Page 2 of The Meriwell Legacy
Percy sighed. “She grows more eccentric every year.”
“If one lives to be her age, one is doubtless entitled to whatever eccentricity one chooses to claim.” When Percy said nothing more, Alaric glanced at the younger man. Percy’s gaze was fixed on someone in the crowd, but Alaric, following Percy’s gaze, couldn’t see who Percy was watching so intently and with an expression Alaric couldn’t interpret.
Although several years younger than Alaric’s thirty-seven, the Honorable Percy Mandeville had been a constant in Alaric’s life ever since Percy had been born. Alaric had only sisters, and with Percy’s brother considerably older, from an early age, Alaric and Percy had gravitated into each other’s company; they’d spent untold hours escaping from their nurses, tumbling through brambles, and falling into streams. Needless to say, Alaric—older, taller, stronger, and more confident—had always been the leader, while Percy, suffering from the tentativeness engendered by being a second and significantly younger son, had scampered in Alaric’s wake, much like a puppy eager to please.
Truth be told, Alaric suspected that the annual Mandeville Hall house parties Percy had hosted for the past six years—the present event being the latest—were simply another example of Percy attempting to emulate Alaric and, at least in Percy’s mind, copy Alaric’s lifestyle. Not that Alaric had ever bothered to host a house party; instead, he’d attended more of them than he cared to count.
Mandeville Hall had been made over to Percy a few years after Alaric had succeeded his father at Carradale Manor. In Percy’s case, it was his father who had inherited the title of Viscount Mandeville, after which Percy’s parents had decamped to the viscounty’s principal seat in Lincolnshire, and Percy’s older brother, next in line for the title, and his family had elected to remain at their home in Leicestershire.
Refocusing on the shifting crowd—more than twenty people in the Mandeville Hall drawing room definitely constituted a crowd—Alaric noted again the overtly assessing and, indeed, inviting glances thrown his and Percy’s way. They were both tall and built to make the most of the prevailing fashion; Alaric had broad shoulders and the lean, rangy build of a horseman, while Percy was two inches shorter and heavier through the chest. Percy possessed a mop of shining blond hair and a complexion that, as he aged, would doubtless turn ruddy, making him an excellent visual counterpoint to Alaric’s more dramatic appearance—his near-black hair, aquiline features, and pale, faintly olive-toned skin. Percy had once declared himself a true Saxon, or perhaps a Dane, against Alaric’s rather obvious Norman.
What am I doing here?
In truth, Alaric knew the answer. He was there in support of Percy, in acknowledgment of the long association between Carradale Manor and Mandeville Hall, between the Radleighs and the Mandevilles, and between him and Percy. He was there because Percy invariably invited him and he always came, and if he’d declined, Percy would have been hurt.
In Alaric’s mind, Percy still featured as the younger boy following at Alaric’s heels, eager for approval and encouragement.
Percy stirred. “I should circulate.”
“We both should.” Remaining stationary for too long would invite an approach and an invitation Alaric would have to skillfully decline without giving offence. “I’ll see you before I head off.”
With a nod, Percy made for a large knot of guests before the main doors. Alaric went the other way, toward the loose gathering of couples before the fireplace. He paused beside Guy Walker, a gentleman of similar reputation, who was chatting with Mrs. Tilly Gibson, who was attending sans husband, as were her contemporaries, Mrs. Prudence Collard and Mrs. Mina Symonds. All three ladies had been casting looks in Alaric’s direction; he kept Guy between himself and Tilly and, after exchanging various inconsequential comments, moved on.
There were two married couples present—Mr. William Coke and his wife, Margaret, and Colonel Humphries and his wife, Maude—invited to bolster the respectability of the event, given the nine unmarried gentlemen in the company.
“I say.” Monty Radleigh, Alaric’s cousin and heir, hailed Alaric as he was about to step past.
Styling himself as something of a sartorial maven, tonight Monty was resplendent in a fine gray suit worn over a satin waistcoat in alternating stripes of a palette of grays. Shorter than Alaric by a good half head, with pleasant but undramatic features and a figure tending toward the rotund, Monty relied on the perfection of his appearance and his unparalleled knowledge of who was doing what in society to claim his place in the ton. Surveying the company, he opined, “A very pleasant gathering, what? Nice mix of people, don’t you think?”
