Alicia complained that the creamed soup was too rich for her delicate stomach. Lord Edgerton put in a good word about the veal filets. Emily said flattering things about everything that was put before her but was too nervous to eat very much of anything.

It was all very dull until Toby asked for a second helping of the little meat cakes Naismith had served. "Absolutely delicious," he declared, licking his lips. "What are they, any way?"

"Mutton pates, my lord," Naismith informed him. "Prepared l'Englaise, I presume," Lord Edgerton quipped. But only one person in the room laughed at his joke -a serving maid standing in the corner holding a sauceboat.

Everyone turned to see who the servant was who'd had the temerity to laugh, and Emily, noting with shock that the maid was none other than Kitty Jessup, choked. Evidently the butler had commandeered Kitty to help serve the dinner. While Naismith glared at the maid for daring to listen to and laugh at-the table conversation, Emily's choking sound diverted the attention of the others. "Did you start to laugh at my brother's puerile joke?" Toby asked her. "I don't blame you for stopping yourself. It wasn't worth a laugh." Emily colored. "No, I wasn't laughing at ... I didn't understand-"

"Nor did I," said Alicia, coming to Emily's rescue. "What was so funny, Greg?"

"Well, the maid there laughed at it," his lordship said with a grin. "Let her explain it to you." He turned to Kitty, cowering in the corner. "Go ahead, girl, tell my sister what was funny."

Kitty threw a questioning glance at Naismith, who merely rolled his eyes heavenward. Then she stepped forward. "It was funny because only the English ever cook mutton," she explained, "so of course it had to be l'Englaise." She glanced round the table at the five pair of eyes staring at her enigmatically. "The French would rather die than serve mutton, you see." There was still no response in those eyes. She threw another look at Naismith and then plunged on. "And what really made it witty, you see, was that her ladyship had said the soup was a la Russe..." There was still nothing but the stunned response, so Kitty looked at Lord Edgerton and shrugged. "Well, my lord, perhaps it wasn't so funny after all."

This was too much for Edgerton. He guffawed. "The girl is quite right," he said when his laugh had subsided. "No quip is funny that has to have so much explanation." Then, turning serious, he studied the maid with interest. "Tell me, girl, how is it you know French?"

Kitty was stricken with terror. Had she given herself away? She stepped back into her corner as if to escape the scrutiny of those five pair of eyes. "French? I don't kn-know French, m'lord," she said hastily, trying to copy Mrs. Prowne's manner of speaking. "I mean ... knowing what l'Englaise means isn't . . ain't knowin' French."

"No, of course it isn't," Edgerton said, turning back to the table. "In any case, thank you for finding my quip amusing. I'm glad somebody did."

Behind his back, Naismith, glaring at Kitty with fury, jerked his head in the direction of the door. The meaning of the gesture was unmistakable. Kitty slipped quietly out of the room and was not seen again in the dining room. Meanwhile, Toby returned to his mutton pates. "One may say what one likes about mutton," he remarked, "but it's a great deal better for the digestion than the walrus meat the rest of you are eating."

"Walrus meat?" Emily squealed, dropping down her fork. "Now, Toby, must you?" his mother sighed. "Give the child a chance to get to know you before you start on your outrageous stories."

"It really is veal," Alicia a.s.sured the blushing girl. "You mustn't mind Toby. He loves to say shocking things and frighten people out of their skins. Just ignore him."

"No, no, keep it up, Toby," said his brother calmly. "By playing tricks on this girl, you're only digging a hole for yourself. I think Miss Jessup is just playing a deep game. Biding her time, as it were. If the things I've heard of her are even half true, she'll give you better than she gets, as soon as she's taken your measure. Am I right, Miss Jessup?" Emily knew that the real Miss Jessup would certainly have proved him right had she been sitting here herself, but she, Emily, felt quite helpless. All she could do was to play the game as best she could. She picked up her fork and, attacking her veal with renewed energy, tried to respond as she thought Kitty might. "Perhaps, my lord," she said, keeping her eyes lowered with what she hoped was an air of mystery. "Let's wait and see."

The ladies left the table after the pastries had been served, but the gentlemen did not sit long at their brandies. Edgerton was eager to rejoin the ladies so that Toby and Miss Jessup could become better acquainted. When they entered the drawing room, they found Alicia holding forth on her favorite subject, the delicacy of her const.i.tution. Toby felt no compunction in interrupting her. "Are we to spend the evening listening to your symptoms?" he asked rudely. "Why don't we all sit down to a really savage game of silver-loo?"

