Love and Death Among the Cheetahs Page 2

  “Thank you, Hamilton,” Darcy said. “Good to see you looking so fit.”

  “It’s the fine weather, sir. It works wonders for my rheumatics after Castle Rannoch, which does tend to be just a tad damp and cold.” He gave a little nod of a bow before retreating belowstairs. Darcy slipped an arm around my shoulder as we went through the front hallway. “If only we manage to find a butler like Hamilton,” he muttered.

  “They are in short supply, I’m sure,” I whispered back. “They don’t make them like that anymore.”

  We opened the door to the ballroom at the back of the house. The room itself was not often used but it had French doors that opened onto a lovely terrace beyond. That was rarely used too, given the normal English summer weather. But we had held our wedding reception out there and jolly nice it had been too. The French doors were now open to the terrace and someone was sitting in a deck chair. Darcy gave me a little push. “You should probably be the one to let your sister-in-law know we are here.”

  “Coward,” I hissed.

  He grinned. “Just following protocol. It wouldn’t be right for a mere son of a baron to precede the daughter of a duke onto a terrace.”

  I stuck my tongue out at him and stepped from the darkness of the ballroom into the blinding sunlight. Fig was reclining in a deck chair, wearing shorts and a halter top of a rather lurid shade of pink, which matched the color of her skin and made her look like a large cooked prawn.

  “Hello, Fig,” I called cheerily.

  She sat up, startled, blinking at me. “Good God, Georgiana. We weren’t expecting you so soon. Ah well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “What on earth do you mean?”

  “Well, the marriage is obviously over. You’ve discovered the truth about your husband and his depraved habits. I knew you would. One has heard rumors, you know.”

  I was about to say that my husband was a perfect gentleman and I couldn’t be happier, when Darcy himself stepped out onto the terrace. “You’ve found out the truth, have you, Fig?” he said. “She’s left me for an Italian trapeze artist. My life is shattered.”

  Fig gave us both her “we are not amused” frown. “So what are you doing back so soon?”

  “My wife had a sudden craving for cucumber sandwiches,” Darcy said, pulling up a lawn chair for me, then one for himself.

  “Don’t tell me you are pregnant already, Georgiana?” Fig’s eyebrows rose.

  “Hardly, after four days,” I replied. “We were on a houseboat, Fig. We had all kinds of yummy foods and champagne and for three days it was heaven. Then the food spoiled or ran out, the ice melted, we bumped our heads on the ceiling too many times and there was no cucumber to be had for miles. So we beat a reluctant retreat.”

  “And where shall you be heading now? Back to that place you seem to have inherited in the country?”

  “We’re not quite sure yet.” I glanced at Darcy, waiting for him to say something. “We thought we should come here first and arrange to have our wedding presents shipped down to Eynsleigh.”

  “That’s certainly a good idea,” Fig said. “They have completely taken over our drawing room. Mummy called the other day and I had to entertain her in the morning room . . . in the middle of the afternoon!”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. “Where’s Binky?”

  “He took Podge sailing.”

  “Sailing? I didn’t know Binky could sail!”

  “It was a model boat on the Round Pond in Kensington Gardens,” she said. “Such a stupid occupation, if you ask me.” She paused, listening. “Ah, it sounds as if they are back now.”

  The sound of running feet could be heard. My nephew, Podge, came rushing out through the French doors. “Mummy, we had a race with another boat and we won,” he said.

  “They are only toy boats, Podge,” Fig said. “And completely at the mercy of the wind, or lack thereof, therefore don’t think any particular skill is needed to sail one.”

  My brother, Binky, followed his son out onto the terrace. He was wearing an open-necked white shirt and his face was quite red. “We jolly well did use skill to win, didn’t we, Podge,” he said. “You’re such an awful killjoy, Fig.”

  “I am not. I am merely a realist. I want the child to take pride in the important matters of life, not playing with toy boats.”

