“A budget, madam!” the attorney exclaimed. “You restore my faith in the ton.” She chuckled. “Yes, indeed you do, madam, many of my clients are in debt to tradesmen and some of them are inveterate gamblers. Their estates are twice mortgaged and not a few are at the mercy of moneylenders. I’d begun to believe no member of the ton has heard of the word budget.” He smiled and then repeated the word as though it was a magic spell.
Georgianne shifted on the uncomfortable chair. “Papa taught me this, if one has a guinea and saves some of it, one is safe. If one has a guinea and spends it all, one is on the brink of disaster. But if one spends more than the guinea, one falls over the edge of a precipice. Mr. Syddon, I want to conserve and invest my guineas.”
“Invest.” He gasped. “Good gracious Mrs. Tarrant, with respect, my daughters could learn from you. They spend their allowances as soon as they receive them. As for my dear wife, she never saves anything from the sum I give her to run our home.”
“To return to business—”
Mr. Syddon interrupted. “I beg your pardon for mentioning private matters.” He cleared his throat. “There is no conflict between your interests and those of Major Tarrant’s. It will be my pleasure to advise you.”
“Thank you. Good day to you, Syddon.” Georgianne left the chambers and returned to her carriage with her ‘bruiser,’ who had waited for her in the outer chamber.
* * * *
Upon Georgianne’s return home from her visit to Syddon, Barnes’s stern look surprised her. She shrugged, knowing some of her servants were becoming increasingly dissatisfied. Some of them were fools for taking it for granted that due to her youth and inexperience she would not run her house economically and efficiently.
Recently, Barnes had spoken with Mrs. Deane, who had repeated the conversation to her. “My dear, he told me the servants resent you for sweeping away some of their privileges.”
Georgianne had sighed. “Privileges which they took gross advantage of. For example, although they were allowed to sell the stubs of wax candles, they took to selling candles which had burned down no more than a few inches.”
“Is that so?” Mrs. Deane shrugged. “But why are the gardeners on your country estate no longer allowed to take their meals in the servant’s hall?”
“Because they brought their wives and families to dine there.”
“The servants also complain you refuse to employ more underlings.” Mrs. Deane tittered. “Barnes told me the servants have hinted you are a nip cheese.”
Hot colour rushed into Georgianne’s cheeks. “A nip cheese, when my first consideration is my husband’s pocket as well as his comfort?”
“Calm yourself, my dear. I know you make sure everything served at table is to Cousin Tarrant’s taste.”
Georgianne realised the lady was more observant than she had suspected. “Yes…we… Tarrant is very good to me. It is the least I can do for him.” She cleared her throat. “Regarding Barnes, should he express his dissatisfaction to you again, please ask him to express it to me.”
Now, upon her return from Syddon’s place of business, Georgianne ignored Barnes’s expression. Doubtless, he disapproved of Johnson and Annie’s inclusion in the household. What would he say if he knew what she proposed? She hummed as she hurried upstairs to her bedchamber.
* * * *
A fortnight later Georgianne sat next to Langley on an elegant wrought iron seat set in the curve of a tall yew hedge in the garden of his parents’ Brighton house.
Georgianne patted Langley’s arm. “What do you think of my project?”
“You must be careful. A lot of jail-birds took the king’s shilling.”
“Surely you do not believe wives and families should suffer even if their menfolk broke the law. Moreover, perhaps they were rogues because they have no honest occupation.”
Langley looked at her with troubled eyes. “Some of the women are worse than the men.”
She sighed. “Oh dear, only my sister, Helen, who knows about my plan, encourages me. Even my attorney has doubts.”
* * * *
Amelia looked out of the window. She frowned at the sight of Langley’s dark head so close to Georgianne’s.
“Don’t scowl, you’ll get wrinkles,” her grandmamma scolded.
“I want Langley to pay more attention to me.”
“No need for a sulky tone, miss, things will change when you’re married to him.”
Would they? At the age of fourteen, Amelia had kissed one of the gardener’s youthful helpers. Since then she had enjoyed kissing a number of admirers; her breasts tingled while she imagined Langley’s kisses and caresses.
