CHAPTER VI
Maria had often been struck by the different outlook brought about by a removal for a time to another place among fresh company. One had only to travel a few miles away and step into a different environment, and at once all those matters which seemed of so much importance at home receded into the background.
She was relieved to find that her grandparents, unlike her Mama, were not disposed to talk about her matrimonial prospects. They were, of course, well informed on that subject, for anyone related to Lady Cottesford could hardly be otherwise; but they remained undazzled. In their view, a young man who took so long over his courtship could not be as ardent a suitor as they desired for a very dear granddaughter; and privately they considered that her prospects of happiness would be greater with a gentleman of more compatibility of temperament, even though he might lack some of the worldly advantages Viscount Shaldon could offer.
They knew of such a gentleman.
He was the Reverend Theodore Somerby, curate of their parish and the son of an old and respected family friend who was now deceased. Mr. Somerby was twenty-six years of age, a graduate of Oxford University, where he had been a gifted classical scholar, and moreover he was well connected, even if only through a junior branch of a noble family.
“To be sure, he has only a modest private income,” said Mrs. Reddiford to her husband, “but what does that signify when Maria has fortune enough already for both, not to speak of what we shall have to leave her, as we’ve no other grandchild?”
Mr. Reddiford was heard to say that he hoped that would not be for some time yet, as he had no immediate plans for shuffling off this mortal coil.
“Well, no, of course not, my love, but that is beside the point.”
“I cannot agree with you there. It seems very much the point to me, however it may affect our granddaughter.”
“Oh, you will have your little jest! But pray be serious for a moment — do you consider Theodore’s lack of fortune a serious disadvantage? He will obtain preferment in time, you know — he may even become a Bishop.”
“Even so, he would be unlikely to enjoy an income anything comparable to what young Shaldon’s will be when he inherits,” said Mr. Reddiford, smiling at her optimism.
“You really are the most tiresome man! But in spite of Viscount Shaldon’s indisputable worldly advantages, I know you think as I do that our darling girl would be better suited with Theodore. I declare I’ve no patience with Kate! She seems quite overcome at the notion of seeing Maria a Countess one day, so that every other consideration goes by the board. It’s very well to be a Countess, I’m sure, but the present Lady Alvington doesn’t appear to have much joy of it! And I’ve managed tolerably well without it, I must say, though of course,” with a teasing smile at him, “there didn’t happen to be an Earl in the running when you offered for me. Things might have been different if such had been the case.”
Mr. Reddiford, remembering the shared youthful passion which had enabled him to carry his lady off from under the noses of several highly eligible suitors, and which had not worn too badly with time, chucked her under the chin.
“Very true, my love. I always knew I was a lucky fellow. Well, if you’re determined to set about matchmaking, I must let you have your head, I suppose. The only thing is” — he hesitated for a moment — “it did seem to me that the girl herself was rather taken in that quarter. Not much to be done, if that’s so.”
“Well, we shall see. And as Theodore dines here with us frequently in the normal course of things, there will be nothing out of the way in his being invited to join the evening parties I intend to arrange for her entertainment during her stay. Nothing formal, you know, just the kind of neighbourly affair you so much enjoy, only that this time I shall include the younger members of those families who are on visiting terms with us.”
Mrs. Reddiford lost no time in carrying out her intentions, and invitations were sent out to four or five families in the neighbourhood, comprising about twenty-five guests. The date given was for the fourth day after the Reddifords’ return home with their granddaughter; but barely two hours after a groom had been despatched to the various houses with the invitations, a young lady presented herself breathlessly at the garden door of the Reddifords’ house.
Without stopping to knock, she pushed open the door and gave a perfunctory wipe to her soiled half boots of blue jean on the mat provided for that purpose, before rushing along the passage with unladylike haste in the direction of the morning parlour. Having reached it, she burst in, startling Mrs. Reddiford, who was seated alone there at a writing desk.
