by Valerie King
She took up a seat opposite Mrs. Rockingham, who puffed her massive bosom quite ominously and whose brown eyes had taken on a painfully severe expression. “I believe you know very well why my family and I have come. You have given us a shock, my dear. A dreadful shock. I only wonder that you sit there so composed, as though nothing untoward has happened, particularly when you know very well that you, and you alone, have been the cause of that northerly pollution now threatening to descend on the entire valley.” She drew in a powerful breath. “Naturally, I have come here to put a stop to it at once.”
In this moment, Madeline cursed Sir Roger anew. How dare he force her into such a wretched predicament? She had been perfectly willing for the sake of her family to relinquish all of her society forever in order to right their fortunes, since that was what appeared to be required of her in begging for Sir Roger’s hand in marriage. Now, however, with his present demands of social inclusion, she was forced to endure a great many palpitations. He was the cause of this, not she, and yet she must continue. She glanced at her father, who encouraged her with a nod and a dip of his chin.
She met Mrs. Rockingham’s hard stare, fully cognizant of the fact that she was the next lady to whom she had meant to apply to help gain Sir Roger’s entrance into society. She had not thought she would face her second dragon so soon, particularly when the first was still quite well and standing firmly beside her in the form of Mrs. Crawley.
Ordering her thoughts, she recalled her rehearsed speech to mind and began. “Though Sir Roger is of an unfortunate parentage, in truth his mother was English, and by that circumstance alone he does have a claim to certain permissions among us. Recently, I have had the opportunity to view the present refurbishments of Pelworthy and must report that his most recent efforts include transforming the dungeons into a vast wine cellar,” here she paused, for her conscience was prickling her mightily—again. When, she wondered, would her prevarications end? “I understand he has already ordered hundreds of bottles of wine from France for his forthcoming Christmas ball, which it has also come to my attention that Lord Anthony’s family and quite famous and well-connected father intend to attend. I felt that any oversight might be seen as a grievous offense. Perhaps I should have applied to you first, Mrs. Rockingham, and in that I now see that I have erred, but it would seem Squire Crawley and his wife have been most gracious in opening their hearth and home to our newest neighbor.”
Since these statements, littered with falsehoods, were received with many intakes of breath and, small cries of astonishment, she felt she had accomplished her first objective, which was to shock her audience.
After a stony silence, Mrs. Rockingham finally responded, “I don’t give a fig what his potential connections might be. I know the man to be ungentlemanly and a veritable brute. The last time I saw him on Chilchester’s High Street, for instance, he had the audacity to ask me if I would mind if he wore his kilt to the next assemblies.”
For some reason, this made Madeline want to smile, for she could conceive of nothing that would have set up this lady’s back more quickly than what she suspected had been delivered as a rather roguish remark. She bit her lip rather hard, however, to keep her amusement from showing. She also wondered if he intended to wear his kilt this evening and thought she might be wise to pen a note advising him against any such thing.
“So you find all of this amusing, do you?” Mrs. Rockingham said, rising to her feet.
“No, indeed, ma’am, I do not,” she countered quickly, also leaving her chair. “I beg you will not go before having a cup of tea.”
The crowded chamber began to bustle in signs of departure, but Mrs. Rockingham for some reason seated herself again. “A little tea would suit me perfectly. As it happens, I have not yet breakfasted, having been entirely overset by Mrs. Crawley’s news.”
Madeline smiled. “And Cook prepared one of her famous lemon cakes, which I know you to enjoy. Would that be welcome to you?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Madeline met Charity’s gaze and nodded to her. However much her next eldest sister disapproved of her current efforts involving Sir Roger, she was also precise in matters of housekeeping and quit the chamber to see to the tea and cake herself.
With so many unexpected visitors and a corresponding number of teacups to assemble, it was not surprising that within a few minutes a parade of Fairlight’s servants appeared to set up the tea service and dispense the cake in a speedy manner. This interlude had the benefit of allowing Madeline a few minutes to collect her thoughts.
Once Mrs. Rockingham had eaten half her cake and had begun sipping a second cup of tea, Madeline felt inclined to broach the subject again.
“I do appreciate your concerns. Indeed, I most certainly do. Until very recently, until I learned that Lord Anthony’s father would descend upon Pelworthy Castle at Christmastide—yes, it is true—I had thought I would never be called upon even to speak with Sir Roger, let alone beg for invitations on his behalf. As his nearest neighbor, and with the full support of my father” —she let these last words settle upon her father’s shoulders as the entire assemblage turned to glare at him— “I felt compelled to begin the process. Was I truly wrong in doing so, ma’am?”
Mrs. Rockingham turned from Mr. Piper to Madeline and huffed her displeasure again several times. Since each huff was punctuated with another bite of lemon cake, her countenance soon appeared to grow rather mollified.
