Page 44 of Miss Dramatic
She’d kiss him farewell at the mounting block. He’d promise to write, and he would write—to tell her that he was extending his stay in Town another fortnight.Keep well, darling wife, and my regards to the neighbors and your dear mother.
“Youaremelancholy,” Diana said, returning her hat to her head. “I have intruded. I shall leave you in solitude, shall I?”
“You will not abandon me, Miss DeWitt, lest one of those ferocious blossoms affix herself to my side and interrogate me on my views regarding the French succession.”
“I haven’t any views on that topic, but I don’t think the French people can be cowed back into putting up with the expense of a monarchy for long. Louis’s best hope is good harvests and plenty of them. We do have an abundance of guests with flower names, don’t we?”
“You do have opinions,” Rose said, “and they are sensible. Flower names aren’t so bad, once you get used to all the jokes about having thorns or smelling sweet or your proper place being in the garden.”
Diana tied her ribbons in a loose bow and left the ends trailing over her bosom. “Who said such a dreadful thing to you?”
Dane, when in his cups. He’d been a tedious and sullen drunk. “Nobody in particular. Shall we find a place on the terrace? I believe Mr. Drysdale’s recitations will soon start.”
The light was waning as the sun dropped behind the increasingly impressive bank of clouds, celestial beams piercing through rose and gray. More footmen, augmented by a complement of gardeners or grooms, were lighting torches and moving the punchbowl from the buffet tent to the terrace.
“I’m sure Mr. Drysdale is very talented,” Diana said, rising, “but he won’t hold a patch on Gav, I can promise you that. My brother’s gift is magical.”
Rose resisted the impulse to hug Diana and instead accompanied her up the steps. Other guests had taken the same notion, and the benches and chairs were soon full of a rustling, chatting audience.
“Everybody’s here,” Diana whispered. “The whole village wanted a chance to look over Lissa’s fancy guests. The blossom ladies have been to the shops, but Mrs. Pevinger, Mrs. Dabney, and Mrs. Vicar wanted to form their own impressions.”
“Your leading lights?”
“After Amaryllis and Lady Phillip. We’ve never really had leading lights in Crosspatch before. Now we have leading lights and professional players. Who needs London?”
“I have little use of the place, though the shopping is impressive.”
Diana patted her arm. “I like you. I knew I would. Gav likes you, and he’s very discerning, for all his charm.”
That exchange banished the last of Rose’s lingering doldrums, though she couldn’t put her finger on what exactly Diana had said that was so cheering. Perhaps the girl’s general admiration of her brother or her acknowledgment of Gavin’s talent had done the trick, or her simple, unaffected company.
Diana hadn’t grown up doubting her own worth, certain in her bones that only by marrying the man of her mother’s choosing could she justify her existence.
Rose paid Drysdale only passing attention as her thoughts meandered along paths old and new. She joined in the applause at the appropriate moments—Portia’s speech, rendered in something of a falsetto, followed by the predictable Saint Crispin’s Day maunderings offered with much elaborate gesturing to the imaginary ramparts of Agincourt.
As Drysdale took his bows, Diana leaned over. “He’s not very good, is he? Not compared to Gavin.”
“Drysdale is the humbler talent, I agree.”
The clapping subsided, and Lady Tavistock announced that refreshments would be served in the library for all in attendance. She offered a particular welcome to her guests from the village and encouraged people not to stand on ceremony lest the tea get cold.
“I’d like to hear a speech or two from our Master Gavin,” Mrs. Pevinger called as people began to rise.
“Go on, Gav,” somebody cried. “Show ’em how we do it here in Crosspatch!”
The guests hovered, clearly wanting to see if Gavin would accept the challenge, but also willing to enjoy more food and drink.
“I must refuse the honor,” Gavin called. “Drysdale himself taught me that to perform without rehearsing is a recipe for disaster, and I am very much unprepared. Shall we withdraw to the library?”
Tavistock soon had Mrs. Vicar on his arm. Lady Duncannon, the ranking guest, was relegated to Lord Phillip’s escort, and the rest of the company milled and shuffled and chatted their way into the house, while Rose remained on the terrace with Diana.
“Gavin was being polite,” Diana said. “He could do Saint Crispin, ‘To be or not to be,’ plus ‘Friends, Romans, countrymen’by heart in his sleep. He probably has.”
He did mutter the occasional line while dreaming. He’d startled Rose half out of her bed the first time that had happened.
“I’m glad he demurred,” Rose replied. “Upstaging Drysdale would have been inconsiderate of the man himself and of our hostesses. Was that thunder?”
“Oh, probably. Mr. Dabney’s knees never lie, and he said the weather would soon turn. Come along, and we can make Gavin fetch us some cake. He would have done ‘But soft! What light through yonder window breaks’ for you, Mrs. Roberts. Depend upon it.”
