A London Season

by Patricia Bray

  The clerk looked at her with grudging respect. He stretched his hand out towards the pen she had discarded, and then decided to abandon convention and negotiate directly. “Two hundred pounds,” he said, “I really can’t offer any more.”

  “Two hundred guineas,” Jane insisted.

  “Guineas it is,” he agreed. He carefully wrote out a bank draft for the specified amount, and then rang a bell. A young man appeared from the back room, and was given the jewel case containing the pearls, along with instructions to place them in the safe.

  “A pleasure doing business with you, miss,” Mr. Johnson said, as he handed her the bank draft.

  Jane left the shop, torn between joy at having made a good bargain, and the awful feeling that she had betrayed her family by selling their heritage. Even though she knew her mother would support her decision, it still hurt. But there were more important things than jewels. Two hundred guineas was a goodly sum. It was enough to make this quarter’s payment on the mortgage. They might even be able to purchase more ewes to replace the ones that had died, although another ram like Percival was out of the question.

  The sale of the pearls would not solve their problems, but it bought her a few weeks of time. Time enough to find a more permanent solution. Now all she had to do was find a wealthy husband, and then they need never fear the shadow of poverty again.

  For some reason, this thought failed to cheer Jane. It took all her strength to appear unruffled when she collected the boys from the circulating library. Her unsettled mood lasted through the carriage ride home, but the boys took no notice, absorbed in the wondrous sights and sounds of the capital.

  The afternoon post brought letters from home, and confirmation that she had made the right decision. Her mother had written to Jane, warning that the boys had taken it in their head to run away, and were probably headed towards London. The letter had apparently been written in great agitation. In one sentence Lady Alice told Jane not to worry herself, that the boys would turn back before they reached York. In a later paragraph she urged Jane to keep her eyes open, and to send word at once when the boys arrived.

  Jane’s heart went out to her mother, who must be frantic with worry by now. Yesterday, after the twins’ unexpected appearance, Jane had sent an express to her mother, to let her know they had arrived safely. But it would be tomorrow at least before the letter arrived. In the meantime her mother could only wait and hope.

  The second letter was from her steward, Angus MacLeod. It was blunt and to the point, like the man himself. Matters looked grave, he informed her. In addition to Percival George, the sickness had killed over half their flock. The worst was over now, but it would be a small crop of wool that they would bring to market.

  The Bennetts, their former tenants, had left suddenly, one step ahead of the duns. It didn’t take long for the news to spread that they had left massive debts behind them. Timerson, their solicitor, had informed them that the Bennetts had not paid the last quarter’s rent. In addition to the matter of the rent, they owed the servants back wages.

  There’s some hard decisions to be made, Miss Jane, Angus wrote, and she could almost hear him speaking the words. If the money couldn’t be found to pay the interest on the mortgage, then they would have to sell the Manor and the land. Timerson held out little hope of finding a new tenant in time to do the trick. They could sell their remaining sheep, the sickness ensuring that the local farmers would pay good money to replace their own losses. But if they did that, they sacrificed all hope of future income.

  Angus ended the letter with a request for instructions. He could hold things together for another few weeks, but that was all. He closed with best wishes for her health, and success in her London enterprise.

  Her “London enterprise” Jane repeated with grim humor. She took it that Angus referred to her attempt to catch a rich husband. Well, no need to tell Angus that she had allowed herself to be distracted by a handsome gentleman who set her pulses racing.

  Withdrawing a sheet of parchment from the writing desk, Jane took up her pen and began to write. She started with a letter to Timerson, instructing the solicitor to use the bank draft to pay the mortgage, and to make the balance available for Angus MacLeod. In case her matrimonial plans did not succeed, Jane asked Timerson to find a new tenant.

  The letter to Angus was harder to write, because he knew her better, and might read more into the letter than she wanted to reveal. Jane began by informing Angus that she had sold the pearls and sent the draft to Timerson. Angus was to draw on the money to pay the servants their back wages. After all, it was her responsibility that their tenants had proven to be such bounders.

