Discreet Young Gentleman by M. J. Pearson

Author:M. J. Pearson [Pearson, M. J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Seventh Window Publications
Published: 2010-06-09T00:00:00+00:00

"Too bad you can't take your time, then," Uncle Silas said. "You can hardly throw a stone in the Cotswalds without hitting a spook. Black dogs, white ladies, hooded monks. And right near Tetbury, not five miles from here, is Chavenage House. One of the owners voted for King Charles's execution back in 1649, and the family's been cursed ever since. Each time an owner dies, a carriage driven by a headless coachman comes to take his soul to Hell."

"We don't have time," Dean said, not even looking at Rob. The side trip sounded delightful, but this attraction of his had to be curtailed before it got out of hand, the memory of last night locked firmly away before he could be tempted to repeat it.

Winning Minerva had to regain his full attention. Everything depended on it.

"It would be nice, though, wouldn't it?" Rob said, digging into his soup with relish.

"A ghost tour of England. Or, I always fancied a Compleat Angler tour. You know, go to Monmouthshire and follow the route Piscator and his friends took. Even after two hundred years, some of the inns may yet be there."

"Why not both?" Uncle Silas said, grinning. "Monmouthshire's sure to have plenty of ghosts, given the Monmouth Rebellion."

"Yes," Dean said flatly. "I suppose I can convince Minerva it will be a fine honeymoon trip."

Rob looked down at his bowl, but Uncle Silas leaned forward. "Tell me about this paragon of yours. Minerva who?"

"Minerva Lewis. I wrote about her two Quarterlies back, don't you remember? We met at a concert in Worcester last winter, and have been engaged since April."

"I remember a line or two saying you were engaged, but precious few in the way of details. High-born filly, is she?"

"I think her mother's father was a baron." Dean paused. "Maybe a baronet."

"Toast of the Season?"

"She may have had a Season in London a few years back. I didn't know her then."

Uncle Silas nodded, pursing his lips thoughtfully. "She must have an excellent character."

Dean folded his arms. "Minerva," he said, "is everything a wife should be."

"Modest, pious, and hard-working?" Uncle Silas asked sweetly.

"Of course," Dean said, voice rising. "And you know, she's held to be the prettiest girl in Worcester." "Ah," Uncle Silas said. "What color are her eyes?" Dean stared for a moment. Well, they certainly were not black as sloes, and lit from within with merriment and curiosity... "I, um...blue," he said at last, nearly certain he was correct.

"I see." Uncle Silas nodded at Rob. "That door over there leads to the cellar. We have a nice ham hanging down there, just near the bottom of the steps—would you be a dear and cut us a few slices from it?"

"Yes, of course." Rob rose, collected a knife from Holly's clutter, and disappeared behind the door.

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