Miss Watkinson was smiling graciously upon him, preening at the flattering words, which she clearly felt as her due. “Delighted, Mr Giffard, and you must come to Sandsfoot Castle with us tomorrow, if the weather holds. We had arranged all for today but were prevented by several unavoidable circumstances.”
Giff was not about to commit himself to anything. “Indeed, ma’am? What is Sandsfoot Castle?”
“A ruin, sir, and one of the unmissable sights of Weymouth. You must come, I insist upon it.” Turning back to the other fellow, she put up a finger. “But the weather, Mr Rodber? What have your sources to say?”
“As far as I have been able to ascertain, dear lady, we are to expect sunshine for the next several days.”
“Excellent. Then I may enjoin our friends to regroup tomorrow. We must hope Lady Tarporley is sufficiently recovered to release her son and daughter for the event. And Mrs Dicker must manage without poor Miss Leigh. That girl is very much in need of a treat. Miss Burloyne is already promised, for I caught her before she left the Rooms and secured her at once. I trust you will join us, Mr Giffard?” She tittered in a manner both irritating and familiar. “I warn you I shall not take no for an answer.”
But the moment he heard Delia was going on this infernal expedition, Giff had made up his mind. Exploring ruins? What better opportunity to get her alone? “I shall be delighted, ma’am, and must thank you for including me on so short an acquaintance.”
“Gracious, my dear sir, we stand on no ceremony here, do we, Mr Rodber?”
The man bowed but his lips compressed. Likely as the accredited leader of Weymouth society he stood on a good deal of ceremony, if the fellow who did such honours back home was anything to go by. But Miss Watkinson was again regarding him, with an intent look and a crease between her brows.
“Giffard? No, the name is unknown to me. But you look familiar, sir.”
“Impossible, dear lady,” cut in Mr Rodber, speaking in a lofty fashion. “Mr Giffard is but lately returned from India. None of us may claim prior acquaintance. Besides, he informs us his people were not wont to move in fashionable circles.”
This was not precisely what Giff had said, but he hoped it would serve to put the woman off. She might well have acquaintance with the Gaunts, for all he knew. His great-uncle claimed he had a look of his mother. The last thing he wanted was to have her name dragged up, along with the ancient scandal. His stepfather had ever supposed there must have been a deal of talk after their flight.
But Miss Watkinson appeared less than satisfied. “Still, I do believe you look like someone I have met, Mr Giffard, though I cannot think who at this moment.”
“One of these inexplicable resemblances, perhaps,” suggested Mr Rodber. “I must say it did not strike me, and I venture to think I am acquainted with everyone who matters in these parts.”
Miss Watkinson visibly bridled. “Well, and so am I, sir.” She cast a patronising smile upon Giff. “It will come to me, I dare say.”
Heaven forbid! Though if the confrontation he sought came about in this town, there was no saying what might come out.
“And now we must move along, ma’am, if you will forgive us. I venture to think Mr Giffard will like to be shown our further amenities, will you not, sir?”
Yes, the library! And immediately. But Giff refrained from saying so. “Your good offices are very much appreciated, sir.”
The battle-axe, bestowing a gracious nod upon Giff and a stinging look upon his host, passed on. It was plain she resented the dismissal. No doubt she locked horns with anyone who dared to cross her.
The Master of Ceremonies did not appear ruffled by the woman as he led Giff towards the vestibule. He tittered, lowering his voice. “If only females were permitted the task, I am persuaded Miss Watkinson would prove a rival to my position here.”
“You’ve been reigning for some years, I take it?”
Mr Rodber coughed. “I can hardly claim to reign, sir. Certainly not when His Majesty is apt to honour us with his presence. He has visited the Rooms and he enjoys the theatre. Not that his privacy is to be disturbed, you understand, especially when he takes his dip from his bathing machine. But he is perfectly affable if you should happen to meet him on his walk.”
It was news to Giff that the King frequented Weymouth. “Is he in residence?”
“We believe he is expected in a matter of days. He stays at the Duke of Gloucester’s house. His brother, you must know. He acquired the Lodge in the ’80s. We have thus had the inestimable privilege of His Majesty’s visits ever since.”
“That must have done much to render the place fashionable, I imagine.”
“Just so, sir. Where the highest in the land goes, Society inevitably follows.” A sour note entered his voice. “Though His Highness the Prince of Wales has rendered Brighton something of a rival resort.”
Fast overtaking Weymouth in popularity with the cognoscenti, according to Giff’s great-uncle. The rector had entertained his days of recovery with many a tale, bringing him to some degree up to date. Although he’d naturally followed events at a distance, and a good deal past their occurrence, from the journals from England that Matt eagerly perused. Giff had a sneaking suspicion his stepfather still missed his homeland, despite his success in India and the long and happy marriage he’d enjoyed once the scandalous divorce had set Giff’s mother free.
If he succeeded in securing his rightful inheritance, Giff planned to invite Matt to return. At least for a prolonged visit. His half-brother Charles was just about old enough to run the plantations in Matt’s absence.
But that was for the future. He brought his attention to bear on Mr Rodber’s explanatory footnotes about the buildings they passed as they traversed the Esplanade. Impatient to chase down Delia in the library, Giff sought his mind for some plausible excuse. He found one, interrupting without ceremony.
“I wonder, sir, if there are historic documents in the library here? The lady — Miss Watkinson? — interested me about this castle. It is a hobby of mine, you must know, to delve into such things.”
In fact he had little interest in ancient monuments, although he’d enjoyed playing as a boy around the terracotta temples at Bishnupur. But it served to divert Mr Rodber.