A Match for Mother

by Mona Gedney, Kathryn Kirkwood, Regina Scott

  Mr. Grant smiled at them. “Then I can see that Mr. Rochester must have been a very intelligent man as well as a very lucky one,” he said, bowing briefly to them before turning to leave the room.

  “That young man has very pleasing manners,” observed Lucinda, watching the door swing shut behind him. “He has been extraordinarily patient through all of this. Most men his age would be chafing at the bit to be free of such constraints.”

  Mercy nodded. “He does seem to be older than his years. Heaven knows that Reginald is not nearly so steady even though he only lacks a few years of Mr. Grant.”

  “Well, Reggie is a ninny, of course, but there is still time for him, Mercy,” replied her sister-in-law comfortably. “He will settle down soon enough. Let him sow his wild oats and get it out of his system.”

  “Perhaps you’re right,” sighed his mother, “and heaven only knows why I would criticize anyone for a lack of steadiness. Here I am his mother and Reginald is three times as mature as I am. Why, I’m not even fit to be their mother, Lucy—I can’t imagine how the two of them grew up to be such reasonable human beings with someone like me looking after them.”

  “That’s nonsense, Mercy, and you know it,” responded Lucinda crisply. “You do do some outrageous things, but overall you have been as loving and careful a mother as anyone could have. You know that both of your children adore you.”

  Lady Lovington smiled and scrubbed away a furtive tear trickling down her cheek with the back of her hand. “They are very loving, aren’t they?” she agreed. “They scold me, of course, but not as much as I deserve to be.”

  She paused a moment, her chin cupped between her two hands as she stared at the fire. “I wish that I could do something for poor Elizabeth—”

  “Why ever do you call her that, Mercy?” demanded Aunt Lucinda. “So far as I can tell, the girl has the world in her pocket. Edward left her well provided for and she is certainly handsome enough.”

  “Oh, she has suitors enough and she seems reasonably happy even though she won’t accept any of them, Lucy, but—”

  “But what?” demanded Miss Rochester.

  “Well, she never looks quite ... quite happy! I mean just think of it, Lucy. When have you seen Elizabeth look as though she were really enjoying herself?”

  Lucinda looked at her blankly. “Well, I can’t think of a particular time,” she replied slowly, “but then she was always serious, even as a little girl.”

  Lady Lovington nodded in agreement. “That’s very true, Lucy—and did you ever ask yourself why that was so?”

  “I should imagine because she is very like her papa,” responded Lucinda. “Edward never looked particularly cheerful except when he was with you.”

  “There now!” exclaimed Lady Lovington, clutching her sister-in-law’s hand urgently. “That’s precisely what I mean! Edward was happy to be with me, but Elizabeth isn’t. I believe that she feels responsible for me and it makes her nervous. Reginald is happier because he doesn’t feel the weight of it so much since he lives away from me. And it isn’t right, Lucy—my children should not have to feel that they are responsible for my actions.”

  “Mercy, I don’t know where you get these queer notions of yours!” exclaimed Lucinda. “I know that neither one of them has ever said such a thing to you!”

  “No, of course they wouldn’t,” agreed Lady Lovington. “They do love me and wouldn’t want to hurt my feelings—but I’m certain that they are feeling quite burdened by me. Every now and then each of them has given me a sort of little lecture on my shortcomings—very nicely, of course—but still they have pointed them out.”

  Both of them were distressed by the turn the conversation had taken, so it was with relief that they saw the water was boiling. Lady Lovington prepared the tray to take upstairs to the colonel, carefully placing the pot of willow bark tea beside the coddled eggs that she took from a niche in the fireplace where they had kept warm.

  Reginald and Elizabeth had already arrived and been shown to the colonel’s chamber. Fortunately for all concerned, Colonel Anderson was no mind reader and so he was able to greet his guests with an air of calm good sense, quite unruffled by any awareness of Reginald’s plans for his future.

  “I am most awfully sorry about all of this, sir,” said Reginald sincerely, very favorably impressed by the man before him.