“Good heavens!” exclaimed the lady, half-starting from her chair. Then, recognising the unexpected and unannounced visitor with pleasure, she rose fully to extend a hand in welcome. “Oh, it’s you, Amanda! How very nice to see you! But, my dear child—” taking in the dishevelled state of the young lady’s hair, her flushed cheeks, and the liberal daubs of mud on her petticoats and boots, “but what in the world have you been doing to yourself?”
Amanda Paxton, who had been in and out of the Reddifords’ house for most of her nineteen years, grinned engagingly, sparing the briefest of glances for her soiled attire.
“Oh, I came across the fields,” she said, airily. “It was quicker than bothering to get my mare saddled and coming by the lane, but I forgot how muddy it would be. I beg your pardon, ma’am, for startling you, and I’m afraid my boots,” looking ruefully at some marks on the Aubusson carpet, “are not really fit. I do hope—”
She looked doubtfully towards the older woman, but Mrs. Reddiford only laughed and bade her sit down. Amanda, whose manners were good in spite of her unconventional ways, thanked her hostess as she complied.
“You see,” she explained, “no sooner did Mama get your note saying that Maria was here, than I simply had to come that very moment to see her! It’s an age since we’ve met, and though we correspond fairly regularly, letters are not at all the same thing, are they, ma’am?”
Mrs. Reddiford agreed that indeed they were not, and informed Amanda that she would find Maria walking in the shrubbery, if she cared to venture out of doors again.
“Like you, she was tempted out by the sunshine, my dear. But if you’re tired already by your exercise, I’ll send for her here.”
Amanda was on her feet in a moment.
“Oh, no, Mrs. Reddiford, indeed I am never tired by walking — at least, not by half a mile across fields, which is all it is! Pray excuse me, ma’am, for I can’t wait to see Maria!”
Mrs. Reddiford smiled tolerantly as the girl dashed from the room. What a madcap she was, and yet such a dear girl, too — always ready to do a good turn for anybody, and especially thoughtful for the welfare of the poor in their neighbourhood, assisting her mother in many small acts of charity when she might have been spending her time in the more frivolous pursuits favoured by most young ladies. Not that Miss Amanda Paxton did not have her frivolous side; it was not many years since she had been getting up to all manner of tomboy tricks with those irrepressible brothers of hers, now mercifully — though possibly not for their tutors — away at University.
The two young ladies had not met since the preceding Spring, so naturally there was a great deal of news to be exchanged and anecdotes to be related. But presently Amanda, who was far more perceptive than her ebullient manner might lead people to suppose, saw that her usually lively friend was at present lacking in spirits.
She challenged Maria with this. “You may as well tell me, you know, just what’s the matter, because then you’ll feel a little better, at any rate. We never have had any secrets from each other — that is, not unless you count that time when you wouldn’t tell me — oh, you know!” She broke off and turned a little pink.
Maria looked puzzled, but only for a moment. Then she laughed.
“Oh, yes, that! But you are fifteen months my junior, and were still too young at the time. Besides, I would have been in a puzzle how to explain. I’m sure
your Nurse made a far better mentor than I could have done, at barely thirteen years of age.”
“Well, perhaps so, but I knew there was something you were keeping from me, even then! And I know it now, so you’d best open your budget, as you can’t well claim that I’m too young for any confidence at nineteen, now can you?”
Maria acknowledged the truth of this. She had stayed frequently with her grandparents during childhood and adolescence, and Amanda Paxton had been her constant companion during these visits. She had come to regard the younger girl almost as a sister, sharing a closer friendship with her than with any other girl of her acquaintance. Although several of her friends at home were aware that there was some kind of understanding between herself and Viscount Shaldon, she had confided to none of them the exact state of her feelings for that gentleman. It was a relief to be able to open her heart to someone and to be sure of a sympathetic hearing.
