The Duke, now alone but for the second footman, who could have been mistaken for a statue, sighed and leaned back on the hard chair, stretching out his legs.
Sylvia, gaining her room without meeting anyone, shut the door. Her trip to London, upon which she had had no desire to embark in the first place, appeared to be almost at an end. She wished it had not begun. Her bruising encounter with her former love outside the milliner’s shop had turned into a drama whose end was impossible to foretell.
When she had left the house earlier she had been bent on disposing of the diamonds which, while they remained in her possession, rocked the moral high ground on which she had been accustomed to plant her feet so securely. In trying to maintain that position, she had almost been killed, had suffered another crushing encounter with the Duke, had received – and returned – a kiss beyond interpretation and, finally, had been summarily dismissed. Now, it appeared that the Duke had assumed some sort of responsibility for her, claiming her as a – no doubt indigent – relative and determined to house her, at least temporarily, in what she suspected to be a hugely expensive hotel. What did he mean by it? She was much afraid that he intended to offer her his protection and she dreaded to think what the world would make of that – or how she was to remain upon the moral high ground when thrown into close contact with him. If her reaction to his kiss was anything to go by, she would not remain there long.
It did not appear that she had a great deal of choice, at least in the next few minutes: the Duke had made it clear that he would wait downstairs until she had packed her bags and he had shut her into a hackney carriage. She resolved that, once in the carriage and away from him – for it appeared that he did not intend to accompany her – she would direct the coachman to take her somewhere else, preferably to a modest hostelry somewhere near the spot whence the stage departed for the west.
Having come to this depressing conclusion, she set about packing her trunk. She did not have many possessions and the task was swiftly accomplished. He had instructed her to provide herself with an overnight bag, which she did, packing it only with what she thought she might need for the next day or two.
Having cleared the room of her belongings, she picked up the portmanteau which was to be her overnight bag, and went along the corridor to Melissa’s room.
She found the girl pacing up and down like a caged animal. Her face was pale but for two spots of colour high on her cheekbones and her blue eyes stared miserably out from red and swollen lids. Sylvia wondered if she knew of her governess’s dismissal and whether the tears, which had clearly been shed recently, were on this account although she suspected that Lady Sullington would want to be quite certain that the governess had left before breaking this news to her daughter. It seemed more likely that they were a result of the earlier falling-out and that the most likely reason for such a prolonged bout of weeping was that she had been forbidden to speak to Mr Harbury again – and possibly ordered to marry the Duke. This might explain why her ladyship had been driving alone – and why her temper had been so frayed. If she had commanded her daughter to wed the Duke and had followed this almost immediately by herself drawing his blood – albeit by mistake – she must by now be almost ready to kill the governess. Sylvia felt a stab of relief that his grace was waiting in the hall.
“Miss Holmdale! Oh, dear Miss Holmdale, you are returned! I wanted so much to speak to you, but you were not here. I have quarrelled dreadfully with Mama. She almost ordered me to marry Rother – and he has not yet even offered for me – and I … I suppose I should have held my tongue for it is perfectly possible that he will not, but I could not bear the way she spoke so disparagingly of Mr Harbury. She does not care for me at all, does she? I think her a most unnatural mother!”
Sylvia thought so too, but did not say so. “Pray sit down for a moment, Melissa. I have something to say to you and very little time in which to say it.”
Melissa’s mouth dropped open and her hands flew to her heart. “Oh, what is it? Something awful, is it not?”
“I own it is not good,” Sylvia replied, pushing the girl gently on to a sofa by the window and seating herself beside her. She took Melissa’s hand and went on, “I had gone out for a walk and met Rother; he was on his way here, not, he assured me, to make you an offer, but merely to issue you with an invitation to something or other. He is certainly greatly admiring of you but he assured me that he was not about to make you an offer.”
Melissa sighed with relief and relaxed a little.
Sylvia continued, “While I was speaking to him, your mother drove past in her phaeton and saw us in – in conversation.” She had seen no such thing and Sylvia stopped abruptly; she could not deceive Melissa in this way. Apart from her belief in the importance of telling the truth at all times, she did not think that Melissa should be coerced into marrying a man who not only had a long-standing mistress, but had kissed his intended’s governess in the middle of the street. Such a man would not make a good husband for an innocent girl.
“In point of fact, he was kissing me when your mama drove past,” she corrected, speaking in a rather rushed manner, colour flaming in her cheeks.
Melissa appeared delighted. “There! What did I say? He was horrid to you only because he is still in love with you! Have you accepted him?”
“Certainly not!” Sylvia replied tartly, wondering what she might be expected to have accepted. She was certain that he had not offered marriage and fairly certain that he had not even offered carte blanche; all he wanted was for her to be sunk in the eyes of the world. “He did not offer me anything, Melissa; I believe he wished only to punish me. I am not telling you this because of him or anything he might mean by it.” She could not use the word ‘kiss’ again; it was by far too upsetting and, in the circumstances, degrading. “I am telling you because your mama saw it and jumped to the wrong conclusion - only less charitably – and dismissed me on the spot.”
“What?” Melissa shrieked, jumping to her feet.
