“In your room, Mamma?” He raised a quizzing eyebrow.
“Stupid, idiotish creature. At Broak. In England. Within an easy distance of your poor, abandoned mother!”
“O, as for that, I am back for good. In England, at least.”
“Truly? Lyn, I’m so pleased! But what do you mean to do?”
“Do, Mamma?” he teased.
“Don’t play games with me, boy. I know, if you do not, that you no more have the character to sit about and waste your time than your father did. But Richard had the estate to occupy him, and Jack has that now, so what do you mean to do?”
“Well, to tell the truth, Uncle Kelvin and I had a notion that a job in the government might suit me —”
“Politics, darling?” Lady Bradwell frowned. “But my dear, doesn’t that take a great deal of money? Or many connections.”
“It can take both, Mamma, and while I have a small amount of money and two or three connections — beyond my uncle, of course — I realize that I shall have to set myself up to find myself a niche and bide my time in gathering both the ready and the connections to advance in the party. Uncle Kelvin has given me some letters to submit to his friends in London, and I do have an advantage in that I have been abroad in A’Court’s retinue and have a good idea of what diplomacy on the continent has become since ’15.”
“Well, if it is what you want to do. All I can think of when you say politics is poor Georgiana Devonshire selling her kisses for Fox’s sake in the elections.”
“That was rather a while ago, ma’am, and I doubt that I shall ever attach a woman who will dispense kisses to the hoi polloi a-purpose to see me elected. In any case —” He rose. “I believe there is someone at the door.”
It was Rowena Cherwood. “Good evening, ma’am.” She smiled at her mistress with such obvious affection that Mr. Bradwell questioned his own assumptions regarding his mother’s companion. “I was wondering if I ought to tell Cook to set dinner back half an hour.”
“Was that the dressing bell?” Lady Bradwell asked in surprise.
“It was.”
“Then you must send Taylor in to help me dress. Lyn, I shall see you at dinner. If Miss Margaret Cherwood is downstairs, I wish you will introduce yourself to her. She’s the least bit shy, but she’s a very sweet little thing.”
“Margaret Cherwood?” Mr. Bradwell’s glance returned to Rowena with suspicion.
“My cousin,” she announced defiantly. “She came asking my help — some family matters, but your mamma was kind enough to offer her asylum.”
“A very romantical story, Lyn. If you see her, please entertain her until we can join you. She looks very much like Rowena, as a matter of fact.”
“Well, she looks much as I did when I was her age,” Miss Cherwood conceded. “Now, ma’am, do you intend to dress for dinner or no?”
“See, I am bullied shamelessly in my own house,” Lady Bradwell protested laughingly to her son. “Go along, darling. I shall see you below directly.”
Lyndon Bradwell left the room, another point against Miss Cherwood firmly entered in his books. Invite a strange cousin here to trespass on his mother’s hospitality? Even if the girl herself were unexceptionable, it betokened something of Miss Rowena’s attitude toward her position at Broak. Mr. Bradwell did not like it.
But when he made Margaret Cherwood’s acquaintance that evening (and she did look remarkably like her cousin, only younger, sweeter, and with an endearing shyness which he was certain Miss Rowena had never possessed) he was ready to rearrange his ideas once again. By the time Lady Bradwell, Lord Bradwell, and Miss Cherwood joined them in the small saloon, Mr. Bradwell and Miss Margaret considered themselves fast friends. Lady Bradwell, looking from Lyn to Margaret to Lyn, and then to Rowena, invited her silently to share in her matchmaking plot. Rowena returned the smile rather inscrutably, and comforted herself with the thought that at least Lady Bradwell, Margaret, and Lyndon Bradwell could be safely left to entertain each other while she attended to the business of Broak, and to the party. Lord Bradwell, of course, could be depended to settle himself with the grooms and keep from underfoot.
So, she thought, the Prodigal was home at last; the guest of honor would bless the company with his presence at the party, and all, finally, must be right with the world.
