by Noël Cades
"Regardless, she must be found and returned. It is a highly annoying business."
George was privately entertained. For Marcus, the master of diplomacy, to be confounded by the behaviour of a teenage girl, caused his friend no little amusement. "What will you do?"
"I will appoint inquiry agents, and if necessary, ride to Scotland." It meant the end of the Spanish business for now. Saving the girl’s honour would require the swiftest of actions, which additional travel time from Spain would jeopardise.
"A trip to Scotland may be no bad thing, if word gets out that you are in town for the start of the season," George remarked. He was well aware of the many matrimonial designs upon his friend. He privately hoped that Marcus would accept any of them rather than the wily Lady Caroline. At least if Marcus was determined to do his duty and beget an heir for Southwell.
Marcus grimaced. "This continental business will have to be postponed, at any rate."
"You might kill two birds with one stone and marry this ward yourself," George suggested.
"Don't be absurd." Marcus's reply was curt. "Green maidens fresh from the schoolroom have hardly ever been my preference."
"They don't remain so. Green, I mean."
But Marcus was resolute. "If and when I feel the need to establish a wife at Southwell, it will be a woman of culture and intelligence. Someone who will not drive me to distraction with chatter about her dressmaker and tawdry social gossip."
George laughed. "You are too hard on the fairer sex, Southwell. If they have not the minds of men, it is because they are instructed in nothing but maidenly matters. Let a girl be taught alongside her brothers, and you will see far more sense and much less silliness."
Marcus doubted this, since his experience of young women had not so far impressed him. He considered that Lady Caroline's own sophistication was due to the influence of her late husband, a wise and worldly man. Marcus did not for a moment imagine that Lady Caroline had possessed sufficient wiles of her own to land such a husband, deliberately choosing one both rich and titled, and in fragile health.
He was not yet determined on matrimony with the widow, but from the brief time he spent in the company of women, she had thus far irritated him the least. And Southwell needed an heir, lest the estate and title pass to a distant cousin.
"With all you say, I wonder you don't follow your own advice," Marcus said to George. George was one of London's most confirmed bachelors. As a younger son, he had faced less pressure to take a bride, and could enjoy a life of delight rather than duty.
George remained equanimous. "Perhaps I shall, one of these days." He liked women, and saw no reason not to marry, if and when the time came. He regarded Marcus, noting his friend's dark, currently scowling brow, his tall, soldierly physique, and the strong and well-cut features that the ladies were evidently so enamoured of.
It would have been a good thing for Marcus to have been raised with a few spirited sisters. They might have knocked some sense into their brother, George thought. But Marcus's mother had died giving birth to him. The late Earl, stricken with grief and fury at the callousness of Fate, had never remarried. George attributed some of Marcus's attitude to his father's embittered example. "There are some fine women out there, if one has the patience and discernment to find them," he said.
Marcus looked at his friend with mild derision, and commanded another drink from the attendant who had just entered.
O, to be on his way to Madrid, far from all this nonsense. The Spanish sun, the political intrigue, sipping a cup of sack in the shade of an orange grove. If only his ward had been a boy, Marcus could have had him soundly whipped and sent into the military.
What he would do with a wayward girl, he had no idea.
Chapter 2
Escaping Aunt Harlington's house had not been quite so simple as Jemima and Kitty had imagined. Slipping out of a window was one thing, for Jemima was an agile young woman. She had managed to take a bundle with her, containing the necessary small items of a lady's wardrobe that she could not do without.
But the bundle had caught on a thorny rose winding its way over the side of the house. It had torn open, sending Jemima's belongings tumbling down to scatter on the driveway below. Gathering them up in the darkness of a moonless night was no mean feat, and then there was the trouble of wrapping them all up again with the torn sheet.
There was a chill in the air as Jemima made her way down the lane and towards the coaching inn where the stagecoach would pass in the morning. It would have been far too much risk to have entered the inn, so she lingered outside some distance away, waiting for dawn.
