“How dare you say so! Really, I’m out of all patience with you, Julian. If only you will be quiet and listen! Henrietta left school at seventeen, as I did, and we were both to have a come-out in London in the following spring. But Lady Melville died that winter — you were overseas then — so not only did Henrietta have to forgo her season in London, but she found herself taking charge of the household of Westhyde Manor. I believe Sir Walter was a selfish sort of father, totally absorbed in his own grief, and took some odd notions of economy into his head after his wife’s death. Henrietta had two younger sisters in her charge, Cecilia and Pamela, and she devoted her life to them. When they were old enough, they both made their come-out in London and made good matches, but Henrietta never stirred from the manor. Now she stays on in a house where she was once sole mistress.”
“But if she has so much to recommend her why has no one come forward to offer for the lady?”
“You must see that it’s not quite as simple as that,” replied Almeria defensively. “Henrietta is my own age, approaching six and twenty. Most men hereabout are already married or betrothed, and she has rarely been away from home. So you see, Julian, the poor darling might be very ready to receive your addresses. I promise you, she’s the most delightful creature, with a quirky sense of humour very like your own. As for the other qualities you mention — birth, breeding, experience of managing a household of consequence — she has them all, with amiability and common sense besides!” She broke off with a little gesture of distaste. “I don’t care to be speaking of my friend in this way, Julian! It all sounds rather like some odious business transaction, like — like buying a horse! Yet I would give almost anything to see dear Henrietta creditably established, and I’m sure there’s no female I’d rather have as a sister. And you are not so bad a catch, you know — besides being quite a dear, when one comes to know you.”
He bowed ironically. “Thank you, ma’am. You relieve my mind, for so far you’ve successfully managed to depress my pretensions.”
“Pooh! That is very likely!”
“I am far more sensitive than you describe.”
“I do hope so, else all is lost.”
“I only hope Giles has the good sense to beat you occasionally, vixen! It’s no more than you deserve. Well, I think I shall meet your female paragon and judge for myself, if that can be arranged before you return to Bath.”
“There’s only one matter,” said Almeria hesitantly. “You musn’t be expecting a female decked out in the first stare of fashion. Henrietta has never paid much heed to dress. She’s led a restricted life, as I’ve explained. But that could soon be changed if she became your wife, for she has ample means — her father left all the girls handsomely provided for — and it would give me the greatest pleasure in the world to assist her in choosing a trousseau!”
“So she’s a dowd, is she?” asked her brother ruefully.
“Now you are being odious again! You don’t deserve that I should introduce you to her. But I will, if only for her sake. There is no reason why we should not spare a few hours to make a call at the manor. Mama has Jane’s company.”
“And then they can talk uninterruptedly of Jane’s dear little ones. How delightful it will be, don’t you agree? I can hardly bear to miss it.”
“You are a wretched cynic,” remarked Almeria severely. “Only wait until you set up your own nursery. I dare swear you’ll be the most besotted parent of us all!”
Chapter II
Westhyde Manor was a pleasant, warm, red brick house with diamond-paned windows and tall chimneys. Henrietta was at work in the garden when a smart curricle swept into view along the drive and would have passed by on its way to the house, had not the female passenger suddenly espied Henrietta and urgently commanded the driver to rein in his horses.
The passenger quickly scrambled down from the vehicle and ran across the short expanse of lawn to Miss Melville.
“Oh, my dear Henrietta!” Almeria exclaimed breathlessly as she flung her arms around her friend. “What a fortunate chance to find you at home!”
“Almeria! You, of all people! I haven’t seen you this age! How do you do? And how is Lord Aldwyn? We heard that he had been unwell. Nothing very serious, I trust?”
“Well, I fear he did give us grave cause for concern,” replied Almeria, detaching herself and taking Henrietta’s arm to draw her across in the direction of the waiting curricle. “But I’m thankful to say he’s on the mend. I expect I shall be able to return home in a few days, but I could not leave without seeing you, my dear! My brother Julian drove me over — you must allow me to present him. I’m sure you won’t at all recollect him from those early days when we were still at school.”
