Lord Clifford's Dilemma

by Oliver, Marina

  'I can read them later,' she said hurriedly. 'Let us go.'

  Lord Clifford gave her his arm, squeezed her hand comfortingly, and led her from the room. His groom was holding the horses nearby, and Lord Clifford assisted her into the curricle.

  'I won't need you,' he said to the groom, and almost before Elizabeth had seated herself, had set off. She glanced back over her shoulder and saw Sir Percy, standing outside the library looking after them with an ugly expression on his face.

  'Oh dear, he will know I told him a Banbury story, and why,' she said.

  'Does it concern you, what he thinks?'

  'No, not at all, but I wish I had been able to think of something more plausible.'

  'Why not tell him you were meeting me?'

  Elizabeth was silent. She did not know the answer to that. Was it embarrassment to be discovered having a rendezvous with a man, or a more simple dislike of Sir Percy?

  Lord Clifford had turned along the Hove road, and for a few minutes did not speak.

  'Miss Markby, I need to talk to you. I need your advice. I think your experience with your schools and the pupils there might give you valuable insights into young girls. It concerns my deplorable ward.'

  *

  Yesterday, before the discovery of Annamarie's latest escapade, he had fully intended to propose. Elizabeth was exactly what he wanted in a woman he meant to make his wife. She was calm, sensible, old enough to have outgrown any girlish fancies, and be capable of taking charge of his houses, but young and healthy enough to bear him heirs. Her mother and brother were perhaps disadvantages, but he could deal with them.

  He had always been suspicious of romantic love, and was still uncertain that the warm regard he felt for Elizabeth merited that description. It had seemed to him, watching his friends enter matrimony, that those who chose their wives for practical reasons such as family connections, suitable fortunes, or political advancement, did better than the ones who professed undying love, and then, in a few years, fell out of love and began to wish they had never entered parson's mousetrap. He had listened to more than one maudlin account of how their lives had been ruined, they had constant arguments with their wives, and resented the limited freedom they now enjoyed. If expectations of everlasting happiness were not great, and men settled for a businesslike, companionable, and mutually advantageous union, they could not be disappointed.

  Now, he felt, the situation was different. Annamarie's behaviour was becoming more deplorable, and soon, unless he could control her, she would be involved in some major scandal which would not only ruin all her prospects, but reflect on him as her guardian. To a large extent he did not allow that consideration to worry him. His own reputation was strong enough for all but the strictest or most bigoted sticklers to blame him for the girl's actions. He had not brought her up, and had only become her guardian three years ago when his own father died. But those three years had been the time during which she had gradually become more capricious.

  Had he the right to ask Elizabeth to share the burden of trying to control the girl? Most young women would shy away from the very notion, but he had come to realize Elizabeth Markby was not at all like most young women. He would ask her advice, and put off any idea of making her an offer for the time being.

  They had been driving in silence for five minutes before he spoke. Then it was to refer to previous occasions when they had talked seriously.

  'I fear I have no convenient tree trunk to sit on,' he said, and tried to laugh.

  'No, my lord. But after all the rain we have had that might have been uncomfortable. I much prefer this.'

  Now the laugh was genuine.

  'You manage to surprise me. You are a very practical young lady, are you not?'

  'I have had to be, since no one else in my family seems to have any common sense! It's about Annamarie, I think. What has she done?'

  He told her.

  'I tend to believe she is innocent, simply wrong headed and careless of her reputation, but how long will this last? And now she is so lacking in control she becomes violent. I meant to take her back to Crossways, but I am wondering whether that is the right way to treat her. It could make her ever more rebellious. She is desperate to go to London, and while there will be far more temptations for her there, she might be content just to enjoy being in Society.'

  'She is young for an official come out.'

  'True, but it is not unknown for girls to be in Society at that age. I was thinking of taking her for a month or so as soon as I can open the town house. There are far fewer social occasions in October than in the Season, but enough to keep her amused, and to get to know people. Then I can promise her, if she behaves, a proper come out next year with a ball and all the rest.'

  'Yes, that might satisfy her.'

  'Then I'll do it. But there are two problems. The first is the situation regarding your brother. Is he likely to follow her to town?'

  Elizabeth sighed.

  'I fear he is just as infatuated, despite her recent neglect of him. He will take rooms, I am sure. In fact he will probably do that whether she is there or no. He can't abide life in Kent, says it is intolerably dull. Which, of course, it is!'

  'You and your mother would not be in London?'

  'Our town house is let, on a long lease, and Mama would never agree to a protracted visit, even of a month or so, if she had to stay in an hotel. It is as much as I can do to persuade her to pay a short visit every couple of years. So if you were hoping for my help, my lord, I am afraid it is not possible.'

  'You know I don't regard your brother as a suitable husband for her, but if I promised they could get engaged after next Season, if they are both of the same mind, do you think that would help?'

  'Are you hoping she might find someone else meanwhile?'

  'It might solve my problem, and your brother could become disenchanted with her. I believe he may be regretting his proposal already, but is unwilling to admit his mistake.'

  'I don't believe she will marry him, unless in a fit of pique. Are you not aware, my lord, that she thinks herself in love with you?'

