Courting Lord Dorney

by Sally James

  ‘You go to join Lady Fulwood in Brighton?’ Lady Belstead asked, relief plain in her voice.

  ‘Or perhaps to my home in Lancashire,’ Bella said.

  She had not before considered it, the words had come to her lips without thought, but suddenly she felt tired of struggling, convinced that she had not the slightest chance of regaining Lord Dorney’s regard, and also that she did not in the least wish to be married to Major Ross.

  Chapter 14

  It had been a late night. Some old army friends had come to London on leave, and Lord Dorney had been talking to them until after dawn. So why was someone hammering on the door knocker at this hour? He glanced at the clock on the mantlepiece and groaned. Not yet nine o’clock.

  A few minutes later his valet came softly into the room.

  ‘It’s all right, I’m awake. Come in. Was that infernal racket anything to do with me?’

  ‘Master Alexander, my lord,’ the valet said apologetically. ‘He says he must see you and won’t stir from the house until he does.’

  Lord Dorney groaned. ‘Blast the boy! Show him up here, and bring us a pot of coffee. A large pot.’

  When Alexander burst into the room a few minutes later Lord Dorney was attired in a red silk dressing gown, lounging in a chair beside the unlit fire.

  ‘Now what’s amiss?’ he demanded. ‘What has happened to cause you to wake me up when I’ve had only a couple of hours of sleep?’

  Alexander paced about the room. ‘Felicity! She sent me a letter. I had it barely an hour ago. She’s called off the wedding!’

  Lord Dorney groaned and held his head in his hands. He’d half expected this, and had known his young cousin would be devastated, but he had no notion of how to deal with the distraught lad.

  ‘Have you brought the letter?’ he asked.

  Alexander dragged a crumpled sheet of paper from his pocket. ‘Here. Do you think she means it, Richard?’

  Lord Dorney read it swiftly, noting that the ink was running where tears - he presumed they were tears - had splattered onto the paper. How remarkably childish and ill-spelt it was, he thought. But the emotions were clear, stark and unambiguous. Felicity felt that her actions were being criticized unfairly, and she would not care to think that Alex would so misjudge her during the rest of her life, if they were to be married, which she would much prefer not to be, on more mature reflection. She thanked Alex for his past kindnesses, and enclosed the betrothal ring he had given her. She hoped he would understand and agree that she could keep the other trifles he had given her, the little pearl fan and the gold neck chain. The fan in fact had been damaged. She remained his devoted servant.

  He almost laughed. The chit needed some lessons on how to write such letters, if she were to make a habit of breaking off her engagements, but seeing Alexander’s distraught face he kept such reflections to himself.

  ‘Do you know what brought this on?’ he asked.

  ‘Two nights ago, that oaf Ross was ogling her and reading her some of his insipid verse. I objected. Yesterday I told her that when we were married I would make sure she never met him again.’

  ‘Unwise, Alex. Never challenge a woman. They’re impulsive creatures and may accept your challenge!’

  ‘I mean to challenge Ross! Will you be my second?’

  All trace of amusement vanished. ‘Don’t be a fool! What good would that do? It won’t bring Felicity back, and whether you killed him or not you’d have to flee abroad. Go home, and wait. The girl will have to return to Bath soon, and you will have opportunities of meeting her there. You can try to mend fences.’

  ‘But if in the meantime she becomes engaged to Ross, even married to him, it will be too late!’

  ‘I doubt you need worry on that score. Ross is not the sort to want to marry a chit just out of the schoolroom, if he wants to marry at all. Go home, Alex, and if you can be reconciled in the future, you will have a better marriage for it.’

  And who am I to be giving out advice on matrimonial matters, he asked himself wryly, when I am making such a mull of my own concerns?

  Alexander argued while Lord Dorney dressed. He argued throughout a substantial breakfast. Lord Dorney was amused to see that his agony did not extend to depriving himself of the good things Sir Daniel’s cook thought suitable for young men. He argued when Lord Dorney insisted on driving him in the Park to, as he explained, blow away the remaining cobwebs of sleep. And he was still arguing when Lord Dorney delivered him to the hotel where he was staying.