Henrietta glanced across at the curricle’s driver. He was elegantly attired in a close-fitting coat of Bath superfine, fawn pantaloons, and an intricately tied cravat. Her gaze took in Lady Barrington’s modish blue carriage dress and high-crowned bonnet ruched with blue ribbon. Henrietta reddened, suddenly conscious of her own undistinguished appearance.
“Oh, dear, I’m in no case for company,” she said ruefully. “I hadn’t the least expectation of seeing anyone this morning, so here I am, dressed in my old gardening things!”
“Goose, as if it matters! We are come to see you, not your attire! I’ve been telling my brother so much about you — he’ll be delighted to meet you.”
Any delight the Honourable Julian Aldwyn felt on seeing Miss Melville was easily contained. Her gown, if such it might be called, was made of a serviceable brown holland, which had evidently seen several seasons, though the figure beneath it seemed trim enough. It was impossible to tell what colour her hair was, since it was concealed under an unbecoming, shapeless sunbonnet, which shaded most of her face. Only her smile made a pleasing impression. But he reflected ruefully that his sister had warned him not to expect a fashionable beauty. Whatever Miss Melville’s other virtues might be, her appearance would scarcely inspire a man instantly to thoughts of matrimony.
He began to regret having come, but there was no way now to make his excuses gracefully. So he bowed and followed Miss Melville’s directions to the stables, where he left his equipage in the hands of a capable head groom. He then strolled back to join the ladies, who were still standing where he had left them, chattering away like magpies.
Miss Melville conducted her visitors to the drawing room, introducing them to her sister-in-law. Sir Nicholas was summoned. He was a well-built man, whose good-humoured smile welcomed his former schoolfellow with a cordiality that compensated for his wife’s stiff civility. Refreshment was offered and, as it was a warm day, accepted, the ladies taking tea while the gentlemen preferred a tankard of ale.
Lady Melville busied herself with the tea tray. She was a good-looking woman in a frigid, aristocratic way, with high cheekbones, a classical nose, down which she often looked when she wanted to intimidate someone, and cold green eyes.
Almeria seized the opportunity to exchange some local news.
“You’ll remember Louisa Randall that was, Henrietta? Well, she is come to live in Bath; she’s been there three months or more. I chanced on her one day in Milsom Street, and since then we’ve been together frequently.”
“Why, of course I recall Louisa! I’ve had little news of her, though, since she and Mrs. Randall moved away from this neighbourhood after Mr. Randall’s death. The last I heard was that she had married an Irish gentleman and gone to live in Dublin — that must have been full three years ago. Is not her husband’s name Fordyce? Well, it’s good news that she is not so far off as formerly.”
“Louisa is alone now. Unfortunately, she is widowed.”
“Oh, poor Louisa, how very sad! And not so very long married! What was the cause of poor Mr. Fordyce’s death?”
Almeria shook her head. “She seems reluctant to speak of it, and naturally I do not press her. But I must say she does not appear to be overcome by grief, for she’s amusing herself tolerably well in Bath, going to ba
lls and parties. It may be that the marriage was not altogether happy.”
“Does Mrs. Randall live with her?”
“No, I collect Louisa’s mama died in January of this year. She lives quite alone in a pleasant house in Pulteney Street, close to the Sydney Gardens.”
“Alone? Does she indeed?” asked Henrietta, much struck by this.
Lady Melville, cutting into the conversation, requested Sir Nicholas to hand Almeria her tea, an interruption which was not especially welcome to her spouse, who had been hearing a lively account of Aldwyn’s experiences in the Peninsular War. Her quelling accents had the effect of putting an end to any but general conversation, so Henrietta was unable to learn anything more at present of the young woman who had once been a schoolfellow and close friend of both Almeria and herself.
After twenty minutes or so of the desultory chat that inevitably followed Lady Melville’s inclusion in a conversation, the visitors rose to take their leave.
