Sylvia Or The Moral High Ground

by Catherine Bowness

  When the next day dawned, Cassie was surprised to find that she had not only slept well but felt more cheerful than she had the night before. Of all the people who had offered to protect her since she had lost her position in Society more than twenty years before, Mrs Farley was by far the most comforting, not only because she had no wish whatsoever to share her bed but also because Cassie could not actually see, however hard she tried, that there was any advantage likely to accrue to her friend, except perhaps that she was a trifle bored and was looking for entertainment.

  She rose and wrapped a silken dressing gown, equipped with a multitude of frills, around her, tied its fur-trimmed belt and drew back the curtains. The day was bright and Cassie’s spirits rose further. She had no idea what the time was but thought it likely that her hostess was not the type to rise early, particularly when she had entertained the night before.

  She rang the bell for the maid, who had provided not only the dressing gown but also the nightgown Cassie was wearing, as well as various other pieces of equipment essential for the overnight stay of a woman not in her first youth but who must, of necessity, set a good deal of store by her appearance.

  The maid arrived quickly and bobbed a curtsey. “I do not suppose Mrs Farley has risen yet,” Cassie began.

  “Oh, yes, she has, Madam, and she asked that I conduct you to her chamber as soon as you woke.”

  “Oh, thank you. Well, if you will please send up some hot water, I will be ready directly.”

  Mrs Farley burst into a peal of laughter when Cassie, still wearing the dressing gown, was conducted into her presence by the maid.

  She was herself arrayed in a bright pink wrapper of even more frivolous design than the one she had lent her guest. Her hair, unnaturally dark considering her age, tumbled about her shoulders in curling abandon. “My dear,” she exclaimed, “I have very nearly succeeded in making you look more like a professional Bird of Paradise than ever I have seen you look before. It is the raiment, is it not? You retain your early adherence to impeccable taste. I daresay you shudder to wear something so common as that dressing gown!”

  “Not in the least,” Cassie replied stoutly. “It is certainly not in my usual style but I appreciate the kindness of its owner in lending it to me and – you know, it is the oddest thing – but wearing it makes me feel positively cheerful!”

  “Pray do not tell me now – when we have decided to find you a husband – that you have at last seen the advantages of life as a Cytherean!”

  Chapter 13

  Sylvia could think of nothing to say in her letter to Lord Marklye that would somehow fit the spirit in which he had bought the parure for her. She was sure that seduction had formed no part of his plan. Indeed, she did not think that he had had a plan. He had been in an affable frame of mind, had seen a person eaten up with desire for something which she could not afford and, having the means to give pleasure to another, had simply done so. There had been no more ulterior motive than if he had bought a ball for a child who was clearly longing to play with one.

  The parcel itself had contained no note, no hint and no compliment. It had not even reminded her of his name nor provided her with an address. She knew that propriety demanded that she return the diamonds and yet the difficulty of writing a suitable letter, which, she felt, must acknowledge the altruism of his gift whilst at the same time making clear that she could not accept it, struck her as almost insuperable. Every phrase which came to mind seemed to hint at feminine outrage at his encroachment – and she knew, not only that he did not deserve such a put-down, but that she did not wish him to think that that was how she felt.

  That much she understood and yet … she could not keep them. They were too valuable and the very nature of them meant that, whatever purpose he had had in mind when he bought them and had them delivered to her, they spoke of an expensive gift from a wealthy man to an indigent female; they represented, therefore, more or less the price, on account, of her submitting to him. In spite of this, she did not believe that he wanted her to do so in the way that both sexes would understand a woman bought with diamonds should.

  If that were the case – and she was certain that it was – how in the world was she to reject them? What she really wanted to say was: thank you for such a beautiful gift; nobody has ever given me anything I could have valued half so much, not because of its monetary value, but because of what I believe to be the purity of the thought and the kindness of the intention.

  Dipping her pen in the ink once more, she amended her language to express all this as best she could before finishing the letter with a firm refusal to accept such a valuable gift from a man whom she barely knew. She could not accept; it would be wholly improper to do so and, although there was nothing she would more dearly love to possess than the parure, she would never be able to wear it except in the privacy of her bedchamber; such a beautiful set of diamonds should be displayed for as many people as possible to admire. She remained etc.

  She read the letter several times before she felt happy with it. Lacking any means of sealing it, unless she asked Lord Sullington to do so - something she felt quite unable to do for he was bound to enquire as to the contents – she folded it and tucked it between the wrapping and the string. It was not, she hoped, a priggish letter; indeed, it made perfectly clear that, but for the proprieties and her position, she would have liked to keep the gift. It also made clear how much she valued the gesture and what she knew, which was not much, of the character of the giver. Indeed, it occurred to her that, were she in his position, she would be likely to return the present, disclaiming an ulterior motive. She wondered if, in the recesses of her heart, that was what she hoped and whether, if he did, she would feel able to keep them then.