  ‘Go home, Alex,’ he said wearily. ‘It’s the end of June, everyone will be off to Brighton soon, and by the time you see Felicity again she will have had time for second thoughts.’

  * * * *

  Later that same morning Major Ross called on Bella. She had been reviewing her clothes with Mary. After the visit of Lady Belstead and Mrs Ford she had seriously considered whether to abandon London. She was making no progress with Lord Dorney, but she did not want to crawl home to Lancashire and admit final defeat. If only she knew what his plans were. If he were proposing to go to Brighton, as half the ton seemed to be doing, she would go too. But if he planned to go to Dorney Court, there was no way she could follow him. How could she discover his intentions?

  She welcomed the distraction and went down to the drawing room.

  ‘Major, how good of you to call.’

  He accepted a glass of Madeira, but did not take the seat she indicated opposite the one she had taken. Instead he walked to the window and looked out.

  ‘It promises to be a hot day,’ he said. ‘The sun is very hot.’

  ‘Indeed it is.’

  ‘Still, it is June, and if we can’t have decent weather in June when can we have it in England?’

  ‘When indeed.’

  ‘Do you intend to visit Brighton?’ he asked, suddenly swinging round and raising his quizzing glass.

  ‘I really have not decided.’

  ‘You would be advised to. Go and stay with Lady Fulwood. She would welcome your company, I know.’

  ‘Advised? Just what do you mean, Major?’ Bella asked sharply.

  ‘My dear, you have two choices if you are to rescue your reputation.’

  ‘I beg your pardon!’

  ‘Now, don’t fly up into the boughs, like a green gal. You must know that this situation cannot continue. You are the talk of the clubs, and I have no desire to hear such speculative talk about the lady I mean to marry.’

  ‘Just what do you mean, sir?’

  He began to bluster. ‘This way of living, without a chaperone! It’s just not done, my dear Bella! Now you could go to Brighton as I suggest, or better still, you could give me the answer I’ve been waiting for, and agree to wed me. I will take you to stay with my sister in Norfolk until the wedding can be arranged. In either case you will be protected from unpleasant gossip.’

  Norfolk was even flatter than Cambridge, Bella thought, and stifled a giggle.

  ‘Major, you have paid me a great compliment, but I have, after giving it deep thought, decided that I cannot accept your proposal. If I ever marry, I want to love my husband, and though I have great admiration and regard for you, I fear I cannot feel for you such tender emotion.’

  There, she thought to herself, that was very well expressed. She was pleased with herself.

  ‘What? But Bella, my dear, you can’t mean that! You gave me to understand it was simply a matter of time!’

  She shook her head. ‘No, Major, I don’t think so. I asked for time to consider, and you were good enough to grant it to me. I have considered, and I don’t think we would suit. I’m truly sorry, and I am sure you will make some fortunate woman a very good husband, but that woman is not me.’

  ‘Well, you are an ungrateful chit! I come here, at some risk to my own reputation, in order to save you from ruining yours, and this is how you treat me!’

  Bella was suddenly furiously angry. ‘Major, can you honestly say you love me?’

  ‘Love? Love? Well, that goes
without saying, surely, or I would not have offered for you.’

  ‘If you loved me, you would be prepared to accept me as I am. Now forgive me, Major. I have letters to write.’

  * * * *

  It was a glorious summer day, and as Jackson drove her to the al fresco rout in Richmond, to which she had received an invitation several weeks earlier, Bella continued to ponder her future. It was almost the end of the Season. The town was already thin of company. This rout was one of the last big occasions, and after it most of the guests would be departing for Brighton and other seaside resorts. Sea bathing had become fashionable, and Brighton was the most fashionable resort of all since the Prince Regent had built his summer Pavilion there. Would Lord Dorney go there?

  She hoped she might see him this afternoon, and somehow discover his plans. Or she might ask Sir Daniel. Or Alexander. She was past caring whether they thought her interest odd.

