The Trouble with His Lordship’s Trousers

by Jayne Fresina

  She would not have sat next to him, had he not slyly apprehended the lace cuff of her sleeve as she tried to pass.

  "Miss Hathaway, there is a chair beside me and I believe I may need your help this evening."

  She licked her lips and looked down at his fingers. "You always win at cards. What help could I give you?"

  "I always win in your presence because you are my lucky charm." He smiled, wanting her to know he held no grudge. "Please sit with me."

  So she did, looking nervously around at the other guests. "I did not have the chance to thank you today for saving me," she whispered.

  "It is not necessary to thank me. I only did what any man would have done."

  She looked at him. "Not every man. Your cousin did not jump in after me."

  "Probably just as well, or I would have had to save him too. Max cannot swim."

  "Oh." Her eyes seemed larger than ever tonight, the lashes even thicker and longer. Harry had to look down at his cards to prevent being sucked in by her gaze. Didn't want to make a fool of himself again. "That's why I suggested rowing out to the summerhouse today," he added wryly, "I assumed he wouldn't want to join us. Alas, I reckoned without his fancy for... my guests."

  "Yes."

  Harry sensed there was more she wanted to say, but she held her tongue and looked at the cards she'd been dealt.

  The other guests around the card table seemed very excited to be there. In Little Flaxhill there was not much in the way of entertaining society and an evening at Woodbyne Abbey was, for many of them, an unexpected highlight. The Parson and his wife were there, along with the village doctor, the two wealthy widows whose names Harry could never remember, and the son of one of them— a tall, slim, nervous fellow. They had all arrived promptly, no doubt exceedingly curious to traipse about inside his house, he mused. But, determined to be on his best behavior, he kept a polite tone when answering their questions.

  He wanted Miss Georgiana Hathaway to see that he was calm again and had accepted her choice without ill-feeling.

  She was quiet this evening and pretended not to notice his cousin Max's attempts to catch her eye across the table. Studying her cards, she took the game seriously, smiling only occasionally, talking mostly to the parson's wife.

  Max eventually grew irritated— it must have been strange for him to find a young lady oblivious to his charms. He then began to talk loudly of a conversation he had shared earlier with Georgiana.

  "I asked Miss Hathaway to tell me what sort of things she learned at that ladies academy," he bellowed above all other conversations. "She was taught to ensnare unsuspecting males, I daresay. But she would not admit it."

  Harry was about to silence his cousin, when Georgiana spoke up. "I fear, Mr. Bramley, as I told you today, the only thing I learned is that a lady disappointed with the way her life has turned out can become very bitter and vindictive. But I daresay that can be said of some men, as well as ladies I have known."

  Max squinted, his jowls trembled slightly and he quickly raised a hand for the footman with the wine.

  "What lady was this?" the parson's wife inquired with concern.

  "The headmistress. Mrs. Lightbody. She should probably not be given the responsibility of looking after young girls, who need their confidence lifted, not torn to shreds."

  Lady Bramley exclaimed, "Julia Lightbody has had great success with many of her students, and they are now well married to prove it. You are in the minority, Miss Hathaway."

  Harry felt his young guest fidget restlessly beside him. Clearly she struggled between the need to be polite— like him on her best behavior— and her usual instinct to express a deeply felt opinion and hold nothing back. The latter won, as it most often did.

  "That is true, madam. But can one measure success in those terms? The girls I knew at school were all desperately unhappy, their good spirits and self-assurance trampled by the woman meant to be guiding and guarding them. Their talents were belittled, even ridiculed, unless they knew how to flatter her. If they made good marriages, one has to wonder by whose measure are they good? Many of those girls married men they did not love, but they had been taught to please everybody else. All the spark of life had been snuffed out of them by the time they left Mrs. Lightbody's custody. Is that success? Not in my eyes, but, as you say, I am too opinionated and not slow to show it. She could not flatten my spark. One of the reasons why I am in that disgraced minority."

