Miss Fellingham's Rebellion

by Lynn Messina - Miss Fellingham's Rebellion

  When her ladyship’s dainty feet were on the ground, she accepted her daughter’s proffered elbow with great reluctance. “I don’t know why you’re trying to start a scandal, dear, but I do wish you wouldn’t. Think of your sister, please, if only for a moment. How is she going to find a husband if her family is in disgrace?”

  Catherine couldn’t find a reasonable answer to this unjust accusation, so she remained silent as they climbed the steps leading to the town house. Once at the door, Eliza grazed it lightly with her gloved knuckles. Her daughter watched this ridiculous display, which, of course, drew no response, for several moments. Then she knocked firmly herself. The door opened immediately.

  “There, Mama, you just need to exert yourself a little,” Catherine said as she turned to confront the dour-faced man who had answered her knock. “Hello. Please tell Lady Courtland that Lady Fellingham and her daughter Catherine are here to see her.”

  “Lady Courtland is not in right now,” the servant drawled sternly from his considerable height. “Perhaps you would like to leave a card.”

  Lady Fellingham practically cheered upon hearing this news. “Oh, how fortuitous…ah, I mean, what a disappointment. I was so looking forward to having a coze with her this morning.” She looked down at her shoes to hide her smile from her daughter. “Well, dear, we did try. Give the good man your card and let us be on our way.”

  Seeing her mother’s poorly hid smirk, she said, “Nonsense, Mama. I won’t have you disappointed. I think it would be best if we wait for Lady Courtland.” Catherine turned to the butler. “She hasn’t gone too— I’m afraid I don’t know your name.”

  “It’s Perth, milady.” He stared unblinkingly down at her.

  “Very good. She hasn’t gone too far, has she, Perth?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know, milady.” His tone, if possible, grew even more chilly at the inquisition, and Catherine, who had always been a self-effacing girl, felt wholly intimidated by his disapproving demeanor. She could think of no worse person to practice one’s assertiveness on than a Mayfair butler, but she had no choice.

  “It wouldn’t do any harm for us to sit in the drawing room, would it, Perth?” she asked, with an overly bright smile.

  “Milady, I think Lady Courtland would rather—”

  “Lovely.” Catherine brushed past the butler, who stepped back in surprise at the rough handling. “This way, Mama. Perth thinks we should wait in the drawing room.”

  The dour butler looked quite taken aback by this turn of events, and Catherine thought she detected a change in his manner. Although Perth remained well within the boundaries of civility, Catherine felt he was struggling with his temper. Doubtless, he’d never dealt with such a pushy young lady before, which made her sympathetic to his situation, for she had never been a pushy young lady before and found the experience very unpleasant. If only the fate of her family’s fortunes didn’t rest on the forthcoming interview with Lady Courtland, then she could have left like the shy and retiring miss she was as soon as Perth had said her ladyship was not at home. But Catherine had had a hard enough time getting her mother there once; she doubted she could do it a second time.

  After several moments, Perth’s face assumed its previous stony expression and he showed them the way to the drawing room. Catherine made herself comfortable on the settee as her mother stood awkwardly by the door. After a few moments of looking like a canary trapped by a cat, Lady Fellingham sat down across from Catherine.

  Perth watched them take their seats and left, closing the doors quietly behind him. Then, not a second later, he opened the doors again, his professional dignity sadly overcoming his peevishness. “Would miladies care for some tea?”

  Catherine was prepared to defer to her mother on this account, but since she gave no indication of her preference either way, Catherine acquiesced. “That would be lovely, Perth.”

  He nodded and left.

  “Tea will calm your nerves, Mama.”

  “Nothing could calm my nerves now. Oh, this is so very wretched and well beyond the bounds of propriety.” Lady Fellingham looked around the empty room, rubbing her fingers on the arm of the brocade sofa as if trying to remove a stain. It was a nervous habit of hers. “We really should go home.”

  Catherine felt a tinge of regret and wondered if she was doing the right thing. She hated seeing her mother so distraught, but something had to be done. She moved closer to the anxious woman and offered a comforting hand. “Look, you know what Shakespeare says. We shall do this quickly.”

