Constance was soon borne away by a group of young persons of both genders. They were going to walk down to the river, which could be reached along a private path lined invitingly with flowers and trees.
“The river is at least a quarter of a mile away,” Lady Muir said to Hugo. “I think I will remain here. My ankle was a little swollen yesterday, and I had to keep my foot up. I sometimes forget that I am not quite normal.”
“Now I know,” Hugo said, “what it is about you that has been bothering me. You are abnormal. All is explained.”
She laughed.
“I am going to sit in the summerhouse,” she said. “But you must not feel obliged to keep me company.”
He offered her his arm.
They sat and talked for almost an hour, though they were not alone all that time. A number of her cousins came and went. Ralph put in a brief appearance. The Duke and Duchess of Bewcastle and the Marquess and Marchioness of Hallmere stopped by for an introduction. The marchioness was Bewcastle’s sister, and Bewcastle was Ravensberg’s neighbor in the country. It was all very dizzying trying to sort out who was who in the ton.
“How do you remember who is who?” Hugo asked when he and Lady Muir were alone again.
She laughed.
“The same way you remember who is who in your world, I suppose,” she said. “I have had a lifetime of practice. I am hungry—and thirsty. Shall we go up to the terrace?”
Hugo really did not want to go there even though the idea of having some tea was tempting. Carstairs had moved from the rose arbor and was sitting on the second terrace, not far from the food tables. However, staying here was not an option either, he suddenly realized. Grayson, Viscount Muir, had appeared as if from nowhere and was on his way toward them, though he had been stopped for the moment by a large matron beneath what appeared to be an even larger hat.
Hugo got to his feet and offered his arm.
“I shall try to remember,” he said, “to extend my little finger when I hold my teacup.”
“Ah,” she said, “you are an apt pupil. I am proud of you.”
And she laughed up at him as they crossed the lawn in the direction of the terraces.
“Gwen,” a voice called imperiously as they reached the foot of the lowest terrace.
She turned with eyebrows raised.
“Gwen,” Grayson said again. He was standing a short distance away—but far enough that he had to raise his voice slightly and make his words far from private. “I will do myself the honor of walking with you or escorting you to your brother’s side. I am surprised he will allow you to let that fellow hang on your sleeve. I will certainly not do so.”
They were surrounded suddenly by a little pool of silence—a pool that included a number of listening guests.
She had paled, Hugo saw.
“Thank you, Jason,” she said, her voice steady but slightly breathless, “but I choose my own companions.”
“Not when you are a member of my family,” he said, “even if only by marriage. I have the honor of my late cousin, your husband, to uphold, as well as the name of Grayson, which you still bear. This fellow is a coward and a fraud in addition to being riffraff. He is a disgrace to the British military.”
Hugo released her arm and clasped his hands behind him. He set his feet apart and held himself erect and silent as he gazed directly at his adversary, very aware that the pool of silence surrounding them had become more the size of a lake.
“Oh, I say,” someone said and was immediately shushed.
“What nonsense you speak,” Lady Muir said. “How dare you, Jason? How dare you?”
“Ask him how he survived the Forlorn Hope without a scratch,” Grayson said, “when almost three hundred men died and the few who did not were grievously wounded. Ask him. Not that he would answer truthfully. This is the truth. Captain Emes led from behind, well behind. He sent his men on the way to their deaths and followed only after they had made the breach that allowed the rest of the forces through. And then he ran up and claimed the victory. There were not many men left to contradict him.”
There were gasps to break the silence.
“Shame!” someone said before being shushed. But it was not clear whether he addressed Grayson or Hugo.
Hugo could feel all eyes upon him even though he looked nowhere but back at Grayson.
“It is your word against mine, Grayson,” he said. “I do not intend to brawl with you.”
From the corner of his eye he could see Constance. Damn it all, she was back from the river already and had moved into the circle of listeners.
He turned to Lady Muir and inclined his head stiffly.
“I will take my leave, ma’am,” he said, “and take my sister home.”
And then a weak, rather reedy, but perfectly audible voice spoke up from behind him.
“There is one survivor right here to contradict you, Muir,” Frank Carstairs said. “I have no reason to love Emes. He took the command that ought to have been mine on that day. And then his bravery showed up my cowardice and has preyed upon my conscience every moment of every day since. I wanted to abort the charge when the men started to die in droves, but he forced us onward. At least, he charged onward himself and did not look back to see if we followed. And he was right. We were a Forlorn Hope, dash it all. We volunteered for death. We were the cannon fodder that would allow the real attack to break through behind us. Captain Emes led from the front, and he earned all the accolades he has received since.”
Hugo did not turn. Nor did he move. He felt stranded in the midst of surely the worst moment of his life, worse even than the day he had gone out of his head. Though no, perhaps not worse than that. Nothing could ever be worse than that.
“Dear me,” a languid voice said, “I am for my tea. Lady Muir, Trentham, do join Christine and me at our table. It has the advantage of being in the shade.”
It was a man he had just met, Hugo saw when he looked away from Grayson at last—the one with the autocratic air and the silver eyes and the jeweled quizzing glass, which was currently trained upon the suddenly retreating figure of Grayson. The Duke of Bewcastle.
“Thank you.” Lady Muir took Hugo’s arm. “We will be delighted, Your Grace. And the shade will indeed be welcome. The sun becomes uncomfortably warm when one has been out in it for a while, does it not?”
And suddenly everyone was moving again and talking and laughing again, and the party had resumed as if nothing untoward had happened. Carstairs was not looking his way, Hugo saw when he looked directly at him, but was talking quite pointedly to his wife. It was the ton’s way, Hugo realized.
But doubtless polite drawing rooms and club rooms throughout London would buzz with the interchange for days to come.
Chapter 19
I have decided,” Lord Trentham said. “I am not going to court you.”
Gwen picked up her embroidery without really realizing she was doing so, and began to stitch. She had been about to say, Is it for certain this time? But there was nothing in his face that suggested he might be inviting some verbal sparring from her.
He had arrived at the house just as she was about to leave with Lily and her mother. They were going to make a round of afternoon calls with Lauren. Neville was at the House of Lords.
“Very well,” she said.
He was standing in the middle of the drawing room, in his usual military stance, though she had invited him to be seated. He was glowering. She knew he was. She did not have to lift her head to confirm the fact.
“If you would be so good as to escort Constance to the remaining entertainments she has agreed to attend,” he said, “I would be grateful to you. But it does not matter if you feel you cannot do it. She has begun to understand that the world of the ton is not necessarily the promised land.”