  She fell silent then and looked down. He heard her breathing hard.

  The other guests had listened to all this in various stages of amazement. They were probably not accustomed to a young lady expressing her opinion so soundly. Parson Darrowby looked uncomfortable, but his wife drank in every word with great sympathy on her face."Goodness," she ventured, "it does sound like a frightful place."

  Lady Bramley flushed scarlet. "I'm sure it was not that bad, Miss Hathaway. You exaggerate."

  "Well, she was there," said Harry, joining the conversation suddenly. "Miss Hathaway ought to know. And perhaps we ought to listen to some of her opinions. Even if there are a great many, it does not make them any less valid."

  His aunt gave him a very strange look, but was oddly silent. She stared hard at the girl who caused all this trouble and then back at Harry again. He hurriedly returned his own gaze to the cards in his hand.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Grateful to Harry for stepping in and taking her side, Georgiana did not know where to look. She had not meant to offend Lady Bramley, but she was tired of hearing about the "successes" produced by that school. In her mind they were not successes at all, but miserable ends for girls who could have been, and done, so much more.

  Later, when she went to get herself a glass of punch, she was joined by Mrs. Swanley, who sidled up to her with some hastily whispered advice.

  "If I were you, Miss Hathaway, I would take great care to mind what I say in public about that woman. If your Mrs. Lightbody is the person I knew, she has fingers in many a pie, and ears in many a corner. I know these are only folk from the village here tonight, but I warn you now, for your own good, to be more circumspect. You do not know how far her dangerous influence can reach."

  Georgiana was annoyed, at first, that even Mrs. Swanley was now telling her to curb her tongue. But after a little more consideration, her temper cooled. She may be out of Mrs. Lightbody's reach now, however, her two good friends were not. It might be wise, therefore, to tread cautiously until they were safe from her retaliation.

  Mrs. Swanley added, "If your Julia Lightbody is the same Salome of the Seven Veils that I knew, just be glad she has nothing to hold over you."

  She had often wondered how The Pearl continually managed to get pupils from among the upper echelons of society, and how so many supposedly "good" matches were made, when Mrs. Lightbody remained such a vulgar creature. Did Mrs. Swanley infer something like blackmail was afoot at that school?

  Georgiana had no chance to ask, for the Commander suddenly appeared at their side, ending Mrs. Swanley's interest in that subject, or in her.

  "Sir Henry, you have had much good fortune again this evening at cards." The lady simpered up at him, flapping her lashes and sticking out her bosom. "I think you must be a scoundrel with slight of hand talent," she teased.

  "Not at all, madam, I simply pay attention to the game and I concentrate. It is not difficult when one has had the pleasure of spending twenty-eight months as a castaway, entirely alone."

  "Your poor thing," she cooed, placing an elegant hand on his arm. "You must tell me all about it."

  "The Commander does not like to talk about that," said Georgiana firmly. "He is a very private man, and that should be respected."

  "Of course," Mrs. Swanley agreed, her lips sliding wide apart again. "I can be very discreet."

  Georgiana took a large gulp of punch and stared at those fingers on his jacket sleeve. Why did he not move his arm away? She knew he did not like being fussed over, but tonight he tolerated it.

/>   Well, who was she to question the company he chose? She held no rights over him. Not now. She had given that up.

  A short while later she was relieved, however, when he bowed to them both and walked away to speak with the Parson.

  "I cannot get to the bottom of that man," sighed Mrs. Swanley, her smiled fading as she shook her head and those gold ringlets shone in the candlelight. "Never met anyone quite like him."

  "Me neither," Georgiana agreed, feeling it more so than ever.

  Did he really propose to her because he thought he had compromised her reputation? Even when nobody else was aware of it? Why could he not have given her some warning? Perhaps it was a spur of the moment proposal, and he would have regretted it immediately if she accepted him.

  She had done the right thing. Surely.

