by Vanessa Gray
Richard, overwhelmed by the mixture of emotions that he felt when Chloe was near, opened his mouth, ready to answer. He was on the verge of recklessly declaring himself when he heard the flat voice of Sophy, who was approaching them.
She was awkward as a colt, and laboring under some strong emotion. Without ceremony, she clutched Chloe’s arm. “Do you know what has happened?”
Chloe said, “I cannot imagine, but you had best tell me, for I see you will whether I suggest it or not.”
“Lady Partridge is taking Emma to Bath, and she will be gone for a month or so.”
Chloe said, “We already know that.”
Sophy rushed on. “I’ve been invited to go. There’s no reason why I can’t go. I want to go, and they want me to go.”
Chloe, knowing the answer, said, “Then what is the question?”
Sophy, her pudding face blotchy red, cried out with high indignation, “Edward says no. Without even reflecting on it!”
Sophy dealt exhaustively with Edward’s iniquity and her grave disappointment.
Richard dismissed her reactions as being only disappointment. She would get over it, he thought comfortably, and forget it.
But Chloe, knowing Sophy better, recognized the unmistakable signs of ungovernable fury, and her heart sank. When Sophy was in this mood, someone would pay.
Richard, for once lost in his own indignation, was not aware of Chloe’s expression. Chloe’s little dream, to his surprise, worked powerfully in him. He wanted to marry Chloe for himself, but most of all he wanted to extract her from her family. He blamed himself for staying away too long, depriving Chloe of the support that she must have to stand up against them. They had twined themselves around her thoughts and her habits until she could not picture life without them. She was like a tree engulfed by ivy, so that the ivy stuck its roots into the very bark, overwhelming the tree. At this point, if the ivy were killed, then the tree itself might fall. The tree had learned too well to lean against the ivy for support.
The Rothwells had sapped her strength, taken advantage of her sweetness, and her real need for love.
By the time he returned to the present, Chloe was no longer at his side. Stoddard and Edward had left the picnic site and come up to them. They had gathered Chloe in and the three of them were strolling toward the ruined abbey.
Richard, again too late, followed them. He saw that Emma Partridge had run up to join Sophy, but his true thoughts were all turned inwardly, and most of them were thoughts of blame.
15
“The ruins of the abbey are accounted to be most picturesque,” said their lecturer, Thaddeus Invers. He was a well-read man, skimming all the new books, paying heed to the intellectual talk in various salons to which he had entry. He considered himself, therefore, an authority, instead of the reflecting surface that he was.
“The picturesque is becoming fashionable,” he said. “There are many novels with this emphasis now being published. A writer would be most fortunate could he come upon a ruin like this.”
Lydia proclaimed, “They are such romantic stories. Wicked noblemen peering around the rocks, maidens in dungeons. I don’t doubt there is a secret chamber in that abbey.”
She looked with great care at the ruin ahead of them, and cried, in a voice choked with excitement, “I think I see something moving!”
Sophy said, with scorn, “You think it’s a wicked nobleman?”
Stoddard sneered, “It’s more likely bats.”
Stoddard was out of charity with them all. He was essentially an urban man, and the country required too much walking. Unfortunately, Stoddard believed himself the soul of wit. For this day, in retaliation for Invers’ insistence upon a country outing, Stoddard became clever.
Lydia chastised Stoddard openly. “How bad of you to scoff at such a clearly romantic site!”
Edward, audibly but less noticeably, said, “Lydia, mind your manners.”
Thus encouraged by Lord Rothwell himself, Stoddard eyed Chloe. “Never mind, Rothwell. Ladies always notice a man for his wit.”
Edward, having little wit himself, objected heavily. “The women in my family are full of common sense, thank God, and listen to those worthy of respect.” Edward’s eyes turned toward Invers, still lecturing on the subject of the novels that were pouring out of the Minerva Press. Meanwhile, Richard was wondering what family he could mean, for Lydia and Sophy gave no evidence of being full of sense.
