Devin Northcott was quick to size up the remaining possibilities. He did not wish to place Miss Wells in an embarrassing situation.
"Lady Brampton," he said smiling and extending a hand to her, "d'ye trust my driving well enough to accompany me? Am considered an adequate whip. Ask Bram there."
Margaret smiled and took his hand. "I do not need to ask, sir," she assured him. "I know I can trust such a good friend of my husband's." She allowed him to lift her carefully to her seat.
It cannot be said that either Brampton or Charlotte was entirely pleased with the turn of events, but they both conversed brightly with the two other occupants of the landau during the four-mile drive.
The vicar did indeed prove knowledgeable about the old church. He was delighted with his large and distinguished audience. He discoursed eloquently on the history and architecture of the building as he led the party down the nave toward the altar.
It soon became apparent, though, that the desire for an outing more than an eagerness for a history lesson had prompted most of the party to come. By the time the vicar reached the altar, more than half an hour after he had begun his guided tour, only Lord Romley, Margaret, Devin, Susanna, and Rodney remained of the original sixteen. Susanna would have been gone too if she had seen Charles slip away. As it was, she had to make the most of Rodney's company, commenting at one point, sotto voce, that these old buildings were frightfully cold; she shivered delicately. Rodney rejected his first instinct, which was to take off his coat and place it around her pretty, plump shoulders, and his second instinct, which was to put an arm around her; he took the only other possible course. Soon they too were headed up the aisle, her arm in his, headed for the warmth of the sun in the graveyard.
"If we stay here, Mr. Langford," she pouted prettily, "we shall be caught again by the vicar and forced to listen to the history of every horrid tombstone."
He grinned in appreciation of her opinion. "By all means, let us explore the village," he said.
Charles and Charlotte, meanwhile, were already in the village, sitting on a rustic bench outside the alehouse. They were arguing.
"I cannot ride back with you," Charlotte was explaining crossly. "It would be uncommon rude to Susanna."
"Charlotte, my love, have mercy on a man's tender constitution," Charles pleaded. "Boredom is a terrible-enough disease; it could be fatal. I might forget to continue living. But much worse is the very real danger of contracting pneumonia."
"You had better explain yourself," Charlotte said tartly. "You cannot expect silly, simpering misses to understand such obscure talk."
"By Jove, you are as cross as a bear today, are you not, my love?" Charles commented. "I merely meant that such a draft is caused by the fluttering of Miss Kemp's eyelashes that I am in mortal danger of catching a chill."
"Hmm," said Charlotte.
Charles leaned forward and looked into her face. "Out with it, Charlotte, my love," he said.
"Out with what?"
"With whatever it is that is bothering you."
"Whatever do you mean?" she said irritably. "There is nothing bothering me."
"I know you better than to believe that," he said. He thought for a while, still staring into her face. "Is this house party not to your liking?" he asked. "Is there someone missing that you would wish to be here?"
"No, of course not!"
"Hmm. Then, is there someone here that is not paying you the attention that you would wish?"
"Charles, stop this, this instant. I should like some lemonade, please."
"All in good time, my love. Who could it be? Ted Kemp? No, too milk and water for you. Rodney Langford? No, you would never be sure the right twin was making love to you. Devin Northcott? No, he is too old and set in his ways."
"He is not old," snapped Charlotte. "You told me yourself that he is but thirty."
"Aha! My love, I hope you never take to lying," he said smugly. "You would never convince anybody."
"Whatever do you mean?" she said.
"So the independent little Miss Wells is in love with a confirmed, old bachelor, is she?"
Charlotte opened her mouth to protest the description of Devin, then shut it again. "But I am just making a cake of myself," she said, the bad temper gone from her voice. "He does not know I exist."
"I would not say that," Charles mused. "He seemed very aware of your existence that day he rescued you from certain death in the park."
"Don't tease, Charles. This is no joke to me."
"Poor Charlotte," he commented, an affectionate smile in his eyes. "What can we do?"
"I don't know," she replied seriously. "We need a plan."
"Well, while you are devising one, smile and look cheerful," he advised. "Here comes the gentleman with your sister, and you do not wish him to know that you are languishing for him, do you?"
Charlotte smiled.
The vicar had finally exhausted all the information he knew about the interior of the church. He suggested that he take his party of three into the graveyard to show them some of the older and more interesting tombstones.
Margaret lagged behind as they emerged from the cold darkness of the stone building into the bright heat out of doors.
"Take m' arm, Lady Bram?" Devin offered, turning back to her and perceiving her fatigue.
"Thank you, Mr. Northcott, but I must find somewhere to sit down for a while," Margaret replied. "I have become dizzy from so much standing."
"Lean on me, ma'am," he said, looking into her face with concern.
While the vicar disappeared around the eastern corner of the church with the one remaining member of his audience, Devin led Margaret to sit on the low stone wall surrounding the churchyard.
"Ah, that is better. Thank you," said Margaret, sighing.
"Not feeling quite the thing, Lady Bram?"
"Oh, I shall be fine now," she said. "If it were just not so hot!"
"Shall I fetch Bram to you, ma'am?"
"Oh, no," Margaret said hastily. "Really, sir, I shall be quite rested in a few minutes."
"May I?" he asked, and sat beside her on the wall when she nodded. He removed a handkerchief from the pocket of his waistcoat and used it, without too much effect, to fan her face beneath the brim of her chipstraw bonnet.
Margaret, whose feeling of faintness and slight nausea was leaving her, suddenly saw the humor of the scene. She turned and laughed up into his face, bare inches away. "Thank you, Mr. Northcott," she said gaily. "I feel quite recovered now, but I think your handkerchief was meant for other uses, sir."
Neither of them noticed the party of four which had just emerged from a confectioner's shop across the street. Devin helped Margaret to her feet, took her arm, and led her toward the tavern, where he hoped to find some shade and some water or lemonade for her.
Lord Brampton escorted Susanna and Annabelle into a haberdasher's store, but he took no part in the discussion they were having with Rodney Langford about the choice of some ribbons. He was brooding on the radiant smile his wife had just bestowed on his best friend, and at such close quarters.
Chapter 11
Nobody was ever quite sure where the idea for the Brampton Court Fair originated. All the house guests seemed to contribute some idea. It began perhaps with Margaret's suggestion to her husband that they give a large dinner party for all the leading families of the area. Someone-perhaps Brampton himself, perhaps Charles-added the idea that perhaps, since they were going to all the trouble of inviting and catering to so many people-eight families in addition to the house guests, they might as well have a ball too.
Someone else-Charlotte perhaps?-thought it a shame that only the wealthier families should be part of the festivities. Yet how could one invite all the tenants to dine at the house? Soon there was a tumult of suggestions, most of which centered around the idea of moving the activities out of doors.