Come Be My Love

by Diana Brown

  "Do look, Darius. I had not thought Margaret would be here before tomorrow, or that Patience was to come at all, but Margaret assures me she and Edward are to arrive within the week—it's going to be a real reunion."

  Margaret kissed her brother and turned to me.

  "And with Alex here, it will be a reunion. You've grown lovelier than ever. You must be turning the head of every young beau in town."

  "Exactly what I should think." Darius was again at ease. "But she insists she will be an old maid."

  "Oh, pooh, Alex. Wait until you've been besieged by ad­mirers and then tell me that is so."

  "Stop teasing Alexandra, you two. Her father gave us strict instructions before we left that she is not to attend any balls or formal functions here, since she is not out."

  "What a shame!" Sir Nigel put in. "Damned hard on a pretty young lady, eh!"

  "My feelings exactly," Lady Bladen nodded, "but there it is. Darius had to agree or she couldn't have come with us."

  "It's a shame and unfair besides, because Alex is certainly old enough to be out," Margaret rejoined. "But still, to look on the bright side, that doesn't rule out the opera, and Lady Thurston told Nigel we were to use her box."

  "And Grimaldi is at the Drury Lane," Sir Nigel reminded his wife. "You know how you enjoy him."

  "Such a treat! We must go. He's really so funny, Alex, you'll adore him."

  "What does he do?"

  "What doesn't he do!"

  Grimaldi did everything. His billing as the greatest clown of all time did not praise him too highly; in fact it hardly praised him enough. Agile and limber, he was a being set apart. Each limb of his body possessed a language all its own. He had the ability to make me laugh and cry at one and the same time.

  "Here." Darius handed me his handkerchief, for my own proved quite useless in stemming the intermingled tears of laughter, of sympathy, of joy. He had suggested a stroll out­side during the intermission, but Margaret and Patience had met with old friends in the foyer, so only the two of us set out.

  "I'm always borrowing your handkerchiefs," I apolo­gized, remembering as I did so the last one that still remained in my bureau drawer beneath my diary.

  "Did you borrow one before? When was that? No, wait, don't tell me—it was the time you came to that rally at Lin­bury dressed up as a boy. You really are an extraordinary young lady, Alex—quiet, studious, most proper, yet you do and say things like no other of your years and your sex."

  "Should I take that as a compliment?"

  "You should. You're not an easy person to pay compli­ments to, though. You're far too serious and aloof. You really should take my arm or you'll be in danger of tripping on these rough cobblestones."

  Contentedly I tucked my arm through his, and he caught hold of my hand and held it fast, smiling down at me.

  "Now you look happy."

  "I am, very happy."

  "Do you realize, Alexandra, how much we all rely on you, every one of us? I often have the odd feeling that you know me better than anyone."

  "I rely upon you, Darius. I can't ever imagine life without you . . ." I broke off, and then added awkwardly, "Without all of you."

  He tightened his grip on my hand slightly. "Though you may deny it now, Alex, I've no doubt that one day you will be engrossed with a family of your own, yet I know you'll not forget us anymore than I—than we'll forget you." He stopped to look down into my face and began, "If ever I were to re­marry . . ." but then broke off to conclude, "but I never shall."

  "Never is a long time. I cannot believe that you are meant to go through life alone anymore than you believe I am."

  It was the most intimate moment that had ever passed between us. We stood so close to one another that I could feel every breath he took, and he must have been able to hear every beat of my pounding heart.

  Later I conjectured what might have been had I said then what was in my heart, how much I loved him, how much I always would. But what he might have replied I would never know, for a cool voice shattered that moment.

  "Well, coz, it is you, is it not? I thought I recognized the figure of our great lawmaker. Indeed, I should have expected to see you, for you have the unerring quality of always leading where I am bound to follow."

  Darius immediately released his hold of me and stepped back. I looked upon an elegant young gentleman of medium height, dressed in the very height of fashion in a broad swal­lowtail coat of blue velvet with a high rolled collar and deco­rated with the largest crystal buttons I had ever seen. His face was narrow and pale, his form was slender; he wore his fair hair longer than most, and it waved slightly as it fell towards his collar. Had he not interrupted an intimate moment I had long awaited, I should have welcomed so fascinating a new­comer. As it was, I resented the intrusion, yet not as much as Darius.

