The Byram Succession: A Regency Romance

by Mira Stables

  “Set your mind at rest, aunt,” she said, sweetly mischievous, “for I wouldn’t have him. The kindest of cousins, but not, do you think, a comfortable husband? His notions are so very fusty! Why, when Mama was telling him how it was the custom in her younger days for ladies to receive especially favoured gentlemen in their dressing rooms to advise them on the final stages of their toilets, he said he thought it was most improper. Poor Mama was quite taken aback. And not all her assurances could convince him that such a practice was perfectly commonplace. All he would say was that no wife of his would ever be permitted so to flout his authority. So when you say that he would not do for me, you are very right.”

  Since Marianne was the most gentle and biddable girl and would undoubtedly make a pattern wife, Aunt Emily was not deceived by this gallant attempt to deflect her attack, but she had recognised Damon’s annoyance and was very ready to accept the offered loophole. She made a fighting withdrawal, pointing out tartly that it was small wonder that Marianne was still unwed in her fourth season, so pert as she was growing, but put out a hand to draw the girl down to sit beside her on the couch and added in gentler tones, “Now you shall tell me all the news of your mother and Kit while Skirlaugh takes Miss Forester to see the sights. You’ll probably have to pay for the privilege,” she warned that gentleman. “There’s no decent respect these days. My guests, having to pay a fee to view the State Apartments! They don’t dare extort it if I’m with ’em,” she went on with relish, “but you can’t expect me to trail about with you at my time of life just to save your pocket. Be off with you, now, and don’t walk this poor girl off her feet.”

  Damon said mildly that he thought he might manage to defray any necessary expenditure without actually having to sell out of the funds, and that he would take every care for Miss Forester’s comfort. He then took Alethea’s hand and made his escape swiftly before his aunt could do more than snort and damn his impudence. Outside the door of the apartment he paused, loosed his companion’s fingers, and looked at her beneath quizzically lifted brows.

  “You didn’t mind, I hope? She’s in good form, the old tartar. Pray what was she about to question you so close about your parents? Does she imagine that the families might be connected? They are not, are they?”

  Alethea laughed. “Not to my knowledge. She was merely assuring herself that I am a fit and proper person to be a friend for Marianne.”

  He stiffened visibly, brows drawing together in outrage. “Then I make you my apologies. I deeply regret that you should have been subjected to such overbearing insolence while you were my guest.”

  She stared up at him, divided between amazement and amusement. He was not even aware, she thought, that his own arrogance was fully as great as his aunt’s. “Oh, do, pray, come down out of the boughs,” she said good-humouredly, much as she might have spoken to young Susan. “Your aunt did no more than any of society’s leaders would do if she was not informed of a newcomer’s background. She did it beautifully, and far more kindly than most. At least she did not enquire into the extent of my expectations! You make too much of it. Believe me, after six weeks in Town I have all the answers as pat as my Catechism. It is quite amusing to see how often it is brother Charles who takes the trick. He did so again, today, with your aunt.”

  “I did not know until today that you had a brother,” said Damon, his expression still far from amused.

  “Did you not? Well, he is a good deal older than Susan and me, and he is usually abroad. But for all that he is my greatest social asset. A clergyman for a father is merely respectable, but a brother in the diplomatic service commands much more attention. Which gives food for some interesting speculation as to the relative importance of this world and the next,” she suggested demurely, but with a sideways tilt to her head and a quivering dimple that invited him to share the joke.

  He had to smile. “It seems that Aunt Emily is not the only one with an edge to her tongue,” he told her, and his smile deepened as he recalled his instinctive belief that this girl would give a good account of herself in a battle of words and wits. The bleak look vanished, his anger dispelled by her sunny good humour, and he was just about to claim her sympathy for the raking down that he himself had got from Aunt Emily when she stopped short and put out a hand to clutch his sleeve on a long-drawn, “Oh!” of wonderment.

