Miss Vernon said that she was.
“My brother has spoken very highly of you, Miss Manwaring, and his commendation is never bestowed idly,” the gentleman said.
“It has the advantage of consensus with the world in general,” added Reginald with great civility, “and therefore cannot err.”
Miss Manwaring blushed, and as the path that took them toward the house narrowed, they were obliged to walk in pairs. Sir Reginald offered Miss Vernon his arm, and she concluded from his son’s look of surprise (as he offered his own arm to Miss Manwaring) that it had been some time since his father had been the provider, rather than the recipient, of such support.
“January and February are too early in the year to see the true beauty of the place,” said Sir Reginald. “When all is in bloom, it is a remarkable sight, but you will get some notion of the excellence of the forcing gardens and the size of the orchards, and tomorrow, in the light, I will take you to the summer house, where we drink tea in fine weather. But I will not confine you to Parklands. We keep a handsome phaeton that gets too little use. You ladies must take advantage of it on any day that is fine, for even in the winter Kent is full of beauties. It is quite the garden of England, do you not think so?”
“I do. And I thought the same of Staffordshire and Sussex, sir—indeed, when I was first taken to the apothecary gardens in town, I was quite ready to call London the garden of England as well.”
Sir Reginald laughed and proceeded to inquire, with genuine interest, about her knowledge of plants and flowers. Had she studied Latin? Had she read Withering? Had the fuchsia been introduced to Churchill Manor?
Miss Vernon felt all of the compliment of his inquiries, which went beyond casual civility. She was equally pleased to understand, from the little of their conversation she overheard, that Reginald addressed Miss Manwaring with equal courtesy, and that her replies conveyed her taste, her understanding, and her superior manners. However he might regard Robert Manwaring, Reginald deCourcy must conclude that his sister was a very intelligent young woman.
They were six to dinner, and yet there were thirty covers and an array of silver plate and a great many attendants. If the two country girls were inclined to overlook some particular symptom of privilege, Lady deCourcy did not hesitate to call it to their attention, and her conversation consisted principally of remarks such as “I daresay you have not seen such superior cos lettuce,” or “I would be very surprised if Mrs. Manwaring can ever get her hands upon such crayfish as these.”
Reginald often blushed for her, but her daughter and husband felt no embarrassment; she had no consciousness of her mother’s incivility and he had ceased to listen to her for many years.
If the elder gentleman’s remarks were less frequent, they were more civil. He had always been fond of society, but a spell of ill health, which his wife had encouraged along to infirmity, had kept him from the sort of company that he had enjoyed in earlier years. He found Miss Vernon to be a beautiful girl, her manners refined, her conversation thoughtful and fresh, and her knowledge of growing and groundskeeping profound.
The desserts were laid and Sir Reginald deferred to Miss Vernon, whose receipts had aided his digestion so well as to enable him to eat a handsome dinner for the first time in a year. Miss Vernon smiled at the compliment and, expressing admiration for the yield of his pinery, suggested, “There is nothing so good for the digestion as pineapple, except perhaps for the extract of carica papaya before it ripens.”
Sir Reginald took a slice of the pineapple and began to recount a few tales of the West Indies. The young ladies listened with intense interest, though Lady deCourcy seemed impatient to withdraw and once or twice seemed about to rise when a question from one of the girls or from Reginald (who was astonished at his father’s excellent appetite and spirits) delayed her. At last she stood, and the other ladies followed her to the drawing room.
The party was made lively and noisy by the entrance of the children, and Lady deCourcy turned her attention entirely to them and her daughter.
“How very tall our Charlie has got in the months since you left for Sussex. Lady Penrice called on her way to Ramsgate and told the wildest tales of how tall her grandson Frank had got—six months younger than Charlie and she vows he was half a head taller! She has got a house at Ramsgate and means to have them all with her until summer, as she says London is full of influenza. How long does Charles stay in town? Nobody can remain in health very long in London. The air is so bad! He must, on no account, bring the influenza here among the children. How is the air in Sussex? Is it a very dirty place?”
Miss Vernon, who was showing little Kitty how to cut some gold paper, felt a warm blush overspread her cheeks.
“It is not as fine as Parklands,” her daughter replied.
“And the people? They are a very yeomanlike set, I gather?”
“There is no society. The Parkers are ten miles off, which is too far to go to mix with people who are only moderately genteel. Mr. Parker was in trade.”
“Trade is a terrible thing,” declared Lady deCourcy. “It encourages those who engage in it to be ambitious above their class.”
The gentlemen entered as she uttered this remark, and she called immediately for their opinion. “Catherine tells me that there is nobody in her neighborhood but for the Parkers, who made a great deal of money in trade. Do you not agree that she is very poorly situated? Would it not be best to have her and the children home again with us?”
Reginald glanced at Miss Vernon, who was bent over her work. “You forget, madam, that the hospitality of the Parkers was acceptable to my cousins and my uncle.”
It was not in Lady deCourcy’s nature to feel embarrassment. “Perhaps, and yet Billingshurst cannot be as pleasant as Parklands.”
“I agree with you, madam,” said Reginald with a smile. “I cannot wish to be anywhere else at present, and indeed I very much regret that I must leave you all tomorrow.”
“If you regret it, then you ought to stay,” his mother replied. “There is nobody in town.”
“My sister’s husband is in town. If, Catherine, you have a letter for Charles, I will bring it, and I will be happy to do the same for Miss Vernon, if she desires to send any message to her mother.”
Lady deCourcy declared that neither Catherine nor Miss Vernon could have anything to write, and that it would be enough for Reginald to tell Charles that they had all got safely to Parklands, which Charles could report to Lady Vernon whenever he happened to call.
“Catherine need not write,” Reginald replied, “but we must let Miss Vernon decide for herself.”
Miss Vernon favored him with a grateful smile and, consigning the amusement of the children to Maria, went to a little desk in the corner to compose her letter.
Miss Vernon to Lady Vernon
Parklands Manor, Kent
My dear Madam,
We have arrived safely in Kent to find Mr. deCourcy still at home, though he will stay only until tomorrow.
You will want to know something of Parklands. It is very beautifully situated, and as far as the grounds are concerned, nothing has been transformed that ought to have been left alone, and nothing has been neglected that ought to have been improved. The interior is the work of Lady deCourcy, however, and it is Langford all over again, with three items crammed where one would do and everything for show. The apartment that I share with Maria appears to be a chamber reserved for her inferior company and therefore has only such furnishings as are necessary for comfort without needless embellishment and display.