  "Poindexter," Darius acknowledged with no attempt at welcome.

  "Are you not going to introduce me to your charming companion?" Poindexter smiled at me as though we already were acquainted, but my smile returned was suspended by Darius's brief, even hostile reply.

  "You must excuse us but our party awaits us inside."

  Without another word, another glance, Darius took my elbow and led me away.

  "Was that really your cousin?" I could scarcely believe that it was, for it was totally unlike Darius to repulse anyone, least of all a member of his own family.

  "Yes." It was clear he would allow no further discussion of that gentleman.

  "There you are! We were about to send Nigel and Ed­ward to search for you. Did you see Geoffrey? We told him you were here," Margaret greeted us as we entered. "Mother will be sorry when she hears of it, for she always says she sees nothing of him. I must say we see little enough of him our­selves, though we live so close to Maplethorpe and visit my aunt frequently. Geoffrey is a man about town, so I suppose one must come to London in order to see him. Philomena said that you used to entertain him when you were on Grosvenor Square."

  "That's the signal that we should get back to our box," Darius interrupted. "Do come along, all of you."

  "I never knew you to be so prompt for performances," Patience put in.

  "Alexandra is enjoying it," Darius insisted.

  "Then of course we should get back. We shouldn't want Alex to be disappointed." It was said sweetly enough, yet I always felt a trace of resentment in Patience. My curiosity was aroused by Geoffrey Poindexter, a curiosity that was to be assuaged soon after we had settled into our places by his ar­rival.

  "Dear Geoffrey, I'm so glad you decided to join us." Pa­tience made a place for her cousin at her side.

  As he sat down he turned to me. "Is no one going to present me to the young lady whom Darius held in such ear­nest conversation outside? I appeal to you, Margaret, since Darius refused my request."

  "Oh, Darius! You know what a tease he is, Geoffrey, though he may have thought you were already acquainted with Alex, for she is one of the family by now, in practice if not in fact."

  Geoffrey Poindexter looked quizzically from me to Darius and then back again. "Am I to take it that I owe my cousin and this charming young lady, to whom I have yet to be pre­sented, joyous felicitations?"

  Darius had half-turned from his cousin and was involved in conversation with Edward Brace. I was not sure that he had heard, though I blushed. Margaret, seeing my flushed face, interposed hastily, "No, no, Alexandra Cox-Neville is a dear friend and neighbour of ours from Wiltshire. Her father's es­tate, Seton Place, borders Charteris. Alexandra, allow me to present my fascinating but quite devastating cousin, Geoffrey Poindexter."

  He smiled at me and bowed. I saw behind that smile a sharp scrutiny. His eyes, fixed on mine, were light and pen­etrating; there was about them a certain fervour in their in­tensity.

  "Miss Cox-Neville must be allowed to draw her own con­clusions on my character. For my part, though, I find myself delighted at making your acquaintance. Do you make your debut this season?"

  "Miss Cox
-Neville has accompanied my mother to town. She is not out," Darius interrupted sharply.

  "A pity. But I shall surely see you again when I call on my aunt, Miss Cox-Neville. I had not realized that she was in town or I should surely have paid my respects before this— particularly," he bowed to me slightly, "had I known she had such a charming companion."

  "You are such a flirt, Geoffrey," Patience complained. "And I do think it is too bad of you that you do not spend any of your time flirting with your cousins."

  "But you are both married."

  "Since when has that prevented you from flirting," she asserted. "From all I hear, it serves to encourage you, though I must say, you yourself seem to be terrified of the married state."

  He looked over at me thoughtfully. "Oh, I don't know. Should the right set of circumstances present themselves, I should not be averse."

  "You mean the right heiress." Patience smiled a trifle spitefully. "I'm afraid that lets you out, Alex."

  "I am really finding this rather repetitious. I think Gri­maldi has shown us the best of his act. Shall we go?"