  They had come, in the course of their argument, to the head of the King’s Staircase. Damon smiled indulgently. She was but a child, after all, to be so carried away by the lavish display of the painted walls and ceiling. For his part, he did not know which he disliked more — the exuberance or the flat conventionality — but that was no reason to spoil the child’s pleasure in them. He held his tongue. And then saw the down-bent head and realised that she was not even looking at the paintings.

  It was the delicate wrought-iron balustrade that had caught her attention. With one tentative finger she was lovingly smoothing the curve of a leaf. Her voice sank to a whisper as she said, “So perfect! Just think of the infinite patient toil that must have gone to its making.”

  Once again she had surprised him. When she bestowed only polite praise on the concourse of classic gods and goddesses, his interest deepened. Her tastes were fresh and her own. At the end of an hour’s strolling progress she had lingered long over the mantel carvings in the King’s State Apartments, dismissed the classical paintings with a cool, “I daresay they are very pretty but I prefer the portraits,” and seemed, in general, more interested in the people who had lived in the rooms than in the faded magnificence that was displayed for the admiration of visitors. “It’s not a happy palace, is it?” she said once, thoughtfully. “Those poor queens of Henry’s! Well — perhaps Queen Jane was happy enough, though she didn’t live to enjoy her baby, poor thing.”

  And when at last they emerged to stroll in the sunshine, she heaved a big sigh and said, “It’s all very beautiful and romantic, but I think I like the gardens best. And I’m glad I’m just an ordinary girl living in modern times. This place has seen too much of tragedy and suffering. It’s oppressive — almost as if King Henry brought a curse on it when he stole it from his friend, for it seems as though no one since his day has known lasting happiness here.”

  “My dear girl! You mustn’t talk about kings stealing things in these royal precincts,” protested Damon, laughing. “It’s practically treason! King Henry would have had off your head in an instant. His Majesty was graciously pleased to accept the place as a gift. Come! Stop brooding over past sorrows or I shall regret bringing you. Let us see if you can find your way to the centre of King William’s maze. That will give your thoughts a more cheerful direction.”

  His prescription had precisely the desired effect. It was a laughing girl who finally emerged from the maze, a little untidy as to hair, to find Marianne awaiting them.

  “I saw your making for the Wilderness, so I guessed where you would be,” she explained. “Aunt Emily dropped off to sleep, but I daresay she will have roused again by the time we get back. Did you enjoy it?”

  By the time that Alethea had explained just how much, had washed her hands and smoothed her hair, Lady Emily was wide awake once more, obviously much refreshed by her nap, and insisting that they must take tea with her before setting out on the return journey. Her enquiries as to Alethea’s opinion of the Palace were met by a laughing rejoinder from Damon, who assured her that her guest was both a barbarian and a traitor. She had not liked the Verrio paintings above half, and she had actually dared to suggest that King Henry had stolen the palace from Cardinal Wolsey.

  “So he did,” snapped Aunt Emily promptly. “As for the paintings — never liked ’em above half myself. A lot of naked gods and goddesses sitting about on clouds — and most of them no better than they ought to be. Pity they hadn’t got something more useful to do.”

  This was much in Aunt Emily’s usual vein. Damon and Marianne exchanged conspiratorial smiles, and settled back to sip their tea comfortably, Marianne thinking how cosy
and pleasant Aunt Emily had made her little home.

  Her attention was once again devoted to Alethea. “I do not believe in allowing young girls to devote too much time to the study of history,” they heard her pronounce severely. “They would do better to attend to the domestic arts, so sadly neglected in these modern days. But one cannot live here” — she gestured widely — “without developing an interest in those who have gone before. Your King Henry, for instance,” she glared at Alethea, who almost broke into urgent protest to deny any responsibility for King Henry, “was a thief, you say. What else did you expect? Was he not born of an usurper? His father stole a kingdom — and cunningly disposed of any who might threaten his position. The son, less devious, did but follow the sire’s example, snatching whatever took his fancy, be it palace or bride.”

  “Dear me!” said Damon gently. “What a nest of treason! Such heat, Aunt Emily. You are frightening Miss Forester. Her eyes are like saucers.”

