Rivals of Fortune / The Impetuous Heiress

by Jane Ashford

  “Yes,” Peter was saying, “just got in last night. The house is hardly ready, but Adrienne—we all—wanted to come right down.”

  “I think servants must be made to see, as soon as possible, what is expected of them when a change is made,” added Adrienne. “Don’t you agree, Mrs. Rowntree?”

  “It is always wise to be open,” replied the latter coldly. Joanna marveled at her mother’s politely distant manner. “You are established in the country for some time then?” continued the hostess.

  “Oh, yes,” answered Adrienne quickly. “The household will require a great deal of work. Bachelors never know how to manage servants.” She looked at Peter from under lowered lashes, and he both smiled and seemed to wince.

  “You also will be staying with us, Sir Rollin?” asked Mrs. Rowntree, trying to draw the third guest into the conversation.

  “I don’t quite know,” he responded in a deep resonant voice. “My plans are not fixed. In fact, I must take some of the blame for disturbing you tonight. Peter has told us so much about your charming family, you see, that I insisted we call straightaway. My visit may be cut short, so I wished to make your acquaintance as soon as possible.” He smiled again. Joanna was suddenly reminded of the cook’s cat, a ferocious beast, though she couldn’t think why.

  “You are going to your own house perhaps,” said Joanna’s mother, without marked enthusiasm.

  Sir Rollin made an airy gesture. “Most probably not. I shall go to Brighton at some point. Prinny expects me to dance attendance during the summer.”

  Joanna breathed an audible sigh. “The Prince Regent?” she murmured, then blushed fierily.

  Sir Rollin nodded as he and his sister exchanged a smile.

  “So,” interjected Peter, with a heartiness that rang false, “you’re the new owner of Erland Abbey. Very happy to meet you. When did you arrive?”

  “Very recently,” replied Jonathan Erland. His calm disinterested tone sounded strange to Joanna. She had almost forgotten he was there.

  “Glad to see it,” continued Finley. “Your uncle was a poor landlord, I have to say. Everyone will welcome a new man at the Abbey.”

  Erland bowed courteously but said nothing.

  “Is the Abbey the large house we passed as we drove in?” asked Adrienne. On being told that it was, she smiled graciously at Erland and said that he must come to dinner when they were settled. Until then, she had paid little heed to the undistinguished young man in the corner seat.

  The drawing-room door opened abruptly, and Mr. Rowntree strode into the room. “Erland,” he said, “come along. Nearly everyone has arrived and we’re ready to begin.” He seemed to notice the others in the room then, looked at them vaguely, then turned to his wife.

  “It is Peter Finley, dear,” said Mrs. Rowntree helpfully, “returned from London with his wife and her brother, Sir Rollin Denby.”

  Her husband frowned as he surveyed the guests again. “Wife?” he repeated, as if mystified.

  Peter moved uneasily; Adrienne raised her eyebrows and returned Mr. Rowntree’s gaze; Sir Rollin smiled sardonically.

  Their host started. “Well, that is of no consequence. Are you ready to come down, Erland?”

  Jonathan Erland scanned the faces around him. “In a moment,” he said. “You begin without me, and I will join you later.”

  Rowntree frowned. “It is very difficult to follow a discussion from the middle, you know. You’d best come now.”

  “A few moments only,” answered Erland firmly.

  His host shrugged and started to turn away.

  “What sort of discussion?” asked Sir Rollin.

  Rowntree looked at him as if he could not quite recall who he was, but he explained his society and its purposes eagerly. “The topic this evening is the relation of natural science to ethics,” he finished. “All interested are welcome.” He looked at Sir Rollin.

  “I fear that is a bit beyond my depth,” replied that gentleman. “Another time perhaps.”

  But Rowntree had already forgotten him and was walking to the door. Sir Rollin smiled wryly and glanced at his sister. They exchanged an amused look; and Adrienne shook her head very slightly.

  Joanna blushed again. Suddenly, under Sir Rollin’s sardonic eye, she saw her hitherto infallible father as eccentric and slightly ridiculous.