  Eliza Fellingham didn’t have a clue what Shakespeare had to say about intruding on one’s friends before respectable visiting hours, but she was sure that if he advocated for such vulgar behavior, his plays should not be performed for the edification of young ladies.

  They sat in silence for several minutes before the door opened. Catherine expected to see Perth carrying a silver teapot but was confronted with Lady Courtland herself.

  “Darling Liza,” she said, her hands extended in warmth to her old school friend, “whatever can the matter be?”

  Eliza rose, met her friend halfway across the room and squeezed her hands. “Oh, it’s just so horrible. I am sorry to bother you like this, only Catherine would insist.”

  Arabella’s intent, dark-blue eyes surveyed Catherine steadily for several long seconds. Catherine felt disconcerted by the attention and concentrated on not fidgeting. The woman examining her so carefully was petite and delicate-looking with fluffy blond hair and perfect features. She might have been well past the first blush of youth, but she was still an Incomparable.

  Thoroughly intimidated by the cool appraisal, Catherine mustered all her courage and introduced herself. “Hello, Lady Courtland. I’m Catherine Fellingham, Lady Fellingham’s daughter. I don’t believe we’ve met.” She curtseyed politely but soon found herself enveloped in a warm hug.

  “Of course I know you. When we last met you were but a little slip of a girl. I daresay you don’t remember me.” She placed Catherine at arm’s length. “It’s been so many years. Let me look at you now.” After some moments of examination, she said, “What unusual eyes you have. I’ve never seen that shade of gold before. How charming for you, Liza, to have such a lovely daughter.”

  Despite the fact that it was Lady Courtland who had gotten her family into their present fix, Catherine found herself warming to her hostess. It wasn’t often that she was admired by a stranger, even if it was mere courtesy.

  “Now, let’s do talk and get to the bottom of what has my friend so agitated.” She took a seat on the sofa. “Here, Liza, sit next to me. Perhaps I should— Ah, there you are Perth. And with tea. Perfect. You anticipate my every desire yet again.”

  The butler placed the tray in front of Lady Courtland and bowed.

  “Right, Liza,” she said after she filled all the teacups, “why don’t you tell me what has you so unsettled?”

  “It’s our plan,” Lady Fellingham said hesitantly.

  Arabella raised an eyebrow over her teacup. “Our plan?”

  “Yes, our excellent plan has met with my family’s disapproval,” she explained with a censorious look at her daughter. “Catherine insisted that I come directly here and put an end to the whole thing.”

  “I see.” Arabella placed her cup on the table.

  “It’s just that Fellingham thinks that if it ever got out, it would cause quite a scandal,” her ladyship elaborated. “Of course I told him he was being ridiculous. How would it ever get out? But then it was through one of Freddy’s friends that he heard of it, so mayhap it’s not quite as ridiculous as it had previously seemed.” She fidgeted in her seat. “Not that that’s a reason to abandon such a worthwhile endeavor but merely a warning to be more cautious. Catherine, however, is involved now, so we might as well give up on it. She will never let us continue.”

  Arabella looked at Catherine. “Yes, I can see that Miss Fellingham is an estimable young lady.”

  “Lady Courtland,” said t
he estimable young lady, not sure if she was being maligned or mocked, “I and my family are worried about the damage this would do to our name if anyone should discover Mama and your scheme. I’m afraid that would put us beyond the pale socially and risk the wrath of the Duke of Raeburn, who, I’m sure from all I’ve read about him, would not appreciate such interference.”

  “You have read about the Duke of Raeburn?” her ladyship asked.

  “Of course,” answered Catherine.

  “May I ask where?”

  Catherine was annoyed by this line of questioning, which diverted her from her course, and sought to bring the conversation back to the relevant matter. “In a political journal, I believe, though I can’t recall which one. My concern is for my sister Evelyn, for what chance of finding a good husband would she have if we are in disgrace? Please believe that we are fully cognizant of the honor you do us by trying to help Mama. I know she relies on your good judgment. Perhaps you can convince her that stopping the scheme is all for the best.”