  Under no condition, she wrote, was Angus to sell any of the flock. Instead he was to use the balance of the draft as he saw fit. She trusted that he would see things right, until she could make other arrangements. She thought about being more explicit, and then decided that Angus was no fool. He would know what she meant by other arrangements.

  The final letter was to her mother. Jane explained the arrangements she had made with Angus and Timerson. She begged her mother’s forgiveness for the sale of the pearls, but knew her mother would understand. Lady Alice was not to worry herself, or to let the children fret. Matters were well in hand, and Angus would put things to rights.

  Unaccustomed to so much writing, her hand ached when the final letter was finished. Jane rang the bell, then massaged her hand absently. When a footman appeared, Jane handed him the letter for Timerson. “Please see to it that this letter is posted at once. And tell Browning that we will have our tea served here.”

  “Yes, Miss Sedgwick.”

  “Does that mean you’re finished?” Dick asked. Jane looked across the library to where he and Bobby were lying on the floor in front of the fireplace. They had found a chessboard somewhere, and were engaged in their third game of the afternoon.

  “Yes, I am done for now,” Jane said, crossing the room to study the game. “Who is winning?”

  “I am,” Dick replied triumphantly.

  “But I won the first game,” Bobby countered, jutting out his chin.

  “And I won the second,” Dick retorted.

  “Well, do you think you could tear yourselves away from the game long enough to have some tea?”

  The boys jumped up with an enthusiasm that sent the pieces flying. “Gently, gently,” she admonished them. “Pick up the game first and return it to where you found it.”

  The task was accomplished just as the tea cart was wheeled in. Jane served the boys, and then gave them the final bit of news. “The arrangements have been made. You will be going home tomorrow on the mail coach.”

  “Tomorrow?” Bobby complained. “But we just got here.”

  “Yes,” Jane said. “And you should never have come. I had a letter from Mama. She is beside herself with worry.”

  “But you sent her a letter, so she’ll know we’re fine,” Dick countered.

  “Still, this is no place for you. Lady Barton has been very gracious—”

  “Humph!” Bobby said, making a face to indicate his opinion of Lady Barton’s graciousness.

  “As I said, Lady Barton has been gracious enough to let you stay here. But you can’t stay here forever, and you are needed back home.”

  Dick nodded, accepting this bit of logic.

  “Lord Glendale has made all the arrangements. He’s sending Mr. Stapleton, his secretary, along to see that you get home safely.” And to see that you go straight home without further delay, Jane added to herself.

  Glendale’s note had mentioned that Stapleton had business in York, so it was no trouble for him to accompany the boys. This was patently absurd, but it was typical of Glendale to downplay his generosity. Her heart filled with warmth at the thought of his kindness. He was a good friend.

  In her heart she knew that he could have been more than just a friend. If only she had more time, time for her to be sure of her feelings, and to find out if he returned her affection. Bu
t there was no time. She might as well wish that her father was still alive, or that they had never heard of the feckless Mr. Cartwright.

  “Everything will be all right now, won’t it Jane?” Dick asked anxiously.

  Jane looked at her brother curiously. This was the first time one of them had referred to the reasons for their mad jaunt, since their arrival. The boys had been in such high spirits, it seemed as if they had forgotten all about the trouble at home. She supposed it was a compliment that they placed so much trust in her ability to make matters right.

  “Everything will be fine. As long as you don’t take it in your heads to leave home again.”

  The boys nodded vigorously. “We promise to be good. We’ll never get in trouble again.”

  Jane bit back a smile. The twins were sincere, but never was a very long time. Still they were good lads, and deserved a better life than their family had been able to provide. With a little resolution, she could provide for them, and for all her brothers and sisters. It was time that she stopped thinking of her own happiness, and started thinking of her family instead.

