The good captain flushed. “Nothing of the sort, Lady Anne! I’m sure they’re quite welcome! They look very pretty and they laugh at all the stories, if one is careful of which stories one tells. And when the weather is unfit for hunting, they always think of some amusement for the whole company—charades or an impromptu performance.”
“It’s good to know that they’re useful,” Anne retorted. “And if luck is with them, they may even derive some pleasure from the gatherings, provided that it freezes over or the men condescend to honor them with their company.”
Not sure quite how to respond to her sarcasm, Captain Midford actually said something pertinent. “The older fellows seem to like being with them more than the younger ones. Dunn don’t mind at all sitting and talking with the ladies for hours, but then he’s as interested in books and paintings as he is in sports. I’m not saying he’s a pedant! Promise you he isn’t! He just thinks about a lot more things than most of the sporting fellows. Always travels with some book he’s reading, but I daresay there was a time, when he was younger, when he was more interested in hunting and shooting and cockfights and such.”
“Do you think you’ll get so old one day that you’ll carry a book with you, Captain Midford?” Anne asked, her eyes laughing.
He offered her a look of mock horror. “Heaven forbid! Actually, I carry one now, just in case, but I don’t tell anyone. Nothing educational, you understand. Just a novel by one of the writers Dunn suggests. They’re usually very readable,” he admitted judiciously.
Anne found that his observation was more or less correct. The younger men were still sowing their wild oats, while the older men had settled into a more diverse set of interests. She could see the difference even between her brothers Will and Jack, and though she found it difficult to envision Will ever attaining Jack’s more serious turn of mind, she felt that a few additional years in a gentleman did not come amiss. Before five and twenty, she decided, they were distinctly more interested in adventure than domesticity. And there were those who never seemed to achieve any maturity at all, age notwithstanding. Anne was beginning to find the study of her fellow man quite intriguing.
Chapter Ten
Bright spring sunshine flooded into the drawing room of Lord Greenwood’s town house and fell on Maggie’s face as her visitors were announced. The canaries hopped about their cage in a corner of the room, one of them occasionally trilling or bursting into a short song. Lit by the sun and her pleasure in seeing them again, Maggie’s face wore a gentle smile, but neither of her visitors could help noticing a difference. And it was not the stylishly dressed hair or any change in her coloring wrought by artificial means. The smile was as welcoming as ever but the eyes, those large gray eyes, were not the same. Anne and Emma shared a quick glance.
“You look enchanting, my lady,” Emma proclaimed, with a deep, humorous curtsy. What has he done to her? “You can see right off that I intend to toady to you, Maggie.”
“I hope not,” her ladyship retorted with mock horror. “Do sit down and tell me what you’ve been doing. Did Mrs. Childswick shed tears when you left?”
Anne chuckled. “Only if they were tears of joy, I suspect. And the only thing we’ve done so far since we left school is shop! Evening dresses, walking dresses, morning dresses, carriage dresses—with the odd bonnet and gloves and half boots. Emma got a lovely gray velvet pelisse lined with white sarcenet and I got a gypsy hat with a full plume of ostrich feathers. But we didn’t come to speak of us! We want to know all about Combe Lodge and your husband. I trust he’s well.”
“Oh, yes. He’s off to see Captain Midford just now. Greenwood purchased a new hack from a neighboring squire and wished to have the captain’s opinion of him.”
Pressed for details of her new country home, Maggie spoke enthusiastically of the lovely old stone building with its paneled rooms, the walled gardens, stableyard, dovecote, Home Wood, and the Gothic folly by the lake. She spoke of visits from the neighbors and a dinner party at the Lodge, of the kind housekeeper and the pretty village. But she said nothing further of her husband.
“Did you ride with Lord Greenwood?” Emma asked.
“A few times.” Maggie said vaguely, her eyes lighting on the bird cage. “Greenwood gave me the canaries for a wedding present.”
Anne was amused by the gift. “How delightful! Who would have thought of giving canaries? Do they sing like that all the time?”
