Christopher’s respect for his three young relatives was growing apace; even the most unlikely adults seemed to view the trio with abundant goodwill.
“There you are, Cousin Ermintrude.”
Along with the others in the circle, Christopher turned to see a bluff young gentleman come striding up.
Endowed with curly blond hair and blue eyes, he smiled good-naturedly at Mrs. Woolsey. “Thought I’d lost you, what?”
“Dear Henry.” Mrs. Woolsey gripped the young man’s sleeve. “You must meet Lady Osbaldestone’s son.” To Christopher, she said, “Allow me to present my nephew, Sir Henry Fitzgibbon of Fulsom Hall. Henry, this is Mr. Christopher Osbaldestone.”
Henry smiled and thrust out his hand. “A pleasure, sir.”
Christopher grasped his hand. “Likewise, Sir Henry.”
Henry waved. “Oh, just Henry, please. We’re all very informal here.”
When Henry asked the Longfellows how his nephews were getting on, Christopher realized that Eugenia, Lady Longfellow, was Henry’s sister. From the comments that subsequently flowed between Longfellow, Henry, and Major Swindon, it was clear that all three were engaged in managing small estates.
The conversation was winding down when four more young gentlemen—Christopher placed them in their early twenties—came strolling up and were greeted by all the others in the group.
Henry promptly introduced Christopher to Thomas Kilburn, heir to Lord Kilburn of Norwich, Roger Carnaby, heir to Lord Carnaby, George Wiley, heir to Viscount Worth, and lastly, Julian, Viscount Dagenham, who Christopher deduced was the eldest son of the Earl of Carsely.
From the corner of his eye, Christopher saw Drummond straighten and pay closer attention. While Christopher had discarded the notion of requesting support from either of the ex-majors, the younger gentlemen looked more promising. While he didn’t foresee any actual action of the foreign-agent sort, it was second nature to assess who of those living nearby could be called on if needed.
Through the ensuing exchanges, Christopher learned that all four newcomers were friends of Henry’s from their shared years at Oxford. “Although we’re all down, now,” George Wiley said, “we’ve decided to keep these few weeks as an annual get-together.”
“A time to catch up and learn what we’ve each been doing through the year.” Kilburn glanced at Henry. “We first came here for the weeks before Christmas…it must be four years ago, now.”
Dagenham nodded. “This is our fourth year visiting the village.” He glanced at Christopher and smiled, although Christopher noted the smile didn’t reach the viscount’s striking gray eyes. “There’s always been something fresh to learn, some new experience to expand our horizons.”
Christopher’s instincts pricked, although he had no idea why, other than that he felt certain there was something specific behind Dagenham’s apparently idle remark.
“Well.” Mrs. Swindon claimed her husband’s arm. “We must be away. Cheerio, all.”
That triggered a general departure, with the Longfellows walking away along a path that wended through the trees bordering the lawn and the Colebatches heading through the graveyard to the vicarage beyond, pausing to speak with the large group of youngsters still playing between the gravestones. Henry and his four friends solicitously escorted Mrs. Woolsey to Henry’s curricle, then the others piled into two other carriages, and they drove off in convoy.
Christopher noticed his mother regarding the departing curricles with a considering eye. “What have I missed?” he asked.
She smiled and glanced at him. “I was just thinking how mature those five are becoming. They were anything but, the first year they were here.”
He wound her arm in his and started them walking down the path toward the lane and the manor beyond. “Well, it is generally true that young men do, in the fullness of time, grow up.”
“Indeed,” his mother replied rather caustically. “But sadly, not all of them improve.”
Deciding he didn’t wish to attempt a riposte to that, Christopher kept his lips shut and walked on. He’d seen the staff go ahead, and a second later, the three children came pelting up and settled to pace and, in Lottie’s case, skip alongside.
Christopher smiled at the three, then glanced briefly back and saw Drummond strolling in their wake.
Consulting his instincts, Christopher realized that they and he had relaxed to a quite remarkable degree.
Indeed, as he faced forward, he registered that even Drummond was ambling in a decidedly relaxed fashion.
The effect of Little Moseley, he supposed.
Smiling more definitely, he guided his small party across the lane and on up the manor drive.
Given Drummond’s comments and the quality of the dinner Christopher had savored the previous evening, he’d been looking forward to Mrs. Haggerty’s luncheon, and she didn’t disappoint. The roast beef was succulent, the gravy tangy and savory, and the custard trifle a honeyed delight.
Christopher hadn’t been surprised when, soon after the children had joined them at the table, Jamie had asked, “Have you had Drummond as your man for long, Uncle Christopher?”
“You didn’t have a man last year at Winslow,” Lottie had pointed out.
“No. Drummond is a recent addition to my small household.” Christopher had looked at his mother, seated at the other end of the dining table—reduced in size to comfortably seat six—and held up the butter dish. “Butter, Mama?”
She’d met his eyes for a second, then smiled. “Thank you, dear. George, please pass the dish.”
Christopher ended the meal being even more grateful for Mrs. Haggerty’s delicious offerings. As the children had brought their appetites to the table and Crimmins had kept the courses coming, the trio had been too busy eating to instigate an inquisition on Drummond.
Regardless, Christopher didn’t make the mistake of thinking the three didn’t harbor suspicions of his recently acquired valet-cum-groom. And if the look his mother had bent on him prior to deigning to aid his diversion with the butter dish was any guide, she, too, suspected Drummond wasn’t quite as he was struggling to appear.
The instant the children’s dessertspoons clattered into their empty dishes, Christopher asked, “Did you learn anything exciting from your friends?”
The three exchanged a brief glance. “Only that the first practice for the carol service will be held on Tuesday,” Jamie said.
“We sing in the choir for the Christmas carol service,” Lottie explained.
“But we won’t join the Sunday choir until closer to Christmas,” George added, “when they start singing the Christmas songs.”
Christopher glanced at his mother. “I take it the choir for the carol service is a special one.”
The children nodded, and Jamie said, “It’s open to all the visitors to the village. We always join, and for the last two years, Melissa did as well, and last year, Mandy did, too.”
“I see.” Christopher vaguely remembered hearing that, the previous year, his sister Henrietta’s daughters had also joined the manor household for these pre-Christmas weeks.
“Henry and his friends join, too—just for the carol service,” George added.