  Chapter Nine

  Glendale puzzled over the mystery of Miss Sedgwick. She had been acting oddly ever since the arrival of her brothers. And just what was the message they had conveyed to her? Who was this Percival George, and why should it matter that he was dead? Why would her brothers rush to bring her the news, against the wishes of their mother?

  A relative? No, she had denied it, and the boys, while concerned, had not seemed grief-stricken. But Jane had been shocked by the news, however much she tried to hide it. Could this Percival be a suitor? Some country clodhopper to whom she had formed an ineligible attachment? Had her family sent her to London, in the hopes of preventing an improper romance?

  He knew that he was grasping at straws, but he couldn’t put the puzzle out of his mind. Percival George. The name conjured up images of a weedy young cleric, peering shortsightedly over his spectacles. The picture of Jane with such a man was laughable.

  But in his mind the picture changed, and he saw Jane in the embrace of a well-favored, virile young Squire. It was hard to think that Jane might prefer her rustic swain to the cultured gentlemen she met in London. But Jane had never been predictable. She appeared to set no store by the conventions that the ton prized. No doubt this Percival had shared her enthusiasms for agriculture and the land. Glendale scowled, prompting those standing near him to take a step back.

  Only Freddie was brave enough to approach. “Up to your old tricks, sulking in the corners, I see. Can’t you come to a function and act civil for once?”

  “I was not sulking,” Glendale said. “I was merely considering my stupidity in coming here in the first place.” His gaze swept restlessly over the packed drawing room. The cream of society was packed into Mrs. Elliot’s town house tonight, making her rout the shocking squeeze that all good hostesses longed for. In the close quarters the heat was proving unbearable, and Glendale tugged irritably at his collar, wondering how much longer he would have to wait for his quarry to appear.

  “In that case, why don’t you leave? There are a dozen other hostesses who would be delighted if you graced them with your presence.”

  “Why don’t you leave?” Glendale countered.

  “Can’t.” Lord Frederick nodded his head to where his sister stood chatting with her friends. “Promised my mother I’d do the pretty tonight, and take Priscilla around.” He took a sip of champagne before adding, “I never thought I’d be done in by a sixteen-year-old girl. Where the chit gets her energy, I don’t know. This is the third function we’ve been to tonight.”

  Glendale nodded absently, his attention on the guests who had just arrived. Even across the room, her unusual height made it possible to spot Jane, as she and Lady Barton stopped to greet their hostess. Strange, he never noticed how tall she was when he was with her. It was only when he saw her from a distance that he was struck by her height.

  “Here, make yourself useful for once,” Glendale said, handing his half-full glass to Freddie. Without waiting for a response he made his way over to the door. Long experience with these affairs made him adept at weaving through the crowds. Nodding in response to greetings, he resisted all attempts by distant acquaintances to trap him into a conversation. With a feeling of satisfaction he arrived at the entrance just as Jane and Lady Barton finished paying their respects.

  “Good evening, Lady Barton, Miss Sedgwick,” he said. “What a pleasant surprise to encounter you here.” Surprise indeed. He had been cooling his heels here for the last hour, knowing that Lady Barton’s long friendship with Mrs. Elliot meant that she would surely make an appearance tonight.

  Jane murmured some suitable response, but her smile seemed forced. Looking closely he could see the lines of strain around her eyes.

  Lady Barton was still talking with Mrs. Elliot, so Glendale seized the initiative. “Miss Sedgwick, Miss Blake was just mentioning how much she hoped to see you this evening. With your permission, I will escort you over to her.”

  With a quick bow, Glendale tucked Jane’s hand into his arm, and led her away.

  “But I don’t want to see Miss Blake,” Jane protested.

  “Of course you don’t. But I couldn’t think of any other excuse. And given half a chance, Lady Barton would have stood there prosing for hours.”

  “Oh,” Jane said with a weak smile. “Then I thank you for intervention. It was lucky for me that you happened by.”

