by May Burnett
But it was hard to pretend. She felt as light as a butterfly. The load fallen from her shoulders had been heavier than she had realised, until it was finally gone. Any moment she might spontaneously float towards the ceiling.
Before she could betray herself Perkins came to her aid, throwing open the double doors to the dining hall.
“Dinner is served!”
Chapter 29
Misfortunes tend to arrive several at a time. Beware.
Maxims for Young Gentlewomen, by A Lady, London 1823
The reproaches of Lord Desborough, who had been shaken and upset at that farce with his unknown accuser, distracted Silas for a few minutes. It was the last straw when Peter, that hapless pup, presumed to join in.
“Enough! I am going to catch that jade and make her confess who put her up to this,” he told them brusquely. “In the meantime, consider well how you want to handle this.” He looked at Peter. “If I leave tomorrow morning, we had best settle up beforehand.”
The young man blanched and shot an apprehensive look at the Earl, but after a moment his expression turned angry and mutinous. “Even so, you had no business shaking my sister like that,” he said in a clipped voice. “If you want to catch up to your mistress and make proper arrangements, as any gentleman would, don’t let us keep you.”
“Settle up? What do you mean by that?” Lord Desborough asked suspiciously.
“I will explain later, Father,” Lord Minton said, pale but determined. “I fear I have been a great fool.”
The butler sidled closer, murmuring that the table had been adjusted and dinner might begin – should he wait any longer?
“Very well, announce dinner in two minutes,” the Earl decided.
Silas left them without another word, determined to find out who had dared to malign him in this way. That young woman would not long resist his persuasion before she confessed all. Was she even truly with child?
He noticed the ring cutting into his hand and angrily shoved it into a pocket.
In the courtyard, full of guests’ carriages and strange coachmen, the Desborough staff reported that the two strange women had left already; indeed their carriage had never been unhitched. Their coachman had held it in readiness for instant departure the whole time they were indoors. More confirmation, had Silas needed it, that the whole thing was a put-up job. It had been a cheap hired coach from London, drawn by two undistinguished and possibly tired bays.
Lord Desborough’s swiftest horse was saddled by the grooms in apprehensive silence. They cast sidelong looks at his evening attire, so unsuitable for riding, but dared not say a word. Silas lifted the longest whip from the rack and gave it an experimental swing.
He would not have thought it of Anthea – if she had organised this trap, she was a great deal more devious and imaginative than he had given her credit for. Was it the cousin, Miss Trevor, who had assisted her? She and Anthea always had their heads together, but he would have sworn they were both as unworldly and helpless as new-fledged lambs. He could not be that mistaken. Besides, since Anthea had tried to renege on the betrothal neither lady had left the house for more than a few hours. They could hardly have come in contact with anybody in a position to arrange for the mysterious interlopers.
Somebody had helped Anthea, somebody who would feel the full force of Silas Goffroy’s wrath and enmity.
Though he might be alien to most of the emotions weaker men were prone to, Silas was perfectly capable of explosive anger and resentment. Nor did these feelings easily abate: once aroused, they tended to congeal into a cold, hard core that could only be dissolved by an overwhelming retribution.
Anthea, her family, that sanctimonious fool Denham, whoever had assisted her – they would all come to bitterly regret they had crossed him.
Could Denham have been behind it? Well, he would soon enough find out. It went without saying that the women had travelled from London. He spurred the gelding in that direction, glad that the hunt allowed him some relief for his anger. The horse snorted and obeyed, running faster than ever.
Fog and a drizzle impeded visibility, but it should not take him more than half an hour at most, at this speed, to catch up with the coach. Just as well - his evening clothes were already damp and would soon be wet through.
The fog thickened, but Silas could still faintly make out the road. Surely by now he must have found them? He touched the whip to the horse’s flank.
It missed a step – had there been some unseen hole under that puddle in the road? Silas had no time to ponder the question as he was thrown. He never heard the horse crashing down, some of its weight coming to rest on his left knee.
The rain increased in intensity. It was a long time before Silas recovered consciousness. His head and shoulder and leg hurt so badly that he could hardly gather his thoughts. There was no sign of the horse.