  They had arrived at the country mansion where the rout was being held. Bella descended from the curricle and joined the stream of guests approaching the fanciful rustic archway which had been erected across a path leading to the rear of the house, which sloped down to the river. The Duchess, the hostess, was standing beneath it to greet them.

  The couple in front of Bella moved forward, gave their cards to the footman who announced their names, and made their bow and curtsey. Bella waited, trying to see past the archway to the guests who had arrived. Was Lord Dorney here?

  The previous couple moved on. The footman took Bella’s card, glanced at it, and announced in ringing tones, ‘Miss Rosabella Trahearne.’

  Bella dropped into a curtsey, and almost fell over as he Duchess spoke.

  ‘Pray escort this person off the premises.’

  ‘What?’ Bella demanded, aghast. ‘But - my invitation!’

  ‘Escort this - creature - away. She is not welcome.’

  Two other footmen, barely suppressing grins, came forward and grasped Bella’s arms. They were not gentle. Stunned with disbelief that she had been so publicly snubbed, she allowed them to lead her back to the main entrance, past incoming guests, who eyed her with a mixture of curiosity and disgust.

  Her cheeks flamed, and she felt unaccustomed tears flood her eyes. She flung up her head defiantly, blinked back the tears, and tried to shake off the hands of the footmen.

  ‘Let go of me! I have no intention of remaining where I am treated so disgracefully!’

  * * * *

  Alexander, in a plain riding coat and breeches, waited patiently on his horse in the street just above Frederick Ross’s lodgings. He’d discovered from the poet’s valet, with the help of a couple of gold coins, that he meant to ride out to visit a friend in the village of Kensington that afternoon. That suited Alexander very well. He would have to cross Knightsbridge, notorious for footpads.

  After an hour, when Alexander had begun to wonder if the valet had misinformed him, Frederick Ross appeared, nattily attired in a many-caped riding coat despite the heat. He sported a spotted neckerchief, and a high-crowned hat.

  Alexander followed him at a distance. There were few people about, for which he gave thanks. He wanted as few witnesses as possible.

  Frederick rode well, which surprised Alexander. He had thought all poets would be effete, inadequate sportsmen. He had to urge his own mount on to keep up as Frederick set his horse to a canter.

  They came to a spot Alexander had marked out, where there were trees to either side of the road, and even on such a bright day the sunlight rarely penetrated the gloom.

  He pulled his neckerchief up over his mouth, and the brim of his hat down to hide his eyes. Then he urged his own horse into a gallop, came alongside the slower horse and grasped its reins, forcing it to turn aside along a narrow track through the trees.

  Frederick, taken utterly by surprise, was slow to react, but he began to protest and struggle to regain the reins, tugging fruitlessly at them.

  Alexander laughed. ‘You’ll not get away so easily, my fine poet! Get off, or I’ll push you off!’

  ‘What the devil’s the matter with you? If you want my purse, take it!’

  ‘Poltroon!’ Alexander was scornful of Frederick’s craven attitude. He’d expected, and would have welcomed, more of a fight. He brought his own mount up close, bent to catch Frederick’s foot, and heaved him out of the saddle. The horse, given a thwack on the rump, took off as Frederick picked himself up from the ground and began to brush leaves and leaf mould off his coat.

  Then Frederick jumped in surprise as Alexander’s whip descended on his legs. He tried desperately to escape, but mounted as he was, Alexander had no difficulty in following him, and the whip crashed down remorselessly on every portion of his body.

  ‘I’ll teach you to seduce young ladies!’ Alexander panted. ‘Take that, you miserable creature! Can’t you even try to fight back?’

  Unable to flee, Frederick, weeping unrestrainedly by now and pleading, between the sobs, to be spared, suddenly dropped to the ground and curled up into a ball, his arms protecting his head.

  Alexander looked down at him in disgust, then turned and rode away. That should teach the miserable creature a lesson. He was only sorry Felicity had not been present to witness her poet hero’s craven behaviour.

  * * * *

  ‘I won’t endure it! Bella raged, striding up and down her bedroom while Mary tried to gather up the discarded clothes. ‘How dare that woman snub me so publicly? What right has she to dictate my conduct? Why should she decide I’m not fit to go to her wretched party just because I don’t keep a tame duenna? I’ll show her! I’ll show them all!’