Mrs. Bettismore struggled to her feet. “Oh, my corns.” She sighed and stood next to Amelia at the window, shifting her weight from one foot to another. “Go and join the viscount and Mrs. Tarrant.” She turned her head to scrutinise Amelia. “You look charming. White muslin’s so pure and those knots of pink ribbon match the colour in your pretty cheeks.”
She took her grandmother’s advice to go out into the garden, but first she fetched a parasol to protect her complexion.
Amelia looked at her betrothed and Mrs. Tarrant with disfavour. “What are you whispering about?”
Langley stood and bowed. “Mrs. Tarrant asked me to accompany her on a visit to a property near Worthing.”
“In my phaeton,” Georgianne explained. “Would you care to sit next to me, Miss Carstairs? Langley may escort us on horseback.”
Amelia dithered. After the review, Langley had reprimanded her for saying that driving a high perch phaeton was unwomanly. She must not voice another criticism. Amelia repressed a shudder. The thought of sitting high above the enormous wheels with blood red spokes frightened her. “When are you going?”
Did she imagine laughter lurking in Mrs. Tarrant’s eyes. Did Mrs. Tarrant know she was afraid to ride in the phaeton? “Tomorrow.” Amelia studied the ground.
Mrs. Tarrant laughed. “I am teasing you, Miss Carstairs. I have not brought my phaeton to Brighton. However, we could ride to Worthing. Have you seen my black, Salamanca? He is magnificent.”
Amelia shuddered. She suspected Mrs. Tarrant’s horse was enormous—unfit for a lady to ride. “No, I haven’t seen him. As for Worthing—” She looked at Langley. “My lord, you promised to promenade me past the Prince Regent’s Pavilion.”
“I will take you on another day.”
“You shouldn’t break your word.”
“I always keep it. I did not specify the day on which we would view The Pavilion.”
“Well, I must ask my grandmother if I may go to Worthing with you. She does not think it is proper for ladies to ride here, there, and everywhere.”
Langley frowned. “My pet, Mrs. Tarrant is not obliged to account for her behaviour to you or your grandmother.”
“Good taste should account for Mrs. Tarrant’s behaviour,” Amelia said, unable to conceal her jealousy over Mrs. Tarrant monopolising her betrothed’s time. No sooner did the words leave her mouth than she blushed so hotly that she wished herself elsewhere.
Langley’s green eyes opened a little wider. The lines on either side of his mouth deepened.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Tarrant,” Amelia gabbled. “I shouldn’t have spoken so bluntly, but I’m from the North Country where plain speech is appreciated. And I only repeated my grandmother’s opinion…I didn’t mean to offend you.”
Langley scowled. “Some things should not be repeated.”
“You need not apologise,” Georgianne replied. “I should not have teased you.”
Amelia shaded her eyes with her hand. “Forgive me, I have a headache and hardly know what I’m saying.”
“I am sorry to hear it. What can I do to help you?” Georgianne asked.
Amelia put a predatory hand on Langley’s arm and stroked the superfine cloth of his blue morning coat, as though it was a sleek cat.
“Come, Miss Carstairs.” Langley moved away. Her hand fell to her side. “Before M
rs. Tarrant and I continue our discussion, I will take you to your grandmamma. She will know what should be done for your headache.”
“Bind your head with vinegar and brown paper,” Georgianne suggested. “Or you could try cabbage leaves tied around the head and bandaged into place. It is supposed to be a remedy for headaches. They are old wives’ remedies but you could try them—they are preferable to strong medications which tire one out.”
Amelia wrinkled her nose but made no reply. Accompanied by Langley and followed by Mrs. Tarrant, whom she was beginning to dislike, she strolled to the terrace where Mrs. Bettismore sat with Langley’s mamma.
The nursery party erupted through the door, led by Bab, who carried a large wax doll. “Excuse me.” Bab gasped.
“What a pretty doll,” Amelia murmured.
