“Hush, love. You are nothing of the sort. Can you sleep now?”
Aunt Effie shook her head fretfully. “I haven’t told you what I meant to. I’m rambling on about my stupid affairs. The point is this, Marianne: There are good men among the gentry. They may not have the polish or refinement of a viscount, but for all that, they are honorable, generous-hearted men. If the quality is closed to you, that does not mean you cannot marry. I would rather have married my dear John, for all his muddy boots, than have remained a spinster all my life. No, that is not strong enough. I would rather have married him than any man I ever met, and I should have but for a false pride instilled in me. But it was my fault, too ready to believe my own consequence. How many ladies pace out their lives alone because a proper match is never made for them? One in ten, one in five, one in three? When I think that I could have sat beside the hearth with him every night for the last thirty years . . ." There was a quiet satisfaction to her voice as she said simply, “I have loved him all this time. I could never seem to love anyone else.”
“You are fortunate indeed to have loved such a man, Aunt Effie. If I find so worthy a fellow, you may be sure it will not deter me that he is not from the ton. Sleep now, my love. You need your rest and we can talk more tomorrow.”
“I only spoke of him so that you would understand. Tomorrow I will not wish to share my memories.” She cast a pleading look on her niece.
Marianne nodded. “We won’t speak of him again.”
* * * *
Of the five calls the earl and his secretary made in the evening and the following morning, none could be considered a success, so far as Lord Latteridge was concerned. At Lord Haxby’s he was introduced to two comely maidens who seemed so appallingly young that he afterwards queried his secretary as to whether they were yet out of the schoolroom.
“I wonder if they’ve ever been in one,” was the amused reply. “Miss Agatha seemed to believe that the earth was flat, and Miss Amelia thought Walpole was still the king’s first secretary. But I believe there is a school of thought, in addressing marriage matters, wherein the gentleman should take to wife a woman whom he can mold to his own design. The tabula rasa principle, we might call it.”
“I do not subscribe to such a theory,” the earl grumbled.
Miss Condicote, on their next visit, presented a different problem altogether. If not precisely a bluestocking, and only from large-mindedness would one refrain from the epithet, she was at the very least a scholarly woman, dogmatic beyond her years and beyond reason, holding views on every possible subject, and often on the most scant knowledge. Her learning ran to the classics, and if a contemporary situation could conceivably be compared, or even if it could not, she managed to do so. Latteridge politely excused himself after she had drawn a parallel between Byng’s disaster at Minorca and Ajax’s at Troy.
My Lord Winscombe lived beyond Castleford, and though his medieval manor was somewhat out of the way, the earl remembered hearing the daughter’s name mentioned by his sister. He had no recollection of the context until he had sat with the family for half an hour. Then very clearly he recalled Louisa’s remarks: “Sarah is a flirt. I have seen her cast sheep’s eyes at the parson and the blacksmith, and lift her skirts above the ankles when her brother brought home his friends. Mama would have an hysterical fit if I fluttered my fan the way she does.”
The fan Sarah used on this occasion had ivory sticks and gossamer-like lace insets. Latteridge had seen fans worked with consummate skill by ladies of every European country, but he had never seen the like of Sarah’s artistry, not even by the most accomplished courtesans of the day. Fascinated, he watched as she drew the partially extended fan across the milky white expanse of her bosom, largely revealed in her low-cut gown. The sensuousness of the gesture was only heightened by the luminous blue eyes which rested adoringly on her beholder. With a longing sigh she proceeded to manipulate the accessory in such a way that each stroke brushed lightly against the taut fabric across her bosom. Some scientific observation concerning the concurrent heating and cooling of an object distracted Latteridge’s mind so that he entirely missed Lady Winscombe’s sage counsel on the pruning of fruit trees.
When he was once more seated in the phaeton, the ribbons in his hands, he murmured, “Dear God!” to which the staunch William replied, “Just so, my lord.”
