At the onset of the eighth evening of my residence at the estate, I arrived at the drawing room before dinner. To my astonishment, Lord Beaumont sat in a chair across from his mother with a sour expression upon his face. I did not expect his arrival so soon and halted my step at the threshold. His lordship rose to his feet upon seeing me. Apparently, in his mother’s presence he demonstrated polite behavior.
“Miss Gleadhell,” he said, bowing at the waist.
“Lord Beaumont,” I replied in a soft-spoken voice. I gave a quick curtsy and glanced at Lady Catherine.
“As you can see, Miss Gleadhell, Dudley has arrived home early.” Rather than smiling, as I expected her to do in the presence of a beloved son, her ladyship’s face bore a similar discontented frown.
“Yes, so I see,” I said. My eyes shifted over to the baron, giving him a weak grin, acknowledging his arrival.
“Why don’t you take a seat,” he said. “I would like to chat before dinner.”
I glanced at my choice of chairs and chose one near Lady Catherine. Since the baron had not made a favorable impression on me during our first meeting, I felt cautious in his presence. After I sat down he followed, acting like a gentleman. I surmised his actions were merely a superficial performance. It made me curious why he failed so dreadfully in social graces upon our initial meeting.
“Mother tells me you are settling in at Whitefield Hall,” he said, comfortably lounging in his chair with an arrogant countenance.
One arm draped over the right armrest while his elbow rested upon the other supporting his upright arm. His index finger thoughtfully glided below his lower lip as if he were deep in thought, scrutinizing me from head to toe. His examination was not one of casual inquisitiveness. Instead, it carried a brazen gaze that gave me an unsettling start. He appeared to survey me like a tantalizing evening meal.
“Yes, I am,” I replied. My eyes shifted to Lady Catherine, who silently scowled at her son. The strained emotional atmosphere of the room felt stifling. My breathing became shallow and my hands sweaty. It appeared that I had encroached upon a den of disgruntled individuals, peering at each other like lions about to fight. Lord Beaumont’s glances at his mother looked void of affection. Her ladyship appeared to mirror his sentiments in return.
“I trust your accommodations are sufficient,” he said glibly.
“More than enough.” I pulled my eyes away and glanced at the clock on the mantel. Its tick-tock sound filled the silence between the three of us in the drawing room. Dinner would not be for another few minutes, and already I wanted to sprint back to my room. The hush persisted, and I felt chilled and uneasy. All the while, the baron’s less than gentlemanly inspection of my person continued.
Irked at his ogling, I shifted in my seat. The baron witnessed my unease. When a smirk curled the corner of his mouth, I concluded that I did not like Lord Beaumont. Even with Lady Catherine’s idiosyncrasies, I found her personality far more amenable than the man a few feet away. He made me feel like an immoral woman while in his presence, even though I was clearly the innocent party.
Lady Catherine spoke, breaking the awkward silence. “Miss Gleadhell is quite talented, Dudley. She far outshines the other companions you have brought into our home and frightened away.” She glanced at me flashing a sly grin.
“Is she now,” he replied with his temptingly agreeable voice. “You must perform for us after dinner and let me make my judgment.”
Frightened away? I repeated the comment in my mind wondering what inference Lady Catherine attempted to convey. With difficulty, I forced down the lump in my throat that had formed during the minutes that dragged slowly toward dinner.
“Did you conclude your affairs early in London?” Lady Catherine asked, giving him a wry glance.
“Yes, I had business to attend to,” he replied. The baron flicked a piece of lint off his pant leg and made no further effort to make conversation with his mother. He seemingly did not enjoy looking directly at her, for his gaze never rested more than a second or two upon her face.
“I am sure it was business,” she sardonically replied. “My son,” she said, turning toward me, “participates in many extracurricular activities while away from home.”
I glanced back and forth at the two of them, awestruck by their stinging comments and spiteful tones. Naturally, I would have concluded Lord Beaumont’s business to be political in nature. By the tone of his mother’s voice, he pursued other activities instead. Perhaps those other activities included a variety of women.
