troubles.”
“Does this
mystery woman know you have her fan?”
“Yes,” said
Peter. “Let’s talk about a something else.”
“Did she give
you the fan?”
“No.”
Cecil stared in
shock. “You took the lady’s fan without her permission?”
“She hates me!”
Peter cracked his elbows on the table in his haste to cover his
face with a hand. “She tried to burn it because it reminds her of
me. Will that satisfy your c-cursed curiosity for five minutes?”
The table was silent except for the sound of a single piece of
paper being unfolded.
Robert leaned
over and whispered loudly into Charles’ ear, “Papa doesn’t have
very good luck with the ladies…ouch! Papa, George just kicked me
for no reason.” Peter was far away in a mental monastery
suffocating in silence as he longed to wrap his arms around the
tall nun who delivered messages from a nearby convent. Even if they
met again, he’d be nothing to her. She’d be polite and then walk
away without ever knowing…
Agnes broke the
uncomfortable silence. “My Uncle Louis has written.” Looking
through his fingers, Peter’s eyes focused intently on Agnes as he
listened for hope. “He writes that he’s brought my cousin Isabel to
Bath to cheer her up.” Peter’s stomach fluttered with pleasure at
the thought of Isabel only a few streets away. She’d call on Agnes.
She’d have to speak with him out of politeness. He might get to
kiss her hand and beg her for another chance… “Apparently, he’s
developed a keen dislike of Smirkes and has forbidden Isabel to
call. If we see her at the Pump Rooms or at a ball, we’re to
pretend she’s not there. He ends by stating Isabel desires to avoid
big beautiful idiots and hopes to dance with little ugly men who’ll
make her laugh.” Peter flinched on hearing his worst fears had
arrived in the post. His fingers closed back over his eyes. It was
hopeless.
James Smirke
snatched the letter from his wife. “Has Uncle Louis lost his mind?
What does he have against Smirkes?”
“Peter lost his
temper and slung my cousin over his shoulder like a giant
doll…”
“Must you
recount my shame at the breakfast table?” Peter’s attempt to
salvage his pride was ignored.
“Peter thought
she was a charlatan!” said James. “When Uncle Louis found that fat
countess stuffing what he thought was one his snuff boxes down the
crevice of her bosom, he kicked her in the backside and chased her
out of his house shouting French curses on her breasts. He then
refused to apologise when he found it belonged to the lady’s dead
husband. Uncle Louis has no right to judge Peter for having a bad
day. And Isabel should have known better than to answer that stupid
ad. If she wanted to meet Peter, why didn’t she write and ask for
an introduction? The woman has fainted and concussed her head one
too many times.”
“Uncle Louis is
just trying to protect Isabel,” said Agnes.
“Protect her
from what?” said James. “Peter made up for his lapse in judgement
with an honourable offer of marriage.”
“And Isabel
understandably declined.”
“She’s a fool,”
said James. “She’ll never find a better man. Once she puts herself
up for sale, she’ll be compressed in the midst of so many
fortune-hunters she won’t be able to breathe. If I were Uncle
Louis, I’d threaten to kill Peter if she didn’t agree to marry him.
There’s a slight possibility she’d be waiting at the altar at the
appointed hour.”
“Don’t mention
the idea to Uncle Louis. You know what happened to that French Duke
who broke Cousin Mignon’s heart. Uncle swears by the Virgin he was
aiming for the man’s leg…”
Feeling oddly
small, Peter abruptly stood up. “I should return to Adderbury.”
Agnes folded
the letter and shoved it down the front of her dress. “Only if you
want to die of embarrassment. Put on a lilac suit, stroll into town
to take the waters and tell anyone you meet that you’ll be in Bath
for several
“Does this
mystery woman know you have her fan?”
“Yes,” said
Peter. “Let’s talk about a something else.”
“Did she give
you the fan?”
“No.”
Cecil stared in
shock. “You took the lady’s fan without her permission?”
“She hates me!”
Peter cracked his elbows on the table in his haste to cover his
face with a hand. “She tried to burn it because it reminds her of
me. Will that satisfy your c-cursed curiosity for five minutes?”
The table was silent except for the sound of a single piece of
paper being unfolded.
Robert leaned
over and whispered loudly into Charles’ ear, “Papa doesn’t have
very good luck with the ladies…ouch! Papa, George just kicked me
for no reason.” Peter was far away in a mental monastery
suffocating in silence as he longed to wrap his arms around the
tall nun who delivered messages from a nearby convent. Even if they
met again, he’d be nothing to her. She’d be polite and then walk
away without ever knowing…
Agnes broke the
uncomfortable silence. “My Uncle Louis has written.” Looking
through his fingers, Peter’s eyes focused intently on Agnes as he
listened for hope. “He writes that he’s brought my cousin Isabel to
Bath to cheer her up.” Peter’s stomach fluttered with pleasure at
the thought of Isabel only a few streets away. She’d call on Agnes.
She’d have to speak with him out of politeness. He might get to
kiss her hand and beg her for another chance… “Apparently, he’s
developed a keen dislike of Smirkes and has forbidden Isabel to
call. If we see her at the Pump Rooms or at a ball, we’re to
pretend she’s not there. He ends by stating Isabel desires to avoid
big beautiful idiots and hopes to dance with little ugly men who’ll
make her laugh.” Peter flinched on hearing his worst fears had
arrived in the post. His fingers closed back over his eyes. It was
hopeless.
James Smirke
snatched the letter from his wife. “Has Uncle Louis lost his mind?
What does he have against Smirkes?”
“Peter lost his
temper and slung my cousin over his shoulder like a giant
doll…”
“Must you
recount my shame at the breakfast table?” Peter’s attempt to
salvage his pride was ignored.
“Peter thought
she was a charlatan!” said James. “When Uncle Louis found that fat
countess stuffing what he thought was one his snuff boxes down the
crevice of her bosom, he kicked her in the backside and chased her
out of his house shouting French curses on her breasts. He then
refused to apologise when he found it belonged to the lady’s dead
husband. Uncle Louis has no right to judge Peter for having a bad
day. And Isabel should have known better than to answer that stupid
ad. If she wanted to meet Peter, why didn’t she write and ask for
an introduction? The woman has fainted and concussed her head one
too many times.”
“Uncle Louis is
just trying to protect Isabel,” said Agnes.
“Protect her
from what?” said James. “Peter made up for his lapse in judgement
with an honourable offer of marriage.”
“And Isabel
understandably declined.”
“She’s a fool,”
said James. “She’ll never find a better man. Once she puts herself
up for sale, she’ll be compressed in the midst of so many
fortune-hunters she won’t be able to breathe. If I were Uncle
Louis, I’d threaten to kill Peter if she didn’t agree to marry him.
There’s a slight possibility she’d be waiting at the altar at the
appointed hour.”
“Don’t mention
the idea to Uncle Louis. You know what happened to that French Duke
who broke Cousin Mignon’s heart. Uncle swears by the Virgin he was
aiming for the man’s leg…”
Feeling oddly
small, Peter abruptly stood up. “I should return to Adderbury.”
Agnes folded
the letter and shoved it down the front of her dress. “Only if you
want to die of embarrassment. Put on a lilac suit, stroll into town
to take the waters and tell anyone you meet that you’ll be in Bath
for several
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