Chapter Six
At this point, the earl would as lief have discontinued his endeavors for the day had he not, in his usual courteous manner, sent word ahead that he would call on Mr. Tremaine and Sir Joseph Horton. Despite years spent out of England, the earl had some acquaintance with most of the county families, and knew which possessed daughters of marriageable age. He found that his knowledge was rather out-of-date, however, in the case of the Tremaines, since all four of their daughters were apparently now married and the only one to encourage his attention was Mrs. Tremaine herself, who, looking to the future (her husband being seventy-five to her youthful fifty-eight) thought to provide herself with a splendid match in the event of Mr. Tremaine’s timely death.
“One could tire very quickly of this pursuit,” the earl remarked as he stepped once more into his carriage, having successfully disengaged his hand from the hopeful widow-to-be. “I have the most lowering feeling that the Hortons are abstainers from intoxicating beverages. Shall we stop at an inn on the way?”
“We would likely be unable to avoid dining with them if we arrive after two, sir."
"Then by all means let us press on.”
When the requisite time had been spent with the Hortons, Miss Clare Horton had not as yet presented herself, being above stairs dressing for the weighty occasion. As it turned out, her toilette was well worth the effort, and she floated into the great drawing room much as a goddess might, trailed by the poor cousin who lived with the Hortons in a rather servile capacity. The cousin’s cheeks were aflame from the abuse Miss Horton had heaped upon her during the delicate operation of dressing for his lordship’s presence, and the earl found that the family considered the girl of so little notice that they did not even bother to introduce her. Annoyed with such vulgar behavior, he performed the service for himself and his secretary, grimly pleased at the baronet’s discomposure.
Miss Horton was oblivious to the entire proceeding. Standing where the light caught her profile and silver-blonde hair to her best advantage, she smiled on the assembled party and said graciously, “Lord Latteridge must stay to dine. I have had no opportunity to speak with him yet.”
The earl avoided his secretary’s speaking eyes and declared his willingness to comply with the lady’s command. The expedition had degenerated to such depths that he may have had in mind to amuse himself, or his purpose might have been to gain an acquaintance with the silent cousin, but if it was the latter, he was doomed to failure. Sir Joseph placed the girl beside William and proceeded to ignore both of them, while encouraging his only child to demonstrate her accomplishments in the art of conversation.
“You will find, Lord Latteridge,” she announced, “that the county families have deteriorated during your long absence from Yorkshire. You must accept my condolences on your father’s death, of course. It is the greatest pity that you both should have spent lengthy periods on the continent, as your presence here might have added a very necessary tone to the county. I must tell you that the manners one sees displayed in York are anything but pleasing. That is lemonade, my lord. We are of the opinion that intoxicating beverages are at the root of the demoralization of our society.”
“An interesting theory.” The earl pushed his glass far enough away that he would not mechanically reach for and imbibe of it since, although he had no violent objection to the beverage itself, it did not accompany the boiled tench, roast beef, and broiled blade bone of veal to perfection. “Have you considered serving coffee or tea with meals?”
A pained expression contorted Miss Horton’s lovely countenance. “Coffee and tea are ruinous to the body. Although they are not into
xicating, one’s health is as surely destroyed by partaking of them as of spirituous liquors. One’s body is a temple, my lord, and must not be abused.”
“You must have a difficult time keeping servants.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“On principle I suppose you would not make a beer allowance, nor one for tea. Our servants at Ackton Towers would be sorely put out under such hardships.” Finding himself automatically reaching for his glass, the earl let his hand fall motionless to the table.
Miss Horton looked perplexed; she had not the slightest interest in servants and had no idea whether those at Cromwell were allowed beer or not. Rather than turn to her father or mother for enlightenment, she said, “We are removing to our town house in York next week. I trust you and your family will be in Micklegate for the season.”
“Mother and Louisa come in a week or so; Harry and I are already installed.”
A complacent smile did nothing to warm her glacial beauty. “Then we shall meet at the assemblies.”