“I begin to comprehended your extraordinary conduct Miss Piper, but you were wrong to begin the business before discussing it with those of greater influence and experience. As for Lord Selsfield’s supposed impending appearance at Pelworthy, that remains to be seen. For the present, for the sake of propriety, Squire Crawley’s invitation cannot be rescinded, but please do not broach so important a subject with any of the gentlemen again. They do not have the same understanding of such matters as we do,” here she glanced at Mrs. Crawley, who nodded fervently in agreement. “As for Sir Roger, should he be of a pliant, obsequious countenance this evening, then we can settle precisely to which of the lesser events he could be invited. Should he prove otherwise, I promise you my doors will be permanently closed to him, the Earl of Selsfield or no.”
With this pronouncement, she clattered her cup on her saucer, settled both with a loud thump on the table next to her, dabbed her lips with her linen napkin, and rose to her feet. Those still drinking their tea were forced to gulp the remainder. The traveling court had been brought to an abrupt conclusion, and there was no doubt Mrs. Rockingham believed the departure of the entire party to be requisite in this moment.
Madeline released a very deep sigh as she, too, rose again to her feet. She could not remember the last time that she had ever been so happy that a guest had departed her home before, except perhaps a month past when Sir Roger had first offered for her and in her temper she had thrown a clock at his head.
As the party began filing out, Harris Rockingham and Captain Bladen drew her aside.
“M’mother was beside herself, Miss Piper,” Harris said. “You can have no notion. Thought she would have a fit of the hysterics, but all she could say was, ‘And you hope to marry this ridiculous girl?’ I said you weren’t a girl but a woman. Still, she would continue ranting about your wretched character.”
“You were very good to support me, then, in the face of her disapproval,” she responded facetiously.
Her tone was lost on him. His brown eyes bulged alarmingly and he ran a finger just inside his neckcloth, as though the inoffensive white linen had begun strangling him. “That’s what I thought,” he responded. “But I love you, Miss Piper, as you very well know, and would go to the ends of the earth for you. Only you should not have made Mama so mad.”
“And you would not wish to anger her further by keeping her waiting.” She offered her hand to him. He took it and, in true puppy-like fashion, lifted her fingers to his lips, with Captain Bladen observing his conduct all the while, and placed a kiss on
her fingers. When he appeared rather heartsick and opened his mouth to begin a new speech, she jerked her hand from his. “Good day, Harris.”
“Yes, yes, I must go, but I shall see you this evening.”
She smiled perfunctorily and watched in some relief as he flourished an absurd bow and quit the chamber.
She turned, therefore, to the third of her most devoted swains. “I hope you were not so badly shocked as everyone else,” she offered.
Captain Bladen narrowed his eyes, as though attempting to comprehend every nuance of her statement. He was a calculating man, something that had always troubled her, and yet in every other respect he was her favorite. He had offered for her twice and had made it his object to intervene whenever Harris Rockingham’s attentions became overzealous. That he was able to do so without injuring the young man’s pride was greatly to his credit, although the significant difference in their respective ages of Captain Bladen’s two and thirty years compared to Harris’s meager two and twenty perhaps accounted for this power over his younger friend.
“The shift in your attitude was so sudden and so complete,” he responded in a low voice, “that naturally I was concerned, even shocked, I must confess. You were not precisely restrained in your previous disapproval of Sir Roger’s purchase of Pelworthy.”
She sighed, thinking that such a luxury as disapproving of Sir Roger’s ownership of her favorite childhood haunt was receding rapidly into the past. “I suppose I was not.”
At that, he laughed. “Miss Piper, you were used to say that you would perish before ever you permitted Sir Roger’s entrance into Chilchester society.”
She felt her cheeks grow warm. Had she really been so harsh? Of course she had, for in those days she felt utterly secure in her family’s station and fortune. But all that was gone, and now she must recant as graciously as possible. “It will be of no use to pretend with you,” she murmured. “Circumstances over which I have not the smallest control have changed. Though I can say nothing further, it has become imperative to my family’s happiness that Sir Roger be brought into the fold, as it were. I hope—I trust—that you will be able to support me in this?”
He seemed utterly shocked. “What has occurred? You have given me the worst suspense.”
“I can say nothing at present. Perhaps in time.”
“Sir Roger has injured you in some manner,” he said.
“No, no, it is no such thing, I promise you. Oh, dear. I should not have spoken.”
“I would have learned the truth at some point. Only why do you keep me in suspense? Why will you not tell me what is going forward? What has happened to have forced you into recognizing Sir Roger when before you would rather have poked out your eye first?”
At that, she could not help but laugh. “Pray, do not press me. It is nothing that many a young lady prior to myself has had to endure, and I promise you the trouble is not to be laid at his door, but on this subject I refuse to say anything more. May I rely upon you to keep our conversation confidential?”
“Of course.” He was still watching her and scowling.
“If you do not smile in this moment, I shall pinch you dreadfully,” she said.
“Oh, very well. I see that with this I must be content.”
“Come, I shall walk you to your horse.”
After bidding good-bye to the last of her guests, Madeline went directly to her writing desk and began a lengthy explanation of what had transpired in her drawing room, specifically informing Sir Roger that he was to let everyone in the party know that he intended to turn the dungeons into a buttery and that he must instantly make arrangements to purchase a large quantity of wine from France and also to make certain he had no intention of wearing his kilt tonight.
~ ~ ~
“Another missive from Miss Piper?” Lord Anthony inquired, having just walked in from the stables, his riding crop in hand.