“Mostly in the morning and evening. At night I put the cover over the cage and you don’t hear a peep until you remove it. It’s very cheering to hear the singing when you’re writing a letter or reading a book.”
“The Hando Savant strikes again!” Emma suggested, curious to see the reaction.
Maggie regarded her blankly, then offered a faint smile. “Yes, it was . . . thoughtful of him.”
When Anne asked who the Hando Savant was, Emma, not Maggie, explained and Anne frowned. “You shouldn’t tease Maggie’s husband behind his back, Emma.”
“Oh, Anne, it’s but a joke. You don’t mind, do you, Maggie?”
The eyes that met Emma’s were strangely unreadable. “No, why should I? Greenwood has nicknamed me Intrepid. He said it would have been Courageous, but he already had a horse named that.”
While Emma digested this bit of information in silence, Anne asked, “What did you do to earn such a formidable nickname?”
“I had the mare jump a rasper which he had just jumped.” Maggie shrugged. “I thought he expected me to follow. Otherwise I would have had to go a good half mile out of the way to catch him up.”
Emma’s expression was grim. “Is he not aware of your dislike of riding?”
“Yes, but he considers it a girlish fancy, easily overcome by the bonds of matrimony, and a patient husband.”
The flat tone in which this statement was delivered puzzled Anne, and made Emma irate. “Don’t let him intimidate you into doing anything you don’t wish, Maggie. Not everyone is at home on a horse, as his lordship must well know. It is unfair of him to expect you to suffer terrors at his whim.”
“I’m afraid Greenwood doesn’t know the meaning of terror,” his wife replied calmly. “He chose the mare for her bidability, and indeed she proved astonishingly responsive. My father’s style of horsemanship does not always leave a horse with the most tender mouth.”
Dissatisfied with this skirting of the issue, Emma was about to press the matter when Anne spoke, bantering. “So we are like to see you riding in the park one of these days?”
“I’m sure Greenwood would be pleased if I did.” Her eyes met Emma’s indignant ones and she looked away. “He would never insist, of course.”
“How very thoughtful of him,” Emma murmured.
“Well, of course he wouldn’t,” Anne retorted in an effort to be reassuring. “Don’t make a mountain out of a molehill, Emma. It is just as well that Maggie become more comfortable with horses, after all, if she is to spend much time in the country. One cannot walk everywhere."
Obviously this sentiment did not appease Emma, whose eyes still flashed with annoyance, but she allowed the subject to drop, realizing that it only made Maggie uncomfortable. Their talk turned to mantua makers and silk warehouses, assemblies and card parties. But even this subject was fraught with dangers, for Maggie admitted that Lord Greenwood had requested that she plan a ball for the middle of May.
“But surely you will still be working on the house!” Emma protested. “You wrote that you intended to have several rooms done over. And what do you know of giving a ball? Dear Lord, you haven’t even been to one yet!”
“Greenwood’s sister will help, he says, and Mrs. Phipps, the housekeeper, is versed in such matters. And certainly I shall have been to several before that time.”
Seeing the martial light in Emma’s eye, Anne hastened to intervene. “I shall be happy to help you, if I may. Since the wedding was so very small, it is only fitting that you should entertain the ton fairly soon; I quite see Lord Greenwood’s point
. Mama is having my ball week after next and I shall pay a great deal of attention to how everything is organized. I think it will be fun for you, Maggie. A challenge.”
Maggie smiled slightly and nodded, but said only, “Will the two of you help me to choose something special to wear for the occasion? Greenwood will expect me to be dressed like a plate from The Ladies’ Magazine.”
So their conversation was once again directed into harmless channels and kept there until the two visitors departed. As they climbed into the waiting carriage, Anne turned to Emma, a worried look on her face.
“I know you are as concerned about Maggie as I am, Emma, but what you were doing is not going to help her. Mama says no one should ever interfere in a domestic problem, other than giving encouragement. Finding fault with Greenwood won’t help Maggie, whatever her problem is. Dear Maggie obviously has quite enough to handle without thinking that you don’t like her husband.”
“I’m not the one who has gone on about Lord Greenwood all this time,” Emma pointed out.