Chapter Three
Thankfully, at least in Miss Cherwood’s opinion, she was kept much too busy with the superintendence of minutiae, and Mr. Bradwell was much too occupied in entertaining his mother and Margaret with stories of Madrid and with reacquainting himself with his home, for them to meet much. When she thought of Lady Bradwell’s prodigal son at all, it was either to wonder how such a sweet-tempered parent could have raised such an objectionable son, or to reflect with thanks on how well Lyndon Bradwell, Lady Bradwell, and Margaret seemed to be going along. Having left Margaret with strict instructions that Lady Bradwell was on no account to overtax her strength or to strain her eyes, Rowena was able to turn her attention to the last pressing issues of silver, champagne, and iced cup.
Now and again Margaret, or Mr. Bradwell, or even, on one memorable occasion, Lord Bradwell, turned up at the office door inquiring if there were errands to be run. Margaret she dismissed with the admonition that the best thing she could do was to keep Lady Bradwell company; to Lyn Bradwell she said she would not hear of the guest of honor running errands for his own party; and when Lord Bradwell offered his assistance, Rowena went so far as to tell Lyn that the kindest effort he could make would be to keep his lordship out of the house and away from the office. Mr. Bradwell, after a moment’s surprise, agreed, and a few minutes later Rowena heard him unenthusiastically requesting his brother’s company for an hour’s ride.
Left alone with the last of her lists and the occasional company of Drummey, Mrs. Coffee, and the chief groom, Rowena was pleased to organize the final details of Lady Bradwell’s party into complete readiness.
Mounting the stairs to her room that evening to dress for the party, Rowena at last allowed herself some of the old, breathless anticipation before a party, amusing herself with outlandish images of hairstyles and ribbons. In her room she found her best evening dress, a silk muslin in lavender, lavishly sprigged in white, with worked flounces, a fichu of netted silk, and rows of tiny crystal beads at the low neck and sleeves. Frowning, Rowena rang for her maid.
“Ruth, I asked that the green muslin be laid out,” she began severely.
“So you did say, miss,” the girl agreed broadly. “But her lady said you was to wear the best you had, miss; called me special into her room to tell me so, and never you mind about that Miss Margaret, for her lady’s found her something ever so pretty,” the maid finished apologetically.
“Machinations behind my back! Well, I shall have to scold her for it, shan’t I?” Rowena said lightly. “Thank you, Ruth.”
Hot water was poured from the tin can into the basin; the fire was stirred up, and still the maid stood there, awkwardly. “Yes?” Rowena asked at last, wondering what was coming now.
“O, miss, do you think I could stay and help you dress? It ain’t just for me, like; I know I’m a clumsy sort, but I’ve three little sisters, and if I could tell ’em, on my next half-day —”
“That you helped me prepare for the ball?” Rowena asked with amusement. “Very well, you may stay if you like.” So when Miss Cherwood had done washing, and had skillfully applied a touch of Pomade of Roses to her cheeks, a light scattering of rice powder on her face, Ruth helped her to don the lavender gown, and brushed out her long, chestnut-brown hair. At last Rowena repossessed herself of the brush, and in a few quick motions twisted the bulk of her hair into an intricate pile atop her head, fastened in two amethyst combs, threw a light scarf across her shoulders, and declared that she was ready. Ruth, conscious of the honor done her, was lavish in her praise of Miss Cherwood’s appearance. Rowena laughed, thanked her, and dispatched her back to the servants’ hall. After one more cursory glance in the mirror, s
he left the room to join the party in the dining room.
Dinner was planned as a simple meal that evening, since supper would be served a few hours hence. Lady Bradwell, waiting with her sons and Margaret in the library (and Lady Bradwell had indeed found a charming gown for Margaret, although Rowena could not imagine how it had been done on such short notice), complimented both the Misses Cherwood on their appearance, and all went in to dinner in high spirits, to be entertained for the entire of the meal by one of Lord Bradwell’s interminable hunting stories.
Having organized the household for the party, Rowena now deferred to Lady Bradwell, who looked to be enjoying the office of hostess immensely. She and her sons stood at receiving for a short while, but the list of guests was not long enough to make that an arduous task, and the spirit of the evening was informal enough to allow them to cut the duty shorter still. On the arrival of her dear friend and long-absent neighbor Anne Ambercot, Lady Bradwell was content to sit and coze comfortably by the fire, adjured in search of Margaret Cherwood and which left Lord Bradwell to make his way to the library, where masculine noise proclaimed that the brandy was circulating.
