by Rose Pearson
“I can abide faults,” Frederick contradicted. “I simply choose not to do so, however. There is a standard for my own appearance and the like and I cling to such a thing, for without it, I fail not only myself but the title I hold.” He did not pretend that it was at all easy for him to do so, but nor did he shrink away from the fact that he held the standards of propriety and gentility very high indeed. His brother did not appear to have the same desire, of course, which almost made Frederick want to improve himself all the more. Clearing his throat, he fixed Adlington with a firm eye, his mouth set. “Now, you have not yet explained why you are in my carriage, Adlington.”
“Oh.” His brother frowned. “Did I not? Well,” he continued, with a small shrug. “I knew very well that you would be disinclined towards having me call upon you, so therefore I thought to simply appear at your door. Or at your carriage door, given that it was already here and waiting when I arrived.” He looked out of the window, a little disinterestedly. “Where are you to go?”
“To Hyde Park for the fashionable hour,” Frederick answered, a little unwillingly. “I did not expect you to attend with me, however.” Realizing his brother had still not fully answered his question, Frederick bit back a sharp retort but narrowed his eyes as he caught Adlington’s eye. “For what reason did you wish to call upon me, Adlington?”
His brother sighed heavily, closing his eyes for a moment as though he had been quite unwilling to declare his reasons but now realized there was no way for him not to do so. “I need your help, Greaves.”
Groaning aloud, Frederick shook his head. “I am not willing to give you coin so that you might then go on to gamble it all away,” he said, with a hint of anger in his words. “I have done so before and you did not prove yourself trustworthy then.”
“Which is why I am not come to ask you for such a thing,” Adlington retorted, his eyes filled with anger and making Frederick flush with a sudden sense of embarrassment. “I am aware that you gave me a good deal of money before, Greaves, and that I did not do well with it.” He shrugged and looked out of the window again. “Instead, I was hopeful that you might be able to indicate to me which young ladies of the ton might be amenable to a gentleman such as myself.”
Frederick’s mouth fell open and he stared at his brother in shock, making Adlington chuckle a little self-consciously.
“I am aware that this must come as something of a surprise,” he said, dryly, “but I do not want to make a grievous mistake when it comes to my choice of bride.” He lifted one shoulder, looking now to be a trifle awkward. “I am aware that it is a very significant decision and therefore, I would not like to judge poorly.”
“And you think that I am able to help you?”
“You have been in society longer than I,” Adlington answered, immediately. “And the Seasons you have spent have been, thus far, much more carefully considered than my own.”
Frederick could not help but agree with this, knowing full well that he had spent each day of his previous Season looking carefully at the young ladies he was now considering, or ensuring that he spent time with only the very best of company.
“You will know which young ladies are suitable for the brother of an Earl,” Adlington continued, with a wry smile. “I am inclined to lean towards the most beautiful of young ladies, the most delightful, whilst thinking nothing of their character. Whereas I know that you,” he continued, making Frederick’s chest swell just a little with pride. “I know that you do not do as I do but make careful considerations and judgements.”
Frederick cleared his throat but, before he could say anything, Adlington reached up and rapped on the roof.
“You need not answer me immediately,” his brother said, as the carriage came to a sudden stop. “Take some time to consider it and to think about your own position. I would not force you into a course of action, Greaves, just because we are brothers.” He smiled at Frederick and then, as the door opened, turned to climb out – leaving Frederick sitting alone in the carriage.
“Wait!” Frederick exclaimed, hurrying out after his brother. “How shall I contact you? Once I have considered things, shall I write to you? Where are you lodging at present?”
Adlington chuckled. “I am not as much of a wastrel as you think me, Greaves. I have taken rooms in a most respectable area of town and not in some bawdy house, as I am sure you fear I have done.” He chuckled again before giving Frederick the address where he might be found.
“I thank you,” Frederick answered, looking at his brother as Adlington inclined his head, before turning around and walking away. There was something so changed about Adlington, he thought to himself, watching his brother’s long steps as he moved through the crowd. He had never known his brother to consider the future in such a determined manner before, but now it seemed that Adlington was doing nothing but thinking of it! To require an heir meant he had to secure a wife – and a decent one at that, for one did not want to be shackled to some harpy who had very little consideration for that of her husband but only thought of herself and her own happiness. No, he did not require that sort of young lady and neither would his brother. Despite all of Adlington’s faults, Frederick did not want him to be unhappy. Instead, he wanted him to find contentment all of his own which would certainly include a decent wife.
Frowning to himself, Frederick made to turn back towards his carriage, only for a young lady to practically throw herself into it, climbing the steps with such haste that he was forced to step back, quite astonished by such an explosion of movement.
“My lady!” cried a maid, hurrying after the young lady and, ignoring Frederick entirely, calling up into the carriage. “I have a hackney waiting! This is…..” She threw a glance all around her, only for her eyes to land on Frederick. “Goodness!” Bobbing a quick curtsy and with eyes now downcast, the maid began to stammer an explanation.
