by May Burnett
Lady Amberley was calmly eating next to young Lord Minton. At Peter’s other side their hostess had placed Lady Winstanton. The heir of the Desboroughs looked thoroughly and openly bored. Charles could have told him that there was much to be learned from older ladies, but young men of Peter’s ilk were convinced they already knew everything worth knowing.
Charles was content enough with Miss Trevor, his own dinner partner, as sensible a young lady as one could wish for.
“What quality would you say is most important in a spouse, Mr Denham?” she asked in her clear, silver-bell voice. Several of the others glanced in their direction.
“A good wife or husband must possess a considerable number of virtues, all of them essential for a happy union.”
“But which ranks above all others, for you?”
He considered. “A loving heart,” he said at length.
“Ah. My own answer would have been, kindness,” Cecily replied, with a sideways glance at Lord Winstanton. “Followed by integrity and generosity.”
“Beauty,” Peter interjected from further up the table. “I could not possibly stomach an ugly wife.”
Winstanton gave a short laugh. “Obedience. Discretion would be a close second.”
Lord Desborough frowned at the younger man. “Obedience? That is rather old-fashioned. Are you planning to be a tyrant in your home, Silas? What say you, Anthea?”
Anthea regarded her fiancé with cool detachment. What was going on there?
“Honour,” she enunciated. “A man without honour is worth nothing at all, and would make for a most unsatisfactory husband.”
Charles quickly looked at her betrothed. Lord Winstanton merely smiled ironically at his fiancée’s words.
“Surely we can all agree on that,” Sir Christopher said, looking around the table with a slight frown. He must have sensed the tension as well.
“Why did you ask for that meeting with the Vicar, Denham?” Lord Desborough asked, changing the subject to something less fraught with undercurrents. “Or is it a private matter? As far as I know Dr Twombley does not hear confession.”
“No, nothing of the kind. I suppose I might as well tell you.” Despite himself Charles hesitated for a moment, taking a deep breath, before committing himself. “I am thinking of taking orders myself, and consulted him on the best way to go about it.”
There was a moment of astonished silence around the table.
“Really? That is the last thing I would have expected,” Lord Desborough commented. “I understood you are regarded as very promising in your administrative career.”
“A parson?” Winstanton began to chuckle. “That sanctimonious air and eagerness to attend mass – I can just see it. Ministering to the sick, celebrating weddings, preaching every Sunday from the pulpit….ha, ha!“
“It is a perfectly respectable calling,” Sir Christopher defended his grandson, albeit without great conviction. “I was surprised too, but if Charles is determined I shall not stand in his way.”
Anthea regarded him with a strange expression. “I wish you happiness in your future career.” While her words were encouraging, there was an undercurrent of doubt in her tone.
“But really – what a dull and prosy life. Why on earth would you embrace it, if you are not in need of the emoluments?” Peter shook his head in incomprehension.
“My father was a clergyman.” Jonathan Durwent said neutrally. “It is not a profession that ever appealed to me, but a necessary and useful one for all that.”
“Indeed,” Cherry agreed. “My sister Patience is married to the son of a vicar, we have long been on excellent terms with him and his large family. A most learned and excellent gentleman, for whom I have nothing but admiration.”
Sir Christopher looked at her keenly. “Does he have daughters of marriageable age, by any chance?”
Cherry nodded. “Yes, actually, the eldest married recently, but the next two are available. Delightful girls in their early twenties, and the family is well-connected. Their name is Selbington.”
“Then they must be related to Lord Brincastle. They sound very suitable and eligible,” Lady Amberley opined. “You could certainly do worse, Denham.”
It was like sitting helpless on top of a runaway carriage. Charles took a deep breath. “I am not going to rush into matrimony with some young woman just because her father is a vicar, nor would she likely look at me.”
His grandfather snorted in disagreement. “As we have just discussed, the selection of a suitable spouse is not easy. Breeding and character are the paramount considerations, especially for the clergy.”
“No shadow of scandal, you mean,” Lady Desborough agreed. “That is the very reason why you should look at the family background first, Denham. Who else would know so well what is expected of a vicar’s wife, as another vicar’s daughter?”
“Surely most young ladies could learn to do justice to the position,” Lady Anthea objected.
“No, it is like knowing from which stable a racehorse comes,” Sir Christopher supported the Countess. “The right pedigree is already half the battle.”
Charles was heartily tired of the subject. “All this is utterly premature. I shall need to complete additional studies, and begin as a lowly curate. There is no suitable living in our own family’s gift, and I shall have to prove myself before any preferment can come my way.” That it would come soon enough, given his connections and fortune, he could not doubt.
“Didn’t Dr Twombley say he would like to retire in a year or two?” Lady Desborough looked questioningly at her husband. “There we have a most suitable successor for when he takes that step. What could be more fortunate than to have an old friend of the family right here, so close to our home?”
Charles recoiled at the idea. “Please, Countess,” he said, “I have not even begun my career. Many others are more deserving and better prepared.”
“None that we know and trust as much,” Lady Desborough persisted.
“An interesting notion,” the Earl said, smiling at Charles.