"Not I," his sister said sourly. "Playing with you gives me the megrims. You are always so set on winning."

"I don't wish to play with you, either," his mother declared. "You always insist on making the stakes too high. I would much prefer an evening of music to one of gambling. Perhaps Miss Jessup would be willing to entertain us. Do you sing, Miss Jessup?"

"Not very well, I'm afraid. But I would be happy to accompany anyone else who would like to sing."

"Ah, you play, then," Edgerton said with a smile, strolling over to her chair. "Will you favor us with a few selections?"

All evening Emily had been eyeing the magnificent pianoforte set between the two tall windows in the room's west wall. She'd longed to run her fingers over the keyboard but had not dared to do it. Now here was her chance. "I'd be happy to, your lordship," she said shyly, standing up and taking the arm he offered.

Edgerton escorted her to the piano bench. She settled her hands on the keyboard, her heart pounding with excitement.

What would Kitty play if it were she at the piano? she wondered. Most likely it would be something easy yet bravura. Emily didn't take long to decide. She began with Haydn's "Gypsy Rondo," a safe and conventional choice. Every "accomplished" young lady was required to memorize the rondo, for it was lively, familiar, and intricate enough in fingering to persuade the listener that the performer had some technical skill. Emily executed it without a flaw.

But as she played, her delight in the tone of the instrument grew, causing her to make her second selection from her own heart-a Bach theme and variations. In her joy at the response of the sensitive instrument under her fingers, she almost forgot where she was.

By the time the Bach was over, Edgerton knew the girl possessed an extraordinary talent. "Your father never told me," he said in amazement, "that his daughter was so musically gifted."

"Thank you, my lord," Emily said, at once very pleased with the compliment and very uneasy, too. She'd never played for an audience before (except for the pupils of the school), so it was good to hear such sincere approval from so worldly a man as his lordship. But she was accepting the praise under false pretenses-in the name of Kitty Jessup, and Kitty, not having been very diligent at her music studies, was no better than average at the keyboard. The dishonesty of the situation made her feel unworthy of the compliment. "I am not so very gifted," she murmured in discomfort.

"Come now, Miss Jessup, I don't appreciate false modesty," his lordship declared. "You must know that your playing is quite beyond the ordinary."

"Oh, yes, Greg is absolutely right," Alicia put in. "I'm not especially musical myself, having always been too delicate to spend the hours needed to practice, but even I could tell that your playing is decidedly superior."

"Such beautiful playing, my dear! So lovely! It brought me to tears," Lady Edith said, sniffing into her handkerchief. "Do play some more for us."

Emily complied, choosing a Mozart sonata that began rather modestly and could be played with cheerful, tuneful ease. This choice, she hoped, would bring more attention to the sonata's own melodic line than the player. But by the time she'd reached the andante, she'd again lost herself in the music and was playing with her full vigor. Never before had she played on so superb an instrument. Without realizing it, she let herself go. The chords, the runs, the trills were executed with true musical artistry. Her playing revealed her mastery of the two primary facets of good musicianship: technical precision and deep emotional understanding. The pleasure she took in the playing was magically transmitted to the listeners. They were entranced. The applause at the conclusion was so enthusiastic that it was several moments before the a.s.semblage became aware of the sound of gentle snoring. Toby Wishart had fallen fast asleep.

Lord Edgerton sat through the rest of the evening gritting his teeth. It was a decided relief to him when his mother rose and announced that it was time to retire. The others rose with her, all of them quite willing to bring the evening to an end, but Edgerton insisted that his brother remain downstairs with him. He'd reined in his irritation long enough; he didn't intend to go to bed before making his brother aware of the extent of his displeasure.

"d.a.m.nation, Toby," he barked as soon as they were alone, "how could you let yourself fall asleep? That is the girl to whom you're expected to make an offer! Couldn't you behave in a gentlemanly manner on your first evening in her comp any?"

Toby threw himself into a chair and ran a hand through his thick curls. "It's been a deucedly long day, Greg, and I'm tired. You know I ain't the sort who likes music. I can bear it all well enough if someone's singing words that I can understand and laugh at, but just to sit still and force myself to listen to an endless evening of piano playing ... well, that just ain't in my line."