If the earl was surprised that Miss Horton would partake of such a frivolous pastime as an assembly, he said nothing to indicate it. “Louisa is particularly looking forward to some entertainment. She was to have come out last year, but my father’s death of course prevented that. I fear it has seemed a long year for her, and doubtless I shall escort her to the rooms for the first assembly after they arrive."
“Children,” declared Miss Horton, who was all of twenty years of age, “are all too impatient to fling themselves into the gaieties of society. I myself find within me reservoirs of peace and devotion which sustain me quite happily at home and abroad. Few ladies are so fortunate. They must look to the world for their amusement and diversion—balls, card parties, and plays, are the food on which they nourish themselves. A diet of trivialities, my lord, can only develop a weak mind and a slovenly character. Just so have the county families deteriorated, along with their intemperance, of course. You would do well to speak severely with your sister before she is beyond hope.”
Much to Miss Horton’s astonishment, the earl laughed. “Poor Louisa is unlikely to be swayed by a few harmless entertainments, Miss Horton. She has the steadiest, most easygoing character of any young woman I’ve met; a delightful sense of humor allied with no common amount of understanding.”
Miss Horton was offended. Not only had he laughed at her, but implicitly compared her unfavorably with his sister. She said stiffly, “Levity is not a characteristic I much admire, Lord Latteridge. I fear it shows a want of judicious consideration of the serious nature of life itself.”
“Do you think so? I have always viewed laughter as the most treasured gift bestowed on man, to lighten his burdens and heighten his joys.” As though to validate his argument, in the pause which followed, a soft chuckle was the only sound in the room. All eyes turned to observe the cousin, Miss Sandburn, her face animated with pleasure at William’s droll observations. The two were oblivious alike to the censure of the Hortons or the earl’s approval; left to their own devices, they were finding pleasure in one another’s company. Which was a great deal more than Latteridge could say for himself. He was surprised by a grating sound from Miss Horton’s direction, and turned in alarm to see if she was choking. But, no! Her face was strained into a configuration of merriment, and she was valiantly attempting to laugh, unfamiliar as such an effort was.
“My lord, you have a ready wit," she pronounced, as though quoting from a century-old script. “I shall look forward to renewing my acquaintance with Lady Louisa if she is grown as clever as you say. Seldom do I find someone who shares my tastes. Mark my words, we will become bosom friends.”
A fine array of peaches, nectarines, plums, and pears was set out on the table, enabling Latteridge to question Lady Horton on whether they came from their own orchards. Although Miss Horton intervened to answer the question, the subject was changed and did not return to Lady Louisa. As soon as he was able without positive rudeness, the earl begged to excuse himself and his secretary.
Once they had left the well-named Cromwell in the distance, Latteridge said, “I did not mean to drag you away from Miss Sandburn, William, but another ten minutes in that house was not to be borne. Forgive me for ignoring you at table; I fear I had little choice.”
“The Hortons are not to be your in-laws, then?” William asked impudently, his eyes dancing with mirth.
“The Hortons will be lucky if they ever become anyone’s in-laws. I’m glad you were able to draw Miss Sandburn out. No doubt she has a wretched life there.”
“She’s an appealing young woman. You would do well to get to know her better.”
“Ah, but, William, you have stolen a march on me and after my unfortunate inability to include her in the conversation, she would have every right to look on me most unfavorably.” The earl regarded his secretary speculatively. “Have you a mind to pursue the acquaintance?”
William met his eyes with perfect candor. “I believe I do. I trust you have no objection.”
“None. You may find some difficulty in seeing her, however. They will probably bring her to York with them, but I would hazard a guess they treat her as an unpaid servant, and would be astonished to see someone pay attention to her. If I can be of service . . . short of involving myself with that family,” Latteridge hastened to add, “let me know.”
William sighed. “And here I’d thought to simply accompany you on all your calls to Miss Horton. A sad letdown.”
