Amberley Chronicles Boxset II (Amberley Chronicles Box Sets Book 2)

by May Burnett

  “Have you read anything of the book I gave you, Cecily? If it is not to your taste, I can order any other book you like from town.”

  “That is almost enough reason to say it was not, but I found it interesting, despite the didactic approach. Clearly the Lady who wrote it has not had an easy life. In some places she sounds almost embittered.”

  “Really?” Cherry was disconcerted. “Surely not. I know her, and have never had that impression.”

  “Sometimes feelings leak onto the page, that the writer was not herself aware of.”

  It might have been a mistake to give her book to Cecily. The girl was uncomfortably perceptive. “Can you show me the passages where you received this impression? And what did you think of the Lady’s advice in general?

  “She has clearly learned through experience, but people rarely profit from the hardship suffered by others. They must make their own mistakes before being receptive to good counsel.” She shot a sideways glance at her cousin. “Only then does it have a chance to sink in.”

  “True enough,” Anthea conceded ruefully. “Do you think you could write a book like that yourself?”

  Cecily nodded. “Of course. It might not cover the more advanced subjects like debt or marriage, as I lack direct experience, but it might be all the more apposite to the typical dilemmas of young ladies like us. I have some suggestions to your friend the author, if she is thinking of bringing out a second, expanded edition.”

  “I believe she is working on a second volume as we speak.”

  “Then maybe she would like to incorporate some of my own maxims,” Cecily said, “Will you consult her?”

  “Willingly. I suggest you write down your suggestions, and I shall forward the letter. Of course you could write your own work and have it published also. These books sell moderately well, I understand.”

  “Mother would not allow me to publish anything, not even anonymously,” Cecily said. “Otherwise I would have written a novel long ago.”

  “Does she have to know about it? My friend’s editor is discreet. If she handed him a manuscript without mentioning the author, how could anybody ever discover that it is your work?”

  “If it were possible, I would love to see my name in print, after going to all that effort,” Cecily confessed. “But you know how society frowns on such endeavours. If it is a satire of modern society, as I would prefer to write, everyone would see themselves or each other in my characters, and shun me.”

  “I would never shun you,” Anthea said loyally.

  “Not even if I put you in my book as the lachrymose heroine who needs to be saved in every other chapter?”

  “In that case I would hit you over the head with a broom. I trust you will refrain from using me so.”

  “And me as well,” Cherry said. “If you mock Jonathan or me in your book, my wrath will be terrible.”

  “Don’t worry. During the Season I observed any number of frightful quizzes, most of them unaware of how ridiculous they are. You are comparatively normal, and thus uninteresting.”

  “Thank the Lord for small mercies,” Anthea murmured.

  “Did you mean it, Cherry – that you could get my writings in the hands of a publisher, with nobody being the wiser? If I could count on that, I would start writing down a story today. There are so many inside my head, clamouring to get out.”

  “Then by all means begin. I can promise to show the result to a publisher, but he will have to judge if your story is fit for public consumption.”

  “You lose nothing by making the attempt,” Anthea advised Cecily. “I shall never breathe a word to anyone.”

  “In that case, will you excuse me? I might as well start now, so you can take the first part of my book back to town when you leave in two weeks.” Cecily disappeared in the direction of her room, the sapphire pendant clutched in her hand, forgotten.

  “Oh dear, what have I started?” Cherry asked.

  “She is very talented,” Anthea said. “But right now I confess I hardly care about Cecily’s literary ambitions. I want to scream each time I see Silas’s smug face. And when his mother prates of the wedding preparations I want to jump up and shout, ‘It is all over, I will never marry him!’”

  “Patience, he requires handling with care.”

  “Have you told your husband about his threats against me?”

  “No. Have you told Cecily?”

  “No, nor do I want anyone else to know, unless the case should be quite desperate.” She paused a moment and went on hesitantly, “Silas is attracted to you. Could you not use that, to detach him from me?”

  “I have considered it, but it will not do. For one, a man like Silas would not think twice about pursuing a married woman for an affair, even as he prepares to marry her sister for her name and dowry. These two things would not have anything to do with each other in his mind. And as you can see I am with child, within three months of giving birth. Hardly the best time to turn a man’s head. I have never done so intentionally, by the way.”

  “Lady Amberley told me that your mother, Lady Mariah, liked to turn heads and break hearts,” Anthea recalled. “I am glad you are not like her.”

  “It is a dangerous game. A man obsessed with a woman he cannot have can become a threat to her. In any case, I would not shame my husband by encouraging another, even for a good cause. If worst came to worst, they might actually duel over me.”

  “If anyone duels with Silas, I wish it could be me,” Anthea said. “It would give me the greatest satisfaction to put a bullet into him.”

  “I can understand how you feel, but for my part I am very glad we ladies are too smart and wise to engage in such puerile fights. We rely on our wits instead. Don’t tell me the two of us cannot outwit Lord Winstanton.”

  Chapter 20

  Before insulting anyone, make sure the audience is on your side.