His eyes turned a shade darker. “I am not here but an hour and already your malicious innuendos start,” he replied gruffly. “What will Miss Gleadhell think?”
Shocked, my mouth dropped open. How could he be so rude to his own mother? Lady Catherine snapped a response.
“Am I to assume it is also business as usual at Whitefield Hall?”
After her snide remark, they turned their heads away from the other, acting like disgruntled children. Obviously, they had no qualms about displaying their emotions amongst strangers. It was a trait that I found to be most unusual, especially for aristocrats. Perhaps the north was not as keen on etiquette about keeping one’s personal emotions tucked away from the eyes and ears of others.
The butler finally announced dinner, and I let out a relieved breath. I nearly jumped to my feet, anxious to change my surroundings. Lady Catherine rose and gave me a nod, which I discerned she wished me to accompany her to the dining room. I moved to her side, and her ladyship advanced with a quick step. The baron remained silent but followed closely behind. I sensed the nearness of his body, which I found unnerving. An urge to swing around and slap him played through my mind, but I controlled the impulse.
After we entered the dining room and took our seats, I fixed my eyes upon the table setting, refusing to gaze at either of them. They sat down ignoring one another. The strife-ridden atmosphere threatened to ruin dinner. As my stomach growled, I determined to enjoy the meal regardless of the other brooding occupants. To keep their minds off one another, I decided to start a conversation regarding Lady Catherine’s plan for an upcoming social function. Anything would be better than flying arrows between her and his lordship while attempting to enjoy a good meal.
The idea proved to be a wise one, for Lady Catherine became quite animated talking about arranging the affair. The dinner continued without further incident, and we retired to the drawing room once again for tea. The baron poured a glass of port and insisted I entertain them with a musical selection. Not surprised about his request, I decided ahead of time to choose a short piece.
As I sat down at the pianoforte and began to play, he positioned himself next to me, hovering above like a hawk. I wanted to ask him to stand elsewhere but feared offending the lord of Whitefield Hall. Lady Catherine watched us intently with her facial expression exuding disapproval. The baron had a perfect view of my cleavage from his standpoint, and I assumed his eyes rested upon my breasts rather than on the keyboard. His proximity made me nervous, but I conquered the performance nevertheless. After I played the last chord and finished the song, he clapped and gave his approval.
“Magnificent, Miss Gleadhell. Bravo. For once, my mother is right. I agree with her assessment of your talents.” He wielded a charming smile, which I chose to ignore. When I rose from the bench, I relocated to a nearby chair, refusing to give his lordship any encouragement to follow.
“I told you,” Lady Catherine said. “She is quite an accomplished young woman in many aspects.” She looked pitifully at me. “It is unfortunate no husband will possess her talents as his own. The poor thing is doomed to the companionship of women.”
Lady Catherine declared my fate with such certainty that I found it offensive. Perhaps I should be pitied that I planned a life of spinsterhood. I never desired to marry for convenience or security. Rather than focusing on such a task, I elected to take care of my destiny by choosing an occupation to support my needs. It was a conscious decision that I
carefully considered since I found no cause for romantic attachment.
As I crossly ruminated in silence, I sensed that my countenance did not convey a genteel expression. I softened it with a slight grin, upturning my closed lips and hiding my real frame of mind. The action did nothing to appease the ill remark, the sting of which remained.
“I don’t think it is fair to say Miss Gleadhell shall never marry,” the baron abruptly interjected. “Some nice young man might pluck her away from you, Mother, when you start to take her into your social circles in Manchester.”
“He can try and pluck all he wants, but he shan’t have Miss Gleadhell,” she adamantly replied. She reached over and patted my hand resting in my lap. “After all, she is my companion, and I will not give her up to a man’s pleasure.”
Lady Catherine shot a daring glance at her son as if she conveyed an unspoken threat. The baron’s eyes drifted over to me, showing concern as he ignored his mother’s comment. Their strange inferences puzzled me. Unable to control a yawn, I brought my hand to my mouth in embarrassment.