  She spent a sleepless night, going over and over her humiliation, and wishing she had thought of the many cutting responses she could have made. She slept late, and when she rang for her breakfast Mary brought several notes which had been delivered.

  ‘So I’m not beyond the pale to everyone,’ Bella said, inspecting them. She drank some chocolate, and set aside the tray while she opened the notes. Then she flung the first one down in a renewed fury. ‘Lady Belstead, to say she told me so! How dare she!’

  Two of the others were notes excusing the writers from the small dinner party Bella had planned for the following week. One suddenly had to leave town earlier than expected. The other gave no excuse, simply finding it inconvenient to attend. Bella wondered bleakly whether she would be sitting down to table by herself.

  She eyed the last in some trepidation. However angry she was, she realized that she had overstepped the bounds of propriety, and one part of her regretted that. She would devote herself in future to her orphans, become more involved in the actual running of the houses, rather than just the financing of them. She did not know the writing, and sighed as she broke the seal and spread out the paper.

  ‘My dear Miss Trahearne,’ the letter began, ‘we have not met, as I have been kept out of town until this week by a relative’s illness. However, I was once acquainted with your cousin, now Lady Hodder. I am sorry to have missed her visit to town, but hope you will give me the pleasure of your company at a small party next week. Yours very sincerely, Amelia Stockley.’

  Bella smiled. Not everyone was going to cut her. Yet, she amended. Of course, when this Amelia Stockley knew what had happened, she might be as unwilling to pursue the acquaintance as Bella’s other so-called friends. She could only wait and see. But she would not be driven away by the opinion of stuffy, hidebound Duchesses!

  * * * *

  Bella was shopping in Bond Street later that day when she saw Mrs Ford turning into the circulating library. Would that lady snub her? She would follow her and find out.

  Inside the library she could not at first see Mrs Ford, then she spied her standing behind two unknown ladies. Bella moved forward when she caught the name Ross. She paused, and saw that Mrs Ford had turned away from the perusal of the books and was listening to the conversation.

  ‘Badly beaten, he was. They say it was footpads. Disgusting, that such a thing could h
appen so close to the highway.’

  ‘Knightsbridge was always a haunt of footpads.’

  ‘It’s not sure he’ll save the sight of one eye. And the lacerations! They had to cut his coat away from him, it was stiff with blood.’

  ‘Poor man! I wonder if his brother will be taking him home to recover, if he survives?’

  Behind them Mrs Ford gave a muffled cry, and slid down to the floor.

  The two women stepped hastily back, then one knelt down beside her. ‘Poor lady, in a dead swoon, she is. Here, some water if you please!’

  Bella knelt down and lifted Mrs Ford’s head so that she could sip the water one of the attendants had brought. Her eyes fluttered open, and she gazed round at the concerned faces, then gave a sob. ‘Peter! Oh, and I sent him away!’

  Bella patted her hands. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll see you get home. Do you have a carriage?’

  Mrs Ford shook her head. ‘I walked.’

  ‘Please, can someone find a hackney? I know the lady and will see she gets home.’

  Within minutes Mrs Ford had been lifted into a hackney and they were driven swiftly to Mount Street. Bella plied the knocker and soon Lady Belstead’s footman was helping Bella carry Mrs Ford indoors.

  Lady Belstead, hurriedly summoned, guided them into the room her husband used as a library, and Mrs Ford was gently deposited in a deep, comfortable chair, her feet raised on a footstool. She tried to protest that she was recovered, but she was pale and trembling. Lady Belstead poured out some brandy and forced her to sip it.

  ‘My dear, this is so unlike you! What caused you to swoon? Bella, dear, how fortunate you were there and could bring her home. But what happened?’

  Bella shook her head. ‘I’m not sure. We were in the library, and two women began to talk about a man called Ross who had been badly hurt by footpads. Mrs Ford, did you suspect they meant the Major?’

  Mrs Ford nodded, and struggled to rise. ‘It must have been! Oh, and I treated him so badly! I sent him away!’