by Carola Dunn
Justin thrust a handkerchief into her hand. “You did not always live in lodgings in Cheltenham, I collect,” he said with unexpected sympathy.
“Oh, no.” Having surreptitiously dried her eyes, Ginnie proudly raised her chin. “Papa was a country gentleman, a Herefordshire squire, and Mama’s father was a baronet.”
“It should have been perfectly obvious to me from the start that you were all gently bred. I was determined to be blind, I suppose.”
“Hush! We are agreed to let bygones be bygones, are we not? I have been meaning to thank you for employing Nurse and Miss Tullycombe and Alice. They make my life very much easier.”
“I am glad of it. I hope the provision of a seamstress and an abigail will ease Lydia’s life.”
“So she did understand you correctly! It is very kind in you, but we scarcely need an abigail.”
“You will when the seamstress has refurbished your wardrobes. It must reflect upon my father and on me if you go about in shabby dress.”
“Shabby! Lord Amis, frugal is the word.”
He laughed. “Frugal, if you will—and my name is Justin. Frugal or shabby, you would not put me to shame before my guests? I believe we had best supplement the yet-to-be-found seamstress’s efforts with a visit to some local dressmaker. Will you find out who is best, and soon?”
“Oh yes, Mrs. Frobisher will know.” Ginnie’s heart sang at the prospect of pretty gowns after years of making do.
“You must have riding habits. With my father’s permission, I shall be purchasing several horses.”
“Horses! Justin, you cannot be serious. Can Steppapa really afford so many frivolous expenses?”
“He has spent little for years, and I am not one to outrun the constable.” He paused with an arrested air. “Doubtless I shall have to learn to understand our man of business’s accounts as well as Mills’s. Mrs. Peaskot has a high opinion of your ability in that regard. Will you help me?”
“Of course, if I can, though household accounts are surely simpler.”
“I feel certain you will prove equal to more complicated bookkeeping methods.”
“I only wish I were certain I am equal to providing for your house party. I have never done anything like it before, and Mrs. Peaskot has not for many years. Have all your guests accepted?”
“Yes, though Lord Trenton will join us a day or two later than the rest. Also, I’m afraid my aunt has announced that she is about to arrive from Paris.”
“I know!” Ginnie groaned. “I mean, Mama showed me the kindest letter from Lady Matilda and I shall be delighted to make her acquaintance, but I wish she were not coming at the same time as everyone else. Will you describe the guests to me so that I know what to expect, how best to make them comfortable?”
To her surprise, Justin looked ill at ease. She recalled her suspicion that he had not intended meeting his friends to be a pleasant experience for the Websters. Surely now that they were reconciled, his changed attitude to her family would determine that of his friends.
“You will like Aunt Matilda,” he said hurriedly. “She is forthright and strong-willed, even somewhat dictatorial at times, but tolerant and friendly. She is determined to offer your mother her support.”
“Then I like her already. Lord Hardwick will not come with her?”
“Not this time. He is a lieutenant general with the Army of Occupation in Paris.’’
“Who else is coming? I did not bring the list you gave me.”
“There’s George Medford and his sister, Lady Elizabeth Innes. I was at Eton and Balliol with George.”
“He is a marquis, is he not?” Ginnie asked a trifle nervously.
“Yes, but not in the least high in the instep. He’s the best of good fellows. Lizzie I remember as a tongue-tied schoolroom miss. She’s of an age with Lydia, about to make her bow to Society. I hope they will be friends.”
“If not, it won’t be Lydia’s fault.” She prayed that Lady Elizabeth was pretty enough not to resent her sister’s looks.
“Then there is Bascom. He was at Eton with George and me. You must promise me you will not laugh when you see him.”
“Laugh? Why should I?”
“Alfred wears the highest collars, the widest, stiffest cravats, the gaudiest waistcoats, the largest gilt buttons, the most padded shoulders, the tightest... shall I go on?” he enquired as Ginnie raised her hand to her mouth too late to stifle a giggle.
“I believe I have the picture.”
