An Improper Companion (6 page)

I nodded and Sir Leslie stepped aside to let me pass. Arm in arm, as Mary chattered about her journey we proceeded to her chamber. Her things had already been put away and Mary dismissed her maid. As the door closed behind the woman Mary turned to me. “My poor child! Leslie is a beast! He told me what happened and you may be quite sure I told him precisely what I thought of his behaviour. Are you quite overset? Has he maltreated you? If he does, let me know at once and I will put a stop to that. Just like a man to feel he must force you into marriage and that that would resolve everything! If he had only come to me ... But this thing is done and cannot be undone, so we must make the best of it. I have already told Leslie he must legally settle a competence on you. And that you must enter the
ton
under my wing. Men! Are they all fools, or only the ones I know?”

I grinned. If I had liked Philip, I liked his mother far better. Yes, she would be a formidable ally. She continued, “It is too early to know, of course, but if you are, well, breeding, have Leslie notify me at once. I daresay you will be so angry at him you shan’t want to see him. And if you preferred, you could come stay with me until the child was born. Oh, my poor dear, you must be dreadfully cast down! Though I must say, I should have had no notion of it from the way you greeted me.”

I sighed. “I am learning to act a part. Sir Leslie has assured me that in private we need have nought to do with each other, but that in public our marriage must appear normal.”

“Sensible,” Mary replied, “though I cannot help but feel it is an unfair burden on you. But you seem to be a sensible young woman. However did you land in the briars like this?”

“I
might
be sensible, but I was very green,” I said wryly. “It never occurred to me that Mr. Thornsby’s establishment was other than an ordinary domestic agency. Or that the word ‘companion’ might mean...”

“Quite!” Mary said. “We are supposed to be naive and innocent and then this sort of thing happens. If I had a daughter, you may be sure she would know precisely what dangers to expect from men.”

“Philip is your only child?” I asked in surprise.

“Goodness, no. I’ve three other boys, but they are much younger,” she said confidingly. “You see, for a time after Philip was born, my husband and I were, well, at outs with one another. Later we reconciled and now we are reasonably content. He is a dear, sweet fellow who denies me nothing. And I look after him.”

It seemed a rather strange way to view one’s husband, but I was scarcely in a position to know what was ordinary. Before I could settle upon a suitable response, she spoke again. “My dear, I would not tell anyone else the details of your ... er ... marriage to Leslie. Particularly Philip. They are not fond of one another even now, and Philip might, well, do something. He might even be so goosish as to tell his friends and I needn’t tell you, my dear, that that would not help your reputation.”

I nodded. “I suspected Sir Leslie and Philip were at dagger point and I’m afraid I did not help matters.”

“Oh, fustian. Regardless of what you might say or do, they would come to cuffs,” Mary said regretfully. “Indeed, I suppose we ought to rejoin them.”

I agreed. Privately, however, I wondered at Mary’s insistence upon Philip’s company here when she knew Sir Leslie so disliked him. Leslie was alone in the drawing room, and at Mary’s questioning glance, he said, “I had Mrs. Morgan show the halfling to his room so that he might wash before lunch.”

“You didn’t quarrel, did you, Leslie?” she asked.

Leslie smiled wryly, “Do I ever quarrel? I am sorry, Mary, but it disturbs me to see Philip’s heedlessness. I promise I shall try, however, to be more tolerant.”

Clearly Mary was not satisfied, but there was little she could say. Sir Leslie had not, after all, invited Mary or Philip. We stood thus when Philip reentered. “My dear
Aunt
Heather,” he said, “I am terribly sorry if I have kept you waiting.”

From the corner of my eye, I could see Sir Leslie’s scowl. I replied sweetly, “You are not late at all,
nephew.
Shall we go in to lunch?”

Philip offered me his arm and I was about to take it when Sir Leslie stepped between us. “A bridegroom does not relinquish such privileges easily,” he said calmly, and offered
his
arm.

