Chapter 367 - In Transit part 4

"You should wear the Garibaldi," Lady Harcourt said, quite out of the blue. "With the green velvet skirt, I think. The one your uncle likes so much."

"Auntie?"

"You know the one," the countess said, waving a hand distractedly. "That dress with all the pretty trim. I think it would go nicely with that blouse you got in the post this week. The Italian one Mr. Redding just delivered."

It was just after breakfast, about a week after they attended La Belle Helene. Nora and her aunt had gone to the hothouse to examine some flowers. Earlier that morning, the groundskeeper, Mr. Burroughs, had informed Lady Harcourt that the Generael der Generaelen van Gouda, an exquisitely flamed tulip, had just bloomed. The Generael der Generaelen van Gouda was an exceedingly rare flower. Imported from the Netherlands, the tulips had cost Lord Harcourt nearly nine hundred pounds-- and for just three bulbs! Lady Harcourt had invited Nora to accompany her.

"Whatever are you talking about, auntie?" Nora asked, genuinely perplexed. "Why should I wear the Garibaldi blouse and green velvet skirt?"

"Why, for the party, my dear!" Lady Harcourt exclaimed. She spoke in an exasperated tone, lips pursed, as if Nora were neglecting her. In fact, it was the first time her aunt had said anything about a party. But Lady Harcourt was like that when she was preoccupied. She sometimes believed she had spoken aloud when in fact she had only thought a thing.

Rather than take offense at her aunt's tone, Nora smiled and asked, "When are we having this party, auntie, and who have you invited?"

"Have we not spoken of it?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Oh! Well, hmmm… Lord Venport, amongst others."

"Lord who?"

"I'm speaking, of course, of the gentleman we saw at the Adelphi," said Aunt Minerva. She had taken Nora's hand on the way down to the conservatory. Now she let it go so they could pass through the heavy glass doors into the humid chamber. "His name is Guy Venport of the Sudbury Venports," she went on. "Third Marquess of Haltwhistle, I believe. Or was that Hereford? I forget which it is. It's a tragedy to get old, my dear. The mind begins to lose its grip."

Nora chuckled. "So you have made inquiries," she said.

"You're not getting any younger, dear," Lady Harcourt pronounced. "And I'd be remiss in my duties if I didn't find you a suitable mate."

"Marriage!" Nora sniffed. She had no intention of marrying soon, and certainly no interest in an arranged marriage, but she loved the old woman so she protested no further.

The atmosphere inside the greenhouse was dense and warm and moist. Condensation dripped from the fleshy petals of rare orchids and African violets. It rolled in glinting globules down the stalks of exotic bromeliads and tropical vines as if the vegetation was sweating in the heat. The twittering of birds and the trickle of a fountain conveyed a sense of openness, made the greenhouse seem more expansive than it actually was. The two women followed a curved stone path through the jungle-like growth, the sun a hazy disc beyond the steamy panes of the domed structure.

Finally, reluctantly, Nora asked, "And what else have you discovered about our mysterious gentleman?"

Lady Harcourt smiled knowingly. "He is recently repatriated from Darjeeling, where his family owned a prosperous tea plantation. He's the only living heir of his family's holdings, both his parents having passed away from some obscure and no doubt horrid foreign disease. And he is unmarried. There is some speculation he's returned to England to find a bride. A proper English bride, as well he should."

"Rich and unmarried?" Nora said. "He is a catch!"

"Don't be facetious, dear," the countess responded.

"One must wonder where the flaw in his character lies," Nora said. "He is handsome, a member of the peerage, and rich. The defect must be terrible!"

"So you still think our Lord Venport an attractive man," Lady Harcourt remarked.

"A pleasant veneer," Nora said. "I don't even know the man. For all I know, he might be an appalling bore. Or worse, an idiot. I can't abide a fool. They are always so loud and sure of themselves."

"My father always said, 'A fool thinks himself wise, while it is a wise man who knows himself to be a fool'," Lady Harcourt mused.

"He was very handsome," Nora admitted. "But handsome men, in my experience, are tiresome company. They only ever wish to talk of shallow things and never anything interesting like philosophy or science. Unless they mean to prove themselves more educated than you. That's even more tiresome."

"We'll know soon enough if he is more than just rich and handsome," Lady Harcourt said. "He's lodging in Chelsea with Duke Crowden until he can find suitable accommodations here in London. I sent a post to the Duke inviting him and his intriguing guest to dinner this Saturday. I received his confirmation this morning."

"Duke Crowden?" Nora said, and had to repress a shudder. She had endured the duke's company far too often in the brief span of her life. He was an old family friend, a member of the House of Peers and quite prominent in local society. He was also brutish, strange and much too liberal with his hands. And there was something in his eyes, something dark and rapacious that put her in mind of a spider. Whenever their paths crossed, she could not help but recall the poem by Mary Howitt. 'Will you walk into my parlour?" said the Spider to the Fly.' Every time she departed his company, she found herself desirous of a bath. Why no one else seemed disturbed by his perverseness she could not fathom.

"Why in God's good creation would anyone want to stay with that old satyr?" Nora said. In her estimation, it did not bode well for Lord Venport's character.

Lady Harcourt shrugged. "Perhaps the duke was a business associate of the senior Lord Venport. Or maybe he's a relative. I'm not certain why Lord Venport is lodging with him. Regardless, you should take care when sharing your opinion of men like the duke. He's served in the House of Peers for forty years. Twice as long as Lord Harcourt. And his father before him served nearly as long."

"Of course, Aunt Minerva," Nora said.

Lady Harcourt searched Nora's eyes, then squeezed her hand in sympathy. They came finally to a stop and Lady Harcourt released the girl's grasp. "There it is!" she cried, clapping her hands in appreciation. When she smiled like that, with such unaffected joy, Nora could see the girl she once was.

Mr. Burroughs approached, brushing his hands on his trousers. "Lady Harcourt, Lady Nora," he said, nodding proudly toward the tulips, "The Generael der Generaelen van Gouda."

"What a delight!" Lady Harcourt exclaimed.