“She dismissed me and told me never to speak to you again. I am afraid that I am defying her because I could not go without saying good-bye and explaining something of what happened. I must go now - Rother is downstairs and will be growing impatient if I do not appear soon - but I wish you all the happiness in the world.”
“How can I ever be happy without you and if I am forced to marry him?”
“I am persuaded he will not offer for you now; I rather think the scene in the street may have put him off a trifle.”
“You mean because Mama was so disagreeable that he will not want to ally himself with our family?”
“Something of the sort. Would you now like to marry him? I am certain he can be brought to change his mind when he sees how very unlike your mama you are.” Sylvia felt she should not have said something which was so overtly critical of the girl’s mother but, on the other hand, Melissa was no fool and had herself begun the conversation by commenting on how unnatural – and unloving – her mama was.
“No, I should not like to marry him. I do not love him; I love another. Why is he waiting downstairs if he does not care for you?”
“He says that he feels responsible for my dismissal – which indeed I cannot deny that he is – and is determined that I shall not be barred from the house until I have packed.”
“Is he to take you somewhere safe?”
“He has ordered a hackney to take me to a hotel. I will catch the next stage which is travelling west and go home to my parents. I shall be perfectly safe; pray do not be anxious for me.”
Sylvia rose and bent to kiss her former pupil but Melissa held on to her.
“Will you write to me and give me your direction?”
“Yes, of course I will.” Sylvia knew that any letter she wrote would be removed and thrown away before Melissa could see it, but she did not wish to pour further opprobrium upon the girl’s mother. “Dearest Melissa, the last piece of advice I can give you is: do not be too hasty to marry; you are very young a
nd must be certain of your own heart before you ally yourself to anyone. Will you promise me that?”
“Yes, of course I will; and I shall ask Rother about you. He will know where you are, will he not?”
“I should not think so, but by all means ask him. And do not be too hard upon your mama: she only has your best interests at heart.”
“No, she does not,” Melissa declared roundly. “She is thinking of herself and how proud she will be if she succeeds in marrying me to a Duke.”
Sylvia did not reply for she knew this to be true. She kissed the girl again, picked up her portmanteau and went to the door.
As she went down the stairs, she reflected that this had been a painful interlude and suspected that she had said things which might have been better left unsaid, but she had not been able to bear simply to disappear without a word, leaving the girl to hear her mother’s version or, more likely, no explanation at all.
As she neared the bottom of the stairs, she saw the Duke sitting on a hard chair, attended by the two footmen, who stood to attention in their accustomed places.
He rose when he saw her, saying, “You have been an age. What in the world have you been doing? I made sure you could not have many possessions.”
“I have not but I had to say good-bye to Melissa.”
“Of course you did. I had forgotten that. Was she much upset?”
“She was already distressed, having quarrelled with her mama earlier.”
He nodded but did not question her further. “I think you will find your former employer in that room.” He directed a glance at the closed door beside which he had been sitting. “The hackney is outside. I will wait here until you have completed your business with her ladyship, just in case there should be any trouble.”
“Very well.”
Sylvia went to the door without hesitation, knocked and walked in without waiting for an invitation to do so. Lady Sullington was sitting in her accustomed chair, her embroidery in her hands but her fingers still.
“It is all of a piece,” her ladyship said in her high voice. “How dare you walk into this room without being announced? I suppose your protector is waiting for you outside.”
Sylvia disdained to answer this remark. She said, “I have come for my wages and the reference.”
“I cannot write a reference for a harlot,” Lady Sullington stated. “Here are your wages.” She picked up a small pile of money resting on the table beside her and held it out disdainfully.
Sylvia took it but stood her ground. “I will not leave without the reference.”
Lady Sullington rose and jerked the bell once with such violence that it was surprising that it did not come away from the wall.
“I will have you thrown out,” she snapped.
“So be it,” Sylvia agreed pleasantly. “No doubt such conduct will impress his grace with the sort of family to which he is thinking of allying himself.”
“You – you brazen hussy!” her ladyship screamed. “You would blackmail me, would you?”
“I do not need to; his grace has seen your conduct for himself.”
The door opened to admit the butler.
“Miss Holmdale is leaving,” Lady Sullington said. “Please escort her to the door.”
The Duke appeared behind him. “Have you everything, Cousin? Your servant, Lady Sullington.” He bowed ironically.
“Not the reference, Cousin,” Sylvia said. “Her ladyship is somewhat exercised as to the wording of it.”
“Thank you,” the Duke said to the butler, ushering him out of the room and shutting the door. “In that case I will dictate.” He pulled out a chair at the small desk in the window.
Lady Sullington sat down like a puppet whose strings were being pulled and, when the Duke drew a sheet of paper towards her, dipped a pen in ink and handed it to her, she did not demur.
“Miss Holmdale has been in my employ for more than seven years,” he began.
Sylvia, standing behind, watched as her ladyship’s pen scratched across the paper obediently and reflected that it was no wonder that the boy she had loved had become so insufferably proud and scornful; his position in the world gave him so much power that it would have been a wonder if he had not come to abuse it.