  Darius, rising abruptly, left little occasion for discussion. I was disappointed because we had all been enjoying the eve­ning. I could only think that the arrival of Geoffrey Poindexter was responsible for its rupture. I saw a look pass between them as we left, hostile on one side, mocking on the other, a look that was to cause me much curiosity.

  That curiosity was satisfied somewhat the following morning. I was sitting with Lady Bladen and wondering whether to mention Mr. Poindexter to her when his name was announced by the footman.

  "My dear aunt!" He entered gracefully, holding out both hands as he advanced towards her. "Only yesterday did I learn of your presence in town, but I must apologize, for surely I should have made it my business to know of such an impor­tant arrival. Be assured, had I known I should have waited on you much earlier."

  "Dear, dear Geoffrey." It was plain from Lady Bladen's greeting of her nephew that she held him in far higher esteem than did her son. "How lovely to see you. I asked Darius about you, but from what he said, I thought you were not in town at this time."

  "But he knew I was here. I see him often at White's."

  "I suppose it must somehow have slipped his mind. He is so occupied—politics, management of the estate, all of that is his now." She sighed in remembering.

  "I understand he is in the way of becoming quite a states­man." I detected a caustic note in Poindexter's voice, but his comment caused Lady Bladen to put aside her remembrance of her loss for pride in her son.

  "I am so very pleased with Darius, as was his father."

  "People are always pleased with Darius. I know my mother constantly talks of him." Again I noticed bitterness, but he turned and smiled at me most civilly.

  "And it is a great pleasure to see you again so soon, Miss Cox-Neville."

  "So you two have met, and you didn't mention it, Alex." I was about to explain when Crumpet, who had been playing quietly in the window seat with a set of lead soldiers his father had brought him, pushed one of the metal figures into his mouth.

  "Don't do that, Crumpet," I admonished and rose to take it from him.

  "Ah, so this is Darius's son." Poindexter followed me to the window and bent down to pick up Crumpet.

  "How like Philomena he is!" he murmured.

  "Isn't he though. Her eyes entirely, though he is paler in complexion. I was worried at first, but he seems healthy enough. In fact he is too lively for me by far. I don't know what I would do without dear Alexandra. She is goodness itself to the poor little motherless child."

  "How very kind of her." There was an odd twitch at the corner of his mouth as he spoke, and the look he gave me made me flush in fear he would say more. But he carried Crumpet back with him and sat him on his knee.

  "How sad that Philomena never saw the boy!"

  That he seemed to have taken to Crumpet surprised me, for he did not appear to be the sort of man who would enjoy children, being so very much the beau. Yet he continued to dandle and play with the child as he chatted with Lady Bladen. He kept up a continuous flow of gossip, often witty, sometimes caustic, many of his remarks bordering on the mali­cious, but nevertheless keeping Lady Bladen entirely amused.

  "You must tell your dear mother to come and see me at Charteris," she said. "I don't know how long it is since she has been there, or you, either, for that matter."

  "I can't say for mother, but I do promise that the next time I go down to Hampshire to see my dear friend Wilmott, I shall make a point of breaking my journey at Charteris."

  "That would be splendid. It is indeed quite lonely there now." Her plaintive tones led Poindexter to express such sin­cere condolences on her loss that I wished Darius could have been there to hear him. Yet when he did enter some time later, it was to greet his cousin as coldly as he had done the night before and announce that he was quite decided to take us off to the Palace of Westminster to see the Upper House, some­thing his mother had been trying to persuade him to do since our arrival.

  Poindexter, in getting up to leave, was forced to disen­tangle Crumpet's hold from the tassels on his boots. He seemed not in the least to mind that those splendid boots had lost their gloss and were covered by a hoard of tiny finger­prints. I had taken him for a dandy, but his lack of concern bespoke less preoccupation with his appearance than I had thought.

  "I shall take my leave of you then, aunt." Turning to me, he added, "I trust I may have another opportunity to meet you, Miss Cox-Neville. It is my hope that we should become much better acquainted."

  It was said, I thought, to annoy Darius; perhaps he sought to disrupt an intimacy he imagined to exist between us.

  Lady Bladen was particularly warm in her adieux, again encouraging her nephew to visit her.

  "Such a lively young man Geoffrey has become," she re­marked to Darius on his departure.

