your own family, I trust, sir.”
“Unfortunately, ma’am. My father, as it happens, passed to his reward quite as unexpectedly as Mr. Lindale passed to his. He was—again like Mr. Lindale—quite a young man.”
“Mr. Lindale was only forty-six,” she replied, reaching for her vinaigrette.
His lordship eyed that gesture with undisguised alarm and said hastily that he had subsequently joined the Army. The vinaigrette hovered as her ladyship paused, replying that she had not taken him for a military man.
“Nor I, sir,” Nell put in, watching his rapidly changing expressions with amusement.
He glanced at her briefly, then rather pointedly gave his full attention to Lady Agnes. “A military career seemed better than hanging on my brother’s sleeve,” he said, “but I stayed only six years. I wasn’t much cut out for campaigning, though I served in a Hussar regiment on the Continent for several years before a bayonet thrust to the shoulder got me sent home just before Amiens. Subsequently, I transferred to the Tenth, which by then had been ordered to Manchester, supposedly for training. By the time hostilities resumed, my brother had died and I’d sold out. I confess, I am not precisely sorry to have done so.”
“Your brother, as well,” said Lady Agnes weakly, waving the vinaigrette under her dainty nose. “Poor, wretched lad. You have suffered exactly as my dearest Nell has suffered, have you not?”
Huntley was certainly looking rather wretched, and although he glanced helplessly at Nell, he managed to keep a wary eye on the vinaigrette. “Have you suffered so much then, Miss Lindale?”
“Indeed, oh, indeed she has,” replied Lady Agnes in lachrymose tones. “You’ll scarce credit it, sir, and I could not have been more sorely provoked, I promise you. But we suffered six of them in as many years.”
“What? Not deaths!” Huntley sat up straighter in his chair, then looked more directly at Nell, who was having difficulty retaining her composure. Thankfully, he addressed his next words to her mother. “You are quite right, my lady. “’Tis a difficult fact to credit.”
“Nevertheless, ’tis the very truth, sir. Six of them, and very inconsiderate I thought them at the time, I can tell you. For what was my poor Nell to do when she must positively live in black crape? ’Twas monstrous unfair. As though Fate herself thrust my poor darling onto the shelf.”
“On the shelf? How absurd! Why, Miss Lindale is quite as beautiful as ever and seems to have developed a good deal of character into the bargain. She is scarcely at her last prayers.”
Nell turned quite pink at these unexpected compliments, but fortunately there was no need for her to reply to them.
“Oh, but she is! Or, at least, if she is not at her last prayers, no one can deny that she is beyond her first youth.” The vinaigrette paused directly under the little nose, and to Huntley’s all too evident discomfort, a lacy handkerchief appeared in her ladyship’s delicate hand. “What else,” she demanded mournfully, “could one expect, my lord, when she is all of five-and-twenty and insists upon behaving like a spinster woman? Besides, the eligible men hereabouts are not seeking mature young women of character. They are looking about for youthful beauties whose character they might mold to suit themselves.”
This statement being clearly unanswerable, Nell took pity on his lordship and spoke up in her own defense. “Pray, Mama, do not speak as if you expect poor Huntley to mend matters. You will at the very least unman him. What’s done is done and cannot be mended, and ’tis just as well, I’m thinking. For if I was not so clearly upon the shelf, who, pray tell, would take dear Rory out and about? We are already agreed, are we not, that it would not suit your delicate constitution to do so.”
“Oh my, no!” Lady Agnes replied hastily before turning melting eyes toward Huntley. “For you must know, my lord, that
“Unfortunately, ma’am. My father, as it happens, passed to his reward quite as unexpectedly as Mr. Lindale passed to his. He was—again like Mr. Lindale—quite a young man.”
“Mr. Lindale was only forty-six,” she replied, reaching for her vinaigrette.
His lordship eyed that gesture with undisguised alarm and said hastily that he had subsequently joined the Army. The vinaigrette hovered as her ladyship paused, replying that she had not taken him for a military man.
“Nor I, sir,” Nell put in, watching his rapidly changing expressions with amusement.
He glanced at her briefly, then rather pointedly gave his full attention to Lady Agnes. “A military career seemed better than hanging on my brother’s sleeve,” he said, “but I stayed only six years. I wasn’t much cut out for campaigning, though I served in a Hussar regiment on the Continent for several years before a bayonet thrust to the shoulder got me sent home just before Amiens. Subsequently, I transferred to the Tenth, which by then had been ordered to Manchester, supposedly for training. By the time hostilities resumed, my brother had died and I’d sold out. I confess, I am not precisely sorry to have done so.”
“Your brother, as well,” said Lady Agnes weakly, waving the vinaigrette under her dainty nose. “Poor, wretched lad. You have suffered exactly as my dearest Nell has suffered, have you not?”
Huntley was certainly looking rather wretched, and although he glanced helplessly at Nell, he managed to keep a wary eye on the vinaigrette. “Have you suffered so much then, Miss Lindale?”
“Indeed, oh, indeed she has,” replied Lady Agnes in lachrymose tones. “You’ll scarce credit it, sir, and I could not have been more sorely provoked, I promise you. But we suffered six of them in as many years.”
“What? Not deaths!” Huntley sat up straighter in his chair, then looked more directly at Nell, who was having difficulty retaining her composure. Thankfully, he addressed his next words to her mother. “You are quite right, my lady. “’Tis a difficult fact to credit.”
“Nevertheless, ’tis the very truth, sir. Six of them, and very inconsiderate I thought them at the time, I can tell you. For what was my poor Nell to do when she must positively live in black crape? ’Twas monstrous unfair. As though Fate herself thrust my poor darling onto the shelf.”
“On the shelf? How absurd! Why, Miss Lindale is quite as beautiful as ever and seems to have developed a good deal of character into the bargain. She is scarcely at her last prayers.”
Nell turned quite pink at these unexpected compliments, but fortunately there was no need for her to reply to them.
“Oh, but she is! Or, at least, if she is not at her last prayers, no one can deny that she is beyond her first youth.” The vinaigrette paused directly under the little nose, and to Huntley’s all too evident discomfort, a lacy handkerchief appeared in her ladyship’s delicate hand. “What else,” she demanded mournfully, “could one expect, my lord, when she is all of five-and-twenty and insists upon behaving like a spinster woman? Besides, the eligible men hereabouts are not seeking mature young women of character. They are looking about for youthful beauties whose character they might mold to suit themselves.”
This statement being clearly unanswerable, Nell took pity on his lordship and spoke up in her own defense. “Pray, Mama, do not speak as if you expect poor Huntley to mend matters. You will at the very least unman him. What’s done is done and cannot be mended, and ’tis just as well, I’m thinking. For if I was not so clearly upon the shelf, who, pray tell, would take dear Rory out and about? We are already agreed, are we not, that it would not suit your delicate constitution to do so.”
“Oh my, no!” Lady Agnes replied hastily before turning melting eyes toward Huntley. “For you must know, my lord, that
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