“Yes, indeed,” Sir Roger responded. He had not considered wearing his kilt, but now that she had mentioned it, he thought there could be no real harm in it, since he had no intention of making her task easier tonight. On the other hand, he was truly beginning to enjoy the depths to which the proper Miss Piper was sinking in having already told so many whiskers.
“Why are you smiling? You look like a simpleton. Oh, no, no, no,” he turned on his heel suddenly and began to run. From across the chamber, having bounded into the drawing room from the nether regions, Churchill had caught sight of his prey and was now in earnest pursuit.
Sir Roger knew he was being callous in the extreme in not immediately calling his dog to heel, but he waited a very long moment until from the hallways beyond he heard Lord Anthony’s muffled plea, “Mathieson, call off your dog.”
“Churchill, come.” A moment later, the contented beast trotted proudly into the chamber, Lord Anthony’s riding crop clamped in his jaw.
The cursing which followed, but which grew fainter after each expletive, told him that poor Lord Anthony was retiring for the present to his rooms.
He was therefore at liberty to sit before his writing desk and to compose a succinct message.
Dear Miss Piper,
What a grand notion. A wine cellar it will be, and consider the bottles ordered. Assuming Chilchester society grows as painfully thirsty as any other at Michaelmas, will five hundred suffice?
Yours, etc.
R.M.
He then summoned his valet and ordered his kilt pressed. The Highland regiments serving in the Napoleonic wars had made the appearance of the tartan fashionable in some circles, but not in Sussex, it would seem. He could not help but smile. The expression on Madeline Piper’s face of consternation, embarrassment, and certainly of anger—would be worth every snub he had received for the past six months and would go a long way to atoning for the clock she had thrown at his head.
***
Chapter Four
With the summer sun still rather high on the horizon, Madeline crossed the portals of Wistfield all that evening in a state she had never experienced before. She was suffering a profound fit of the nerves, a circumstance completely at odds with her habitually poised and confident demeanor. What was this thing she had done, she wondered, not for the first time since dressing for Mrs. Crawley’s soiree. How had it come about she had actually agreed to bring Sir Roger into fashion?
She had gowned herself simply, as was her style, in white beaded muslin, with her golden curls coiffed into a tight ring of braids at the crown of her head. At least in her grooming she felt reasonably certain she would not offend any of the high sticklers, a circumstance which might have served to help calm her nerves, except that one of her sisters had taken exception to her choice.
Hope had met her at the top of the stairs, glanced at her from head to foot, and subsequently wrinkled her nose. “Must you always dress as though you are being sacrificed to the gods instead of attending a night of amusement?”
She had been stunned by her youngest sister’s rather severe criticism and had not known how to respond to her. Even her father had nodded in agreement before she slipped her silk cape over her shoulders and stepped aboard the family traveling coach. She had made the five-mile journey to Squire Crawley’s home in silence, the chattering of her younger sisters soothing her agitation at Hope’s unexpected disapproval.
Now, as she greeted her stony-faced hostess, who was still unforgiving for what she undoubtedly felt was a profound degree of social treachery, she made her way to the drawing room, wondering if Sir Roger had as yet arrived. A quick glance at the numerous familiar faces told her he had not and, quite without thinking, she released a very deep sigh of relief. She realized now that she had been hoping he would not come at all, that he had been only taunting her with the threat of his presence and perhaps had from the first known his acceptance in Chilchester society was as ridiculous as it was impossible.
She was greeted immediately by Cressida Crawley. “Is it true, really true?” she asked, having left her circle of friends to wrap
her arm about Madeline’s and walk further into the chamber with her. “Do both Sir Roger Mathieson and Lord Anthony intend to come this evening?”
“I believe so,” she said, wishing, hoping it was not true.
“I am all amazement, and I must confess quite excited, for I have only seen Sir Roger at a distance when he shops in Chilchester, though I have often seen him driving his curricle along the highway. And as for Lord Anthony, did Hope tell you that I sat very near him in services only Sunday last? He is quite handsome.”
“Yes, I believe he is,” she responded politely. She drew near the windows overlooking the drive and regarded the enlivened features of her companion. Cressida had light brown hair and lovely brown eyes. She was clearly in a state of excitement.
Cressida leaned very close and whispered, “You should have seen Mama just before our first guests arrived. She was twirling in circles and flailing her arms, heaping every manner of abuse upon Papa’s head for having allowed you to beguile him into issuing the invitation in the first place. Papa laughed at her, however, which only served to heighten her hysterics. Of course, you always were one of Papa’s favorites. Did you not know as much? I can see by your expression I have surprised you, but if you must know, he always praises you to the skies and even told Mama that if you approved of Sir Roger, he knew he would as well.”
“Indeed? He said as much?” she asked, shocked.
“Yes. And there is something more. Mrs. Rockingham sent a note to Mama saying that she would arrive very late and stay but a quarter of an hour, at which time she would take her leave, that she was only attending for the sake of their friendship and that regardless of promises of a ball at Michaelmas, she still had no intention of recognizing Sir Roger or his exalted house guest.”
