The Last of Lady Lansdown

by Shirley Kennedy

  “What happened?”

  “My father started spending more and more time at his clubs in London. Boodles, mostly. Mama was aware of his gambling, of course, but little did she dream he was throwing every last penny away. After he fled to America, she ... well, she has never been the same.”

  Douglas nodded in sympathy. “I have seen more than one man gamble himself to utter ruin at the faro tables.” He gave a self-deprecating grimace. “I almost did it myself.”

  “What stopped you?”

  After a long pause, he sat up and leveled a gaze at her, unspoken pain alive in his eyes. “What stopped me? A little girl dying in my arms stopped me.”

  Of course, the accident. Her hand flew to her mouth. “How thoughtless of me to ask. I am sorry I reminded you.”

  “Don’t be.” He gave her a rueful smile. “A day doesn’t go by that I’m not reminded. I provided enough scandal to the wagging tongues of the Ton to last for years. What they don’t know is my life changed forever on that day.”

  “Were you arrested?”

  “Of course not. I was a man of rank and privilege, beyond reproach,” his voice resonated with bitterness and self-derision, “whereas she was only an orange-girl and orphaned besides, obviously a lesser being.” He paused and took a shaky breath, as if touched by some deep emotion. “I left London immediately. No great loss to the Ton since I was labeled as a worthless reprobate anyway,” he raised a cynical eyebrow, “which actually, I was. Since then, I haven’t held a card in my hand.” He raised the silver flask high. “I’ve rarely tasted spirits until today.”

  She pulled back in feigned concern. “Good heavens. Have I driven you to drink?”

  “No. My drinking days are done except for special occasions such as this.”

  “So where did you go when you left London?”

  “After the accident, I knew I had to get away, to escape the memory of what I did. So I went north and found work on a canal.”

  “Was it interesting? Did you get to steer the boats?”

  He burst into hearty laughter. “No, I did not ‘steer the boats’ as you put it. I was a tow man. Believe me, there’s nothing lower on this earth. I dredged channels, cut weeds, drove mules and horses, fed them and cleaned up after them. You could say I was a horse myself at times, helping to haul the narrow boats along the tow path when the horse power wasn’t enough.”

  “How awful.”

  “No, it wasn’t. Hard work is good medicine. It makes you forget. In the process, I not only learned about canals, I learned I could build canals. If fact, I’m rather good at it. You have to know how to take a level, dig a channel, remove tree roots, dispose of tons of earth, mix underwater cement, create locks and a hundred other things. So that’s what I’m doing now for Lord Rennie.” He gazed at his outstretched hands, roughened with calluses. “These are not the hands of a gentleman, which pleases me to no end. I shall never be a so-called gentleman again.”

  Didn’t all men aspire to be gentlemen? She had never met a man like Douglas Cartland before and she was not sure how to answer. “That is most interesting, Mister Cartland.” She sat with one leg neatly folded beneath her. The other, stretched straight out, she kept carefully covered with her long, black skirt. Now she noticed the hem of her skirt had crept up, enough to reveal her black kid shoe and a bit above. With care, she reached to tug it down again.

  Watching her, he suddenly smiled. “Perish the thought I should see too much of your lovely ankle.”

  She willed herself not to blush. “I was just—”

  “Just what?” With the swiftness of a snake, his arm shot out and grabbed her foot. With one swift tug, he pulled her shoe off and cradled her foot in his hand. “Trying not to awake my base desires? You know how men are.” He gave a devilish grin. “Who knows? One more glimpse of your ankle and I might not have been able to contain myself. You could have been ravished on the spot.”

  Despite herself, she started to laugh. “You are outrageous.” She tugged at her foot, which he still held tightly. “Unhand me.”

  “Don’t you mean, unfoot me?”

  She laughed harder. “Just give me my foot back.”

  “Not just yet. Hmmm ...” He directed his attention to her foot, holding the heel in one hand and lightly tracing his fingers over the top with the other. “Do you realize, my dear countess, you may have the most beautiful foot in all of England? Small ... slender ... beautifully arched.” He shook his head in regret. “What a pity it’s enclosed in ugly black.” He gazed up at her. “What is the latest fashion in mourning these days? Are you all in black? Dress, shoes, stockings ... does that also include your drawers?”

