The man’s face rose before her with all its veins distended and purple, and spittle hesitating on his lips. His riding whip sailed above his head and came down on her shoulders. Again and again.
Forgetting completely about the Grenvilles’ dinner invitation, she focused only on getting out of the church without being discovered. Fortunately, her Sunday bonnet was large and covered the back of her head completely.
When the organ recessional started to play, she stood and faced the back of the church. She hastened Clarissa down the aisle, not waiting for Mr. Aldershott. Once they were out of the church, she ignored the gossipy buzz around her as parishioners all speculated on who the exciting young man could be who was exiting with Miss Lindsay on his arm.
“Lady Cordelia!” she heard her name pronounced by the familiar baritone voice, but kept going, facing forward. “Lady Cordelia Frensham! By all that is wonderful, what are you doing here?” With his long legs, he had reached her and, putting a large hand on her shoulder, turned her around to face him.
She inclined her head slightly, grasping onto her dignity with all her strength. “Lord Manchester! Where have you appeared from?”
The man was truly handsome with his blue black hair combed Corsican style, resembling Lord Byron’s. His brown eyes were lit with mischief. “I have come from London for a house party at the Lindsays.”
Marianne Lindsay strode forward and took his arm, a proprietary gleam in her eye.
“If you have been in the neighborhood any length of time, you know Miss Lindsay, of course,” he continued. “Miss Lindsay, Lady Cordelia is a friend of mine.”
“‘Lady’ Cordelia?” the girl said. “She must have been putting on airs. This is only our former governess, Miss Haverley.”
Her mother had joined them by this time and was looking at Delia with narrow-eyed anger. “What are you still doing in the neighborhood?”
“I may live where I please, Lady Lindsay.” Delia looked her straight in the eye as the woman brought out the fighter in her.
“Indeed, she may,” agreed Lord Manchester. “Not to be vulgar, but Lady Cordelia Frensham could buy and sell us all. But I think she has been naughty. We were engaged to be married when she disappeared, presumably to this place.”
Delia quailed inwardly but managed to remain calm on the outside. A crowd had gathered by this time. Her eyes flew to Major Lambeth’s who stood near her.
Looking stunned, as well he might, the major asked, “Is this true, Lady Cordelia?”
In the grip of strong emotions, not the least of which was fear, she squared her shoulders. “Lord Manchester considered us to be engaged. I did not. I have no intention of marrying him.”
“Her uncle thinks differently. And her uncle is her guardian,” Lord Manchester said.
Lifting her chin, she said. “No one can force me to marry you.”
His smile was more like a grimace. “I have been nothing but kind to you, Lady Cordelia.”
Her voice was low and firm as she said, “You are nothing but a womanizer and a gambler. I would be happier married to the Aldershotts’ monkey!” Turning on her heel, she walked straight to the Aldershotts’ carriage. Behind her, she heard Miss Lindsay accosting him in shrill tones.
Major Lambeth came up behind her. “You have forgotten, Lady Cordelia. You are to dine with us today.”
“You will have to pardon me, I am afraid,” she said, turning to look up into his face. “I must return to The Elms and plan what course I must follow. I cannot allow my uncle to discover me.”
“Lady Cordelia, I think you must not have had my letter.”
“Letter?”
“Yes, I wrote you from London.”
Mr. Aldershott had appeared at her side. Curious as she was about the major’s letter, everything in her was clamoring for escape. Casting the major a frantic look that she hoped conveyed her desperation, she said, “I received no letter. I am sorry. I must go.”
His face was drawn with sadness as she turned to follow Mr. Aldershott to his carriage, leaving the circle of people that had gathered staring after her.
Her legs scarcely carried her to the vehicle. Once she had climbed aboard, her body gave way to a fit of tremors while she was assailed with acute nausea. How long would it be before her uncle learned her direction?
I must get away! He must not find me!
Nerves screwed her stomach into knots.
