Amberley Chronicles Boxset I: The Impostor Debutante My Last Marchioness the Sister Quest (Amberley Chronicles Boxsets Book 1)

by May Burnett

  “Surely -,” Alphonse returned with mock outrage, “surely you don’t doubt that I could do as well as some common thief-catcher?”

  “The brains you certainly have, but experience also counts. And I’ve told you before, people you regard as common can be quite as sharp as any of us. They have to be, often enough, just to survive.”

  Alphonse shrugged, unconvinced.

  James let the matter go. “Well, thanks for volunteering then. I’ll look forward to hearing what you find out.” He found the paper with the names and direction he had noted down at the club, and handed it to his friend. “Do be careful, and return safely, Alph.”

  “You already sound like a father, James. May I remind you that you are two months younger than I?”

  “Oh, of course. Beg pardon,” James said in a humble voice. Both of them laughed and drowned one more glass of punch, before Alphonse took his leave and James retired to bed. It had been a very long day.

  Chapter 23

  The next morning dawned clear and sunny. Charlotte got up early, surprisingly rested after only six hours’ sleep, and partook of a substantial breakfast with Minerva and her governess. The girl’s cheerful chatter, and Miss Montague’s common sense, had a bracing effect on her own mood.

  Afterwards she tried out the well-tuned pianoforte in the music room. She had been quite proficient in her early teens, but in recent years had neglected the instrument, distracted by the manifold duties of running an estate and household.

  Among a pile of scores a few seemed sufficiently easy, just the thing to get her fingers back into practice. Charlotte chose a Mozart sonata.

  Presently she was interrupted by Lady Amberley, also up earlier than usual, and dressed in a very becoming shade of dark red. These stronger colours were a completely new fashion, so far only permissible in married ladies. Charlotte looked forward to the day when she could vary the insipid pale shades of her debutante gowns with some dark, vivid blues and greens.

  “I heard you playing,” Lady Amberley said by way of greeting, as Charlotte broke off mid-chord. “It’s clear you are out of practice, but with a judicious choice of music you should be able to hold your own. At country house parties the younger ladies are expected to show off their accomplishments every evening. Do you sing, too?”

  “Sometimes,” Charlotte admitted. “I have an alto voice of middling range, equally out of practice.”

  “Jennifer has an excellent soprano, and we hired the best teachers for her. Minerva unfortunately has no musical talent whatsoever, can’t even hold a tune.”

  “What about your sons? Do they sing or play any instruments?”

  “George and James can sing simple ballads, but it would have been a waste of time for a young gentleman to learn an instrument. That is what we have professional musicians for.”

  “And us young ladies, of course,” Charlotte could not help adding.

  “As soon as you’re married, it will be up to you whether you want to go on performing. I myself never touched another spinet once I became Lady Amberley.”

  “I see,” Charlotte said, not quite truthfully. She did not feel that she would ever truly understand her hostess.

  “I’m going to be out all day,” Lady Amberley brusquely informed her. “Be ready to leave for the rout at half past seven; it is not far but the traffic can be heavy, and we don’t want to be late for the dinner party afterwards.”

  “Very well,” Charlotte said. “That will give me more time to practice my music, and write some letters.”

  “Don’t go out, even with a maid or footman, until we’ve done something about the madwoman after you.” It was an order.

  “No, I have absolutely no wish to meet her again.” Though it did seem to be a pity to stay indoors on such a splendidly sunny day.

  Left to her own devices, Charlotte played a while longer and wrote a long letter to Belinda, which she left for the butler to deliver with the rest of the house’s correspondence. It was innocuously addressed to Mrs. Richard Seymour, The Swallows, Cherryfield Lane, Burchford, Yorks.

  The day dragged on. Charlotte had a solitary but delicious cold luncheon and afterwards endeavoured to read a few chapters of the latest Gothick novel, The Dragon’s Castle. She found it difficult to enter into the fanciful story, however. Her own mind-set was too pragmatic and sceptical to have any patience with the heroine’s swoons and reckless stupidity, as it seemed to Charlotte. Was there a law that the heroines of such novels had to be quite brainless? The hero certainly did not seem to mind, although his lady’s silly antics made his own life harder.

