She hung her head, but when he repeated the question, she said defiantly, ‘Viscount Launceston and I—we have—he says he is in love with me.’
‘Indeed? Has he offered for you?’
It occurred to Zanthe that, although the Viscount had spoken much of love, he had not mentioned marriage. She had simply taken it for granted. ‘Not exactly,’ she admitted.
‘I think I will have a little talk with this young man.’ She looked up in quick alarm, but he said reassuringly, ‘I hope I am not an unreasonable man. I will not force you into marriage with Brookenby if there is a possibility of happiness for you elsewhere. I desire only what is best for my children.’
Zanthe was fond of her father, but she had never seen any evidence of this concern in the past and was not sure she believed in it now. However, a few days later, she was sitting with her aunt and Papa in the morning-room when the butler announced the arrival of Viscount Launceston to see Lord Rothmere. She jumped up eagerly but sat down again as she recollected that she could not be present at this meeting, however important to her future happiness it might be.
Her father was absent from the room for half-an-hour, during which time Zanthe, quite unable to be still, paced the room, sighed, picked up her work and flung it down, read the first page of a book over and over, and generally drove her aunt distracted.
‘Oh, I hear my father’s step! Aunt, he must be coming to summon me—what was that?’
‘Merely the front door slamming shut, my dear.’
Zanthe ran to the window and pulled aside the heavy crimson curtain just in time to see Launceston run down the steps and stride off down the street. ‘He has gone. But—what—why?’
Lord Rothmere entered the room looking grave. ‘I am so very sorry, Zanthe.’
‘Sorry? What do you mean, Papa?’
‘Come into the library. Your aunt will excuse you.’
She followed him into the book-lined room and sank into a chair, for her knees felt unaccountably weak. ‘He has gone?’
Her father took up a stance by the fire, his hands clasped behind him. ‘I am afraid so.’
‘What did he say?’
‘My dear, you were deceived in him. He had no serious intentions. When I represented to him that he was standing in the way of a very good match for you, he immediately agreed that it would be best if he were to leave Town for a while—to allow you to recover from your infatuation, you know.’
‘But, he loves me!’
‘Oh, I daresay he fancied himself in love, but he was never thinking of marriage, my dear. He admitted as much. When he marries, it must be to an heiress, for he has mortgaged his land to the hilt and will find himself bankrupt shortly unless he can repair his fortune.’
‘No! No! I will not believe it. He could not be so cruel!’
‘Alas, young men are cruel, my dear. That is why I would see you wed to Brookenby. You will be safe with him.’
She saw Launceston just once more before he left Town. She had been dancing with Brookenby when she caught sight of him watching her. He was standing by an open window that let out onto a little terrace. When Brookenby returned her to her aunt, she had feigned sickness and, refusing her aunt’s escort, had made her way towards the window, claiming that the cool air would revive her. She walked out onto the terrace and sensed that he had followed her. She felt a light touch upon her shoulder and turned.
‘Well, Sir. I understand you are going away.’ She spoke lightly, determined not to show him how hurt she had been.
He shrugged. ‘There is nothing for me to stay for.’
‘No, I suppose not.’
‘You have accepted Brookenby’s offer?’
Her throat felt tight and painful; her eyes burned with hot, unshed tears. Then she lifted her eyes to his face and thought his eyes, too, looked curiously bright. ‘Papa wishes it.’
‘No doubt. Brookenby is one of the wealthiest men in England and will make generous settlements upon you.’ He took her hands in his. ‘We had an amusing time, Zanthe, playing at love. Will you not kiss me goodbye?’
He bent his head, seeking her lips for one last time. Instead, he received a stinging blow across the cheek. ‘How dare you!’ she cried and ran from him back into the ballroom, straight into Lord Brookenby’s arms.
‘Miss Sidney. Your aunt sent me to find you. She was concerned. You are ill!’
‘No, no, please take me somewhere quiet. I must be alone.’
‘I will certainly take you somewhere where you can be quiet. But, I beg pardon, I will not leave you alone. You are not well.’
Presently, she found herself in a deserted parlour lit only by the light of a full moon. He made her sit upon the sofa and seated himself beside her, patting her hand in a fatherly way.