  “More than a realist, I’m afraid. You’re an utter dismal Desmond, old thing,” he said. “If you can find the one fly in the ointment, you find it.”

  Fig frowned and went to say something but Podge had already spotted Darcy and me. “Auntie Georgie!” He flung himself into my arms.

  “There you are, Binky. One afternoon alone with you and the child is quite out of control,” Fig admonished.

  “He’s pleased to see Georgie and Darcy, as I am,” Binky said. “Lovely to see you, old beans. Had a good honeymoon so far?”

  “Brilliant, thank you. It’s just that the houseboat wasn’t near any shops and we ran out of things to eat.”

  “So you’re going to stay here for a while, I hope? Jolly good.” He sank into another deck chair and hauled Podge onto his knee.

  “I believe they said they’d be taking their wedding presents down to the country house as soon as possible,” Fig said quickly.

  “That’s right,” I agreed, having no more desire to spend time at Rannoch House than my sister-in-law had the wish to have me around. “We’ll take a look at the presents and arrange to have them packed up and shipped.”

  “Quite a good haul you’ve got in there,” Binky said. “I had a little peek. Better than we got, eh, Fig?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. My aunt Esmerelda did give us that lovely aspidistra. Such a pity it died so soon.”

  Binky suppressed a grin. “We haven’t given you a present yet, I’m afraid.”

  “A present is absolutely not necessary,” I said. “Seeing that you gave us such a lovely wedding reception, and you walked me down the aisle so beautifully, Binky.”

  Binky went a little pinker than his already sunburned face. “Proud and happy to do it, old thing. I have to tell you I was a bundle of nerves, wasn’t I, Fig? Terrified I’d put my foot through your train or stumble into one of Their Majesties or trip up the steps.”

  “But you didn’t. And neither did I.” I smiled at him. “We must both have inherited a tendency for clumsiness from some past relative. It must have been a Scottish one. I’m sure Victoria and Albert never stumbled.”

  “She wasn’t allowed to,” Fig interjected. “She always had someone holding her hand when she came down the stairs.”

  “Anyway, coming back to wedding presents,” Binky said. “We wanted to give you something apt, but we couldn’t quite agree on what to give you.”

  “Seeing that you had inherited a very well-appointed stately home,” Fig said bitterly.

  “Fig was all for giving you one of the stags’ heads from Castle Rannoch,” he said. “A lovely gesture, I know, but I didn’t think it would look quite right in Sussex.”

  I just nodded.

  “I did think of naming our new calves after you,” Binky went on. “We are trying to up the quality of the herd of Highland cattle and bought a new bull. And we’ve got the first splendid calves. I thought we’d call them Georgie and Darcy.”

  “And then slaughter them,” Darcy commented dryly.

  Binky gave an embarrassed chuckle. “Crikey. I hadn’t thought of that. Bit insensitive of me, what?”

  “It was a lovely thought, Binky,” I said.

  Fig was still frowning. “What is that child still doing down here? Ring for Nanny.”

  “It’s almost teatime, Fig. I promised him he could join us for tea.”

  “Mrs. McPherson’s making cucumber sandwiches for me,” I said, smiling across at my nephew. “You like those, don’t you, Podge?”

  “I like cak
es better,” he replied.

  As if on cue footsteps could be heard and a footman carried out the first tea tray, with one of the maids following with the sandwiches and cakes. Tea was poured and for a while conversation lapsed as we worked our way through cucumber sandwiches, tiny meringues, Mrs. McPherson’s specialty shortbreads and slices of plum cake. As soon as Fig had finished eating she put down her plate. “Tea’s over, Podge. Time to go back to the nursery. Will you take him, Rose?” (This to the maid who had remained to pour tea.)

  “Oh, come on, Fig,” Binky said. “Give the little chap a chance to enjoy his aunt and uncle, for heaven’s sake. I had to spend my life alone in a blasted nursery. I don’t see why he should.”

  “You are becoming very argumentative lately, Binky. I don’t know what has got into you,” Fig said. “Very well, Podge. You can stay a little longer if you are on your best behavior.”

