Louise M Gouge

by A Suitable Wife

  “Yes, of course,” Lord Greystone said. “I did promise Lady Beatrice a view of the Serpentine. Porter, take us over to yon willow tree.”

  “Yes, milord.” The man directed the horses along the meadow road and drew them up on a patch of grass.

  After the footmen assisted everyone from the carriage, Lord Greystone ordered them to fetch refreshments. Beatrice had eaten but a small breakfast, and after her ordeal, she looked forward to making up for her lack of food.

  To her surprise, as they all walked toward the lush weeping willow, Mrs. Grenville forsook her husband’s company and looped an arm around one of Beatrice’s. “I have been looking forward to meeting you, Lady Beatrice. For weeks Mrs. Parton has been announcing your coming with great delight. Now that you are here, I know you will be a great comfort to her since her last child has married.”

  “I thank you, Mrs. Grenville.” Although Beatrice was uncertain of the lady’s rank, she permitted the familiarity. If she was learning nothing else from Mrs. Parton, it was that a person’s worth and character could not be measured in titles or wealth. “However, I do hope I can persuade her to leave the driving to her servants.”

  “Oh, my, yes.” Mrs. Grenville laughed. “I shall pray to that end. Ah, here we are.”

  Lord Greystone and his brother parted the tree’s graceful branches like a curtain, revealing the promised stone bench, a shady refuge with a picturesque view of the river. The moment the two ladies sat, their arms still linked, Beatrice felt a kinship with her new acquaintance. Having no sister, she had always longed for an intimate female friend. Perhaps Mrs. Grenville was the answer to her prayers. Summoning courage, she decided to make her first attempt at forging a friendship.

  “Mrs. Grenville, I understand you were Lady Greystone’s companion.” Beatrice would not be so rude as to ask how she bore the viscountess’s haughty ways. “How did you come to that position?”

  A shadow crossed the lady’s face. “Mama died years ago, and then my father died last October. Papa was a poor country vicar, and though he thought he had left me a small inheritance, it could not be located. I was utterly destitute.” She glanced toward her husband with a smile. “But our heavenly Father never forsakes us. He sent Major Grenville to me—he was bringing news of my brother, with whom he served in America. When the major learned of my situation, he took me straightaway to his mother, Lady Greystone, to be her companion.” A soft laugh escaped her. “The lady was not entirely pleased, for she found that my coming overset her orderly world. But she grew to accept me—somewhat.”

  Beatrice stifled a laugh. So Lady Greystone disliked this sweet girl, too. “And it would appear that Major Grenville’s world was a bit overset, as well. It is a testimony to his love for you that he gave up his army career.”

  “Indeed. But Edmond had always wanted to be a barrister. With Uncle Grenville’s sponsorship and tutelage at the Inns of Courts, he will soon be able to accept his own clients.” She cast another adoring glance at her husband before turning back to Beatrice. “Now it is your turn. Please tell me about yourself.” Her fair cheeks turned a little pink. “That is, if I am not being impertinent to ask.”

  “Not at all.” Beatrice gave her a reassuring smile. Everything about Mrs. Grenville invited confidence, and she seemed to want a friend, as well. As a vicar’s daughter, surely she had heard her own share of confessions from her father’s female parishioners. Confident of her discretion, Beatrice decided to trust her and dismissed a lifetime of reserve. “In truth, I am in much the same position that you were in before Mr. Grenville rescued you, although not quite as severe.” She sighed as memories surged forth. “My parents are both gone, too, and my brother has held the title of Lord Melton for three years. In that time, he has fallen in with bad company and has wasted his entire fortune, including my dowry.”

  “Oh, my dear.” Mrs. Grenville gripped Beatrice’s hand, and her eyes reddened. “How you must grieve his fall.”

  Beatrice jolted slightly. This lady had unknowingly exposed her selfishness. She had meant to garner some commiseration regarding the loss of her wealth, especially her dowry, but Mrs. Grenville rightly pointed out what should be her greatest grief. “Yes, I do.” It was not a lie.

  “And of course that places you in a difficult position.” Mrs. Grenville squeezed her hand. “Yet our heavenly Father did not leave you without resources either, for Mrs. Parton has taken you in.” A twinkle lit her green eyes. “I think she must be a delightful lady to work for, wild driving notwithstanding.”

