Lessons in Love (The Regency Intrigue Series Book 3)

by M C Beaton

  “I think,” said Lucinda cautiously, “that he already considers he has spared himself any expense by having me betrothed to that captain.”

  “That piece of folly was eight years ago!” exclaimed the countess. “Has anyone heard from this captain since?”

  “No. But I can remember it all so vividly. Captain Chamfrey looked at me with such hate and dislike in his eyes.”

  “As would any young man who had just been cheated at cards, then humiliated, then lashed, and then ordered to become betrothed to a little girl. I warrant you the brave captain thinks little of it, and when he does, he shrugs it off as some youthful folly.”

  “Perhaps. Papa appears to rouse deep hatred in many people. We cannot keep servants. Did you mark our butler? Have you ever seen such an evil-looking creature? He has no experience, you know. He was a pig farmer, and I believe he blames Papa for ruining him in some way. His name is Gotobed.”

  “If he is in the way of dealing with pigs, then I think he does have the necessary experience required for working with the Earl of Sotheran.”

  “Now, now, Grandmama. Pigs are rather pleasant animals,” said Lucinda with a giggle. “How horrid I am being! And how wonderful to be able to be horrid about Papa out loud. One cannot discuss him with the servants. I suppose he really is my father?”

  “Of course. Your poor mother did not have a chance to play him false, even if she was capable of dreaming of such a thing.”

  The countess held up her hand. “Listen! I hear a carriage approaching.”

  “There is going to be such a scene,” said Lucinda, turning a little pale. “I always arm myself with the poker. Papa is violent when he is aroused.”

  “Have you ever had need to strike him?”

  “Not as yet,” said Lucinda. “I have become very quick on my feet. I can escape from him very easily. But you cannot.”

  “Leave me, my child, to face him alone. No, run along. I am not afraid. We will get this matter better settled without you around. Go!”

  After she had heard Lucinda’s light footsteps running up the staircase, the old countess rose to her feet, grasped her tall cane in one hand, and, tossing back a froth of lace from her wrist, held on to the marble mantelpiece with the other hand, squared her thin shoulders, and faced the door.

  There came the sound of a raised voice from the hall. Then the door swung open and the Earl of Sotheran stood swaying on the threshold.

  “So it is you, you bag of decayed old bones,” he said. “Gotobed, throw her out.”

  The apelike butler stood stolidly behind his master. He appeared to have been suddenly struck deaf.

  “Stop enacting Hay market tragedies, Giles,” said the countess firmly. “I have a proposition to put to you, one to your advantage.”

  “Out with it, then.”

  The earl walked into the room and stood with his back to the fire. The countess raised a scented handkerchief fastidiously to her nose. The earl never washed and only changed his linen once a month.

  In her light, clear voice, the countess outlined her plans for Lucinda.

  A look of unholy glee filled the earl’s red-veined eyes. “She don’t need a Season,” he crowed. “She’s already betrothed.”

  “Gads, ‘oons!” said the countess. “It is surely not your plan to hold the girl to that ridiculous betrothal.”

  “It is.”

  “You are a cruel and unnatural monster. To tie such a beauty down to a mere captain.”

  “He is no longer a mere captain,” jeered the earl triumphantly. “I knew what I was doing at the time. That captain has just been made the Marquess of Sunningburgh. The old marquess died six weeks ago and his son only lived to succeed him by a few days. So the new marquess—and my future son-in-law—is as rich as Croesus.”

  “Why do this? I can guarantee to find a good husband for her, one to her liking.”

  “She’s a female, ain’t she? Females don’t have choices. They do as they are told. So you ain’t taking her anywhere. Go and get your traps and get out. Out!” screamed the earl, blasting fetid breath into the countess’s face.

  “And if I refuse to go? If I insist on taking Lucinda with me?”

  “Then she will be stripped naked and lashed in front of the servants. She’s my property and I can do what I like with her.”

  “You have not long to live,” said the countess. “I can see it in your face. When you die, I shall fetch Lucinda.”