  She should be outraged, appalled, but she wasn’t. In fact, she could not suppress a giggle. If he thought she would act like a squeamish schoolgirl, he was mistaken. She grew serious and shot a cool gaze at him. “You, sir, are no gentleman.”

  “Did I not just finish telling you that?” He cupped her foot with both hands, obviously in no hurry to let go. “Lean back and close your eyes.”

  “I shall do no such thing.”

  “Yes, you will. Foot massage is an excellent way to relax. You need to have your eyes closed.”

  She closed her eyes.

  He began rubbing her foot slowly, the warmth of his hands penetrating through her stocking. A delicious, tingling feeling spread along the sole of her foot from her toes to the back of her heel. The more he rubbed, the better it felt. His fingers slid to her toes where he began massaging. Umm ... that felt good. She leaned her head back against the tree trunk, thinking she really ought to tell him to stop, and she would ... in just a little while. So good. Too good. His fingers moved again. This time his thumbs massaged in a tantalizing circling motion over her arch. “How does that feel?”

  She opened her eyes. “Not bad.” Perhaps it was the warmth of the sun on her face, or maybe the brandy spreading its magical comfort throughout her insides. Whatever it was, she had never felt so relaxed in her life or so utterly powerless. He continued the massage. Do not let him get above your ankle, a little voice inside her warned. If his hands slid higher, what would she do? She didn’t know. All she knew was, nothing had ever felt so good. She closed her eyes again, wondering what she would do if his hands roamed higher. Surely they would. He was a man, wasn’t he? She would stop him when the time came but right now ...

  It took her a moment to realize his hands had dropped away. Her eyelids flew open. He was looking at her, his eyes sharp and assessing, as if he knew exactly what she’d been thinking. “That’s enough for one day.” He reached for her shoe. “I’ll do the other foot next time.”

  “No, you will not.” What on earth had she been thinking? She, who had just vowed her independence, who had decided never again to bow to the dominance of any man on earth. Not only that, she could guess what Sir Archibald would say. “There will not be a next time.” She grabbed the shoe from his hand and slipped it on. Standing quickly, she busily brushed at her skirt. “I must get back. I’ve been gone much too long.”

  In silence, they cleared up the remains of the picnic, storing them back in Douglas’ saddle bag. She untied Beauty and led her back to the path.

  “Need a leg up?”

  Without thinking, she responded, “I can do it myself.” How could she? She had no mounting block. If she were dressed in something light, she could possibly gather her strength and sling herself over the horse, but her bombazine mourning gown was anything but light. “All right then, I need help.”

  Keeping a very straight face, he bent and laced his fingers together. She placed her foot in his clasp, her hand on his shoulder. “Ready.”

  “Up you go, Your Ladyship,” he said in a teasing tone. She seated herself firmly in her saddle. “I shall be gone a couple of days, but when I come back, we shall go riding again.”

  From atop Beauty, she gazed down at him. She liked what she saw: his compelling brown eyes so full of life, the set of his chin that suggested a stu
bborn streak, the humorous lines around his mouth. She liked his massive, self-confident presence, too. In fact, what about him was there not to like?

  Plenty. Whatever attraction she might feel for Douglas Cartland must end right here. “I cannot go riding with you, ever again. In fact, because of certain circumstances, I should not be riding at all.”

  “You mean, in case you’re carrying the earl’s child.” His reply was so matter-of-fact it took a moment for his shocking words to sink in.

  “Ladies do not discuss those matters.”

  “Unfortunately, they don’t—not in this shallow, artificial society,” he countered with a gleam in his eye. “What a shame pregnancy and birth are not to be discussed except behind closed doors. They are both in truth natural events, more to be celebrated than censored.”

  She could see his point but had no wish to argue. “Be that as it may, I won’t be riding for a while, not with you or anyone else.” Wanting to move away, she flicked the reins, but he held fast to Beauty’s harness.