Reluctantly I took it and he placed his other hand over mine. As we moved to the dining hall he squeezed my hand harshly and murmured, “I warn you to take care, madam. I will not tolerate you joining with my scapegrace nephew to mock me.”

Subdued, I stared at the floor. I had no notion of the nature of the conflict between Sir Leslie and his nephew and it was unfair of me to take sides. Indeed, it was foolish. Mary had counselled me not to confide in Philip. If I continued in this manner would he not guess that something was amiss between Leslie and myself? Meekly I allowed myself to be seated, avoiding Philip’s questioning gaze and Leslie’s penetrating stare. There was no lack of conversation, however, as Mary told us all the recent activities of her three younger sons. Of Philip she spoke little and I wondered at the omission. But perhaps she was simply reluctant to speak of him when he was present. Sir Leslie unbent sufficiently to give the proper responses. As for me, I was truly interested. Never having known a brother, I was curious as to how they behaved. Philip was bored, but that was to be expected. Then Mary began to discuss Mrs. Gilwen’s school. “A most well thought of establishment, my dear. I presume her emphasis on the proprieties and etiquette is as strong as ever? Excellent. And if the reputation of the school is justified, you are an accomplished needlewoman?”

“Well enough,” I replied. “Though I prefer tapestry work, I am able to cope with basic stitching needs such as hems and buttons.” I could not resist adding mischievously, “Since my arrival I’ve had quite an opportunity to use my skill. Leslie seems to delight in losing buttons and acquiring small tears in his shirts.”

“You’ve been repairing them?” Leslie exclaimed incredulously.

“Who else?” I asked. “Did you think the fairies or leprechauns had begun visiting the castle?”

Mary laughed. “Good heavens, Leslie, are you kicking up a fuss? Perhaps, Heather, he was glad of the excuse to order new clothes before.”

“No, of course not,” Leslie said hastily. “I simply was surprised. I have not yet had time to acquaint myself with all of my wife’s accomplishments. What other surprises have you for me, Heather?”

“Music or perhaps art?” Mary suggested.

I shook my head regretfully. “I am afraid I have no skill in either.”

“Riding?” Philip asked.

I laughed. “I had no opportunity to learn in the center of London.”

“Well, you must now,” Philip said eagerly, “and I should be pleased to teach you.”

“I believe that is my privilege,” Leslie said dryly. “I have a mare that is an extremely gentle mount, Heather.”

I murmured assent. I dared not say that I would prefer Philip as a tutor. Mary spoke next, “It is really an excellent establishment, Leslie.”

“Yes, but did she learn anything aside from needlework there?” he asked impatiently.

Stung, I retorted, “Nothing you would consider of consequence. Simply a smattering of history, the classics, science, politics, French, German, and geography. I am very sorry but I was more interested in my books than in learning how to please
men
!”

Close to tears, I stared down at my plate as the others regarded me in shocked silence. Nor did Philip’s subsequent words improve matters. “Well, you seem to have pleased at least one man. After all, Uncle Leslie married you, didn’t he?”

Mary spoke hastily, “Politics, Heather? I was not aware it was taught in schools for young ladies.”

“Well, of course it is not a regular subject,” I explained. “However, one of the teachers was very interested in politics and we often discussed current events. On occasion, we would acquire all the pamphlets printed concerning a particular issue and discuss them. Though I am afraid Miss Hall never seemed to understand them very well.”

“Frankly”—Philip yawned—“I don’t see why an attractive young woman would want to bother about such things.”

“Why not?” I retorted.

“Well, because such topics are much too weighty,” he replied, surprised at my question.

Sir Leslie chuckled and I glared at him. I suppose he expected me to be a docile little wet-goose. Well I was very sorry but I could not accommodate him! At my fierce expression, Leslie laughed harder. “Be careful, Philip. My wife can be a tigress when angry.”

Philip inclined his head toward me. “Oh, very well. Clearly, Aunt Heather, you are exceptional.”