  The colonel sat up in bed, half a dozen fat, lacy pillows propping him in place. Despite his broken leg and the bandage about his head, his lean, muscular form clearly indicated a man of action. As Elizabeth had said, his dark hair was touched with gray, and his alert, dark eyes assessed the young man before him without appearing to do so.

  “I assure you that you should not pity me,” Colonel Anderson responded, smiling. “As you can see, I am well looked after.” Here he indicated the sea of pillows surrounding him.

  “Then too,” he continued, “Jack and I have had our leave extended so that we have extra time in London, and we are spending it in the company of three very lovely ladies. What more could we ask?”

  “You’re very gracious, Colonel, but I’m certain that you would prefer to spend your time in London being able to get about instead of being harnessed to a bed,” replied Reginald. “Our mother should have been more careful.”

  “Your mother is the most charming woman I have met in many years,” replied the colonel reprovingly. “And her accident could have happened to anyone. I count this mishap a most fortunate one because I have met her as a result of it.”

  “A very pretty speech, Colonel Anderson,” said Lady Lovington approvingly, entering the room with a tray bearing the china teapot carefully covered with a quilted tea cozy to keep it hot, “but you know quite well that the accident was entirely my fault. I should never have forgiven myself if I had done you a lasting injury.”

  “But you did no such thing, ma’am,” he reassured her firmly. “I have suffered far worse injuries than this in the field and thought little enough of them. All you have done, Lady Lovington, is to offer me the most delightful company that I have had in many years.”

  Reggie caught his sister’s eye and winked. Things appeared to be going along famously, and he could already imagine himself taking a holiday without worrying about his mother’s erratic behavior.

  “And I understand that you have had some perfectly delightful meals served to you, sir!” he exclaimed merrily, his good mood overcoming his good sense. “There’s nothing to equal milk toast!”

  Bet frowned at him and shook her head slightly, for their mother was very proud of her ability to care for invalids, but the colonel, after a pause so slight that it was almost unnoticeable, said resolutely, “Your mother has been most kind, Mr. Rochester. She has been preparing meals for me with her own hands, which, as I have told her, is not a suitable occupation for such a lady. She should be waited upon herself, but instead, she and your good aunt have been toiling in the kitchen and bringing my food to me themselves.”

  Lady Lovington glanced at her graceless son, quite certain of the intent of his remark. She was a small woman, much shorter than either of her children, but her large eyes and generous mouth—and her topknot of bright, frothy curls—made her a figure that could not be lightly dismissed. At the moment, anticipating further criticism from her son, she looked a little ruffled, rather like a budgie bird when it has fluffed its feathers against the cold, becoming an indignant, downy ball.

  “What Reggie means to say, Colonel Anderson,” she said, her dimples deepening dangerously, “is that he believes that I must be tormenting you with my cooking. I’m afraid he has no faith in my knowledge of cookery or invalids.”

  “No, no, Mama,” said Reginald hurriedly, anxious to keep everything going smoothly, “nothing of the sort. I am certain that you have been most attentive to the colonel’s needs.”

  “No doubt you think that he should be eating great slabs of beef and drinking gallons of port,” observed Lady Lovington a little tartly, thinking of her son’s habits
.

  Reginald, who thought precisely that, denied it vehemently. “I am certain that you are taking very fine care of him, Mama,” he replied, carefully avoiding his sister’s eye.

  Somewhat mollified, Lady Lovington set down her tray upon the table beside the colonel, filling a dainty china cup with steaming tea and handing it to him.

  “Now, sir,” she said brightly, “you must drink this immediately. It will serve to keep your fever from returning.”

  “What sort of witch’s brew is that, Mama?” inquired her irreverent son.

  “Willow bark tea,” replied his fond parent shortly. “Colonel Anderson suffered from a fever after his accident, and I am determined that it shall not return.”

  “And she has done a splendid job of keeping it at bay,” said the colonel, sipping the drink carefully and studying the faces of Reginald and Elizabeth.