“You handled that with great dignity,” Mr. Aldershott informed her as the carriage pulled away from the church. “Although I imagine the Lindsays and the Grenvilles are quite puzzled.”
Recalling the major’s face, Delia shut her eyes. What must he think of her? What must Lord and Lady Grenville think of her?
It does not matter. I must leave this place.
“What is wrong Miss Haverley? Why are you shaking? Are you ill?” asked Clarissa.
Seizing on this excuse, she said, “Yes, quite ill.”
“Who was that man?”
Her stomach lurched. “Someone I used to know a long time ago.”
“Those are enough questions for now, Clarissa,” her father said. “It is not kind to pressure Miss Haverley when she is feeling so ill.”
Delia patted her pupil’s hand. “We will talk later, darling.”
“I think it was that man who made her ill,” Clarissa whispered to her father. “I do not like him.”
Her employer looked at her with grave concern. “You are as white as a ghost.”
Delia bit her lip and picked at the seams of her gloves. Clarissa looked at her out of round, anxious eyes. “Do not worry, Miss Haverley. Father and I will make you feel better.” She put a little hand into Delia’s shaking one.
The closer to The Elms they came, the less agitated she was. For the moment at least, it represented safety. But she could not hide at Mr. Aldershott’s home forever.
She would not think of that right now. Right now, she must concentrate on not being sick in the carriage.
When they arrived, Mr. Aldershott and his butler helped her to ascend to her room on the second floor.
“I will call the housekeeper to come to you. Do I need to call a physician?”
“No. It is just a turn. I have them sometimes. If left to myself, I shall be perfectly well. Thank you.”
As soon as the door shut, she pulled the chamber pot out from under her bed and was heartily sick. Too ill to stand, she knelt on the floor, her forehead against the bedpost.
Her perspiration was drying on her skin and she began to shiver with chills. Who would ever think such a thing could happen? She had thought that Lincolnshire was surely far enough away from London and Dorset that she would never be discovered.
Mrs. Teasdale knocked on her door and came in, followed by the chambermaid.
“Oh, Miss! You are ill!” she said. “Let us undress you and get you into bed.”
She was grateful for the help. Nothing ever felt so good as her bed by the time she was in it.
Her mind was spinning.
How can I get away?
Last time, she had had the assistance of the clever Permelia and her uncle’s housekeeper. Permelia had kept her hidden in the attic at her home until she was able to get the position with the Lindsays by correspondence in answer to an advertisement in the newspaper. Not even Permelia’s parents or servants had known she was there. But now she had no help.
Mrs. Teasdale came into the room in mid-afternoon. “Do you think you could take some tea, Miss Haverley? Perhaps it would settle your stomach.”
Delia considered the offer. “Yes, perhaps tea would make me feel better. Thank you.”
As she drank her tea, she began to wonder what the Grenvilles must think. She had treated them very shabbily. Not only had she not honored her dinner obligation, but they now knew she was not who they supposed her to be. They had treated her as a friend, and they must now think that she had repaid them with deceit.
Trying to put the major and his family out of her mind,
she concentrated on evaluating her slim resources. After considering the few roads open to her, she came up with a tentative plan. Mr. Aldershott seemed to be an honorable man. She would tell him the truth of her situation, and ask him if he could help her. Perhaps he would have friends in another neighborhood that required a governess or knew of somewhere she could stay until she could secure a new position.
With this decision, her shaking decreased, and she was able to get up and dress herself. She had no time to waste. On this time of a Sunday, her employer would be reading the newspaper in his library.
Finding him there, she asked, “May I speak to you, sir? It is a matter of some importance.”
“Certainly. I am glad to see you feeling better, Miss Haverley. How may I be of help?”
Taking a seat in one of his comfortable leather chairs, Delia took a deep breath to steady herself. She began. “You already know my story, sir. Do you know of a family who needs a governess or even a housekeeper or servant where I could go to hide from my uncle? I cannot return to him. He thinks he can beat me into submission. I am not strong.”