“Are you to be staying long at Aldwyn Court?” asked Sir Nicholas. “If so, you must do us the honour of dining with us one evening, must they not, my love?”
Thus appealed to, Lady Melville condescended to second the invitation.
Julian bowed. “You are very good, ma’am. As for myself, I shall be fixed at my parents’ house for some little while yet, as I must attend to some duties of the estate. But my sister tells me she intends to return to her own family in Bath in a few days’ time.”
He glanced at Almeria, and she nodded.
“You’re to go so soon?” echoed Henrietta in dismay. “There is still so much I wish to tell you, and to hear from you! Would it be very selfish in me to beg for a few more hours of your company tomorrow afternoon?”
“I would remind you, Henrietta, that I have an engagement elsewhere tomorrow,” put in Lady Melville before Almeria could answer.
“Then you’ll not be obliged to sit through our endless prattle, Selina,” replied Henrietta, who had certainly not overlooked this fact when she issued her invitation. “Now pray say you’ll come, Almeria! We see each other so seldom nowadays.”
Almeria readily consented, relieved of the constraint of including Lady Melville, hitherto unknown to her, in their conversation. It was arranged that her brother should drive her to the manor tomorrow.
“Why not stay to dine with us later?” Sir Nicholas suggested hospitably. “No need to stand on points, Lady Barrington, just a family meal, y’know. Now pray say you will.”
“You are very good, sir,” Almeria replied, hesitating a little, “but I think perhaps Mama would not quite like it if I were to dine out, when I am obliged to leave her altogether in a very few days. I beg you’ll excuse me and understand how I am placed.”
“You are quite right, Lady Barrington,” said Lady Melville sententiously. “A mother’s feeling must always be considered.”
“Oh, to be sure, very true,” echoed her husband. “But there’d be no such objection in your case, I take it, Aldwyn? Since you’re to make a lengthy stay with your parents, I mean to say. Now do say you’ll take your pot luck with us, there’s a good fellow.”
Lady Melville graciously endorsed this invitation. It was an object with her to form an eligible circle of acquaintance in the neighbourhood and the Aldwyns, being the most important landowners thereabouts, came first on her list. Julian had little alternative but to accept.
“I think it a splendid arrangement,” commented his sister on their way home, “for you’ll have a better opportunity of becoming acquainted with Henrietta if I’m not there to monopolise her conversation. That’s to say, if that odious sister-in-law of hers permits you to exchange anything but small talk! Did ever you meet a more frosty female? I wonder an amiable man like Sir Nicholas should have chosen such a wife!”
“No accounting for tastes, when it comes to matrimony, m’dear. But tell me, did you make your excuses in order to throw Miss Melville and me together?”
She laughed. “Well, it did just cross my mind, you know!”
“Hm. You’re an artful baggage,” he retorted with a grin. “I may as well tell you at once, though, that your Miss Melville did not vastly impress me. For one thing, not to put too fine a point upon it, she is a dowd.”
“I must admit I’ve seen her appear to more advantage,” said Almeria. “That dreadful sunbonnet! But recollect that she apologised for that in the first minute. Not,” she added reluctantly, “that dear Henrietta is ever precisely a fashion plate. I did warn you of that. But I know that once you and she are better acquainted, you’ll like her extremely, for she’s a perfect dear. Moreover, she’s the very female to suit your exacting requirements, you unfeeling wretch! That is, if you haven’t changed your mind and decided that, after all, you’ll wait until you meet some dazzling female who will at once inspire you to a wild passion, in the manner of a romance!”
His face took on a grim look. “No fear of that, make your mind easy on that score. I shall undertake to reserve my judgment on Miss Melville until our meeting tomorrow. After all, I had very little opportunity of pursuing my acquaintance with her today.”
“I suppose you will say that is my fault, but I am doing my best for you! I declare, you are the most ungrateful man.”
“Not so much your fault as Lady Melville’s. I can see I shall have to contrive some way of getting the fair Henrietta to myself, if I am ever to discover these sterling qualities that you tell me exist beneath what might fairly be described as an unpromising exterior.”