  Silence fell. Mrs. Rowntree seemed annoyed and said nothing to break it. Peter appeared to be searching in vain for something to say. And Adrienne and Sir Rollin surveyed them all with amusement.

  Jonathan Erland was also watching the group, though no amusement showed in his eyes. When his gaze met Sir Rollin’s, he said, “Is this your first visit to this neighborhood also? I take it you live in London?”

  “Yes on both counts,” drawled the other man lazily. “Frankly, I cannot imagine living anywhere else.”

  “All. You are fond of town life.”

  Denby raised his eyebrows. “Is there any other sort?”

  Erland’s answering smile held some mockery. “Well, I think so, of course, but I am by no means an expert, never having lived in town.”

  “Indeed? I can scarcely credit it.” But Sir Rollin’s eyes, moving slowly up and down Erland’s unfashionable figure, said just the opposite.

  Joanna’s eyes widened, and she expected the younger man to retort angrily. Denby’s implication had been clearly insulting. But to everyone’s surprise, particularly Sir Rollin’s, Jonathan Erland burst into hearty laughter. He was so amused, in fact, that it took him a moment to regain his composure. Joanna, Peter, and Adrienne stared at him incredulously, the latter seeming to doubt the stranger’s sanity. Mrs. Rowntree frowned slightly at first, then smiled. Sir Rollin’s eyes narrowed, and he looked at the other man more closely than he had before.

  Gradually, Erland recovered, though his eyes remained crinkled with amusement. “Pardon me,” he said at last. He rose. “I must go down and join Mr. Rowntree,” he said to his hostess. “Shall I see you after?”

  Joanna’s mother also rose, shaking her head. “George’s discussions go on very late. We shall all be in bed long since.”

  “Ah, too bad. Then I shall take my leave of you now. Miss Joanna, do not forget our ride.” He bowed. “A pleasure to meet you all.” And with that, he left the room.

  They all gazed at the door for a moment. “What a very unusual young man,” murmured Adrienne.

  Joanna started visibly when the door opened again, but it was only Mary with the tea tray, a welcome diversion. Mrs. Rowntree served tea and initiated a determined monologue on the beauties of the neighborhood. She was feebly seconded in this by Peter, his wife occasionally putting in a word and Sir Rollin maintaining an air of mildly bored attention. It was with obvious relief that Mrs. Rowntree rose to see them out later that evening, and when she returned to the sofa, she sighed quite audibly. “What an uncomfortable evening,” she said to her daughter. “What can Peter have been about, to descend upon us in this way? It was quite monstrous.”

  “Perhaps she made him do it,” suggested Joanna.

  Mrs. Rowntree opened her mouth, then shut it again. “Perhaps,” she replied shortly.

  “And Sir Rollin,” added Joanna.

  “Yes, indeed. More than likely he hoped to make some mischief; that seems his style.”

  “Do you think him handsome?”

  “Sir Rollin?” The older woman looked at her daughter sharply. “Not particularly. He is too dark.”

  “Yes,” replied Joanna slowly, “but he is quite distinguished, is he not? Such an air. And I have never seen a more elegant coat.”

  Mrs. Rowntree sat back on the sofa and raised a hand to massage her forehead.

  “Peter looked very modish, of course,” continued Joanna, “but Sir Rollin had much more, ah, polish, did he not?”

  “Yes, he did,” agreed her mother heavily. />
  “I have never met anyone like him.”

  “No.”

  Joanna suddenly remembered her broken heart. “It was very hard to see Peter again, of course. I thought my heart would stop when he was announced. He has changed. He seems much more, ah, quiet. Don’t you think? And his wife is not what I should have expected.”

  Mrs. Rowntree shrugged.

  “I suppose we will have to call on her?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, I am not certain I shall ever be able to like her. But I shall be polite.”

  “Of course,” said her mother again.

  “Do you suppose Sir Rollin will stay long?”

  Mrs. Rowntree sighed. “I imagine not,” she said. “He seemed the sort of man who will be bored with our country neighborhood quite soon.”

