Cousin Kate by Georgette Heyer Page B

table was set out, and Sir Timothy asked her if she played the game. She responded drolly: 'Why, yes, sir! I have been used to play with my father, and consider myself to be quite a dab at it!'
    He chuckled. 'Come and pit your skill against mine!' he invited. 'Did you also play piquet with your father?'
    'Frequently, sir!'
    'We'll try that too. Delabole is no match for me, and Torquil holds all such sports in abomination. In which he takes after his mother, who can't tell a spade from a club! Eh, Minerva?'
    She smiled at him, but rather in the manner of a woman who found little to interest her in the prattling of a Child; and signed to Dr Delabole to sit beside her on one of the sofas. Him she engaged in low-voiced converse, while Torquil sat down at the piano, and strummed idly. Glancing up momentarily from her game, Kate was forcibly struck by the intense melancholy of his expression. His eyes were sombre, his mouth took on a tragic droop; but before she could speculate on this her attention was recalled by Sir Timothy, who said demurely: 'I don't think you should accept a double, should you, Kate?'
    CHAPTER IV
    The following morning was spent by Kate in exploration. Torquil was her guide, and since he seemed to have thrown off the blue devils, an agreeable one. He conducted her all over the house, not excluding his own wing of it, and entertained her with his version of its history. 'And here,' he said solemnly, throwing open a door, 'we have the Muniment Room! Why don't you bow profoundly? I warn you, my mama will expect you to do so! She has been at such pains to collect our records, and to store them here! I don't think Papa ever troubled himself to do so - or to have a Muniment Room - but pray don't tell her I said so!' He cast her a sidelong look, out of eyes brimming with laughter. 'Isn't it odd that she, who was not born a Broome, should care so much more for them than Papa? She was ably assisted by Matthew - oh, Dr Delabole! I call him Matthew - who has also catalogued the library. Have you seen enough? Shall I take you out into the gardens?'
    'Yes, please, but let me get a shawl first.'
    He accompanied her to her bedchamber, and stood in the doorway, leaning his shoulders against the wall, his hands dug into his pockets, while she changed her slippers for a pair of half-boots, and wrapped a shawl round herself. His attitude was one of careless grace; his dress negligent, with the unstarched points of his shirt-collar drooping over a loosely knotted handkerchief, and a shooting-jacket worn open over a fancy waistcoat. A lock of his gleaming hair fell across his brow, and prompted Kate to say, with a twinkle: 'You do study the picturesque, don't you? One might take you for a poet!'
    'I am a poet,' he replied coldly.
    'No, are you? Then that accounts for it!'
    'Accounts for what?'
    'The windswept look, of course. Oh, don't poker up! Did no one ever banter you before?'
    It seemed, for a moment, as though he had taken offence; but then he laughed, rather reluctantly, and said: 'No, never. Is that what you mean to do, cousin?'
    'Well, I don't precisely mean to, but I daresay I shall. You must remember that I have lived amongst soldiers! Very young officers, you know, are for ever cutting jokes, and poking fun at each other, and anyone making a figure of himself must be prepared to stand the roast! Come, let us go: I am quite ready!'
    He muttered something which she did not catch, but she did not ask him to repeat it, feeling that he must be left to recover his temper. Not until they had left the house did she speak again, and then, perceiving a bed of spring flowers, she exclaimed: 'Oh, how charming! Your mama told me that she had made the gardens her particular concern. Pray take me all over them! If it isn't a dead bore?'
    'Oh, everything is a dead bore!' he said, shrugging up his shoulders. 'Being a Broome - being the heir - being alive! Do you ever wish you had never been born?'
    Suspecting him of dramatizing