Aurelia tossed her head. As if she cared a fig for Mr. Ramsey's opinion. Let him turn up his nose at her taste in decorating if he wished.
"I believe Trueblood strained a fetlock on our canter over here," Justin was saying. "I consigned him to the care of your head groom but I could hardly credit it. You still have old Harley working down in the stables. Why, he must be upward of seventy years old by now."
"Oh, at least." Aurelia was vexed to discover she could not concentrate on Justin's words, so uncomfortable was Mr. Ramsey making her. After he trailed his fingers along the keys of the ancient rosewood pianoforte, his inspection of the room brought him over to the fireplace, in such close proximity Aurelia had to gather in her skirts to keep them from being trodden upon by his immaculate black Hessians. His cream-colored kerseymere trousers brushed up against her billowing yellow silk. With such closeness, Aurelia could not help remarking how his navy coat with mother-of-pearl buttons molded perfectly to his frame. Although he was not as tall and muscular as Justin, it was obvious the man had no need to resort to padding to fill out his shoulders.
"Don't you remember that, Reely?" Justin's impatient voice cut into her thoughts.
"What? I didn't quite hear you," she said. Embarrassed that Justin should find her so inattentive, she nervously ate another chocolate.
"I was speaking of the time old Harley nearly took a switch to me, the time I stole a ride on your father's best hunter."
"Truly, Justin, you were always involved in so many pranks, it is difficult for me to remember them all."
Justin looked remarkably handsome as he threw back his head in a hearty laugh, but Aurelia was unable to enjoy fully the effect. The devil take Mr. Ramsey! If he must ruin everything this way, the least he could do would be to sit down and direct his supercilious stares from some forgotten corner. She noted with dread he was now examining the collection of China jade figures assembled on the mantel.
"This fellow looks rather like a rabid bulldog. What is it for, Miss Sinclair? To ward off evil spirits?"
"If it is," she said, "it obviously does not work."
The corner of Ramsey's well-formed lips quivered, a ghost of a smile tipping his mouth. Then his features hardened into their customary sardonic expression.
Justin yawned. "Oh, do sit down, Ev, and let us talk about something else besides bric-a-brac."
"I should be only too happy to oblige," Ramsey drawled, "but I do not recall that I was ever invited to have a seat."
"Why, Mr. Ramsey, I—" Aurelia began indignantly, then halted in confusion. She had all but shown him the door when he arrived. Even considering her disappointment, such behavior was inexcusable.
She began to frame an awkward apology, when Justin interrupted, "Don't be such a cod's head, Ev. You needn't stand on ceremony here. Don't you know your aunt is Aurelia's godmama? Why, both the Foxcliff and Spencer families have been acquainted with Reely forever and ever."
"Yes, I am just like the Tower of London," Aurelia said dryly. "An ancient, well-known landmark."
Everard Ramsey emitted an odd, strangled sound. He muffled a sudden fit of coughing behind his hand.
"Oh, you know what I meant, Aurelia." Justin gave her a look of smiling exasperation.
"I am afraid I do," she murmured. "Please forgive me, Mr. Ramsey, if I have been remiss in my duties as hostess. Of course, you are quite welcome to sit down."
Indeed she was beginning to feel a little ashamed of herself for her uncivil behavior. The emotion quickly vanished when Mr. Ramsey ignored all the bandy-legged Queen Anne chairs and settled himself beside her on the sofa. The quizzing glass that had been fixed upon the mantel ornaments was now trained as mercilessly upon her face.
She hauled her stitchery up onto her lap in an effort to maintain a calm demeanor. How piercingly blue the man's eyes were, the deep vivid blue of the sky on a crisp autumn afternoon. And his hair. Strange that she had not remarked it before. Those glossy midnight waves absolutely refused to remain swept into the neat Btutus style so popular amongst the gentlemen. It must be a source of deep chagrin to the particular Mr. Ramsey.
"Your ability with the needle is remarkable, Miss Sinclair." The sound of his voice startled her. "However do you contrive to take such delicate stitches without looking at your work?"
Aurelia nearly stabbed herself as she realized she had been staring at him as intensely as he regarded her. She lowered her eyes, but she determined not to allow Ramsey to intimidate her further.
"It is all a matter of practice," she said. "Just as I am sure that is how you acquired your skill with a quizzing glass. Could I persuade you to level it at the carpet? I seem to have dropped one of my needles."
