“Yes, Papa.”
“The Wilburfoldes have called, the both of them, since news of the mishap was noised round the parish.” As he spoke, he eyed his eldest daughter. She was always calm, but her eyes had a way of smiling, as her mother’s had once done. At the mention of the Wilburfoldes, she did not pout or flounce or wail, like his other girls were wont to do. But every hint of smile vanished as quick as if he’d pinched a candle.
He sighed, trying to understand. “What do you want, girl? Here is a respectable offer, no, better. Money, title, a family known in the parish as they live close by. Here is your chance to become your ladyship, and have your own establishment, instead of hanging on James someday. You know he’ll marry sooner or later, and the chances are good his wife won’t want another woman in the house.”
This aspect of the matter had never struck Clarissa quite so hard. Until recently, she’d always assumed that any woman James married would be like their sisters, but men were unaccountable in their tastes. What if James brought home someone like Lucretia Bouldeston?
There was no villain here. Her father thought he was doing his best by her according to the rules of society.
Now, everything was different. No, everything was exactly the same as before, excepting only this: she had discovered what all the poetry and the music was about. But the man was as out of her reach as any German Archduke or Greek prince of the most dramatic and unlikely tales.
Her father said, “I know you girls like to fix your affections, but you have not done so in six years on the Town. Ten to one at your age, you never will. And you are old enough not to turn missish if I remind you that, so long as you give that muffin-face an heir, at least he would never notice...”
Clarissa made a quick, inadvertent gesture of revulsion, and Lord Chadwick abandoned that line of discourse, and thrust his hand through his hair before patting her hand. “There, now, let us say no more for today. I’d be a devilish unnatural father if I did not wish to see my girls creditably placed. We can talk again when we come home after your season. You go and give St. Tarval’s girl a good time. And if it’s true she’s wearing her mother’s gowns—and I remember hearing something or other about old Tony run off his legs—then fix her up like Amelia, and hang the expense.”
“Thank you, Papa,” Clarissa said, dropping a curtsy, then kissing him on the cheek.
o0o
Lady Chadwick bestirred herself long enough to invite their guest to join her in the red salon. Here, she indicated a stack of new books lying about, and said, “I do not know if you like to read, but we have a number of novels.”
“Oh, thank you,” Kitty exclaimed. “I like them very much.”
“Clarissa reads them, and so do the girls, from time to time. I confess I cannot understand the interest in reading about a set of persons one does not know. Unless it is one like The Sylph, where everyone rushes to see if they have been hit off in it. Or their friends,” she added. “But that was long before your time,” she observed calmly. “I was very young, too, when all the big girls were whispering about it. The Duchess of Devonshire introduced all the fashions in those days. The hats! You cannot conceive how monstrous, though we thought them le dernier cri, at the time.”
Greatly entertained, Kitty hoped that Lady Chadwick would talk some more about the famous duchess, who, she knew, had been a great friend of her mother’s. But her grandmother had refused to have the duchess’s name is spoken in Tarval Hall, and of course there was no copy of the novel that the duchess might or might not have written.
Lady Chadwick was distracted when the footman brought in a silver tray stacked with letters. She interrupted herself without a thought, and picked up the first letter.
Kitty was thinking that she might as well choose one of the books when Mrs. Latchmore entered and sat down, making a business of setting out fabric, thread, and sisters from her huswife. Taking in Kitty, she muttered about the luck some had to sit about like ladies of leisure with no fine work to do.
Kitty was ready to turn her hand to anything Mrs. Latchmore might need done, but the lady never gave her a chance to speak. Instead, she went on about a great many subjects, from Matilda’s torn petticoat (which apparently no one in the household was capable of mending properly) to how uncomfortable it was to be a widow in straightened circumstances, whose sacrifices went unnoticed by all. Kitty began to suspect that what Mrs. Latchmore wanted was an audience in preference to another needlewoman.
Kitty was certainly the only listener, as Lady Chadwick peaceably read her letters, even when the younger girls ran in and out on their own pursuits. Kitty was secretly diverted by her observation of the lady’s method for dealing with a noisy family.
