by M C Beaton
“Did you not know what happened?” cried Mary Maddox. “It was all Pelham’s fault, of course.”
“Pelham! What had he to do with it?”
“Did not Mrs. Bessamy tell you? She was so incensedand called him cruel. The duke told that rattle, Mr. Camden, that no gentleman of fashion should be seen dancing with you, and gossipy Mr. Camden told the other gentlemen.”
Jenny took a deep breath. “I could kill him,” she raged.
“Tonight he was denying the whole thing and saying that Miss Sutherland was remarkably pretty and bound to be all the rage.”
“I wonder if my aunt, Lady Letitia, knew of this,” said Jenny. “But she could not, for she said it was all my own fault.”
“Is Lady Letitia the extremely modish lady who is with you and Mrs. Freemantle?”
Jenny nodded.
“I do not think so. For she appeared distressed and puzzled. I should not worry about stuffy Pelham. You are vastly pretty. Everyone says so.”
Jenny looked in the glass. The old, familiar vain Jenny looked back. It was like meeting a dear friend again. Jenny’s eyes began to sparkle.
“I am much indebted to you, Miss Maddox, for your news.”
“Will you not call me Mary? I feel we might be friends.”
Before Jenny could reply, Lady Letitia and Mrs. Freemantle came into the room. “I must pin up Agnes’ hem,” said Lady Letitia. “Go back and entertain Lord Paul, Jenny, until we return.”
Jenny darted off without staying to introduce Mary Maddox. Lady Letitia introduced herself and apologised for her charge’s thoughtlessness.
“I am afraid I gave Miss Sutherland a shock,” said Mary. “I told her what the Duke of Pelham had been saying about her.”
“Oh dear,” boomed Mrs. Freemantle. “Now she will be swanning and preening all over the place.”
Mary gave the older ladies a puzzled look, but Lady Letitia merely compressed her lips, took a reel of silk and a needle out of her reticule, and bent to the task of stitching the hem of Mrs. Freemantle’s gown.
Mary Maddox returned to her supper companion, a Mr. Toby Parry. Mr. Parry was a fresh-faced young man with a mop of golden curls and a nose as undistinguished and snub as Mary’s own. His grey eyes lit up at the sight of her.
“I have been talking to London’s latest beauty, Miss Jenny Sutherland.”
“You mean the young lady with the dark hair over there with Lord Paul? The one Pelham did not like?”
“Yes. I hope we can be friends. I found her charming and unaffected.”
“Would you say she was really unaffected?” asked Toby Parry. Miss Sutherland was undoubtedly very beautiful, but he thought the way she was flashing beguiling looks at Lord Paul, a man old enough to be her father, was a trifle bold, to say the least.
“Oh yes. I am quite determined to call on her. Perhaps she would care to go driving with me tomorrow.”
“I would be ready to escort you,” said Toby eagerly.
“Aha!” laughed Mary. “She has enslaved you already.”
“Not I!” exclaimed Toby, alarmed. “My affections are engaged elsewhere.”
“Now who can the lucky lady be? I wonder. Here is Mr. Angers come to join us.”
Toby threw the newcomer a smouldering glare, and then sat with his arms folded, looking decidedly sulky as Mary turned and began chatting to Mr. Angers.
“Before your aunt returns, Miss Sutherland,” Lord Paul was saying, “I crave your indulgence. Do you believe in love at first sight?”
Jenny gave him a startled look, and then a slow, warm smile. “I believe such a thing exists outside books, my lord, yes.”
Lord Paul took a deep breath. “Then it will not surprise you to learn I am desirous of joining my name with that of your family. I shall call at Clarges Street at noon tomorrow. Here is Lady Letitia. No more of this at present.”
Jenny leaned back in her chair and looked across the room. She was bathed in a radiant glow of triumph. Two days in London and already she was to receive a proposal of marriage. Lord Paul was talking to Lady Letitia, leaning forward and smiling into her aunt’s eyes. Jenny was only barely aware of them. Her eyes met those of the Duke of Pelham, and she threw him an amused smile. How furious he would be to learn that his friend had fallen victim to such indistinguished charms. Of course she would accept Lord Paul. He was old, but he was kind and handsome and a tremendous catch.