“And you say he hasn’t yet offered for you?” asked Amanda, at the conclusion of these revelations. “That’s very odd, surely, since there’s no parental opposition on either side?”
“I think so, too, Mandy. Sometimes I believe it’s because Papa insisted that Lord Shaldon must give me time to ascertain my true feelings towards him. That is why I — well, I have tried lately to show him that I’m not indifferent to him.” Amanda nodded. “But either I am not very expert in the business of encouraging a suitor, or else he is prodigiously diffident, for it seems not to succeed at all in bringing him to the point. And sometimes I believe” — she broke off and sighed heavily — “that he does not care for me at all, and is only courting me to oblige his father. You’ve met the Earl during your visits to my home. You know what a forceful man he is, and how all his family is under his thumb.”
“Yes, indeed. He’s the greatest beast in Nature!” exclaimed Amanda, not mincing her words. “And I must say, from what I recollect of his son when he was a boy — though I haven’t seen him for some years — he always seemed terrified of his father. But he is a man now, and things must be very different, surely?”
“I’m not certain of that. A habit of frightened subservience is not so easily broken, and I’ve observed many signs in Lord Shaldon of a wish to avoid any controversy with his father. To tell you the truth,” another sigh, “I don’t know what to think.”
Amanda was silent for some moments, which she occupied in thoughtfully kicking at a small stone which lay in her path, to the detriment of her footwear. “And the crux of the matter is, that you do not choose to wed a man who don’t love you,” she stated baldly, at last.
“No — at least, I’m not sure,” replied Maria, hesitantly. “Do you think, Mandy — is it possible, do you suppose, that love can come after marriage? If there is affection on one side, I mean. Does love engender love? Sometimes I think that I have enough for both of us,” she concluded, in a burst of emotion.
Amanda seized her hand and squeezed it. “No one could live with you and not love you!” she declared loyally. “And if he’s as much under his father’s domination as you say, then he must have had a wretched time of it at home. It’s enough to dry up all one’s natural feelings! But once he has his own establishment, with a loving wife and no one to vex him, there’s no saying what a difference that will make!”
“Well, you may be right. But it’s nothing to the purpose, since he still holds off from a declaration.”
“If only you could put yourself in a position of some danger, and he could rescue you!” exclaimed Amanda, who was incurably romantic. “That would do the trick. Now what can we think of?”
In spite of herself, Maria had to laugh. “Oh, Mandy, what a child you are!”
“Well, I’m all for doing something, you know,” answered Amanda, a trifle aggrieved. “Not just sitting wringing my hands and crying ‘Woe!’ like the heroine in one of those dreary Greek plays Mr. Somerby is so fond of. That reminds me,” she went on, following a new train of thought, “you haven’t met Mr. Somerby yet, have you? He is our new curate. He’s been to dine at our house several times, and I like him extremely. He’s not in the least bit stuffy, as clergymen so often are. And when I got my sash caught up so that the end fell in my soup, he removed it with the greatest presence of mind and wiped it on his napkin, before Mama could notice what had happened!”
They both laughed heartily over this anecdote, and the previous topic was allowed to lapse for the moment.
Maria did meet Mr. Somerby at her grandmother’s evening party and found him every bit as agreeable as Amanda had suggested. He was a tall young man with very blond hair, blue eyes that were for the most part serious but could produce a sudden twinkle, and a smile of unexpected sweetness. He had a wide conversational range, switching from small neighbourhood affairs to topics of more general interest according to the company he happened to be with at the moment, in a way perhaps necessary to a clergyman. His sincerity in all he said was evident; and if he never gave offence, Maria sensed that it was out of consideration for his listeners’ feelings rather than because he feared to speak his mind for more hypocritical reasons. Indeed, she thought that had it ever been necessary for him to take a firm stand on a matter of principle, he would not have hesitated to do so. While they were together, they talked chiefly of literature and music; although he spoke once of the recent upheaval in France, and she could see that his imagination had been fired, like that of many another young Englishman, by the ideas of liberty and equality which were abroad. Being of an enquiring turn of thought herself, she found his company stimulating; and it crossed her mind more than once that she could never have discussed such subjects with Viscount Shaldon.