  *

  He looked at her, appalled, and drew the curricle into the side of the road so that he could pay her full attention.

  'But – but I am twice her age! Surely you are mistaken?'

  'What are you, my lord? Two or three and thirty?'

  'I'm three and thirty, old enough to be her father! Or a young uncle. I'm sure that is how she regards me. She can't have romantic feelings for me! It's preposterous.'

  'You have said she has begun to think herself in love with older men. Girls do marry men twenty years their senior, and some have had successful marriages. Why cannot she look to do the same?'

  'No, I won't believe it.'

  'Do you recall the times at Crossways when we went riding, and she ignored Henry and kept as close to you as she could? And that time in the stable yard when she fell against you? I was perfectly sure then it was deliberate. And I have seen her watching you, many times. She has a dreamy look in her eyes, apart from when you are paying attention to other young women, when her expression becomes either worried or calculating, depending, I suspect, on whether she thinks the young ladies in question are attractive to you.'

  'You read too much into trivial incidents. It must be the influence of those novels you read.'

  Elizabeth laughed.

  'As to that. Annamarie reads them too, and they might have planted the idea in her head. She is not, I'm afraid, a sensible girl, to understand they are fantasy, not real life.'

  'Then you see what harm they can do.'

  'We must disagree on that, in general. These novels, my lord, also deal with serious issues of interest and concern to women, but in a palatable form. Why, I can name you several that deal with double standards, Charlotte Temple, which also tells of women's lack of education and opportunity. Nature and Art is similar. And Fanny Burney's Camilla. Marchmont tells of double binds in the legal and penal systems. The
Ruin on the Rock talks of what is natural against civilized.

  'And look at Maria Edgeworth. Castle Rackrent is historical, about the British ill-treatment of Ireland, and her Emilie de Coulanges is about how aristocratic French émigrés manage when faced with poverty and charity. Ormond and Harrington is about discrimination and prejudice against Jews. These are serious subjects! But poorly educated women are unlikely to read solemn treatises on them!'

  Lord Clifford was laughing.

  'Enough! Enough, my dear. I bow to your greater knowledge of this literature.'

  She gave a rueful smile.

  'I'm sorry. I get carried away with my enthusiasms. To return to the problem of Annamarie, I am certain her so-called infatuations with other men, and her apparent wish to marry my brother, are silly attempts to make you jealous.'

  He was silent for a while. He did not wish to believe it, but admitted to himself there was a grain of truth in what she said.

  'Very well, supposing you are correct, taking her back to Crossways where we would be thrown together all the time would be a disaster. That makes me think going to London, introducing her to as many young men as possible, might, despite the dangers, prove my best course. Do you think your brother will remain faithful?'

  'Henry can be remarkably stubborn, and I very much fear that having announced his intention to marry her, he will keep to it unless she gives him a firm refusal.'

  'Then it is even more important I turn her interest in other directions, away from both your brother and myself. Oh, I know I have told you I think Sir Henry a suitable match, but frankly, it was more to tease you than because I believed it.'

  'To tease me? Lord Clifford, that was not well done!'

  'I know, but you were so grave, so controlled, except when you were fondling those kittens, and I longed to see you show emotion. You are very lovely when you are grave, but when you are more animated, so much more beautiful.'

  'I am tempted to show you what I can be like when I am furiously angry! How dare you play with my feelings in such a despicable manner? But I did wonder why you seemed to have changed your mind about Henry's suitability as a husband!'

  'I advise you do not threaten to leap out of the carriage and walk back to Brighton. Will you forgive me?'

  Suddenly she laughed.

  'This is quite ridiculous. And no, I shall insist on your driving me back. It is far too great a distance for walking.'

  He breathed a sigh of relief. He had not, with his confession, ruined all his chances.

  'Then let us go back to that wretched girl. Tell me, what am I to do with her?'

  'If she believes she loves you, and I am certain she does, she may not indulge in behaviour which is too outrageous in London.'

  'I cannot be certain of it. I cannot be certain of anything. But that brings me to the second problem. Lady Palgrave is incapable of controlling her, and is not young enough to befriend her. In fact, Lady Palgrave wishes to leave her post. She has agreed to stay on condition I engage someone else to share the responsibility. Will you take on the post, for a month or so?'

  Elizabeth stared at him in consternation.

  'You want me to become your ward's companion? To live in your house in London? Even if I desired to become that chit's duenna, for that is what you mean, I am not suitable. I am too young, I am single, I have rarely been to London, I do not know the hostesses, so could not ease her way into Society. And I could hardly leave my mother without any support. No, my lord, you must look elsewhere. Though it is a good plan, with the right lady. Now, shall we go back? I can see clouds forming, and do not care to be out in the storm that threatens.'

  *

  That, Lord Clifford reflected after he had seen Elizabeth into her house and taken the curricle round to the stables, had not been one of his most successful attempts at persuasion. How could he have made such a mull of it? He should have made her an offer before discussing Annamarie's peccadillos. But he had been so bemused by her claim – a ridiculous one – that his ward was in love with him, all other considerations had flown out of his head. It was utterly preposterous. He had certainly never, for a moment, given the child any encouragement to regard him so. He had been stern with her, frequently chastised and punished her. What sensible girl would regard a man who treated her like a naughty child as someone to fall in love with?