I smiled, but without warmth. I knew Mrs. Gilwen would have condemned my behaviour as most unladylike. But I did not care. There were some matters on which I could not yield. One of these was the demand by any man that his preferences precede all others. Mary was, as soon we came to expect her to be, the peacemaker. “Well, Leslie,” she said. “You always said you wanted an unusual wife. You certainly have found one. Heather, I am delighted to know my new
belle-soeur
is not a ninnyhammer. Philip, a pretty face is not all that matters. Now, I am tired of the topic and I forbid it for the rest of the meal.”

“What would you suggest we discuss?” Leslie asked meekly.

“Well, I am sure I do not know.” Mary huffed. “Think of something.”

“Have you met our vicar, Mr. Watly yet, Heather? I mean Aunt Heather,” Philip asked with a grin.

“Oh, yes,” I replied, “he officiated at our wedding.”

“And he gave you advice on the responsibilities of marriage, I’ll wager.” Philip laughed. When I nodded, he began to imitate the vicar’s voice. “Marriage is like a seed one plants. Given careful tending, it grows and flourishes...”

“Do you think the advice so absurd?” Leslie asked.

“No,” Philip answered honestly, “of course not. It is Mr. Watly I find absurd.”

“You know him well?” I asked in surprise.

Philip grinned. “Does one need to?”

“Philip!” Mary exclaimed angrily. “Whatever your opinion of him, he is a man of the cloth and due respect.”

“But tell me,” I persisted, “how is it you know his marriage speech? Surely
you
have not been married.”

“No, but I was at Uncle’s first wedding.”

I blanched. “F-first wedding?” I stammered, feeling a trifle faint.

“Philip, you may leave the table at once!” Sir Leslie said in deadly calm.

We waited until Philip sauntered from the room smiling. “Heather,” Mary began tentatively.

“There was no first wedding,” Sir Leslie said harshly. “I was betrothed. The young woman changed her mind. In the church. Mr. Watly tried to convince her to go on with the ceremony. She refused. I am surprised that even in school you did not hear of it. It was quite an
on-dit
.” With that, he rose and strode from the room.

“Oh, dear,” Mary exclaimed. “I had hoped you need not hear of this, Heather. Leslie was younger then ... Pray forget it, my dear.”

“But why?” I asked. “I mean, why did she wait until the church? And what happened to her?”

“I don’t know.” Mary fluttered. “My dear, you must excuse me.”

And then I was alone, feeling slightly ill.

Chapter 5

Ellen greeted me at the door of my room. “My lady! You look so pale!”

I flushed and drew myself straighter. “I am merely tired, Ellen. Ellen, have you heard about Sir Leslie’s prior betrothal?”

“Ah, so that’s what overset you. Well,” she said confidingly, “of course I was too young at the time to remember it myself. But ... the servants here told me about it. I thought Sir Leslie had probably explained himself and if not, well, it wouldn’t be my place to tell tales.” Ellen hesitated, “But since you asked me ... It seems Sir Leslie fell in love with a young woman, Jane—I think her name was. Well! Jane was in love with some young care-for-nothing her parents refused to let her marry. Why they didn’t just elope
I
can’t say, but it seems the young man refused. Well! Jane agreed to marry Sir Leslie. Everyone was happy, except Jane and the young man of course, and the arrangements were made. It was to be a lovely wedding. Then, that day, in the church, she said she wouldn’t! Well! There she was in her wedding gown and all the guests. The vicar tried to convince her to many Sir Leslie, but Jane refused. Everyone was quite shocked and wondered what Sir Leslie had done to make Jane cry off. But one of the maids happened to hear Jane telling her parents. Well! It seems she never actually meant to marry Sir Leslie. She had decided that if she did what she did, her parents would have to agree she was ruined and let her marry her young man. And they did of course. Though not immediately. And poor Sir Leslie! He really had been in Jove with her, it seems. And I needn’t tell you he was eyed askance after that affair. I mean, everyone assumed he must have done seething to scare the lady off. It was sometime after that he started having young women sent up ... oh! I’m sorry, my lady. I didn’t mean to remind you...”