“There are times,” declared Almeria indignantly, “when I could hit you! And smartly, too.”
He laughed. “My dear sister, you are most welcome to try.”
Chapter III
Although still far from striking, Henrietta’s appearance was certainly more creditable on the following day. She wore a plain grey gown, and her hair was so primly braided under a cap that no curls were permitted to stray onto her face.
Almeria rightly guessed why her friend should choose such a dull colour: Henrietta had not yet troubled to discard the half mourning into which she had gone six months after her father’s death.
When they had been chatting together for some time with the old, familiar ease of bygone days, Almeria ventured to mention this matter. They were quite alone, for Sir Nicholas had taken Aldwyn off to the stables to inspect his horses.
“Why am I still wearing grey?” repeated Henrietta with a shrug. “I really don’t know, for I don’t think it becomes me above half! I suppose I’m simply too lazy to set about providing myself with a new wardrobe. I wear whatever first comes to hand. Now that the girls are gone, there’s no one to keep me up to the mark, I fear. The thing was, you see,” she admitted awkwardly, “Papa took some odd notions into his head after my mother’s death — such as a positive passion for economy. It meant that our dress allowance was pitifully slender.”
“Economy?” echoed Almeria, with a creditable appearance of never before having heard of this matter. “But surely there was no need!”
“Not the least in the world. He left all three of us girls so well provided for that I can be considered quite an heiress!” She laughed, then sobered again. “I think, perhaps, Mama’s death perverted his sense. Such penny-pinching ways were quite alien to his former habits. The result was that I had the utmost difficulty in extorting money from him for anything other than the most necessary household expenditure. Why, he even withdrew from social intercourse with our neighbours, as you well may know, and became, more or less, a recluse. Altogether, the house became rather a dull place for two young girls.”
“Three young girls,” corrected Almeria.
“I never thought of myself in that category,” said Henrietta reflectively. “I suppose that having two younger sisters in one’s charge tends to make a female feel older than her actual years. Besides, I was never dull, I assure you. What with the management of the household and the lively companionship of my sisters and intimate friends, such as yourself, the time simply whi
zzed by! But I was most thankful for my sisters’ sake when Aunt Frayne offered to bring them out in London as soon as each of them reached a suitable age. Of course, Bath is only fifteen miles off, and they could have attended the Assemblies there, but a London season is vastly more exciting. And only see how well it answered, for they are both very happily married. My only regret — a selfish one — is that they live too far off for me to see them as frequently as I would wish. We do manage to keep up a lively correspondence, however,” she finished cheerfully.
“Have you considered making your home with one of them?” asked Almeria.
Henrietta wrinkled her nose. “Oh, no! What young married couple could wish to have a spinster relative foisted on them? I wouldn’t for a moment entertain such a notion!”
“And yet,” said Almeria hesitantly, “I dare say you must find your situation here a trifle difficult, now that Lady Melville is mistress of the house.”
Henrietta did not answer for a few moments, so that Almeria began to wonder uneasily if she had given offence. It was true that Henrietta’s letters had hinted at some difficulties since her sister-in-law’s taking up residence at the manor, but nothing had been openly stated. Perhaps it was a subject on which her friend preferred to maintain a reserve.
But Henrietta’s next words showed that she was, after all, prepared to confide in her girlhood friend.
“Yes,” she admitted presently. “It is difficult. I do my best not to upset Selina, but it’s the servants, you see. They’ve been so used to consulting me over everything. They are gradually accustoming themselves to the change, but there are still times —” She broke off and sighed. “I think, Almeria, I will soon be obliged to make a change. But what, I can’t think. I positively will not foist myself off on either of my sisters! Yet what else is there to do?”
“You might marry, my dear.”
“Marry?” Henrietta laughed shakily. “Why, I’m already at my last prayers — I’m almost six and twenty, as you well know.”
A Conformable Wife: A Regency Romance with a spirited heroine Page 2