Sir Christopher beamed. “It sounds like an excellent plan to me. That vicarage looks modern and commodious, suitable for a large family. I do hope for great-grandchildren in my lifetime.”
Charles bit his tongue in chagrin and decided not to say anything more. He had been a fool to announce his plans at this early stage. The idea of serving as vicar so close to Desborough Hall, and regularly see Lady Anthea among the congregation when she visited with her husband and children, was highly unpalatable.
Yet almost any other man in his position would jump at the generous offer.
Why then his immediate reluctance? He had not fully come to terms with the new course, could not quite see himself as a vicar yet. But the greater sticking point was Lady Anthea. Could he be in love with the Earl’s daughter? Surely not. The long celibacy of shipboard and travel was making him overly susceptible. Longer than his travels, in fact: Charles had not once indulged in intimate congress since Amanda had left St. Romain some eight months previously.
He should not even be thinking of Amanda and Anthea in the same breath. The one had been an adventurous, self-assured widow ten years his senior, while Anthea was an innocent girl, deserving of adoration. She would surely shrink away from the kind of uninhibited bed sport Amanda had taught him to enjoy during those long tropical nights, but then that would be true of any English girl of his own class. He had to make his peace with the fact that certain pleasures would henceforth be forbidden to him. He would survive.
Was he, a future clergyman, really thinking of bed sport in connection with his host’s virgin daughter right here at the dinner table, a girl engaged to another and completely out of his reach? He must learn to govern his imagination better. This would never do.
“You look thoughtful,” Lady Amberley said, in her deep melodious voice. “I hope you are weighing the advantages of Lady Desborough’s suggestion. The long friendship between the two families would make for most pleasant
intercourse between the vicarage and the Hall, benefiting the children of the next generation.”
“Those children as yet only exist in imagination,” Anthea pointed out, “excepting Cherry’s baby, of course. I wonder if it will be a girl or boy? What is your own feeling, Cherry?”
Charles was grateful for the change in subject. Has she divined his distress, and taken pity on him?
“I have no idea,” Cherry said, “but would welcome either boy or girl, as long as the child is healthy – that is my main concern.”
“Mine also,” Jonathan Durwent agreed. “Although I would not mind a little girl, especially one that looks like Cherry.”
Lady Winstanton raised her brows. “Don’t you want a boy to carry on the family enterprise?”
“That would be welcome, but only if he should take a genuine interest and display a true talent for business. I have observed all too many cases where the second generation squandered the legacy their father had amassed, convinced of their own brilliance until at last they came to naught.”
“It happens often enough among the aristocracy, despite the entails that are supposed to protect us from wastrels,” Lord Desborough said. “A propensity for huge, foolish bets and constant card games and racing has ruined many a proud family.”
“There is nothing wrong with the occasional bet, everyone bets,” his son maintained. “One can win a pretty sum if one is lucky.”
“Luck can turn all too easily,” his mother said sternly. “Peter, I do hope you are not betting or gambling for large sums. I would be most disappointed to hear such about you.”
Peter did not reply, instead exchanging a look of exasperation with Lord Winstanton. How deeply was he in debt? The prospect of having this young fool as his future patron and closest neighbour of rank, was yet another argument against accepting the living here, when it became available. Of course Peter was young and might yet mature before he was called upon to step into the seventh Earl’s shoes. Lord Desborough might easily live another twenty years, judging from his ease of movement and energetic demeanour.
Was it not overly optimistic, however, to expect the young man’s character to improve when he had no purpose in life but to wait for his father’s demise, nor value to anyone except as an heir? Charles was glad he only had a baronetcy to inherit, and could choose his own path in life.
Mrs Trevor inclined her head towards Mrs. Durwent. “And what about your child’s name? Have you considered what you shall call him and her?”
“If it is a girl, my first choice would be Anne, after the lady who adopted me,” Cherry explained, “but my sister Prudence has already given that name to her oldest daughter, so it will have to be the second name only. We are still considering various names for a girl. If it is a boy he will be baptized James, after Jonathan’s friend James Ellsworthy, who has agreed to stand as godfather.”
“My son?” Lady Amberley blinked. “I was not aware you were that close to each other.”
“We have been friends since we first met at Oxford, my lady.” Durwent spoke drily. There had to be some history there, but Charles had other things to worry about at the moment.
“You have two other sisters,” Anthea said to Cherry, “why not give your daughter one of their names?”
“As much as we adored our parents, none of us liked the names they saddled us with: Charity, Patience and Prudence. They were so very quakerish and dull.”
Peter stared. “Your foster parents were Quakers?”
“No, but they were extremely pious. I want a some normal cheerful name for my daughter, not a virtue she is supposed to live up to.”
“Names can be so inappropriate,” Lady Desborough agreed. “I know one Bianca who grew quite dark.”
“I have always liked Clara,” Anthea said.
Her mother smiled. “You can call your own first daughter that.”
Lady Anthea glanced at her betrothed, who was looking at her fixedly.
“Maybe,” she said in a colourless voice.
Was she in trouble of some kind? What could be the matter between the engaged couple? And should a budding clergyman feel such a burning sense of curiosity, even if it was tinged with concern?