So Ellen did know what had happened to me. “It seems the servants are rather free with their words,” I said reprovingly.

“Oh, never outside the castle. I swear. They all think too highly of Sir Leslie to—”

“Too highly!” I ejaculated.

“Well, of course, in that respect they ... But in other ways ...”

“Enough, Ellen,” I said. “I would rather not hear anyone sing Sir Leslie’s praises. In fact I would rather not hear any discussions of him.”

“Yes, of course. Would you care to rest, my lady?”

I was tempted. But I might be needed. “No, Ellen. I shall be in the library,” I replied.

As was my habit, I chose a book and ensconced in a chair, my feet tucked under me. Sir Leslie rarely used the library at this hour and I knew I should have privacy. I cannot say why the library seemed such a refuge to me but it did. Thus I was engrossed in a book when someone entered. I glanced up. At the same moment, Sir Leslie saw me and started. Then, calmly, he walked over and sat in a chair near me. “Are you also hiding from my family?” he asked.

In spite of myself, I smiled. “In a way.”

He sighed. “I love my sister dearly, but her visits always cut up my peace. What are you reading?”

I showed him the cover of my book. Leslie was surprised. “Mitford’s
History of Greece
? So you truly meant it earlier when you said you were a bluestocking?”

I stiffened. I would not tolerate any disparaging remarks from Sir Leslie. He eyed me oddly. “You seem to have startled Philip.” When I shrugged, he laughed.

“I daresay most of the young women he knows are bubbleheaded things,” I countered.

“True,” Sir Leslie conceded, “but do you believe he prefers a scholar?”

“Of—of course,” I responded uncertainly.

Sir Leslie snorted, “You truly are green about men!”

“And you about women,” I retorted angrily, “if Jane and I are examples! I believe the reason you dislike Philip is that he reminds you of incidents you would prefer to forget.”

Leslie stared at me for a moment, then stood, towering over me. “So someone has been gossiping. I neither know nor wish to know what Banbury tales you have been told. Clearly you would not believe the truth so I shall not waste my time in futile explanation. But pray have care with your tongue, madam. I also am capable of wounding with words.”

I half rose from my chair in protest. I did not mean the words in the manner he had interpreted them. But it was too late. The slammed door announced he was gone before my apology was even half framed. I was too agitated to read and I set my book aside. I must apologise to Sir Leslie. But how? He was sufficiently overset that I knew he would not listen to any words I might try to say. I did not like Sir Leslie, and I had good cause to harbour ill will. But in this, if I were honest with myself, I had wronged him. And in truth, in the matter of Jane, my sympathies resided with Sir Leslie. I knew from my school years how feckless a young woman might be. I was beginning to recognise that for Sir Leslie, as for myself, the situation was neither a happy nor an easy one. And my behaviour did not aid matters.

I searched his desk and, finding paper, pen, and ink, set myself to the task of composing a suitable note. How to begin? I could scarcely write:
My Dearest Leslie,
or any similar form of address. Though I searched my memory, I knew there was no protocol in such a case.
Sir Leslie
was too formal and
Leslie
still seemed to intimate. The use of
my husband
could only serve to remind him he was shackled to me. At last I settled upon a letter that did not please me, but would, nonetheless, serve the purpose.

Leslie,

No doubt you believe me to be unspeakably rude and unthinking. I cannot say you are without justification. My behaviour this afternoon was unpardonable. You believed me to have been told falsehoods. I have not even that excuse, for your servants are too loyal to speak other than with complete fairness of you. I knew that in the matter of Jane you were in no way at fault. I should not have spoken of it when I could not help but know it would be distasteful to you.

In the future I shall endeavour to curb my tongue, but I fear I shall not always be successful. I pray that on this occasion you will accept my apology.