“Worse,” Justin said gloomily, “his dress is his only subject of conversation, and his sister is much the same. When ruffles are à la mode, Lady Pierce has more ruffles than anyone else. When hemlines rise, hers rise farthest. When transparent muslins are worn, hers are practically invisible.”
“Good heavens, I cannot wait to see them. What of Lord Pierce?”
“You have heard of George Brummel, the Beau?”
“Yes, who has not?”
“Pierce is a counterfeit Brummel, a would-be witty, fastidious dandy who despises his wife’s taste.”
“Oh dear,” said Ginnie, the only response that came to mind. Mr. Bascom and the Pierces did not sound congenial.
“At that,” Justin continued, “Pierce’s feeble wit is to be preferred to the tedious pomposity of Parringale’s conversation, if conversation is the word for it. As for Mrs. Parringale, she is known to the Ton as Parrot Parringale because she constantly echoes the words of others. Every scandalous, hurtful on-dit is guaranteed dissemination by her tongue.”
Ginnie was startled by the dislike in his voice. “But they are your friends!” she protested.
“Acquaintances,” he said shortly, his face closed. “Excuse me, pray. I must go and consult Mills about that unfortunate family.”
Hurt and angry, she realized that he had deliberately invited people he did not care for simply because he knew they would hold her family in contempt—and show it.
He had not described Lord and Lady Trenton and their daughter. Lady Amabel Fellowes. Was the omission because they were even less agreeable than the rest, or because they were true, intimate friends? Somehow Ginnie found the possibility that Lady Amabel might be Justin’s intimate friend quite unbearable.
All in all, she began to dread the house party.
* * * *
Full of remorse, Justin strode down the passage to Mills’s office. He had intended only to warn Ginnie, to put her on her guard against the detestable people he had been bacon-brained enough to invite into his home. Instead he had vexed and distressed her.
She was too shrewd not to have guessed his purpose in issuing the invitations. He ought to have stayed to assure her that he regretted his damnable folly, but he had escaped to avoid speaking to her of Amabel.
“About as much pluck as a dunghill cock!” he jeered at himself. Ginnie surely was aware that he was bound to marry, if only for the sake of an heir, and whom he wed made no difference to her. Sooner or later she would learn that the daughter of the Earl of Trenton was his chosen bride. Given the expectations he had raised, he was in honour bound to offer for Amabel, like it or not.
And he did like it, of course, he affirmed hastily. His equal in birth and fortune, handsome and accomplished, with a preference for him, tried and proven during his long absence—what more could he demand in a wife?
With a strong sense of relief, he reached the steward’s room and entered. In discussing with Mills a plan to ensure the prompt services of the doctor when needed, he shut out the memory of Ginnie’s reproachful gaze.
By the time Justin went up to change for dinner, the rain had stopped and a brisk wind was rapidly sweeping the clouds from the sky. He began to hope that the wind of common sense would clear the clouds from Ginnie’s brow, reminding her that invitations once sent could not be recalled, however much he might prefer to do so.
He wished he had waited a few days to strengthen their fragile friendship before he warned her of his guests’ less-agreeable characteristics. The renewe
d breach between them was surprisingly painful. Until she accepted his change of heart, his peace accord with her family was incomplete.
He stepped into his dressing-room. Tebbutt stood there staring at the dressing-table with a revolted expression on his face.
“The rain must’ve brought ’em out,” he said.
“Brought what...oh Lord!” He surveyed the heap of snails with disgust. Several of the boldest were exploring their surroundings, leaving slimy trails across his toilet articles and the mirror. “The rain may have brought than out, but it didn’t bring them in,” he observed grimly.
“Still, could’ve been worse. They could’ve put ’em in your bed.”
Justin shuddered. “Give them to Miss Judith for her hedgehog. I’ll wager those devilish twins are to blame.” He’d forgotten that not only Ginnie remained to be won over.
* * *
Chapter 15
When Justin emerged from his dressing-room, Ginnie was lurking on the landing, waiting for him.
“I know you cannot rescind your invitations now,” she assured him earnestly. “Never fear, Justin, we shall somehow contrive to satisfy your guests.”
