Like No Other

Chapter 14: A Tour in the Pleasure Gardens

                                   

        There was no doubt that the enmity between mother and son would only intensify for the next days to come. Nevertheless, they’d managed to avoid putting themselves into passion, and whatever emotions swelled in their bosoms, they were well-hidden under frigid civility and terse utterances. But with the Countess indulging herself in a whirlwind of gaieties she’d missed in town, and the Earl making himself as scarce as possible, the two barely met in a day; and when they did, it was more likely during dinner, which was always a dismal affair. Amidst this unfolding imbroglio in the Stokeford household, the efficient Mr Philips had maintained his aplomb, but had been very keen on detecting errors around the house before it reached his lordship’s attention. My lord might be keeping his temper well under rein, the butler reflected, but he wouldn’t scruple to unleash it to the servants. 

        It was a little after six o’clock that day when the Earl had returned from a restless afternoon spent in his club. Robert had dropped by for a chat and drink, and his endless discourses had somehow alleviated Lord Stokeford’s mind from his current evils. But the moment he stood in front of the door of his townhouse, his humour drastically underwent a significant decrease in the scale. The lackey admitted him inside, and vouchsafed that the Countess was still in the premises. 

        Stefan received the knowledge without betraying any of his thoughts, but since he’d never seen even a shadow of her mother the whole day, politeness had induced him to at least check on her and to enquire how she’d fared. Thinking that the Countess was still on her bedchamber finishing her toilette, he decided to repair to the drawing room and await her there. However, instead of finding it empty, he saw a man dawdling about, and eventually stopped in front of the mantelpiece, peering at a dainty timepiece with his quizzing glass. “What the devil—!”  he ejaculated from the threshold.

        The gentleman looked up, dropped his quizzing glass and grinned at him. He was middle-aged, tall and portly built, with ruddy face and merry brown eyes. “Oh, only me, m’boy! Only me!” he exclaimed cheerfully.

        “Worse than the devil, then!” Lord Stokeford retorted, and demanded impetuously, “What the deuce are you doing here?”

        Not taking any offense by this rude reception, Sir Wallace Durbram only chuckled and said, “Good evening to you too, Stefan! Damn it, I’m your godfather, and your father’s friend too, so why shouldn’t I be here?”

        “Godfather be damned,” his lordship replied, not mincing his words. “You haven’t showed your face here for a year!”

        “No, not a year!” objected Sir Wallace. “Was here last August, don’t ye remember? It’s only June, so not a year yet! Besides, you ain’t staying in London for a year!”

        “I don’t care,” the Earl belligerently declared, “if it was a damned decade ago. Whatever brings you here all of a sudden is what I am concerned about!” He saw the quizzing glass being hoisted again, and aimed at him this time. Having no patience with this silly habit, Lord Stokeford snapped after the momentary scrutiny: “Well? Have you had your fill, sir?”

        “I see now, m’boy: you’re plagued, and that’s that!” the older man shook his head and made a clucking sound. “Should be nursing your megrims somewhere else, y’know!”

        Lord Stokeford chose to ignore this impertinent advice. He ran a scornful eye over his godfather’s person, making a crude assessment of his ridiculously tied neckcloth, and tightly-fitted blue jacket in which a button threatened to pop out. He’d never liked his godfather, but had fairly tolerated his constant presence in his life. Sir Wallace was a widower of many years, and since the marriage of his daughter eight years ago he’d rarely stayed in his estate, situated only a few miles south of the Stokeford’s seat. The late Earl and he had been friends since their boyhood, but Stefan was damned if he knew what his father had liked about this muttonhead who knew nothing besides being a curst nuisance.