  Maxims for Young Gentlewomen, by A Lady, London 1823

  Cherry was reclining on the settee in the south parlour, her eyes closed, a book bound in limp blue leather resting on her gently moving stomach. To all outward appearance, she was somnolent. Her husband was nearby, reading a thick sheaf of business correspondence and making the occasional note in a small ledger.

  Her mind was as active as ever, for once unconcerned with collecting maxims for her book. Cherry turned over various schemes in her mind, not neglecting to consider their moral implications. After all, she was a good Christian and would never hurt an innocent.

  Lord Winstanton could not be considered innocent by any stretch of the imagination. In the spirit of tit-for-tat, anything he had threatened to do to his betrothed was fair in retaliation. A man who could threaten a girl barely fledged from the nursery with ruination deserved no mercy.

  Since he imperilled her sister’s reputation – as important to a lady as the bread she ate, or the air she breathed – they should forestall him by ruining his own name first, so that any subsequent slanders on his part would be weakened in force and believability. With luck he would be so busy defending himself that Anthea would get off without a blemish.

  “Jonathan,” she said without opening her eyes, “do you know if Hendrickson is available, by any chance?”

  Jonathan paused in penning a note. “You want him to undertake some investigation? He is in Hull on Henry’s behalf, I think, something to do with questions to be asked in the House. But I can send him a message, to wait on us when we are back in London.”

  “No, it is not important.” She could not wait that long, and her hunch that there was something unpleasant in Winstanton’s background might merely be wishful thinking. Moreover, whatever past sins Hendrickson discovered might be simply shrugged off by the worldly older Desboroughs. Male aristocrats enjoyed enormous licence. Little short of murder would condemn a Viscount in society’s eyes.

  But why wait for the result of an expensive and difficult investigation? Silas was willing to lie and slander Anthea to get his way. The same weapon might be turned against
him by anyone with the means and desire to do so.

  Cherry recalled how her husband had got rid of a dangerous enemy stalking her, earlier in the year. He had used a theatrical agency. With the funds at her disposal nowadays, she could easily do the same. Best not mention it to anyone in this house, though, in case her plans were overheard. Ideally not even Jonathan should know what she planned. He might not want her to risk retaliation, though the chance of that was surely remote.

  “I just recalled that I need to write some more letters. Will you be so kind as to bring me my travel desk?” She sat up straighter on the settee and stretched her muscles.

  The portable desk, similar to a tray for eating in bed, was placed on her lap, complete with inkwell, pens and paper. It would not fit there much longer.

  Soon her pen was busily passing over a thick, elegant sheet. A smile played about her mouth.

  She might not be good at inventing long fiction, but she could work out the rudiments of a dramatic scene well enough.

  Winstanton would not know what hit him.

  ***

  “Did you have a big wedding? When was it exactly?” Lady Winstanton asked Cherry that evening as they were waiting for the gentlemen in the drawing room.

  “A few months ago, and it was family only,” Cherry said vaguely. “Where are Lady Anthea’s nuptials to your son expected to take place?”

  This attempt at distraction was briefly successful. “Here, in the village Church, though I would have preferred London. January is such a tiresome month for the guests to have to travel.”

  “We are hardly living on the moon,” Lady Desborough, who was handing around the tea, commented on hearing this implied criticism. “Besides, the majority of the guests are from our side, as the Goffroys are much less numerous.”

  “There are cadet branches in Sussex and in Dorset, I believe?” Lady Amberley said. “Naturally they will be invited?”

  “We are not on speaking terms with the Dorset branch,” Lady Winstanton said stiffly. “They will not receive invitations to this wedding.”

  “How unfortunate.” Cherry smiled in spurious commiseration. “Surely a wedding would be an excellent occasion to heal the breach, whatever caused it, and extend an olive branch?”

  “Impossible. It is rather officious to try and give advice to your elders, when you are not aware of the circumstances.”

  Cherry’s smile did not waver; she had long experience in ignoring snubs. It was Lady Desborough who looked shocked.

  Lady Amberley’s brows rose an infinitesimal fraction. “Enlighten us, Albinia,” she said languidly, putting her cup down on its fragile China plate. “How did this breach come about?”

  “It happened some forty years ago, when my father-in-law was the Viscount,” Lady Winstanton said reluctantly. “As I was not yet a member of the family, I was not present myself.”

  “Then there is no reason why you should perpetuate a feud started by others,” Lady Amberley stated majestically. “These things have a way of festering and going on forever.”

  You should know, Cherry thought, considering what she knew of the dowager’s own family affairs.

  “Frankly, for my own part I do not greatly care,” Lady Winstanton said after a pause. “If they wanted to come to the wedding, I would not object, but my son sees the matter in a much more serious light. The dispute concerned the inheritance of an estate that was supposedly promised to my father-in-law but went to his younger brother instead. Our side went to law over it, but lost in the Chancery Court. Silas feels strongly that it should be part of his inheritance.”

  “Ah.” Lady Amberley added a lump of sugar to her cup with silver tongs. “I suppose he would.”

  “To make matters worse, Mervyn Goffroy, the current possessor of that estate, is Silas’s heir,” Lady Winstanton revealed. “It is a circumstance not to be borne.”

