by Vanessa Gray
Edward interrupted. “She’s right. He is a deadly bore. Besides, Mama, I hope I know my own duty in speaking to you, but I cannot like this. You may be able to fool Lydia, or even Chloe, but you can’t fool me. You have a scheme afoot.”
Lady Rothwell was indignant. “Scheming! What a despicable word to use to your mother, Edward!” Edward looked at her steadily, and she dropped her glance to her plate. “But I cannot reconcile myself to the prospect of Chloe’s fortune going out of the family. Chloe is, after all, the daughter of my own dear husband, and her welfare is above all things my great concern. I don’t know what I would do without her.”
Every one around the table knew that, without Chloe, Lady Rothwell herself would be forced to take over the running of the house. Each had a personal interest in keeping Chloe at hand, but none of them would have put their reason so baldly as Lady Rothwell.
She continued, “I have always said that family money should stay in the family. Francis, my sister’s son, has only our interest at heart. I should certainly be pleased to see Chloe and Francis starting out in life together.”
Sophy, irrepressible as always, said, “Chloe and Francis and Highmoor.”
Lady Rothwell quelled her with a glance. “That’s quite enough, young lady.”
Edward, protesting, pointed out that Chloe’s fortune was not Rothwell money. “She inherited from Bradford, you know, no relation of the Rothwells at all.”
Lady Rothwell sidestepped that neatly. “Chloe is a Rothwell, and what is hers is ours, always has been. And of course, what is ours is hers!”
It would have been better, thought Edward silently, if the Rothwells had had more to give Chloe. At the moment it all seemed to be going the other way.
Lydia, under cover of the conversation, turned to her sister Sophy, taking the occasion to point out Sophy’s most recent fault. “You’re a snoop,” whispered Lydia savagely. “I’ve told you before — stay out of my room!”
Sophy countered with a simple denial. “I never.”
Lydia hissed, “You sneaked in and went through my desk. I told you I didn’t ever want to see you in my room again. I’m going to ask Mama for a key.”
Sophy murmured, “I wonder what you have that is so secret? Something that you wouldn’t want Mama to see?”
The conversation, acrimonious as it appeared, did not go unnoticed by their elders. Lydia said, “You read my diary!”
But Sophy was unfortunate enough not to heed the sudden silence, so that her words, though decently muffled, yet rang out like a clarion. “You shouldn’t leave your diary open so that I could get at it!”
Lady Rothwell said, “Now, girls! Sophy, do I understand that you’ve been reading Lydia’s diary again? I vow I thought that you knew better than to do such a despicable thing.”
The force of her disapproval was lost when she added to Lydia, “I trust you do not write anything in there that your sister may not read. I believe you have been taught not to entertain undesirable thoughts?”
Edward complained, “Can’t you two get along?”
Lady Rothwell said, “Lydia, pray assure me that there is nothing in your diary that I may not read.”
Sophy interrupted, “There is, Mama. She tells about —”
Edward broke in. He was the head of the family after all, and if his mother could not quell this unseemly wrangling, then he would have to take it upon himself to do so. It was distasteful, but a duty was clearly set before him, and he did not flinch.
“I always said,” he began, “that Miss Addis could not handle girls. She knew nothing of discipline, and I see the sad result in both Lydia and Sophy.” Both girls stared round-eyed at him. It was unlike Edward, so Lydia said later, to interest himself in anything but his own affairs.
“I cannot help but feel that your daughters, Mama, show a great lack of conduct. If I had been consulted earlier, as I think I should have been, we would not now see such a want of training. But I must say, now that my attention is brought to this lack of training, I must do what I can to try to redeem my fault. Lydia, I wish you will tell me why you do not wish your diary read?” Lydia flushed to the roots of her hair. “On second thought, I don’t think I wish to know. But I trust that from now on you will take advantage of this lesson. Sophy, you are not entirely free from fault. To go into your sister’s room and read her personal affairs is outside of enough. I do not wish to hear of this again.”
