good may it do you — I think I shall very probably be turned out of my seat at the next election.” He laughed, croakily.
This was Lionel Rothschild, scion of the great banking family. He had had one of the most interesting careers in the history of English politics; many years before he had won a seat in the Commons, but, because he was Jewish and therefore would not make the Anglican oath of office, had been barred from taking it. In protest he had left the seat vacant for a decade. To his eternal credit, Lord John Russell — off-and-on-again prime minister, and one of Lenox’s closest allies in politics — had forced a law through the Houses permitting Jews to sit in Parliament. Nevertheless Victoria, the Queen, had, despite the entreaties of many powerful men, positively refused to elevate Rothschild to the House of Lords — to her eternal discredit, some might say.
“Do you know my cousin, Frederick Ponsonby?”
Frederick shook hands and said, “I don’t know that we have met, but I once saw one of your horses at Epsom, in ’sixty-eight. A beautiful creature.”
The old man smiled; he had been very handsome once, but now stood rather rickety. “We shall win Epsom one of these times, too. Good day, gentlemen.”
They bowed, and when Rothschild had paced off some ten slow feet away from them sat down again. “My goodness,” said Lenox in a low voice, “you do keep your cards hidden, Freddie. You have my sincere congratulations. Who is the woman?”
“There is another piece of news to go along with this.”
“Oh?”
“I was quite sincere when I said I was coming to London in order to see Wendell, to speak with him about the transfer of Everley’s ownership. But I think that my new plans — well, I knew that I would throw the dice one final time, and it happens by pure luck that they have turned up in my favor. I shall keep Everley for myself a while longer, to put it plainly. With a partner it may be easier, I hope.”
Lenox felt his heart rise with joy. “Then I shall love the woman even more. But who is she?”
“I suppose I must seem mysterious, but it is only because I must ask your indulgence.”
“Mine? Why?”
“The young lady in question is your governess, you see. Miss Taylor.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Lenox was speechless.
“Well, Charles?”
“You have my congratulations! I scarcely know what else to say, I’m so surprised.” Amid all of the various puzzlements the news presented, one stood out. “You only saw her in passing yesterday, though, I believe? Has this been settled for some time?”
Frederick shook his head. “With the parcel of cuttings I left for her yesterday evening was a letter, and this morning I had her acceptance by messenger. I had scarcely dreamed she would say yes — had fully planned on proceeding with my plans to hand Everley over to Wendell — but now this wonderful thing has happened, you see, it changes everything. You are not dissatisfied with my conduct, Charles? She is a wonderful woman.”
“Dissatisfied, never, so long as Miss Taylor is happy. Merely knocked for a loop, cousin.”
“The gap in our ages is very great.”
“Lord Wrexham married a seventeen-year-old when he was in the back half of his eighties. I don’t think you and Miss Taylor will excite much comment.”
“Except in Plumbley.”
Lenox laughed. “It’s true, they’ll be surprised in Plumbley.”
Frederick put a hand on the champagne bottle that stood in its silver bucket by the table. “Perhaps we might have our toast now?”
As the idea lost its newness over the course of their breakfast, as he grew accustomed to its counters, it came to seem less outlandish to Lenox. He pictured them as they had been at Everley, amiably walking through the gardens, she with a sobriety beyond her years, after the annealing tragedies of her youth, he with a long provincial gentleness that looked, perhaps, something like youth.