  “I’m not a bit frightened,” exclaimed Alethea impatiently, “but oh! so interested. I never knew that other people cared about these long ago kings and queens as I do. Even Papa is more concerned with philosophical debate about the growth of democracy. Lady Emily makes them seem so human.”

  Lady Emily chuckled. “Yes, my gel. But I don’t make ’em into saints and heroes. Kings and queens are just as faulty as lesser mortals, only larger than life because they have more power to achieve their ends.”

  “Do you not admire — venerate — any of them?” asked Alethea soberly.

  The old lady sighed briefly. “Venerate? No. Oh! Some have had admirable qualities, no doubt. Courage, tenacity, prudence, foresight. Maybe they have made the best they could of a difficult job. And I’ve naught to say against our Geordie — as decent a man as you’re like to find in a dissolute age, if a mite pig-headed at times. But I was bred in Yorkshire, where there are long memories and loyal hearts. There’s many a one in the north would say with me that England’s last true-born king was treacherously slain on Bosworth field.”

  She fell silent, brooding over wrongs three hundred years old, and the atmosphere she had created in those few brief sentences was not one to be lightly broken. Her young guests drank their tea in respectful silence until she roused herself suddenly, turning on Alethea with a pretence of scolding. “And what are you about, miss, beguiling an old lady to talk treasonably of a tragedy that’s best left buried? You are young. You should be living in the present, enjoying a little delicate flirtation, learning how to handle a possible husband without letting him realise that he is being managed, not yearning over some long dead king. Moreover you’ll think me an ungrateful wretch that bites the hand that shelters me.” She raised her tea cup as though to drink a toast and said solemnly, “King George — God bless him.”

  Chapter Nine

  As Judd drew the bays to a halt in front of the Berkeley Square house, Tina came strolling across the gardens on her way home. Alethea started guiltily. It so chanced that there had been no opportunity of mentioning the projected visit to her cousin, but she knew perfectly well that if opportunity had offered she would have done her utmost to look the other way.

  Well — she had had her lovely day. For the sake of her two companions she hoped it would not end in an unpleasant scene. For her own part, it was worth it even if it did.

  But Tina behaved beautifully. Forewarned by a careless remark dropped by Mama, she had been granted time to cool her temper and plan her campaign. She greeted them in the friendliest fashion, asking how they had enjoyed their day and then saying, with a pretty pretence of indignation, “Though I don’t know why I’m so forgiving as to speak to you, wretches that you are! You might have given me the chance of going with you. I can’t remember how many times I’ve expressed my desire to meet Lady Emily, so interesting as she must be with her memories of the past.”

  Neither could Marianne remember. Not one single occasion. But she was no practised dissembler. She faltered out some lame excuse about thinking that Tina would find it dull.

  “Nothing of the kind,” Tina assured her. “But I suppose I’ll have to forgive you, because I simply must show you my new bonnet. Even Mama forgot to preach economy when she saw it. You’ll spare her to me for a few minutes, won’t you, milord?” turning her sweetest smile on Damon. “Or better still, will you not come in, too? I promise not to keep you long, and Mama will want to thank you for giving our little Thea such a delightful treat.”

  Alethea’s eyes widened. She wondered how long she had been her cousin’s ‘little Thea’.

  His lordship submitted to superior strategy but retained sufficient sense of self-preservation to bid Judd come back for him in half an hour.

  Half an hour was quite enough for Tina. It took but five minutes to display the glories of the new bonnet. Then she and Marianne joined the others in the drawing room. In five more minutes, Damon found himself agreeing to make one of a party to ride in the Park next day. Marianne excused herself on the score of a prior engagement. She was not, in any case, very fond of riding, but was sure that Kit would be happy to take her place. Tina, hands clasped at her breast, face rapturous, vowed that she positively doted on the exercise and believed that ‘Thea’ would like it of all things.

  Alethea admitted to having ridden a good deal in the country. But she had never ridden in Town and doubted if her riding dress would be modish enough by London standards. Mrs. Newton, exclaiming in dismay at such a careless oversight, said that a new habit must be ordered at once, but that something respectable could surely be contrived for the time being.

