Mater laughed, pulling a grin from Artemis.
Scott followed the two ladies into a simple but elegant sitting room. Inside, four ladies, likely four or five years younger than Scott, turned and watched their arrival.
Artemis saw to the introductions very quickly. In Mater’s case, they werereintroductions, as she had met the ladies before.Scott, however, was entirely unknown to any of them, and they to him. He was introduced to the O’Doyle sisters, who were likely twins, a young lady named Miss Mullins, who blushed on the spot and offered her words of greeting very quickly, and Miss Phelps, whose gray eyes watched him with an unmistakable air of wariness.
Scott was not a vain person, but he had often been told that he was particularly handsome, something he didn’t take any pride in. Being handsome was hardly an accomplishment; one was born that way, generally. And thus, he was not entirely unprepared for the gaping expressions that met him as he offered his bows in turn to each of the ladies. Their response didn’t last. It was more a matter of surprise than a permanent effect.
What he had never experienced was the suspicion in Miss Phelps’s expression. She, quite clearly, already distrusted him, even though he had said absolutely nothing beyond “A pleasure to meet all of you.” Some gentlemen might be offended enough by that to put distance between themselves and the one who distrusted them. Scott, however, found himself immensely intrigued.
“I suggest you simply accept your fate.” Charlie stood in the entryway with Scott some two hours later, grinning in amusement. “Artemis is determined that you will stay for at least a portion of the house party, and I have discovered it doesn’t do to argue with her. The Huntresses refer to her as ‘Artemis, slayer of men.’ I have chosen not to discover how accurate that might be.”
“I wasn’t planned on,” Scott reminded him yet again. “This is meant to be a gathering of your friends.”
“Let me know when you reach the part that excludes you,” Charlie said.
“You have your mother’s stubbornness,” Scott said.
Charlie grinned. “Thank you.”
Scott was warming to the idea of staying for a few days. He was all but bankrupt, and he knew no one in England outside of the Jonquils and his sister, so he’d not gone anywhere since arriving from America. His days were filled with anxiety and uncertainty and a growing feeling of despair. He sometimes escaped that for a time by making lists of possible solutions to his situation, none of which was pleasant or probable. He was exhausted and beaten down. And though he felt foolish admitting it, even to himself, he was lonely.
“I’ll likely seem ancient to your friends.” It was a pathetic excuse, but he wanted to make certain Charlie had the means of escaping the obligation.
“To Fennel, everyone here will seem ancient, except for the last member of the Huntresses. She, I understand, is the youngest of their group by a couple of years.”
“Fennel Kendrick?” Scott asked. He’d met that young gentleman, who often spent school holidays at Lampton Park with his oldest sister.
Charlie nodded.
Scott, then, wouldn’t be a stranger to everyone at the party. “I would enjoy staying for a few days, if you promise I won’t be a burden.”
Charlie slapped a hand on his shoulder. “An excellent decision and remarkable timing. I can hear the rumble of coach wheels. I’d wager our Cambridge-bound arrivals are soon to be at the door.”
“Why is it they aren’t at Cambridge now?”
“The new term doesn’t start for a couple of weeks. They will travel directly to university from here.”
Moments later, a coach came to a stop directly in front of the house. Almost as haphazardly as fledgling birds tossingthemselves out of the nest, three gentlemen spilled out of the interior. They were a study in contrasts.
Scott recognized Fennel. His hair fell somewhere in hue between that of his brunette sister and that of his golden-haired sister. He would now be nineteen years old or very near to it, but he looked younger. His expression was one of eager enthusiasm, but his eyes spoke of a person of perception and wisdom.
Beside Fennel was a gentleman with hair as black as jet stone, his dark eyes sweeping and evaluating everything. His scowl was hard but not truly threatening. He put Scott in mind of a pugilist more than anything.
As interesting as the glowering one was, Scott couldn’t help but continually look back at the third arrival, a gentleman who bounced about nearly constantly, with a grin that seemed to be a permanent part of his expression. He looked over the area as the dark-haired gentleman had but with an air of excitement rather than evaluation.
Charlie made the introductions with a casualness not often employed in high society. “Scott, this is Fennel”—the young one—“Duke”—the pugilist—“and Toss”—the one who did not hold still. “Fellows, this is Scott Sarvol. His estate is outside Collingham, near Lampton Park. He is one of Mater’s boys, and she’s here at the moment, so I suggest you all become quick friends.”
Toss bowed deeply from the waist. “We always do what Mater says.”
Scott liked him already.
With a friendliness Scott had not received outside the Jonquil family, Fennel shook his hand. “It’s good to see you again.”
Duke dipped his head to Scott. “Pleasure.” He offered only that one word, yet it emerged a little ominously. Not angry, not menacing, but somehow still a little forbidding. This gentleman was something of a contradiction and a mystery.
“Toss,” Charlie said. “Would you mind if you and Scott share a room while he’s here?”
“That’d give me plenty of time to convince him to undertake a little mischief,” Toss said, grinning all the while.