“Oh, my goodness,” I said, sensing a flush fill my cheeks. “I beg your pardon, but I am rather tired.” With a pleading glance, I spoke to Lady Catherine. “May I be excused for the evening?” Even though my request brought a hint of displeasure in her ladyship’s eyes, she relented. Perhaps she did not appreciate being left alone in the same room with her son. I did not wish to be there any longer either and suddenly felt like a coward on the run.
“Yes, of course,” she replied.
Relieved I could escape the tension, I stood and gave a quick curtsy. The baron responded like a gentleman, rose, and bowed. Once again, I thought it an act on his part.
“Good night.” I stepped toward the door but halted when he anxiously called out my name.
“One moment, Miss Gleadhell.”
His loud demand startled me, but I turned around and demurely replied, “Yes?” For a few seconds, he silently stared at me. “You have something to say?” I inquired, trying to get him to speak. He cleared his throat, appearing to stifle what had been on his mind.
“Nothing in particular—only to bid you a good evening as well,” he said.
“Thank you,” I responded. In haste, I left the drawing room and ran up the stairs to my room, glancing over my shoulder to make sure the baron did not follow. Once behind a closed door, I wandered over to my bed and sat down on the edge, trying to process what transpired over the dinner hour. Lady Catherine’s odd comment about her son frightening away the previous companions haunted me. Had he taken liberties with them in some fashion? Perhaps he was a rogue of the worst kind.
“Well, there is no reason to worry about it,” I said aloud. “I can take care of myself. He won’t always be here at Whitefield Hall.”
Convinced the baron was no real threat, I prepared for bed.
Snakes and Spiders
As usual, at Lady Catherine’s request, I joined her for breakfast at eight o’clock sharp in the dining room. There were no opportunities for an extra hour or two of sleep at Whitefield Hall. A hearty morning meal awaited with a large selection of food set upon the sideboard. Silver warmers overflowed with bacon, eggs, and various sausages, along with a variety of grilled tomatoes and mushrooms. A plentiful stack of toast with butter and marmalade sat on the table.
Immediately I felt relieved not to see the baron. Lady Catherine sat at the table nibbling on her toast, appearing agitated.
“Good morning.” I greeted her with a smile.
“Did you sleep well?” her ladyship inquired.
“Yes, very well, thank you. And you?”
“Not well, I’m afraid,” she replied. Lady Catherine avoided eye contact with me, which I found unusual from our previous mornings together.
“Will Lord Beaumont be joining us for breakfast this morning?” I asked nonchalantly, while buttering my toast.
“He has already eaten and left for a morning ride.” Her cold demeanor persisted.
“Is he an avid horseman?” I thought the query to be innocent enough, but Lady Catherine flashed an annoying glance.
“Take no interest in Dudley,” she snapped. “Neither his past or current pursuits.” Her ladyship threw her napkin on the table.
Startled at the reprimand, I attempted to make light of my question. “I assure you, Lady Catherine, I hold no interest in Lord Beaumont. If you are inferring he has caught my eye in some way as a woman, rest assured he has not.” My voice rose in a convincingly, stern tone.
“Good,” she grumbled. “Know your place in this household or there will be hell to pay.”
Thank goodness, I had not been chewing a piece of toast, or I would have assuredly choked over her threat. “Have I done something to offend you?” I asked in a subdued and respectful tone.
Lady Catherine inhaled a deep breath and gazed sorrowfully into my eyes.
“I apologize, Miss Gleadhell. With the return of my son, I am feeling a bit out of sorts.” Lady Catherine glanced over at the footman standing at attention with a straight face. She appeared reluctant to say anything further.
“We should chat later this morning, and I will explain.” Her ladyship returned her focus to breakfast and tea.
Whatever she needed to say, she did not wish to do so in front of the servants. I could never read an ounce of emotion from the footman’s face. He reminded me of a marble statue which only moved to serve food or jumped to remove dirty plates. Something inside my heart told me he was privy to the secrets of Whitefield Hall, wherein I remained in the dark. Perhaps that explained the order not to consort with the staff.