Edward continued defending his family. “The novels of which Invers was speaking,” he said heavily, “are unknown at Rothwell Manor. For you must know that I censor all the reading of my family. It is too bad that the world has allowed such trash to sully the minds of our young people. My bookman insists on sending me copies, from time to time, even though I expressly inform him not to. His excuse for doing so is a flimsy one, at best. They are popular, he tells me,” Edward ended with a sneer. “Popular! All that means is the abandonment of all morals and elevated thought.”
Invers, tacking in mid-course as he became aware of a breeze from a different quarter, changed direction to match Lord Rothwell’s district bias. Richard, while amused at Invers’ transparent toadying, was disquieted.
Feeling sorry for Invers, unarmed in any battle of wits, Chloe gave him her attention. “I have no knowledge of the subject for I have not seen these novels. Lady Rothwell’s preference, and you must know that I read to her, lies more along historical lines.”
Edward agreed, “Yes, indeed. My mother has become much interested in Dean Milner’s Ecclesiastical History.”
Richard all but shuddered. Fortunately no one saw him, for Edward, finding that his mind and Invers’ marched together, became more in sympathy with him. Edward considered the possibility that opened before him. If Chloe did not take his mother’s choice, and Edward would be much disturbed if she wed Francis, then he himself would encourage Invers. See how Chloe listens to the man? he told himself. He was sure that Chloe was charmed by the intelligence and education of Thaddeus Invers.
Stoddard, taking on a disgruntled air, found himself left with Lydia and Sophy and Emma — subjects not at all in keeping with his superior deserts.
He wished to continue what he considered his advantage by baiting Invers, and he was well aware of various weaknesses in Invers’ discussion. What a field for the slashing thrusts of Stoddard’s rapier wit! But suddenly he caught Sir Richard’s formidable eye and remained silent.
Chloe flashed Richard a glance that told him her true feelings about Invers. Richard was much comforted.
At length they arrived back at the site of the al fresco luncheon. Fat Lady Partridge was struggling to climb out of her chair. “At last you’ve returned and we can go home. These folding chairs are too small for me, and they made me cross, for I realize I must lose weight. Perhaps I can do that in Bath.”
Her voice lacked conviction, for the previous dozen trips to Bath had resulted in no weight loss at all, and there was no reason to suspect that the next one would perform the miracle.
But the mention of Bath struck jangling chords in Sophy and Emma, who embraced each other and clung dramatically in anticipation of their prospective parting. It was a sight to wring the hearts of any spectator, but Edward, toward whom the scene was directed, gave it one glance and turned away.
When he was out of hearing, Lady Rothwell said quietly to Lady Partridge, “I cannot bear to see my dear Sophy unhappy.”
Chloe’s headache had returned in full force. The tension of the scene between Stoddard and Invers and her brother Edward added to her dread of what Sophy might think up to get her own way, brought back the pain over her eyes. She had never before been prey to headaches such as these, but in the last few weeks they had come with more frequency than she could understand.
She stood, pale and shaken, and Richard came to her side. “Headache?” he murmured, and seeing her slight nod, he said to Lady Rothwell, “Chloe is in need of fresh air.” He helped her into his phaeton, going ahead to avoid t
he dust.
Chloe protested faintly. “I must help —” but Richard lifted the reins and they were off. They went down the hill at a spirited pace and turned at the edge of the village.
Richard, seeing Chloe close her eyes against the headache, shifted the reins to his left hand and put his right arm around her. “Lean against me if you wish. I’ll hold you steady.”
The movement, the fresh air on her face, and Richard’s steady arm around her, revived Chloe. Richard, feeling that all Chloe really needed was to be away from all those who wanted something from her, could not say what was in his heart. They rode all the way in near silence.
Drawing up before the door at Rothwell Manor, he helped her down. Behind him the door opened and Field came out to meet them. Surveying the situation, the butler took quick action. In only moments, Mrs. Field was in the hall, wiping her hands on her spotless apron. Richard helped Chloe into the foyer. “I’ll keep them all away, Sir Richard,” Cook told him bluntly. “The poor lamb, always running for them others and never anything coming her way.”
