by May Burnett
“You may well be right, but it is she and her parents who must be the judge of that.”
“Anthea is barely nineteen. She was eighteen and very sheltered when they first met. I am not convinced that a girl can know her own mind, or make a good choice, at such a young age.”
“Maybe not,” he conceded. “It is the duty of her parents to ensure that no mistake occurs.”
“I fear they do not know my cousin as well as I do, and cannot know what will ultimately make and keep her happy.”
He really should change the subject before she committed any more indiscretions, but he could not help himself. “Just what is your specific objection to Lord Winstanton?”
Miss Trevor gloomily stirred her pureed peas with a fork. “It is a long list. You will be able to form your own conclusions during your time here.”
“I see.”
After a few seconds, she blinked and frowned slightly. “It is not like me to speak so candidly to someone I have only just met. It must be your likeness to Sir Christopher.”
“No doubt, or possibly this face of mine. For some reason people tend to tell me things, even those who have never met my grandfather. I am not one to blab and I shall not repeat your words to anyone else, Miss Trevor.”
“Good. Do other people really tell you their secrets? That must be a very useful ability. Do give me some instances.”
“I have just said I do not talk out of school, haven’t I? Besides, I am still interested in this family into which I have dropped, unexpectedly like a –,“ he hesitated, looking for the right word.
“A comet dropping from the sky? An apple dropping down on an ant’s nest? A coconut dropping on some traveller’s head?”
“You, Miss Trevor, are very quick with your comparisons. It would never occur to me to liken myself to a comet. Besides, by the time they arrive on earth, they are not going any further.”
“And you will, of course. Very well. There are two more young Desboroughs, Irmaline and William. I wonder what secrets they will tell you? She is thirteen and precocious, while William is a very normal, rather lazy boy. His tutor has his work cut out for him, to prepare him for Eton next year.”
“I look forward to meeting the children. Are they let out of the nursery on occasion?”
“Irmaline and her governess, a most superior woman, sometimes eat with the family when there are no guests; but as things are now, you will only find them in the schoolroom wing or out on some walk or excursion. William tends to escape from his tutor’s control and has been known to roam all over the house. As the youngest, his parents dote on him, and he rather trades on that.”
“It is remarkable how people will dote on their eldest or youngest, but hardly ever on their middle children.”
“Yes, I have noticed that. Of course I am an only child myself.”
“So was I,” Charles said. “My parents died while I was still a babe, I cannot remember them at all. My grandfather is my only close relative.”
“And he is over sixty, I believe? Maybe you should think of starting your own family before you are left all alone in the world.”
“Maybe I should,” he agreed. “But I have always felt that the time must be right. Rushing into matrimony too early is not a good idea.”
“That is exactly how I feel with respect to Anthea. The whole London Season is calculated to rush young girls into an institution for which they are unready in all too many cases.”
She looked across the table at her cousin, seated next to Mr Durwent, and he followed the direction of her glance. Lady Anthea really was a most appealing girl. It would be a tragedy if she made an unhappy match, as her cousin feared.
Yet an engagement was a serious affair not to be broken without excellent reasons, or the fickle bride would face an avalanche of spiteful gossip. Unless Winstanton was a great fool, he would behave himself until the knot was tied in a few short months. His mother had likely come along to ensure that no impediment would prevent her son’s highly advantageous match.
It was not the first such situation Charles had encountered. Whatever he might think or feel, he had definitely no right to interfere. Instead he ought to focus on his own plans and his sworn duty to the Heavens.
Chapter 8
A thoughtful gift is always welcome, no matter how rich the recipient.
Maxims for Young Gentlewomen, by A Lady, London 1823
The next morning Anthea woke early and came down to breakfast at the unusual hour of nine, long before the older guests like Lady Amberley and Lady Winstanton would emerge from their chambers. Cecily was a habitual early riser, so it was no surprise to see her. Mr Denham was up too, cheerfully demolishing kippers and rashers of bacon.