Grateful for her magnanimity, Justin smiled at her. His heart was oddly light as they went down the stairs together. No, nothing odd about it: he had succeeded in turning a family of enemies into friends—most of them, at least.
His guests should have nothing to sneer at in their dress, he vowed, regarding Ginnie’s unadorned pink cambric gown with disfavour. Tomorrow he’d set about acquiring new wardrobes for every one of them, even the wretched twins.
He was glad he had sworn Judith to secrecy about the snails. She had been pleased to be saved the trouble of hunting them in the garden for her creatures, but he didn’t want Ginnie upset by her brothers’ misbehaviour. With any luck, new clothes would pacify Jack and Jimmy, and if not, ponies surely must. Justin resolved to remind Mills to treat the acquiring of a pair of ponies as a matter of urgency.
Dinner was a family occasion, none of the neighbours having ventured out after the storm. At ease with everyone at the table for the first time, Justin thoroughly enjoyed the meal. Everyone was merry, as if the end of his quarrel with Ginnie had lifted a damper from their spirits.
He noted Lady Wooburn’s care in selecting the best bits of every dish to tempt her husband’s erratic appetite, and how the earl ate every bite on his plate to please her. Far from being the disaster he had imagined, the marriage had proved exactly what his father needed. As Lord Wooburn surreptitiously patted his wife’s hand, Justin caught Ginnie’s eye and they exchanged a glance of perfect understanding.
He was going to enjoy having a large family, and he couldn’t wait to see Ginnie—and Lydia, of course—dressed in stylish new gowns.
* * * *
Some days later, the first new clothes arrived. Ginnie was in the schoolroom, listening to Priscilla reading a fairy tale aloud, when Alice came in with an armful of parcels.
“These here’s for the children, miss. Miss Lydia says will you come at once to try on your gowns.”
Ginnie hurried down to Lydia’s bedroom, already carpeted with a tangle of string, brown paper, and tissue paper. In no time they were gazing at each other in admiration.
Lydia’s morning gown of white jaconet muslin flared from the high waist to a hem flounced with rows of French work alternating with narrow rouleaux of mull. Knots of satin ribbon in her favourite deep blue added a touch of colour. The skirt swayed charmingly as she moved. Her happy smile delighted Ginnie.
“Nothing could make you prettier, Lyddie dear, but how prodigious smart you are!”
“So are you, Ginnie. Is it not pleasant not to be dowdy any more?”
“Very pleasant.” She looked down with satisfaction at her own walking dress. Of pale green muslin sprigged with darker green leaves, it boasted three wide, dark green frills edged with blond lace around the skirt. The high waist was bound with a green satin ribbon with long ends that fluttered behind. More lace trimmed the bodice and sleeves, and a triple fall of lace adorned the throat. “We need not blush to meet Justin’s fashionable friends.”
“It is excessively kind in Steppapa and Justin to buy us such lovely things. All of us. It must have cost a great deal, I wish I could do something to thank them.”
“Now that you have time on your hands, why do you not embroider a pair of slippers for Steppapa and net a purse for Justin?”
“The very thing!” Lydia clapped her hands. “I shall start right away.”
“Will you not go for a stroll with me? It is a glorious afternoon.”
Lydia shook her head. “I cannot. Mr. Peter Mason said he meant to call this afternoon. With his sister, of course. I have just time to go and see that the children’s new clothes all fit them properly.”
“When I was up there, the twins had already gone out. I must remember to tell them that on no account should they play in the mud or climb trees in their new clothes.” Ginnie picked up her new parasol, white with green ruffles. A lutestring spencer and a glorious bonnet completed the ensemble, but she decided regretfully that a short stroll in the park on a fine day did not call for such splendour. “Mama is out, so in case we have other callers to be entertained, I’ll just walk around the lake,” she said.
Justin had persuaded Gilbert to go with him to fish in the lake. Not that she was in any hurry to display her finery to Lord Amis—she merely wanted to thank him for his generosity.