  Joanna nodded. “Yes. He will go to Brighton, I daresay.” She sighed. “The Prince Regent,” she murmured once again.

  Mrs. Rowntree’s heart sank.

  Four

  The next morning, Joanna was up betimes, and as soon as she had dressed and breakfasted, she set off across the fields to Selina Grant’s house. The path through the rolling, walled meadows was well-worn; she and Selina had used it almost daily for more than ten years, and Joanna hardly needed to look down as she strode swiftly along. She thought instead of the encounter last night. It had not happened at all as she expected, but it had been embarrassing enough. What an awful creature Peter’s wife was!

  It took only half an hour to reach Selina’s, and Joanna was soon seated in the garden, pouring out the story. But Selina was less surprised than she had expected. “Oh, yes,” her friend replied, “I knew they were here. They called on the vicar yesterday afternoon and left cards at the Townsends’ and here. She is certainly wasting no time in showing herself to the neighborhood.”

  Joanna nodded. “But you did not meet her?”

  Selina shook her head regretfully. “We were out. Mother would go to visit old Mrs. Ives. Is she very horrid?”

  “An odious managing female.”

  “Didn’t I tell you!” cried Selina triumphantly. “She trapped Peter into marriage, and now he will be quite miserable.”

  “Selina, don’t,” said Joanna.

  “Well, it is his own fault. What is the brother like? Is he odious also?”

  Joanna looked away. “Oh, no. He is, well, magnificent. I have never seen anyone like him.”

  “My uncle says he is very attractive to women,” added her friend. “He says that all sorts of girls fall in love with Sir Rollin. But he is hanging out for a rich wife, so he only flirts with them and then ignores them.” She lowered her voice and looked about the garden to see that her mother had not come out. “He is a—a rake,” she whispered.

  Joanna’s eyes widened, but she tried to look superior. “I daresay,” she answered.

  Selina gaped. “Did he flirt with you, Joanna?”

  The other girl raised her eyebrows. “Would that be so astonishing?”

  “Well, no, but…but did he?”

  Joanna looked tempted, but she was obliged to say, “No, not really. My mother was there, you know, and the others.”

  “Yes, that is fortunate. We must take care not to be alone with him, ever.” Selina looked both pleased and excited by this idea.

  “Why?”

  “Well, because, because…” Selina stopped, finding herself at a loss for words.

  “Why should I not flirt a little?” asked Joanna defiantly. “After all, my life is blighted. Why should I not have some amusement after my disappointment?”

  “But, but Joanna,” stammered the other, “he is a dangerous man. My uncle said…”

  “Nonsense. What could he do to us here?” She gestured around the garden, which did indeed look very peaceful and safe. “I am only talking about a little flirtation.”

  “But he is a rake.”

  “What do you know of rakes?” answered Joanna, in such a loud voice that her friend was startled.

  “Nothing,” retorted Selina, “and neither do you, so you needn’t look so haughty. But my uncle does, and he told my mother…”

  “Oh, I am sick of your uncle and what he says,” cried Joanna, jumping up. “I daresay he is quite mistaken in any case. He is so odiously starched-up that he thinks he knows everything, but he is nothing but a hanger-on at court, after all. I heard Mr. Townsend say so.”

  “Joanna!”

  Joanna was surprised and rather ashamed at her outburst, but for some reason, she felt it was imperative to divert her friend from the question of Sir Rollin Denby’s character. “He did say so,” she repeated, sounding more like a sulky child than a young lady of eighteen.

  “Well, it was monstrous mean and spiteful of him, and it is mean of you to repeat it.”

  Joanna drew herself up. “If that is what you think, perhaps I had better go.” She turned and started toward the gate that led into the fields. She expected every moment to be called back, but Selina made no move. As she walked rapidly along the footpath, Joanna listened for steps behind her. Selina had never allowed a quarrel between them to last more than a few minutes. But this time, she did not follow, and when Joanna was half way home, she realized that she would not. Her steps slowed, and she hung her head a little. She had been rude, she supposed, and unreasonable. Why had she spoken so? Thinking back over their talk, Joanna really could not tell. What had made her so angry? She had been silly. But could Selina not see that she didn’t wish to hear her uncle’s silly gossip?

