Two Corinthians

by Carola Dunn

Now that she was on her own, she found she did feel a little shaky in reaction to the narrowly escaped danger. She lay down on her bed for a few minutes, but it was colder indoors than out and she soon grew restless.

  Reluctantly she recognised that it would be rude to retreat again to her gardening; she ought to change her gown and go down. She looked through her wardrobe with a dissatisfied eye, then laughed at herself. Let only a gentleman display a chivalrous regard for her safety and she immediately wanted to dress up to impress him, like any young miss on the catch for a husband. She did not even like Lord Pomeroy particularly.

  All the same, she put on her best lavender merino.

  In her absence there had been an addition to the company. A young man lounged against the chimneypiece in a carefully casual pose. Claire was transfixed by his salmon pink coat and pale peach pantaloons, which disappeared into matching boots with silver tassels. For a moment she did not even notice the ermine waistcoat.

  Lord Pomeroy moved to her side. “I believe you met my cousin Harrison last night, Miss Sutton,” he said suavely.

  Mr Harrison bowed. Claire winced as he narrowly avoided putting out his eyes with his shirtpoints.

  “I say, deuced happy to see you again, Miss Sutton,” he assured her, waving a negligent hand to the imminent peril of a Dresden shepherdess on the mantel. “Fine day, what? Thought I'd drive m'sister over and see what Bertram's up to."

  Claire realised that the inconspicuous Miss Harrison was seated by Lady Sutton. Her ladyship wore the gloating expression of a terrier shaking a rat, while the girl looked frightened half out of her wits.

  “Good-day, Miss Harrison.” Claire felt obliged to extricate the poor child from the interrogation. “It is kind in you to visit us when you spent yesterday travelling. I daresay you would like some exercise after being cooped up in a carriage. Do you care to take a stroll in the gardens?"

  It was the only escape she could think of; she hoped Lord Pomeroy would not think her utterly lacking in sensibility to suggest returning so soon to the scene of their alarming adventure.

  “Always best to get back on your horse at once if you're thrown,” he murmured approvingly in her ear.

  Mr Harrison also approved. “Allow me to escort you, ma'am,” he said offering his arm. “Bertram, daresay you will give your arm to m'sister."

  For the first time Claire saw open emotion on Lord Pomeroy's face. He looked harried.

  Chapter VI—Lizzie

  “Shall we go, too?” Lizzie proposed to Lord Winterborne as Claire sent her a pleading glance.

  “You are not fatigued after walking to the village already this morning?"

  “I am not so poor a creature!"

  “Then by all means let us go, if you feel able to control your levity so as not to embarrass Mr Harrison. I must warn you that it will not be easy. Gardens are notoriously dirty places and God forbid he should soil those boots."

  “Pink leather!” Lizzie dissolved in giggles again. Her mother looked at her in suspicion. She tugged on his sleeve, hurrying him after the others before Lady Sutton could demand to know the source of her indecorous mirth.

  As they left the house, her father approached from the stables and hailed Lord Winterborne. “A word with you, my lord. If you will just step into my office, I won't take but a moment of your time."

  “But I am presently squiring your daughter,” pointed out his lordship coolly. “Later perhaps. You were saying, Miss Lizzie?"

  Sir James looked thoroughly disconcerted. He nodded, and muttered, “Later then."

  Without a backward glance, Lizzie and Lord Winterborne strolled on.

  “Famous!” she crowed, scarcely managing to keep her voice low. “Perhaps that will convince Papa that his daughters exist. I wish you were my father, sir."

  It was his lordship's turn to look disconcerted. “I am not quite old enough for that honour,” he assured her with a show of indignation.

  Lizzie regarded him thoughtfully. “No, I beg your pardon, of course you are not. And Mama considers you of a suitable age to be my suitor. Perhaps the same sort of gentleman I should like to have for a father would make a good husband?"

  “Undoubtedly. Would it serve to remind you that I am not yet in my dotage if you were to call me George?"

  “But you are a peer!"

  “Not I. My father is a peer, true, but I am a mere commoner until I inherit, which I pray may be many years hence."