  He would, however, watch her carefully over the next few days, and try to discover if Elizabeth was correct. If he decided there was some truth in her assertion, it changed matters. Perhaps he should, after all, cling to Sir Henry as a way out of his predicament.

  Ought he, perhaps, to intimate to Annamarie that his attitude towards an engagement was softening? He might even suggest that if she still wished it, after a time in London, he would sanction her betrothal to Sir Henry. He hesitated. It was too soon. Perhaps he ought to stipulate a full Season. In the meantime, he would inform her she might look forward to at least a few weeks in London, and hope that would turn her thoughts to matters other than unsuitable trysts with men he did not know. And, if Elizabeth was correct, deflect her thoughts from him.

  *

  Elizabeth went thoughtfully up to her room to remove her pelisse and bonnet, and when she reached it she sat down and considered what had passed that morning. Had she been wise to voice her suspicions about Annamarie's feelings? It might make Lord Clifford even more determined to marry her off to Henry as soon as possible, to rid himself of an embarrassment. It had, though, persuaded him to take the girl to London, and there she would find other young men, perhaps ones she found more attractive. If she did, possibly Henry might finally be convinced she was an unsuitable bride.

  His teasing of her still made her angry, yet his explanation, that it made her more beautiful, was in a way flattering. She had often been told she was beautiful, and paid little regard to these compliments, feeling they were but what was expected of young men dealing with young women. She had also often been told she was too grave. She knew it, but she did frequently see the funny side of events, especially some of her mother's more foolish comments. She was wistful. Perhaps, if she had married when she was young, to a man she loved and could talk to, she might have been of lighter heart.

  Crossly she told herself such speculations were fruitless. Life, and Sir Percy, had dealt the cards, and since they were not winning ones she had no choice but to accept them, whatever her secret wishes.

  For a wild moment she considered accepting Lord Clifford's impossible proposal that she go to London as an extra companion to Annamarie. She had no doubts she might contrive to occupy Annamarie's time more profitably than Lady Palgrave would. She might even manage to sway her if a suitable young man appeared, encourage her to transfer her affections from Henry. Then she reminded herself that by her own claim, the girl was not in love with Henry, but with his lordship. The horrid suspicion that she wanted Annamarie to turn from him for her own satisfaction was one she hastily put aside. It was not something she wished to examine in any detail.

  *

  Chapter 11

  After deep consideration Lord Clifford asked Lady Palgrave to speak to him in the library after dinner.

  'I have decided that permitting Annamarie to go to London for a few weeks would, on the whole, be preferable to returning immediately to Crossways,' he said.

  She frowned.

  'If I may say so, my lord, I consider you are pandering to her. She deserves punishment, not a reward.'

  'I don't regard it as either. I am trying to think of a practical solution which will give us all a measure of peace. Despite the increased temptations, it will be somewhat easier to watch over her activities in London. Unless she tries to escape from the house by way of the kitchens, there is only the front door by which she can go out without our knowledge. Cook and Dawson can be trusted to keep those locked against her. She will be accompanied everywhere. Think of the many ways she can leave Crossways.'

  'There is something in that, I agree, but she could depart from a b
all, or the theatre, quite easily. And do we deny her invitations to ride out or drive with friends?'

  'That we must decide at the time. We can judge young men who wish to take her driving, and only permit those we know or trust. And I can insist on someone accompanying any riding party.'

  'I could not undertake that, my lord. It is years since I rode, and even then I did not do it with any confidence. Do you propose being the one to accompany her?'

  'Not always. I agree with your suggestion about a second companion for Annamarie,' he told her, 'but finding a suitable one, who would be free in a couple of weeks, possibly for just a short employment, would be impossible. However, I have one notion that might fit the bill. I would like to invite Sir Henry and Miss Markby to stay at the town house while we are there.'

  'They could not come without Lady Markby! Consider, my lord, Miss Markby is not of the class who could be employed as I suggested. She is young, and single, it would be most inappropriate. And to have Sir Henry in the same house might be unwise.'

  'As to the latter, I am willing to take the risk. He might become disillusioned. But it has the advantage that he will wish to be with her, so, all unknowing, he will be one of my watchdogs. He won't be happy to see her having court paid to her by other young bucks. For Miss Markby, I am relying on your aid. You have become close to Lady Markby, I think?'

  'I believe we are friends, yes.'

  'I intend to invite her as well. However, Miss Markby says her mother does not like being in London. I am relying on you to change her mind and persuade her to accept my invitation. Sir Henry will go to London whatever she wishes. I am aware she does not approve of a match between him and Annamarie. If she is in London, and in the same house as the pair of them, she would be in a better position to frustrate his ambitions.'

  'Young men who think themselves in love do not usually pay heed to their mothers!'

  'I have reason to think Annamarie doesn't want him. Either her behaviour, if she encourages others, will disgust him, or she will inform him of her change of mind. Better for them both to discover their true feelings as soon as possible than be miserable for many more months. Will you approach Lady Markby?'