‘Now, my dear, tell me what has happened.’
Instead, she turned and cast herself upon his chest, sobbing out her pain and humiliation. He wrapped his arms around her and rocked her gently, soothing her as though she had been a little girl. He kissed the curls that brushed his chin and then, when she looked up, startled, he kissed her lips. ‘Marry me, dear little Zanthe. I will take care of you and make you happy.’
And so, she did.
Twelve
‘And that was how we were parted,’ sighed Zanthe, wiping her eyes and sniffing a little. ‘It was Papa’s doing, for Jarvis really had offered for me and—oh, it makes me so angry—Papa told him that I was ready to accept Brookenby and wished to be free of—of—my entanglement with him.’
‘Poor Lord Launceston. How he must have suffered.’
Zanthe laughed. ‘You do not pity my sufferings?’
‘Oh, of course. But now it can all be put right, can it not?’
‘Yes, easily, if Jarvis were not so stubborn. He says now he is not worthy to be my husband. Well, I have had one worthy husband, and I do not wish for another!’
Susanna looked at her curiously. ‘What do you plan to do?’
Zanthe looked mischievous, and her eyes sparkled. ‘I have two strings to my bow. First, I will make him think that I intend to marry someone even worse, and then—I shall bring up the heavy guns.’
‘The heavy guns? Whatever do you mean?’
‘You will see. But it cannot be at once, for it might spoil things for Margery; and I must make sure she is safe first.’ She shivered a little. ‘We had better go home. It is getting chilly, and I think it may be coming on to rain.’
Indeed it was. By the time they reached the chair-stand, their pretty muslins were soaked through. But the chair-men were speedy and, before long, they had been deposited, dripping, in the lofty entrance hall of their hired house.
Margery came bustling out of the morning-room. ‘Zanthe, Susanna, you will catch your death of cold. Run upstairs at once and get out of those wet things.’
Zanthe’s teeth were chattering a little, but she said, ‘Presently. Who have you got in there?’
‘It is Mr and Miss Cholmondeley and the Signora. We are discussing the programme for the concert.’
‘Oh, excellent! I shall be down directly. Come along, Susanna. Why, that muslin is positively indecent when wet! I daresay mine is as bad.’
Ten minutes later, the two young ladies entered the morning-room. ‘Good afternoon, Miss Cholmondeley, Sir. Signora Villella, how charming it is to meet you again.’ Zanthe then drew forward Susanna. ‘Allow me to present my young friend to you all. This is Miss Fallowfield, who is staying with us for a little while.’
Susanna dropped a curtsey to each in turn. The Cholmondeleys acknowledged her kindly, and the Signora with magnificent insouciance. ‘Pretty child,’ she said, approvingly.
‘Have you worked out the programme yet?’ Zanthe seated herself beside Miss Cholmondeley and looked over her arm to the paper she had resting upon a book on her knee. There were a great many starred and scratched-out items, but there seemed to be the elements of a concert there. ‘How very kind, Signora. You are giving us Handel and Mozart. What a trea
t! Who else will perform?’
‘Well, Mrs Weatherspoon is very kindly to permit Miss Amelia and Miss Katherine Weatherspoon to delight us with a duet upon the pianoforte. And Mrs Preston will recite that charming poem, The Solitude of Alexander Selkirk, Cowper, you know and young Mr Templeton and his friend will perform the quarrel scene from Julius Caesar, Brutus and Cassius—such wonderful poetry!’
Zanthe was visited by one of her sudden impulses and made no attempt to resist it. ‘It is going to be a splendid concert, dear Miss Cholmondeley, but perhaps you require another singer, not to be compared with the Signora, of course, but to, shall we say, prepare the ground for her? Miss Fallowfield sings a little, and I’m sure she would be delighted to help in such a good cause.’
Miss Cholmondeley clasped her hands together in an ecstasy of gratitude. ‘Oh, dear Lady Brookenby, how did you know we were just wishing for another songstress? It would be delightful for, of course, Signora Villella will appear last, as befits our prima donna. And I must admit there is perhaps just a little too much non-musical entertainment in the first half of the programme. If Miss Fallowfield would honour us—you will? Oh, Miss Fallowfield, how very kind!’