Now what is making that little minx so happy all of a sudden? wondered the duke before turning back to his companion. He had taken Lady Clarissa Bellisle into supper. She was a cool and stately widow in her late twenties. She had reddish-brown hair, fashionably styled, a long thin nose, a fullmouth, and rather protruding liquid brown eyes. Her gown of brown-and-gold-shot silk revealed an excellent figure. As the duke did not believe in love, and was already fatigued at the prospect of hunting for a wife, he felt he had been very lucky indeed to meet Lady Bellisle so soon. He would need to make inquiries about her background and fortune, but his lawyers could be entrusted to do that. Provided there were no scandals in her past, he felt sure she would make him a very good wife. She was sophisticated and witty, and although she showed perhaps too much interest in the more vulgar side of the theatre—she claimed the clown, Grimaldi, was a genius—there was nothing else about her to give him a disgust of her. That he might be expected to flirt a little, send her flowers, or show some warmth did not enter the duke’s head. He knew his worth. Any lady would be glad to have him, particularly a widow.
Lady Bellisle was complaining about the difficulty of finding good servants. The duke told her he was thinking of putting the Clarges Street town house on the market and recommended the servants. “I can contrive to find places for some,” he added. “But they are a close-knit bunch and I cannot imagine them ever working in separate establishments. I gave them the day off today because I did not need their services, but friends of mine told me it was a silly thing to do and that servants should not be allowed extra time off.”
“I have given mine the evening off,” said Lady Bellisle, “apart from my maid, coachman, and footmen. The kitchen staff live too much of their life below ground, and if they are not allowed up into the fresh air, then they sicken and that can cost a great deal in physician’s bills. Mine are inclined to be lazy, but I have a good butler who contrives to keep them in order. But I do not see the point in keepingservants tied to the house when one has no need of them. An interest in the welfare of servants is now unfashionable, but very important. It is dangerous to leave them too long to their own discontented thoughts. It is important to know at all times what ails them and whether they are unhappy. Otherwise, they might leave, and then one is put to the fatiguing job of supervising the training of new maids.”
“So you do not think I did wrong,” said the duke, “by allowing my own bunch of peculiars unexpected liberty?”
“Not in the slightest.”
“Perhaps I should ask them if anything is troubling them,” he said half to himself. “I can hardly begin to explain, Lady Bellisle, how wonderful and happy the atmosphere of my house was this morning and how changed and restless this evening.”
“I suppose I could speak to them for you, your grace, if it would please you.”
“I can deal with them myself, but it would please me greatly to see more of you, Lady Bellisle. May I take you driving at five tomorrow?” Five o’clock was the fashionable hour for driving in the Park.
She hesitated. The duke frowned horribly. Lady Bellisle would most certainly sink in his opinion of her if she did not realise the full honour that was being done to her.
“Yes, your grace,” she said finally. “I should like that above all things.”
Before leaving the Denbys, Mary Maddox secured Lady Letitia’s permission to take Jenny driving. “A very prettily behaved miss,” said Lady Letitia as Mary walked away.
“Yes, and she told me the most monstrous thing!” cried Jenny. “Pelham deliberately tried to ruin me socially.�
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“So I believe,” said Lady Letitia repressively.
Jenny looked shocked. “And yet you said all those unkind things!”
“I did not know then about Pelham, and when I learned about his behaviour—behaviour he has been at pains to put right; he told several gossipy gentlemen tonight he had said no such thing and that you were a diamond of the first water. As I was saying, when I learned of his behaviour, I did not tell you because I feared you would grow vain again. You were badly in need of a set-down, however cruel it may have seemed at the time.”
Jenny was furious. “I may as well tell you, Aunt,” she said, “that not everyone has such a low opinion of me as you. In fact, you may not bother your head about my future any longer. Lord Paul Mannering is to call at Clarges Street at noon tomorrow in order to propose marriage.
Lady Letitia gripped the tortoiseshell sticks of her fan so tightly that they snapped. In a colourless voice she asked, “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” said Jenny, glowing.