His criticism of Lady Rothwell was not lost. She, not used to any kind of defiance within her family, protested. “I am perfectly capable of knowing what is best for girls, and I do not accept your interference, Edward.”
It was quite possible that Chloe’s legacy had rocked not only the recipient, but Edward himself. At any rate, Edward, though civilly enough, pointed out, “It is my responsibility now. I am, after all, the head of the family, and their deportment reflects upon the family as a whole. I shall not like to see Lydia, in two years, traveling to London with such want of conduct. And, Sophy, unless I see a great deal of improvement in your manner, I doubt that you will go to London at all.”
Even with this threat hanging over Sophy’s head, she seemed unconcerned. It was a long time before she would be eligible to travel to London, and anything might happen to change the current state of affairs. More from a desire to stir things up than to divert attention from herself, with an appearance of innocence, she asked Lydia, “If Francis marries Chloe, then who is going to show you around London, Lydia? You’re counting on Francis. Best be nice to him when he comes.”
Sophy’s precocity did not escape unnoticed. Edward quelled her with a heavy glance. “Lydia will go to London in two years. It is beyond the bounds of possibility that Francis would not be married by that time. Besides, we may all find that London has changed. The old King, I understand, is not well, and by then the country may be plunged into mourning. I recommend to you both, first, a salutary glance at your own behavior, and second, a postponement of all thoughts of London, or indeed of leaving Rothwell Manor for any reason.”
Lydia’s protest came loud and from the heart. “Not for two years! I’ll die!”
Lady Rothwell said, “Don’t worry, Lydia. Two years is out of the question.”
Edward said, “It is decided, ma’am. Lydia will not enter society for two years. I believe you agreed?”
Lady Rothwell, having agreed because she was confident of her ability to overrule her son, said, “Lydia will be nearly nineteen in two years. She must not wait that long. I know you have said that we cannot afford to send Lydia to London before then. But I believe that now we can manage.”
Edward, shocked, said, “But it’s not the money particularly. That is a factor, to be scrupulous about it. We do not have sufficient funds forward for any kind of display. But I must tell you, not to put too fine a point on it, that Lydia’s behavior does not give me confidence at the prospect of seeing her in London. Her head is too giddy. She thinks of nothing but fashion. I should like to see her more settled before I agree to letting her go.”
Lady Rothwell, believing she held all the winning cards, said, “But now all has changed, since Chloe is an heiress. It seems to me that Chloe’s duty is to see that her sister receives something that means so much to her.”
Sophy, without caution, pointed out, “Chloe won’t be an heiress if she marries Francis.”
Lady Rothwell glanced her way, and said, “If Francis fixes his interest with her, that is all I ask for now.”
Edward, his plump cheeks quivering with shock and the force of his indignation, said, “Ma’am, I am adamant. Lydia will not go to London. Not for two years.”
Lydia moaned, a small, broken sound. Lady Rothwell, with what she considered ineffable logic, said, “But what good is an inheritance, if one doesn’t use it?”
Edward opened his mouth to speak, but what he had in mind to say was never uttered. For at that moment, a shadow darkened the opened door into the hall. Chloe stood in the doorway, slim and looking somehow
vulnerable. All fell into embarrassed silence. Chloe hardly noticed. She was accustomed to being on the fringe of the family, and of listening to a majority of conversations which did not include her except as an afterthought. But suddenly, to her surprise, she found that she was the center of attention.
Edward leaped to his feet and with heavy jocularity pulled out her chair. “How pretty you look this morning!” he cried.
For one horrified moment, Chloe thought he must be drunk. Acutely embarrassed, she murmured a protest that was lost in Edward’s bustling about to get her settled. Furtively, Chloe glanced around the table. The others seemed to see nothing unusual in Edward’s performance, but Lydia looked more sulky than usual. She and Sophy must have had another quarrel.
The tag end of Edward’s conversation, that had come to her ears as she approached the morning room, now presented itself to her recollection. “No trip to London, for two years.” This was undoubtedly the reason for Lydia’s sullenness. Chloe spared a thought to Lydia’s coming disappointment, not at the two years’ delay in getting to London, but in London after she arrived. Chloe herself had very few fond memories of the city where she had spent two weeks.