“My doll is not pretty. She is dead. Dead people are not pretty. My dear Papa frightened me when he lay on his bier. But I am not frightened any more because Georgianne explained he is now an angel in heaven. Miss Carstairs, do you think my papa is one of God’s most handsome angels?”
“Yes, I suppose he is,” Amelia said hastily, her eyes wide with horror.
Georgianne put her hand on Bab’s shoulder. “Dearest, you have forgotten your manners. Make your curtsy to your elders before you go to play with your cousins.”
Clutching the large doll, Bab made a wobbly curtsy. When she straightened up she spoke to Amelia in a confidential tone. “My doll was pretty before she died. She was as pretty as you are. Look, she has yellow hair and blue eyes like yours. If God gathers you to His bosom, you might look pretty on your bier. Oh, excuse me, we have to bury my doll.”
“Oh, you horrid, horrid child, how can you speak of such matters?” Amelia turned to look at her future mother-in-law. “Are mock-funerals suitable for children’s play? I’m surprised you allow your daughters to play with such a…a morbid little girl.”
“Do not scold the child. She has lost her father and brothers,” Langley intervened.
“Playing funerals is unnatural!” Amelia said.
Langley inclined his head to Mrs. Bettismore. “Miss Carstairs has a headache and needs to rest.”
All concern, Mrs. Bettismore heaved herself to her feet. “Amelia, come with me, my love.”
“I am faint,” Langley’s mother murmured, pressing her hand over her heart.
From her reticule Mrs. Bettismore took a small flask of sal volatile which she handed to her ladyship.
The countess sniffed hard. Tears came into her eyes. “Death! Biers! Funerals! So unpleasant! My dear Georgianne, Bab is a sweet child, but please ask her to play suitable games with my little girls. Our nurse might become angry and leave. Then what would I do? I depend on her.”
Langley clasped his mamma’s hand. “Do not agitate yourself. Nurse has been with us for too long to leave, but if she did, I am sure Miss Carstairs would be pleased to help you with the nursery platoon.”
Mrs. Bettismore large bosom seemed to swell. “Upon my word, my lord, the less children have to do with their elders the more I approve. Nurses and governesses should rear them until they go to school.”
Georgianne looked across the lawn. “My husband has returned from his ride,” she remarked and waved to him.
Tarrant came up the steps leading to the terrace. “Good afternoon, ladies,” he said before occupying the chair next to Georgianne. “What have you been doing?” .
She smiled up at Tarrant, glad to see him. “I confess I have been disgracefully idle.”
The Countess shook her head. “I think not. A stranger brought a creature here to speak with Mrs. Tarrant.”
Georgianne smiled at her hostess. “I will not bore you with explanations, ma’am.” She faced Tarrant. “Johnson brought someone to see me.”
Tarrant raised his eyebrows. “Do not allow Johnson to impose on you.”
“Walk in the garden with me, Tarrant. I will tell you about the lady to whom Johnson introduced to me.”
At the thought of the destitute woman’s poverty, compared to her luxurious life, guilt overwhelmed her. Would she ever be able to help more than a few people?
“Lady,” exclaimed the countess. “she did not look like a lady.”
“She is one by birth but is very shabby because she has fallen on hard times, but I hope to restore her to her father-in-law.”
Tarrant tucked her arm into the crook of his, and then guided her down the steps into the garden.
She looked up at her husband, sensitive to every nuance of his voice and expression. “Is anything troubling you?”
“Yes. Pennington is staying with the Prince of Wales at The Pavilion.”
“I thought he had departed for The Continent.”
“So did I.”
“Tarrant, why is the earl so vindictive? Why does he want to ruin my sisters and I?”
“Vanity, nothing but vanity, coupled with some peculiarity of the brain. He cannot accept you did not want to be his countess. Thwarted, because his wealth could not buy you, he now wants to marry Helen. To make matters worse, he is obsessed by his wish for a son.”
Puzzled, Georgianne frowned. “Well his sons are dead but hearsay hints his grandson might be restored to him.” She glanced at him, and then changed the subject of their conversation. “Tell me why Pennington does not want Cousin Stanton to be the next Earl of Pennington?”
