“You should accompany me to my club,” Major Givens said with a chuckle as he twirled his moustache, picked up his cards, and sighed heavily. “You could win yourself a fortune. It would save my blushes were you to take on those young cads who try and fleece us old men out of our fortunes there.”
“If only they permitted us lowly women entrance,” Maryanne remarked with a smile. She had chosen to play a hand of whist with the elderly gentleman and his companions as his was the only table where she would be able to simply enjoy the game. Every other game seemed to be about so much more than the cards. Young women flirted whilst trying to appear demure and sweet. Men flirted whilst trying to pretend that they weren’t bored out of their minds by the dull conversation. Maryanne wondered what might happen if any of them just spoke to one another as if they were friends of the same sex.
Maryanne looked around the packed drawing room with its many card tables and their eager participants who were all as interested in what they thought they knew of one another as they were in the run of the cards. Maryanne wondered if she would ever feel a part of such a setting. Her life was a never-ending whirl of such engagements: card parties, suppers, balls, dances, lectures, and trips to the theater. All to see and be seen. All to become some man’s bride. She so longed for something more, though she would never be permitted to seek it.
A knocking at the door announced the arrival of a latecomer. The entire room seemed to collectively hold its breath as they waited to see who could have come so very late. It was fashionable to be a little late but a whole hour after the time given upon an invitation was most certainly considered rude. There were few people Maryanne could think of who would act in such a way and she secretly held her breath in the hope that it would not be Freddie Kerslake. Seeing him at Almack’s had been one time too many for the decade.
Trying to appear as though she did not care who might be arriving, Maryanne looked at her cards and wondered what her companions might be holding. She considered whether to try and take this trick with a low trump or to wait. The resumption of noise around her told her that the latest guest had now made an appearance and was being greeted by the tables closest to the door. She looked up and smiled to see Lord Lake uttering groveling apologies to their hostess, Mrs Hillingdon. But it was the man at his side that made Maryanne’s heart sing.
Mr Callender made his way through the crowd to the fireplace where Captain Stevens greeted him warmly. Maryanne admired the way he held his head high as if he did not even notice that everyone was talking about him and pondering why a mere merchant could possibly have the temerity to be so tardy. Most people ignored him as he passed them. The few who did speak to him were those without titles themselves. Mrs Hillingdon was the wife of General Hillingdon, a man who had risen in Wellington’s service, but who had come from more lowly origins. Mrs Hillingdon was the daughter of an earl and so their circle was a little more eclectic than most.
Maryanne felt anger well up in her on Mr Callender’s behalf. He had no doubt not been able to get away from an important matter of business. He struggled to be able to attend these afternoon gatherings. But her feelings would do him no good, so she choked them down and did her best to pay attention to the game of cards. She laid her cards when it was her turn and smiled prettily. Yet, though she had good cards, she did not manage to take a single trick.
As the hand of their game ended, Maryanne nodded to the people around the card table and smiled at Major Givens. “Would you excuse me?”
“Of course, my dear,” the major said. “I am sure Lady Phillips would love to join us in your stead.” He smiled warmly at an older woman Maryanne did not know who had been standing just behind him watching them play. Maryanne wondered if the old widower had finally found himself a companion, someone to bring some happiness to his last days. She certainly hoped so. Major Givens was a sweetheart.
Maryanne made her way towards the fireplace, stopping at a couple of tables as she passed, trying to make it appear that she was not set upon only one destination. As she finally reached Captain Stevens and Mr Callender, she felt her stomach knot and her breath become shallower. Both men bowed graciously and took her hand. Captain Stevens kissed the air above her skin, as was proper, but Mr Callender let his lips graze the back of her hand. Maryanne felt a shiver course through her, becoming more intense as he held onto her hand a moment longer than needed.
“Good day, Lady Maryanne,” he said smiling. Maryanne felt her heart pound so hard she was sure that both men would be able to hear it.
“Are the fates treating you well?” Captain Stevens asked, nodding towards the gaming tables.