  Having completed this difficult task, if not quite to her satisfaction, at least to a degree with which she must be content, she was once more assailed by the problem of how she was to arrange for it to be delivered. She supposed that, if she were to write his name upon the paper, Lord Sullington would either know the direction or would simply instruct a footman to find it. But she could not give his lordship a parcel with an unsealed letter attached and ask him somehow to convey it to Lord Marklye. What would he think? He would be almost bound to wonder how she knew Marklye and speculate upon the contents; very likely he would show it to his wife, whom he no doubt considered to be in charge of the governess, and she would have no compunction about reading the letter.

  By this time it was too late to attempt to send it that evening and she was forced, after eating a dull and exiguous supper in her room, to go to bed with it once more hidden in her stocking drawer. It occupied her thoughts for a large portion of the night; she woke frequently wondering if what she had written would cause his lordship to pursue her more assiduously or whether, on the contrary, it would annoy him and make him dislike her. Both outcomes seemed equally undesirable. She found that she valued his lordship’s regard and did not wish him to revise his first opinion of her. On the other hand, although a man who sent a diamond parure to a woman whom he had accosted in the street without an introduction would not normally be expected to be setting himself up as an honourable suitor, she was convinced that Lord Marklye was at least honourable, although she was not sure that he was a suitor. Did she wish him to try to fix his interest with her? In short, if his intentions were honourable, would she welcome them?

  The answer to this question caused her even more heart-searching and banished sleep for the remainder of the night. Whilst not precisely handsome, he was an attractive man with kind and humorous eyes; he had a perfectly respectable title and, by his own admission as well as the evidence of the gift, a substantial fortune. He was probably not more than ten years her senior. And yet the problem remained that, in spite of having taken the Duke in extreme dislike since she had seen him again outside the milliner’s, being indeed positively afraid of him and the revenge he might wreak upon her, she had given him her heart seven years ago and was unable to take it back. It w
as no longer hers.

  Realising this, she knew that she should not encourage Lord Marklye in any way because, if he did fall in love with her, she would have to disappoint him and he was a great deal too amiable for her to wish to serve him so ill. The diamonds must be returned and, if he should revise his opinion of her downwards, that should not – must not – weigh with her.

  Having come at last to this conclusion, she fell asleep. Not many hours remained of the night and she could do nothing the following day because Melissa wanted to talk about Lady Acland’s party. The Duke had, of course, been there, as had Lord Furzeby and his nephew.

  The Duke had made rather a set at her which had delighted her mama, who had encouraged him shamelessly. Mr Harbury, no doubt restrained by his uncle no less than Lady Sullington’s icy looks, had spent most of the evening gazing longingly at her but had spoken to her only briefly and danced only one country dance with her, during which it had been impossible to exchange more than a couple of words, shouted at each other as they ran down the set, for the most part in opposite directions.

  “Did Lord Furzeby lead you out?” Sylvia asked, wishing to divert her former pupil’s attention from the frustrations of the previous evening down a less upsetting avenue.

  “Yes, he did, once. He is a charming old man: so very courteous. He asked after you and expressed himself relieved that I had washed and bound up your injured knees. How do they feel this morning?”

  “Not too bad; they are easing up a little – not quite so stiff as when I first rose. I wish you will not call Lord Furzeby an old man. You make him sound quite doddery, which he is not. Did you think he was interested in you on his own account?”

  “Oh, no, most definitely not, although I think he might be quite taken with you and, if you do not think him old, perhaps you would be interested in him.”

  “No; although I think him very agreeable, I am not looking for a suitor, and I wish you will not search amongst your more mature acquaintance to find a suitable gentleman for me.”

  “Why not? You told me before we came to London that you had once had your heart broken. Is that why you are resolved not to marry?”

  “You make me sound quite dreadfully poor-spirited but, yes, in truth, that is why I shall never marry. I have never ceased to love him and could not, in all fairness or honesty, attach myself to another while I feel that way.”

  “But it was all so long ago! What has become of him? Has he married?”

  “No, but I believe he may do so soon.” She could not help a note of bitterness creeping into her voice as she spoke.

  Melissa’s mouth dropped open and her eyes widened. “Are you still in touch with him?”

  “No.”

  “Then how do you know that he is thinking of marrying? Dear Miss Holmdale, I have the oddest feeling that the man you love is none other than the Duke of Rother. Am I right?”

  “Why in the world would you think that?”

  “Because of his manner towards you when we met the other day – and yours to him, now I recall it. He was so uncivil as to make me want to hit him on your behalf. And then he bought you the bonnet. Why did he do that?”

  “Probably because you wanted me to have it; he wishes to please you.” Sylvia did not think this; on the contrary, she thought that he had done so in order to humiliate her in front of the shopkeeper. But she knew that Melissa would take him in dislike if she admitted this and, loving the girl, had no wish to scupper her chance of making a brilliant match.

  “I do not believe that he wishes to please me in the least; I think he is only paying court to me because he hopes it will annoy you,” Melissa declared roundly. “And he was so excessively unkind to you that I am certain he still loves you. He wishes to hurt you and I can only guess that that is because you once hurt him. Did you reject him?”