  Luck had nothing to do with it, but he wasn’t about to confess that he had been waiting here hoping to see her. It might give her the wrong idea.

  Glendale led Jane through the crowd, intent on putting as much space between them and Lady Barton as possible. He found a secluded spot, near the open French windows that led out to the terrace. The cool night breezes from the terrace provided a welcome relief from the overheated ballroom.

  Snagging two gilt chairs from against the wall, he held one for Jane to sit in, and then sat down beside her. Jane glanced around, apparently surprised by their relative isolation. New to London as she was, she didn’t realize that it was always possible to be private, even in the most crowded of functions.

  Glendale examined her with a critical eye, wondering at her subdued manner. The lavender silk gown that she wore showed off her youthful figure to perfection, although the fashionable neckline showed far too much creamy bosom. A silver pendant drew attention to her décolletage.

  Even the highest stickler could find no fault with her appearance, but the spark, the animation that made her memorable, was lacking. She had lost that which transformed her from an ordinary young woman into an Incomparable.

  He noticed again the sadness in her eyes, and determined to get to the bottom of this puzzle. “I hope you don’t mind, but I wanted to have a chance to talk with you, before your admirers claimed you,” Glendale began, gesturing with his hand to indicate the crowded room. His strategic retreat had bought them a little time, but before long the bolder among her admirers would seek them out. After all, the purpose of a rout was to see and be seen, as you exchanged the latest gossip with your acquaintances. And the opportunity to be seen with a reigning beauty was not to be missed.

  “No, I am glad that we have this opportunity,” Jane said. “I want to thank you for your kindness to me and my brothers. I don’t know how I would have managed without your help.”

  Glendale accepted her thanks, although his conscience whispered that she wouldn’t be nearly as grateful if she knew of Stapleton’s private instructions.

  An awkward silence fell between them. Jane opened her mouth as if to speak, and then closed it, prompting him to ask, “Is everything all right?”

  “Why wouldn’t it be?” Jane replied sharply.

  Glendale looked at her steadily, but she blushed, and lowered her head, refusing to meet his gaze. “Because you look as if something is troubling you,” he continued.

  Jane took a deep breath and unclenched her fists. With o
ne hand she smoothed down her skirt.

  “Lady Barton has warned me about spending too much time with you,” Jane said, a propos of nothing.

  “Why on earth would she do that?”

  Jane finally turned the force of her gaze on him. An undefinable emotion clouded her normally clear green eyes. “Because you aren’t the kind of man that I need.”

  “And what kind of man is that?” he asked, trying to make sense of this bizarre conversation.

  “The kind that will marry me,” Jane stated baldly. His features must have registered his disbelief, because she continued in a patient tone. “Everyone says that you aren’t in the market for a wife. And my time in London is too short to waste.”

  Glendale felt a slow rage building inside him. To think that he had waited here for hours, just to catch a glimpse of her. That he had spent the last days wondering how he could help her. How dare she insult him. “Waste? Is that how you think of the time we spent together? How could I have been so mistaken as to think that you enjoyed my company?”

  Miss Sedgwick appeared oblivious to his sarcasm. “Yes, but don’t you see? That is the trouble. I let myself get caught up in the excitement, and forgot the reason why I was here.”

  The impudence of the chit passed all belief. Here she was, laying bare the whole of her coldhearted scheme with a logic that would have done credit to the most mercenary of females. It was difficult to believe that he had been so mistaken in her character.

  “Forgive me,” he said stiffly. “I didn’t mean to interfere with your schemes.”

  “Of course if you were interested in me, it would be different,” Miss Sedgwick said softly.

  “I am afraid you’ll have to seek another pigeon for your little game,” Glendale said cuttingly, trying to control the urge to wrap his hands around her deceitful little neck. Rising swiftly he made her a mocking bow. “I will leave you to your hunting, Miss Sedgwick.”