Lord Ravensden's Marriage

by Anne Herries

  'You are going nowhere,' Harry replied with an odd little smile. 'And if anyone asks, you have no

  idea where I am...'

  'Come in, dearest,' Beatrice said, meeting her sister at the door. It was some six days since she

  had received Olivia's letter, and her heart was pained by the look of tiredness and near despair in

  Olivia's face. Oh, that rogue, Ravensden! He should be hung, drawn and quartered for what he had

  done. 'You look cold, my love. Was the journey very tiresome?'

  The road from London to Northampton was good, and could be covered easily enough in a day,

  but the country roads which led to Abbot Giles were far from ideal. Olivia had travelled down by

  one of the public coaching routes the previous day, and had been forced to find another

  conveyance in Northampton to bring her on. All she had been able to hire was an obliging carter,

  who had offered to take both her and her baggage for the sum of three shillings. A journey which

  must have shaken her almost rigid! And must also have been terrifying to a girl who had

  previously travelled in a well-sprung carriage with servants to care for her every whim.

  How could the Burtons have sent her all this way alone? Anything might have happened to Olivia.

  It was as if her adoptive parents had abandoned all care for her along with their responsibility.

  The very least they might have done was to send her home in a carriage! Their heartlessness made

  Beatrice boil with anger, but she forced herself to be calm. It did not matter now! Her sister was

  here and safe, though desperately weary.

  'Beatrice...' Olivia's voice almost broke. Clearly she had been wondering what her reception

  would be, and Beatrice's concerned greeting had almost overset her. 'I am so very sorry to bring

  this trouble on you.'

  'Trouble? What trouble?' Beatrice asked. 'It is with the greatest pleasure that I welcome my sister

  to this house. We love you, Olivia. You could never be a trouble to me or your family...' She

  smiled and kissed Olivia's cheek. 'Come and meet Aunt Nan, dearest. Our father is busy at the

  moment. We try not to disturb him when he is working, but you will meet him later. He has asked

  me to tell you how pleased he is to have you home again.'

  At this the sweet, innocent face of Miss Olivia crumpled, the tears spilling out of her bright blue

  eyes.

  'Oh, how kind you are,' she said, fumbling for her kerchief in the reticule she carried on her wrist.

  She was fashionably dressed, though her pelisse was sadly splashed with mud, and the three

  trunks of personal belongings she had brought with her on the carter's wagon would seem to

  indicate that the Burtons had not cast her out without a rag to her back. 'I know you must think me

  wicked...or at the very least foolish.'

  'I think nothing of the kind,' Beatrice said, leading her into the tiny back parlour, in which a

  welcoming fire was burning. It was usually not lit until the evening, neither Beatrice nor her aunt

  having time to sit much during the day, but this was a special occasion, and the logs they were

  using had been a gift from Jaffrey House, sent down specially by their very wealthy and illustrious

  neighbour the Earl of Yardley.

  The Earl had a daughter named Sophia by his second marriage, of whom Beatrice imagined he

  was fond. The girl was near Olivia's own age, and very striking, with black hair and bright eyes.

  Beatrice knew her of course, though they seldom met in a social way.

  Mr Roade did not often entertain, nor did he accept many invitations, but the Earl's family were

  seen about the village, and Beatrice was sufficiently well acquainted with Lady Sophia to stop

  and speak for a few minutes whenever they met. She thought now that it was a pity her father had

  turned down some of the kind invitations the Earl, had sent them over the years. It would have

  been nice for Olivia to have made a friend of Sophia Cleeve.

  'My dear Olivia,' Nan said, bustling in. She was wearing a mob cap over her light brown hair, and

  a dusting apron protected her serviceable gown. 'Forgive me for not being here to greet you. I was

  upstairs turning out the bedrooms. We have only the one maid, besides the kitchen wench, and it

  would be .unfair to expect poor Lily to do everything herself.'

  Olivia looked amazed at the idea of her aunt having been busy working in the bedrooms, then

  recollected herself, blushed and seemed awkward as she went forward to kiss Nan's cheek.

  'Forgive me,' she said. 'I fear I have caused extra work for you.'

  'Well, yes, I must admit that you have,' Nan said, never one to hide the truth. 'However, I dare say

  the room needed a good turn-out—it was your mother's, you know, and has not...'

  'Nan doesn't mean that you are a bother to us,' Beatrice said as she saw her sister's quick flush.

  'The room you have been given was our mother's private sitting-room, not her bedroom—that is

  where she died, of course, and I felt it might distress you to sleep there.'

  'I was about to tell Olivia that,' Nan said. 'We've been waiting for the bed to arrive—it was

  ordered from Northampton, but arrived only this morning on the carter's wagon. Had we not

  needed to wait, your room would have been ready days ago.'

  'It was time we had a new bed,' Beatrice said smoothly, with a quick frown at her aunt. 'The one

  we have in the guest room, which is at the back of the house and depressingly dark, is broken in

  the struts which support the mattress. It is still there, of course, though since no one ever comes to

  stay, it does not matter...'

  'I see I have caused a great deal of trouble,' Olivia said. 'You have been put to considerable

  expense on my account.'