“My mistress is seeking refuge,” she explained, quickly, as Frederick tried to recover himself a little. “I thought to get her a hackney but I believe, in her haste, she has….”
“You have climbed into my carriage, my lady,” Frederick boomed, stepping past the maid and looking up into the carriage. “Now, if you will –”
“Pray forgive me.”
Frederick stumbled to a stop, looking at the young lady who was now sitting on the left-hand side of his carriage, her eyes fixed upon his and tears pouring down her cheeks.
His heart wrenched.
The young lady in question was quite lovely in her own way, he considered, even though her face was marred by her tears. The eyes that looked back into his were hazel in color, swirling with browns and greens, whilst her light brown curls were beginning to escape from under her bonnet. She was dressed in a gown of the highest fashion, telling him quite clearly that she was a lady of the ton, but even still, for her to climb into his carriage and now remain so was, to his mind, entirely improper.
“I am sorry that you are so very upset,” he told her, trying to find his sense of gravity once more so that he would not be swayed by the sadness in her eyes, “but I believe your hackney is waiting.”
“No, it isn’t,” chirped the voice of the maid, making the young lady’s eyes flare. “It’s gone off with someone else inside it.”
Annoyed with the maid’s interruption, Frederick made to give her a set down that would have her lingering in silence for some time, only for the young lady within his carriage to break down into fresh sobs. Her hands covered her eyes, her shoulders shaking and, before he could say or do a single thing, the maid had scurried up into his carriage and was now handing the young lady a lace handkerchief.
“This is most irregular,” Frederick muttered to himself, torn between what he knew was proper and what his heart told him he ought to do. Sighing inwardly, he threw himself up into the carriage and pulled the door shut tight, although he did not rap on the roof nor tell his driver to make off.
“Might I enquire as to your name?” he said, rather brusquely. “You
have, it seems, procured my carriage and now I must deliver you in safety to wherever it is you wish to go.” He looked at the young lady impatiently, ignoring the sympathy that began to flood him.
“This is Lady Beatrice,” said the maid, as the young lady turned her head away, wiping at her eyes futilely, given that yet more tears fell from them. “And if you might take us back to her father’s townhouse, I am sure that my mistress would be more than grateful.”
For whatever reason – although Frederick could not make sense of it – the maid’s words seemed to bring about a renewed sobbing from the young lady, making him wince and turn away from her. He wanted to remove Lady Beatrice and her maid from his presence just as soon as he could, but given her present state, he considered such a thing to be highly unlikely. There was no way for him to turn her out from his carriage without practically forcing her to do so and, given that he was a gentleman, such a thing was entirely unacceptable to him.
Besides which, he told himself, watching Lady Beatrice still, she is here with her maid. It is not too much trouble to take her to her father’s townhouse now, is it?
Sighing aloud, just so that Lady Beatrice might know just how much she had discontented him, Frederick asked for the address of Lady Beatrice’s father, surprised to learn that it was none other than the Marquess of Burnley. Calling out to his driver, he then sat back against the squabs and watched his unexpected companion with sharp eyes.
Lady Beatrice was still sobbing quietly by the time they arrived at the townhouse. She had not spoken to him once, had not made any attempt at conversation and seemed quite unable to grasp a hold of her own emotions, such was her lack of composure. When the carriage drew to a stop, the only thing she whispered towards him was a brief, ‘I thank you’, before she quit the carriage and hurried into the house.
The maid was little more articulate in expressing her mistress’ thanks, and whilst Frederick had to admit that he was a little displeased with Lady Beatrice’s conduct as well as her lack of consideration for propriety, there was a part of him that was filled with curiosity. Curiosity about why she was so deeply upset, why she had been practically running in the middle of the London street. A flicker of a frown crossed his brow as he rapped on the roof, finally free to continue on to his original destination.
Lady Beatrice was not someone he would recommend to his brother, even if she was the daughter of a marquess! She had displayed so much impropriety, so little consideration for her own behavior, that he did not think her at all suitable, even for the second son of an Earl. Shaking his head to himself, Frederick sat back in his chair and decided he would put Lady Beatrice firmly from his mind. There was no need to consider her again, not when he knew in his heart that she would not do for either of them.
Although, despite her tears, she was rather pretty, he acknowledged to himself, feeling a gentle warmth curl through him as he thought of her. For a moment or two, he wondered what she might look like if her cheeks had not been stained with tears, if her eyes had not been red from sorrow, but then the moment passed and he pushed her easily from his mind.
He would not give her another thought, he decided, as the carriage drew near to Hyde Park. Lady Beatrice might suit someone else very well indeed but he, certainly, would never once consider her again.
Chapter Two
One month later
“I am very glad indeed that you felt able to seek me out.”
Beatrice managed a small, watery smile as she looked across at Lady Smithton. “I did fear you would think me very rude indeed,” she admitted, as Lady Smithton shook her head fervently. “I am aware that I came to you without any prior introduction.” Their first meeting had been a little under a month ago and since that time, Beatrice had found companionship and understanding with both Lady Smithton and the other young ladies who had all come together to form a small band called ‘The Spinsters Guild.”