When he tried to move his left leg Silas promptly fainted again. He did not wake until a passing carriage stopped to render assistance an hour later, and the grooms jolted his broken kneecap and collarbone as they heaved him inside.
***
Crystal goblets and the best Wedgewood dinner set graced the dining table, extended to its furthest extent for the occasion. Six dozen wax candles in solid silver candelabra threw their flattering light on the company.
Charles found himself seated next to Lady Sommersby, the wife of a local baronet and justice of the peace.
“What a dramatic scene just now,” this lady commented. “We were all agog to meet the Earl’s long-lost daughter, but this new scandal quite eclipses her reappearance.”
“Lady Anthea is well out of her betrothal,” Charles said. “I could not like Lord Winstanton, even before learning what kind of man he is. She deserves better.”
“We could all tell what you thought of him, from the way you knocked him down.” Her voice did not contain censure. “Still, who would have thought it of a lord so handsome, so distinguished in looks and demeanour! And I do wonder how that girl from London tracked him down here in the countryside? How did she manage to push her way past the Desborough servants, who are as well-trained as any in the county?”
“Desperation will find a way,” Charles said. He had his suspicions, but they were not to be shared with this stranger. “She cannot be overly bright, or she would never have believed Winstanton’s promises, or that a public scene would improve her chances of obtaining his support.”
“Indeed. If not she, at least her mother should have known better than to aid and abet such a hopeless scheme.”
Charles added three slivers of braised tongue to his plate. “I quite agree. Have you lived here all your life, Lady Sommersby? Did you ever meet Lady Mariah, the Earl’s first wife?”
To his relief, she accepted the change in subject. “Once or twice, when I was a girl. From what I remember, Lady Madeline looks like her, but then it was decades ago. How was she found after all this time?”
“That is a long story. I understand that her mother never eloped after all, but died unexpectedly at an inn. The story of her leaving for the colonies was deliberately set about by her servants, who absconded with her purse and jewels. The child was fortunately adopted by respectable people and educated as a lady, if not quite in the elevated circles of her original parents.”
Lady Sommersby shuddered. “How terrible. Of course, it is not the first tragedy to befall the Desboroughs. I remember the day I heard of young Lord Minton’s death as though it were yesterday. He was such a handsome, popular man.”
“You mean Lady Mariah’s older brother? I heard he died in a duel. Do you happen to know what it was about?” Charles had wondered if it had been caused by one of Lady Mariah’s disappointed suitors.
Lady Sommersby nodded sombrely. “They hushed it up, of course. A fellow member of his club had charged him with an unnatural preference,” she lowered her voice, “for a young man, his closest friend from his schooldays. Of course nobody who knew him would have believed such a reflection on t
he young Viscount’s manhood. The very idea!”
Charles wondered. Such affection between young men was not nearly as unusual as Lady Sommersby appeared to think. Whatever the truth of the matter, it never should have led to a duel, a barbaric practice he had always deplored.
Lady Sommersby was less interested in the distant past. “Is it true that Lady Madeline’s husband, Mr. Durwent, is as rich or richer than Lord Desborough?”
“So I understand, but only his colleagues in the City will have an accurate idea of his current net worth. More to the point, from what I could observe Durwent is a devoted and attentive husband.”
“Then he is as rare as white raven. I must get to know this paragon.”
“There will be occasion to talk to him after dinner. We rarely linger over our port here, and are even less likely to do so tonight, with so many lovely ladies present.”
Lady Sommersby smiled complacently at the compliment.
Even as he conversed with the lady at his side, Charles could not help stealing frequent glances at Anthea. She was dressed very demurely tonight. That simple white gown made her appear even younger than her age. Yet she had not been meek and passive. How decisively she had rejected Winstanton! Like an angry young goddess. With so many witnesses, there was no danger of the breach being healed through her parents’ intervention. If the Viscount made good on his threats to blacken her name, hopefully it would be interpreted as mere spite and revenge.