Maryanne laughed. “It would seem so. Major Givens wishes to take me to his club to make my fortune.”
“I am sure you would distract even the most professional of card sharps,” Captain Stevens said.
“I doubt that,” Maryanne admitted. “Did you see that Miss Ellington is here in the other room?” she asked the young soldier. Her question was not entirely selfish, though she did wish to be able to speak with Mr Callender alone. In truth, Maryanne had noticed that the young captain had escorted the pretty debutante into supper at Almack’s the other night and had seemed quite taken with her.
“I did not. Mayhaps I should go and introduce myself,” he said, smiling at Maryanne and clearly happy at the suggestion. He seemed amused that his affections for the young woman had been noticed. “If you will both excuse me?”
“Of course,” Mr Callender said smoothly.
They watched the captain weave his way through the tables and into the music room where Miss Ellington was playing the pianoforte. She was accompanying her sister as she sang a number of pretty and fashionable songs. Neither seemed brave enough to speak, nor to even look at the other, for the longest time, but Maryanne was sure that only a mere moment had passed even if it felt like a lifetime.
“How are you?” she asked him finally.
“I am quite well, and you?” Mr Callender said politely.
“I am quite well, too,” she said.
Another pause followed, but a quick glance at one another had them in giggles. “This is quite silly,” Maryanne said. “We have known one another quite long enough and well enough to not be so tongue-tied.”
“I know. It seems I cannot help it, though,” Mr Callender said, boldly taking her hands in his. “But, whenever I am near you, I seem to lose all sense.”
Maryanne flushed a little at his unspoken compliment. That she affected his equilibrium made her feel strangely content. “I am much the same,” she admitted. “Shall you be at the Linley’s Christmas Eve ball next week?”
“I shall,” he admitted. “Lord Linley delivered my invitation personally at White’s just the other day.”
“I am so glad.”
“I know I should not, but may I claim the dances before and after supper now? I could not bear to miss the chance to take you in for the Christmas Feast. I hear Lord Linley’s cook creates the most spectacular displays. I should so like to see your face as they bring them out.”
“I should like that,” Maryanne admitted shyly. It was all she ever hoped for. Nobody could berate them in such a public sphere and Maryanne could hardly be held accountable for who marked her dance card.
Almack’s was always so dreadfully dull because he was not there and she was forced to dance with the same young men every week. She was utterly delighted that her entreaties to Lady Isabelle Linley had not fallen upon deaf ears. Mr Callender was an excellent dancer, was courteous, polite, and would make a most welcome addition to their annual gathering. That he was a mere merchant should not be held against him. Thankfully, Isabelle was just as frustrated at the lack of interesting new men to be courted by as Maryanne and had convinced her mother to invite a number of more unusual guests this year.
Mama had looked up from her game of piquet. She frowned when she saw Maryanne talking to Mr Callender. She stood and began to make her way across the room towards them. “You had bes
t go,” Maryanne said.
Mr Callender frowned. “May I see you tomorrow? In the park? I know that it is fashionable to promenade at around three o’clock.”
“I shall try, but Mama mentioned something about a recital she wishes to attend. But if I can be there, I will,” Maryanne said, as he raised her hand to his lips. He turned her hand over and pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist where her pulse raced under the pressure of his lips. She gasped. “Hurry, she is almost here.” Bowing to her, Mr Callender slipped a perfectly folded letter into her hands then disappeared into the library just as Mama reached the fireplace.
“I have told you not to see that man,” Mama said quietly. Her tone was stern, though she pinned a smile to her face to ensure that nobody knew that she was vexed.
“And I can hardly help it if he is invited to an event that you insisted I attend,” Maryanne said keeping her expression just as impassive.
“But you could make sure you are not seen alone with him.”
“However am I alone with him? We are standing in a room full of people.”
“You know full well what I mean,” Mama said. Her eyes had narrowed and a furrow appeared between her eyebrows that did not bode well. “I think it best if we make our excuses and leave.”