Margaret was to be found with her cousin, and was in fact delivering a stern lecture. The effect of little Margaret scolding her tall cousin was much the same as a spaniel hectoring a mastiff, and Mr. Bradwell had to school himself to greet them both with equanimity.
“Rowena, I wish you will not be so goose-ish,” Miss Margaret was saying as he drew nearer. “You know that Lady Bradwell has told you that you were to enjoy yourself this evening; you have worked hard enough, after all. Now will you cease to act like such a — a —” She faltered.
“A companion, Meggy? It is, after all, what I am. I have a certain responsibility to Lady Bradwell, after all, and forgetting her is exactly what I ought not to do. Besides which, I really am beyond the age and the inclination to get myself up a flirtation.”
Margaret blushed. “I never suggested that, Renna! But Lady Bradwell strictly enjoined you —”
She was interrupted by Lyndon Bradwell. “I think Miss Margaret has the right of it, Miss Cherwood. This is not a formal party, after all, and we are not the sorts of toplofty gudgeons to deny you your evening’s jollification. You told me yesterday that I was the guest of honor at this fete. In that case I wish you will please me and join the throng like a sensible creature.” The words were spoken to Rowena, but it was at Margaret that he looked, and to Margaret that he offered his arm.
“In that case,” Rowena echoed, “I can hardly refuse. I shall follow you in and make myself — Good heavens, Lully Ambercot!”
Margaret and Mr. Bradwell regarded her with some amazement. They were joined a moment later by a gentleman who seemed quite as flabbergasted as Miss Cherwood.
“Renna Cherwood?” he asked in tones of disbelief. “It is! Does Mamma know you are here? And Jane and Lizzie? Good God, how long has it been?” He gave every indication of intending to give Rowena a most brotherly sort of bear hug, but she put out a hand and told him sternly that if he crushed her dress she would never forgive him.
“But do you know Mr. Bradwell?” she continued. The two gentlemen nodded cursorily. “And this is my cousin Margaret Cherwood. Ulysses Ambercot, Meggy.”
Margaret smiled. In fact, Margaret veritably sparkled at the tall, fair stranger with the brush of pale hair and strong, bony features. “How do you do, sir?”
Mr. Ambercot relinquished his hold on Rowena for a moment to take Margaret’s hand. “Better every minute, Miss Margaret, believe me.” Then, returning to Rowena, “But you must tell me where in thunderation you have been these — Lord knows how many years. And first, I must take you to see Mamma. You see her there, by the fire with Lady Bradwell.” Before Miss Cherwood could make more than a dip to Mr. Bradwell and her cousin, Mr. Ambercot had taken her hand in his arm and led her away.
“How do you come to know the Bradwells, Renna? You and that pretty cousin of yours?”
“I’m here as companion to Lady Bradwell, Lully.”
He stopped in his tracks. “A companion? You? Leaving aside the fact that I know you must be rolling in the blunt, Renna, I can’t imagine you cooped up when you could be having adventures like the old times.”
“Could I? My dear, the greatest amount of money in the world could not excuse the impropriety of my doing on my own as I was used to do with Mamma and Papa. Even if I engaged a veritable battalion of companion-chaperones I couldn’t travel as we used to do, and I should probably be bored to tears regardless of the adventures I had with a flock of old ladies chivying me.”
“Well, then, why ain’t you married with a parcel of brats? I thought I heard something about that several years back, when you were in Brussels, just before —” he paused.
“Just before Papa died? Why, yes, I was engaged to a very fine young lieutenant in the first Heavy Dragoons — the Royals. Fortunately, we agreed we should not suit, and jilted each other. That was just before Waterloo, and what might have been a nine-day wonder was swallowed up in all the confusion soon after.”
“And no one since? Rowena, you were on your way to becoming a real Diamond when I last saw you, and the bucks of St. James’s could hardly have ignored you —”
“Nor did they, when Mamma and I returned to London. But we were in mourning then, and in any case, what makes you think I wanted a buck of St. James’s? I simply never met anyone I wished to marry. I was abroad — where were we? Paris, I think, when I should have made my come-out and gone to Almack’s and all the rest, and somehow I never did. After Mamma died I lived with my Aunt Dorothea — Margaret’s mother — for a time, but what I saw in her household did not convince me of the virtues of the convenient marriage! And now, can you imagine how I would show to advantage among all the chits six or seven years younger than I at the assemblies? Margaret takes the wind all out of my sails, you know.”