"Alas, Miss Sinclair, you overrate my ability. I have never been good at retrieving lost articles." But he did lower his glass, dangling it by the ribbon between two of his graceful, tapering fingers.
From across the mom Justin muffled a yawn. Aurelia feared he was bored by the conversation. His gaze traveled to the tall windows, and Aurelia knew instinctively he regarded the fields and the woodland beyond. It was perfect hunting weather. He shifted restlessly in his seat. It would not be long before he would be making his excuses, drawing his visit to a close.
Plague take Everard Ramsey! Aurelia forcefully jabbed her needle into the linen cloth and reached for another chocolate.
Ramsey leaned forward for a closer inspection of her work. "What is that you are sewing with such great energy?"
She was seized by an urge to shake him out his air of imperturbability. "It is a shroud," she said primly.
Her words had the desired effect. Ramsey jerked upright, his eyes widening. "I beg your pardon? Sewing shrouds—surely that is a rather unusual occupation for a young lady?"
"I like to be prepared. One never knows when there will be a sudden demise in one's circle of acquaintance."
The elusive smile played across his features. "If you are thinking of me, then you had best be like Penelope and take your time about it. I am made of sturdier stuff than you might imagine."
"I may follow her example and unravel a little each night," Aurelia conceded. "But I refuse to stretch it out twenty years for you."
Despite herself, she was beginning to enjoy the verbal sparring, when Justin rose abruptly to his feet, stretching his long limbs. "I warn the two of you, if you commence talking about a bunch of musty Romans, I will be off at once."
"Greeks, my dear fellow," Ramsey said. "The story of Penelope and Odysseus is from Greece."
Justin shrugged. "It is all one to me. I think it much better if we get to the purpose of my visit." He fished inside his waistcoat pocket. A look of annoyance crossed his tanned features. "Hang it all. I have forgotten the ring."
Aurelia froze, her needle poked halfway into a stitch. No! Surely not! Justin could not be meaning to carry on with his proposal, not under the critical eyes of Everard Ramsey.
After patting his coat pockets, Justin threw up his hands. "Oh, well, I can always bring the ring by another day. The important thing is to settle when the banns will be cried and set a date." He paused, flashing his most engagingly boyish grin. "By the bye, Reely, you do wish to marry me, don't you?"
Aurelia opened her mouth, but the words refused to come. She felt the color flood into her face, hurt, embarrassment, and anger warring within her breast.
Everard Ramsey heaved himself to his feet. "This is the outside of enough! Even for you, Justin." Ramsey took an awkward step backward, kicking over Aurelia's workbasket. The contents spilled to the floor, unnoticed by him as he spluttered, "To be making Miss Sinclair an offer with me sitting here!" An expression of irritation crossed his fine-chiseled features. "Ah, I see. It is another one of your pranks, Justin. You and Miss Sinclair are making a May game of me."
"Not at all. Aurelia and I are completely serious," Justin said. "Are we not, Reely?"
"Yes." At least, she was. She could not decide who infuriated her more, Justin, with his thoughtlessness, or M
r. Ramsey, who believed the mere idea of Justin marrying her would have to be in the nature of a jest. She started to rise, longing to give both of them a good set-down, but even after all these years, the icy voice of her mother echoed inside her head. A lady, Aurelia, never loses her temper.
She took a deep breath to steady herself, counting backward in French.
Ramsey glowered at Justin. "I think you might defer this to a more appropriate moment."
"Completely, unnecessary, sir," Aurelia broke in. Doubtless the fashionable Mr. Ramsey hoped that, in the meantime, he might be able to prevent his friend's becoming engaged to such a dowdy, unattractive female. She raised her chin to stare defiantly into Ramsey's blue eyes. "Of course, I will accept your offer, Justin. With the greatest of pleasure."
Ramsey's lips compressed into a rigid line of disapproval, which only seemed to deepen when Justin strode over and clapped him on the back.
"Excellent. Then everything is settled. Why put yourself into such a taking, Ev? Reely is not in the least offended by the manner of my proposal, so why should you be?•
"If Miss Sinclair is not offended, then she ought to be. Even in an arranged marriage, there are certain courtesies that ought to observed."
"Don't be ridiculous. Reely and I are old friends. Our estates march alongside-each other. Our marriage has been expected for years. Why, Reely is not in the least romantic. She would laugh in my face if I were to drop to one knee and spout a parcel of sentimental nonsense to her, would you not, old fellow?"