  Could she herself write a book like that? Charlotte tried to mentally compose a page and was not surprised that her own writing voice sounded completely different from the book. Its high-flown, flowery style was quite beyond her.

  And yet I’m just as brainless, she gloomily thought, or I would not find myself imprisoned in this house, under a false name, with insufficient funds to travel home again. She had an irrational feeling that all over the city and country threatening events of unknown nature were taking place, while she was shut up here, helpless, wasting her time on music and books when she should be fighting back for all she was worth.

  Still wrestling with these unhelpful thoughts, Charlotte had a bath laced with rose oil, dressed carefully, and had the maid put her hair up in an elaborate structure. She was ready to leave for the rout a full half hour before the allotted time.

  Would James be there? Probably not; from what she had gleaned, it was a boring kind of event, not very attractive to young gentlemen, but much favoured by the older generation who merely wanted to talk and gossip in peace. She was not looking forward to it herself, as her acquaintance among London society was still small, and the talk about the scene in the park probably had not yet died down. At least an aristocratic household would not have invited Mr. and Mrs. Conway.

  It was strange how naturally she herself moved among the aristocracy, and that not one of them had doubted her own credentials for a moment. The way ladies spoke, moved, or treated their servants was like a secret code, Charlotte reflected, that a stranger - a foreign spy, for instance – would find very hard to copy exactly. She had no trouble because the late Lady Yardley, herself the daughter of a Viscount, and the devoted Miss Everly had fed her that secret code with her porridge and milk in the nursery. Besides, her cool Nordic looks and height came from her father, whose family tree went back to the time of Richard II. She looked the part of aristocratic lady as much as anyone else she had met in London.

  When Lady Amberley and Charlotte had travelled the short distance and made their entrance, Lord Monksley made a beeline for them, once again with his mother in tow. Charlotte gravely thanked him for the flowers he had sent the day before. “Tuberoses are so splendidly exuberant,” she said.

  “I wanted to send lilacs – they would be the perfect flowers to go with your colouring – but alas, they are all gone,” Monksley explained.

  “And even in season, they don’t last more than two or three days after cutting,” Charlotte consoled him. “They are best admired on the bush itself, on a sunny spring day, I dare say.”

  As she was engaging in this small talk, she could not help surreptitiously looking around. Yet when James appeared in their midst from behind, she had not seen him coming.

  “Good evening, Mother, Cousin, Lady Monksley, Monksley,” he greeted everyone.

  Lady Amberley regarded him without favour. “Since when do you attend this sort of gathering? You must be one of the few people under thirty here tonight.”

  James merely smiled at her blandly. “I came to assure myself that no strange madwomen dare to accost you here, Ma’am. One never knows what can happen these days. Cousin, will you take a turn around the rooms with me?”

  Charlotte immediately took his arm, ignoring Lady Amberley’s frown. “I notice that you always call me cousin,” she said, as they moved away from the group.

  “Well, I don’t want to get used to
the wrong name, and I can’t – yet – use the real one. Not that Charlotte suits you particularly.”

  “Belinda calls me Charlie, but nobody else does.”

  “That sounds much too masculine. I had a schoolmate of that name, not one I particularly admired.”

  “Well, then – “

  “I’ll just have to invent a more suitable appellation for you, but that is the least of our worries just now. Did you know that Yardley – your father – left you thirty thousand pounds?”

  “To me? I cannot credit it.”

  “Well, until the original will is opened I cannot swear to it, but those were his instructions to his solicitor when he had the will drawn up.”

  “If I had had even part of that money, none of this current mess would have been necessary. We were scrimping and saving, all for nothing. Oh, it makes me so furious!”

  “Don’t let it anger you too much, sweetheart, all these money worries will soon be past.”