  "If I were you, Mrs. Swanley," she said, "I would use my skills to cheer up poor Mr. Tipton, who is here with his mother and seems quite afraid to do anything without her nod to encourage him. I daresay he would benefit most from your talented artistry."

  Instantly the lady looked over to see who Georgiana talked of. "He does look a little sad and shy."

  "Indeed. Who better than you to cheer his spirits? His mother is a very wealthy widow, by the way, although she lives quietly, and her only interest is her son now. He will inherit everything one day quite soon I suppose."

  Mrs. Swanley quickly rearranged her curls, adjusted the shoulders of her gown, set down her punch cup and sailed off to enchant Mr. Tipton.

  Seeing Max Bramley heading directly for the punch bowl, Georgiana made a hasty exit of her own and sought out the pleasant company of the Parson's wife.

  * * * *

  That night, unable to sleep, she took her candle and went out into the passage. Gentle moonlight fell through the windows and patterned the scratched Tudor paneling with diamonds of silver. All was quiet.

  She patrolled for a while, like a night-watchman, making certain nobody else was restless that night.

  About to return to her room, she suddenly stumbled upon Brown, the handyman, who was sat on the floor at the end of the passage, half asleep himself. When Georgiana's foot tripped over his leg, he woke fully and cursed.

  "Oh, I am sorry, Mr. Brown," she whispered, bending down with her candle to see if he was all right.

  "Miss Hathaway! What are you doing out here?"

  "Just making sure everybody is asleep. What are you doing?"

  "What you said about the master got me worried, Miss. Thought I'd best keep an eye on things while the guests are here."

  "That's very good of you."

  "Aye, well, he's the best of men. I wouldn't do it for just anybody."

  "No. Quite." She knew entirely how he felt.

  "But you go to bed, Miss. You shouldn't be up, fretting. You leave that to me."

  Instead she sat beside him on the floor with her candle. "I fear I cannot sleep, Mr. Brown, not tonight. When a person has narrowly escaped death among the grasping weeds of a treacherous lake, one's mind tends not to peaceful sleep."

  He looked at her. "You do know, Miss, the spot where you jumped in were no more than four feet deep."

  Her candle flame fluttered. "Well goodness, Mr. Brown, do not lessen the exquisite terror of my adventure, or the bravery of your master in saving me!" To her it had seemed like twenty feet or more.

  He gave a lopsided grin. "Sorry, Miss."

  "Oh, never mind," she replied gloomily. "It has cured me of my fancy that I might have been a sailor."

  "Aye. Best stick to dry land in them petticoats."

  "I could wear breeches."

  The old man eyed her warily. "You're a woman. Don't talk daft, Miss."

  For a while they sat together in silence, the house creaking softly around them. Then she said, "Tell me what he was like as a boy. Did he always want to go to sea?"

  Brown rubbed the curve of his big nose and thought for a bit. "He were a playful lad. Mischievous. Always in scrapes of one sort or another."

  "Like me." She sighed.

  "When his mother left...that changed the lad."

  "Lady Bramley told me his mother ran off and was never heard from again."

  "Aye. Took off with some fellow from London. He used to come sniffin' around here— were supposed to be a master landscape designer, or some such. Meant to be improving the grounds. The mistress wanted a fancy maze and all sorts. Me and Parkes never trusted him."

  "Parkes was the nanny, was she not?"

  "She was a good woman, plain-spoken, didn't suffer fools. Cared more for the boy than his mother did, I reckon. Anyway, the mistress of the house took off one night— just left the master and her own son." Brown rubbed his nose again and she saw his eye glisten in the light of her candle. "For hours the boy would sit out in that summerhouse, playing with his soldiers, waiting for his mother to come back. That used to be her favorite place, you see. She rowed out there to get away from the master of the house, I reckon. Or to meet her lover." He sniffed. "The boy just sat there waitin' in all weathers. Finally I suppose he realized she weren't comin' back, and that's when he asked to go to the Naval Academy. After that he came home once in a while, when he were on leave, and each time he came we saw how much he were grown. Such a fine young man he became. Did us all proud. He never went back out to that summerhouse, until today."