The earl’s money had paid for the clothes, but the earl himself had never noticed his stepchildren’s shabbiness. The moving force was Justin. When he revised his opinion of the Websters, he had done so thoroughly. Ginnie was quite prepared to believe that his churlishness had been the momentary aberration of a normally equable and benevolent nature.
Now they could settle down to a pleasant, peaceful friendship. Since she no longer had reason to be angry with him, his presence would soon cease to agitate her.
Approaching the lake, she eagerly scanned the banks. There was no sign of the anglers. Disappointed, she strolled on along the path until she reached the point where it divided. A broad ride led into the beech wood from which Justin had galloped to their first, hostile meeting. A narrow footpath continued along the bank, thickly grown here with willow and alder.
She paused to furl her parasol. Unnecessary in the shade of the trees, it might catch on a low bough and tear.
“Gilbert!”
Her sedate, studious brother was perched in a willow, rod in hand. The trunk leaned out over the water, part of it nearly horizontal, and a thick branch paralleled it, not a foot above the water’s still surface. Gilbert sat on the trunk, his muddy booted feet on the branch.
“Hush, you’ll frighten the fish.”
Ginnie lowered her voice. “That’s the twins’ favourite spot for fishing for minnows. Is there anything larger?”
“Justin says it’s quite a deep pool and he’s caught perch here. He’s gone a bit farther along. Careful, don’t come any closer. There’s a quagmire under those leaves.”
She hastily jumped back, lifting her hem. “Your new evening coat and pantaloons have come.”
“No hurry, I’ll try ’em on later. Oh, is that a new gown?” he enquired belatedly. “Most dashing. Now do go away, Ginnie. Something might bite.”
Pleased to see him interested in an outdoor occupation that took him away from his books for a while, Ginnie went on. Intentional or not, that was another blessing to thank Justin for.
She found him standing under an alder, intent on the cork float bobbing at the end of his line. He had taken off his hat, coat, and cravat. The close-fitting buff waistcoat over his snow-white shirt was moulded to every taut muscle of his back. Dappled sunlight played on his light brown hair as he raised his rod slightly and stepped forward. Ginnie held her breath.
“Lost it, devil take it!” He began to reel in his line.
“Was it a big one?”
He turned his head, startled,
then grinned. “The one that gets away is always a whopper. I beg your pardon for my language; I was not aware of your presence.”
“I did not want to distract you, nor to frighten the fish, having already been reprimanded by my brother for speaking too loudly. It was an excellent notion to introduce Gilbert to angling.”
“I thought he ought to get out in the fresh air more often, and it may take some time to find him a suitable mount.” Leaning his rod against the tree, he came towards her. “Ah, I see one of your new gowns has arrived already. Charming!”
He spoke lightly, but the frank admiration in his eyes brought heat to Ginnie’s cheeks. “I don’t know how to thank you. Lydia is in raptures. She has never complained about the lack, but she does love pretty things.”
“And you?”
“Indeed, I am more than delighted. We have so much reason to be grateful to you, I scarcely know where to begin.”
“I am trying to make up for a slow start. For going backwards from the starting post, in fact. It is the least I can do for my new family.’’
He put his arm round her shoulders in a brotherly hug. His touch made her quiver. She gazed up at his suddenly intent face and he slowly raised his hand and traced her parted lips with one gentle fingertip, his arm tightening about her.
His hand moved to the curve of her hip, caressing, pressing her to him. And then his mouth was on hers. As his tongue invaded her mouth, a sharp sweetness invaded her loins, a hollow, aching need for she knew not what. She clung to him, strengthless, her being concentrated in the throbbing spot where his hard virility met her feminine softness.
“Ginnie,” he groaned. “Ginnie, you tempt... ouch!”
Clapping his hand to the back of his neck, he swung round with a wild glare. From a nearby hazel bush came muffled sounds of glee. He stalked towards it.
Two small, grubby figures erupted from the bush and fled. Justin lengthened his stride, reached out, grasped two collars, and shook the twins as a terrier shakes a rat. A popgun fell to the ground between them.