Heather

Nervously, I surveyed what I had written. It would have to suffice. How to deliver it? If I summoned a servant, the entire household would know by nightfall. I must place it either in Leslie’s or his valet’s hands myself. I folded it carefully, determined not to delay the matter.

I knocked hesitantly, twice, before his chamber door opened. “Yes, my lady?” Peter asked coldly but respectfully.

I held out my note, “I do not wish to disturb Sir Leslie, but pray give him this as soon as it is convenient to do so.”

“My lady,” he said, taking the note, “if I may say so, Sir Leslie is sadly out of curl at the moment. If this will disturb him further—”

I brought Peter up short. “It should not. It may even improve matters.”

“Very well, my lady,” he said dubiously, “do you expect an answer?”

“No,” I turned to withdraw, then paused to say, “Thank you, Peter.”

The valet bowed and closed the door. I imagined him approaching Leslie with the note, in trepidation. Or perhaps he would read it first. Certainly he was in Leslie’s confidence. I only hoped he was as discreet as Leslie believed him to be. I was debating whether I might have time for a walk before tea when Mrs. Morgan encountered me in the hallway. “My lady,” she said, “will ye have tea in yer chamber this afternoon? As the others are?”

She seemed distressed so I replied soothingly, “It means extra work, doesn’t it? Separate pots of tea and all. Well, you needn’t bother with mine. I shall not take tea today.”

“Not take tea?” she exclaimed.

“No, I am going for a walk,” I said and departed, leaving her staring after me.

I walked directly to the copse of trees, for sitting by the stream always soothed me. And within the copse I could not be seen from the castle and thus no one could come to call me back. I had come to love the estate, and in different circumstances might have been happy here. As matters stood, the serenity of the fields and woods kept me from complete despair.

It was late when I retraced my steps to the castle, and I was fortified with the resolution to behave more reasonably in the future. I went immediately to my chamber in order to dress for dinner. To my surprise, a spray of roses sat in a bowl on the table beside my bed. “What? How?” I exclaimed.

Ellen was as mystified as I. “I don’t quite know, my lady. Peter, Sir Leslie’s valet, brought them. Said they were the first from the garden. The master’s orders. But why, I wouldn’t know, my lady.”

I smiled. “The blue gown, this evening,” I merely said. “I would not have Lady Mary believe me to still be a green schoolgirl.”

By the time I reached the drawing room, Mary was already there. “You look lovely,” she said as she greeted me.

“Thank you and good evening,” I replied. “Did you rest well after your journey?”

“Yes, but—Good evening, Leslie,” she broke off.

I turned to see my husband standing in the doorway. As he greeted us my eyes met his for a moment and he smiled. I glanced away hastily. I had apologised for my rude behaviour but I did not wish Sir Leslie to believe I meant more than that. In the next moment, to my relief, Philip joined us. “Good evening everyone. I’m not late, am I?” he asked.

A measure of Leslie’s improved mood was that he answered affably, “Not at all, Philip.”

Philip stared at him in surprise. We
were,
however, somewhat late, so I placed my hand on Leslie’s arm and said, “Shall we go in to table?”

Aware of Leslie’s eyes on me, I stared at the floor. Neither of us spoke; neither of us referred to the afternoon or my subsequent note. When, after we were seated, I dared glance at him, Sir Leslie was no longer staring at me and I relaxed. Philip, enjoying the favourable mood, regaled us with stories of university life.

“But when do you have time for your studies?” I asked at one point.

“Oh, no one
studies.
One goes to the university to learn about
life.
One cannot get that from books!” Philip shrugged.

Leslie raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Mary shook her head but smiled. I was not satisfied with the answer, but instead of persisting, I asked, “Which university are you at, Philip? You’ve not said.”

Philip shifted uncomfortably and Leslie and Mary looked uneasy. “Well, my dear, actually...” Mary began.

“Philip is rusticating at the moment,” Leslie said abruptly. “He was sent down from Oxford last week.”