Even with her cloak it was cold and Jemima wished she had brought an extra shawl. There was no time to go back for it now. She huddled among some trees with her bundle, fearing that she would appear more like a gypsy than Lady Julia Carlingford.
Jemima had almost nodded off to sleep when the stagecoach rattled and rumbled up the road to stop at the inn.
"A fine morning to you! Any passengers?"
"None that we've here." This last voice was the ostler, changing the horses.
Brushing down her skirt as she rose, and hoping she didn't look too frightful, Jemima stepped forward. "I would like passage to London." She ignored the two men's surprise and held out her coins to the coachman. He made no comment but exchanged a glance with the ostler, before helping her ascend into the carriage.
The interior had a musty smell of unwashed clothes and stale sweat. There was only one other occupant, an old woman who appeared to be dozing. Jemima didn't wake her. She was determined to enjoy her adventure for as long as it might last, since she knew she would eventually face dreadful trouble.
So she put up with the discomforts of the vehicle, and the passengers that crowded in at the next inns along the way. She was fascinated by everything and everyone she saw, but mindful of Kitty's warning to remain quiet and discreet. This was not Jemima's natural inclination but she managed it for her friend's sake.
To her horror, a florid-faced man with the look of a yeoman farmer, tried to strike up a conversation. "Not such a comfortable ride for a fine young lady such as yourself, I'll wager," he said to Jemima.
"I am quite comfortable, sir, though I thank for your concern," she replied, hoping that her curt tone would end his attentions.
The country woman next to him eyed Jemima's travelling gown and the fine kid gloves she wore. "Can't imagine why one such as you wouldn't be riding in her own carriage. Wouldn't be running off from somewhere, would you?" she said.
Jemima felt her cheeks flame but maintained her composure. "I am travelling to London to assume the position of a governess." She tried to adopt the cold tone and steely gaze of Aunt Harlington to deter further conversation. Hopefully they would assume she was distressed gentry, and press her no further.
The woman cast a beady glance over Jemima once more, doubtless noting other aspects of her dress that were too fine for a lowly governess. She muttered something to her neighbour from which Jemima caught the word "haughty!"
So be it. Jemima turned to the window and watched the dull green fields and houses pass by. It was a grey and drizzling morning and she was already feeling hungry. How many more hours could it be to London?
Kitty was thrilled when Jemima finally arrived at the house Lord Elstone had rented for Miss Berystede and his daughter in the fashionable St James’s neighbourhood of London.
"You are here at last! I feared your aunt would discover it all, and lock you up with only bread and water," Kitty greeted Jemima.
Jemima did not like to think about Aunt Harlington at the current time. She would doubtless be apoplectic with rage, storming the corridors and interrogating the servants. The thought of facing her ever again was absolutely dreadful. Jemima shuddered and shook the vision out of her mind.
"Let us not think about my aunt. What is done is done, and I am here. And I have barely been able to bring anything, so I am at the mercy of your generosity, dear."
&n
bsp; Kitty laughed. "I have more gowns than I am sure I could ever need. My father had little idea of what was required, and I am certain the dressmaker encouraged him to order far more than is customary. Come and see! Cousin Beatrice takes her nap at this hour, so we have plenty of time."
The two girls spent a happy hour looking through Kitty's new wardrobe. "As one betrothed, should I still wear white?" Jemima mused.
"I am not certain. Wear this ivory gown, perhaps, to start with. Then we can see what the other women are wearing. O - I had forgot - there are already so many invitations. We attend Lady Doncaster's ball tomorrow night. My aunt has also secured vouchers for Almack's."
"But most such invitations will be for Miss Berystede and yourself," Jemima said.
Kitty dismissed her concerns. "That is of no issue. Most of them are addressed only to my cousin and extended by implication to her guests. In the crush I am sure no one will even notice whether she bring two or twenty young women with her."