  “How do you feel? Do you want the child?”

  Strangely, no one had asked her that question before. She should remain silent, yet she wished to answer because she sensed his genuine concern. “There are many reasons why my family would rejoice if I had a child. We could continue to live in Chatfield Court. Millicent could have her dowry ... all sorts of good things. Whereas, if I am not with child, our lives will be rather bleak. On the other hand,” she pondered, biting her lips, “do I wish to carry the offspring of a man I despised? No, I do not. Now, let go of the harness.”

  He complied, and she flicked the reins again. Beauty leaped away, carrying her back down the trail in a satisfying, soothing gallop.

  Chapter 6

  When Jane returned to Chatfield Court, she hoped no one, especially her mother, would discover that she had gone riding. Mama would be appalled that she took any sort of risk while possibly expecting. Jane made her way quietly through the entry hall to the drawing room. Poking her head inside, she found Granny alone, furiously stitching on a piece of embroidery. How very peculiar. Granny loathed needlework. “A waste of time,” she had said many times, scoffing at the ladies who slaved over their needles.

  “Granny, are you upset about something?”

  “No.” The old lady stabbed her needle into the cloth as if it were a rapier. She held it up for Jane to see. “It’s a sampler. I started this stupid thing when I was twelve. High time I finished it.” She took another vicious stab.

  “What’s wrong?” Jane asked softly.

  Her grandmother slammed the sampler in her lap. “If you must know, she has taken away my medicine.”

  “Who has taken away what?”

  “My gin!”

  “Who took it?”

  “Beatrice.” Granny practically spat the name out. “She told Griggs not to bring me my medicine anymore and she took what I had out of my room. ‘It’s not good for you,’ she said. I informed her I was eighty years old and if I did not know what was good for me by now I never would. She would not listen.”

  Jane saw tears in her grandmother’s eyes. The heartrending sight made her realize how much she loved this crotchety old woman who had given her nothing but love, loyalty and good advice over the years. “I shall see about this immediately.”

  “You know it’s for my health, Jane. How dare that woman take it away?”

  How dare she indeed? For whatever reason. “I shall be right back.” Jane hurried from the room, infuriated, not sure what she was going to do but determined to do something. In the entry hall, she encountered the butler. “Griggs, wait up. I want to talk to you.”

  “Yes, madam?” The butler’s expression remained neutral, as usual.

  She sucked in her breath, trying to calm herself. “I believe you told my grandmother you would no longer bring her evening ... uh, medicine?”

  “On orders from the new countess, ma’am.”

  Fury almost choked her, but she tried to remain calm. “She is not the new countess yet, Griggs.”

  For once, a look of confusion crossed the imperturbable butler’s face. “The situation seems unclear.”

  Perceiving she had the upper hand, Jane asked sternly, “So it was Mrs. Elton who forbade you to take Granny her medicine?”

  “Yes, Your Ladyship.”

  “She should not have done that. Be advised, I am still in charge here. You take orders from me, not Mrs. Elton.”

  “Yes, Your Ladyship.” The butler’s face clouded. “If I may be permitted to say so, Mrs. Elton is not an easy person to deal with. When she finds out—”

  “She won’t. How would it be if you brought the medicine to me, instead? Then I shall take it to my grandmother.”

  Griggs smiled in relief. “I believe that can be arranged.”

  “Fine, then. Starting tonight.” She started to turn away, but Griggs was not done.

  “Perhaps I should mention also ... in case you did not know.”

  What next? “Do continue.”

  “Mrs. Elton is planning a small dinner party for tomorrow evening. Nothing elaborate, of course, what with the house being in mourning. Just a few guests. She’s calling it a commemorative dinner for the earl.”

  She knew her surprise must show on her face, but she could not fool Griggs anyway. “Who is invited?”

  “Sir Archibald and his wife. Also some of the neighborhood gentry including Lord Rennie and that guest who’s staying with him. Douglas Cartland, I believe his name is, the one who’s building the canal.” Griggs bent forward confidentially. “Mrs. Elton did not want him, but Lord Rennie said he would not come if Cartland was not invited.”