“He is too old for you,” said Lady Letitia flatly.
“He is very handsome,” said Jenny with a defiant toss of her curls. “He is a lord.”
“Do you love him?”
“That will come later,” said Jenny. “He is everything that is suitable. Come, Aunt. I thought you would have been proud of me.”
Lady Letitia turned away. “Yes, yes,” she said impatiently. “Do let us leave. I have the headache. Mrs. Freemantle is determined to stay to the bitter end as usual. We shall need to send the carriage back for her.”
Jenny tried to talk to her aunt on the road home, but Lady Letitia snapped at her to be quiet.
Lady Letitia slept badly. She was aroused at dawn by the roar of Mrs. Freemantle’s voice, shouting from the street below, “Good night, my chucks,” followed by a hoarse chorus of masculine voices raised in song.
“She will be foxed again,” muttered Lady Letitia, “but I must talk to someone.”
This time she went straight down to the kitchen and made the coffee first. But when she pushed open the door of the front parlour, it was empty. She stood, irresolute, and then mounted the stairs and opened the door of Mrs. Freemantle’s bedroom.
That lady was lying face down on the bed with all her finery still on, snoring horribly.
Sadly, Lady Letitia turned to walk away, but Mrs. Freemantle gave a last, enormous grunting snore and woke up. “Whash that?” she cried.
“It is I, Letitia. I am s-sorry to have d-disturbed you.” Lady Letitia set down the coffee on a table and burst into tears.
“I say! The deuce!” cried Mrs. Freemantle, alarmed into sobriety. “Here, let’s have some of that filthy stuff.” She tottered over to the coffee-pot, poured herself a cup, and drank the scalding contents in one gulp. “Now,” she said, throwing an arm around Lady Letitia’s shaking shoulders, “tell Agnes all about it, hey!”
“It’s Jenny. She’s going to be married.”
“And to some adventurer, I’ll be bound. Don’t worry. We’ll send miss back to the country, out of harm’s way.”
“It’s not that. She is to marry Lord Paul Mannering.”
“Oh.” Mrs. Freemantle sat down on the bed and patted the place beside her and waited until Lady Letitia had sat down as well. “Well,” said Mrs. Freemantle cautiously, “he’s quite a catch. A gentleman, a lord, and lots of money.”
“I am as vain as Jenny,” said Lady Letitia, drying her eyes. “You see, I thought he was interested in me.”
“Well, you’re a fine-looking woman. Plenty of men around.”
“But he is the only man I have ever met with whom I have fallen in love.”
“Dear, dear. Can’t believe that. You must have met someone before.”
“I thought I was in love once, but my parents forbade the marriage and I was heart-broken. They said he was a wastrel. I swore never to marry.”
“And was he?”
“Yes, as it turned out, they were right. But by that time, I had become in the way of not thinking of marriage, and then I had the care of Jenny.”
“You are her aunt. Tell her she can’t have him.”
“I couldn’t do that. If he wants her, then I must be brave. He looked at me in such a way, you know, and all the time he was merely thinking of Jenny.”
“She is quite lovely, drat her eyes,” said Mrs. Freemantle. “Look, she’s bound to oversleep if we don’t rouse her. I’ll deal with Mannering and make sure he’s really serious about this.”
“No, I cannot shirk my responsibilities,” said Lady Letitia. “I shall see him myself, and, yes, I shall give him my permission.”
Jenny did not oversleep. Excitement and anticipation woke her early. Instead of looking forward to Lord Paul’s proposal of marriage, she was looking forward instead totelling Mary Maddox all about it. Popular Mary might be, but surely no one had yet proposed to her.
She breakfasted in her room and spent a pleasant morning dressing in her best and having Cooper arrange her hair in one of the latest Greek styles. Rainbird’s voice telling her not to look in her glass for a month sounded in her head, but Jenny told herself that she was no longer vain, only glad for Aunt Letitia’s sake to have secured an eligible husband.
Her glass told her she had never looked prettier. Little dusky curls rioted from a knot on top of her head, and her fine muslin gown of palest pink embroidered with deeper pink flowers over a slip of white satin was vastly becoming.