  Sylvia hesitated before saying, “Yes. I own he is the man I once loved – and am ashamed to admit that I have still a strong attachment to him. We were briefly engaged to be married but, after he had gone back to his regiment, someone told me that he had a – a lady – well, not a lady, of course – a female whom he supported financially but to whom he was not married. I was shocked and wrote him a strongly worded letter telling him, no doubt in a thoroughly priggish manner, that I could not marry a man whose morals were so loose.”

  Melissa was staring at her, still with her mouth open. “Did he not reply? Plead his case?”

  “No, I never heard from him again until we met outside the milliner’s. I wished I had not done it almost as soon as I posted the letter, but could not undo it. I could not write and say I believed I had made a mistake and I would like to marry him after all. I have regretted it every day since because, too late, I realised how very much I loved him. I do not for a moment think he deserves it; he has turned out to be perfectly odious and I daresay I should have been excessively unhappy married to him, but the truth is that, in spite of that, in spite of everything, I cannot help the way I feel. I could not marry another.”

  “No, indeed!” Melissa replied at once. “I do not think I could marry anyone but Mr Harbury.”

  But Sylvia could not agree to this. “You barely know him and you are both very young. You cannot be certain of your feelings at this stage.”

  “You must have been very young when you were betrothed to Rother – and so was he. He is not much older than you, is he? And yet you have loved him ever since and, unless I am more stupid than I thought I was, he too formed a lasting attachment. I think you had much better marry each other and next time I find myself dancing with him – as I don’t doubt I shall – I shall tell him so!”

  “Oh, pray do not do anything so foolish! And for Heaven’s sake, do not tell your mama what I have just divulged. She would be horrified and probably dismiss me at once. But, Melissa, if you do not dislike him so very much, I believe he might make you a perfectly acceptable husband.”

  “He would make me a horrid husband because he loves you! But I do not like him in any event, although, if you married him, I daresay I should find it easier to be civil to him. I know Mama has decided that he is the most eligible man in London – probably in England – but nothing will prevail upon me to marry him. Did she order you to try to persuade me?”

  “Yes, I own she did; well, not precisely to try to persuade you to marry him but to encourage you in the right direction which, I am afraid, is not towards Mr Harbury. Do you have any idea what his prospects are?”

  “No, and I do not care a fig. But there is plenty of time for me and, when you are married to Rother, you will be in a better position to help me. I think that is the most important thing at the moment. Shall we walk to the shops again this morning and hope we meet him?”

  “No, we will not. And do you not have a fitting with the dressmaker this morning?”

  “Yes, I do, and then Marianne, Lady Acland’s niece, has invited me to go to a market she likes where they have a wonderful choice of ribbons and trimmings at bargain prices. I do not think Mama will come with us. I own I hope that she will not. Marianne says that her maid will accompany us. I daresay the fitting will wear Mama out so much that she will not want to go to the Park this afternoon. I shall be as demanding as possible so that she will very likely be quite sick of me by the time we get home.”

  When Melissa had gone downstairs, Sylvia had leisure to consider her foolishness in allowing the girl to persuade her to admit to her feelings for the Duke. She did not like the fact that the girl thought, in the optimistic innocence of her youth, that she would be able to bring two embittered persons together again and see them live happily ever after.

  She must not waste what little time she had to herself while Melissa was out. She must sally forth as soon as she had seen Lady Sullington and her daughter leave the house. To this end, she sat down beside the window whence she could see the bottom of the steps which led up to the front door. She had decided, in the early hours of the morning, that she had best return the diamonds to the jeweller. Ver
y likely he would know Lord Marklye’s direction. But, although she sat there for more than an hour, she did not see anyone leave the house and eventually decided that she must have missed them when she turned away for a moment. She had better not delay her trip to the jeweller’s any longer.

  She put on her old bonnet – she could not go out in the lavender silk – and her pelisse, hung her reticule upon her arm and tucked the parcel inside her muff.

  As she gained the hall and began to make her way as swiftly as possible towards the street, she was stopped by Lady Sullington emerging from the small saloon; she must have been listening for her footsteps.

  “Miss Holmdale! I see you are going out. I would like a word with you before you go. I shall not detain you long.”

  Sylvia, bowing to the inevitable, followed her employer into the saloon.

  Lady Sullington wasted no time on niceties. “I do not know what precisely you said to my daughter on the subject of the Duke of Rother; she would not disclose your words but I know quite well whence emanates the blame for her avowed distaste for him. I thought I had made it perfectly clear that you were to encourage her to make a good match. The Duke has already shown considerable interest and the matter might have come to a satisfactory conclusion if my daughter had not been led to find him disagreeable.

  “She has just told me that she could not entertain his suit for a moment. She spoke extremely forcefully – and I know exactly where that tone came from. I shall give you one more chance to carry out my orders but will have no hesitation in giving you notice if her feelings towards him have not undergone a change within a very few days.”

  “Your ladyship is mistaken,” Sylvia said coldly. “I have endeavoured to present his grace’s character and position in a positive light to Miss Sullington. She has made whatever judgment she has come to of his character entirely of her own accord; indeed her feelings towards him differ markedly from the way I have endeavoured to present him. I can only suggest that she be given time to change her mind. As I explained at the outset, opposing her is unlikely to lead to the result you desire.”