  'Nothing of the sort,' replied Beatrice. 'Take off your bonnet and pelisse, dearest. I shall ring for

  tea— unless you would like to go straight up to your room?'

  Olivia looked as if she would dearly like to escape, but forced herself to smile at them.

  'Tea would be very nice,' she said. 'I have a few guineas left out of the allowance my...Lord

  Burton made me earlier in the season, but I did not care to waste them on refreshments at the inns

  we passed. Besides, I was in a hurry to reach you. I shall give you what money I have, Beatrice,

  and you may use it for expenses as you see fit.'

  'Well, as to that, we shall see how we go on,' Beatrice said, and reached for the bell.

  It was answered so promptly that she imagined Lily had been hovering outside in the hall—a habit

  her mistress disliked but not sufficiently to dismiss her. Like Bellows, Lily did not complain if her

  wages were late, though Beatrice paid the girl herself, and usually on time.

  'Tea please, Lily.' She turned to her sister as the maid went out again. 'That's right, dearest, sit by

  the fire and you will soon feel better. We shall talk properly later. For now, I want you to tell me

  all the news from London...that is, if you can bear to? We hear so little here, you know, except

  when neighbours return from a visit to town.'

  'You know of course that the Prince was declared Regent earlier this year?' Olivia looked at her

  doubtfully.

  'Yes, dearest. Papa takes The Times. I am aware that trade has been bad, because of Napoleon's

  blockade of Europe, and that unemployment is high. I didn't mean that sort of news... a little gossip

  perhaps, something that is setting the Ton by its ears?'

  Olivia gave a little giggle, her face losing
some of its strain.

  'Oh, that sort of news...what can I tell you? Oh yes, apart from all the usual scandals, there is

  something rather exciting going on at the moment...'

  She had taken off her outer clothing now, revealing a pretty travelling-gown of green velvet.

  'There is a new French modiste in town. She is the protégée of Madame Marie-Anne Coulanges,

  who was herself once apprenticed to Rose Bertin—who, you must know, was a favourite

  dressmaker to Queen Marie Antoinette.' Olivia paused for effect. 'They say Madame Coulanges

  was once a friend of Madame Felice's mama, and that is why she has taken her up—anyway, she

  presented her to her clients, and Madame Felice has taken the town by storm.'

  Beatrice smiled as she saw the glow in her sister's eyes. Her little ruse had worked, and Olivia

  had lost her shyness.

  'How old is Madame Felice?'

  'Oh, not more than two-and-twenty at the most, I would think. She has pretty, pale hair, but she

  keeps it hidden beneath a rather fetching cap most of the time, and her eyes are a greenish blue. I

  think she might be beautiful if she dressed in gowns as elegant as those she makes for her

  clientele, but of course it would not be correct for her to do so. Though no one really knows much

  about her...she is something of a mystery.'

  'How exciting. Tell me, dearest, is she very clever at making gowns?'

  'Oh, yes, very. Everyone, simply everyone, is dying to get their hands on at least one of her gowns

  — but she is particular about who she dresses. Would you believe it? I heard she actually turned

  down the Marchioness of Rossminster, because she had no style! She will dress only those women

  she thinks can carry off her fabulous gowns. Of course they are the most beautiful clothes you have

  ever seen. No one can touch her for elegance and quality.' Olivia dropped her gaze. 'She was very

  nice to me. I have one of her gowns and she was to have made a part of my wedding trousseau...'

  Her cheeks fired up as she spoke. 'I have the gown she made for me in my trunks. I will show it to

  you later, if you wish?'

  'I would like very much to see it,' Beatrice said. 'If it is as smart as the one you are wearing...it

  must be lovely.'

  She had been about to say that her sister would have little opportunity to wear her beautiful

  clothes now, but bit the words back before she was so cruel as to remind Olivia of all that she had

  lost.

  'We shall talk of other things later,' she said. 'There is much to talk about, Olivia—but we have

  time enough.'

  'Yes,' Olivia said, losing the sparkle she had gained when telling her sister the news about

  Madame Felice. 'Of course, London is thin of company now. I believe the Regent is to leave

  London for Brighton at the end of this month... Oh, that is today, isn't it?'

  Her mouth drooped as though she were remembering that she would no longer be a part of the

  extravagant set that surrounded the Prince Regent and privileged society. However, the arrival of

  the tea-tray and the delicious cakes that Beatrice had spent the morning baking brought her out of

  the doldrums a little.

  These are delightful,' she said, choosing from the pretty silver cake-basket and chewing a small,

  nutty biscuit. "Quite as good as anything I have tasted anywhere.'

  'Beatrice made those for you herself,' Nan said. 'They are Bosworth Jumbles, but Beatrice adds

  her own special ingredients to the recipe, which some say was picked up on the battlefield at

  Bosworth in 1485, hence its name. Your sister will make some lucky gentleman an excellent wife

  one day.'

  'Did you really make them?' Olivia stared at her. 'You are so clever. I have never cooked anything

  in my life.'