  Beatrice answered with a nod and a laugh.

  “Well, then, we shall pray for Lord Melton to see the error of his ways and discover that true happiness can be found only in the Lord.” Mrs. Grenville’s fervent sentiments sent a warm flood of reassurance through Beatrice. What a good friend she had found! What a good example to follow. In spite of all the lady had suffered, she had never lost her faith in God. Beatrice prayed she could follow Mrs. Grenville’s example and trust the Lord, even if she never found a trustworthy husband.

  *

  Seated together on the stone bench, the ladies made a pretty picture, and Greystone had a sudden urge to hire their portraits painted this very day. But of course that was nonsense and far too familiar a gesture toward a lady he had no intention of knowing better. In any event Anna had some skill at portraiture, so perhaps she would feel inclined to paint her companion, should they become intimate friends. The thought of fostering that friendship pleased him. Mentors such as Mrs. Parton were all well and good, but nothing could be compared to having a friend near one’s own age. Mother, Mrs. Parton and Lady Blakemore had each other, and Greystone valued his two brothers as more precious than gold.

  Now the ladies leaned together as closely as their wide-brimmed bonnets would permit, and whispered just like schoolgirls. From their smiles he expected them to break forth in girlish giggles at any moment. He was more than pleased to see Lady Beatrice enjoying herself, especially with another lady. Last night she had been the epitome of grace, yet he could see across the table that Lord Winston was boring her beyond words.

  Neither would Greystone have been pleased to see her talk with Mr. Penry, who sat on her other side. He had nothing against the man, except that he was in trade. How curious that Blakemore invited several people of no prominence to his supper. By giving them a minor bit of consequence, the earl seemed to say they could be considered marriageable with members of the ton. And that would not do at all.

  No, in the matter of Lady Beatrice’s prospects he must look around for someone whose influence would not be affected by her brother’s wastrel ways. A duke, perhaps, or someone from a reputable branch of the royal family such as one of the distant cousins of the Prince Regent, as long as the gentleman was of better moral character than the prince. Even an earl could not be as tainted by Melton as would a viscount, no matter how spotless that viscount’s reputation.

  But each thought of pairing the gentle lady with any man made his stomach twist as if he had indigestion. Nor should he continue to stare at her, even though he found her presence both soothing and disturbing. He strolled several yards away to escape the scent of her rose perfume, wondering idly why the footman was taking so long to purchase the meat pies.

  Edmond followed and nudged him with his elbow. “Why the sour face? Our lovely companions will think you are displeased to be with them.”

  Greystone grunted. “Far from it. You know of my brotherly affection for your bride, but I find myself enjoying Lady Beatrice’s company all too well.”

  Edmond chuckled. “And why is that a problem?”

  Greystone glared at him briefly, but perhaps his crossness was ill-placed. “Her brother is under the influence of Frank Rumbold and has gambled away his father’s fortune in three short years.”

  “Yes, I have heard that. But are you saying you reject the lady because of her brother’s habits and associations?” Edmond shook his head in obvious disbelief. “I thank the Lord you did not a
bandon me when I fell under evil influences and lost my way in the gambling world. I shall ever be grateful to you for your constancy.”

  Greystone shrugged off his praise, even as fraternal affection warmed his heart. “You are a good man, Edmond. It was well worth the efforts to redeem you. Look what you’ve made of yourself.”

  “But Lady Beatrice requires no redeeming.” Edmond glanced toward the ladies, who were still in deep conversation. “Yes, she is the sister of a misguided young peer, but she is also the daughter of an earl who left a solid if not remarkable legacy in Parliament.”

  “Ah, I see you have already started your law studies if you know what has happened in Parliament in recent years.” Greystone began to regret bringing up the subject. He had expected Edmond’s understanding and support.

  “Do not change the subject.” Edmond gripped Greystone’s shoulder. “I am not suggesting that you pursue a lady you cannot love. I am merely saying you must not reject love because of something that is not her fault.”