  “Truly? I expect Mama explained it to me once, for she sets great store by such things, but I do not often listen to her. Claire taught me better. I wonder where she is? I know she wanted me to help her entertain the Harrisons."

  “They must have turned a different way. What do you mean when you say that she taught you better than to listen to your mother?"

  “I had not thought you slow witted!” said Lizzie, surprised. “You have heard how Mama browbeats Claire. She endured eight years of such treatment before I was born and even then, though she was just a little girl, she vowed that I should not suffer so. You see, Papa wanted a boy. He blamed Mama when his first child was a girl, and she retaliated against Claire."

  “So Claire tried to teach you to ignore Lady Sutton's reprimands."

  “Yes, and she succeeded very well for though Mama irritates me, nothing she says hurts me. It is otherwise with Claire. For too many years she had no defence. If you were forever being told you were plain and totally lacking in countenance and charm, would you not be shy? And then Mama forced her to have a Season and blamed her for not attracting any offers. Now she is using that as an excuse to deny me a Season, which is why she is so anxious that I should bring you up to scratch."

  “If she hears you calling me George, she will suppose me upon the point of a declaration."

  “Yes, so I will do it. And you will call me Lizzie, of course. How surprised she will be when you leave without making an offer! She will scarce find time to ring a peal over me, though, for Claire and I shall go to London soon."

  “Your sister has conquered her distaste for Society, then."

  “Not really, but she will do it for my sake. After her dreadful Season, she developed a sort of shield of absent-mindedness. And then her godmother left her enough money to escape from the family altogether. She has found life easier since, though she has stayed to keep me company."

  “Still waters run deep,” said George obscurely. “I was sure that there was more to Miss Sutton than met the eye."

  “Claire is the most wonderful person in the whole world,” Lizzie assured him. “I would do anything for her. I mean to get married as soon as possible so that she can retire to her Bumble's Green house and grow roses in peace."

  “You don't hope to find a husband for your sister, then?"

  Lizzie looked at George in surprise. “I never thought of the possibility! What a selfish ninnyhammer I am! Just because she thinks herself on the shelf and with Mama always calling her an ape leader, I never considered it. Only, she really is shy,” she added anxiously, “and she says herself that her Season was disastrous. Do you think she can overcome that?"

  “She will need help and encouragement."

  “I shall help and encourage her! And you will too, will you not? You do like her, don't you?” Lizzie awaited his answer with bated breath. If he did not like Claire, she could not be friends with him, and he was a most comfortable person to talk to. She had never met anyone she liked better. Perhaps Mama was right for once and he would make her a good husband. He was not so very much older.

  “I am beginning to conceive a great admiration for Miss Sutton,” he said thoughtfully. “Yes, I will help you. How expert you are at drawing me into your schemes! You know, I believe this one also is best kept secret, if you can keep a secret from your sister."

  “If it is to her benefit.” Lizzie fell silent, pondering his advice.

  They were strolling along a path bounded on one side by a hedge. Now they heard voices on the other side of the hedge, and as they drew closer to
the speakers they recognised Mr Harrison's.

  “The young ‘un's a pretty chit,” he said, “but Cousin Caroline mentioned it's the old maid has the rhino."

  Lord Pomeroy's voice followed, in a tone of icy contempt. “If I find you have made improper advances to either young lady..."

  “No, no, assure you, coz. I know it don't do to treat respectable young women like serving wenches."

  “Your manners towards serving wenches leave a great deal to be desired."

  “There's no need to comb my hair with a joint stool.” Mr Harrison sounded injured. “It's marriage I mean by Miss Sutton. She may be an antidote, but the dibs are in tune and I can tell you, coz, I'm deep in Dun Territory."

  Bursting with indignation, Lizzie did not hear Lord Pomeroy's response to this confession. George managed to hush her so that her outrage emerged as a hiss instead of the screech she had intended.

  “What an odious, odious man!"

  “Deplorable,” agreed George.

  “I must warn Claire to beware of him for I expect he is quite unscrupulous, whatever he claims. The trouble is, I daresay if I do she will think everyone who courts her is only after her money. I think I will not tell her. I shall just have to keep an eye on him myself. I don't suppose you...?"