Lady Rothwell informed Chloe, as impressively as though she were announcing an invasion of England, that Sir Richard had arrived at the hall.
Chloe’s eyes flew to her stepmother’s face and she said, “Has he come here?”
When he left her at the bridge he had said he would wait for another time. She was torn between regret that she had missed him here and a deep shyness over meeting him again.
Lady Rothwell shook her head. “I wonder why Sir Richard has not come. One would think that his first duty was to call on his neighbors. But perhaps he is too busy planning to be married. I have not heard whom he has offered for.”
Chloe, her meeting with Sir Richard heavy on her thoughts, prepared to explain her meeting, by chance, with Richard yesterday. She was conscious of a lurking desire to keep that meeting secret, but since secrecy was not part of her makeup, she opened her mouth to speak.
Sophy, however, forestalled her. Looking across the table at Lydia, she cried out, “Forget Sir Richard. He will have no time for you.”
Lydia, fully conscious that she had written certain hidden thoughts in her diary and informed now of how deeply Sophy had delved into that secret volume, blushed furiously. The betrayal of her secret dreams, in such an unromantic setting as over broken scrambled eggs and coffee, moved her to speak.
“You snoop! You did read my diary! How dared you pry!” Her distress became incoherence, and Sophy let the flood stream over her. If an acute spectator had been present, he would have noticed that her smile bore no trace of guilt. Breakfast bade fair to become the usual uproar, and Chloe thought nostalgically of the days before Sophy had been released from the school room. Ordinarily Chloe could have let the wrangling sweep past her, leaving her unmoved. Now she was conscious of a lurking thought — at Highmoor I will insist upon quiet mealtimes. But her second thought was — At Highmoor I would be totally alone.
That afternoon, Sir Richard paid his awaited call on Lady Rothwell. He had not looked forward to this meeting, for the second Lady Rothwell had never been one of his favorites. It was a duty call, no less and no more.
Sir Richard had experienced a revelation on the footpath yesterday, and while his thoughts were all in a muddle, yet one thing came clear to him — he wanted Chloe.
London was forgotten, and his own future was assured. He would settle down at Davenant Hall, as a country squire, with his long-time childhood friend Chloe by his side. He thought no farther ahead, nor did he expect any obstacles to be put in his way. Without vanity, he knew himself to be an eligible suitor, for London had shown him that.
Lady Rothwell’s butler showed him into the Green Salon. There he found Lady Rothwell engaged on what looked to be a mammoth embroidery project, something on the order of the Bayeux tapestry. A young girl sat near by, sorting out embroidery silks by colors, and both looked up on his arrival. Lady Rothwell’s welcome was almost embarrassing. She was arch and sly by turns. She welcomed him back, saying he had been away too long.
“But I suppose we shall see much of you now, Sir Richard, after your forthcoming marriage.” Sir Richard was startled, for he had not declared himself to Chloe, and he was sure she had not leaped to any conclusions. But Lady Rothwell had something else in mind. Sir Richard, about whose prospects gossip whirled like a dervish, was not in London, but here in Kent. If Lady Rothwell were able to penetrate his reserve and inform her sister of his choice, it would show Mrs. Hensley that they were not such dullards as Londoners thought!
He was rocked, but recovered himself shortly and murmured a few noncommittal words. He glanced at the door, hoping for rescue. It was not long in coming. Edward entered and advanced toward him with outstretched hands. His welcome was more subdued than Lady Rothwell’s and was far less personal. Over Edward’s shoulder, Richard saw what he had hoped to see — Chloe, slipping into the room, like a shadow. He met her eyes, and spoke a word or two to her, but she merely stammered and looked away.
Edward, believing that Richard had come to see him particularly, was full of questions.
“I understand that the Regent is making enemies right and left — is that true?”