“I quite understand,” Lady Smithton answered, with a wave of her hand. “And you do not mind being called ‘the Spinsters Guild’?” She smiled at Beatrice, as though to take away some of the sting of being a part of a group of spinsters. “You are not at all of the age to be called such a thing, of course, but in the eyes of the ton….” She trailed off, a small shrug lifting her shoulders. “But the beau monde has always been rather foolish and in this, I consider them to be all the more so.”
Beatrice let out a small, dry laugh. “I do not think that it shall be easy for me to remove myself from such a title,” she answered, hoarsely, as tears still burned all the more in her eyes. “I have been unable to do anything these last few weeks. Had it not been for the awareness that I might have a little hope in meeting you, Lady Smithton, then I do not know what would have become of me.”
Lady Smithton smiled gently, her eyes filled with compassion. “And you say your father has not taken back his statement?”
“No,” Beatrice answered, brokenly. “He has not. Nor has he accepted my desire to return to our estate, for he thinks that there is no particular harm done and that I am simply making a very big complaint over a very small matter. He states that very few people believed it to be the truth and that even if there was a question over the legitimacy of my birth, it matters naught since he is continuing to behave as a father ought.” She hesitated, glancing away for a moment. “Not that he is inclined to do very much for me at all at present.”
Shaking her head in apparent discontent, Lady Smithton leaned forward and put one hand over Beatrice’s. “You know as well as I that it is not a small matter at all,” she said, softly. “Might I ask, Lady Beatrice, whether you believe your father truly cares for you?” Her eyes searched Beatrice’s, and Beatrice found that despite the compassion displayed by Lady Smithton, there was still a very strong desire within her to break down into tears.
“My father does not care for me in the least,” she answered, brokenly. “He cares for none but himself. The only reason he wishes me to be in London at present is so that he might dispose of me onto whomever he finds to be in any way agreeable.” She sniffed and shook her head, only just managing to keep her tears at bay. “I confess to you, Lady Smithton, that I fear my father will present me with some dull, staid gentleman or, even worse, an older man who is acquainted with my father who has promised to take me off his hands.” A shudder ran through her. “I fear what he will do next.”
“But he has managed to strike himself by allowing such a ridiculous statement to pass his lips, has he not?” Lady Smithton asked, referring to Lord Burnley’s remark about Beatrice’s parentage. “You yourself know the whispers and the rumors which have followed thereafter – none of which I believe, I confess – so therefore surely your father knows that such a statement cannot have helped his cause.”
Beatrice considered this for a moment, thinking about her father’s recent behavior and realizing that Lady Smithton was correct. Her father had barely said a word to her these last few weeks and had spent his time at Whites, or drinking and gambling at some other establishment. Beatrice had barely left the house, save for one or two social engagements that her father had deigned himself to accompany her to, and even then she had clung to the shadows.
“I suppose you are quite right,” she answered, as Lady Smithton nodded in evident satisfaction. “But all the same, I cannot see how there might be any hope.”
Lady Smithton’s smile did not fade. “Whilst the Guild has been in place for a few weeks, you are aware that it has been best to wait until some of the rumors have died down,” she said, as Beatrice nodded. “Now, however, you are to re-enter society and I shall stand with you, so that you do not face such a thing alone.” Her smile grew. “I shall also inform your father that I intend to take you under my wing, which I am sure will please him since it will mean that he has very little else to do.”
“And Mrs. Watson has already taken her leave, which has left me without any sort of companion,” Beatrice added, seeing Lady Smithton’s eyebrows lift in surprise. “She did not think i
t best to stay on when she could not be certain about the authenticity of my claim to be the daughter of a Marquess.” Her voice lowered as her heart sank low, recalling just how ashamed she had been when Mrs. Watson had declared, in as loud a voice as she could, that she would not stay another moment with Beatrice, since she might very well be illegitimate and stating, quite clearly, that even a single modicum of doubt would push every single gentleman away. “I believe she thought me to be quite without hope.”
“She was wrong,” Lady Smithton declared, firmly. “Come now, Lady Beatrice, you must allow yourself a little hope. There are fresh rumors and fresh gossip making their way through London – not that I commend such a thing, of course, but it certainly will take some of the whispers away from you.”
Beatrice nodded and made to say more, only for the door to open and one Lord Havisham to walk into the room without any sort of introduction. Beatrice rose and curtsied quickly, whilst Lady Smithton – much to Beatrice’s surprise – did not rise to her feet at all but rather merely sat quietly and put her hand out to Lord Havisham.
“My dear lady,” Lord Havisham said, bowing over Lady Smithton’s hand and pressing his lips to it with such overtness that Beatrice felt herself blush. She and the other young ladies had become slowly aware of the affection Lord Havisham had for Lady Smithton, but she also knew that Lady Smithton was doing her utmost to keep Lord Havisham at bay. However, during these last few days, Beatrice had become a little less convinced that Lady Smithton wanted to keep their situation as it was, for she certainly seemed to be quite enamored with Lord Havisham.