  “Where is Adelaide?” I asked. “Is she not brought down at teatime these days?”

  Adelaide was Podge’s younger sister, now a rather naughty two-year-old.

  “We don’t think the sun is very good for Addy, with her fair skin,” Fig replied.

  Binky shot me a quick glance. I tried not to smile.

  “So are you staying in London for a while?” I asked, changing the subject tactfully. “I thought you usually liked to be in Scotland at this time of year. You never miss the Highland Games at Braemar, do you?”

  “We were going to go home, but as it happened we have to attend a royal garden party,” Fig said, relishing every word. “The king and queen had such a lovely time at your wedding reception here that they insisted we attend a garden party at Buckingham Palace before they go up to Balmoral. They also invited us to stay at Balmoral, but Binky pointed out that we are practically neighbors anyway.”

  “Between you and me, I can’t stand the place,” Binky said. “All that tartan. Enough to drive a fellow mad.”

  “Be that as it may,” Fig went on, annoyed at his interruption, “I believe Their Majesties have finally realized that we are close relatives and should be included in family gatherings, which has not happened until now.” She was looking incredibly smug. Her face said “We’ve been invited and you haven’t.” “But after all, Binky is in the line of succession, isn’t he? Something you have renounced and thus you will probably no longer be part of their inner circle.”

  “He’s thirty-second if I’ve counted right,” I reminded her. “He’s hardly likely to become king unless there is a repeat of the Black Death and Castle Rannoch is the only place spared because it’s on such a ghastly moor.”

  “Stranger things can happen,” Fig said. “An anarchist bomb thrown into Buckingham Palace when they are all assembled.”

  “Or at a garden party?” Darcy suggested, giving me a wink.

  “Anyway, the British public would never accept a King Hamish, would they?” I chuckled.

  “Golly no. I’d change it to something suitable like George if called upon,” Binky replied. He was deadly serious. “George VI, I suppose.”

  “It’s only a garden party, Binky. Not a coronation,” I said. “Although I rather think you’d make a better king than the current heir to the throne.”

  “Old David is a good chap,” Binky retorted.

  “He would be if he were not under the thumb of a certain American woman,” Darcy commented.

  “He’ll put her aside when the time comes,” Binky said staunchly. “He’ll do the right thing. You’ll see.”

  “I hope you are right,” I replied. He had not seen Mrs. Simpson in action nearly as frequently as I had.

  “So I shall require your assistance, Georgiana,” Fig said.

  This was something unexpected. “In what way?”

  “You’ve been to these royal events. You know what people wear better than I do. You can help me decide on an outfit. I may even have to buy a new hat.”

  “I’ll certainly help you choose something suitable, Fig. Is it formal or informal?”

  “I’ve no idea. The actual invitations haven’t arrived yet. The queen just expressed a desire that we should attend but didn’t give us a date. Before Balmoral she said. That must be in the next two weeks.”

  Hamilton appeared at the French doors. “A letter for you in the afternoon post, Your Grace,” he said, handing a large envelope to Binky. “And one for you too, my lady.” And a similar envelope was handed to me.

  Binky opened his. “There you are, old thing,” he said, looking pleased as he handed it to Fig. “Exactly what we’ve been talking about. Garden party at Buckingham Palace on August third. Formal dress.”

  I had also opened mine.

  Their Majesties King George V and Queen Mary invite Lady Georgiana and the Hon. Darcy O’Mara to a garden party at Buckingham Palace on August 3rd.

  Underneath the queen had written, in her own hand:

  If you’re not still away on your honeymoon we do hope you can attend.

  I waved my invitation at Fig. “Surprise! We have one too,” I said.

  Chapter 3

  JULY 31

  RANNOCH HOUSE

  Spending the night at Rannoch House so that we can look at our wedding presents and arrange for their shipment to Eynsleigh. I’m so glad it’s only one night. Fig is positively furious that we’ve also been invited to the garden party.