“No. Very true. I’m sorry.” Anne smiled apologetically, rubbing her temples to soothe away the tension. “But you see, love, now that she is married, there is nothing to be done but help her adjust. There isn’t really anything singular in his wanting her to ride or give a ball. Oh, I know it is asking a great deal of Maggie, but it is the sort of thing a gentleman might expect.”
“Anne, Maggie has always been shy, but never reserved and withdrawn as she was this morning. If you and I can see that, surely her husband should be able to and not make extra demands until she’s accustomed herself. Say your husband fancied snakes and tried, during the first two weeks of your marriage, to get you to handle them . . .”
“That’s absurd, and not at all the same.”
“Not for you or me, perhaps, but Maggie has been pushed about so by her father that it must be torture to have her husband force her onto horseback, too.”
“He doesn’t force her; you heard what she said. She did it to please him.”
Emma snorted. “And of course he counted on that. If she’s not careful, he’ll ride roughshod over her just as her father did.”
“She’s only trying to be accommodating, Emma. You cannot lay that at his lordship’s door.”
“Can’t I? Perhaps not. But if she’s being so accommodating, why isn’t she happy?”
Anne shook her head and looked out the window at the passing shops. “I don’t know, Emma. I’m not saying it isn’t Lord Greenwood’s fault, but just that it won’t do Maggie any good for us to point out any problems. You may be sure she knows them well enough. Marriage is so frightfully permanent. Let her work out a comfortable arrangement with her husband. I imagine it takes time.”
"Yes, and a willingness on the part of both parties.” The carriage had stopped at Lady Bradwell’s house in Bruton Street, and Emma pressed her friend’s hand. “Don’t be angry with me, my dear. I am only annoyed with Lord Greenwood for not doing his share. We know Maggie is trying; she wouldn’t know how not to! You may count on my addressing invitations, or sampling lobster patties at the caterers, or whatever is necessary to help with Maggie’s ball.”
As Anne watched Emma gather up her skirts and skip up the steps to the large black door with its sparkling brass knocker, she felt a momentary stab of . . . what? Compassion? Emma seemed to think there was a solution to everything, that life was destined to be good to her. Perhaps it would. Certainly she would never fall into a loveless marriage like Maggie’s, unless she did it for reasons of her own. Anne wondered if what Emma was looking for was love, or a comfortable position in society, or a degree of independence most ladies didn’t have. Probably even Emma didn’t know, but her expectations were high and Anne feared that the reality could not possibly live up to them. Emma didn’t seem to understand that problems were forever cropping up in a person’s life, sometimes very disturbing problems, and they didn’t go away by wishing them gone. They weren’t always solved by a clever-sounding solution, either, but by patience and time and effort.
The carriage moved forward toward Grosvenor Square and Anne sighed. Emma would like to solve Maggie’s problem by placing the blame on Lord Greenwood and telling Maggie to hold him accountable for it. Very straightforward, but hardly likely to happen, or to be successful if it did. Emma had yet to find out that gentlemen didn’t take kindly to being corrected. Anne knew; she had two brothers. And one of them, she thought ruefully, was going to make a fool of himself over Emma for the next few weeks, just as all the other young gudgeons would. You could tell by the way they stopped in the street and tried to obtain an introduction to her through Lady Barnfield or Lady Bradwell.
Perhaps I’m jealous of her, Anne thought, startled. She’s so exotically lovely and has such tearing spirits that no one who comes within her sphere can resist her. Everything is an adventure, an occasion. I could not possibly live at such a fever pitch, Anne mused, and somehow I can’t work up the least enthusiasm for the frippery young men who hang around her. Which includes Will, she reminded herself, and my only admirer is quite as bad. Captain Midford had called three times and made her promise him a set at her ball. Ah, well, there is a whole season before us, and heaven knows what will happen before its end.
* * * *
When she entered the house in Bruton Street, Emma was informed that her aunt was out, but that a gentleman was awaiting Lady Bradwell in the drawing room. “I shall join him,” she announced, to the butler’s obvious consternation. “Oh, is it one of the disreputable ones?”