  “To be replaced with different ones, I suppose.” But Charlotte could not suppress a smile.

  James pressed her hand, in such a way that nobody would see anything amiss. Slowly making their way through the large rooms (which had been emptied of furniture for the occasion), James led her back in the direction of his mother, who was now talking to Lady Jersey and Countess Lieven, two of London’s most powerful hostesses.

  “James and Belinda, here you are,” Lady Amberley presented Charlotte to the Countess, whom she had not yet met; she made her best curtsey.

  The Countess graciously said that she remembered Sir Rudolph well, and looked forward to seeing Miss Yardley in Almack’s after the summer.

  An elderly lady standing at the edge of the group raised her lorgnette at hearing the name of Yardley, and looked Charlotte over in no very complimentary fashion. Now she said to Lady Lieven, in a carrying voice, “I wouldn’t be so accommodating without looking further into this young lady’s antecedents, Ma’am. I have just heard that she has been openly living with an officer in Yorkshire – “

  “I beg your pardon, Lady Merton, but you must be mistaken.” James said decisively. “May I ask who has been spreading such unconscionable slander about my cousin?”

  “I don’t recall,” Lady Merton replied vaguely, but not sounding at all contrite. She clearly was one of those people who revel in spreading scandal and mischief.

  “If it was a man by name of Conway by any chance,” James told her, “he has been trying to get out of paying me back his dicing losses, by threatening to spread some invented scandal about our family if I did not forgive the debt. It would be a great pity indeed if you were to be the unknowing instrument of such a scoundrel and blackmailer.”

  Everyone exchanged horrified looks. Lady Merton looked mortally offended. “How dare you impugn- “

  “Ma’am, you have just demonstrated that it is the easiest thing in the world to spread malicious and unfounded rumours and ruin the reputations of innocent persons for pleasure.”

  “This clearly must be looked into,” Lady Jersey interposed.

  While Lady Merton was sputtering. Countess Lieven looked at her dispassionately. “Come, Aloysia, do tell us if this man Conway was the source of your information.”

  On receiving no reply, she turned to James. “Let this be a lesson to you, young man, not to gamble with under bred people outside our own class. But as for your cousin,” she looked at Charlotte, not as friendly as before, “I think it would be best if she soon married, so as to cease being a target for such vulgar aspersions, from whatever source.”

  “How fortuitous that you should say that, Countess,” James retorted. “Just a few minutes ago Miss Yardley made me the happiest of men by accepting my proposal of marriage. As her fiancé, I shall know how to protect her against any kind of slander or slight.”

  “James!” Lady Amberley cried, then recollecting where and in which company she was, subsided, and merely shot a thunderous glance at her unrepentant son and stricken niece.

  “Congratulations, Ellsworthy,” Lady Jersey said, with a wicked glance at Lady Ambersley, “and my best wishes to you, Miss Yardley.” She swept away, to spread this delicious bit of news, no doubt. Countess Lieven and Lady Merton also went off, the latter still in a huff, and the Monksleys somewhat stiffly took their leave.

  As soon as the family group was alone, Lady Amberley hissed, “James, what came over you? Are you mad? Do you have any idea how difficult it will be to get out of this engagement after announcing it to the world like that?”

  “But I don’t want to get out of it,” James said, unruffled.

  Lady Amberley turned to Charlotte, who had been silent for the last few minutes. “Did you put my son up to this nonsense? How can you repay my hospitality in this fashion? If only you’d stayed in Yorkshire!”

  “Mother, please recollect where we are,” James said in a low voice. “Do you want your feelings cited in tomorrow’s scandal sheets?”

  “We’d better leave,” Charlotte suggested, and the three of them slowly made their way through the crowds to the front door. They were stopped at least ten times by acquaintances eager to congratulate James on his engagement, or confirm that the news of it was indeed correct.

  On each of these occasions, Lady Amberley’s rigid smile congealed a little more. By the time they reached fresh air, she resembled a thundercloud about to burst.