If only he had the right to protect her, nothing should trouble Lady Anthea. He would go to the ends of the earth to spare her worry or pain.
Good Heavens. He must be in love after all.
Remembering where he was, Charles managed, just in time, to suppress a groan.
Chapter 19
Think ahead to what will benefit your children and grandchildren.
Maxims for Young Gentlewomen, by A Lady, London 1823
“All these belong to you.” Lady Desborough upended a heavy bag onto the table in the morning room. Mrs Trevor, Cecily and Anthea looked on with interest.
Cherry gazed at jumbled brooches, necklaces, pins, rings and miscellaneous objects. She felt distaste rather than enthusiasm, but kept her expression noncommittal. Those had to be diamond-encrusted shoe buckles, and there were several hatpins…jewelled tortoiseshell or ivory combs … the pile resembled a moderately successful pirate’s swag.
“Here is the list – the inventory – I am afraid there are some items we could not locate after all this time, and of course a number of valuable pieces were stolen by the servants who abandoned you at that inn,” Lady Desborough went on.
Anthea looked intrigued. “Do we know which items they stole? Maybe they still have those missing jewels.”
“Most unlikely. They would have sold them as soon as it was safe,” Cherry surmised. And would not have obtained anything close to the real value; she knew all about selling jewels, when you had little else.
“Just what happened? Nobody has told me the full story,” Cecily said.
Lady Desborough looked at Cherry, who gave her permission to discuss the subject with a slight nod.
“Those unscrupulous servants were very crafty. The first Countess died suddenly during the night, in a small inn. Mariah had left precipitately with the child and wet-nurse, after an argument, not even taking her maid. From the location it looks likely she was going to a friend in the countryside, Lady Menzies, but she had not sent any message ahead, or told her household her destination.” She glanced at Cherry again. “Is this painful for you to hear?”
“Not really, it is difficult to connect those events with myself. After all, I was only a few weeks old and have no recollection of them.” She held a ruby bracelet against the window’s light, put it back down with the rest of the baubles. Her first inclination was to return the jewels to Lady Desborough, but she stayed her hand. In her penurious period only months ago, it had been her jewels that allowed her to survive, and given her a ray of hope for the future. These jewels might offer salvation to one of her far-off descendants one day.
Lady Desborough was not done with her story. “After Mariah died, most likely from her chronic cough and shortness of breath, the coachman and wet-nurse continued on their way without the babe, and returned to the London house a few days later. They claimed that Lady Desborough had absconded with a lover and was determined to go with him to the colonies. Everyone believed them, in view of that quarrel before she had left.”
“Poor Lady Mariah,” Anthea said, with a sideways glance at Cherry. “And how unutterably callous towards her small child.”
“The wet-nurse was let go after a few days, when no trace of the child was found. The coachman continued in service for a few more weeks, and gave notice when he saw there was no suspicion or danger, I must suppose.”
“They sold the jewels they had stolen and went their separate ways, I imagine,” Mrs Trevor concluded.
“No, it would seem they married. One of our footmen mentioned that they went to Northern Ireland to run an inn there. But that was many years ago.”
“It makes sense,” Cherry said thoughtfully. “Away from London, they could say they had come into an inheritance, and invest their gains in an enterprise that would ensure a steady
income and independence.”
“At your expense,” Anthea said. “I am very sorry.”
“I was very lucky, but it angers me that they blackened my mother’s good name like that. For thirty years she has been considered an adulteress who abandoned her family.”
“Nothing can make up for that injustice,” Lady Desborough said bleakly. “These jewels are only the beginning of the restitution she – and you – are owed.”
“Are there any pieces you will particularly miss? I already have quite enough adornments, and would not want to deprive you of any favourites,” Cherry said, including Anthea in her offer.
“No, I rarely wore these items since they were given to us by Mariah’s trustees over ten years ago. The best and most magnificent jewels are part of the entail, anyway. They are mine for as long as I am the Countess, before they pass to Peter’s wife.”
“I have enough also,” Anthea said.
Cherry smiled at her. “Nonetheless, I suggest that you and Cecily each pick a piece out of this collection. This is an unexpected windfall, and I don’t mind sharing.”
The girls immediately began picking the jewels apart, trying to decide what they liked best. Cherry watched them indulgently, hoping neither of them would ever depend on jewels for their very food or survival.
“This pendant is very pretty,” Cecily said at last. “Is that a sapphire?”
“Indeed, and of good quality and size. It should suit you very well.”
“I am partial to these earrings,” Anthea declared.
Cherry approved her taste. They were beautifully wrought of pearls and diamonds. “They are charming. Why don’t you pick another piece for Irmaline?”
“That bracelet of rose quartz and crystal was my second choice,” Anthea said. “My sister will surely like it.”
Cherry handed the item in question to Lady Desborough. “Will you give it to Irmaline on my behalf?”
“Gladly, and thank you.”
After the older ladies left on some domestic errand, Cherry stuffed her new jewels back into the sturdy leather bag. She knotted the drawstring securely. Strange to think that jewels from this same collection had been the cause of her growing up among strangers, in uncertainty about her parentage. She would hide them at the bottom of her valise, where she would not have to look at them.