“I have heard much about politics, but since I have been out of the country I’ve paid the governmental vagaries little heed, I fear.”-
Edward’s remarks then moved on to crime on the Continent, making a strong statement on the subject of Grand Tours, when England was sufficient for any man of taste. Richard shrewdly translated the latter into a lament that Edward himself had not been able to take a Grand Tour.
Enjoying himself, Edward seemed most satisfied with the conversation, and announced that he would give himself the pleasure of anticipating many future constructive exchanges with his near neighbor.
Richard, with a bland expression, agreed, but mentally he vowed to avoid Edward’s conversations at all costs. He looked up and caught Chloe’s eye, and perceived the mischievous twinkle that he remembered well. Suddenly, he felt much better.
As in many a drama on the stage, Richard longed for some interruption to release him from the toils of Lady Rothwell and her son Edward. A kindly Providence provided such a diversion. The sound of wheels came clearly through the open windows, heralding the approach of a carriage on the gravel drive.
Sophy, less burdened by manners than the others, ran to the window to look. As though under a spell, everyone watched the drive. Richard thought it was hard to tell what they were waiting for, but he did not expect the apparition that drove in. Sophy cried out, “It is Cousin Francis!”
Richard recognized him then. Lady Rothwell exclaimed, “Already? I had not expected him so soon.” Francis entered, drawing off his driving gloves, and crossed to greet his aunt. He shied perceptibly when he caught sight of Sir Richard. Richard was reminded of a skittish, untrained colt, but that was a false impression, he knew, for Hensley, while stupid and inarticulate, was no Bartholomew baby. Indeed, Richard reflected, if rumor were right, Hensley knew more about the inside of gambling houses than many another young man. Richard had never heard that Hensley was under the hatches, so there was some common sense in that addled head.
Edward greeted his cousin civilly, but not warmly. Watching Hensley speaking to Chloe, apparently unable to muster a full sentence, Richard was conscious of a strong feeling of relief that Hensley was not related to Chloe. He was Lady Rothwell’s nephew, and Chloe’s family was not burdened with such an idiot.
But Francis, although he could not make himself understood clearly, was able to congratulate Chloe, in obscure terms, on something that sounded very much like Highmoor.
Richard, searching his recollection for a clue to the meaning of this, was at a loss. But he resolved to look further, for Edward was clearly embarrassed and Chloe looked ready to sink through the floor.
Richard took a pleasant leave of Lad
y Rothwell, gave Chloe a speaking look of sympathy and conspiracy, and left the manor, walking down the gravel drive where Francis Hensley’s curricle had just driven up. He had many things to think about. Lady Rothwell’s incursions into his private affairs he was not prepared to countenance. Nor was he taken by Edward. Richard searched his memory. Edward certainly could not be more than twenty or twenty-one at the most. A young man who had succeeded far too soon to his father’s honors and responsibilities, he was old before his time. Richard knew many a man past forty who was no more pompous than Edward appeared to be. There was much to contemplate, but yet he knew one thing — Chloe was the hub around which all the spokes of the wheel revolved.
It was the wrong setting for Chloe. She was an alien in that family, since all of them seemed to resemble Lady Rothwell. How could Chloe endure such a life?
Richard, conscious of his own plans, began to look ahead to removing Chloe from Rothwell Manor, and as his step quickened, he began to whistle.
5
At the first opportunity, which meant as soon as Sir Richard was out of sight down the drive, Lady Rothwell took Francis into her private sitting room. Closing the door behind them, she faced him. “I had not expected you so soon.”
Francis mumbled something that sounded like, “My mother, you know ...”
Lady Rothwell paid lip service. “How is your mother?”
Francis nodded. Lady Rothwell assumed that her sister Hensley was in good health.
Drawing Francis down to a chair beside her, she said, “You know that my dearest thought is to see you settled in life.”
Francis shied. “Settled? I don’t see any need —”
Lady Rothwell said, “But you must think of your future. These long weeks I have expected to hear that you had offered for someone and planned to be married.”
A horrified expression crept across his features. “No, Aunt, I had no such thing in my mind. Not at all.”