  "Yes, quite the young blade." It was the most he had said about Geoffrey Poindexter, and it was certainly not said to compliment him.

  X

  The arrival of Margaret and her husband at Great Stanhope Street, with Patience and Edward staying nearby in Lord Brace's town house, caused an increased flurry of activity as friends of both daughters called, along with Lady Bladen's friends and Darius's political confidants.

  I was outside these groups, yet every effort was made to make me feel a part of them, although Patience, while never excluding me, occasionally made me feel less than entirely welcome among her friends. Margaret, on the contrary, in­cluded me in everything.

  As different as was the relationship of the sisters to me, so distinct was their relationship to their husbands. Margaret was so obviously content and serene in her marriage. She talked ceaselessly of her children and her daily activities in Hertfordshire, finding interest in the smallest tasks. It was clear that she held her husband in high esteem, as he did his wife. Sir Nigel Armbruster was a patient, undemanding, un­prepossessing man who quite plainly believed that life had dealt fairly with him and he, in turn, intended to deal fairly with life. Patience and her husband, on the other hand, were never entirely satisfied with anything; perhaps for that reason if for no other, they were well suited.

  Much as I tried I could not convince Margaret and Lady Bladen that observation of London life was sufficient amuse­ment, and they vied with one another in seeking entertain­ment for me.

  "Tonight we are going to take Lady Thurston up on her offer and use her box at Covent Garden," Margaret an­nounced one morning, looking up from the paper. "I see Guiditta Pasta is again singing Bellini's Norma, and the Chroni­cle says it is not to be missed. You must come, mother, but I suppose Darius won't be able to, since he mentioned that the House would probably be in session late tonight and that we were not to expect him for dinner."

  On the way to the theatre that evening, Lady Bladen explained how her husband had supported the rebuilding of the Covent Garden only a few years earlier, after it had been burned to the
ground. At that time it had rested with those members of the nobility and gentry who were patrons of the arts to rescue it from oblivion; they had done so admirably. The interior of green and gold was lit by a huge array of glass chandeliers, giving a dazzling light to the plush interior and the luxurious apparel of the audience, freely strolling and talk­ing throughout the performance, a practice I found distract­ing, though I was to learn that people more often attended the opera to be observed than to observe.

  Midway through the first act a party moving into the box directly across from the one in which we sat caused a flurry of comment. My atttention as immediately drawn to the lady who occupied its centre and who seemed to draw all eyes, though she paid not the slightest heed to either the commo­tion she created or the performance on the stage. With an exquisite, oval face surrounded by silvery blond curls, large languid eyes and a half-smile playing on rose-petal lips, she was surrounded by a group of gentlemen who hung on her every word. When she removed her ermine wrap, her gown of silver-threaded muslin caressed her lustrous shoulders and curving breasts, against which, enticement among entice­ments, shone a dazzling array of diamonds.

  "Who is she?" The question rose to my lips spontane­ously. I was sure Lady Bladen must have been as aware of her entrance as anyone else, yet she asked coldly "Who is who, Alexandra?"

  "The lady in the box over there." I nodded my head in her direction; it was all I could do not to point.

  "That is the Countess of Brentwood," she affirmed, and leaving me no chance to question her further, she turned to Margaret and took up in most animated converse the matter of little Nigel's proclivity for mud pies and Lucy's teething. These matters exhausted, she began a detailed discussion of the vaccination of non-fatal cow-pox as a vehicle to prevent smallpox—a method gaining widespread acceptance and the one Margaret had chosen for her own offspring—comparing it to the inoculation process brought to England by Lady Mary Wortley Montagu from Turkey, whereby a child received a small dose of the pox itself that she had used for her children. Her sudden, overwhelming preocupation with such matters seemed connected with her desire to keep her back turned on the box occupied by Lady Brentwood. Some moments later I knew the reason, for Darius entered that box to take the empty seat beside the lady, a seat that had undoubtedly been held in anticipation of his arrival. I could not doubt from the manner in which he greeted that lady and the manner in which she returned his greeting that they knew one another well, very well. My gasp as I saw him caused both Margaret and Lady Bladen to follow my gaze.