Episode 69

Dress for Dinner

A coach was sent for Sir Peter Stokes the following afternoon to bring him to the house where Arabella and her father greeted him at the front entrance to welcome him to their home.

The visitor was accompanied by a stubby man named Torrance who served as his valet and who insisted on handling all of the doctor’s baggage. Also traveling with him was a prissy Frenchman about her father’s age and a young man named Stewart Humphries. They were introduced, respectively, as Professor Jean-Claude Archambeau and his protégé. The Frenchman, unsurprisingly, was gruff and aloof and rarely seen without a lit cohiba in his hand or mouth. His student was a chinless specimen with large eyes made larger by a pair of thick-lensed spectacles.

Sir Peter himself was a slender man who appeared to be used to the finer things in life. His suits were silk and impeccably tailored. His silver-gray hair was perfectly combed beneath his topper, as were the mustaches that occupied his long upper lip. He appeared to be dressed more for attending an opera than for a long train ride up from the city. That he was a man used to being pampered was confirmed when he bowed to take Arabella’s hand and plant an austere kiss on the back of it. The strong scent of cologne came off him.

“Thank you so much for allowing us to be your guests, my dear,” Sir Peter said upon releasing her hand. “This a most charming home.”

“It’s my father holds the title, not I,” she said.

“A man may own a house,” he replied with a condescending smile. “But it is a woman who makes it a home.”

And thus, Arabella was put in her place, albeit in the most courteous, blameless way imaginable. She was a woman, a girl, and acknowledged and dismissed all with one remark. She decided in an instant that she did not care for this Sir Peter. But, in honor of her father’s respect for the man, she would keep a civil tongue.

“Thank you, Sir Peter,” she said with a wintery smile.

The men were already engaged in conversation as they entered the house. Travers, the butler and major domo of the house, held the door personally. The butler stood with chest puffed out and an admiring gleam in his eye. Here, at last was an occupant of the house, no matter how temporary, that he could approve of. To his eyes, this Sir Peter Stokes was of quality, unlike the Indian upstarts who presumed the earldom. Arabella followed the men into the house, offering Travers an insolent squint as she passed him.

Father was anxious to show off his creature to company, but Sir Peter begged to be allowed to rest before dressing for dinner. There would be plenty of time, he insisted, to inspect his host’s finding in the evening. Lord Huntoun concealed his disappointment and allowed Travers to escort the guests upstairs to their assigned rooms.

Once they were out of sight and earshot, Arabella’s father turned to her with a degree of alarm.

“They dress for dinner!” he said, aghast.

“Damn them,” she sighed.

“Language, Pansy!”

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