“Hogwash! And one other thing, William. If you hear that that woman has come to call on my sister, I am not at home. Louisa may decide for herself, of course, but I imagine one visit should answer that purpose. Now then, did you think Hardwick’s proposal for the drainage was excessive?”
* * * *
By noon Aunt Effie was breathing a little easier and Dr. Thorne was greatly encouraged by her progress. “The compound peony water seems to have brought some relief. I’ll send you another bolus of powdered Peruvian bark to administer this evening.” He noted Marianne’s drawn face and shook his head disapprovingly. “You’re not getting enough rest, Miss Findlay. Have the maid sit with her and get yourself to bed.”
“I will, I promise you, as soon as she falls asleep again. Do you think she’s out of danger now?”
“I’m optimistic.”
“Just like a doctor,” Marianne complained, rubbing a weary eye. “Never a straight answer.”
Dr. Thorne laughed. “That’s because we know so little, and the human body is so complex. Remind me to tell you one day of the astonishing things I saw with Mr. Kelly’s microscope when I studied in London. I’ve sent an order to Benjamin Marten for one of my own. Through the microscope I have seen the circulation of globules of blood in a frog’s toe web. Imagine! And not a thing could I see with my naked eye. Mr. Kelly holds that disease comes from without and is not an excess or lack of one of the vital humors. A fascinating theory, but one for which he can give little substantiation. Still . . .“ The doctor grinned. “Here I am running on when what you need is sleep, Miss Findlay. I’ll come again tomorrow.”
Valiantly attempting to stifle a yawn, Marianne offered her hand. “I should like to hear more about the microscope sometime, doctor, when Aunt Effie is better.” She watched him out and turned to speak with her aunt, but Miss Effington, unable to overhear their discourse, had succumbed to sleep once more. The maid Beth was called to sit with her and Marianne, as promised, wearily laid down on her bed and immediately fell asleep.
When Harry Derwent called, he was informed that Miss Findlay was unavailable, but that Miss Effington was improving. He was about to leave his card and depart when a commotion arose from the sickroom and, assuming a turn for the worse had occurred, he impulsively followed Roberts, who hastened in that direction. Instead of the expiring old lady he had expected, Harry found the invalid sitting up in bed commanding, “Well, find them! How am I supposed to read without my spectacles? I had them only a few days ago. Look on the table in the drawing
room.”
Miss Effington at this point noticed Derwent at the door of her room and asked sharply, "Who are you? What are you doing in my bedroom? Where’s my niece?”
In a persuasively mild voice Roberts tried to reassure her. “Miss Findlay is resting, ma’am, and this is Harold Derwent from next door come to inquire as to your health.”
“I don’t know him. Why should he care about my health?”
Harry stepped forward to explain." I met Miss Findlay yesterday. That is, apparently we had met before, years ago, but I didn’t recall.”
“A Derwent, are you?” Aunt Effie asked suspiciously, and gave a snort. “And you don’t remember my niece? How convenient for you.”
At a loss to understand, but thinking the old lady’s wits were wandering from her illness, Harry was conciliating. “Apparently Miss Findlay knew my sister Susan.”
Aunt Effie sniffed. “Little good it did her. But I will say nothing against Lady Susan. A charming, well-behaved girl she was, there’s no denying it, and the question of filial obedience is a mare’s nest. I certainly am no one to cast aspersions on it. Though in both cases it proved infelicitous, as a rule I respect the theory. Abuses of parental authority abound, God knows, but overall one should be able to look to the wisdom of elders.”
Now thoroughly lost, poor Harry murmured, “Yes, ma’am.” Miss Effington was eyeing him as though she expected a great deal more, and he was mercifully saved by the return of Beth, who shook her head and proclaimed her inability to find the spectacles.
“Then you shall read to me from Sir Charles Grandison,” the old lady declared.
Beth flushed. "I don’t read at all well, Miss Effington.”
To prevent another crisis, Harry interposed. "I would be delighted to read for you, ma’am.”
The Lady Next Door Page 6