“Good morning.” Anthea gestured for hot chocolate. The other two were drinking tea. A question from Cecily on the breakfast beverages preferred in the West Indies led to a discussion of the relative merits of chocolate, tea and coffee. Charles Denham confidently predicted that coffee would one day eclipse the other two in popularity. Cecily argued with passion that nothing would ever dethrone tea. Anthea listened more than participated, while her thoughts went back to last night’s dinner and aftermath. It had emerged that Mrs Durwent – Lady Madeline – Cherry, was not an accomplished musician; she had been actively prevented from mastering an instrument in her youth, she explained, and had long since learned to accept the loss, though she took pleasure in other people’s performances. So the burden of entertaining the company had once again devolved upon Anthea and Cecily.
At one point in the evening, Silas had been badgered by their respective mothers into singing a romantic duet with Anthea. His mellow tenor could easily carry a tune, but he glowered at the company the whole time. It was clear he resented the performance, and he sat down afterwards at the first possible moment.
After the musical interlude Lady Desborough suggested charades or card games, but the Durwents claimed fatigue from their travels and retired early, and somehow everyone else dispersed soon afterwards. Anthea had read four long chapters of the latest subscription novel before falling asleep.
She became aware that Cecily had been speaking to her. “I beg your pardon?”
“I wonder where you were in your head, Anthea, still asleep?” Her cousin regarded her with affectionate mockery. “Mr Denham would like to meet the children. I thought we might join them for a while after breakfast.”
“My new sister also wants to meet them,” Anthea recalled. “Tell them I shall bring her up later.”
Even as she spoke, Cherry and Jonathan joined them at the breakfast table, and immediately endorsed the suggestion that they should all visit the schoolroom together after breakfast. “We must pass by our chambers first, I have some gifts for them,” Cherry said.
“Very thoughtful of you,” Anthea replied. “I hope it is not a doll for Irmaline, she would be mortified at her age.”
“No, of course not. I knew their ages.” Cherry scrutinized a piece of toast and butter before she put it in her mouth. “By nine or ten I would have scorned dolls, but it is not easy to know what interests older children develop, without ever having met them. Or adults either, come to think of it.”
The conversation still focused on children and the best gifts for various ages when Silas arrived. He must have been riding earlier, for despite having changed, a faint odour of horse and leather still clung to him.
“Hello, Anthea.” To the others he only accorded a vague nod. “A good brisk day for a ride. If you were not such a slugabed, you might have joined me.”
“Not before breakfast,” Anthea said firmly. She was quite fond of riding, but Silas had a habit of jumping hedges and challenging her to do the same in her lady’s saddle, that she refused to deal with on an empty stomach.
“I don’t suppose you hunt,” Silas said to Jonathan dismissively, “but Desborough has some decent hacks in his stables.”
“Maybe I’ll try them later, some time when my wife can spare me.”
“Oh, under the cat’s paw, are you? You have my sympathy.” Silas’s tone was derisive.
“Silas,” Anthea blushed in mortification, “please!”
“I would not mind a ride myself, later in the day,” Charles said to Jonathan, ignoring Silas. “Let me know when you are free, and I’ll join you on a ramble. The countryside seems pretty enough.”
“I’ll do that,” Jonathan said, smiling briefly at the young man. “Are you familiar with this area at all?”
“I wish I were able to join you,” Cherry remarked, “but alas, riding is not possible for the next few weeks at least. At Lobbock Manor, my estate near Norwich, I have a delightful Arabian mare that I greatly miss.”
“What are her bloodlines?” Silas asked, diverted by the mention of horseflesh. The answer meant nothing to Anthea, but from his reaction she could tell that Silas was reluctantly impressed. “Are you a keen horsewoman, Lady Madeline?” It was the first time he showed any civil interest in her sister.
Cherry shook her head. “I like to ride in moderation and can drive a pair if I have to, but I do not hunt.”