“Nonsense,” he chaffed. “And how came you here?”
“I asked my man of business to find a situation for me, somewhere where I would be needed. It did seem, after all, somewhat better than playing ape-leader from my aunt’s house. But enough of that. Tell me, how is Auntie Anne?”
“If I am not mistaken,” Ambercot said wryly, “she and Lady Bradwell are busy making matches for all of us, and are quite happy at it, too. And see, there is Jane talking with Angelica Hardimann, and Eliza — O lord, Rowena, let me warn you about Eliza.”
“Warn me about her? Why, is she dangerous?”
“Not exactly. Just a plaguey nuisance. Since my aunt Berring took her to Bath for two months the chit’s been the most irritating piece of nature imaginable. Calls herself Lisette, or at very least Eliiii-zah, and thinks she can outshine a regular stunner at ten paces. And has assumed all the airs to go with it. Mamma thinks she’s amusing, and so too would I, I suppose, if I hadn’t the horrid notion that she shan’t outgrow it. Lizzie was always the most contrary chit.”
“Don’t brothers always think that of their sisters?” Rowena suggested.
“I don’t say anything of the sort about Jane. Lizzie’s too spoilt by half, if you ask me. M’father made a pet of her, if you recall. So if Lizzie starts to come the debutante with you, give her a proper setdown, I beg.”
“When have you ever known me to give anyone anything so odious as a setdown?” Miss Cherwood quizzed.
“Any number of times. You may have only been a scrawny thing of fourteen when last I saw you, Rowena, but damme if you hadn’t the presence of a dowager in purples even then. And I seem to recall a remarkable proficiency in the profanities of the French and Spanish tongues.” They had begun to move toward Lady Bradwell and Mrs. Ambercot again, and the latter, suddenly recognizing in Rowena the precocious, coltish girl she had last seen a dozen years before, broke off her chattering to call her son to her.
“Rowena Cherwood, is that truly you?”
“I must suppose so, ma’am,” Miss Cherwood replied, bending to kiss the older woman affectionately.
“Rowena, you never told me you knew the Ambercots!” Lady Bradwell accused.
“I don’t believe I ever thought of it, ma’am. If you recall, you never told me that you knew them either.”
“I must have mentioned Jane to you, telling you about Jack.”
“I believe you did, but only as that Dear Jane... with a sigh at the end of it. For a fact, I’ve known the Ambercots all my life: My father’s seat in Cambridgeshire marched on their house there, and I grew up tormenting Mr. Ambercot and his sisters.”
“No, I beg to correct you!” Ulysses Ambercot insisted. “It was only me you tormented. Jane and Lizzie you seemed to like well enough —”
“Eliza was much too young to play with you hoyden children then,” Mrs. Ambercot interrupted her son’s accusations repressively. “But my dearest child, you look absolutely beautiful! And very much like your papa.”
“Do you think so, ma’am? Aunt Dorothea was wont to say that I hadn’t a trace of Cherwood looks in me, or —”
“Exactly the sort of thing I should have expected from Dorothea Cherwood. A dreadful woman. Ulysses, fetch Jane to me; I’m sure she will want to make her curtsies to Rowena after all these years.” Mr. Ambercot acceded gracefully to the command, made his bow, and went in search of his sister. “Renna, my dear, there was a time when your mamma and I had such plans for you and Ulysses, and indeed, if I thought it would make you happy I would join your hands myself and carol ‘Bless You My Children’ with a will to it.”
“But it wouldn’t fadge in the least,” Lady Bradwell objected firmly.
“Don’t you mind her, Auntie Anne. She wants me for Lord Bradwell,” Miss Cherwood teased. “But she is right. I like Lully too well to marry him.”
“O, I gave up that dream some time ago; I think it was when you pushed Lully into the punch bowl at the Christmas party such a long time ago. I surmised in an instant that Lully simply wasn’t up to your weight. O drat!”
Madeleine Robins Page 3
