Page 4 of The Sprinter
“Was there a choice?” he asked with good humor.
“Perhaps not, but kind all the same,” his aunt said. “Now, I must ask the smallest favor of you. You are so generous and kind that I know you will not mind.”
George braced himself. His aunt’s small favors were rarely small and he invariably did mind.
“You know all about our little society, I expect?”
He nodded. Of course he knew about it. Everybody knew about it. His aunt and her friends had looked about for a cause or project and somehow landed on the idea of dragging girls in from the countryside. Miss Wilcox had arrived first, to Lady Mendleton’s house, and had married Langley before the last season had closed. They’d all heard the story of the lady rescuing Langley from a gang of footpads, which seemed an odd thing for a lady to do. For that matter, it seemed an odd thing for Langley toallowa lady to do. However, that was their own affair.
Good Lord. She did not propose that he somehow involve himself in her ridiculous club of managing matrons?
“Well,” she went on, “you will be thrilled to know that a certain Miss Yardley comes to me on the morrow.”
Thrilled would not be the description he was looking for. Filled with trepidation was closer to the mark.
“Aunt,” he said slowly, “while I applaud your efforts, they must remainyourefforts, not mine.”
“Of course, my dear nephew. However, my sons are still at their studies and so I must depend upon you from time to time. Family, you know.”
“Depend upon me for what, though?” he asked, not very successfully hiding his suspicion and dread.
“Goodness, I only wish for you to escort me to Swanley to retrieve the girl. It is not twenty miles and if we change the horses strategically, we should be there and back in a day’s travel. Of course, I’ll allow you to map it out how you like. We could just as easily leave now and stay at an inn somewhere nearby Miss Yardley, and then return here on the morrow. I’ve had a trunk packed to be prepared for any eventuality.”
Escorting his aunt to Swanley was not at all a task he would relish. On the other hand, it was not as difficult as some of the other favors his aunt had asked for. The last had been a request that he cut Henry Forgely on account of him accepting an invitation to her card party and then failing to make an appearance. News of his carriage overturned had not affected her in least—he’d walked away with no broken limbs and so she did not see why he could not have kept walking right into her party.
George had not cut Forgely, the fellow was a member of his club and well-liked. In the end, he supposed a fast trip to Kent to escort this project of a girl back to Town was not too big a burden.
“Very well,” he said, careful to keep the sigh out of his voice. “I think setting off tomorrow will do.” He was fond of his aunt—despite her somewhat abrasive exterior, there was a good heart under the bluster and she would do just about anything for him. Still, she could be very trying and it was likely to be a long day. No reason to stretch it intotwodays.
“Excellent,” Lady Heathway said. “We leave at dawn.”
Excellent. George only hoped the trip would be both the beginning and the end of his involvement with the Society of Sponsoring Ladies.
Hope was all he had, really.
*
The post hadcome and gone and still no letter had arrived from Lady Heathway. Grace supposed the lady had read the reply that had been sent, tossed it aside, and now thought of other things. Lady Barlow would not think of other things, she was becoming fretful and just now sat by the fire complaining that they might burn all the wood in England and still not dry out the damp of the place. Grace was afraid the lady’s low spirits would very soon drive her back into her bed.
The situation was not cheered by the fact that the dower house sat hard by the lane that led to Barlow Hall—the grand house that had once been their own. Carriages, and wagons piled high with furniture, had trundled by in full view all morning—it appeared the new viscount and his lady were officially moving in. At each new sound of horses’ hooves and carriage wheels approaching, Lady Barlow glared out the window.
Grace only hoped the new viscountess had not spied Lady Barlow’s glare as she passed by in her carriage. It would be uncomfortable indeed to see such disapproval coming one’s way every time one left or returned to one’s house.
The only idea that soothed Lady Barlow at all was that the new viscount was on the verge of discovering that the butler and housekeeper who were to stay on and serve him had decamped. Manfred and Mrs. Bellevue had visited the cottage and had been outraged at Lady Barlow’s current circumstances. That, combined with their opinion that the new viscount was a rather dull fellow, had prompted more than a few conversations between them. Their final conclusion, after perhaps a few too many glasses of sherry, was that the blowhard from York was not worthy of their service and that they quite enjoyed one another’s company. They had since married, planned to open a shop in the village, and left notes of resignation on the great hall table for their would-be master. As far as anybody knew, the footmen who had stayed on were just now lounging in one of the drawing rooms, having helped themselves to the new viscount’s wine cellar. It would not be the welcome the gentleman expected.
Grace just now stood by the door to the kitchen, consulting with Cook on what ought to be for dinner. There was not much to discuss, as the bones from the beef they’d had the evening before were being turned to a soup. Cook would bake a hearty loaf of bread, and perhaps there was still some cheese in the larder.
More carriage wheels rumbled. Lady Barlow glared out the window.
Then, the sound of carriage wheels ceased abruptly.
Grace froze, wondering if some person had decided to stop and ask Lady Barlow to quit her glaring.
“Heavens,” Lady Barlow said. “It must be her. It must be Lady Heathway. How silly that we waited for a letter when the lady has come herself!”
Grace hurried over to peer round the curtains, having no such assurance that the mysterious arrival was Lady Heathway. She could not be certain who it was, but she could rule out some possibilities. It could not be the new viscountess, who would be young still. It could not be either of the viscount or viscountess’ mothers, as Grace understood that one lived in Spain and the other was dead.
Whoever the lady was, she was middle-aged and looked rather imperious. She peered out her carriage window and surveyed the cottage with a disdainful eye.