Chapter 18
Cassie, when she managed to stem the flow of Mr Harbury’s conversation, turned to her other neighbour to say apologetically, “I am afraid I have been uncivil.”
Lord Marklye smiled. “Mr Harbury has clearly been quite fascinated by you and, now that you are looking at me, I can perfectly understand it.”
She laughed. “Pray do not feel it necessary to flatter me. You are not, unless I am much mistaken, suffering from dashed hopes as Mr Harbury is. He has not, in fact, been paying me compliments but telling me over and over again, in myriad different ways, how truly wonderful the peerless Miss Sullington is. I confess that, if I were not so old, I would be quite cast down by having had to listen to a man extolling another woman’s perfection for such an age.”
“I think you do yourself an injustice, Miss Minton. Having been obliged to sit next to him during the last act, when he was so afflicted that he barely glanced at the stage, I can assure you that his manner cheered up no end as soon as he was introduced to you. He may have been speaking of Miss Sullington but his eyes have been admiring you.”
“You cannot see his eyes from where you are sitting. They have indeed been shining, but that is as he recalls what Miss Sullington said to him on each occasion when they have met. Fortunately, in spite of his excitement, there have not been a great many of them or I should have been obliged to listen for several more hours. I hope he will ultimately be successful in his suit; he is an amiable young man.” She lowered her voice, “Do you have any idea as to his prospects for I am much afraid that the Sullington parents may not consider him good enough for their paragon of a daughter?”
“I am afraid I know very little. You will have to speak to his uncle, whose heir I believe him to be.”
“And, to make matters worse, I understand his main rival is the Duke of Rother.”
“Is he?”
Cassie, sufficiently startled by both the shortness of this reply and the amused tone of it, raised her eyes to her companion’s and read sympathy in them. He knew; of course he knew; everyone did.
Her eyes, clinging to his cool grey ones, filled with tears of self-pity and the blood rushed into her face.
“You must not despair,” he said gently and the tears spilled over.
“I have been with him for years,” she admitted in a trembling voice. “But he is much younger than I. I have always known that one day he would marry and leave me but still, when he broke it to me, I was quite overset.”
“That is perfectly understandable. I hope you will not take it amiss if I offer you some advice?”
“No, pray do.”
“It has, if what I hear is true, only taken place very recently. You are shocked and hurt, which is not at all surprising. You must allow yourself time to recover, to come to terms with what has happened and mourn what you have lost. You cannot, if you have any sensibility – which I believe you do – expect to be able to run out into the street, as it were, and find a replacement instantly.”
“No, no, you are perfectly right, but the thing is, you see, that, at my age, I have not much longer left to – to find a replacement.”
“You are hardly in your dotage yet and you are still quite devastatingly beautiful. Perhaps you should go abroad for a space to recover in a place where everyone will not be looking at you and judging you. It must be odious to have the whole world, as it seems, seeing your pain.”
“It is humiliating,” she muttered.
“Yes, you feel it so now but really, you know, it is quite usual. We all must endure such things from time to time.”
During the drive home, Cassie had the impression that her friend was satisfied with the way the evening – and particularly the supper party – had gone.
In fact, although she had not heard much of the conversation between Cassie and Lord Marklye, Mrs Farley had observed that the two had, once they had begun to talk, seemed very thick, both faces animated. Her own earlier conversation with him notwithstanding, she had, by the end of the evening, become more sanguine about the pair making a match of it - eventually. Initial denial of interest was no bar to later fascination, in her experience.
Cassie, too tired to embark upon another argument, did not disabuse her friend of her optimism so that, by the time the pair separated outside Cassie’s house, both were perfectly happy with what they saw as the outcome of the evening. Mrs Farley believed that Cassie was well on the way to the altar with Lord Marklye, whereas Cassie herself knew that standing at an altar with his lordship was no more likely than standing there with the Duke.
Her peace of mind did not last, however, and she passed a troubled night; her conscience smote her for she knew quite well what Prue believed and that it was far from the truth. Her trusting nature, which had led her into the greatest possible difficulty early in her life, caused her to feel a deep-rooted dislike of deceiving others, although she was aware that such an attitude was hypocritical in the extreme. Prue was her greatest friend and staunchest ally; she had her, Cassie’s, best interests at heart; it was wicked to deceive her; she must be told the true state of affairs as soon as possible.
Having come to this conclusion, Cassie did fall asleep, although not for long. Unfortunately, her mind was unable to rest easy until she had carried out her resolve and she woke at frequent intervals to find her brain whirling round, flying inconsequentially from Lord Marklye to the Duke, passing on the way both Miss Sullington and his grace’s former love, only to stop, trembling, at the image of Mrs Farley and her well-meaning plans.
She did not see Mrs Farley again until the afternoon when, following a hastily-penned invitation, she climbed into that lady’s barouche, which arrived in a burst of sunshine just after five. It was a vehicle in which both ladies’ charming outfits and fair faces would be clearly visible; indeed, as they drove smartly in at the gates of the Park, there were several people who observed the two handsome middle-aged women bowing and smiling.
Sylvia Or The Moral High Ground Page 16