Aurelia swallowed before answering with a lightness she was far from feeling. "I don't know. It might prove quite useful if you were to kneel on the carpet. You might chance to alight upon the needle I dropped."
Justin chuckled, turning to flash a triumphant grin at his friend.
Ramsey's face settled into a mask of indifference. "It would seem the pair of you are well suited. Permit me to offer my felicitations."
"Too kind of you, I'm sure," Aurelia said with a brittle smile. Her satisfaction in having nettled Mr. Ramsey faded along with all her daydreams that Justin would somehow learn to return her feelings of love. When would she ever learn that romance was not for such a one as she? But maybe if Ramsey had not been present, Justin would have been more…No, she feared he would have proceeded in the same graceless manner. Justin would always be Justin, and there was nothing that would ever change him. Were not his unpredictability, his lack of regard for the conventions, all part of his charm?
A friendship, a marriage of convenience, was all he desired. She would have to learn to accept that if she meant to be his wife. Fortunately she had never worn her heart on her sleeve. Justin need never know of her love for him. Maybe she had not enough pride to refuse his offer, but she had enough to conceal that folly from him. She ate another chocolate and returned to her stitching, trying to appear as casual about the morning's events as Justin did.
The two men busied themselves righting her workbasket, gathering up the pincushion, thread, and skeins of yarn. Ramsey straightened, examining a small leather-bound volume
"You astonish me, Miss Sinclair. I would not have thought anyone as unromantic as you proclaim yourself to be would have a taste for Byronic poetry."
With a sinking sensation she realized Ramsey had gotten hold of her edition of The Corsair. It must have fallen out when the workbasket tipped.
"Oh, no! That belongs to my companion." She snatched it out of his hands just as he was opening the book to the flyleaf.
Ramsey looked considerably surprised when she stuffed the volume behind the sofa cushion, leaning against it. Better that he should think her a bit touched in the upper works than he should read that foolish inscription. How his lip would curl in scorn.
"I shall have to tell Effie to be more careful with her books," she said.
"Indeed." Ramsey hooded his eyes, the look in them unfathomable.
Justin rubbed his hands together. "I suppose I should hasten back to Penborough to convey the glad tidings to my mother and Clarice."
"Yes," Aurelia said wryly. "Only fancy how astounded they will be."
Justin laughed. "Alt, Reely, that is what I like best about you. You are such a jokesmith.-
"Truly. I am so amusing, I laugh at myself, sometimes." The words nearly caught in her throat. If only he and Mr. Ramsey would leave. Her smile was feeling strained, and absurd tears were beginning to prickle at the back of her eyes. She prepared to see the gentlemen out, but as she tried to set her needlework aside, she was appalled to realize she had sewn all the way through the linen into the fabric of her dress.
Amelia nearly groaned aloud. It was as if the Fates conspired this morning to make her appear a total fool. She settled the frame back onto her lap, hoping that neither Justin nor Mr. Ramsey—especially not Mr. Ramsey—had noticed.
"Forgive me if I don't see you to the door," she said, "since we do not stand on ceremony here."
Justin smiled, his mind apparently on nothing more than escape. He bent over and placed a chaste kiss upon her cheek, assuring her he would call upon her again very soon. The kiss was so far from what she had hoped for after his proposal that her heart did not even skip a beat.
She felt a surge of relief as he strode toward the door, but Everard Ramsey seemed determined to discomfit her to the last. While she sat with her hands draped awkwardly over the linen, trying to pretend nothing was amiss, the man lingered. Finding another spool of thread, he leisurely replaced it in her sewing basket before ducking into a low bow to make his farewells.
"Thank you for a most, er, interesting morning, Miss Sinclair. I hope we will meet again, soon."
And I hope you choke on your own cravat, she thought. Aloud, she said, "So nice of you to call. Good day, sir."
"Come along, Ev," Justin called from the threshold. "If I cannot ride Trueblood, I may need you to take me up in your curricle."
As though oblivious of Justin's impatience, Ramsey slowly raised one of Aurelia's hands and carried it briefly to his lips. Struggling to appear composed, she dared not move until the music room door closed behind the two men.
"Thank God," she said. No matter how disastrous the rest of the morning had been, at least she could congratulate herself upon having hoodwinked the sharp-eyed Mr. Ramsey. She relaxed, allowing her hands to fall back into her lap. It was then she realized Ramsey had somehow found opportunity for dropping an object on top of the stitchery.
Aurelia emitted a heavy sigh as her fingers closed over her scissors.
Susan Carroll, Brighton Road
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