  “Your daughter makes an interesting argument, Liza,” she said as she considered Catherine over the rim of her teacup for an extended moment.

  “She does?” asked Eliza, taken aback.

  “Yes, she does. You have three daughters, two of marriageable age. Perhaps we should devote our attentions to getting them married,” she explained. “If one of them married a wealthy gentleman, we would have no further need for excellent schemes.”

  Lady Fellingham smiled brightly and let out the breath she had been holding. She had been afraid that Arabella would take offense at Catherine’s frank speech. “Oh, dear friend, you must know that that is my fondest wish, one that I have harbored these many years. I am sure that Evelyn would be very appreciative of any plan you conceive that would advance her on the marriage mart. She is a biddable girl with very pleasing manners, and I think she has a superb chance of making a brilliant match.”

  “And Catherine?” asked Arabella.

  “Catherine?” Liza echoed blankly. “I don’t know. I suppose Catherine also believes that Evelyn should make a brilliant match.”

  Her ladyship shook her head. “No, dear. I mean, do you think she would accept my guidance?”

  “In what?”

  “Finding a husband.”

  “Whatever for?” Lady Fellingham asked, still confounded.

  “So she can get married.”

  “But Catherine is an old maid,” exclaimed the girl’s fond mother.

  “Liza!” exclaimed Arabella. “I’m shocked. How can you talk about your daughter like that?”

  Catherine, who had been listening to this conversation with only absentminded interest, broke out into a hearty—and what her mother would call unbred—laugh. “Please don’t tease yourself about my feelings. At the advanced age of four-and-twenty, I’ve been quite on the shelf for some years, and my family has never made any attempt to put a pleasant face on it. I am a spinster.”

  “Ridiculous,” Arabella dismissed. “You are young and pretty. We will see you engaged by the end of the season.”

  “But, Arabella, Catherine has had six seasons and she has never quite taken,” Lady Fellingham explained, a little embarrassed for her daughter now that she had said it aloud. Six years was a long time. She was not entirely unsympathetic to Catherine’s feelings, only it did seem to her as if her daughter had never really tried to take.

  “Pooh,” she scoffed, taking in Catherine’s bright eyes, her lustrous brown hair and her statuesque figure. “Handsome young men are always interested in pretty girls with conversation. Don’t worry, Liza, I’ll take care of it.”

  Catherine’s amusement faded as she thought of this formidable woman taking an active hand in her life. “I appreciate your offer of help, Lady Courtland, but my mother is right. I simply never took. Men don’t like tall women.”

  She waved a dismissive hand. “Short men don’t like tall women and why should they? They would look patently absurd standing next to a woman who had six inches on them, but I know for a fact that tall men like tall women. Now, don’t you worry about it a minute more. I’ll take care of everything.”

  And indeed it seemed to Catherine as if she were already devising one of her excellent schemes. The thought unnerved her and made her not a little anxious. “Lady Courtland, I don’t think—”

  “My dear, you simply must call me Arabella,” she said. “Oh, what a lovely surprise this has turned out to be. I had no idea why you had come to call so early in the day, and I will admit when I came in I was a little cross,” she confessed. “But now I am delighted. We needed a new project, anyway, Eliza. The other plan was beginning to bore me.”

  Catherine felt as if the meeting had spiraled out of her control. Realizing there was nothing she could say at the moment to change her new friend’s mind, she changed the subject, something she still had control of. “So the plan of selling commissions in the king’s army…”

  “What plan?” Arabella asked innocently.

  “Thank you, Lady Cour—”

  “Uh-uh.”

  “Arabella.” Catherine smiled. “Well, since our business here is done, we shall leave you in peace. I’m sure you have other things you’d rather be doing.” Catherine got to her feet and offered her mother an arm. Lady Fellingham stood as well.

  “Nonsense,” said her gracious host. “This has been a perfect diversion.”