  “I am yours to command, ma'am,” he sighed. “I shall endeavour to put a spoke in Horrid Horace's wheel."

  “Splendid! I know she will be quite safe with you to look after her. You are prodigious obliging, my lord."

  “George, remember?” He looked down at her, smiling, but with a disturbing glint in his eye.

  “You are prodigious obliging, George,” she said obediently, as they rounded the end of the hedge.

  Lord Pomeroy and Mr Harrison were moving towards Claire and Miss Harrison, who stood looking at a flowerbed.

  “Whatever happened to the crocuses?” Lizzie enquired. “They were so pretty and now they are crushed into the ground."

  “I was just telling Miss Harrison,” said Claire. She repeated the tale of the escaped stallion and Lord Pomeroy's swift, courageous actions.

  His lordship came up in time to hear her last few words. Lizzie turned to him, reached up on tiptoe and planted a hearty kiss on his cheek.

  "Thank you, my lord,” she breathed, blue eyes shining.

  Lord Pomeroy crimsoned, losing his usual air of imperturbability. “It was nothing,” he said gruffly, looking more embarrassed than gratified. “What an impulsive child you are!"

  “No more impulsive in expressing my gratitude than you were in saving Claire, for you cannot have had time to think with Papa's stallion bearing down upon you. And I am not a child."

  “Which makes your behaviour the less excusable,” pointed out Lord Pomeroy.

  Lizzie saw that Claire was distressed by this spirited exchange.

  “I apologise, my lord,” she said with stiff dignity, which was spoiled when she added, “I did not realise that gentlemen were so averse to being kissed."

  Mr Harrison snickered, George shouted with laughter, and Lord Pomeroy was surprised into a chuckle.

  “It depends who is doing the kissing,” he said wickedly. When she pouted, he added, “Come, let us cry friends, Miss Elizabeth. I cannot be heroically rescuing one sister and coming to cuffs with the other on the same morning. It is too exhausting by far."

  Lizzie was incapable of holding a grudge. She took his offered arm, noting as she did so that Mr Harrison was scowling at her. As they strolled on she mentioned this to her companion.

  “Cousin Horace is as eager as Aunt Dorothy for me to marry poor Amelia,” he explained wryly. “He imagines that while I might let a mere cousin sink in the River Tick, I am more likely to feel obliged to haul my wife's brother out."

  “Would you?"

  He raised his eyebrows at this. “Pray do not take offence again, ma'am, but you have a devilish blunt tongue!"

  “And you ought not to use that word in the presence of a lady."

  "Touché," he acknowledged, grinning.

  “I suppose it was an impertinent question,” she admitted. “However, if you did not want me to ask, you ought not to have told me about Horrid Horace."

  “You are quite right, very bad ton washing the family linen in public,” he said, with a puzzled frown, “and I cannot think why I did. Still, you deserve an answer, though it will scarce enlighten you. Since I have not the remotest intention of paying my addresses to Amelia, I see no need to make a decision as to Horrid Horace's fate."

  “You are quite nice when you are not on your high ropes. Poor Amelia. I expect I had better look about for a husband for her as well."

  “As well?"

  “As well as for myself,” she said hastily. Somehow she did not want to explain to Lord Pomeroy that she intended to try to find a suitor for Claire.

  “I predict that it will not prove a difficult task to find a husband for you, provided you manage to keep your candour under control!"

  Lizzie decided that this was the nearest she was likely to come to a compliment from Lord Pomeroy, so she accepted it gracefully. “I shall be more careful in Town,” she said, then added with the devastating forthrightness he had just warned against, “You see, I should hate to disgrace Claire, but I do not mind in the least if people think Mama has brought me up badly."

  To her delight, though he shook his head he laughed aloud.

  Later, on the way back to the house, she whispered triumphantly to Claire, “I made him laugh aloud! He is human after all."

  This opinion was confirmed some time after Lord Pomeroy and his cousins took their leave. Alfie bashfully approached Lizzie and Claire and thrust at each of them a small package wrapped in brown paper.

  “Open now,” he urged, his face pink with excitement. “Presents."