Maryanne had to stifle a groan. It was the very first time she had seen Mr Callender in weeks. To be snatched away from the only gathering to which the poor man had been invited to seemed crueler than anything Maryanne could imagine. But she clung to the hope that she might be able to meet with him tomorrow in the park. Mama never accompanied her and Helena as they promenaded in the carriage.
Maryanne barely listened to a word her mother raged at her in the carriage upon the way home. She had heard it all before. Mama never had a real reason why Maryanne should not be friends with Mr Callender. She dismissed him solely because he was not aristocratic. It frustrated Maryanne, but there was little she could do about it. She feared that she might have to disgrace her family utterly by eloping with him. With each passing day, she became more and more certain that her parents would never give their permission for Mr Callender to take Maryanne as his bride.
Mama sent her straight up to her room when they returned. This was not the punishment her mother believed. Maryanne was more than content to read the love letter that Mr Callender had smuggled to her. She had a small jewel casket filled with them. He gave her one each time they were lucky enough to meet in person and his words of love always assured her that he felt just as she did.
This letter was no different. Filled with poetry and flowery descriptions of her own perfections, Maryanne held the parchment against her breast and sighed. Why could her parents not understand? Why did they believe that they knew what was best for her? Why could they not see that their way would make Maryanne so dreadfully unhappy? She did not care for wealth, status, or whether she would be the mistress of a grand estate. She just longed to be loved.
With a sharp knock, Browne, her maid, entered the room and bobbed a curtsey. “Lady Maryanne, your mother insists you come downstairs. Your father has a visitor.”
“Did you see who it was?” Maryanne asked. “I fear that I am quite fagged. If it isn’t someone important then I’d much rather claim a dreadful headache or some such.”
“It is His Grace, the Duke of Cumbria,” Browne said.
“It would be,” Maryanne exclaimed. Whether she liked it or not, society deemed the impossible man to be important and, though he was the last person that she wished to see right now, she couldn’t possibly make her excuses. Not only would Mama not forgive her but neither would Papa if she did not make their guest welcome. Her father was still, inexplicably, rather fond of the rakish young Duke, though Maryanne could not fathom why.
“Fetch me my green silk gown, Browne,” Maryanne said to the maid. If she was dressed in her finest it often made her feel as though she had a suit of armor on, one that would protect her from those she had to tolerate in the name of politeness. As the maid went to find the gown, Maryanne carefully re-pinned her hair and pinched her cheeks to bring a little color to them.
Dressed her best, Maryanne made her way downstairs. She heard Papa’s voice behind the closed doors of the library followed by Freddie’s deeper, richer tones. She couldn’t quite work out what they were discussing though. Mama was standing at the doorway of the drawing room on the opposite side of the hallway. Maryanne crossed the tiled floor to join her. “Why is he here?” she asked.
“You can be dreadfully rude,” Mama said but took Maryanne’s hand and led her inside the room. They sat down on the sofa. “To tell you the truth, I do not know. Freddie said he had something of great importance he must share with your father.”
“Something to do with the estate?” Maryanne mused. “He’s always said he wished to buy some of the woodlands from Papa so he had a longer run for his hunting parties.”
“Perhaps,” Mama said, “but he looked dreadfully serious.”
“Do you think something has happened to Lady Kerslake?”
“If that were the trouble he would be discussing it with me and not your father,” Mama said definitely. “She is my dearest friend after all.”
Maryanne stood up then paced up and down in front of the windows. Mama sat primly waiting for the door of the library to open. Whatever Freddie and Papa were discussing, it was certainly taking a long time. Maryanne felt strangely anxious as if the news might somehow be a bad thing for her, as if Freddie could somehow ruin what little happiness she had in her life. She just prayed he wasn’t suggesting something utterly outrageous like her becoming his bride in order to join their families neighboring estates. She could not bear the idea of being wed just because of the richness of her inheritance, especially not to a rake like Freddie who would shame her over and over again.