  Greystone huffed out a sigh of annoyance. “Edmond, you know what Mother taught us. It is imperative that one’s connections be above reproach if one is to accomplish anything. I am drawing up a bill to present in the House of Lords regarding the protection of climbing-boys. Those who oppose the measure will look for any reason to block my success.”

  Edmond nodded, but then shook his head. “A very commendable undertaking, to be sure. But Mother is not always right about everything.”

  “Here you are, milord.” The footman approached with a large hamper. “When the pie man heard it was for you, he insisted upon preparing something special.”

  Grateful for the interruption, Greystone waved the footman toward the ladies. “Over by the bench, John.”

  The clever fellow retrieved a small table and two chairs that were kept tucked away in the boot of the carriage for just such occasions as this. Soon the party of four sat around the cloth-covered board enjoying simple meat pies, lemonade and strawberry tarts topped with clotted cream.

  “What a lovely day.” Lady Beatrice appeared freer of care than Greystone had ever seen her. “And to think they serve such delights in the park.”

  She took a bite of a tart, and a dot of cream remained beside her lips. Which he decided in that moment were the most well-formed lips he had ever observed. Not that he was in the habit of studying lips. He had the urge to dab away the cream, but surely Anna would notice it and take care of the matter. No, of course she would not, for she was gazing, as always, at her new husband.

  “Ah, well.” Edmond gave Greystone a meaningful look and tilted his head toward her. “Wherever you find potential customers, you will find someone selling something.”

  “I suppose.” Lady Beatrice took another bite and added more cream to her cheek. “Mmm. Delicious. I never imagined fresh cream was available in London. Why, one would think we were out in the country.”

  Greystone shot a cross look at Edmond before offering the lady a smile. “Madam, will you grant me the liberty of—” Using his serviette to clean away the spot, he tried not to touch her, but his finger brushed her soft cheek. For the briefest instant all strength left his arm.

  In that same instant, she gasped. Then laughed. “Oh, my. Well, I suppose my manners are out in the country, as well.”

  While the others joined her in laughing, Greystone swallowed hard, forcing down the emotions trying so hard to overwhelm him. He must not fall in love with this lady. He must not.

  Chapter Eleven

  They finished their impromptu picnic, and Mr. Grenville suggested a walk along the Serpentine. “Forgive me, Lady Beatrice, I must steal my bride away from you. You do not object, do you?” Without waiting for an answer, and completely ignoring Lord Greystone’s protests, the couple strolled away, lost once more in their own private world.

  “Well.” Beatrice stared after them, wondering how her mother would have repaired this awkward moment. Clearly the viscount did not wish to be alone with her.

  “Well,” Lord Greystone echoed. Hands fisted at his waist, he also stared after the retreating couple. Then he eyed Beatrice and offered his arm. “My lady, will you walk with me?” His teasing tone reminded her of Melly in his better days.

  Returning a curtsey, she simpered, “Oh, my lord, I should be delighted.” She looped her arm around his, then wondered if he had meant for her merely to set her hand on it. His placid expression gave her no clue or relief.

  “’Tis a fine day.” He waved his free hand to take in the sun, cloudless sky and the nearby bed of musky-scented marigolds where gardeners labored to remove weeds. “Would you not agree?”

  Now she understood. He was recalling their few moments of levity in Mrs. Parton’s landau last night as they drove to the play. Could she trust him to continue the jest, or would he back away again? “Oh, my lord, of course I would agree. Have I not told you? All young ladies are schooled to agree with gentlemen.”

  “As I have no sisters, I cannot answer yea or nay to their schooling.” He furrowed his brow. “But I must confess that I enjoy a good argument, otherwise I would be dreadfully out of place in the House of Lords.”

  “Aha. Then I shall offer an argument.” She smirked, but her heart was in her throat as she risked the joke. “To please you, of course.”

  He laughed in his musical baritone way. “Very good. What shall we argue about?”

  “Why, since you postulated that the day is fine, offering evidence of the sun and a clear sky and those lovely blossoms—” she nodded toward the marigolds “—I must counter that the excessive heat causes a lady to wilt like an unwatered flower.” To emphasize her claim, she brought up her fan and waved it vigorously.

  “Humph. Well played.” He thought for a moment. “Then I must counter that anyone can see that this heat is preferable to the bitter winter we have recently suffered.”