“The blackguard!” The man stood and began to pace the library. “I will think on it. Leave it to me.”
She felt a weight leave her chest. He believed her. For the first time since seeing Lord Manchester in church, she felt a spurt of hope. “Thank you so much for understanding.” Using her handkerchief, she dabbed at her eyes.
He smiled kindly and his features softened. “Perhaps in five years, you will listen to my addresses. I will try to find somewhere safe to hide you until then.”
Could she marry the man in five years? She would be content in this house. Was that not enough, considering the alternative?
However, she would be giving up her dream of having the loving marriage and family her parents had. In five years, would she be resigned to that?
On the other hand, how long could she stay hidden? It had only been a matter of months, and already she was close to being discovered.
“Is your decision to help me contingent upon my marrying you?”
Now there was a look in his eyes she did not quite like. It was a determination that chilled her. Was he, too, after her fortune?
“You are not likely to find a better solution,” he said.
Rising from her chair, Delia said, “I need time to think.”
“I feel time is of the essence,” he said, his smile that of a kindly benefactor. “You would make a very satisfactory wife when the time comes.”
“Excuse me, sir. I must go think on this.”
Delia had a difficult night. Every impulse bade her to run away immediately before Lord Manchester could communicate with her uncle; to pawn her jewels and perhaps live in the Hebrides in a mud hut for the next five years. But as she hated the cold and the damp and had no idea how to go about pawning her jewels, she gave further thought to Mr. Aldercross’s proposition. She could not quite bring herself to refer to it as a proposal.
Could she bear to be married to Mr. Aldercross in a loveless marriage, while Major Lambeth lived just down the lane? She told herself that eventually he would inherit the property in Nottinghamshire. But as she understood it, that would not be until his uncle passed away. Possibly another ten years!
She tried to talk herself into the advantages of a marriage with her employer, but she was exhausted and finally fell asleep near dawn.
Sleeping heavily, she did not hear Mrs. Teasdale enter with her tray until she said gently, “Here Miss Haverley. I have brought you some tea and your post.”
Delia sat up groggily. Post? She was not expecting anything. She owed Permelia a letter. Her friend was in London now for the Little Season.
“Thank you, Mrs. Teasdale.”
“Lady Grenville has called. She will call once more in an hour’s time.”
Lady Grenville! Delia wished to crawl in a hole. What must the woman think of her? Sluggish and scarcely able to move, she drank her tea, her eyes falling on her letter. The writing was not Permelia’s. In fact, it looked rather masculine, and there was a note at the bottom in a contrasting hand. “Sorry for the delay, I just found this letter in my coat pocket. Worth.” It was postmarked London.
Her heart started to pound and she opened the letter with haste. The words written there surprised her exceedingly: It cannot have escaped your notice that I hold you in high esteem and deepest affection. You make my world bright.
You are correct about my suffering from melancholia, but what you perhaps do not understand is that you have the power to drive it from me. When I am in your presence, I feel that the world is not lost to darkness.
I sincerely hope that you are not yet promised to Mr. Aldershott. I should like the chance to prove to you that I can offer you a happy life.
I feel that we share many of the same desires for the future.
Yours truly,
Lord John Lambeth
Delia was stunned by the passionate message and flushed warmly from head to toe, holding the letter to her heart. This is what Lord John—for now she felt she could refer to him as such—had wanted to discuss with her when he called the other day and when he invited her to dinner! The letter had been written when he was in London, and someone had forgotten to post it.
We have hardly spoken, and yet, this is the next thing to a declaration.
But what did the man think of her now after witnessing her confrontation with Lord Manchester yesterday? Surely he thought her deceitful and unworthy. And even if he did not, there was no future ahead for them. She must leave before Lord Manchester communicated her whereabouts to her uncle.