“And I suppose you never kicked up a lark when you were there!” Philip retorted.

Leslie chuckled, “Ah, but I was never caught.” After a moment, he continued, “I remember once we managed to bar the dean into his office just before he was due to give an important speech. We would certainly have been sent down if the fellow had only known who we were.”

Mary began to laugh. “Leslie! You never told us! But I remember the incident because Father was visiting me and he had heard of it. Though I am quite sure he had no notion you had been involved. He gave quite a sermon on responsibility and the lack of it among university students. Indeed he said he was happy to know
his
son would never do anything of the sort!”

Philip grinned. “It is still talked of at Oxford. It seems the dean was so overset that, immediately he was released, he appeared with his wig askew. What else did you accomplish while there?”

Leslie shook his head, “Now, now. I’ll not give you ideas. You must think of your own pranks. After you’ve finished with the university we can compare notes.”

A thought suddenly occurred to Philip. “You weren’t involved in the bathing scandal?”

One look at Leslie’s face was sufficient to confirm the suspicion. “What was the bathing scandal?” I asked, delighted. “I don’t wish to hear about it!” Mary exclaimed.

Philip ignored her. “It seems that in Uncle Leslie’s day...”

Leslie stopped him. “If she must know, I’d better explain it. I am not certain what version is circulating now. Well, Heather, there was a somewhat eccentric don who used to bathe in nearby lakes and rivers. One day, one of my friends spied him and shared the knowledge with a group of us. I am afraid we were on a spree for we conceived the following plan. For several days, we watched the spot until finally the don returned to bathe there. We waited until he shed his clothes and entered the water. Alone. It never seems to have occurred to the fellow that it might be foolish to leave his clothes unguarded. At any rate, we scooped them up and carried them off with us.”

Philip was laughing, as was I. Mary asked, “How did the poor fellow contrive?”

Leslie laughed. “That was the best part of it. The don was resourceful and fashioned a sort of covering from leaves and branches. Then, keeping to hedges and so on, proceeded to walk home. At some point someone noticed him and, deciding the fellow was mad and ought to be clapped up in bedlam, gave chase. The don was near home and decided to run for it. As he crossed the field to his lodging the covering dropped away and he was in the buff for all the world to see. He had a great deal of difficulty convincing the authorities he was sane and ought not to be carted away!”

“Leslie!” Mary said reprovingly, “how disgraceful.” Although I agreed, I also could not help wishing I had been born a man so that I could attend Oxford and take part in such things. I must have voiced part of the thought aloud for Philip exclaimed, “What a henwitted notion! And I daresay Uncle Leslie feels so more strongly than I!”

Leslie replied, after a moment, “Well, I certainly shouldn’t have married Heather in that event.”

“I am quite happy not to have been born a man,” Mary said with dignity. “I don’t think I should have enjoyed it at all.”

I reached for my wineglass and, finding it empty, turned to ask to have it refilled. As I did so Leslie caught my eye and discreetly shook his head. For a moment I was angry: how dare he presume to say I could not have more? But then I realised he might have cause. My head felt light, my hand a trifle unsteady, and words tripped a little too quickly off my tongue. I glanced at Leslie guiltily, but he smiled reassuringly.

“... not set Philip a bad example, Leslie,” Mary was saying.

“I’m sorry, Mary,” he said and, turning to Philip, admonished, “You are not to take my behaviour as a model.” A twinkle in his eyes belied the stiffness of his words. “Except, of course, in the fact that I was never caught!”

“Leslie!” Mary said despairingly. “I swear, Heather, that I am glad he is not
my
husband.”

And I wish he were not mine! I wanted to say, but did not. Reminded of my situation, I could no longer enjoy the comfortable atmosphere. Philip must have noticed, for he spoke hastily, “I say, Aunt Heather, don’t cut up stiff! Mother’s only roasting you.”

I forced myself to smile and say lightly, “Of course. And since she is
not
married to Leslie, it scarcely matters, does it?”