Mrs. Latchmore had not run out of words when the stately butler appeared at the door.
“What is it, Pobrick?” Lady Chadwick asked.
“Lord Wilburfolde,” the butler announced portentously.
A little sigh escaped Lady Chadwick, and she laid aside a letter and rose to greet the gentleman who entered with a heavy tread and approached her with a deliberate air. Kitty had also risen, and while she waited to be introduced had leisure to observe this gentleman as he bent over Lady Chadwick’s hand. He was somewhat shorter than Kitty’s brother Edward, solidly built, and impeccably dressed in a sober shade of brown. At first Kitty assumed he was older, for there was a hint of jowl at either side of his chin, emphasized by the pursed line of his lips. His hair was a shade of black similar to her own, clipped very close to his head, which made it seem rounder than it really was.
“Dear Lady Chadwick,” he said. His voice was as heavy and deliberate as his tread, each word carefully picked out. “I know that I see you well, for you are handsome as always. My mother requested me to carry to you her compliments. Mrs. Latchmore, I trust I see you well. If my mother had known you would be present during my call, I feel certain that she would have encouraged me to proffer her compliments, as well.”
He paused as the ladies responded politely, then turned Kitty’s way, as Lady Chadwick performed the introduction.
Kitty held out her hand, which he gave a ponderous shake, up and down twice, so careful and so precise a motion that she wondered if he was counting under his breath.
At Lady Chadwick’s invitation for all to sit Lord Wilburfolde settled carefully into a chair, and after Mrs. Latchmore made a polite inquiry about his mother, with the same care and deliberation that he had exhibited so far, he commenced giving the ladies a long and exact description of the history of Lady Wilburfolde’s medical complaint.
Mrs. Latchmore entered into a comparison of symptoms as experienced by her late spouse, and she and Lord Wilburfolde were deep in a discussion of the respective cases when Clarissa entered the room.
Mrs. Latchmore interrupted herself to say, “Clarissa, dear, look who has ridden out in this filthy weather, just to inquire after you. We have been happy to give him the news that you are returned safely, but alas, Lady Wilburfolde is unwell.”
Clarissa entered with her customary calm demeanor, but Kitty thought she detected the shadow of a pucker in her forehead.
Lord Wilburfolde rose to his feet, and with the same ponderous deliberation, bowed over Clarissa’s fingers.
No sooner had everyone sat down again and exchanged another round of polite nothings when Mrs. Latchmore surprised Kitty by snatching up her stitchwork and saying, “My dear Lady Chadwick, I just bethought myself that we must speak to Mrs. Bith about the supper. It is already late.”
Lady Chadwick looked from her aunt-by-marriage to Lord Wilburfolde, then blinked and murmured something unintelligible before following Mrs. Latchmore out. Lord Wilburfolde stood once again, bowing to both ladies until the door shut behind them.
He then began to inquire into the accident to Clarissa’s vessel. Kitty looked round-eyed from one to the other, trying to comprehend why the gentleman’s questions were so lengthy, yet the lady’s answers were wondrous short.
This had gone on
for some time when the door opened a little way, but instead of Pobrick, it was Mrs. Latchmore.
“Do not let me intrude, pray,” Mrs. Latchmore said. “I just wish to request Lady Catherine to help me find my needle, for I dropped it on the landing, and I require a pair of young eyes to find it.”
Of course Kitty must rise. As soon as the door was shut behind her, though, she discovered Mrs. Latchmore already at the other end of the landing, whispering to Lady Chadwick, “I told you that this would be the Occasion. You’ll see that I am right.”
Lady Chadwick cast a look toward the salon. She seemed uncertain, and Kitty wondered if she were waiting for Clarissa to appear, or some other sign or signal. But the door remained closed, Mrs. Latchmore was insistent, and so the ladies vanished into the breakfast room, leaving Kitty standing uncertainly on the landing outside the salon.
Kitty had glanced at Clarissa while passing. How to interpret the look that she had seen in Clarissa’s eyes? Did she wish to be alone with this caller? Then she remembered something curious that Clarissa had said when they first met, and prompted by instinct, she eased the door opened slowly.