  A trifle bored by this feminine chit-chat, Damon politely suggested that since there were a dozen or more horses idling their days away in his father’s stable, he might be permitted to mount the ladies, and ventured tactful enquiries as to their tastes and their experience. Tina gaily announced that she could ride anything and had a preference for a chestnut. Did not his lordship think that they were, in general, more spirited?

  Alethea, with every desire to take the shine out of her obnoxious cousin in the one accomplishment at which she knew herself to excel, said rather ruefully that, in so public a place, it might be wiser to choose a well-trained animal accustomed to carrying a lady.

  At this point Marianne engaged Tina’s attention with a laughing reference to one of her more dashing equestrian exploits, so that Damon was permitted a brief opportunity of probing this cautious statement. No, he learned. Alethea had no horse of her own. But Mama’s cousin had a sizeable stable, breeding hacks and hunters, and she had learned her horsemanship from him. She was thought, she added with shy pride, to have something of a knack with nervous youngsters. Cousin Crowborough had expressed himself much obliged for her services in this respect. In return he would usually find her a horse when she had time to ride. No. She did not hunt. Did not care for it.

  There was no time for more. Tina, finding that her sparkling account of a meet that she had once attended had failed to catch Lord Skirlaugh’s attention, broke off to assure Marianne that she did not mean to be boring on for ever about horses, and that they must certainly arrange some pleasure party which did not involve riding for her entertainment. Fortunately, before she could do so, Ponting came in to say that his lordship’s carriage was waiting.

  The exchange between Damon and Alethea had been brief, but his lordship was not deceived. He knew the reputation of the Crowborough stables. If Miss Forester had learned horse manège in that school, she was no novice. Recollection of the confident way in which she had handled a frightened, high-couraged animal confirmed this opinion. She should certainly have the well-schooled lady’s mount that she had asked for, but the mare he had in mind for her use was rather more than that. A gentle, affectionate creature, responsive to the least touch of sympathetic hands, she yet had abundance of playful ways that made her sheer delight to a true horse lover.

  Miss Newton’s requirements posed more of a problem. He did not normally buy a horse because it was a pretty c
olour and he did not share Miss Newton’s predilection for chestnuts. The only one in his stable at present was quite unsuitable — a half-broke youngster. He began to mull over a list of his friends. Presently his mouth curved in mischievous satisfaction as he realised that he had hit on the very thing. That peacocky gelding of Tom Milligan’s! Tom had actually tried to sell him the brute — had gone the round of his acquaintance blathering about its perfections. And, to be fair, it was a handsome creature. Only it was all looks and no performance. A very appropriate mount for Miss Newton, he decided with regrettable cynicism, save that the animal had at least the merit of an amiable disposition. Tom would be only too happy to lend it — would crow delightedly at the thought that it was eating its handsome head off at some other fool’s expense. Scribbling a note to him, Damon found that he was looking forward to his morning engagement, if not with pleasure, at least with a definite malicious interest.

  And matters fell out much as he had anticipated. Miss Newton had heartily approved her cousin’s riding dress, a well-worn and workmanlike garment in dark brown that provided an admirable foil for her own elegant array. Her satisfaction grew at the sight of the horses provided for the two of them. The chestnut, she felt sure, was the pride of the Duke’s stable. To an undiscerning eye, the neat brown mare was not impressive. His lordship, listening appreciatively to her ecstasies, had some difficulty in keeping his countenance. He left Kit to put her up and turned to watch with amusement and satisfaction Miss Forester’s very different approach. While lending a polite ear to Miss Newton’s rhapsodies he had been aware of the quiet conference between groom and rider; had seen the girl finger the cheek-strap and decide that it would do, talking quietly to the animal all the while. Now he saw her automatically test the girth and nod to the groom, who handed over the reins and lifted her into the saddle without fuss. She sat there quietly, feeling the mare’s mouth and, if the attentively flickering ears were any indication, maintaining the gentle monologue which would accustom the animal to the sound of her voice. Much pleased with the accuracy of his assessment, Damon swung himself into the saddle and the quartet set out for the Park.