  “Go on. Go!” shouted the earl.

  The countess made her slow and stately exit from the room, but he followed her, jeering and catcalling. “Is that as fast as you can move, you old harridan? Show a leg!”

  The countess took a firm hold of her tall cane and turned on the staircase to face her tormentor. “Leave me in peace,” she said. “My bags have been taken upstairs and I wish to oversee the repacking of them. There is no need to follow me.”

  She turned and marched ahead, but still he pressed close behind. “She’ll be married to the marquess and you ain’t coming to the wedding” came his hateful voice from behind her.

  The countess made one last try. She turned at the top of the grand staircase and faced the Earl of Sotheran.

  “Have you considered what sort of marriage you are giving Lucinda? She does not wish to wed a man who has proved to be a conscienceless ruffian. He will not wish to be forced to wed her when he could now marry any woman he wants.”

  “That’s the joke of it!” cried the earl. “Lord, I can’t wait to see his face. And Lucinda needs taking down a peg. Too wishy-washy and don’t-dare-touch-me-sir. High time she had a man’s leg over her!”

  The broad oaken stairs seemed to swirl and swim before the countess’s eyes.

  The earl’s face leered up at her like the face of a gargoyle.He gave a hearty laugh terminating in a loud belch. He turned, staggering slightly, for he had been drinking in the carriage on the road home.

  “Giles,” pleaded the countess. “I am your mother. I have let you go your own way. I have never asked you for anything before. Do not do this thing, I beg of you. I cannot be answerable for my actions. I will stop you. I must stop you.”

  The earl hesitated and then shrugged. He did not turn around. “Bad cess to you!” he growled. “I’ll do as I please.”

  Like a puppet, as if some force were controlling her actions, the countess seized her long cane, and as he made to go down the stairs, she thrust it between his thick bowed legs and twisted hard.

  He lost his balance and fell heavily against the worm-eaten bannisters, hanging backward over them. There was a sickening crack as the bannisters began to give way. The earl clawed at the air, desperately trying to regain his balance. The countess watched, her face like a death mask.

  With one final massive crack, the bannister and posts gave way, and with a loud animal scream, the Earl of Sotheran plummeted down onto the tile floor of the hall below and lay still, his head twisted at a grotesque angle.

  The countess slowly began to descend the stairs as the servants came running. Behind her on the landing above, she heard Lucinda cry, “What happened? I heard a terrible scream.”

  The little countess turned round and looked up at Lucinda. “Your poor father has fallen to his death, child. Do not look. ‘Tis an ugly sight.”

  Mark Chamfrey, now promoted to major, made his triumphal entry into Madrid some two months later with Wellington’s victorious army. After the long years of fighting, it was bewildering to be so surrounded by flowers and wine, lemonade, songs, and dancing. There were so many waving palm branches that one Scottish private remarked that it looked like a moving forest—”a sort o’ peacefu’ Dunsinane.” The city was hung with gold and silver draperies, lighted with tall wax candles, rang with bells, and resounded with loud “vivas.” The bewitching beauty of the Spanish ladies fascinated eyes tired by the bloodiness of war.

  “We’ll be in Paris soon, Mark,” said Captain Tommy Flanders.

  “Let’s not look so far ahead,” said
Major Chamfrey to his friend. “Tonight we celebrate. I want to find me a pretty Spanish lady.”

  “Glad to hear it,” said Captain Flanders with a laugh. “For a long time I’d thought you had turned monk.”

  “How could one remain a monk with such charmers around?” said the major.

  A ballet of young ladies was pirouetting alongside the marching redcoats with offerings of grapes, sticky sweets, and laurel leaves.

  At the front of the triumphal column rode Wellington, high-nosed and silent, wild brunettes covering his hands, his sword, his boots, and even his horse with Spanish kisses.

  An equerry came riding along the column, obviously searching for someone. Then his eyes lighted on Major Chamfrey and he reined in alongside him. “You are to present yourself at the palace, Major,” he said. “The commander has some intelligence for you.”