She did not intend to eavesdrop, but Lord Wilburfolde’s voice was not a quiet one. “... And I addressed your esteemed father, who was flattering enough to encourage my suit. If you would name the date that will make me the happiest of men, I will thus be able to carry the news back to my good mother, who I feel certain would rejoice enough to rise from her bed of discomfort.”
Kitty was then astonished to hear Clarissa say in a soft voice, “After the summer season, it shall be as you wish, Lord Wilburfolde.”
ELEVEN
Clarissa cast her tear-sodden handkerchief aside and sat down at her dressing table, where she gazed resolutely at her red nose and swollen eyes. No one would ever call her beautiful, or fall in love with her. That was life. She could count up all her blessings — she knew she ought to — except that would not make her feel better.
She turned away as fresh tears burned her eyes. Married to Lord Wilburfolde, she would be the lady of her own establishment, and therefore no burden on James’s future wife. Why had she never looked at Aunt Sophia and considered her position? Because she’d grown up with it.
I will not be Aunt Sophia to my future nieces and nephews—that must be a consolation, she thought resolutely. Another consolation would be her own children, eventually, and until then, she would dedicate her life to being useful to others. That must be her chief pleasure.
She thought of Kitty and the guest chamber and the urge to confide in her was nearly overwhelming. Kitty’s amazement had been more difficult to endure then Mrs. Latchmore’s triumph, and the careless congratulations of her family. She had expected her father’s relief, and her step-mother’s benevolent indifference. She had expected her sisters’ gleeful expressions about weddings, bride clothes, and fuss. She had not expected the mute question in the Kitty’s countenance. There was true concern! There was unselfish sympathy!
Clarissa was also certain of Kitty’s heartfelt sympathy if she were to confide her feelings. But that was the very reason she must say nothing. She already sensed that Kitty was not fond of her sister-to-be. Confessing the incipient sensibilities, or fancies (for she would not dignify a three days’ acquaintance with the term regard) she had developed toward the marquess could only be a burden for Kitty. She could do nothing. However irregular the engagement with Lucretia Bouldeston might be, it existed. Kitty had told Clarissa. Her brother had hinted at it. He had enough feeling for the young lady to wish to make her his wife, and Clarissa would keep honor with her sex by not even permitting herself to think of the gentleman.
She did not go down to dinner when Rosina came in to help her dress. The maidservant, who knew her quiet mistress best, withdrew to inform the family that Clarissa was laid down with the headache.
o0o
Kitty woke late the next morning. When she thrust back the curtain around her bed, she gave a contented glance around the lovely bedchamber. She never tired of admiring the smart, fresh hangings on the wall, the matching Sevres vases on the mantelshelf, the leaping fire in the fireplace.
This is truly the way to live, she thought as Alice shouldered her way through the door, carefully carrying a loaded tray.
“I thought you might be waking up, Lady Kitty,” Alice said as she set the tray down. “Lawks! The household is turned a-bedlam.”
In other circumstances Kitty might have found herself diverted by Alice’s evident pleasure at the stir and noise of ‘bedlam’ had she not suspected the cause.
Kitty recollected all the hints that Clarissa had let drop about not wishing to be married. What could make her change her mind? Little as was her experience of the world, Kitty was very certain she had not seen any signs of love in that woeful countenance.
The only way to solve the mystery was to get out of bed. And indeed, Clarissa was the subject when she joined the family for breakfast.
The first voice Kitty heard was Mrs. Latchmore’s. Apparently she had not got enough praise for her efforts in matchmaking, for she was going on above the noise of the younger girls trying to get out of having to pay a call on Lady Wilburfolde. “So affecting! Clarissa will always be in reach, and as Lady Wilburfolde, she may entertain in London, which will be to Eliza’s and Matilda’s benefit.”
“Not she,” James put in. “The old dragon won’t let Clarissa spend a groat. She’ll go right on spending their fortune quacking herself. You watch.”
Kitty was interested to see Lord Chadwick give an actual shudder at the words ‘old dragon.’