“Yes, of course,” I said. “A walk in the garden and the sunshine will do us well.” It would provide an opportunity for her ladyship to get a spot of color on her pale cheeks, if nothing else.
Lady Catherine remained silent for the remainder of breakfast, and I chose to forgo any further conversation. In my silence, I pondered the possible explanations for her ladyship’s dramatic change since her son’s return.
* * * *
After breakfast, we made our way to the gardens and started a slow stroll down a path near the rosebushes.
“I am a very private person,” began Lady Catherine. “After all, families need to protect their reputations, and ours is no different.”
I sensed a reluctance in her voice, so I gave her assurance that nothing more needed to be said. “You need not tell me anything you are uncomfortable sharing.” For the first time in our short relationship, I felt empathy for Lady Catherine. Perhaps I had grown fonder than expected.
Her ladyship took my hand and led me over to a stone bench. “Sit and let us talk,” she said. Once settled, Lady Catherine tilted her head backward. The warm sun met her light complexion. “It is soothing,” she sighed. A moment later, she lowered her face to allow the brim of her hat to shade her face again.
“No doubt you noticed that Dudley and I are often at odds with one another,” she said in agitation.
How could anyone not notice? I thought to myself. “Yes, Lady Catherine.”
“You know, Miss Gleadhell, I like you. The others before you were fine girls, too, but I’ve taken to you quicker than I anticipated.”
“I am most happy to hear of your regards.” My suspicions of her sentiments had been correct. The confirmation gave me a peaceful assurance that my employment might continue at Whitefield Hall for some time. However, I held some reservations that involved the baron. My quick tongue blurted out a question before thinking of the consequences.
“What did you mean by your comment about Lord Beaumont that he frightened the others away?” I sucked in a breath, bracing for correction about my nosiness. To my surprise, her ladyship did not take offense.
“Like any other mother, I love my son. He is the only child I was able to bring into this world.” She bowed her head in embarrassment. “Nevertheless, I am deeply ashamed of his character.” Her voice quivered as if she were on the verge of tears.
&n
bsp; Her ladyship’s eyes bore deep sadness. I said nothing in return, so I sat still with my hands clasped in my lap.
“Well, I might as well say it. He is a blackguard of the worst sort—a womanizer with no conscience who seduces young ladies to satisfy his lust.” Her voice trembled over the admission.
My quick assessment of the baron’s behavior had been correct. The mere look in his eyes told me he appeared roguish in character. “I am so very sorry,” I replied.
“You need to be careful, Miss Gleadhell. He will one day attempt to seduce you. I tried to protect the others, but they fell for his charms. As soon as I heard of their trysts, I had to let them go.”
“Oh, my goodness.” My mouth gaped open. Did he take their virtue and discard them in his lustful wake? A surge of anger rose in my heart. The little respect I held for him swiftly evaporated from the scandalous revelation.
“I do not mean to frighten you,” Lady Catherine said. “However, be forewarned that he charms like a snake, and his venom is deadly. No matter what I do to dissuade his conduct, it does no good. I live in sorrow and fear of who may be his next victim.”
“Victim?” I loudly repeated. “You don’t mean to say he may take liberties against my will?” I began to shiver at the thought.
“No, no,” she clarified. “I am not privy to any information that he has ever forced himself on a lady, but I am keenly aware of his power of persuasion.”
Our conversation led me to unfamiliar territory. I presented myself as understanding everything Lady Catherine revealed. In my ignorance, I did not know what it meant for a man to force himself on a lady and what he actually did to a woman to earn the name of a rogue. My mother had never discussed the subject. During my tenure at finishing school, such topics were forbidden to be taken up among proper ladies. I only knew that men, who took liberties, earned unpleasant labels. Most of the girls at school were like me—ignorant of the act that got girls into trouble. Whatever it entailed, it must not be pleasant. If he made any untoward advances toward me, I would certainly put him in his place.
Whitefield Hall: Novella Page 3
