“So did I. Apparently he found free trading more to his taste, however. Eustacie, if you are ready to return to Hand Cross, I shall do myself the honour of escorting your carriage.”
Bearing in mind her avowed dislike of him, Eustacie thought it proper to demur at this suggestion, and some time was wasted in argument. Miss Thane enacted the role of peacemaker, and finally the whole party took their leave of the Beau, and set off for Hand Cross.
When he had handed the ladies into their chaise, and seen it drive off with Sir Tristram riding beside it, the Beau walked slowly back to the house, and made his way to the library. His face wore an expression of pensive abstraction, and he did not immediately occupy himself in any way. He wandered instead to the window and looked out over the neat beds of his formal garden. His gaze seemed to question the clipped hedges; his eyebrows were a little raised; his hand went as though unconsciously to his quizzing-glass, and began to play with it, sliding it up and down the silk ribbon that was knotted through the chased ring at the end of the shaft. At this idle employment he was found a few minutes later by his valet, a discreet, colourless person of self effacing manners and unequalled skill in all details concerning a gentleman’s toilet. He came into the room with his usual hushed tread, and laid a folded journal on the table with a finicking care that seemed to indicate the handling of some precious and brittle object.
The Beau, recognizing these stealthy sounds, spoke without turning his head. “Ah, Gregg! That riding-officer.”
The valet folded his hands meekly and stood with slightly bowed head. “Yes, sir?”
“He described mademoiselle’s groom to you, I think?”
“Imperfectly, sir. He was struck by a resemblance to the late lord, but I could not discover that this lay in anything but the nose.” He coughed, and added apologetically: “That may be seen in Sussex—occasionally, sir.”
The Beau made no response. Gregg waited, his eyes lowered. After a short interval the Beau said slowly: “A young man, I think?”
“I was informed so, sir.”
The Beau bit the rim of his quizzing-glass meditatively. “How old by your reckoning would Jem Sunning be at this present?”