Luckily, before she felt compelled to rescue the poor youths from the torture they'd brought upon themselves, the Squire concluded his business with Luc and rose. Mrs. Gin-gold exchanged a resigned smile with Minerva, extended it to Amelia, and heaved herself up from the chaise. "Come, boys. It's time we left."
Despite all they'd suffered, the boys were reluctant to leave. Fortunately for them, their parents paid them no heed. The entire company swept out to the portico. Portia and Penelope peppered the Squire with questions, showering on him the eager interest they'd denied his sons. Mrs. Gingold climbed into her gig; one son took the reins while the other joined his father on horseback.
The Ashfords waved their guests away, then turned back inside. Minerva went off with Emily and Anne in tow; Luc disappeared into the shadows of the front hall. As Portia and Penelope were about to follow, Amelia looked toward the kennels. "I'm going to walk around and check on Galahad. He and his brothers and sisters could probably do with a gambol." She glanced at the girls. "Why don't you come with me? I'm sure Miss Pink will excuse you for another half hour."
"She will if we tell her we were with you." Penelope changed directions. "Anyway, you shouldn't take all the puppies out by yourself. There are too many to watch over all at once."
"Indeed." Portia swung away from the door. "And they're still so helpless."
Amelia grabbed the opening. "Speaking of helpless puppies…" She waited until both girls glanced at her. Held their gazes until comprehension dawned and they shifted and looked away.
"Well, they're just so irritating. And soppy about it, too." Penelope scowled in the direction the Gingolds had gone.
"Perhaps, but they don't mean to be. And there's a difference between being civilly discouraging and actively taking slices out of their hides." Amelia glanced at Portia; she was looking down the valley, her lips compressed. "You could try being a little more understanding."
"They're both older than us — you'd think they'd have more sense than to moon about us the way they do." Portia's chin firmed; she glanced at Amelia. "They can't seriously imagine we're flattered by such fawning."
Neither had had a younger brother; both Edward and Luc were much older. When it came to youthful males, Amelia had considerably more experience than they. She sighed, linked arms with Penelope, then with Portia, and drew them toward the gravel walk leading around the house. "They may be older in years, but in the arena of male-female relationships, boys, indeed, even men, are always backward. It's something you need to remember.
"In the Gingold boys' case, a little understanding now — and no, I don't mean being encouraging or even acquiescing but just dealing with them gently — may work to your later advantage. They'll likely always live in this area and may later be perfectly reasonable acquaintances; there's no need to give them poor memories of you. Furthermore, a little practice in dealing with male devotion, however misplaced, won't come amiss. When it comes your turn to make your bows to society, knowing how to deal with besotted young men…"
Amelia's voice faded as the trio walked along the path; from where he'd been waiting inside the front door, Luc risked looking out. The three were walking slowly, heads bent close — black, blond, and brown — Amelia lecturing, his sisters listening — perhaps reluctantly, but listening. He'd been waiting to try to make precisely the same points, but he would not have been been anywhere near as successful.
Aside from anything else, he would never have admitted to being backward in
the arena of male-female relationships.
Even if it were true.
He stood in the hall, the tension that had gripped him over the prospect of verbally wrestling with Portia and Penelope over their unacceptable behavior dissipating. With that fading, his mind returned to its usual obsession — that other female he'd yet to adequately deal with.
Suppressing a resigned grimace, he headed for the Office.
A week of long sunny days rolled by, punctuated by more visits as the families around about called to offer their felicitations and welcome Amelia. As she was already known to all, such visits passed in comfortable style, with easy familiarity. Outside such social interludes, a steady murmur of life filled the Chase — something Luc also found comfortable and familiar.
It was the way his home had always been, as long as he could remember it — the long corridors filled with the steady thrum of a large household, the laughter and whispers of his sisters, his mother's more measured tones, giggling from the maids, Higgs's brusque edicts, Cottsloe's deeper voice. To him, that murmurous sound — a sound containing so many other sounds — represented much of what he'd struggled for the past eight years to preserve.
The sounds of the Chase in midsummer embodied the essence of family, the essence of home.
And now there was another thread in the symphony, another player. Time and again, he found himself listening for Amelia's voice, listening as she interacted with, interjected, corrected and encouraged his sisters.
In company with Minerva, Emily, and Anne, Amelia returned their neighbors' visits, satisfying the social expectations. Both Emily and Anne watched and learned, taking more notice of Amelia's behavior than they ever had of their mama's.
The expected letter from Kirkpatrick arrived. Minerva was simply pleased; with the confidence of one experienced in such things, she assumed everything would go smoothly. And there was no reason it wouldn't.
Emily, however, was understandably keyed up; she started worrying over things that didn't need worrying about. Luc steeled himself to speak with her, to somehow allay her feminine fears — Amelia got there first, relieving him of the problem of dealing with something he didn't truly understand.
Emily responded to Amelia's calming comments, smiling and returning to her usual self almost immediately. Luc felt cravenly grateful.
He was likewise happy when he discovered Amelia encouraging Anne, not pushing, but supporting, which was exactly what he himself wished to do but couldn't easily manage. He was a male, after all; his sisters all had him pegged, although the manner in which each regarded him differed.
Which was why, when one night over the dinner table, Amelia stepped directly between him and Portia, he found himself reacting, not gratefully, but with a quite different emotion.
A dark glance, a flash of tension that flowed through him — although she now sat at the other end of the table, Amelia noticed. One brown brow rose faintly, but she kept control of the conversational reins she'd filched from his grasp.
However, later that night, as soon as they were alone, even before he'd brought up the subject, she did, explaining her reasoning, asking — outright — for his approval. He'd given it, for she'd been, as usual when it came to his sisters, right. Her insight with respect to them was more acute than his, yet when she explained, he saw what she saw and agreed with her tack.
Reluctantly, he stepped back and let her handle them, reassured when she grasped private moments here and there to keep him informed.