Free Love Bade Me Welcome by Joan Smith Page A

to me.
    “So that is what you were saying about me, and I not here to defend myself but forced to sit listening while Jarvis refought the Crimean War. It was only the excellent wine that made it tolerable. And of course the anticipation of this pleasant chat we are having now,” he added, passing a smile along to each of us.
    Homer and Jarvis remained on the other side of the room. I felt it more polite that we all sit together, and suggested it.
    “We can listen to those two grouch about money anytime,” Millie objected.
    “Lady Blythe doesn’t care for our frivolity, Millie,” Cousin Bulow told her. “Shall we retire to your lair and discuss horticulture instead? I brought you the seeds you requested from London. Also a slim volume, which I have in my inside pocket. There aren’t many ladies in the country who could cause me to destroy the set of my jackets, you know.”
    “Maybe Davinia would like to come with us,” she suggested, but soon thought better of the idea. “No, she is coming to me tomorrow. I have to spread out my treats. Nobody ever visits me. I might as well be dead. I soon will be.”
    “You’ll live forever, you witch,” Bulow said, laughing, and going along with her.
    As I watched them leave, his arm still around her, I felt more kindly disposed towards him. His interests were not in stride with my own, but at heart he was a well-intentioned man. I softened to him, and soon found even his interests acceptable. There was nothing wrong in liking culture, nor with a handsome young bachelor being keen on fashion. He would settle down to more serious matters when he married.
    “How did you hit it off with Cousin Bulow?” Jarvis asked, regarding me from beneath his white brows. He looked like a gnome, with the lamp reflecting from his bald dome.
    “He is lively, an entertaining guest,” I answered carefully.
    “He is a great favorite with the ladies. I like him too. I used to be one of his mama’s beaux, so I keep a fatherly eye on him to see he doesn’t run astray.”
    Homer sat listening, but contributing nothing. He looked not so much disapproving as disinterested in the cousin. As I was with them, they did not discuss farming, but London. I was a little familiar with it after my visit there with Norman. Jarvis knew it intimately, and its famous inhabitants, too. Knowing my fondness for the Queen, he regaled me with some intimate glimpses into her life.
    When Bulow returned, he had to leave very soon. It was not late, but he mentioned visiting the Croffts. “You must all come over to the Barrows for dinner soon,” he added. “Mama looks forward to meeting Davinia. She goes about very little,” he explained, just when I was wondering why she had not come with him this evening. “The rheumatism plagues her. She sends her kindest regards.”
    “I look forward to meeting her,” I answered.
    “We’ll drop in one of these days,” Homer told him, “when time and weather permit.”
    “I shan’t wait that long, Homer. Time never permits you to pay a purely social call. If I don’t see you before Sunday, I shall be back myself,” he warned, with a warm smile to me.
    “Why don’t you bring Miss Crofft along?” Homer asked. There was some undercurrent of malice in his voice, or perhaps mischief is all I mean.
    “I’ll tell her you are eager for her company, Homer,” Bulow replied, with a playful lift of his brow. “She won’t be sorry to hear it, if I know anything. And it will give me an opportunity to get Davinia to myself too. You have the advantage of me, keeping her under your roof. Good night, all.”
    With an exaggerated sweep of a bow, he was gone. Jarvis shook his head and smiled. “You’re no match for him, Homer. His wits are greased lightning. And you, of course, are only thunder.”
    “Sound and fury, signifying nothing,” Homer added.
    “That was not said of thunder, but of life,” Jarvis objected.
    “Pardon me, I haven’t much time to read the Bible these