  “Your mother knows quite a bit about herbs,” he continued, and gestured with a smile to the pillows behind him. “All of the linens have been stored with lavender leaves, which she tells me have a soothing effect upon me and take away my sleepless nights.” He glanced at her fondly. “And I must say that she is quite right about that. Since the fever abated, I have slept like a babe each night.”

  “Indeed,” remarked Reginald in astonishment, glancing at his mother. “I had no idea, Mama, that you were so proficient in your use of herbs. You amaze me.”

  Before she could answer, the door opened once more and Jack Grant entered. Lady Lovington looked at him and smiled—as did everyone else in the room. Most people did smile when they saw him. His eyes were bright and his smile warm, and he had the happy gift of making each person he spoke to feel fascinating.

  “Good morning again, Lady Lovington,” he said, bowing to her.

  Glancing toward the bed, he added, “I see that your ministering angel has returned once again, Colonel. You must count yourself a fortunate man.”

  “You know that I do, Jack,” he responded, sipping his tea. Looking at Elizabeth and Reginald, he said, “You already know Miss Rochester, of course. Mr. Rochester, I would like for you to meet my aide, Mr. Jack Grant. Jack, this is Lady Lovington’s son.”

  “Your servant, sir,” returned the young man, bowing to Reginald. “I suppose that Colonel Anderson has been telling you how wonderfully well your mother has been caring for him.”

  Reginald nodded, but before Jack could say anything else, he said briskly, “It is no more than she should do, of course, since she was responsible for running him down.”

  There was a startled pause as the others looked at each other and Lady Lovington blinked back tears at this unexpected and sudden attack. It was not like her son to criticize her when others were present, and his words confirmed her misgivings. She was a burden to her children.

  “Not at all, sir,” responded Mr. Grant, his tone equally brisk. “I am afraid that you have been misinformed. Why, had I been riding at Colonel Anderson’s side as I should have been, the accident wouldn’t have occurred at all. I would have been in a position to see the pair of curricles coming.” He caught Reginald’s eye and addressed him directly.

  “Perhaps you have not heard, Mr. Rochester, that it was Lady Vickery who actually caused the accident.”

  Reginald and Elizabeth both stared at him, and Elizabeth said blankly, “But Mama told me that the whole matter was her fault.”

  “Lady Lovington has taken too much blame upon herself for all of this,” he returned. “I was waiting for Colonel Anderson, and my vantage point gave me a clear view of the last part of the race and the wreck. Had Lady Vickery not pulled over and crowded your mother’s curricle, almost catching its wheel, there would have been no accident at all. As it was, Lady Lovington had no choice but to move abruptly to the side as she rounded the corner. That is how she was thrown off balance and almost collided with Colonel Anderson.”

  “Then I beg your pardon, Mama,” murmured Reginald, his cheeks flaming. “I might have known that Lady Vickery was at fault.”

  “That didn’t seem to have occurred to you earlier,” replied his mother, trying not to show how much his words had hurt her.

  “Why didn’t you tell me just how it happened, Mama?” demanded Elizabeth. “Reggie only knew what I told him—and that was what you told me!”

  Her mother sighed and once again absently smoothed back a curl that had escaped the others. “Because it truly was my fault, Elizabeth. If I hadn’t agreed to race, the accident never would have occurred. There was no point in talking about what Letty did or didn’t do—it was my own thoughtlessness that brought about the colonel’s wreck.”

  Lady Lovington smiled sadly at Mr. Grant, ignoring her two children for a moment. “Attempting to rescue me was very gallant of you, sir. Thank you.”

  The young man returned her smile and bowed. “It was my pleasure, ma’am. I had wondered if you would ever set the record straight yourself. I had decided that if you did not, I was going to tell the colonel the truth of the matter myself.”

  Colonel Anderson patted her hand comfortingly. “I repeat, Lady Lovington, that I am happier spending my time here than I would have been living at my club. I shall be sorry when I am well enough to leave you.”

  “Well, we certainly don’t want you to think of leaving until you are quite well again, sir!” said Reginald.