“Oh well, few women do. That estate you mentioned, has it long been in the Durwent family?”
“No, not at all. My husband made a gift of it to me, soon after purchasing it, as it is so conveniently located near my sisters’ homes. The mare was another gift.”
“You are very lucky,” Cecily said, “I am envious. Tell us more about those other sisters, if you please. Since you are a Desborough on both sides they cannot be sisters by blood?”
“Growing up together is as good a foundation for sisterhood as consanguinity,” Cherry replied. “We are different from each other, but none the less close. Prudence – Prune for short – is married to a local squire, whose father used to own a munitions works. They have two boys and a little girl. Patience, or Patch, is happily married to a young man who tutors boys for university, a notable scholar. His father is the local vicar. They are expecting their first child sometime in spring.”
These unknown persons sounded excessively dull and respectable to Anthea. Her sister had obviously grown up among the rural gentry, a class of people the Desboroughs would invite for a large picnic or ball at their country seat, but rarely to dinner. Even so, Cherry’s background was a great deal better than one would have expected for a foundling beyond the reach and protection of her own family. What if the infant Cherry had been handed to some farmer or labourer? It did not bear thinking of.
She wanted to ask her older sister how she had come to acquire these other siblings, but such a very personal question could be interpreted as vulgar curiosity. The subject of Cherry’s past was best discussed far away from Silas, with his unkind remarks. She could wait a day or two, until she knew Cherry better.
Maybe she worried over nothing. Silas was talking to Cherry with far more civility than he showed her husband, who merely watched the conversation with a faint smile as he ate heartily. Jonathan preferred tea, while Cherry shared her own preference for hot chocolate. A small thing, but she hoped they would discover more tastes in common.
Jonathan and Charles Denham began a discussion of shipping in the West Indies, to which Cecily listened attentively and contributed occasional questions. Her cousin had long finished her usual quantity of breakfast food, but showed no inclination to get up and leave the table.
Could it be that Cecily was attracted to Charles Denham? She might do a great deal worse. He was well-born, rich, young and handsome, and if he was untitled, then so was Cecily’s own family. What could be more suitable?
Anthea sighed. She should help Cecily by throwing them together frequently, but felt too out of sorts to muster any enthusiasm for the notion. Maybe it was best to simply let things take their natural course.
When their group finally departed for the schoolroom, Silas went off in a different direction. How would he spend the morning? Anthea had never seen him particularly interested in reading, writing letters, or even the papers with their political news. Nor did he smoke, that at least was a small mercy.
As promised, Cherry fetched several packages from her room, beautifully wrapped in colourful paper and bows. Jonathan carried them for her as they proceeded to the second floor. It was lucky for her siblings that their new sister was rich and, judging by her clothes and haircut, had exquisite taste.
One of the parcels was small enough for a jewel. Could the ring and bracelet her mother had recently collected from her possibly belong to Cherry? Anthea had not connected the two matters in her mind, but now it seemed obvious. All jewels that had belonged to her Father’s first wife and were not part of the entail would naturally go to Cherry. Very likely her mother had had to yield a good portion of her own jewels in the same cause. It was a great deal more pleasant an explanation than the notion of sudden impoverishment. Father would easily replace whatever trinkets they gave up. Though maybe there was also money or estates involved? Was that what Silas had meant last night, when he told her to think what her sister’s return meant? Did his thoughts immediately turn to money and inheritances at such a moment? It seemed unlikely and in poor taste. Yet what other reason could there be for old Lady Winstanton to look so sour, as she had done ever since Father had presented Cherry to them? Did she anticipate a diminution of Anthea’s dowry? Everyone knew it was forty-five thousand guineas, well above the average amount for an Earl’s daughter. The society sheets had blazoned that information to all and sundry. Was some of that fortune forfeit?