  “Lord Wellington!” exclaimed the major. Wellington had recently been made an earl, and rumor had it he would soon climb higher in the peerage.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “When?”

  “As soon as possible. Follow me.”

  “Good luck, Mark!” called Captain Flanders. “Hope Nosey don’t eat you alive!”

  Major Chamfrey swung his horse out of the column and rode after the equerry toward the royal palace. Wellington and his staff had just disappeared inside.

  The major was told to wait and then moved from the small anteroom to a larger, grander one, and then through a succession of ornate rooms until he at last came face-to-face with the commander in chief.

  Lord Wellington glanced up as the major was ushered in. The commander was seated behind a desk with papers and documents spread out in front of him.

  “Sit down, Chamfrey,” he said. He waited until the major was seated and then shuffled among the papers until he found the one he was looking for.

  “I am sorry this news has taken so long to reach us, Chamfrey. The Marquess of Sunningburgh is dead.”

  “I am sorry to hear that, my lord,” said the major. “But I hardly knew him. A distant relative, that is all.”

  “Perhaps closer than you think. His son and heir followed him to the grave shortly afterward. That makes you the new Marquess of Sunningburgh.”

  “My lord! I had no expectation …”

  “Evidently not, to judge from your surprise. I am sorry to lose a brave officer. You must return to take up your civilian duties. Support me in the House of Lords, hey?”

  “Of course, my lord. But it is hard to leave Spain when we have really begun to rout Napoleon’s troops.”

  “A pleasant reason, nonetheless. You outrank me now, Chamfrey.”

  “Not for long, sir. It is rumored you will be created marquess soon, or even duke.”

  “Pah, I have no need of titles. They do not help me win this war, and this demmed title of yours is taking one of my best men away.”

  “I shall return, my lord,” said the new Marquess of Sunningburgh firmly.

  “Don’t be in too much of a hurry. You have never had

  any leave in all this long time, nor asked for it. Take a year and then see how you feel. Some pretty wench waiting all this time for you? Betrothed?”

  “Yes,” said the Marquess of Sunningburgh. “But it was a betrothal forced on me. I shall not be tied to it.”

  “Get yourself some good lawyers, then. You are very rich now as well as titled. The lady might not give up a marquess as easily as she would a major.”

  The marquess found the palms of his hands damp. Did that old villain, the Earl of Sotheran, know of the possibility of his inheriting the title?

  “That’s all,” he heard Lord Wellington saying. “Got more to do. Run along.”

  The marquess stood up.

  “My lord,” he said in a strained voice, “I see you have received many newspapers and letters. Is there any news among them all of a certain Earl of Sotheran?”

  “Yes. He died last spring. Relative?”

  “No, my lord.”

  “Friend?”

  “No, my lord.”

  “Get along then and don’t stand there wasting my time asking about people you don’t seem to care a rap about.”

  The new Marquess of Sunningburgh walked out through the painted rooms and then stood in the great entrance hall of the palace. From outside came the cheers and bells and shouts of the city’s welcome.

  Soldiers and officers were walking backward and forward. The marquess saw a chair in a dark corner and went and sat down to sort out his jumbled thoughts.

  Lucinda! That was the girl’s name. An odd, quaint child with long black hair, greenish-gold eyes, and amazing courage. It was now too late to get his revenge on the earl. He certainly did not mean to revenge himself on a mere child.

  He had carried uncomfortable thoughts of revenge around for too long. It was time to say good-bye to the past.

  The Marquess of Sunningburgh stood up and walked out into the sunlight. He half turned and looked back. He had the oddest feeling he had left his old self behind, and that in the palace entrance hall, on that chair in the dark corner, sat young Captain Mark Chamfrey, bitterly vowing revenge.

  Chapter Four

  Lady Lucinda Esmond had passed the occasion of her nineteenth birthday before she went to London for the first time to prepare for her debut. By coincidence, it was to be the Marquess of Sunningburgh’s first visit to the metropolis since that fateful evening he had played at cards with the Earl of Sotheran.