  As the colonel thanked him, Lady Lovington regarded her son thoughtfully, wondering just why he was so insistent that the colonel stay. She had thought that he would be quite put out over the whole matter and would wish the colonel gone as soon as possible so that there would be no more conversation about the accident. Reginald never liked notoriety, nor did he like to focus on unpleasant happenings. His behavior struck her as most curious.

  “It is really quite astounding,” remarked Elizabeth thoughtfully to her brother as they went downstairs to the drawing room. “In spite of his pain and inconvenience, Colonel Anderson appears to be grateful to Mama for the accident. How ever does she manage it?”

  Reginald shrugged gracefully. “Why are you surprised, Bet? Isn’t that the way things have always been for her? No matter what she does, no matter how outrageous it may seem to us, she still emerges as the heroine of the piece. It’s Mama’s gift.”

  “I’ve watched her carefully for years, Reggie, trying to determine just what she does so that I can do it, too,” said Elizabeth, her shoulders drooping in discouragement, “but it never seems to serve me as it does her.”

  Seeing her brother’s amazed expression, she added hastily, “I don’t mean that I want to get into the kind of scrapes that Mama does—I just want to learn to be as charming as she is.”

  “Come now, Bet,” replied her brother consolingly, “you don’t want to have Mama’s charm—you have your own particular style and charm.”

  “Do I?” she inquired. “I have never felt that to be so.”

  “You slow-top!” exclaimed Reginald. “Haven’t you had offers that you have refused, and don’t you have young men who wish to escort you everywhere?”

  “Well, you are exaggerating a little, Reggie,” she said, her practical nature reasserting itself. “I’ve had two offers—neither of which I would have considered for a moment—and I suspect that they were thinking more of the five thousand pounds a year that Papa settled on me than they were of me. And when those young men that you refer to come to call on me or to take me out, they invariably fall prey to Mama’s charm. Then we spend half of our evening talking about her—which is scarcely what I had in mind.”

  Elizabeth sank down onto the sofa and smiled a little crookedly, trying her best to make light of what she had just said. “You know, Reggie, that I’ve always tried to have Mama’s way with people—to laugh like her, to say the same kind of thing that she would say—but it has never worked for me.”

  “Well, of course it hasn’t,” said Reginald practically. “How could you expect it to, Bet? You can’t be Mama—but you can be Elizabeth Rochester. You need to do what come
s naturally to you instead of trying to borrow Mama’s ways. That’s like trying to wear someone else’s clothes—it simply can’t be done effectively. Be yourself and you will have quite enough charm.”

  “Do you think so, Reggie?” she asked hopefully. Having spent a lifetime in her mother’s shadow, it was a little overwhelming to think of stepping out of it.

  Her brother was straightening his immaculate neckcloth in the pier glass. “I know that it is so,” said her brother confidently, preening a little more. “After all—look at Mama—and look at me. How could you not be charming?”

  “You are too kind to me, Reggie,” she said wryly. “And I had no notion that you thought yourself so much like Mama. I would have been keeping a closer eye upon you.”

  “There you are, Bet!” he said encouragingly. “Feeling a little more the thing, aren’t you? A little more ginger is what you need—that’s the trick!”

  He sat down beside her and slipped an arm about her shoulders, hugging her lightly. “And now,” he said, “we need to plan our strategy for Mama and the colonel.”

  “Do you really think strategy will be necessary?” inquired Elizabeth. “It’s as plain as day that Colonel Anderson is captivated by her. If Mama looked only halfway interested, he would propose to her in a moment.”

  “Well, then we must encourage Mama to look interested,” replied Reginald confidently. “If she knows that we want her to marry him, she probably will do so. Mama has always wished us to be happy.”

  “Yes, I know that’s so, Reggie.” She paused a moment, then added thoughtfully, “Do you think she has been happy in her marriages?”

  Reginald stared at her. “Of course she has. When have you ever known Mama not to be happy? And it isn’t as though we’re asking her to do something distasteful, Bet,” he said encouragingly. “Colonel Anderson is a very attractive match for her.”