Eleanor said.
Diana looked at her in genuine astonishment. “Lee’s known folk like Garth all his life. If they have trouble they always turn to him, because they know I don’t have any funds of my own and he’s always sure to help if he can.”
“But he’s a gambler, isn’t he? And a libertine? I’m sorry, Di, I know you love your brother, but it seems very odd to me.”
“You’re too harsh, Lady Eleanor,” Walter said very seriously. “Lee told me he bumped into you at the Three Feathers, in the corridor or something, and he was rude, wasn’t he? He was pretty foxed, I imagine. Well, he’d just found a good friend killed and he wanted to forget about it. In normal circumstances he’s never a deep drinker, believe me.”
“Killed?” Diana cried. “How very dreadful!”
“It was Manton Barnes—Sir Robert’s nephew, as a matter of fact.” Walter Downe flushed deeply. “Had an accident cleaning his gun.”
“Oh, how awful!” Diana said. “Poor Sir Robert—and how terrible for Lee! If my brother was offhand when he met you, Eleanor, surely you can forgive him?”
Eleanor said nothing. The sad death of this Manton Barnes might explain why Leander Campbell chose to get foxed, but it certainly didn’t excuse his kissing her or trying to blackmail her. But for Diana’s sake, she would try to be friendly to him.
After all, once this visit was over, she would very probably never see him again. It might be unexceptionable to be in his company in the country, but the profligate by-blow of the late Earl of Hawksley was hardly the kind of person her mother would encourage to come calling at Acton House on Park Lane.
* * *
Lady Acton, accompanied by Sir Robert Crabtree and Leander Campbell, came strolling from amongst the birches. The breeze whipped at her elegant skirts and brought a flush of color to her perfect cheeks. She looked exquisite.
“Dear children,” she said as they came up. “Sir Robert is going to show me the brasses in the church, but by all means go on if you wish. You will escort my daughter, won’t you, Mr. Campbell?”
“With pleasure, my lady.” He gave her an exact bow.
“I have some bread for the ducks,” Diana said, leaping to her feet as the major and the countess disappeared in the direction of the church. “Let’s go down to the pond!”
Eleanor walked beside Mr. Campbell as Diana led Walter across the green toward the duck pond. Its choppy surface reflected broken images of a row of flint-and-brick cottages. A small tree-shaded stream fed the pond and then gurgled away under a low stone bridge. The hamlet of Little Tanning was entirely enclosed by the Hawksley estate. Every house in it was the property of the dowager countess. Thus most of the inhabitants, including the children, were out somewhere on the farms.
“I met a certain Frank Garth,” Eleanor said, clutching at her parasol as they met the full force of the wind whipping across the open green.
“Did you?” he asked.
“You’re to be thanked for a red flannel petticoat.”
“Good heavens.” He had taken off his hat and tucked it under one arm. The wind tossed his dark hair wildly about his face.
Eleanor began to try to fold her parasol, since it now threatened to turn inside out. “And a roof.”
“This Mr. Garth is a doited old gaffer, no doubt.”
“And a cow for one Mrs. Pottage. Does she have windmills in her head, as well?”
“Without question,” he said perfectly seriously.
“It seemed to me, sir, that Mr. Frank Garth is entirely in possession of his wits. And if the lady who is waving her apron at you from that doorway is the same Mrs. Pottage, she would seem to be a stout, sensible country woman, not in the least given to wild fancies.”
“Indeed.” He waved back to the woman who smiled and nodded from one of the cottages. “Then perhaps I’m the one with wild flights of folly, Lady Eleanor?”
“If you try to tell me that you send charity to these people because
Diana looked at her in genuine astonishment. “Lee’s known folk like Garth all his life. If they have trouble they always turn to him, because they know I don’t have any funds of my own and he’s always sure to help if he can.”
“But he’s a gambler, isn’t he? And a libertine? I’m sorry, Di, I know you love your brother, but it seems very odd to me.”
“You’re too harsh, Lady Eleanor,” Walter said very seriously. “Lee told me he bumped into you at the Three Feathers, in the corridor or something, and he was rude, wasn’t he? He was pretty foxed, I imagine. Well, he’d just found a good friend killed and he wanted to forget about it. In normal circumstances he’s never a deep drinker, believe me.”
“Killed?” Diana cried. “How very dreadful!”
“It was Manton Barnes—Sir Robert’s nephew, as a matter of fact.” Walter Downe flushed deeply. “Had an accident cleaning his gun.”
“Oh, how awful!” Diana said. “Poor Sir Robert—and how terrible for Lee! If my brother was offhand when he met you, Eleanor, surely you can forgive him?”
Eleanor said nothing. The sad death of this Manton Barnes might explain why Leander Campbell chose to get foxed, but it certainly didn’t excuse his kissing her or trying to blackmail her. But for Diana’s sake, she would try to be friendly to him.
After all, once this visit was over, she would very probably never see him again. It might be unexceptionable to be in his company in the country, but the profligate by-blow of the late Earl of Hawksley was hardly the kind of person her mother would encourage to come calling at Acton House on Park Lane.
* * *
Lady Acton, accompanied by Sir Robert Crabtree and Leander Campbell, came strolling from amongst the birches. The breeze whipped at her elegant skirts and brought a flush of color to her perfect cheeks. She looked exquisite.
“Dear children,” she said as they came up. “Sir Robert is going to show me the brasses in the church, but by all means go on if you wish. You will escort my daughter, won’t you, Mr. Campbell?”
“With pleasure, my lady.” He gave her an exact bow.
“I have some bread for the ducks,” Diana said, leaping to her feet as the major and the countess disappeared in the direction of the church. “Let’s go down to the pond!”
Eleanor walked beside Mr. Campbell as Diana led Walter across the green toward the duck pond. Its choppy surface reflected broken images of a row of flint-and-brick cottages. A small tree-shaded stream fed the pond and then gurgled away under a low stone bridge. The hamlet of Little Tanning was entirely enclosed by the Hawksley estate. Every house in it was the property of the dowager countess. Thus most of the inhabitants, including the children, were out somewhere on the farms.
“I met a certain Frank Garth,” Eleanor said, clutching at her parasol as they met the full force of the wind whipping across the open green.
“Did you?” he asked.
“You’re to be thanked for a red flannel petticoat.”
“Good heavens.” He had taken off his hat and tucked it under one arm. The wind tossed his dark hair wildly about his face.
Eleanor began to try to fold her parasol, since it now threatened to turn inside out. “And a roof.”
“This Mr. Garth is a doited old gaffer, no doubt.”
“And a cow for one Mrs. Pottage. Does she have windmills in her head, as well?”
“Without question,” he said perfectly seriously.
“It seemed to me, sir, that Mr. Frank Garth is entirely in possession of his wits. And if the lady who is waving her apron at you from that doorway is the same Mrs. Pottage, she would seem to be a stout, sensible country woman, not in the least given to wild fancies.”
“Indeed.” He waved back to the woman who smiled and nodded from one of the cottages. “Then perhaps I’m the one with wild flights of folly, Lady Eleanor?”
“If you try to tell me that you send charity to these people because
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