Jemima held some private doubts about this, but said nothing. Perhaps they would get away with it.
"We are not far from Almack’s Assembly Rooms," Kitty said, "although we take the carriage."
"Does your father not own a house in London? In Cavendish Square, I am sure I recall him once saying," Jemima asked.
"He does, though it has been closed for many years. He did not consider it to be in a suitable state of repair for Miss Berystede, and its location was less convenient than here," Kitty told her.
Jemima was introduced to Miss Berystede later that day. "Cousin Beatrice" was a tiny, elderly lady with snow-white hair, and a very graceful bearing. Her eyesight "was not what it was", she explained to them, though she preferred not to use lorgnettes.
Jemima cast a glance at Kitty on hearing this. It might be to their advantage if their chaperone was not too sharp-eyed.
"You are newly arrived from Ireland, I understand," she said to Jemima. "It is an isle which I have never had the fortune of visiting. I am told it is very beautiful."
"It is, thank you."
"As Catherine may have explained to you I am very rarely in town. I am afraid my knowledge of fashionable places and people is very dated. But perhaps you are better acquainted with society, Lady Julia, having had your own Season last year?" Miss Berystede assumed that Jemima had come out the previous year, being already betrothed.
This created something of a quandary. "I had my coming out in Ireland," Jemima improvised. The last thing she wanted was to be expected to know anyone in London. This was the first time she had ever been to the capital.
"I imagine the Season is a quieter affair there? I fear we will be cast into quite a hubbub over here, with all the invitations I have already been receiving."
"It is very much quieter," Jemima agreed.
They were also introduced to Miss Berystede's companion. Ann Pargeter was a plainly dressed but intelligent-looking woman in her thirties. Jemima suspected Miss Pargeter's keen eyes were the reason her employer felt little need of lorgnettes. They would have to be careful not to arouse the companion's suspicions.
The four women spent a companionable supper together. Compared to Aunt Harlington's frosty formality, the relaxed atmosphere was a pleasure to Jemima. She had of course dined many times at Elstone House, but Lord Elstone had inevitably been present, which hampered chatter with Kitty.
Jemima observed their hostess's excellent manners. Miss Berystede might be old and tiny and quite frail-looking, but there was no mistaking her ducal ancestry. She sat perfectly straight-backed in her chair but never once castigated Jemima or Kitty for slumping, as Aunt Harlington so often did. Miss Berystede was very softly spoken, but her voice carried a quiet authority that inspired willingness among the servants.
It would be a good idea to emulate the old lady's demeanour, Jemima thought. She suspected it was the right kind of grace for society. She tried this later on, when she and Kitty were upstairs preparing for bed and chattering about their plans.
"What has come over you, Jemima? Is there something wrong with your throat?" a confused Kitty asked.
"No, my dear. But I am most thankful to you for your consideration," Jemima said, responding as she thought Beatrice Berystede might.
Kitty was mystified. "What is the matter? Your voice has gone all quiet and whispery. And why are you using such odd words?"
Jemima sat perfectly erect in her chair, holding her head high and trying to look gracious.
Kitty suddenly guessed what was up and burst into laughter. "You are not trying to imitate Cousin Beatrice, surely? O, Jemima, if you do that in front of people I shall not be able to keep from laughing. It is too absurd!"
Jemima was slightly put out. "I only considered that she has excellent manners, that might serve me well among society."
"Society will definitely raise an eyebrow if you go about with a whispery voice, comporting yourself like an elderly duchess. Just be as you are. Or not as you are, rather be more careful and circumspect than you are. We shall both have to be very careful," Kitty said. "Only think! Tomorrow night we shall be at a ball, dancing!"
There was less amusement that evening for the Earl of Southwell. He had still received no reports of his ward's whereabouts and increasingly feared the worst.
He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair, a habit inherited from his father.
"You'll wear that leather out," George Gresham said. "The situation cannot be that troubling, surely?"
"There is still no word."