Chloe, rousing, said quietly, “Mrs. Field, don’t —”
But Cook, taking up cudgels in defense of her favorite, said to Sir Richard, “She may tell you otherwise, sir, but I’ve got eyes in my head to see with.”
Placing her arm around Chloe, Cook helped her up the stairs. Richard watched until Chloe was out of sight. Field said, “It’s good to see you back at the Hall, Sir Richard. I suppose London is full of excitement. I don’t wonder at that, but give me the good country life every time.”
Richard had allowed his feelings to show in his face. He caught the butler’s eye. Suddenly a look of understanding passed between them that spanned the gap between their respective classes and needed no words to be explicit.
Field, encouraged by Sir Richard’s speaking look, said slyly, “A new lady at the Hall soon, I suppose?”
Sir Richard, cryptically, said, “Yes, I hope so.”
Field said, “A change from London for her, doubtless.” It was a barefaced bit of bait, dangling before Sir Richard.
Richard, grateful to Chloe’s allies in the house, said, “No London lady.”
Field allowed discreet happiness to show on his face, and Richard went off, driving down the gravel drive at a good clip.
He was aware now that Chloe’s servants were on his side. He was pleased that he was not leaving her alone, in a household without friends.
Things were rapidly approaching a climax, so Richard believed. He was not willing to see Chloe so beset, but at the moment he was not sure just how to extract her from her situation.
Lost in thought, the butler was forgotten. But the butler at Rothwell Manor had not forgotten Sir Richard. What he now knew, by dint of skillful questioning, would give him an edge on the odds in the servants’ hall. If Sir Richard was not going to bring down a London lady, then Field would introduce a dark horse, so to speak, and meaning no disrespect, back an unknown to the limit. He had visions of vast wealth coming his way from a Sure Thing.
Chloe, cosseted by Mrs. Field, felt better already. She was grateful to Richard for bringing her home ahead of the confused cavalcade returning from the abbey. Cook brought Chloe up to her room, closed the draperies, got her into bed under an eiderdown, and shut the door. She waited until Lady Rothwell came home, and told her that Miss Chloe was sleeping. Later, Cook took up a light supper, saw that Chloe ate, and watched her fall immediately to sleep again.
Next morning, Chloe felt ready to face the world again and it was well, for Sophy entered without ceremony. “How do you feel?” Without waiting for an answer she added, “I hope that you’re going to be well enough to go to the ball next week.”
Chloe, with only mild interest, said. “What ball?”
“Lady Partridge is going to give a ball next week. It’s short notice, she said, but she and Mama set it up all on the way home yesterday. A simple country affair, before she takes Emma to Bath.”
Lydia entered on the heels of Sophy’s excited remarks and quickly put the damper on them. “You’re not going to any ball. You’re too young,” Lydia told her in a matter-of-fact way, only slightly mixed with malice.
Sophy gave a howl of protest. “I’m almost as old as Emma! And Emma is going to be there, it’s for Emma she’s giving it, and I’m certainly going to go.”
The quarrel heated up, and Lydia turned to Chloe with an air of righteousness. “I’m right, Chloe. Tell her so.”
Chloe, unmoved by the quarrel, said calmly, “I can’t tell you. Ask Mama.”
Sophy, a look of shrewdness passing across her plump cheeks, said, “If you say you want me to go, they’ll let me.”
Chloe, shoving Sophy off the bed and throwing back the covers, said, “That’s moonshine, Sophy. Nobody ever paid any attention to me before. Why now?”
Sophy said, slyly, “Because you’re a great heiress.”
Chloe said, “If I were a great heiress, I would have a little more privacy to get dressed in. I don’t feel like an heiress. Sophy, you’ve got moonbeams in your wits.”
Sophy, stung by one she thought was her ally, cried, “Chloe, you’re doing so much for Lydia! Why can’t you do something for me?”
Lydia, a pout of jealousy marring her pretty face, watched Chloe.
