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his long acquaintance
with Master Desmond gave him, Jarvis had been wise enough not to
offer any more unsolicited opinions, but that did not prevent him
from continuing to worry.
    When Ravenel finally made his appearance in
the coffee room, Jarvis anxiously scanned his lordship's
countenance for some sign that his fears had come to pass: Master
Desmond was now engaged to Miss Carruthers.
    But the baron's heavy brows were drawn
together like a thundercloud hovering over the stormy darkness of
his eyes. His mouth was set into a hard line. It would be obvious
even to those who did not know Master Desmond well that something
had happened to vex his lordship.
    She must have refused him, Jarvis thought.
Intermixed with his relief was a perverse anger at the lady who
could have the bad taste to reject his fine young gentleman.
    As Lord Ravenel strode toward his table,
Jarvis pushed back his chair in order to rise. His lordship placed
a restraining hand upon his shoulder. "Sit, Jarvis, and finish your
meal."
    Ravenel flung himself into the chair next to
him and sent one of the waiters to fetch him a glass of ale. While
he waited for it to be served, he drummed his fingers impatiently
on the table. "As soon as you have finished eating, we'll be
off."
    "Very good, Master Des—" Jarvis broke off.
Even after all these years, he sometimes forgot to call his
gentleman by his proper title. "Very good, my lord," he
amended.
    While he picked at his beefsteak, he covertly
studied the baron, hating the unhappy frown that carved deep ridges
into Ravenel's brow. His lordship stared moodily out the window.
Beyond the latticed panes, Jarvis could see the party of the
baron's friends yet making merry beneath the oak tree, Miss
Carruthers the merriest among them.
    His master spent too much of his life peering
out windows, Jarvis thought sadly. He was suddenly haunted by the
memory of a much younger Master Desmond, trying conscientiously to
grapple with learning to manage a vast estate, all the while
stealing wistful glances to where his cousins played cricket upon
Ravenel's lawn.
    Jarvis coughed softly into his napkin and
cleared his throat. "I could not help noticing, my lord," he said
diffidently. "Am I to wish you joy?"
    "No, I am afraid not, Jarvis," Ravenel said,
his frown deepening. He took a large pull from his mug of ale, then
wiped his lips with a napkin, looking as though the brew had left a
sour taste in his mouth.
    "Never you mind it, Master Des," Jarvis said,
just as he had done so many times before when his lordship's odious
cousins had refused to include him in one of their escapades. He
added, "There is many a young lady who would consider herself
fortunate if you—"
    "I doubt that," Ravenel said with such a
bitter twist to his lips that it struck a dull ache in Jarvis's
heart. "In any event, I have not given up on Miss Carruthers
yet."
    "Then you mean to go with the others to
Tunbridge Wells after all," Jarvis said. Despite the pain in his
head and his certainty that his master's pursuit of Miss Carruthers
was not the best thing, he brightened. His master did not enjoy
himself in the company of other young people half enough.
    But Jarvis's hope was quickly dashed. "No, I
am still going straight on to Brighton. I told you that my man of
business is going to meet me there."
    "So you did, my lord," Jarvis said,
crestfallen. Business, it was always business with Master Des. His
lordship had been drilled with a sense of responsibility far too
early in life, with never a chance to enjoy all the follies of
youth.
    "Miss Carruthers will be in Brighton herself
within a sennight." Ravenel frowned again as though the prospect
did not entirely give him pleasure. He startled Jarvis by asking
him abruptly, "Have you ever proposed to a lady?"
    "Me, my lord? Good gracious, no."
    The baron looked rather disappointed. "Then I
suppose you have not the least notion how to go about it."
    Regretfully, Jarvis did not. An inveterate
old bachelor, it