  “Your sister’s face,” Darcy said to me when we were safely alone in our bedroom. “If looks could kill you’d be lying in a pine box by now.”

  “I must say I really enjoyed that,” I said.

  “And I thought I married a sweet and gentle little thing,” he teased.

  “No, you didn’t. You knew exactly what I was like,” I said. “You know that I’ve hit a couple of murderers over the head before now.”

  “That I knew,” he agreed. “But this malicious joy at baiting your sister-in-law?”

  “She deserves every second of it, Darcy,” I said. “She has made my life miserable from the moment she married Binky and moved into Castle Rannoch. She told me I was not welcome in my family’s ancestral home, persuaded Binky there was no money to be spent on me and even suggested if I stayed on in Scotland I should become Podge’s governess to earn my keep.”

  “Damned cheek,” Darcy said. “Especially since you outrank her by birth.”

  “That’s not what really irks her,” I said. “It’s that I’ve become quite pally with the queen—well, one doesn’t actually become pally with a queen, but she has come to rely on me to do small tasks for her.”

  “To do some spying for her, you mean?”

  “And to retrieve a stolen antique once.” I smiled. “The queen is not above subterfuge on occasion.”

  “So I presume you’d like to stick around London until the garden party?”

  “Oh gosh, not here,” I said, louder than I intended, and glanced at the door, fearful that Fig might be listening at the keyhole. “We could take the presents down to Eynsleigh and then come up to town and spend the night before the garden party with Zou Zou, if she’s in town.”

  Darcy nodded. “That sounds like a good plan. And what do you want to do now—given that you’ve had your fill of cucumber sandwiches.”

  “I want to look at our presents, but first I’d love a long hot bath,” I said. “How about you?”

  “Sounds like a good idea. I might do the same.”

  “In the same bath?” I teased.

  “Why not?”

  “Don’t be silly, Darcy. Water would slop over onto the floor and it would come through the ceiling and Fig would make a fuss.”

  Darcy sighed. “All right. You take the bathroom on this floor and I’ll use the one above.”

  “Only don’t lock the door.” I grabbed his arm as he went to get his towel. “Binky got himself locked in that bathroom and almost missed my we
dding.”

  “You never told me that.”

  “There are probably a lot of things I’ve never told you, or you’ve never told me either.” I slipped my arms around his neck.

  “Then we shall never run short of stories to tell each other as we get old.” He pulled me close to him. “When I’m too old for other things.”

  “You’ll never be too old.” I smiled up at him and he kissed me.

  A little later, refreshed, with clean hair and in clean clothes, we went down to the drawing room to examine the presents.

  “Golly!” I said, looking at the motley array of packages on all the surfaces. I frowned, annoyed with myself. I had sworn, when I became a married woman, that I would stop using girlish words like “golly.” “I mean, good gracious. There are rather a lot of them. I didn’t realize we knew that many people.”

  “I have plenty of relatives and friends,” Darcy said. “And you have a large extended family too.”

  Darcy had already started to tear the paper from one of the objects. “This is extra heavy,” he said. Then he paused. “Oh, how interesting. It’s a stag.”

  “A stag?” I hadn’t forgotten that Fig had wanted to give us a stag’s head from Castle Rannoch, where the walls are lined with an abundance of the things. I went over to him. “What kind of stag?”

  Darcy held it up. “It’s silver,” he said. “It’s quite nice but absolutely useless.”

  I took it from him. It was incredibly heavy. “Oh, I’ve seen stags like this before,” I said. “They are displayed in the middle of dining tables, usually at hunting lodges. I think we have several at home.”

  “Do they have any function? You don’t keep the salt inside, do you?” He turned the stag upside down.

  “No.” I laughed. “Their only function is to say ‘Look at me, I’m so rich I can afford to put these silver animals in my hunting lodge.’”

  “That won’t ever apply to us, I fear, but I expect we can find somewhere to display it—even if it is a bit out of place in Sussex.”