Seven Stones to Stand or Fall (Outlander)(181)
Two. That final thought lingered in her mind, nibbled at her heart. Why did he keep them? Whether for guilt, grief, repentance, solace, or reminder—His Grace had kept them. They had value to him.
It was just past Midsummer’s Day; the sun still hung in the sky, though it was past eight o’clock. She heard the bells of St. James’s strike the hour and, draining her glass, made up her mind.
She’d have to put them back.
WHETHER IT WAS the influence of her mother’s prayers or a benign intercession by Mother María Anna águeda de San Ignacio, it was only three days following this rash decision that the opportunity to carry it out was put into Minnie’s hands.
“Such news, my dear!” Lady Buford was quite flushed, from either heat or excitement, and fanned herself rapidly. “Earl Melton is holding a ball, in honor of his mother’s birthday.”
“What? I didn’t know he had a mother. Er…I mean—”
Lady Buford laughed, growing noticeably pinker.
“Even that villain Diderot has a mother, my dear. But it’s true that the dowager Countess of Melton is not strongly in evidence. She wisely decamped to France following her husband’s suicide and has been living very quietly there ever since.”
“But…she’s coming back?”
“Oh, I doubt it extremely,” Lady Buford said, and took out a rather worn lace handkerchief, with which she dabbed her forehead. “Is there tea, my dear? I find myself in dire need of a cup; summer air is so drying.”
Eliza hadn’t waited for a summons. Knowing Lady Buford’s attitude toward tea, she had begun brewing a pot the moment Lady B’s knock was heard at the door and now came trundling down the hall with a rattling tray.
Minnie waited with what patience she could summon for the necessary ceremony of pouring: the administration of three sugar lumps—Lady Buford had very few teeth left, and no wonder—a large dollop of cream, and the acquisition of exactly two ginger biscuits. Finally restored, Lady Buford patted her lips, stifled a soft belch, and sat up straight, ready for business.
“There’s tremendous talk about it, of course,” she said. “It’s not even four months since the countess’s death. And while I’m sure his mother is not planning to appear at this affair, choosing to celebrate her birthday is…audacious, but audacious without committing open scandal.”
“I should think the…er…his lordship has had quite enough of that,” Minnie murmured. “Um…what do you mean by ‘audacious,’ though?”
Lady Buford looked pleased; she enjoyed displaying her skills.
“Well. When someone—especially a man—does something unusual, you must always ask what it was they intended by the action. Whether or not that effect is achieved, the intent usually explains much.
“And in this instance,” she said, plucking another biscuit delicately from the plate and dunking it into her tea to soften, “I think that his lordship means to put himself on display, in order to prove to society at large that he is not insane—whatever else he might be,” she added thoughtfully.
Minnie wasn’t so sure about Lord Melton’s mental state but nodded obligingly.
“You see…” Lady Buford paused to nibble the edge of her softened biscuit, made an approving face, and swallowed. “You see, were he simply to host a rout or ball of the normal sort, he would seem light-minded and frivolous at best, cold and unfeeling at worst. He would also expose himself to considerable risk that no one would accept an invitation.”
“But as it is?” Minnie prompted.
“Well, there’s the factor of curiosity, which can never be overlooked.” Lady Buford’s rather pointed tongue darted out to capture a stray crumb, which was whisked out of sight. “But by making the occasion in honor of his mother, he more or less commands the loyalty of her friends—who are many—and also those who were friends of his late father but who couldn’t openly support him. And,” she added, leaning forward portentously, “there are the Armstrongs.”
“Who?” Minnie asked blankly. By this time she had quite an extensive social index of London but recognized no prominent person therein named Armstrong.
“The duke’s mother is an Armstrong by birth,” Lady Buford explained, “though her mother was English. But the Armstrongs are a very powerful Scottish family, from the Borders. And the rumor is that Lord Fairbairn—that’s the duke’s maternal grandfather, only a baron but very rich—is in London and will attend the…er…function.”
Minnie was beginning to think tea inadequate to the occasion and rose to fetch the decanter of Madeira from the sideboard. Lady Buford made no demur.
“Of course you must go,” Lady Buford said, having downed half a glassful at one gulp.
“Really?” Minnie was experiencing that sudden visceral emptiness that attends excitement, anticipation, and panic.
“Yes,” Lady Buford said, with determination, and downed the rest, setting her glass down with a thump. “Almost all of your choicest prospects will be there, and there is nothing like competition to make a gentleman declare himself.”
Now the sensation was one of unalloyed panic. What with one thing and another, Minnie had quite forgotten that she was meant to be husband-hunting. Just last week, she’d had two proposals, though luckily from fairly undistinguished suitors, and Lady Buford hadn’t objected to her refusing them.