Amanda, too, seemed to find pleasure in his company whenever he chanced to be in conversation with her. Knowing Amanda as she did, Maria realised that the madcap girl had a good head on her shoulders and was quite capable on occasions of sustaining a rational discourse with credit. Her somewhat disconcerting habit of coming out now and then with some frank comment, far from giving offence to the gentleman, seemed to provide him with added zest for their discussion. His smile was much in evidence while Miss Paxton was by his side; and Maria, perhaps unduly sensitive to such things at present, fancied that when the young lady moved away, his expression dimmed for a little while afterwards.
Maria was already well acquainted with most of her grandparents’ neighbours, even though she met them at infrequent intervals, so it was not surprising that she found herself invited out a great deal. The season of Christmas festivities was only just over, and no one seemed reluctant to begin all over again. There were morning calls, tea drinkings, dinners and evening parties; and as one followed another, Maria found her former obsessive preoccupation with her own troubles gradually fading for the moment into the background. It was not that she loved Viscount Shaldon any less. At times, alone in her bedchamber, his image would come before her mind’s eye, bringing with it a surge of wild longing. But during the day, at any rate, she could forget about him for a space, throwing herself wholeheartedly into the diversions of the moment.
Amanda was of great service in this. She saw her friend almost every day, full of gay chatter about yesterday’s evening party at the Mersons’ or the Veryans’; or bringing the latest copy of the Lady’s Magazine to pore over the fashion plates with Maria; or perhaps to walk in the shrubbery, if the day was fine and not too cold, and talk quietly on some of the more serious topics that Maria enjoyed discussing. But they did not speak again of Viscount Shaldon except once, when Amanda asked if her friend had heard from him since being away. When Maria simply shook her head in answer, Amanda said no more. In her wisdom she realised that there could be no profit in returning to the subject unless the initiative came from Maria. All had been said that could be said; and the unburdening had, she knew, brought great relief to her friend.
The relief was so welcome that, as week succeeded week, Maria found herself putting off a return to her own home. Letters from her mother told her of Viscount Shaldon’s contin
ued absence; perhaps he, too, was not sorry for a respite from his protracted courtship.
It was after she had been three weeks with her grandparents that she began to suspect a plot to throw the Reverend Theodore Somerby in her way. He was present at most of the social engagements to which she was bidden in the neighbours’ houses, besides being always asked to those held in her grandparents’ home. In addition, the Reddifords were most pressing to him to take his pot luck with them at any other time when they chanced not to be dining out themselves; and on these occasions, Maria began to notice how she and the young clergyman were left for long periods to converse together while her grandparents looked on contentedly, saying little or nothing themselves. She had no objection to the arrangement, as she enjoyed his company; but she was puzzled by their behaviour.
Thinking that perhaps she was mistaken in her conclusions, she broached the subject to Amanda one day.
“Is it usual, Mandy, for Mr. Somerby to be so frequently with my grandparents? It seems to me that he is invited here so often, he can scarce have time to discharge his clerical duties in the parish.”
Amanda wrinkled her brow thoughtfully. “Well, as you know, he’s the son of a very close friend, and they’ve always made him welcome ever since he arrived. But, no, now you mention it, I don’t believe they were used to invite him quite so frequently as lately. Why do you ask?”
“Just a notion that came into my head — quite likely a stupid one,” replied Maria, dismissing the subject.
But she had aroused her friend’s curiosity now, and Amanda had no intention of leaving it unsatisfied.
“What kind of notion?” she persisted.
Maria shrugged. “The thing is, if I did not know they were fully aware of the way in which matters stand between Lord Shaldon and myself, I would think — Oh, but it must be nonsense, of course!”
A Regency Scandal Page 7