  “We are expected at the Merriville dinner party,” Charlotte reminded her hostess as they all got into the carriage. “Are we still going?”

  “Have to,” James cheerfully informed her, “it is the nadir of poor breeding to miss a dinner party without at least a few hours’ notice.”

  “I see,” Charlotte replied, seeing that Lady Amberley was still wrestling with her feelings.

  “As I’m not invited to this dinner, I’ll just escort the two of you there, and wait for you in Mount Street when you return around midnight. We can hash it all out then, without witnesses.”

  Charlotte turned to Lady Amberley. “Ma’am, I hope you realize that I had nothing to do with this supposed betrothal. James invented it on the spur of the moment, in a spirit of gallantry for which I am grateful, although it was misdirected and unasked for. Of course I will never hold him to his declaration.”

  “We’ll see about that,” James declared. Charlotte shot him a reproachful look. He had to know that there was no chance of them marrying, under Belinda’s name, yet –was there a name for useless knight-errantry without proper forethought? Rank idiocy, maybe.

  The Merrivilles’ dinner party went by in a blur for Charlotte. She ate and talked and sipped at the various beverages without paying attention, missing out on the enjoyment of a masterfully prepared meal. At least she was seated far away from Lady Amberley, and her table neighbours were as yet unaware of the impetuous engagement. While she exchanged small talk by rote, she kept searching for arguments to convince her supposed fiancé to drop his scheme, and let her go back home. What had he been thinking? What would Belinda think if news of this engagement reached her?

  More to the point, what new scandal would Conway and his wife brew? Whatever it was, James and his family were now even more exposed to their malice than before.

  The most annoying thing was the wish, deep inside Charlotte, that her sudden engagement might not be make-believe but reality. Was there anything more pointless than indulging in wistful might-have-beens?

  Chapter 24

  Returning to Mount Street in frigid silence, Lady Amberley and Charlotte immediately repaired to the library, where they found James calmly reading a book. He had had the fire stoked and enough candles lit to set the scene for a family quarrel in comfort.

  “Good evening, mother, sweetheart,” he greeted them, politely rising. He went to stand next to Charlotte, taking her hand in his and raising it to his lips.

  “James, have you taken complete leave of your senses? I made it plain that I do not countenance a match between the two of you, if only because of the
relationship.” Lady Amberley sounded somewhat calmer than she had at the rout, but clearly not reconciled to the match.

  “I am sorry to hear that, mother, but remember that I am of age, and do not depend on your permission or even good-will in this matter.”

  His calm only infuriated his mother. “I shall write to George at once. He will return and put an end to this nonsense.”

  “Pray do so, if you think it will help. I have just written to him myself, to apprise him of this new development. Also, I have sent a notice of the engagement to the papers.”

  “You haven’t!” Charlotte was as horrified at this news as his mother was. “Do remember that you never obtained my consent!”

  “You didn’t contradict me earlier in public, dear,” James reminded Charlotte. “In our world, that means that you are tied, unless you want to publicly jilt me. Anything less than a public announcement would just get the rumour mills busy again.”

  “True,” Lady Amberley conceded, “but it never should have come this far! And whatever you may say, James, I know who is to blame for this whole imbroglio.” She shot an angry look at Charlotte. “If only you’d stayed in Yorkshire!”

  “You cannot wish for that more fervently than I do, Ma’am,” Charlotte replied. “The matter is easily settled, however; you can send me back tomorrow and I’ll be glad to go.”

  “That would set the tittle-tattles busy indeed,” James said.

  Charlotte had enough. “For the last time, James, I don’t care about that! All that gossip-mongering, ruining of reputations, slander and pretence is giving me an extremely poor idea of high society. What others will say is not the most important thing in the world, you know.” Charlotte was angry, too, and much of her anger was directed at James. “There comes a point when there’s no further use maintaining a façade that all is well. Someone is clearly out to ruin me, not counting the cost to their own reputation, but you should never have got so involved.”