Chapter Four
Freddie stood in front of Lord Colbert’s desk. His library was a very masculine space that smelt strongly of fine cigars and good port. Books lined the walls which were all leather-bound with gold tooling. It was clearly an expensive collection, one that would have taken many years to accrue. Freddie liked the room with its dark wood paneling and the sumptuous leather furniture.
However, the earl was frowning at the news Freddie had felt compelled to share with him. “I knew the man had a secret,” Lord Colbert said, “but I hadn’t thought him a bounder and a cad.”
“No, I don’t think many people had,” Freddie said. “I am not sure of all the details of how he has come to be in such a predicament. However, given that I accidentally overheard a conversation between Lady Colbert and your daughter regarding Callender, I thought I should make you aware of what I had found out.”
“I am grateful,” Lord Colbert said. “We have warned Maryanne over and over about him and about marrying beneath herself, but she doesn’t ever listen to us. She is convinced that the man is a paragon and it is wrong of us to malign him.”
“Will you tell her of this?” Freddie asked.
“I don’t know. At the moment, I doubt she would even listen to me. Mayhaps if you told her?” The Earl looked so hopeful, but Freddie laughed out loud, unable to stop himself.
“Maryanne thinks my judgment even less valuable than that of a dung beetle,” he explained. “I am most certainly not amongst those who she might listen to. Not anymore.” Freddie regretted that too. He and Maryanne had been so close. As children, they had shared their secrets and their hopes and dreams. He missed that and he missed having her respect.
“Who might she listen to?” the Earl asked.
“She might listen to Lady Helena DeVere,” Freddie said thoughtfully. “I’ve noticed that they are very close. I am sure that I can find a way to get word to her. Lord Percy is a good friend of mine. He and Lady Helena are clearly besotted with one another. He can sow a few seeds. He’d not want to see Maryanne be hurt by Callender, I’m sure.”
“You’re right. I think that is an excellent idea. Thank you for telling us. I always had m
y suspicions, I just didn’t have the evidence I needed to convince my daughter that Callender was a rotter of the first order.”
Lord Colbert rose from his chair and the two men left the wood-paneled library then crossed the hallway to the drawing room. Lady Colbert rose as they entered the room, but Maryanne barely even turned from where she stood by the window looking out over the street. “Maryanne, greet our guest properly,” Lady Colbert scolded.
Maryanne turned and scowled. But Freddie couldn’t help but notice that even when she was in high dudgeon, she truly was breathtaking. In fact, with all that passionate rage sparking in her eyes, she was quite the most magnificent creature Freddie had ever seen. He’d often wondered why so many men seemed to want docile, biddable wives. He’d never seen the attraction to such insipid creatures himself, but he’d never seen the attraction of marriage either. Suddenly, he realized why. He’d always associated the role of a wife with someone that met society’s idea of what was perfect when his idea was this furious goddess standing before him.
“Good evening, Lady Maryanne,” he said, bowing theatrically.
“Your Grace,” Maryanne said, bobbing the most perfunctory of curtseys. “I trust you are quite well?”
“I am, I am,” Freddie said, “and as I wish to stay that way, I believe I will now take my leave of you and your parents now I have done what I set out to do.”
“Maryanne, see him to the door,” Lady Colbert instructed her daughter. Maryanne did not say a word. She glided towards him with her head held high, but she did not stop as she reached his side. She swept straight past him as if she expected him to follow her.
“Good night, Lord Colbert, Lady Colbert,” Freddie said and, with a grin, followed her.
She was waiting at the door, her face a mask of indifference. “You’ll make a man feel most unwelcome if you treat them this way, you know,” he teased.
“I only treat one man this way because only one is so undeserving of anything better.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Freddie said cryptically. “There’s many a man and some of your most intimate acquaintances that I’d say deserve such contempt far more than I do. After all, what have I ever done to you to make you despise me so? We were the very best of friends, once upon a time.”
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