Chloe, remaining adamant, said calmly, “You know a question of propriety must be settled by Mama.”
Still exchanging telling recriminations, the two girls went to seek their mother.
Chloe fell into deep thought. She was much troubled by the girls’ seeking equal benefits. It was something like two children in the schoolroom, jealous of each other. She could not help but wonder whether the girls had been like this all the time and she had failed to see it, or whether this foolish legacy had stirred up depths in them that she had not known about.
She told herself that it was the way of families who love each other to quarrel now and then. Of course, her inheritance must be shared with them. She would have it no other way. She had their love and their concern, and what did a legacy weigh in the balance with that?
Highmoor might flit through her dreams as a vision like the Holy Grail, yet it was a lonely goal, and Chloe turned away from it.
Once in a while, it would be natural for her to think about Highmoor, and certainly she would be less than human if she did not wish to live on her own property. But it was out of the question, so Edward said, and certainly there would not be time to make a move before they went to London. A bit wistfully, she wished that Mama had asked her first about her wants before making plans.
Chloe was dressed now, and was tying her ribbon around her dark hair, ready for her descent to the lower floors. But she was still beset by misgivings, for Edward had been so opposed to Lydia’s going to London for another two years. Had it been only money? He had not said so until this point, so that it was possible that the legacy had made all the difference and Edward’s permission had now been gained. At least Mama, although she had not precisely said so, seemed to believe there was no barrier. This must mean that Edward had capitulated.
Chloe moved to the window to look out upon the day. It was fine, but thank goodness there would be no outing today. Below, movement caught her eye, and she saw Richard crossing the wide expanse of lawn toward the house. He must have come across the rustic bridge, the short way from Davenant Hall to the manor. Conscious of her regard, he looked up and saw her. He was carrying something. With his free hand he beckoned to her to come down. She didn’t stop even to reflect on her sudden happiness and its cause — for her heart was singing at the very sight of her Great Friend. She patted her curls into place before the mirror and flew down the back stairs.
Richard’s gesture had indicated that he would be waiting for her at the back of the house. She flew like an arrow to the rose arbor and greeted him with a smile.
“How is your headache?”
“It is all gone, Richard! Thank you so much for your care. If I had had to go back in the dust
and the noise, I doubt I would be up this morning.”
Richard said, “There is too much on your shoulders, and it is no wonder your health is suffering.”
She dismissed that airily, and said with a laugh. “Oh, I’m fine this morning. I just needed rest.”
The object Richard had been carrying was a wicker basket. Now, without a word, he handed it to her. She set it on the ground and lifted the lid, and there was the puppy. “Nimrod!” she exclaimed in high delight. “My little lop-eared puppy!”
Lifting the animal carefully out of the basket and setting him on his unsteady legs on the grass, she petted him, twisting his lop ear in her fingers gently, and was lost in her great delight in the small animal.
At length, Richard and Chloe sat together in the arbor. The puppy staggered about the grass, exploring what he could see of this new place with its strange smells and its odd little grasshoppers that leaped before him, which he could never catch, and Chloe watched Nimrod in pleasant abstraction.
On the other hand, Richard watched her. It was a companionable silence, comfortable and happy. At length, Chloe mentioned Lady Partridge’s ball. “It must have come up after we left,” she said, “for Sophy brought me the news this morning.”
“Are you going to be there?”
“I suppose so. I have not yet heard whether the invitation includes all of us or not.”
Richard said, “If you are there, then I surely will be.”
Chloe looked up quickly at him. “You’re not going to London?”
Richard, puzzled, said, “No, I do not expect to go. Should I?”
She dared not answer lest Richard decide to tell her about his betrothal. Richard said, “When you go to town this autumn, I shall go.” She smiled, and he added, “To keep off undesirables. Like that idiot Invers!”
She laughed. “Isn’t he a foolish man? But Edward is so taken with him. He speaks such fustian!”
Richard, gratified by his love’s astute assessment of the man, relaxed. But then, slowly, she said, “It is Julian Stoddard who makes me uneasy.”
