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Authors: Shirley Kennedy

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You’ll not regret it, son.

The flash of relief in Papa’s eyes told Thomas he’d made the right decision. He returned a lop-sided grin.

I regret it already, but that’s beside the point.


Excellent,

his father exclaimed, and nearly slapped his hand to his leg before he thought better of it.

Now, there’s just one other small matter.

Uh-oh. What was his wily father up to now? Thomas was suddenly alert.

And what might one more thing be?

He braced himself.


You’re to go to Aldershire Manor to see Lord Trevlyn. Matter of fact, I’ll send a message over. He’ll no doubt want you for dinner tonight.


The devil,

Thomas exclaimed as memories of previous, utterly woeful dinners at Aldershire Manor came to mind. The food was always excellent, of course, but not the company. Lord Trevlyn’s brother, Walter, was all right, though rather on the meek side, but Walter’s wife, Mrs. Lydia Trevlyn, fancied herself superior to the rest of mankind, most certainly to a mere second son. She was also much given to dominating a conversation with her iron-clad opinions, pontificating in a superior tone that indicated she knew everything while her listeners knew nothing. As for the three daughters... Ah, well, he mustn’t be ungentlemanly. Three years had passed
since he’d seen them
. Perhaps they’d changed, although he doubted it. Thomas laughed and slowly shook his head.

If you keep this up, I shall wish I was back in Jamaica, toiling under a hot sun.

Papa had the decency to look regretful.

I know how you feel about Trevlyn’s nieces, Thomas, but remember, Trevlyn has been a good friend to me over the years.


Are they married yet?


Er... no, not any of the three. Matter of fact, I‘m still waiting for Montague to do his duty and propose to Charlotte. Bettina is waiting for you, Thomas

—Papa raised his brows significantly—

but then there’s Amanda, who’s sixteen now and pretty enough, although not a beauty. I should think Montague would want Charlotte, since she’s the eldest, as well as the most beautiful, although I allow he could pick Bettina or even Amanda, if he chooses.

The words,
some choice
!
rushed to Thomas’s lips, but his gentlemanly instincts suppressed them. Instead, he sighed, reflecting not much had changed in the three years since he’d left for Jamaica.


Oh, I know what you’re thinking,

the Marquess said with a perceptive nod,

and you’d be right. Things have gone from bad to worse at Aldershire Manor, starting years ago when Trevyln lost his only son.


A real tragedy.

Thomas clearly recalled Lord Trevlyn troubles had begun when Randall, Viscount Montfret, Trevlyn’s one-and-only son, a wastrel if ever there was one, got himself in debt and fled England.

Randall went to Ireland, did he not?


Yes, and died there at an early age, after his father disowned him. Don’t know of what. He was completely out of touch with his family those last years of his life.


A pity,

Thomas remarked, recalling that after Lord Trevlyn’s only son died, he allowed his younger brother, Walter Trevlyn, and Walter’s unpleasant wife, Lydia, to move into Aldershire Manor along with their three daughters. From all appearances, Walter, prodded by his domineering wife, had just about taken over the estate.

Has the situation at all improved?


It’s gotten worse. Trevlyn’s grown quite feeble of late and seems to have lost his grip. His brother and his wife pretty much run the estate and do what they please, although I allow the chicanery is more hers than his.

Papa scowled.

No backbone, that Walter. I don’t much care for him, but, still, he’s now the heir.

His countenance brightened.

As you know, it’s been a dream of mine to conjoin our two estates. Think of it. Montague will marry Charlotte, you will marry Bettina. Thus, Northfield Hall with be forever joined with Aldershire Manor. A grand idea, what?

Picturing the three daughters, Thomas smiled wryly.

A lofty ambition, Papa. What does Montague say?

The Marquess’ eyes hardened, reminding Thomas that when occasion warranted, his father could be as unyielding as a stone.

Montague will do as I say. I have put him on notice. He will marry one of Trevlyn’s daughters, preferably Charlotte, and soon.

Poor Montague
, Thomas thought, feeling a rare pang of sympathy for his prodigal older brother.

His father continued,

And it wouldn’t hurt, Thomas, if you considered marrying Bettina sometime soon.


Not likely,

Thomas said with a smile.

I’ve told you before I’m not the marrying kind, but if I ever do, it will be for love, not because it’s expected of me.

He raised a sardonic eyebrow.

One of the few advantages of being a second son.

The Marquess breathed a wistful sigh.

Ah, Thomas, if only
...”


Give Montague more time, Papa,

Thomas said softly.

Who knows? Some day he might tire of brandy, women, and White’s every night. Then he might surprise you.

The Marquess returned a skeptical sniff.

I no longer delude myself. Montague will never change. What a travesty that he will inherit my estate, whereas you--

Thomas raised his hand.

Say no more. I live my life with no regrets. So should you.

Love and pride filled his father’s eyes.

You’re a son to be proud of.

Thomas arose and smiled.

Send the message to Lord Trevlyn. I shall be happy to see him, for dinner, or whatever he likes. If it’s dinner, perhaps he’ll invite Penelope, too. Then I won’t be totally bored. I don’t suppose you... ?