  “Arabella, will we be seeing you at Lady Sefton’s ball tonight?” Eliza asked as they approached the drawing room doors. Now that they were leaving, she was actually reluctant to go. The visit had gone far more pleasantly than she had ever imagined, and now she wanted to talk about her friend’s plans for Evelyn. Imagine—Evelyn married to a wealthy young lord! It was everything Lady Fellingham wanted for her dearest daughter.

  “I hadn’t planned on going, but I’m willing to reconsider. Will you and Catherine be there?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Lady Fellingham said, “and Evelyn, of course.”

  Arabella nodded consideringly. “Perhaps I’ll see you there.”

  “Wonderful!” F kissed her dear friend on the cheek and stepped outside. When she heard the door close behind her, she turned to her daughter. “There, you see, Catherine. When you are dealing with true quality, there’s never anything to worry about. Was my friend Arabella not the most gracious thing? Really, I don’t understand you, making such a big deal of all this. I believe in the end that Evelyn was right. It was nothing more than a tempest in a teapot.”

  When they returned to the house in Mayfair, Catherine disappeared into the study. She picked up the book she had been reading, Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage. She had read it before, of course. It was one of her favorite poems, but for some reason she was unable to concentrate this afternoon. So much had happened in such a short span of time, and now, suddenly, passing the day in the comfortable room where she passed all her days felt confining.

  She told herself not to be ridiculous. She loved the solemnity of the space—the rich woods, the dark paneling, the heavy curtains—and the encompassing quiet. Nobody ever bothered her in the study, and she was free to read whatever she wanted: penny dreadfuls, scandalous novels, radical political tracts. She had the entire world in this single room and had never chafed before at the confines.

  Yet today her mind kept wandering beyond its walls to the social world that had rejected her years before.

  It was all Lady Courtland’s fault, with her lavish compliments and promises to have her engaged by the end of the season. Catherine knew better than to fall for Spanish coin. Her looks were passable enough, for she didn’t have a horrendously hooked nose or spots, but she was hardly of the first stare. No amount of curling and dabbing could give her the wonderfully pert features of her sister Evelyn. As for her conversation, it was a mercurial thing, tending to dry up in social situations consisting of more than two people.

  No, she would not be engaged by the end of this season or the next.

  But knowing the
truth did little to improve her attentiveness, and twenty minutes later, she conceded it was futile and closed the book. For a long while, she stared out the window at passing carriages, wondering how to alleviate this inexplicable and unprecedented restlessness. She needed to do something, to be active and engaged, rather than quiet and calm. Then she hit on a perfectly scandalous idea and went to find Melissa.

  Melissa, sitting on the edge of her seat, pressed her nose against the window.

  “Sit back, Melissa. It’s only London. You’ve seen it all before,” Catherine said dampingly.

  Melissa obeyed as she protested her sister’s unfair request. “But I haven’t, Cathy, not like this,” she insisted. “Never from a hired hack before.”

  “The type of conveyance does not alter the scenery,” she was assured.

  “Oh, but it does. London looks much more exciting this way.” She heard her sister laugh. “The buildings are not quite so imposing from the seat of our boring old carriage drawn by boring old Higgins.”

  “Higgins is no more than thirty,” Catherine said, in defense of their coachman.

  “I don’t mean that kind of old. I mean the other kind of old.”

  Catherine had no idea what her sister was talking about. “There is only one kind of old, puss.” She glanced out the window and saw the British Museum. “We are here.”

  Melissa squealed in delight and pressed her nose to the window again. “Is that it? That giant white building with the beautiful columns? Oh, it is gorgeous.” She turned to her sister and took her hand. “I will never forget this, Cathy, as long as I live.”

  Catherine laughed at her sister’s histrionics. Clearly Evelyn wasn’t the only one in the family with a theatrical bent. “Don’t be so dramatic. It is just a visit to a museum.”

  “But it’s a museum that I have wanted to visit for the whole of my entire life.” She was lost in thought for a moment. Then she turned to her sister, concern etched into her face. “What are we going to tell Mama? She’s going to be furious when she finds out you’ve taken me here. You know she thinks the Elgin Marbles are indecent.”