  Georgiana's heart pinched as she imagined Harry— the boy— waiting for his mother and eventually realizing he'd been abandoned. The lake and the summerhouse had more significance to him than she could have known about.

  "And Parkes died."

  "Aye, she passed away one winter just before he were due home on leave. She tried to hang on, to see him one last time, but...well...the Good Lord couldn't wait any longer and even Elsie Parkes couldn't win a quarrel with Him."

  "I'm very sorry."

  "The lad were distraught that he did not get home in time. We all said the house were not the same without Parkes, but he grieved for her more than anybody. Not that you'd know it. He were never the sort to talk about his worries."

  "No. I have seen that."

  The old man sighed heavily. "He's been more cheerful though, miss, since you came."

  She nodded, her throat tight again. "I'm glad."

  "We'll all be sorry to see you go."

  Again she nodded, her candle trembling.

  "But you go to bed now, Miss, and leave him to me. He'll be my charge again now."

  Afraid she might dissolve into silly tears and embarrass Brown if she stayed, Georgiana said goodnight and returned to her chamber.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Excerpt from “His Lordship's Trousers” (censored)

  Printed in The Gentleman's Weekly, July 1817

  Yesterday evening's attire (which was also this morning's attire): Striped silk pantaloons somewhat resonant of a gypsy tent. Complete with gold-dyed tassels at the waist, and possibly more than one gypsy still in residence— with his rusty squeeze-box.

  As his lordship prepares for the hunting season next month, saying 'adieu' to the Town with his own inimitable style, I must spend many hours organizing his garments for the forthcoming country house parties. One can never be too well-dressed to shoot at poor, startled grouse, of course, but this season his lordship has a particular reason to look his best while dodging misaimed bullets in the field. It is with great trepidation that I announce my master's imminent engagement to a filly very soon to be finished off at certain Mrs. X's institution for young ladies.

  It has become a matter of importance to impress this young lady with everything in my master's possession, because her dowry is apparently as plump as her behind, and his lordship requires an influx of filthy lucre to pay the tailor's bills. And my wages. Believe me, dear reader, I would not be so concerned that this engagement be fulfilled— indeed I should do everything to stop it— if not for my own desire to finally be paid what I was promised when first hired.

  But you must be as shocked as I was to hear that the
master has decided to take a wife at last. He strolled in this morning as daylight broke over the dome of St. Paul's, and informed me — amidst gales of laughter—of his plans, which have not, it would appear, been shared with this particular lady's family. His lordship assures me she is eager however, and has accepted his proposal with great warmth. And, I would suspect, some urgent necessity.

  How this has all been arranged while the young, hapless maiden remains under the supposed guardianship of the trusted 'Mrs. X', I shudder to imagine. Not that I dare suggest some wicked deceit and seduction has taken place under that lady's purview. Surely such things never happen.

  Once I had recovered from shock at this news, I congratulated the gentleman, although— as I pointed out— the belles of London Society will be quite bereft to learn that such a popular perennial bachelor is taken off the market.

  "Good lord, have you lost your wits?" said he, striding back and forth like a striped, slightly effeminate cockerel in his new pantaloons. "I shall certainly not change my habits just for one little chit. She'll learn her place."

  "Ah, I see. Then Lady Loose Garters will continue to visit?"

  "Naturally! Why would I give up that saucy minx?"

  "And your new wife will not object, sir?"

  He rolled his eyes so hard I expected to see them fall from his head. I even went so far as to imagine eager pigeons swooping in through the open window to steal the bloodshot orbs away. But alas, it was not to be. "These young girls turned out of Mrs. X's academy are well-trained to do as they are told and never to question their lord and master. My little wife has been specially selected for me, and I have put in a vast deal of effort to win her over."

  "You have, my lord? Effort? Are you certain you are using the right word?" There were, after all, certain other "eff" words with which he was more familiar.