  On his return to England, he had gone immediately to the Sunningburgh estates and had taken up his duties. Peace with France and the defeat of Napoleon had put to rout any thoughts of returning to the army.

  Lucinda had at last agreed to a Season. She still did not wish to marry, but she did wish to escape the bulk of her relatives and well-wishers who had descended on Partletts en masse immediately after the death of her father. Where she once had to hide and dodge to escape curses and blows, where she once had to say her prayers and read nothing but improving books to protect her mind from the tales of the doxies, she found she had to escape from smothering love and kindness. There were aunts and uncles and cousins—all resident at Partletts and all prepared to do all in their power to wipe out the misery of the years of her father’s bullying.

  New, efficient servants were hired and the Countess of Lemmington surprisingly bought Gotobed, the surly butler, his pig farm back—surprising since Gotobed had only been at Partletts a few months before the earl’s death and such generosity was usually reserved for old and valued servants. Admittedly Gotobed’s tale of being cheated out of his farm by the earl was probably true, but surely he came at the end of a long list of other people who had suffered from the earl’s greed.

  Lucinda found herself in possession not only of Partletts, but of a vast fortune. She was eager to begin redecorating the old house, but her uncle, Lord Lemmington, told her that young ladies should not trouble their minds with such tedious details. It was time Lucinda had some frivolity, he said. In vain did Lucinda protest. Uncle Charles sent his steward to take over the running of the estates. The house, he said, had waited for redecoration for a considerably long time and could wait a little longer. Lucinda’s future husband would handle all such matters.

  And among all this cocooning, Lucinda had a nagging worry always at the back of her mind about the dowager countess. The old lady had grown frail and listless since the death of her son. This made Lucinda feel guilty. She found it hard to mourn her father and credited the countess with strong maternal feelings, hitherto unsuspected.

  One week, when there was a temporary lull in the stream of visitors and Lucinda and the old countess were left alone in the mansion, Lucinda racked her brain for ways to cheer her grandmother. She read to her, suggested drives, suggested visits to neighboring beauty spots, but all to no avail.

  She looked up impatiently when the new butler, Alexander, entered the room to announce a caller. Alexander was the very stateliest of butlers and in marked contrast
to the late earl’s brand of servant.

  “Who is it?” asked Lucinda wearily. Her grandmother had not yet put in an appearance that morning, but Lucinda still had hopes of reviving the old lady’s spirits and did not want to be distracted by any caller.

  “A person by the name of Venables,” said the butler, presenting a shabby, much-used card.

  Lucinda’s face lit up as she remembered the curate who had once been so kind to her.

  “Send him in, Alexander,” she cried.

  Mr. Venables looked much the same: thin, nervous, and timid. He relaxed visibly under the warmth of Lady Lucinda’s welcome.

  After some general conversation, Lucinda found herself confiding in him. She explained her worries about her grandmother.

  “Mothers grieve over the death of even the worst of sons,” said Mr. Venables. ‘Often love has little to do with liking. May I be so bold as to suggest, my lady, that were you to show signs of becoming interested in finding a marriage partner, that might rouse the countess to some interest. For example, you could appeal to her for help in chaperoning you during the Season.”

  “But I do not wish to marry!”

  “Her ladyship does not need to know that. A change of scene would do her good. You do have a town house?”

  “Yes, in Berkeley Square. I have never seen it. I have never been to London at all.”

  “Oh, then you should go. I went to London once as a young man,” said Mr. Venables dreamily. “It was like a fairy tale. All the colors and lights and theaters.”

  Lucinda was very tempted to offer to take Mr. Venables with her, should she decide to go to London. But Uncle Charles would exclaim in horror. What! Disgrace yourself by entertaining a shabby country curate! Perhaps she might find some excuse to send for him.

  They talked further about general things and all the while Lucinda thought of London, and the more she thought about it, the better the idea seemed.

  * * *