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“Sally has my sympathies,” Simon said earnestly, though he suspected his eyes were dancing. “Everyone is always accusing me of sartorial drabness.”
The three of them laughed heartily, and soon each was trying to outdo the others with lyrics more outlandish than the last.
“I should take my leave,” Simon said, setting his cup in his saucer as they ran out of rhymes. Before, when he’d been pondering a departure, he’d been reluctant to go. Now, he would be happy to take his leave on this high note.
“Must you go so soon?” Lady Harcourt said, and she looked genuinely saddened.
“My lady,” Miss Brown said, “remember we are for the family hunting box in a month’s time? You will see Lord Marsden there.”
“Oh, yes!” She peered at Simon. “Are you dreading this trip, sir?”
“No, of course not. I am looking forward to it.”
“You are saying that with words, but you are not saying that with your countenance.”
He smiled. Lady Harcourt’s observation skills had not been lost along with her recognition skills.
“I must admit, and I know this is illogical, that some part of me always resists going on holiday. I know I will enjoy it once I’m there. And perhaps ‘enjoy’ is too anemic a word. I find my annual holidays with Harcourt and Stonely profoundly restorative.”
“But?” Lady Harcourt asked, again hearing what he wasn’t saying.
“But I fret about Parliamentary matters. And household matters. But mostly Parliamentary matters.”
“But all of those matters will still be there when you return, will they not?” Miss Brown asked.
“Yes, of course.”
“And do you not think they may prove easier to manage after you’ve had a break from them?” she asked.
“I do think. I know. For that has historically proved the case. Nevertheless, I have a terrible time, in the moment, believing it. I said I was not being logical. I persist in bringing a great deal of reading material each year. I endeavor to think through the arguments I intend to advance in next year’s session—that sort of thing.”
“Well, this year you should only read novels. In fact, I shall fetch my copy of Mansfield Park now, if you will sit with her ladyship for a moment.”
Miss Brown’s letter was peeking out of the book she’d been reading.
He shouldn’t.
He tried to distract himself with conversation. “I think you will enjoy the trip, my lady. I believe Archie has told you about the pool he’s constructed there?”
Archie had told Simon he was talking about the trip a great deal, in hopes of familiarizing his mother, who didn’t always travel well, with the concept.
“A pool, you say?”
Simon told her what he knew about the project, eyeing the letter the whole time.
He really shouldn’t.
He did.
Dear Mrs. Baldwin,
I am Miss Brown, companion to Emma, Dowager Countess of Harcourt. You may remember me from the teas Lady Harcourt used to host. You have likely heard of Lady Harcourt’s illness. It has caused her to lose touch with friends. She has of late been asking about you, and expressing a desire to see you. Might I invite you to call, perhaps the week of 8 September? And, if it isn’t too much trouble, could you ask your son to accompany you? Her ladyship was always so fond of him and rem—
The letter ended with a blot of ink, probably the result of Simon’s arrival having startled Miss Brown.
He wanted to laugh at himself, at his clumsy espionage. Here he had thought he would find … what? A clue to the identity of Miss Brown’s unwelcome suitor? A window into her inner life?
Neither of which would have been any of his affair.