  “I see. Is there anything else you wish to tell me?”

  “As a matter of fact ...” There was a peculiar look on the butler’s face.

  Dear Lord, what now? “Go ahead, Griggs. Out with it.”

  “She has been in your bedchamber twice today. Measuring, I believe, for new drapes and—how shall I put it?—assessing the furnishings as if, possibly, she might wish to move in, and soon.”

  “Thank you, Griggs. I trust that is all?”

  “That’s all, Your Ladyship.”

  The butler left her in the entry hall, numb with rage and shock. But what else should she have expected? Of course, Beatrice would want to move into her lovely bedchamber. Other than his lordship’s, it was the best in the house, large and spacious with a gorgeous view of the river. Beatrice would naturally want to establish herself as the gracious hostess of Chatfield Court.

  I will not let it bother me.

  Easier said than done.

  After she calmed herself, Jane returned to the drawing room. Granny gave a satisfied grunt when informed she would still get her gin. When Jane related her entire conversation with Griggs, Granny frowned in disapproval. “You didn’t talk directly to Beatrice?”

  “No. I thought it would be better—”

  “That woman should be put in her place.”

  “You’re absolutely right.” Jane felt ashamed of herself. “I didn’t want to confront Beatrice because, in the end, what good would it do? She’ll soon have everything she wants, so why create a scene?”

  “Are you like your mealy-mouthed mother—too afraid to speak up for yourself?”

  “Of course not. That’s not it at all ...” Jane proceeded to defend herself, but she knew in her heart Granny was right. She should have gone directly to Beatrice and had it out. Was she a coward? Or was it just that she had too many other battles to fight right now?

  Now content, Granny threw down her embroidery. “I hear you went to the stables. You were gone a long time.”

  “I was out, uh, getting some air.”

  Granny let out a cackle. “Douglas Cartland bought Beauty back from Lord Gamfield. The two of you went riding along the river trail.”

  Jane sank in defeat into the cushions of the sofa. “How did you know?”

  “The servants, how do you think? You can’t keep a secret a
round here, not with fifty pairs of ears listening.” Granny’s eyes shifted to a chambermaid, busy polishing the andirons in the fireplace. “See what I mean? No doubt the girl has heard every word. Don’t worry, no one is about to tell your mother. That includes me.”

  “Please don’t! You know how upset Mama gets. She would certainly not want me to ride while there’s any chance I might be expecting. Which, of course, I am not.” A surge of rebellion arose within her. “I hate this! Why should I have to please my mother? Why must I be nice to Beatrice? Why can’t I have some privacy without the whole world watching for when I next come ’round?”

  “That’s not the way life is,” Granny answered quietly.

  “I don’t have to like it, do I?” Protests were useless. She tried to calm herself. “Why can’t we just go live in my dower house as I would like us to?”

  “We’ll see about that, missy. You needn’t worry. Amelia doesn’t know a thing. You’re right. She would throw a fit if she knew you went riding. You don’t need the aggravation. I suggest you don’t do it again, not until you can raise that red flag over the roof.”

  “I hate to be treated like a delicate flower, but I’ve already decided I won’t ride. It shouldn’t take long, anyway. Only another week or so, and meantime, I shall visit Beauty every day. I just won’t ride her.” She broke into a joyous smile. “Oh, Granny, it’s so good to have Beauty back!”

  Granny gave her a piercing glare. “Thanks to Douglas Cartland. He must have paid good money for that horse. Did you pay him back?”

  “He wouldn’t let me.”

  “Do you want to be beholden to him?”

  “After all I went through with the earl, I don’t want to be beholden to any man.”

  “That’s what you say now, but you’ll change your mind.”

  “No I will not.” No man was ever going to order her around, ever again. That wasn’t all. No man was ever going to touch her again. Unless ... She felt a tingle, remembering the way Cartland’s hand had caressed her foot. No! That was over. She would not let him touch her again.