Anthea glanced sidelong at Cherry, big with child. If her sister was entitled to part of her dowry, so be it. It was not as though Anthea was in the slightest danger of poverty or want. That child Cherry expected should have whatever was its due, as far as Anthea was concerned. Still, she needed to find out if her speculations had any basis in fact.
***
Cherry’s first meeting with Lady Irmaline and the Honourable William Desborough, commonly known as Master Will, took place under the watchful eye of Miss Pecklingson, the governess, and Robert Clausen, the boy’s tutor. The children had already been told about their new sister and were excited, though Irmaline strove hard not to betray such an unsophisticated emotion.
Anthea watched as they unwrapped their gifts. Irmaline received a music box and a blank leather-bound diary with a tiny golden lock and key. They all listened to the tinkling melody of the box while William impatiently tore the wrapping from his larger and much heavier box. It proved to contain a brass replica of a modern ship’s cannon that could shoot wadded-paper balls for a distance of up to ten yards.
While Anthea shook her head at such a whimsical gift, her young brother seemed pleased enough. “It would be even better if it used real gunpowder,” he said wistfully.
“Then it would have to be banished from the nursery,” his tutor pointed out, “we cannot have anything that might set the house on fire, and endanger us all.” Mr Clausen thoughtfully examined the toy, before handing it back to William. “This cannon’s sturdy spring mechanism will probably outlast several generations of children.”
“When I am done with it,” William said. “After all, it is mine.”
Everyone smiled at the possessiveness in his tone.
“I have small gifts for my older siblings too,” Cherry said, to Anthea’s surprise, and handed her the smallest of the packages. There was another book-size parcel that she gave to Cecily. “This was also intended for Anthea, but from what I have heard, you are more interested in books. I did not know of your existence, or I would have picked something more likely to be to your taste.”
“Thank you,” Anthea said, and Cecily echoed her. Anthea’s package yielded a charming crystal pendant on a thin gold chain, very suitable for a young girl of her colouring. So she was already getting new jewels in compensation for the others! Anthea nearly giggled, but pulled herself together and sincerely thanked Cherry for the pendant. It was much more her style than the bracelet and ring had ever been.
“Maxims for Young Gentlew
omen, by A Lady,” Cecily read aloud. Her governess took the book from her and leaved through the pages. “I wonder which Lady?” Cecily said. “It could be someone we have met during the Season, Anthea. Maybe the contents will contain clues that allow us to divine her identity.”
“I doubt you know the author,” Cherry said quickly, “she is – ah– a close friend of mine, and does not move in your circles, that I am aware. This is her first book and but recently published. If you find it not to your taste, you may tell me so candidly, and I shall exchange it for something different.”
Her husband was looking at Cherry quizzically. Did he also know the author? Most likely he did.
“I bet you could write such a book too, Cecily, if you put your mind to it,” Anthea suggested. “But you are still so young that nobody would take your advice seriously.”
“If it were published anonymously, like this volume, nobody would know the author’s age,” Charles Denham pointed out.
“Maybe I should try my hand at it,” Irmaline said, “with this new blank book. But I would rather write a story of knights and adventure, than dispense advice. Nobody likes to receive advice, especially those who most need it.”
Cherry looked at her, arrested. “That is an excellent maxim, too. I do believe you may have a talent for this sort of thing.”
Irmaline grinned.
“Books are boring,” William declared, disregarding his tutor’s frown. He looked at Charles and Jonathan hopefully. “Do you play cricket?”
“Not recently,” Jonathan confessed.
“I used to play a bit at Eton,” Charles said modestly. “But in the West Indies I rarely got a chance to play. It would not have been considered suitable for my position.”
“Were you there as a soldier?”
“No, merely a civilian administrator. Nothing very exciting.”
Anthea wondered if her young brother would grow out of his fascination with military things, or end up buying a commission when he was older. The army was a suitable profession for an Earl’s younger son, and might fit his temperament, but she hoped he would find some interest that did not involve artillery and killing.