When Monty looked inquiringly at him, Alaric voiced a niggling observation for which he hadn’t yet learned the reason. “The only surprise is the two young ladies—Miss Weldon and Miss Johnson.” Finding Holly Weldon and her chaperon, Mrs. Fortuna Cripps, and Glynis Johnson and her chaperon, Mrs. Dillys Macomber, among the company had been distinctly unexpected. “I can’t recall Percy previously inviting unmarried young ladies, complete with duennas.”
Monty nodded. “I gather Miss Weldon is a connection of sorts, and her parents, perhaps not quite understanding the nature of Percy’s event, pressed for her to be invited.”
Alaric didn’t doubt Monty’s information; his cousin had an uncanny knack for unearthing such tidbits.
“Actually”—Monty shifted closer and lowered his voice—“I have to wonder if there isn’t some on-the-quiet romance behind it. Freddy Collins seems much taken with Miss Weldon, and there’s no doubt she’s a bright young thing.”
Alaric chuckled. “Beware, Monty—she might turn her sights on you.”
Monty blinked. “No, no.” Agitatedly, he waved aside the notion. “Not on the lookout for a wife. Everyone knows that.” Monty cast a faintly harried glance around; quite aside from being Alaric’s heir, courtesy of several inheritances from his mother’s side, he was also independently wealthy enough to feature on the matchmakers’ lists.
Alaric took pity on him. “As you say, it’s common knowledge that you’re a dyed-in-the-wool bachelor. But when a young lady attends an event such as this, one has to wonder why.”
A gentleman approached, and both Alaric and Monty turned to meet him. It was Percy’s older cousin, Edward Mandeville. After exchanging a nod with Edward, Monty promptly excused himself and went off to join some other guests, leaving Alaric with Edward, a situation with which Alaric wasn’t all that thrilled.
“I must say, Carradale,” Edward intoned, turning to stand beside Alaric and look over the guests, much as Percy had earlier, “I’m pleased you saw your way to attending. It eases my—and the family’s—mind to know you’re on hand to rein Percy back from any behavior that would constitute that one step too far.” Pompously arrogant, Edward continued, “The family and I are well aware you are one of the few to whom my cousin will pay heed.”
Meaning Percy wouldn’t listen to Edward’s frequent and insistent proselytizing on the paths of virtue, a reaction few would hold against Percy. Edward was the son of Percy’s father’s youngest brother, who had become a clergyman in the fire-and-brimstone vein. Following in his father’s—and indeed, his religiously devoted mother’s—footsteps, Edward had elected himself the moral guardian of the Mandeville clan.
Alaric had met Edward at various Mandeville events over the years but had endeavored to spend as little time in his orbit as possible. And in light of Edward’s remark, it seemed that Alaric’s reputation wasn’t quite as widely known as he’d supposed; Percy’s wildest and most licentious forays were but a pale imitation of Alaric’s previous deeds. Or misdeeds, as the case frequently had been.
Of course, Alaric had long ago attained the age of wisdom; these days, any wild and licentious deeds on which he embarked were suitably cloaked in impenetrable discretion.
Now he thought of it, Alaric felt that Percy was also beyond the age of needing to be reined in by anyone, but convincing Edward of that—especially at Percy’s house party with the inevitable undercurrent of seduction and suggestive hints of illicit interludes—would be a lost cause.
Alaric lightly shrugged. “I confess I was surprised to see you among Percy’s guests.”Did he invite you?
Edward humphed. “I heard from my aunt, the viscountess, that Percy was stubbornly persisting in hosting this yearly bacchanal.” Edward’s gaze fell on Freddy Collins, who had Caroline Hammond on his arm and was laughing uproariously at one of the lady’s quips; Edward’s lip all but curled with contempt. “I took it upon myself to journey down and represent the family’s interests. While my uncle, naturally, has said nothing on the subject, I cannot imagine he is at all pleased by Percy’s libertine tendencies. I thought it wise to have someone from the family on hand to ensure that nothing of an inexcusable nature occurred.”