  She walked on more slowly, her mood alternating between chagrin and defiance, and her eyes focused unseeingly on the grass at her feet. She did not see the figure picking flowers in the field to her right until she was hailed and turned to find Constance Williston beside her.

  “How deeply occupied you were,” said Constance. “I hope I do not disturb your thoughts.”

  “No,” replied Joanna, but her tone was not welcoming.

  The older girl reddened slightly. “I was picking wildflowers,” she added, showing her basket of blooms. “My mother loves them so. But she is too busy with the children to look for them. So I try to make up a bouquet now and then for her room.”

  The delicate blues and yellows in the basket attracted Joanna in spite of herself, and she bent to smell. “They’re lovely.”

  Constance smiled, her rather narrow face lighting. “Aren’t they? I found one bluebell, down by the stream. It’s so late, but all the more beautiful for that, don’t you think?” She pulled out this flower and held it up.

  Joanna nodded but said nothing.

  “Are you going home?” asked Constance. “I must pass by old Mrs. Rouse’s on my way, to leave some liniment Mother made for her. I could walk along with you.” She sounded both eager and uncertain.

  Joanna blinked. Since Constance had returned from school, she had thought little about her beyond twinges of envy at the older girl’s apparent assurance and graceful height. Now, the tone of her voice made Joanna examine her more closely. Constance looked like someone who expects a rebuff, yet is still hopeful. And suddenly, Joanna realized that Constance must be very lonely in this neighborhood. She and Selina were the only girls near her age; Constance’s sisters were all much younger. And the two of them had shut her out completely. Some of Joanna’s envy melted, and she said, “Of course, do come along, I am very stupid this morning and have been quarreling. You must forgive me.” She frowned as soon as she had said this, for she did not at all wish to tell Constance that she had quarreled with Selina.

  But Constance said only, “Splendid,” as she dropped into step with Joanna. And immediately afterward, she began to talk innocuously of flowers once more.

  Joanna listened more attentively than she might otherwise have, thinking that Constance was very understanding. She asked a few questions about the flowers in the
field around them, and the other girl answered with a surprising amount of knowledge. This had gone on for some minutes when Constance abruptly stopped speaking and said, “But you mustn’t let me prose on in this way. Father says that I am mad on the subject of flowers. I didn’t mean to bore you.”

  “You did not,” said Joanna quite truthfully. “You certainly know a great deal about wildflowers. Did you learn it at school?”

  The older girl nodded, her cheeks reddening slightly. “The senior teacher interested me in the subject, and I—I took it up on my own. You must think me very silly.”

  Joanna’s eyes widened. The idea that she could think this very superior girl silly startled her. “Not at all. I only wish I had gone to school. But my father wished to educate me himself.” She sighed as she remembered the long sessions in his study, where she had understood perhaps a quarter of the things her father said.

  “Oh, it is you who were lucky,” replied Constance quickly. “My father says that yours is one of the most brilliant scholars he has ever met. How much you must have learned that the rest of us will never have the chance to know.”

  Joanna smiled ruefully, but did not disillusion the other girl, who had sounded quite rapt. She was not averse to being thought wise by the self-possessed Miss Williston.

  A silence fell, but before it could become uncomfortable, Joanna suddenly remembered something. “I believe I heard that the Finleys called at the vicarage,” she said.

  Constance started. “Yes.” She looked at Joanna sidelong.

  “They called on us also,” said the other, unheeding. “I found Mrs. Finley a bit overpowering.”

  “Y-yes. She seems very sure of herself.” Constance sounded wistful.

  “Yes, well, she is older.”

  Constance stared at her, seemingly unable to think of a reply.

  Joanna noticed her expression and continued, “You have heard, I daresay, that there was once some talk of Peter and me making a match of it. Indeed, he has always been one of my best friends. I do so hope he will be happy.” She allowed a hint of doubt to creep into her voice.