North was at a loss as to how to answer. “It is Sir Nicholas Dyrham, Miss Berryman.”
“Ah, in that case I shall leave the door open.” Her eyes danced as she passed into the drawing room.
Sir Nicholas was lounging on a dainty Sheraton chair that looked entirely too insubstantial for him, but in a moment he was on his feet to greet her. “Miss Berryman. What a pleasure to see you."
“How do you do, Sir Nicholas? My aunt should be back shortly, and I thought you might make do with my company for a few minutes, if you wouldn’t mind.”
He cast a sardonic glance at the open door and assured her that it would be his pleasure. When she had seated herself, he did likewise, noting that the dress she wore was a great deal more stylish than the schoolgirl outfit she had worn on their previous encounter. “I see Lady Bradwell has had you out shopping.”
“Endlessly. I love it, but I think I see an end in sight for the time being. Didn’t you like my school dress?”
“My parlor maid wears more attractive clothes,” he told her succinctly.
With a great air of innocence Emma asked, “Do you supply them to her?”
“No, I don’t!” But he realized almost immediately that she was quizzing him and shook his head in mock despair. “I can see Lady Bradwell is going to have quite a time with you. I hope she will consent to my escorting you both to the Barnfield ball.”
“You will have to ask her, Sir Nicholas. I don’t know if she’s made any other arrangement, though Lord William did mention that he would be happy to take us.”
“Rattlepate! He’ll have to be there in the receiving line.”
Emma grinned. “He tends to forget details like that when he visits my aunt.”
“Visits you, more like.” Sir Nicholas studied her for any sign of serious starry-eyed attachment to Lord William, but Miss Berryman’s eyes were always alight and it was impossible to tell. “Lord William has an unnerving reputation for switching his allegiance every month. I believe his record in devotion is five weeks.”
“And what is yours?”
Sir Nicholas was tempted to give her a blighting set-down but her impudence was refreshing, a heady mixture of high spirits and assumed sophistication. There was little doubt she would cause quite a stir with her exotic looks and hasty tongue. Someone should have a talk with her—but it certainly wasn’t going to be him! Sir Nicholas would find the season all the more intriguing for watching her bounce from folly to f
olly. Not so much as a quiver of remorse did he feel on behalf of Lady Bradwell, either. She had decided, being of sound mind and body, to act as Miss Berryman’s chaperon, and one interview with the girl should be enough to alert any sane individual to her mischievous penchants. Lady Anne would have been impressed by how devout an adherent to noninterference Sir Nicholas was. And if the cause was that the affairs of others provided him a great source of amusement, well, the end result was much the same.
“Alas, I haven’t any record. I’ve never been devoted to anyone.”
“That could be considered a challenge,” Emma informed him pertly.
His dark eyes regarded her with intentional mockery. “Could it? You are easily challenged, Miss Berryman. But I beg you will save your energies for a worthier goal. Your humble servant is no match for a lady of your charms, nor a fit object for her devotion. I have quite a different reputation from Lord William.”
“Yes, I know. Aunt Amelia told me she thinks rakes are much maligned.” Emma laughed at his startled expression. “Is Lord Greenwood a rake?”
“Good God, no! You’ll give the standing a bad name if you include nodcocks like Greenwood! He’s no more than a rackety young man with a mistress.” He knew immediately he had said more than he should.
“Will he keep his mistress now he’s married?”
“How should I know?” And his shrug indicated his supreme indifference. Sir Nicholas discovered that one gleaming Hessian had a smudge on the toe and he concentrated his attention on it as though he could banish the spot with the power of his mind alone.
Emma wouldn’t have been surprised if he could. The sound of a carriage arriving at the front door heralded Lady Bradwell’s arrival, but the discussion of rakes, and with it any possible information on Lord Greenwood, had already been concluded. Sir Nicholas was perfectly content to banter words with her, but he had no intention of divulging his own, or anyone else’s, secrets. Emma excused herself after Lady Bradwell joined them.
The Loving Seasons Page 12