Leslie regarded me grimly over the rim of his wineglass. But he spoke lightly also, “I am afraid, Heather, that all my life Mary has been trying to take care of me and keep me out of trouble. A thankless task.”

Philip seemed amused by the exchange. I wondered if he now considered Leslie more human. I hoped so, for the tensions earlier in the day distressed me. And, selfishly, I welcomed Philip’s company and felt that if the two were at ease with each other, Philip might remain longer. Mary also, of course, but while over the years I had had a surfeit of female companions, I felt starved for male companionship. Particularly male companionship that carried with it no possible complications and no emotional demands.

The men remained behind with their port while Mary and I withdrew. “My dear,” she said, when we were alone, “I am happy to see Leslie in a better frame of mind. I wonder what might have happened? Well, no matter. Tell me, my dear. Have you any plans for refurbishing the castle?”

I shook my head. “I hardly feel it my place to make such changes. I cannot feel I have the right.”

“Nonsense!” she said firmly. “You are Lady Kinwell! You’ve every right to do as you choose. And if Leslie questions that I shall tell him so to his head. You must not let Leslie overset you!”

“But I am not sure I wish to make any changes,” I protested.

“Of course you do,” she retorted. “Tomorrow we shall go around the castle together and form our plans.”

I stared at her helplessly. Mary simply did not understand how I felt. She spoke soothingly, “There, there. Truly, Leslie is not an ogre, as you would discover if you but gave him the opportunity to show you his gentler side.”

Perhaps. But I could not see how Mary’s scheme could do other than set up his back. Though no doubt she knew Leslie better than I. I was freed from finding an answer by the timely entry of the men. I was soon placed, however, in a more awkward position. “Heather,” Mary said, “perhaps you might entertain us? With some music?”

It was not, of course, her fault that she did not remember. “You must excuse me,” I replied as patiently as I was able, “but I have no ability, either with my voice or any other instrument.”

“How fortunate,” Leslie said dryly, “for there are few things I detest more than the sort of inane musical accomplishments most young ladies obtain. I would far rather spend the evening quietly reading.”

My relief at Leslie’s intervention was so great that I smiled at him. Mary was not so pleased. “Well, you shall not be so unsociable
this
evening, Leslie. Heather, are you familiar with ecarte?”

I signified I was and she called for a card table. Leslie and I were to be partners, it seemed. I dearly hoped he was not the sort of fellow who treated cards as a crucial matter. As the evening progressed, however, I discovered there was no need for concern. We were both competent players and frequently we trounced Mary and Philip. Indeed, it was Mary who called a halt to the cards in obvious poor temper. “It is rather late,” she said, “I think I shall retire.”

Philip was cheerful despite the losses. “You are quite good, Heather. Have you and Uncle Leslie been practising?” I smiled and shook my head. Leslie replied, “I am as surprised as you are, Philip. It is another of her accomplishments that my wife neglected to inform me of.”

“If you knew so little about her,” Philip bantered, “why did you marry her?”

Leslie hesitated, “It was ... one of those things.”

Philip frowned. “That’s exactly what Aunt Heather said. Really...”

“Really,” Leslie said wearily, “aren’t you being rather ungallant? The proper response would be that seeing Heather you had no need to ask why one would offer for her.”

Philip flushed. “Well, of course. I meant ...”

“Philip,” Mary said firmly, “we shall
both
retire now. No doubt Leslie and Heather would prefer privacy.”
She swept out of the room, Philip at her heels. I felt it a shame that Mary and Leslie should still treat him as a child. And if
he
were a child, then what of me? When they had gone, Leslie turned to stare at the empty fireplace. “I must apologise for my family,” he said. “It seems they have never learned the art of tact. Philip in particular. But then, he is young.”

“No younger than I,” I retorted.

He turned to face me. “No. No younger than you. Confound it, girl, must you always be so niffy-naffy?” he demanded.