Dear God, no.

Papa gazed ruefully at his foot. I’m a prisoner in this room until my gout improves.

After a pause, he said,

I appreciate your doing this. Bear in mind there are worse hardships in life than dining with Trevlyn’s daughters.


Of course there are,

Thomas assured him.
But at the moment I cannot think what
, he thought but didn’t say.

* * *

Bored, bored, bored
.

Thomas had never been so bored in all his life. No, take that back. He hadn’t been so bored since the last time he’d come to Aldershire for dinner and the Honorable Miss Bettina Trevlyn, Lord Trevlyn’s niece, had deigned to describe to him, in the most excruciating detail, her latest triumphs in the world of needlework. How much longer must he sit here, regaled by a stitch-by-stitch description of her Europa-and-the-bull pillow cover? Where was Lord Trevelyn? When would dinner be served? How soon could he politely leave? How was it possible that one human being could talk incessantly, without end! about petit-point?

Parliament should pass some sort of law.

Across the ornate drawing room, he caught a furtive glimmer of amusement in his sister’s eyes. He would get no sympathy there. Penelope dearly loved to see him suffer.


Lord Thomas? Are you listening?


Hmm? Oh, yes, of course, Miss Trevlyn.

He focused his attention upon another, thickly embroidered pillow cover she was now displaying.

You were saying about the stitches? Fascinating. Do tell me more.


You will note the seven rows of flat and French-knot stitches done in silk-chenille thread,

Bettina continued in her humorless voice, running her finger lovingly over her latest triumph.

Note they’re done in various shades of pink. I almost made them red, though. In fact, I started to stitch them in red and then I thought, I might like them better in pink. A most perplexing dilemma, as you can see. So then I decided I really did like them better in pink, so I pulled out all the red stitches and put in the pink.

God save me
.
Actually the girl wasn’t that bad looking. Nice figure... brown hair piled stylishly atop her head... pleasantly rounded face, although rather on the bland side, but with eyes that held not one iota of spark or humor. He must try to be kind.

He was saved when Bettina’s mother, purse-lipped, pinch-nosed Mrs. Walter Trevyln, sitting grandly on the settee across, called sharply,

Bettina, I do believe Lord Thomas has heard enough about your needle-work.

She regarded Thomas with avid curiosity.

So tell me, Lord Thomas, what of your dear brother, Lord Eddington? Did you see him in London upon your return from the West Indies?

Thomas was not surprised at her question. For years, it appeared Lydia Trevlyn’s main goal in life was to marry off her eldest daughter to Montague, or if not the eldest, one of the other two. Obviously nothing had changed.

I didn’t have a chance to see my brother. I came straight from the docks to Northfield Hall, stopping only long enough to hire my horse.

Charlotte, the eldest daughter, always a model of elegance, beauty, and propriety, awarded him a tight smile.

A pity, Lord Thomas. Of late, we have seen little of Lord Eddington. Do you suppose he’s been taken ill?

Not likely,
Thomas thought, but tactfully answered,

If he is ill, I haven’t heard.

He had noted an edge to her voice, and no wonder. Miss Charlotte Trevlyn’s beauty was without imperfection. Her deportment was impeccable. She could sing like a lark and play piano with amazing skill. She spoke French like a native. Her watercolors were superb. She was, in essence, everything a young lady of the Polite World should be, but up to now, despite her best efforts, and her mother’s, she had not managed to trap old Montague.

Thomas knew the reason.

The girl is like a beautiful doll,

Montague once complained.

Such perfection. But it’s all just for show. Underneath she’s hollow, except for greed and vanity, just like her mother.

Thomas could not argue with the truth.

All that aside, Montague, Papa expects you to marry her. He’ll be keenly disappointed if you don’t.

Thomas remembered his brother’s grim look of resignation as he replied,

I know, and someday I’ll propose, as soon as I can stomach the thought of marrying that block of ice.

Montague made a face and added,

You don’t know how lucky you are to be a second son.

But Charlotte’s a beautiful block of ice
.
Thomas turned his attention to the eldest daughter, admiring her white skin, blonde hair piled high, her figure stunning in her low-cut satin dinner gown. What a pity...


Thomas, my boy, how good to see you.

To Thomas’s relief, Lord Trevlyn entered the drawing room. Papa was right. His lordship had aged since Thomas last saw him. His hair was completely white; deep lines etched his face; his shoulders were stooped, as if in defeat, and he now walked with a cane. Thomas stood, bowed, and remarked,

And it’s good to see you, sir.

He stopped himself from adding,

You’re looking fit,

because that would be a lie. He had always liked Lord Trevyln who was one of his father’s best friends, despite their being almost exact opposites, both in temperament and interests. Papa was a big, burly man, noisy and outgoing—or at least he had been before the gout. He liked fishing, hunting, and all outdoor sports. Trevlyn, on the other hand, was a reclusive man who spent much time in his study reading the classics in their original Greek and Latin. He turned even more reclusive after his only son died, and now foolishly allowed his brother Walter and his family full run of his estate.

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