Gresham shrugged and drained his glass. "The girl left of her own accord. You cannot blame yourself. If she has eloped to Ireland with a stable hand, or whatever the worst may be, you can set them up in a cottage somewhere and be done with it. Or send them overseas."
The notion was of little comfort to Marcus. He knew what the gossipmongers would make of it. That the Earl of Southwell couldn't even keep a rein on his own ward. Truly, though, he cared less what people thought of him than for his aunt's consternation.
"It reflects poorly on my aunt, if the girl ends up shamed and outcast. She must be discovered and restored."
Gresham knew that there would be little reasoning with his friend. Southwell was used to getting his own way. He tended to win all his battles, private and professional. This situation, beyond his control, would be embarrassing him more than he cared to admit.
"While you are here, why not finally delight some mammas and put in attendance at a couple of balls? They'll only be badgering you if you don't. And you can't use the girl's disappearance as an excuse if you want to keep it under wraps," George suggested.
Marcus was absolutely not in the mood for social engagements. "I hardly feel the need to intensify my current ordeal."
"It will be expected, if you are in London and not gone to Spain. But if you prefer to sit and wait for news of your ward, I can hardly drag you out. Only it might take your mind off your present woes."
Chapter 3
The heat and the crush of people were quite overwhelming. Neither Jemima nor Kitty had anticipated anything like it. The overpowering mix of different scents and perfumes, the rustling fabrics, the crowds in every room. How there would ever be any dancing was a mystery.
"There seem to be far too many people here," Jemima said in a low voice to Kitty. "Do you think that this is normal for a ball?"
"I cannot say. Cousin Beatrice does not appear to be perturbed."
Miss Berystede would never show perturbation whether she felt it or not, Jemima thought. Once again she tried to emulate the old lady's grace and composure. Jemima fanned herself a little and tried to look serene. Only someone stepped on someone else’s gown, crashing into Kitty who then fell into Jemima, who nearly toppled over.
There was a volley of apologies and inquiries after their wellbeing. Then by some miracle Miss Berystede managed to get them escorted to a quieter area of the room, where there were actually chairs to sit upon.
This gave them a better chance to observe the peop
le around them. Looking at the other guests and their costume, Jemima considered that she and Kitty looked very well. Kitty was wearing a white gown with tiny pink rosebuds, a colour that always enhanced her dark hair. The French maid hired especially for the Season had worked Kitty's hair into a fashionable and becoming style, with ringlets falling around her ears.
Jemima wore shimmering ivory sarsnet trimmed with French lace. Miss Berystede fortunately had no idea which gown belonged to Jemima and which to Kitty, so she had made no remark. The French girl, in consideration of Jemima's supposedly betrothed status, had styled her locks in a manner worn by more sophisticated women. Smaller tendrils of curls framed her face, with her hair gathered into an elegant chignon in the back. "I most definitely look like your senior and superior," Jemima had remarked to Kitty, as they beheld themselves in the glass.
"Do not forget that I am a year older than you, for all your dashing Lord Dalrymple," Kitty told her.
"It is but a few months until I am eighteen, and then I shall once again be your equal," Jemima said.
Kitty tilted her chin. "For one month only. After which I shall be nineteen and again your superior…"
"…and a decrepit old maid," Jemima finished for her.
Nothing could look less decrepit than the reflection of the two young women before them. Aunt Harlington had frequently impressed upon Jemima that vanity was a sin and a failure of character. Jemima recalled the advice given to young women in one of the books her aunt had instructed her to read.
"One of the chief beauties in a female character is that modest reserve, that retiring delicacy, which avoids the public eye."
Jemima tilted her head on one side. Then she lowered her eyes and attempted to look demure, half concealing her face with her fan and fluttering it in manner she considered to be delicate.
The only effect of this was to cause Kitty to burst into laughter. "If you make such a face as that I will hardly be able to maintain my composure," Kitty exclaimed.
