Miss Fortescue's Protector In Paris. Amanda McCabe

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       Chapter Four

      ‘And Lord Henry Haite-Withers is getting married! I’m quite sure you remember him, Christopher, he is the son of my dear friend the Marchioness of Barnsworthy,’ Beatrice Blakely said, her voice touched with barely concealed reproach. She gestured to the butler to bring in dinner’s next course as she told Chris of every bit of marital gossip.

      Was it only the fish course? Chris could have sworn they should be on the fruit and cheese at least. He felt as if he had been sitting there in the gloomy parental dining room for two days.

      It was ever thus with his monthly obligatory family dinners. The dining room was a cavernous space decorated in the dark greens and burgundies of the style of his mother’s youth, back when the Queen was a young mother and not grandmother of an Empire. Every corner was stuffed with tables of bibelots, porcelain figurines, old silver, vases of peacock feathers, and the dining table was laden with gilded bowls of fruit and flowers. It was draped in green damask, lined with rows of gold-rimmed crystal and platters, even when it was only he and his parents dining. It was all dark, airless, lifeless.

      Yet the decor was only the outward representation of the unspoken emotions that always hung heavy in the air. His parents had not spoken a word to each other in years, if they could possibly help it, and when they did it was only for his father to send barely veiled barbs at his mother and his mother to ignore them and chatter on to no one in particular about gossip. It had been thus for nearly as long as Chris could remember. Leaving for school, even with its cold baths and canings, had been a blessing.

      Matters seemed to have got even worse since Will left for his diplomatic postings abroad and married Diana Martin. Chris adored Di, she was the perfect sister-in-law, and had brought such laughter to his solemn brother’s life. Yet Chris still couldn’t fathom how Will had been able to take the matrimonial plunge in the first place. Not with such an example of connubial disharmony before them every day of their lives.

      Chris took a deep gulp of his wine. ‘Is he indeed? Old Harry... Who has he tricked into taking him on, then?’

      ‘Oh, Christopher...’ His mother sighed. ‘Lord Henry is quite respectable now, running his father’s estate in Devonshire. His fiancée is Miss Golens, a very pretty girl, I think. Perhaps you remember her from last Season? Mrs Golens, her mother, is very charming and she and I had rather hoped you might hit it off with her yourself. She really is very sweet.’ She sighed again and picked at her trout amandine. ‘But, alas, I think every good debutante from last Season is now spoken for.’

      Chris’s father, who had said barely three words since the wretched meal began, shot his wife a thunderous glance. ‘How many times do I have to tell you, Beatrice? Christopher is hopeless. He will never make a respectable marriage, never settle into any useful work at all. You should direct your energies elsewhere.’

      ‘Oh, one must never give up hope,’ Beatrice murmured.

      Chris, ever mindful of the careless façade he had to maintain, gave his mother a wide grin and drained his wineglass. He gestured to the footman for a refill. ‘I’ve been working ever so hard, Father. I go to the office for, oh, at least three hours every afternoon. It gets terribly in the way of what’s really important.’

      His father’s face darkened. ‘Your brother got you that job and you should be grateful to him! He has better things to worry about than his ne’er-do-well sibling, with his postings in Vienna and now Paris, a wife to take care of...’

      ‘And I’m sure a nursery to set up soon,’ his wife said hopefully, but her husband ignored her.

      ‘You should try to make William proud, not embarrass him—embarrass all of us—at every turn. If you botch up this position, it could ruin his chances for advancement,’ Chris’s father went on. He brought his fist down on the table, rattling the copious silver and china, making Chris’s mother cringe. ‘What other pursuits could be so important as bringing honour to your family name?’

      ‘Oh, you know,’ Chris said with an airy wave of his hand. It was always thus when he was with his family. They could know nothing of what his work was like, so they always disapproved of him. Always thought he would never fit in. ‘There was a prize fought on Hampstead Heath last week. Couldn’t miss that, could I? It was Big Jim Barnes, I won a mint. And the races. Ascot is coming up, isn’t it?’

      His mother gasped and his father turned purple behind his silver beard. ‘I will hear no more of such things in my house! And how can you afford such nonsense anyway? After that Nixson investment business last year...’

      ‘I didn’t lose a farthing in that business,’ Chris said and indeed he hadn’t. The Nixson business had all been a set-up through his СКАЧАТЬ