Suitors and Sabotage(10)
“Yes, but what happens when Lord Penton does not arrive and there is no interest in his stonework? The man will look at us with jaundice eyes.”
“Well, Chively can’t expect Penton to drop everything and rush into the country, especially when I stated that the old gentleman has taken a hiatus.”
“There’s no telling what he expects.” Ernest lowered himself to the window seat and turned his gaze to the view. The roof of the old castle tower could be seen peeking above the trees.
Lifting his arms into his dress coat, Ben let Matt pull it on and then smooth out the shoulders. He was rather pleased with the reflection in the looking glass; he rarely took the time to dress for dinner—a habit that annoyed his grandmother and amused his grandfather. “Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it.”
“Hmmm.” Ernest continued to stare out the window.
“She’s not there, you know.”
“Pardon?” Ernest turned a sheepish grin in his brother’s direction. “Oh, yes. Well, no…”
“Well said.” Ben laughed. “Let’s go downstairs so you can make calf-eyes at the lovely Miss Chively in person.”
Ernest was up from his seat and waiting at the door in a flash. “If we must,” he said with mock nonchalance and another grin. “Tell me all about Turner on our way down.”
Ben chuckled and shook his head. “Well, I’ll give the basics. How’s that?” And he ushered his brother into the hallway.
The upper corridors of Gracebridge Manor were not wide, but they were long and convoluted because they accommodated the irregular shape of the building and its many bedrooms. Ben and Ernest had been assigned chambers at the far end—far north end, if he was judging the direction correctly. It took a little navigation to wend their way to the noble carved staircase and allowed Ben to provide Ernest with enough information about Joseph Turner to give his brother something to talk about, if he found himself searching for a topic of which Miss Chively might be interested. At the top of the stairs, they lapsed into dignified silence—yes, dignified. That had been Ernest’s request; Ben was not entirely sure how one was silent in a dignified manner, but he did his best.
While the staircase delivered them into a lovely reception room on the ground floor, complete with seating in front of a marble fireplace as well as the nearby window, the family could not be seen.
“This way, young sirs.” Sawyer, standing beside the newel post, indicated a corridor to the left from which voices echoed. He was a tall man, with sharp features and a no-nonsense cast to his eye. Rather intimidating.
Ben nodded, with continued dignity, and allowed his brother to take the lead. It was a good sign that the general tone of the voices bouncing toward them was convivial. Proceeding to the far end of the corridor, they passed the library and billiard room as well as a large dining hall.
The reception room at the end of the corridor, however, gave no hint as to its size or décor until they passed through the double doors and were presented with a grand saloon. Two huge mullioned oriel windows lit the company in rays of sunshine and offered a spectacular view of—what else?—the old castle. The room itself was opulent in color, material, and trinkets—knickknacks that Ben could admire though not identify. However, the chimneypieces at either end were modeled with Tudor elements and quite impressive.
As much as Ben would have liked a closer look, he was forced to note the company in the room instead of the architecture surrounding them. A silent company—for the happy chatter was no more.
They were a party of ten; fortunately, only four of the faces were not familiar. The elder Chivelys stood with Mr. and Mrs. Beeswanger between them in a group by one of the windows. Well-dressed for what had been touted as a casual meal, it was still clear that the Chivelys had taken great care with their toilette. Mrs. Chively, in particular, had not been sparing in her use of jewels.
The younger members of the group had gathered by the ornate chimneypiece at one end of the room, where, if one could go by their positions, a young man enjoyed the attention of two young girls who looked to be around the ages of fourteen and twelve. The young man bore a striking resemblance to the Chivelys—blond hair, blue eyes, oval face—though there was a hint of merriment that was entirely missing in his father’s gaze. This, of course, must be Percy Chively, Miss Chively’s older brother.
Standing next to Miss Beeswanger, Miss Chively was a reflection of her parents in dress, though not in expression. Her eyes sparkled as much as the jewel in her necklace when their eyes met. A smile hovered on her lips … until her gaze shifted to Ernest, and she swallowed visibly, the promising curl to her mouth faded.
A lady of some indiscernible age between twenty and thirty sat sour-faced on the settee between the two groups. Her gown shouted mediocrity—an unembellished serviceable gray. This was likely the governess.
“Welcome, Mr. Steeple, Mr. Benjamin.” Mr. Chively stepped forward, enunciating and projecting his words so that it felt more like a performance than a greeting.
Fortunately, the company laughed, and the atmosphere relaxed immediately.
“Chively, old fellow, no need to be so formal,” Mr. Beeswanger called out.
Mrs. Beeswanger, who looked as genial as her husband, nodded with great vigor. “Indeed not.” She stepped to the center of the room, glanced toward Mrs. Chively—who shrugged—and then back to Ernest. “The countryside lends itself to a far less decorous lifestyle—the strictures of society can be relaxed somewhat here. To that end, we”—she gestured to those around her—“are quite comfortable with given names for the younger generation, and if it would not insult your sensibilities, we would offer you the same casual address. A little untoward, perhaps, but we are all on good terms.” The implication being, of course, that the good terms would soon include the Steeple boys. There was no hiding why they were visiting.