But the missive made her decide one thing. She could not marry Mr. Aldershott and live down the lane from Lord John.
Carrying her tea over to her small desk, she pulled out some stationery and a quill and tried to think what she could write. It was a very hard decision. At length, because he had been so honest with her, she decided she must be the same.
Dear Lord John,
I only received the letter you sent from London this morning. Your sentiments were very welcome to me.
But you now know that I am not Miss Haverley, but Lady Cordelia Frensham. Let me explain my circumstances, if I may.
She told him of her parents’ death, her uncle’s cruelty, the arrangement with Lord Manchester, and her subsequent flight.
And now I must fly again. I would like nothing better than to stay here, but I am not the person you thought me to be, and I am in danger of being discovered by my uncle.
You have brought me moments of happiness over and above anything I have experienced since my dear family died.
I return your feelings for me, but my heart is heavy with sadness. I will always remember our dance in the yellow daisies.
Yours truly,
Lady Cordelia
Her heart hurt as she folded up the missive and sealed it with a wafer. She moved to the ewer and basin and washed herself.
Grenville Manor and those who lived there took on a golden aura in her mind. The happiness of Lord John’s brother and sister-in-law with their little brood of children was a reflection of what she had always wanted herself. The house spoke of gentle happiness. How refreshing and healing it must be to Lord John after his battle fatigue.
More than anything, she longed to be part of that little community. What would it feel like to be adored by such a man as Lord John? To indulge their passion and to have children with him? To live out the life he had expressed was his particular desire? She had thought it a futile dream, and it still was, but it meant something to her to know that he had dreamed something very like it himself.
Delia felt his melancholia would lessen the further away he got from the things that had so disturbed his mind on the Peninsula and at Waterloo, but it was a kind tribute to her that she had made a difference there.
After she dressed, it was scarcely a moment before Mrs. Teasdale came in to tell her that Lady Grenville had returned.
She trusted the
kind-natured woman. Was she aware of her brother-in-law’s feelings? Perhaps she would have some idea of how to proceed. She made her way downstairs.
Lady Grenville was in the yellow chintz sitting room, looking out the window at the burnished hues of the Aldershott autumn garden. She turned when Delia entered.
“My dear, I heard through my housekeeper that you were ill! I called to see how you did, and Mrs. Teasdale said you might be up to seeing me. Thank you so much for making the effort to come down. You must be feeling better.”
“It is very kind of you to come, my lady, I have had a shock and would be very glad if you would be so good as to offer me counsel.”
“Yes,” said Lady Grenville. “Whatever I can do, if it is but to listen.”
“I have not been forthright with you and your family. As Lord Manchester said, I am actually Lady Cordelia Frensham from Dorset. My father was the Earl of Sudbury, Gerald Frensham. Perhaps your husband is familiar with him. He was a noted Whig.” She paused for the lady’s response.
“Yes, even I have heard of Lord Sudbury. You say he has passed on?”
“A year and a half ago, he died unexpectedly, along with my mother. My brother died shortly thereafter.” Delia proceeded to relate the story of her life with her guardian/uncle, his arrangement with Lord Manchester, leading down to her present circumstances.
“Oh, my dear. What a gruesome time you have had. I am so very, very sorry! And now to have Lord Manchester here in the neighborhood!”
“Has Lord John said anything to you about yesterday?” Delia asked, her heart beating with trepidation. “I have a good reason for wanting to know. He had confessed by letter to having an admiration for me, before he heard Lord Manchester’s revelations. I am afraid he was somewhat shocked.”
Lady Grenville’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “That sly man. He has never mentioned a word. And all afternoon yesterday, he was out riding. I had no idea he even knew you, except as a guest at our dinner party!”
“We have not met many times, and do not know each other well. His letter surprised me as well.” Cordelia gave a little shrug. “It makes no difference now, I suppose.”
Grenville 02 - Lord John's Dilemma Page 15