  Each parcel contained a pair of gloves of York tan leather, warm and practical yet elegant. Before Lizzie could voice her fear that Alfie must have stolen them, he was eagerly explaining.

  “Mr Lord give me money,” he said. “When I tell Miss Claire ‘bout big horse. I want to buy presents for my misses, di'n't know what to get, so axed Mr Lord. He di'n't mind, Miss Claire, honest. He went to the village with me an’ help me choose. Said gloves is un—unceptable present for a young lady. They all right? All right, Miss Lizzie?"

  “Perfect, Alfie,” Lizzie assured him, trying them on. “Look, they fit beautifully."

  “Thank you, dear Alfie,” said Claire. “His lordship was right, they are quite unexceptionable and most welcome."

  Alfie went off with a spring in his step, and they turned to each other.

  “I saw these in the shop last week and coveted them,” said Lizzie, “but I decided they were too expensive. How much did he give Alfie?"

  “A shilling, I think. Lord Pomeroy must have paid the difference himself. Oh dear! He commented on my bare hands this morning!"

  “It was prodigious kind of him,” Lizzie said decisively, “both to Alfie and to us. You will not insist upon returning them?"

  “No, I suppose not. Gloves are truly an unexceptionable gift from a gentleman to a lady, though it is perhaps a little premature after such a short acquaintance. But do we thank him for them, or pretend Alfie really bought them? What a dear creature Alfie is, to think of us. A shilling is a rare treat to him, after all."

  “I shall embroider a neckerchief for Alfie. And I shall most certainly thank his lordship, for I suspect it will embarrass him which will be excessively amusing."

  “How can you in one breath praise his kindness and in the next plan to embarrass him?” marvelled Claire. “I wish you will not."

  Lizzie refused to be persuaded and went up to change for dinner feeling pleased with herself.

  For a wonder, her mother was pleased with her as well. She bustled into the girls’ chamber looking smug.

  “You are managing them both very nicely, Elizabeth. I scarcely hoped that Lord Pomeroy would call on you so soon! That Harrison child is quite out of the running. There is n
othing to recommend her at all, for she has no beauty and no countenance and I understand the family is quite to pieces. This competition between the gentlemen is most fortunate, but you must make a push to attach one of them soon, for there is no knowing how long they will stay."

  “What do you suggest, Mama?” asked Lizzie. “Shall I trap one of them into compromising me?"

  “Don't be vulgar, miss. All the same, there are ways to go about it without being obvious. Tomorrow we shall call upon Lady Caroline. Contrive to keep both of them tied to your apron strings until one comes up to scratch. Lord Winterborne is the better catch, of course, but Lord Pomeroy is not to be sneezed at."

  “I should not dream of sneezing at Lord Pomeroy, Mama,” Lizzie assured her. As Lady Sutton departed, satisfied, she added softly, “For teasing is much more fun!"

  It was raining next day when the Sutton ladies set out to visit Lady Caroline. Despite the weather, Lord Winterborne chose to accompany them, riding beside the carriage. Adducing this as proof that Lizzie had hooked his lordship, Lady Sutton was in a high good humour. She prattled on about ways to incite a gentleman to jealousy without giving him a disgust of one, until Lizzie could have screamed with vexation.

  She was beginning to think that if one must use such underhand wiles to win a husband, she had rather do without one altogether.

  The warmth of Lady Caroline's welcome formed a strong contrast with Lady Harrison's frosty greeting. At least, Lizzie noted, Lady Caroline welcomed herself and her sister warmly, while Lady Harrison thawed visibly at George's approach. She watched with interest the stratagems employed by the three older ladies, the end result of which was that George found himself in a tête-à-tête with the silent Miss Harrison, Lord Pomeroy and Claire were sent to the book-room to find a first edition of Gerard's Herball, and Lizzie herself was left without an admirer to hand.

  Pleased to see her mother outmanoeuvred, she settled quite happily on a comfortable sofa and pulled out some embroidery from her reticule.

  She was close enough to the ladies to hear their speech, yet far enough that they did not mind their tongues because of the presence of an unmarried girl. At first she was bored by a discussion of household matters. She had stopped listening, when she heard her own name.