Edgerton sighed in disgust. "You could have tried, confound it! Just this once you could have made an effort to attend. You could have concentrated on her hands on the keys, or on the intricacy of the harmonies, or even on the charming way she bit her underlip when she was absorbed-" "Those things might keep you awake, Greg, but they ain't interesting to me. In fact, there's nothing about this girl you've picked for me that I find interesting."

"How can you say that?" his brother demanded angrily. "She's as pretty a creature as any I've ever seen you with, her demeanor is much calmer and gentler than I expected, she is sweet and talented, and is evidently trying very hard to create a good impression. What more can you ask?"

"I can ask for someone a little less insipid," Toby muttered sullenly.

Now it was Greg's turn to run his fingers through his hair. "I wouldn't call the girl insipid, exactly," he said, his brow puckering as he dropped into a chair opposite his brother. "She seems, rather, to be timid. As if she were dreadfully afraid of saying the wrong thing. Her father led me to believe that she's an incorrigible mischief-maker, but-"

"Mischief-maker? That one?"

Greg shook his head in puzzled agreement. "I know. When one looks into those innocent eyes it hardly seems possible. The only explanation I can make is that the poor chit was bullied into submission by her father. Perhaps he threatened some dire punishment if she didn't behave herself while she was here. It's too bad, really. I'd have liked to see what she's like when she's being impish."

"That girl hasn't an impish bone in her body," Toby stated decisively. "I'd wager a monkey her father's put one over on you."

"You haven't a farthing to wager, old boy, much less a monkey. So whether her father put anything over on me or not shouldn't concern you. What should concern you is the twenty thousand pounds I plan to settle on you the day you marry the girl."

Toby's mouth dropped open. "Twenty thousand? Do you mean it, Greg?"

Greg shrugged. "I don't see why you're so surprised. You heard me promise Father I would deal fairly with you."

"Yes, but twenty thousand is more than fair. It's positively magnanimous!"

"Even though Miss Jessup goes along with it?" Toby groaned. "She certainly sours the brew."

"You'll have to take the brew just the way it is, for I've given my word you'll wed her. It's up to you to find a way to sweeten it, when you're married."

"I don't see why you gave your word without letting me even see the girl. It ain't like you, Greg."

Greg felt a twinge of guilt. "It seemed a good idea at the time," he mumbled.

"Perhaps we can get ourselves out of this coil," Toby suggested, his expression brightening. "We can say Birkinshaw misrepresented the merchandise, or some such thing, can't we?"

"Dash it all, you make-bait, Miss Jessup is not merchandise!" Greg said furiously, slamming his hand down on the arm of his chair, his momentary feeling of guilt completely dissipated. "She's as fine a young woman as I can imagine, and much too good for the likes of you!"

"That may be," his brother muttered, sullen again, "but I think I deserve the right to choose my own bride."

"Oh you do, do you'? On what basis do you believe you 'deserve' it? By your wise, thoughtful, responsible behavior in the past?"

"I say, Greg," Toby objected, rising in offense, "if you're going to throw all my youthful indiscretions in my face every time the subject of my future comes up, I'll never be considered deserving of anything."

"Ah, you admit to youthful indiscretions, eh? Does that mean that these 'youthful indiscretions' are now a thing of the past?" Greg smiled up at his brother sardonically. "I believe it has been a week since you were sent down from Cambridge. Am Ito view you as 'deserving' because you've been a model of propriety for all of seven days?"

Toby shrugged. "I don't see what being sent down from school has to do with choosing a bride."

"Don't you? Are you truly surprised that I don't find you deserving of that right? If I gave it to you, I can just imagine what sort of bride you'd choose. Describe your choice to me, Toby. Go on, describe her. Would she be someone like that lightskirt in Chelsea who bled us for a thousand before she released you from her clutch? Or would you prefer one like your so-delectable little opera dancer whom you found astride your friend Nelson the moment they believed your back was turned."

Toby's eyes fell. "I admit my taste in women was not quite mature in the past, but-"

"But it has matured since, is that what you're going to say? Is that why you've-since only last month-undertaken the care and feeding of a certain Miss Lolly Matchin of Castle Tavern?"

Toby reddened to the ears. "How did you ... ?"

"How did I learn of her existence? I didn't spy on you, if that's what you're thinking. I received a letter from the lady, complaining that you promised her some funds that you never delivered. She thought I might be persuaded to make good on your promises. She was, of course, mistaken. I have the missive in my desk, if you'd like to take a look at it yourself."

"No, I . . . " Toby sank down on his chair again. "I don't doubt your word."