  “Humph, yourself.” Beatrice scrambled for a response. “I cannot imagine that you experienced anything at all of the cold in Shropshire. In County Durham we felt the brunt of the North Sea wind all winter.” She searched her mind for some of the witty remarks the villagers back home had made to buoy their spirits even as they’d suffered. “Why, it was so cold that the sheep were asking that we return the previous winter’s wool because one coat was not sufficient to keep them warm.” Oh, dear, that was rather clumsy. She must try harder.

  But Lord Greystone seemed not to mind. He merely scratched his chin and scrunched his handsome face thoughtfully. “That was a mere trifle, dear lady. It was so cold in Shropshire that the foxes knocked at the door of the kennel to come in for warmth amongst our hounds.”

  “Humph.” Beatrice pictured the absurd scene but would not grant him the favor of laughing. “I wore three woolen shawls every day. Sometimes four.”

  “We gentlemen shaved with a blade of ice.”

  “The smoke from all the chimneys froze in the air and did not melt until March.” She emphasized her words with a shudder.

  “Our suppers froze before the footmen could get them to the table.”

  “Our horses had to drink tea because all of the water troughs were frozen.” She punctuated this with a smirk.

  He chuckled, then laughed out loud. “My lady, I do believe you have bested me.”

  She shot him a smug look. “I have the advantage of having—” She stopped before blurting out that debating with Melly had honed her skills. That would entirely ruin this delightful afternoon. “Having a quick female mind not cluttered with weighty affairs of state.”

  He placed his palm against his forehead. “Terribly weighty, indeed. You cannot imagine.”

  Suddenly serious, she stopped and gazed up at him, her heart soaring with appreciation. “No, Lord Greystone, I cannot imagine.”

  He stared down at her, his gaze soft, and her pulse began to race. Was his opinion of her changing? Would he now regard her with kindness? If so, she would not ask for more.

  *

  As the elegant barouche
rolled closer to Hanover Square, Beatrice wondered if she would ever again enjoy such a lovely afternoon as she had with her newfound friends. Lord Greystone’s wit was delightful, and she had felt entirely free to jest with him. Although he continued to waver between amiability and sullenness, she decided his moodiness did not concern her. After all, he sat in Parliament and helped to rule England. Surely, even in his times of leisure, important thoughts invaded his mind that had nothing to do with his neighbor’s companion.

  She would not think his witty banter signified any further interest in her. Nor would she regard his removing the cream from her cheek as any more than a kind gesture intended to save her from embarrassment. She must forget the pleasant shivers that swept through her at his touch, must forget the way her heart leaped when he turned those blue eyes in her direction, whether accompanied by a smile or a frown.

  To her surprise Lord Greystone ordered the driver to convey the Grenvilles home first, even though it meant she would be along for the ride all the way to St. James’s Square, and then home to Hanover Square. It was a matter of convenience, she supposed, for taking her to Mrs. Parton’s first would have been the cause of extra driving. But as it was still daylight and the carriage top was down, her being out with the viscount could not be considered improper.

  Due to her uncertainty over whether she would ever see Mrs. Grenville again, Beatrice gave her an awkward but fond embrace before the lady disembarked from the carriage.

  “Oh, we shall be friends, Lady Beatrice.” Mrs. Grenville brushed a kiss on her cheek. “You may depend upon it.”

  “I hope so. Pray so.” Beatrice already sensed the influence of the lady’s faith upon her and did not wish to lose it.

  Yet once they left the happy couple behind, Beatrice sat opposite Lord Greystone, feeling a bit bereft. And terribly awkward, for the gentleman seemed inclined to silence once again. But whereas she had thought his prior quietness her fault, she decided not to take the blame now. After all, he had freely invited her to stay in the park, had even offered an arm to take her for that short stroll beside the Serpentine after their tasty repast. Had bantered freely, even encouraged her in their jests. These were courtesies he might extend to any lady, but no rule of Society demanded it of him, and he certainly owed her nothing. Nor did she fault him for not speaking now. Perhaps they had exhausted every topic of interest for the day. With that settled in her mind, she sat back and enjoyed the passing scenery.