“There is some doubt concerning Stanton’s paternity.”
Her eyes widened. “Do you mean his mamma was unfaithful to Pennington’s late brother?”
“Yes.” Tarrant’s laugh was unpleasant. “Before Stanton’s elder brothers died, his mamma took a lover. Her husband, Pennington’s younger brother, accepted Stanton as his son, so Pennington does not know if Stanton is his nephew.”
“Why did your parents allow Sarah to marry him?”
“At the time, they were unaware of Stanton’s questionable paternity, and I suppose they did not think Pennington wanted to remarry at his age.”
Georgianne looked at her husband sideways. “Is it true that after a wife bears her husband two sons, she may take a lover?”
To her delight, Tarrant turned and gripped her shoulders, but not hard enough to hurt her. “Some husbands are tolerant of their wives’ affairs of the heart, others are not. I will never be complaisant.”
“Oh.” She swayed toward him, unable to imagine allowing any man other than Tarrant to kiss her.
To her disappointment Tarrant kept his distance from her. “When we leave Brighton shall we retire to the country?”
“Yes, if you want to.”
“I do. Although my bailiff is efficient, there are matters I must attend to. While I am doing so, you might wish to arrange Calcutta Place to suit your taste.”
“I admire the furnishings but would like to make some improvements. For example, the kitchen is too far from the dining room. It means the food is cold before it reaches the table so the south parlour, near the stairs leading to the kitchen, would be more suitable.”
“An excellent idea,” Tarrant said, while they walked to the end of the garden, where they climbed up onto a knoll and stood looking at the distant sea.
Georgianne gazed across a dip in the downs. “Bab is still playing at funerals. In fact, she offended Miss Carstairs. It seems the sight of our father on his bier made a profound impression on her. Since then she has been preoccupied with death. It is why she plays such macabre games.”
“Shall I speak to her… try to reassure her?”
“Perhaps we should speak to her together.”
“Yes, we should.” His eyes serious, Tarrant looked down at her. “We must also tell your sisters to be vigilant and provide guards for them. I do not want Pennington to come within an inch of them. As for you, Georgianne, promise me you will be cautious. I want you to take Johnson and your bruisers with you whenever you go out.”
“Johnson?”
“Yes, why else should I have brought him to Brighton? I have instructed him to
keep an eye on you because he is devoted to you.”
“Do you think Pennington will again try to kidnap me?”
“It is unlikely. I have already told you, he is a coward. All the same, I think he is mad and one never knows what such a man might do.” Her hand quivered in his. He clasped it more tightly. “Do not be frightened. You are well protected. I will ask Mrs. Deane to keep an even closer eye on you.”
“You forget I am a colonel’s daughter. Father expected me to be brave.”
“I never forget anything about you. Now, what of the lady Johnson brought to see you.”
Georgianne stared down at the daisy-studded grass. “It is the stuff of romantic poetry. She is an orphaned lady in distress who recently returned from the Peninsula and is reduced to penury.”
“Her family?”
“Her father was a brevet-major in the Rifle Brigade. Her mother died of lung fever. She has no brothers or sisters and has lost contact with her parents’ families.”
“A sad but not uncommon tale.”
“Yes, I told Johnson to secure lodgings for her and her child, to give her money for the rent and other necessities.”
Tarrant slipped his arm around her waist. “You are more than kind.”
The sunshine seemed brighter, the breeze softer. She leaned her head against his shoulder. “What did we fight for?”
“You know the answer. We fought against the rule of tyranny to establish the rule of law. The French revolutionaries wanted to destroy the old order.”
“Thank God the war is over and you are safe.”
“Do I mean so much to you, Georgianne?”
Pride did not allow her to confess her love for him. She would not, could not do so until she won his love. “Of course you are important to me, you are my husband.”
Tarrant’s arms fell to his sides. “Shall we return to the house?” he asked, the expression in his eyes as cold as his voice.
Her head drooped. Heartsore she could not look at him.
Sunday's Child (Heroines Born on Different Days of the Week Book 1) Page 20