"Thank you. But I think you must agree that my doubts concerning the maturity of your judgment are somewhat justified."

"What I do for amus.e.m.e.nt," Toby growled, "has nothing to do with the matter. I would not choose Lolly for my bride, and you know it."

"That you choose to use her for your amus.e.m.e.nt is fault enough." Edgerton stood up and looked down at his brother threateningly. "I chose a bride for you, yes. It was a highhanded act, perhaps, but the tradition has been followed by generations of parents and guardians past and present, and with good reason. I make no apologies for it. I did it because I want you to settle down. It is my hope that the responsibilities of marriage will steady you, mature you, and fulfill you. I chose Miss Jessup on a whim, I admit, but I see no reason to regret what I've done. She has everything to recommend her: she comes of excellent stock-the Birkinhaws have an old and honored name; she is healthy of mind and body; and she's been reared with standards and values that are the same as ours. Now that I've seen her I feel even more justified in my decision. She differs from what I was led to expect, but that may be all to the good. Any man worth his salt would be proud to have such a woman bear his name. If you're willing to pledge to her your loyalty, affection, and protection, I shall give you the house in Surrey, twenty thousand pounds, and my blessing."

He turned and strode to the door, but before departing he looked back at the brother who'd slumped deep in his chair and was morosely studying his boots. "But if you're not willing, then as far as I'm concerned you may just as well go to the devil!"

Chapter Ten.

Kitty ran straight from the dining salon to the servants' hall, but by the time she got there the story of her indiscretion at his lordship's table was already circulating among the staff. Several of the housemaids, gathering round the hall awaiting their supper call, were whispering in small groups but stopped their chatter as soon as Kitty appeared in the doorway. A couple of footmen eyed her with interest, and the one called Jemmy hooted at her gleefully. The three sculleries began to giggle at the sight of her, and the cook snorted in disdain as Kitty crossed the threshold. "Shame on ye," she said, shaking her head in disapproval. "Makin' yerself a bad name, and ye ain't been 'ere one day."

"It ain't her fault," one of the upstairs maids piped up. Kitty recognized her as the maid who'd been airing Emily's room earlier that afternoon. "Mr. Naismith 'ad no right to use "er at table. She's an abigail, ain't she? Not a servin' girl."

"No one's askin' you, Peg Craigle," the cook declared, turning to the fire and rotating a roasting chicken on a spit. "If Mr. Naismith says she's't' serve, then she's't' serve. That's all there is to it."

"And let that be a lesson to ye," Jemmy said, crossing over to Kitty and tweaking her cheek.

Kitty slapped his hand in irritation. "Is this matter everyone's business?"

"No, o' course it ain't," Peg said, coming to her side. "What a way for you to start 'ere. Tish-tush, Emily, don't be lookin' so grim. Makin' a fool o' yersel' upstairs ain't the end o' the world."

Kitty met the other girl's eyes and gave a reluctant laugh. The girl was quite right; the scene in the dining room would be forgotten by everyone in a short while; there was no need to stew over it. She looked at Peg's laughing Irish eyes and felt a surge of grat.i.tude. This girl might turn out to be a veritable friend in need. "Thank you, Peg," she murmured quietly. Peg shrugged. "Come an' let me make everyone known't' ye. Over there is Mrs. Duffy, but everyone calls her Cook. The gennleman readin' the Times is Mr. Dampier, "is lordship's valet. An' this 'ere's Lily, who always knows everything what goes on. An' here's Bess, who does all the sewin', an'"

At that moment, Mrs. Prowne bustled in. "Come on, everyone, let's sit down," she announced. "They're still lingerin' over the pastries upstairs, so Mr. Naismith said to start without 'im."

As if a bell had rung, people seemed to materialize from all directions and the table places filled at once. It seemed to Kitty at first glance that there were dozens of people gathering, but in reality there were only sixteen. Kitty, hungry as she was, didn't take a seat, for n.o.body had told her where she belonged. It was Peg who finally pushed her into a chair and who introduced her to the personage seated opposite her. "Miss Leac.o.c.k, this is Miss Jessup's abigail, Emily Pratt."

Kitty examined the other abigail with interest. She was a woman of middle age with a pointed nose, watery blue eyes, and a head covered with corkscrew curls. The most interesting thing about her, however, was her way of carrying herself. If there were a single word with which to describe her, it would be "ladylike." The way she sat in her chair, the way she looked down her nose, the way she picked up her knife ... all these suggested the most exaggerated gentility. In the setting of the servants' hall, it seemed to Kitty that the woman was, to use an old saying her governess was wont to use, "putting on airs."

