The Courtship - Catherine Coulter [59]
He gave her a slow smile. “I would have been the one singing. You would have tried to seduce me.”
And she wondered if perhaps he weren’t right about that.
Lord Beecham strolled about the inn while Helen spoke to Mrs. Toop, Gwendolyn, and her taproom man, Mr. Hyde, who, Helen told him later, was an expert ale maker, but, unfortunately, also a coward, whimpered whenever anyone spoke a harsh word to him, and hid behind the ale barrels when there was too much commotion and too many raised voices. He was still behind the ale barrels when Lord Beecham came back into the taproom, leaned over, and ordered an ale.
He was impressed. Everything was clean, in good repair. The inn boasted two private parlors, each with a small fireplace and windows that gave onto the courtyard. The inn wasn’t overly large, though—two stories high, a stable to the left, cobblestones covering the outside yard in a great sweep. There was thick green grass where there were no cobblestones, a huge elm tree between the inn and the stable, and flowers everywhere. Her father had said that Helen’s victuals were the best to be had at any posting house in the entire area. The smells of baking bread from the kitchen made his belly growl.
An hour later, with Mrs. Toop ready with a skillet should the young men not obey Miss Helen’s instructions, Lord Beecham and Miss Mayberry left King Edward’s Lamp and went to the butcher’s shop. Helen remained in close conversation with both the butcher and his very handsome young son, Walter. When she came out, she was smiling and rubbing her hands.
“I’ve got him,” she said as Lord Beecham tossed her onto Eleanor’s back. “Walter is a very reasonable young man. He will treat Teeny very well. His father is fulsome in his appreciation that his family will be linked with mine through his son’s marriage to Teeny. ‘Teeny and Walter Jones’—it sounds pleasing to the ear. Now, we can get back to business.”
He pored over the Pahlavi leather scroll until his eyes were nearly crossing with strain. It was nearly five o’clock in the afternoon, teatime. He rose, stretched, and took himself to the drawing room.
While he and Helen drank tea, Lord Prith downed a glass of champagne and a luscious raspberry tart.
“I don’t know about Walter Jones,” Lord Prith said after Helen told him of her machinations. “He is said to have relieved at least six young girls of their virginity in the past year.”
“Oh, dear,” Helen said, and choked on a scone. Lord Beecham leaned over and lightly thumped her back. His hand stopped and he looked at his fingers, saw them twitching to caress her. He resolutely put his hand back on his thigh and drank more tea.
“He is too pretty,” Lord Prith said. “I don’t know about marrying our Teeny off to him, Nell.”
“I will give this more thought, Father. Thank you for your information. Oh, dear, I suppose I will have to accompany Teeny when she meets him, as her chaperone.”
“Oh, no,” said Lord Prith. “Send Flock with her.”
“He would certainly protect her virtue,” Helen said, grinning. “Of course he would also probably stick a knife between Mr. Walter Jones’s ribs.” She turned to Lord Beecham. “You are looking too tired, sir. Would you like to stroll around the gardens with me?”
“The gazebo,” he said. “I want to see the gazebo.”
It was a lovely warm afternoon. Lord Beecham smiled fatuously when he saw that lovely little gazebo sitting atop a small rise to the east of the hall. Helen was still thinking about Teeny with that lecherous young man, of whom she had absolutely no doubt she could make the most ardent and faithful of husbands, or she would have seen that smile of his.
“My dear grandfather built that gazebo,” Lord Prith had told Lord Beecham earlier while he consumed two glasses of champagne. “He used to say that my grandmama liked to sit there and watch the geese wheeze and paddle to the pond just beyond while she did her tatting. But I don’t know if that was true. You see, there was always this strange sort of smile on his face when he talked about that gazebo.”
Yes, Lord