“You did not even come home last night, Harry,” Lady Abigail remarked rather obviously, her eyes moving over him from head to toe with open disapproval.
“I would dashed well hope not,” he said. “I would hardly be returning from a morning ride dressed like this, would I? Why the devil did Brumford have to choose today? And in the morning, of all the ungodly times? And why Archer House and not here? What the devil does he have to say anyway that cannot be put in a letter or conveyed through Mama or Avery? He does a great deal too much posturing and prosing, if anyone were to ask me, not that anyone ever does. I am of half a mind to get rid of him as soon as I turn twenty-one and choose someone else who understands that a solicitor’s absence is more appreciated than his presence and his silence more than his eloquence.”
“I must protest your language, Harry,” Camille said. “It may be all very well for your male acquaintances, but it certainly will not do in the hearing of your sisters. You owe Abby and me an apology.”
“Do I?” He grinned and then winced and grasped his temples with the thumb and middle finger of one hand. “You both look like avenging angels, I must say—just what a fellow needs when he has come home for a well-earned sleep.”
At least he had not said they looked like two crows, as he had when they first put on their blacks. Camille was darker haired than her brother, tall, very upright in bearing, rather severe of countenance, her features too strong to be described as pretty, though she could certainly be called handsome with some justification. Abigail had her brother’s coloring and good looks and slender build, though she was small of stature.
“Mr. Brumford will soon be awaiting us at Archer House,” Abigail reminded him. “So will Cousin Avery.”
“But what can be left to discuss?” he asked, releasing his temples. “He droned on for hours when he came here a few weeks ago, though he had absolutely nothing new to say. And why do the two of you have to go this time as well to be bored silly? I shall have a few questions for him when I see him, you may rest assured.”
“Which will perhaps be within the hour,” Camille said, “If you will but go and change, Harry, rather than continue to stand there clutching your temples and looking like a tragic hero. You would not wish Cousin Avery to see you like that.”
“Netherby?” Harry grinned—and winced again. “He would not care. He is a good egg.”
“He would look at you through his quizzing glass, Harry,” Abigail said, “and then he would lower it and look bored. I would hate above everything for him to look at me like that. Go.”
Their mother appeared behind him at the top of the stairs at that moment. He smiled shamefacedly at her and ducked out of sight. Their mother followed him.
“He is still half inebriated, Abby,” Camille said to her sister. “I wish Cousin Avery would put his foot down, but one knows he will not. Uxbury had a word with Harry last week, but our brother told him to mind his own business. Uxbury implied that he used stronger language than that, but he would not quote him verbatim.”
“Lord Uxbury does have an unfortunate way of saying things that set Harry’s back up, you must admit, Cam,” Abigail said gently.
“But he is right every time,” Camille protested. “Yet it is Cousin Avery who is the good egg. Harry gets away with altogether too much. He is wearing a black armband—a crumpled black armband—while we are decked out in black from head to toe. Black is not your color, and it most definitely is not mine. You are supposed to be making your come-out this spring, and I am supposed to be marrying Uxbury. Neither event is going to happen, yet Harry is out every day and night, sowing wild oats. And neither Mama nor Avery utters one word of reproach.”
“Sometimes life does not seem fair, does it?” Abigail said.
Camille turned away from the stairs to return to the morning room, where they had been about to take their coffee when they heard their brother stumble his way into the house. Their mother came into the room behind them.
“What is this summons to Archer House all about, Mama?” Abigail asked.
“If I knew that,” the countess said, “we would not need to go. But you girls have been starved for entertainment, and the outing will do you good. Your aunt Louise and Jessica will be happy to see you. It is too bad mourning precludes you from attending all but the most sober and dull of the Season’s entertainments. But if you are about to complain to me, Cam, that your brother’s social life is not as restricted as yours and Abby’s, then you might as well save your breath. He is a man and you are not. You are old enough to understand that gentlemen live by a wholly different set of rules from the ones by which we must abide. Is it fair? No, of course it is not. Can we do anything about it? No, we cannot. Complaints are pointless.”