Zanthe glanced up and caught the full blast of fury in the Signora’s narrowed eyes. She merely smiled and shook her head a little. As the Cholmondeleys got up to leave, she said, ‘Signora Villella, will you stay a moment longer? I need—er—that recipe—for—er—’
‘Zuppa alli Pomidoro,’ interposed Susanna, composedly.
‘—yes, that one—that you were kind enough to promise me.’
The prima donna sat down again with a great rustling of silk. ‘Very well. I stay.’
Miss Cholmondeley showed a marked inclination to linger and hear the recipe but was ushered from the room by Margery and her brother. There was a short silence.
Then the storm broke: ‘What—what I say—are you thinking of? Are you mad? You think I want my Susanna to sing—in front of these—volgari! Was it for this I bring her to you? This is the respectability you swore to—’
‘Yes, it is. There could be no better way of bringing her to the attention of Society. A virtuous, pretty young woman taking part in a charitable undertaking in company with ladies like Mrs Preston and the Weatherspoon girls is just what will bring her the right kind of notice.’ She saw that the Signora was suddenly looking thoughtful. ‘And,’ she said in the tone of a clincher, ‘young Mr Templeton is extremely wealthy and well-born. You know, Ma’am, as well as I, the intimacy that a venture of this nature engenders among the participants.’
The Signora nodded. ‘True, very true. It was well thought of.’ She turned to her daughter. ‘You shall sing Marzelline’s aria from Act One of Fidelio. It is a novelty still, here in England, and you sing it very well. You shall be dressed all in white and wear camellias in your hair, and this Mr Templeton will fall in love with you at once.’
Susanna merely smiled her secret, little smile, very well pleased at the prospect of singing in public and quite uninterested in the possibility of being fallen in love with.
It was at this moment that a smart rap was heard at the front door and a gentleman’s voice asking for Mr Sidney reached their ears. A few moments later, the morning-room door opened, and Sir Marmaduke Carlyle was ushered into the room.
Sir Marmaduke was a man of a good height and was exceptionally broad in the shoulders and chest. He had a handsome face, very dark and with a high colour that betokened an over-indulgence in claret. His abundant side-whiskers were glossy, curled, and scented with pomade. He was dressed in the height of fashion, with very high peaks to the shoulders of his coat and a wasp waist to draw attention to his athletic physique. He had a good leg for a pantaloon and wore highly polished hessian-boots. Despite all these attributes, Zanthe, surveying him critically, thought he did not look quite the gentleman.
She arose from her chair, smiling, and held out her hand. ‘Sir Marmaduke, you have come to call upon my poor brother. This is so very kind of you. He has told me so much about you; I am very happy to renew our acquaintance under more conventional circumstances.’
He bowed very low over her hand. ‘I have been counting the hours until my friend Sidney should be well enough for this visit,’ he said in an unexpectedly light voice. ‘But I am come at his request, or I should not have ventured to intrude upon you.’
‘Oh, I know. He told me he had asked you to call.’ She turned to Miss Fallowfield and said, ‘Susanna my love, did you not tell me you have a letter to write? You should not lose any time. Off with you; Sir Marmaduke will excuse you.’
Susanna slipped from the room while the gentleman was making his bow to the Signora. That lady regarded him shrewdly and then cast a thoughtful look at Zanthe, who was all smiles and blushes. She pursed her lips a little and then said, ‘I, too, must take my leave. Will you give me your arm to my carriage, Lady Brookenby?’
‘You will excuse me for a moment, Sir?’
‘Oh, don’t worry about me,’ he answered jovially.
The shower had passed, and the sun was once more shining. The two ladies stood upon the steps, the contrasting dark and fair beauties making a picture worthy of a better audience than the butler and a couple of chair-men lounging at the stand across the street.
‘You be careful what you’re about, my dear,’ cautioned the Signora, dropping her Italian accent and mannerisms like a cloak. ‘I see what you’re up to, of course, but if you want to make Jarvis jealous, you should pick on someone a bit safer. I wouldn’t trust that one as far as I could throw him. Nasty type, believe me; I’ve known a score of them.’