Miss Leac.o.c.k acknowledged the introduction with a mere nod, but before she returned her attention to her soup, she gave Kitty a look of thorough if disapproving appraisal. That's quite all right, Kitty said to herself, I feel the same distaste toward you.

Kitty attacked the soup with more eagerness than she'd ever shown for food in her life. And never in her life had mere cabbage soup given her such pleasure. In a moment she forgot the humiliation of the past hour and surrendered herself to the physical satisfaction that comes when real hunger is a.s.suaged.

But she was not to forget for long. Peg, who was seated just below her on her right, leaned over to her. "It wasn't right, y'know, no matter what Cook says," she whispered. "What wasn't right?" Kitty whispered back.

"An abigail shouldn't be made't' be a servin' girl. It's ... how shall I say? ... beneath ye."

"Then why did Mr. Naismith make me do it?" Kitty asked the maid curiously.

The girl shrugged. "T' put you in yer place, I suppose. Everyone's sayin' y're a bit uppish."

"Oh? Why do they say that?"

"I dunno, Emily. It's just a way you have. The way ye walk, with that toss of yer braid. An' the way ye talk, too. Sorta ... proud, y'know. Like an actress on the stage."

"Goodness! You don't mean that I put on airs, do you? Like Miss Leac.o.c.k there?"

Peg blinked in surprise. "Like Miss Leac.o.c.k? Oh, no! Everyone expects Miss Leac.o.c.k't' be uppish. She don't put on airs. It's sort of natural with 'er, y' see."

Kitty bit her lip to keep from laughing aloud. "Being uppish is natural to her but not to me, is that what you're saying?"

"I's'pose that's whut I'm sayin'. But don't feel bad, Em'ly. The way you are, well, I sorta like it, myself."

"Thank you, Peg, but I don't wish to appear uppish. Do you think it would help if I kept my head down-?" But Peg, like the rest of the servants, had turned to greet Mr. Naismith, who had entered and was just taking his place at the head of the table. "Well, that's done," he announced to Mrs. Prowne. "Not a flawless occasion, I admit, but we got through it." He sighed wearily and reached for the basket of bread. "I think this is an evening that calls for a bit of my special wine. Go up and bring me a bottle, will you, Jemmy?"

"I'ope the mutton pates was satisfactory, Mr. Naismith," Cook said, setting a bowl of soup before him. "Quite satisfactory, Cook. Mr. Toby praised them particularly. In fact, the whole dinner might have been satisfactory if a certain young person I shall not name ..." Here his eyes roamed down the length of the table until they reached Kitty's face. Fixing his stare on her, he continued: ". . . if this certain young person hadn't behaved in the rudest and most indiscreet fashion I've ever witnessed. Howsoever, you can all be sure I shall not again make the mistake of asking her to help serve."

"Then perhaps," Kitty muttered, her cheeks burning in offended pride, "you should not have asked that "certain young person' to help serve in the first place!"

There was a shocked murmur from the listeners, and Peg gave her a kick under the table. Mr. Naismith blinked. "What did you say?" he demanded.

"I said that perhaps I shouldn't have been asked to serve in the first place." Kitty's mind was racing with excitement.

Here she was, acting the role of a servant in the midst of a group of them who were born to their roles. If she was to be convincing, she had to learn to think as they did. What Peg's words had signified to her was that servants were each a.s.signed a very distinct rank and that their pride was affected if they were not given due recognition of that rank. Taking what she believed was Peg's hint, she lifted her chin proudly and said firmly, "I'm an abigail, after all, and not a serving wench."

The murmur grew to a gasp, but Naismith lifted one lordly hand for silence. "Are you saying, you greenhead, that I had no right to employ you at the table?"

Kitty ignored Peg's second warning kick. "Yes, that's just what I'm saying."

"Now see here, girl," Mrs. Prowne put in, "y're a great deal too free wi' yer tongue! Mr. Naismith has the right't' ask any one of us fer a.s.sistance wi' any task 'e chooses." "No, "e don't," Peg hissed under her breath. "He wouldn't of ast La Leac.o.c.k't' do it, would 'e?"

"You wouldn't have asked Miss Leac.o.c.k here to do it, would you?" Kitty -repeated aloud.