Lady Letitia entered just before noon, looking tired and drawn. “You had best wait here, Jenny,” she said, “until I give Lord Paul permission to pay his addresses, and then I shall send for you.”
“She does look so sad,” said Jenny to Cooper when her aunt had left.
“My lady is mortal fond of you,” said Cooper. “Her ladyship’ll be sad at the thought of losing you.”
“Tell me, Cooper,” said Jenny, “are there any servants other than yourself and Giles in this house?”
“Why, yes, miss. There are two chambermaids and a housemaid, parlourmaid, and one footman, not to mention the cook and the scullery maid.”
“I never see them.”
“Mrs. Freemantle thinks it’s wrong to keep servants. She thinks we all ought to be able to do for ourselves. So she tells them to keep out of sight at all times—’cept Giles. That way, she can persuade herself she don’t have any.”
* * *
The church clocks were striking twelve when Lord Paul arrived on foot. Lady Letitia stood in the front parlour, holding on to a chair back, facing the door, and waited for him to be announced.
He looked so handsome and so happy that she felt wrenched with jealousy.
Fighting down all these awful feelings, she civilly asked him to be seated.
He looked at her sad, drawn face and some of the happiness left his own.
“Perhaps what I have to say will come as a surprise to you,” he began. “I should have spoken to you last night, but after I had gained Miss Sutherland’s approval, I found my courage waning, and decided to leave matters until today.”
“Not at all,” said Lady Letitia politely. “Jenny told me you were to call. You have my permission, my lord.”
Happiness glowed on his face. “You accept? I may pay my addresses?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Oh, you make me the happiest of men.”
He walked up to her and gently disengaged her clutching hands from the chair back. He slid his arms around her waist and smiled down into her bewildered eyes.
“Oh, Letitia,” he said huskily. His lips descended on her own and Lady Letitia found she was being enthusiastically kissed.
Duty fought a raging battle with passion, and duty won. She wrenched herself out of his arms, and backed away.
“May I suggest, my lord,” she said, her eyes flashing, “that you keep your kisses for my niece.”
He stood stunned. “But that would be most improper, my love.”
Lady Letitia sat down suddenly.
“Did you not come here today to propose marriage to Jenny?” she asked.
“Of course not!” Lord Paul looked outraged. “It is you I love. How can you think that a man of my years would wish to tie himself up with a little girl? I fell in love with you the first moment I saw you.”
“Paul!” Lady Letitia threw herself against his chest and burst into tears.
Upstairs, Jenny began to pace up and down. What could be taking Aunt Letitia so long? Jenny, looking down from the window, had seen Lord Paul arrive. After another ten minutes, she decided to go downstairs and listen at the door of the front parlour.
She pressed her ear against the panels but could hear no sound from within. Anxiety gripped her. Could Lady Letitia, for some reason, have sent Lord Paul away?
Jenny gently opened the door.
Lord Paul and Lady Letitia were enfolded in a passionate embrace. They were lost to the world. Jenny could have screamed or fainted and they would not have been aware of her.
She gently closed the door and stood leaning her back against it, her face quite white.
Then she slowly began to mount the stairs.
Chapter
Six
Whom she refuses, she treats still
With so much sweet behaviour,
That her refusal, through her skill,
Looks almost like a favour.
—William Congreve
It was the worst day of young Jenny’s life. She was thoroughly ashamed of herself and made more thoroughly ashamed and miserable when Mrs. Freemantle, on learning the glad news of Lady Letitia’s engagement, berated Jenny for having given her aunt so much unnecessary suffering the night before.
Jenny had been much attached to her former governess, Miss Phipps, now living in retirement in Barminster, not realising that lady’s slavish admiration of beauty had been a dangerous thing. Everything Jenny did or thought was right in Miss Phipps’ eyes. The governess had maintained that any girl as pretty as Jenny did not need to waste her time addling her mind with unnecessary education. Beauty was power, according to Miss Phipps, and beautiful women had a right to use that power to the best advantagebecause men were selfish beasts and a little teasing and flirting and heart-break never did any of them any harm. Although Jenny had not quite believed the extent of this nonsense, she had formed too high an opinion of her own looks.