There was a pause, then Tildy stated, “And that is why I do not wish to go calling. I am not being married. It is horrid enough when Lady Wilburfolde calls, smelling of horrid medicines, and all she talks of are her symptoms.”
Lady Chadwick murmured, “You will go because it is the civilized thing to do. But we will only stay fifteen minutes, for no more is required when someone is unwell.”
Tildy gave a loud sigh, but spoke no more.
As Kitty had not yet been introduced to Lady Wilburfolde, she was not expected to join the Harlowe ladies and Mrs. Latchmore in paying this call. She was more relieved than curious, especially when she saw Clarissa looking, as she thought, very much like Marie Antoinette entering the tumbril as she climbed into the carriage with the others.
Sorry as Kitty was for her friend, she could do nothing in her aid. Meanwhile, Clarissa’s woeful profile inspired Kitty to fly to her room and dig her novel from the bottom of her trunk. Paper, ink, and pens were a-plenty on the pretty desk, and so the morning sped by as Andromeda’s adventures included a forced betrothal—her features taking on a semblance of Clarissa Harlowe’s.
On the ladies’ return, once again Clarissa retired with the headache, after a softly murmured apology, and so Kitty joined the younger girls at their invitation, as Amelia described, in detail, the wardrobe she was accumulating for her launching into Society.
o0o
Kitty’s curiosity about the mysterious Lady Wilburfolde was assuaged the next day, when they were all gathered in the morning room after breakfast. Clarissa had said that she must write some letters, then she would devote her day to Kitty. The latter said she would be happy to occupy herself with a book, as the younger girls ran in and out, and Mrs. Latchmore busied herself with mending a fire screen, speaking at least ten words to a single stitch.
That was when Pobrick came to the door. His voice, Kitty thought, was even lower than normal when he announced, “Lady Wilburfolde.”
Everyone rose, Lady Chadwick as quickly as the schoolgirls.
Lady Wilburfolde walked in, a tall woman of formidable mien, who much resembled her son, except her hair was iron-gray. She let Lady Chadwick advance to her to shake hands, and introduce her to Kitty, who detected the faintest sniff on the words ‘St. Tarval’ as this lady looked Kitty over from hair to toes, then bowed from the collarbones.
Lady Chadwick invited the caller to
sit, whereupon with stately assurance, Lady Wilburfolde took the best chair. Lady Chadwick sat on the sofa beside the girls.
“I count nothing, least of all, my own health, when it comes to a question of what is due to our positions in life,” Lady Wilburfolde lady stated in what Kitty suspected was a well-rehearsed speech. “Edmund, as you may suppose, is quite pleased.”
“The girls have been in transports,” Lady Chadwick answered, sounding like a girl herself.
Aunt Sophia started in eagerly, “Oh dear, oh my, yes, just as I’ve always said—”
“It seems odd to me, then, Mrs. Latchmore,” Lady Wilburfolde interrupted, frowning, “that this business could have been conducted with a bit more firmness and celerity. I might have had an heir growing under my instruction by now. But Providence has granted me this much time, so I intend to put it to good use before I am reunited with my sainted Wilburfolde.”
Kitty sustained a sudden, horrid picture of this formidable lady supervising a marriage bed, an image that caused her to take her lip firmly between her teeth. She was relieved as the tea things appeared, and a bustle and fuss must be made over that.
The lady then went on. “We spoke yesterday of the Hymeneal arrangements. Edmund and I conversed upon this head last night, and he agrees with me that a new house is an unnecessary expense. It is not only economical for the marital couple to live in The Castle, where there is so much space, but we desire the Wilburfolde heir to grow up in his ancestral home.”
Nobody said anything. Clarissa looked startled.
Before she could speak, Lady Wilburfolde turned her way. “That does not mean that the young people ought not to have their treat. I have no objection to Edmund and Clarissa going up to London for a week or two each spring. Edmund tells me he finds the metropolis improving, but of course he is always glad to return home from the noise, stink, and frivolousness of London ways.”
Danse De La Folie Page 11