  “Well, soon enough he will be cut out of the succession,” Lady Desborough said, with a look at her daughter, chatting with her cousin and Mrs. Trevor some little distance away.

  Cherry could have disabused her of the notion, but held her peace. Anthea would not be supplying the next heir of the Goffroys, if she had anything to say about it.

  “In which month exactly did your wedding to Mr. Durwent take place?” Lady Winstanton returned to her previous subject. “I had heard that it was in May or June, but,” she glanced at Cherry’s visibly bulging stomach, “surely that must be a mistake, if you are to give birth around Christmas.”

  “That kind of arithmetic is so vulgar,” Cherry said, smiling blandly.

  “It is much more important to ensure proper medical supervision,” Lady Desborough quickly interposed. “You mentioned that you managed to retain Sir Broderick Trolley? I understand he is extremely exclusive. What is your impression of him?”

  “He seems competent enough,” Cherry said grudgingly. “According to him, everything is going very well, I need only take care not to over-eat or coddle myself too much. He is invaluable in calming my husband’s fears.”

  “Those fears are very natural, and do your husband credit,” Lady Desborough said. “Desborough was a nervous wreck when I had Peter, but by the time William came around, he was much calmer.”

  “I hear that first births tend to be more difficult and painful,” Cherry said, unable to completely conceal her own concern.

  “You will survive,” Lady Amberley said. “Your hips are not unnaturally narrow, and you look to be in good general health. There is never any guarantee, but chances are you will be fit again within days, and the second and subsequent births are indeed easier, as a rule.”

  “Is it true that your first husband was still alive until just a year ago?” Lady Winstanton said, ignoring this obstetrical discussion. “He was a wine merchant, I understand?”

  Cherry shrugged. “Indeed, but that part of my life is mercifully over. Jonathan has driven all thoughts of the past out of my head.”

  “It is not surprising you were so quick to snap him up, considering that you were left destitute. What a terrible experience that must have been.” Lady Winstanton’s nostrils quivered delicately, eloquent of disgust. “But some people, like cats, always land on their feet.”

  “That is one way to put it,” Cherry said peaceably. “Cats are said to have nine lives. I only hope that is also true of me.”

  “I am quite fond of cats,” Lady Amberley remarked, measuring the Viscountess without warmth. “The animal kind, that is. They know when to remain silent and tactful. Many of us could benefit from that lesson.”

  “Indeed,” Lady Desborough agreed. “I had kittens when I was a young girl. Here in Desborough Hall there are too many dogs around, it would be too dangerous to bring a feline among them.”

  “And they scratch furniture,” Lady Winstanton added, accepting the change of subject. “I personally hate them, and never want to have them around the house.”

  “Soon that will be up to Anthea, of course,” Lady Desborough said. “I believe she is fond of cats, as well as dogs.’”

  “Indeed.” Cherry smiled guilelessly. “Does your son’s estate have a dower house? Or are you planning to set up house in London? Bath is also in great favour among widows.”

  Lady Winstanton glared at her. “I doubt my son would want me to leave the house.”

  Lady Amberley shook her head. Lady Desborough looked faintly worried. Cherry felt doubly sure that separating her sister from this woman and her son was the only right course. “Has he told you so?” she asked.

  Lady Winstanton grabbed at her embroidery frame, never far from her side.

  “I feel a headache coming on. The prospect of music is unbearable just now. You will excuse me, ladies.”

  “Why certainly, my dear Lady Winstanton,” her hostess assured her. “Why did you not say earlier that you were feeling out of sorts? I have a tisane that does wonders in such cases. My own maid will bring it up to you shortly.”

  “Don’t bother,” Lady Winstanton bit out
. “I shall soon recover with a little peace and quiet.”

  “It is no trouble at all, I assure you.”

  Chapter 21

  It is one thing to do what is most advantageous, another to do what is right. Try to choose the latter if at all possible.

  Maxims for Young Gentlewomen, by A Lady, London 1823

  The earl had been closeted with his solicitor in his study for upwards of three hours before Jonathan was invited to join them. He was in his rooms, writing a letter to his Glasgow representative, when the message arrived.

  “I wonder what compromise your father will offer,” he told Cherry. “This is one negotiation in which I have the advantage, even though Henry could not come up from town. They will be sweating blood, darling, just about now.”

  “Don’t be too tough.” Cherry smiled at him. “I do not want my sisters and brothers to suffer any disadvantage – except for Peter, maybe, it might do him good.”

  “Don’t worry.” He left, closing the door behind him. Cherry was too soft-hearted for business. If the Earl knew her better, he would have insisted on her presence, but no doubt both Desborough and his solicitor considered fortunes and dowries to be exclusively men’s business.

  The solicitor, a Mr Robbins, was a thin man in his thirties, with a keen gaze. “I have heard of your successful ventures in the City, Sir,” he said respectfully.

  Jonathan did not want to talk about his own companies. “Good, but today we are concerned with my wife’s situation,” he immediately brought the subject back to the point. “Were your chambers involved in dissolving her grandfather’s trust twelve years ago?”