‘Oh, but I don’t merely want to make him jealous. That would not fit the purpose at all, for it would just make him unhappy and not advance my case one whit. No, he must believe he has to rescue me. And for that, I need to be in some kind of fix.’ She laughed happily. ‘Sir Marmaduke is exactly what I require.’
‘Have you thought what might happen if he doesn’t rescue you?’
‘Oh, I am not afraid of that. Jarvis is a born rescuer. Besides, what could happen? I am not a poor little maidservant to be ravished by the wicked nobleman.’
‘No, but you have a handsome fortune, and I’ll wager his pockets are pretty much to-let. I wouldn’t put it past him to try and compromise you so you have to marry him,’ the Signora said, bluntly.
‘Oh, do you think so,’ said Zanthe in delighted accents. ‘That would be perfect!’
Signora Villella burst out laughing. ‘Well, I see you don’t need my advice.’
‘Not yet, but I shall certainly let you know if I do.’ She paused and then said in a considering tone, ‘It could do no harm, I suppose, if you just mentioned to Jarvis that you had met Sir Marmaduke at my house. It might take a little time before the gossip reached him, otherwise.’
‘Don’t you worry; I certainly will. He needs to keep a better eye on you, young lady, and so I shall tell him!’
The two ladies parted upon the best of terms, and Zanthe returned to the morning-room to find Margery and her brother entertaining Sir Marmaduke. She was somewhat put out. Parry’s presence made no difference to her plans, but it would be difficult to flirt with Sir Marmaduke under her sister-in-law’s disapproving nose.
However, she need not have worried. The gentleman required no encouragement for his gallantries whatsoever. By the time he took his leave, he had solicited both Zanthe and Margery to stand up with him at the Fancy Ball in the Upper Rooms on the following Friday, and engaged himself to drive Parry, with his sister in attendance, the next fine afternoon in his phaeton so that the ‘poor old fellow’ could get out into the fresh air.
Zanthe was rather expecting a scold from Margery when their visitor had departed, but it was no such thing. Her sister-in-law was in raptures.
‘What a charming man! Such an air, such breeding! My dear Zanthe, I could see how he admired you, too. It is just what I could have wished for you.’
‘Oh? I am surprised. I had not tho
ught him the kind of gentleman to take your fancy. We do not know very much about him, and—’
‘But one can see at a glance that he is used to move in the first circles.’ She lowered her voice and, with a glance at Parry, who was dozing beside the fire, said, ‘I have been so concerned about you. I could see how Lord Launceston’s presence in Bath affected you. To be sure it could not be—’
‘Launceston? What are you talking about?’ Zanthe had never spoken so sharply to her sister-in-law before, but Margery did not take offence. She merely took one of Zanthe’s hands between her own and said, ‘You see—I know.’
‘You know—what?’
‘My brother told me all about it. How Launceston won your heart and then cruelly deserted you.’
‘No! He did not. You do not know all. It was Papa’s doing. Jarvis would have married me. He has told me how it was.’
‘Easy to say that now.’ Margery shook her head. ‘You are too trusting, my dear.’
Zanthe toyed with the idea of showing Margery exactly how mistaken she was about both gentlemen, but she refrained. Launceston was no fool. It would be difficult to convince him that she truly meant to encourage Sir Marmaduke’s suit. Margery’s innocent enthusiasm for the connection must lend verisimilitude to her stratagem.
‘Well, we will not quarrel about it. I must go up and change my gown before dinner. We are to go to the play tonight, are we not?’
‘Yes, indeed. Mr Cholmondeley has taken a box. It promises to be an enthralling evening. Shakespeare, you know.’
‘Oh,’ said Zanthe, dully. ‘Shakespeare?’
‘Hamlet.’
‘Hamlet? It is very long, is it not, Hamlet?’
‘But full of the most wonderful poetry.’
Zanthe sighed. She was not of a bookish turn of mind, and the only memories of Shakespeare she retained from the schoolroom were rather painful. When Parry called after them as they departed, ‘Rather you than me, Zan,’ she responded with a comical grimace of despair.
A Match of Hearts: A Regency Romance Page 8