  'I can teach you if you like, and there is a very good manual by Mrs Rundle, called Domestic

  Cookery,' Beatrice said. 'I know it may seem tedious at first, Olivia, but living in the country has

  its compensations. We have nut trees and fruit from our own orchards, berries from the kitchen

  gardens, and we make our own jams and preserves. It can be a rewarding way to pass the time.'

  'Yes, of course.' Olivia lifted her head, as though wanting to show she was not above such things.

  'Yes, I am sure I shall soon settle in...'

  Chapter Three

  Beatrice took her sister up to her room half an hour later. She had offered to help her unpack her

  trunks, being reasonably certain that Olivia had never had to do so for herself before. Olivia had

  accepted and was now showing her some of the lovely clothes she had brought with her.

  'These are only a few of my gowns,' she told Beatrice. 'I left some of the more elaborate ones

  behind. I shall scarcely need the gown I wore to be presented to the Regent at my coming out...or

  most of my ballgowns. Lady Burton did say she would send them on...' Olivia blinked rapidly to

  stave off the tears gathering in her eyes. 'She was kinder than Lord Burton... she said she would be

  prepared to forgive me, but that he was adamant the connection must be cut.'

  'Well, perhaps he will relent in time...'

  'No.' Olivia's lovely face was pale but proud. 'I do not wish to return to their house...ever. What I

  did was right, and I shall not grovel to be forgiven.'

  The subject was dropped, for Beatrice did not like to see her sister so upset. Instead, she

  exclaimed over the gowns they were unpacking, especially the one made by Madame Felice, the

  extraordinary French modiste who had suddenly arrived in town some months earlier.

  'It is very lovely,' she said, holding it against herself. The jewel green of the fine silk actually

  became Beatrice very well, setting off the colour of her hair, and was, of course, far more stylish

  than anything she had ever made for herself. 'No wonder everyone is so anxious to order from her

  —but does no one know where she worked before she came to London? Was it in Paris?'

  'No one seems to know anything about her before she set up her shop...but they whisper that she is

  the mistress of a very rich man.'

  'Oh, why do they say that?' Beatrice looked at her curiously.

  'They say she brought money to Madame Coulanges's salon. It stands to reason. She must have a

  protector—where else would she get the money to set herself up in a fashionable establishment? If

  she had no money, she would be desperate to take any order...'

  'Yes, I see the reasoning behind such gossip,' Beatrice replied. She frowned. Her education had

  been to say the least unusual, and her opinions were strong in such matters. 'But I do not see that

  the money must have come from a protector. Why cannot a woman be successful for herself,

  without the aid of a man? Why must everyone always assume the worst? There could be other

  reasons why she was able to bring money to Madame Coulanges. Perhaps she inherited some from

  a wealthy relative, and used it to set herself up in business. She might even have won it in a game

  of cards.'

  'It is intriguing, isn't it?' Olivia said. 'I dare say her story will come out eventually—and that will

  set the tongues wagging again. For the moment, she can do no wrong—no one would think the

  worse of her for having a wealthy protector. She does not mix in society, other than to dress her

  wealthy clientele, of course, and could never hope to marry into a good family.'

  'Alas, I fear you are right. We are all too much governed by convention. I am sure we shall hear


  more in time,' Beatrice said. 'The news may be slow in filtering through to the four villages, but it

  arrives in due course.'

  'The four villages...' Olivia stared at her in bewilderment. 'I am not sure what you mean?'

  Beatrice laughed. 'Oh, I am so used to that way of speaking of our neighbours. I mean the villages

  that lie to the north, south, east and west of Steepwood Abbey, of course: Abbot Quincey, which is

  really almost a small market town these days, Steep Abbot and Steep Ride...which is tiny and

  remote, and lies to the south of the Abbey—and our own.'

  'Oh, yes, the Abbey. We passed by its outer walls on our journey here. Is life affected much by

  what goes on there?'

  Once again, Beatrice laughed. 'We have a wicked Marquis all our own,' she said. 'The stories

  about him would take me all night to relate, but I will only say that I cannot vouch for any of them,

  since I have scarcely met him—except for the night he almost knocked me down as he rushed past

  on his horse, of course.'

  'That was very rude of him,' Olivia said. 'If he is so unpleasant I do not wonder that you do not

  care to know him.'

  'No one cares to know the Marquis of Sywell— except perhaps the Earl of Yardley. I am not sure,

  but I think there is some story about them having belonged to the same wild set years ago, before

  either of them had come into their titles. It was a long time ago, of course. Before the old Earl,

  who was the seventh to bear the title, I believe, banished his son to France, lost the Abbey, which

  had been in his family for generations...since the middle of the sixteenth century...to the present

  owner, and then killed himself.'

  'Indeed?' Olivia looked intrigued. 'Why was the son banished? Oh, pray do tell me, Beatrice—

  was it because of a love affair?'

  'Have you heard the story?'

  Olivia shook her head. 'No, but I should like to if it is romantic...to die for love is so—so...'

  'Foolish,' Beatrice supplied dryly. 'Perch on the window-seat, Olivia, and I will sit here on this

  stool. It is a long story and must be explained properly or you will become confused with all the

  different Earls and not know who I mean.'

  Olivia nodded, her face alight with eagerness. For the first time since her arrival, she seemed truly