***
Anthea felt Charles’s regard on her, its warmth dispensing new courage. She would need it – her parents were furious. She knew them well enough to see through the social masks of their rigid smiles. Her mother in particular was livid, probably more at her than at Silas. Lady Amberley had observed the whole scene with a supercilious air, like a badly performed farce in the theatre. As worldly-wise as the dowager was, she might have guessed that the pregnant mistress had been hired. Was she an actress? Was it possible to stuff a stomach that convincingly?
Anthea hoped that the women had been well paid by Cherry, and were far away from Silas at this moment. He would inevitably try to punish them, as well as her. She had no illusions on that score; a public humiliation achieved by trickery would make a mortal enemy out of anyone. Silas was not the type to forgive and forget. As long as he lived she would have to beware.
Would her parents consent to a match with Charles Denham? He was no Viscount, but in all other respects he was infinitely preferable to Silas. If they thought she was damaged goods – as they still might – her chances of being allowed to marry Charles would be much increased. But was that fair to herself and to him? On the other hand, could she convince her parents even now that Silas had maligned her? Tonight he had appeared in the light of a heartless seducer – not very different from what he had supposedly done to her.
If she married Charles, she would have to allow him to do all those shocking things to her.. Could she let him put his tongue in her mouth, and permit those other intimacies Cherry had described? But the only way to escape them was not to marry at all. Anthea had never, not for a moment, wanted to grow old as a spinster. She wanted a family, children. So she would have to do these things anyway – with some man – and at least she trusted Charles to be careful. With any luck she could become accustomed, and do it for his sake, his pleasure, whatever she herself might feel.
“Now that you are free once more,” Lord Linton, the young baron seated to her right, interrupted her ruminations, “will other chaps get a chance to court you? Will you look to your neighbours, or wait for another Season in London?”
“My first Season was pleasant enough, but then I was young and ignorant,” she replied. “One does not receive an adequate impression of a man’s character from dances and sitting beside him at the theatre. But it is a little early for me to make new plans. I shall have to see what my parents recommend.”
“You don’t feel too devastated? I own I was surprised that you remained at the dinner, rather than retire to – ah – lick your wounds. Admirable composure, I mean to say.”
“I am not so poor-spirited as to let a disappointment deprive me of my appetite.” She nibbled on a vegetable covered in white wine sauce. “Between ourselves, I had already come to the conclusion that we would not suit. Tonight’s revelation was merely the last straw.”
He eyed her a little uneasily. “In what other way did Winstanton fall short? Don’t answer if it is too painful or private.”
“Our stable master was unhappy with the state of the horses when he returned them after his daily rides. A man who mistreats a dumb creature is not likely to be a kind husband.”
“No, by Jove, did he really do that? Then you were quite right to give him his marching orders. Not the thing at all.”
She stifled a rueful smile. Clearly this detail relayed by her maid was far more shocking to Lord Linton than abandoning a girl unwed, and with child.
Chapter 30
Discuss your concerns openly with those few you can trust. Fears only grow worse while hidden in your bosom.
Maxims for Young Gentlewomen, by A Lady, London 1823
Cherry maintained outward calm, though she was a little worried about the safe departure of her hirelings. The theatrical agency had surpassed her hopes. That loud voice, trained for the boards, and convincing air of utter desperation … she would pay the girl a hefty bonus. ‘The ‘mother’ had been a man in disguise, a former prize fighter, sent along to protect the actress from bodily injury.
She hoped her instructions had been followed to the letter. Cherry had specified a wig and enough discreet make-up to render the girl very different from her ordinary appearance. Winstanton must pass by her in the street, or see her act on the stage, without recognizing her. The padding would be shed as soon as the pair were away. Even now they were speeding towards Brighton in that hired coach. Winstanton would expect them to travel back to London. Were her precautions sufficient? She was inclined to think so. With luck he would never suspect or discover Cherry’s involvement. From his perspective she had no motive, having only known Anthea for two weeks.
Jonathan would not be pleased at the way she had interfered in the affairs of her new family, but since he had urged her to visit them in the first place, he was as instrumental in this dénouement as she herself. Surely she could bring him to see it her way.
A toast was proposed in her honour. Good. The less attention focused on Anthea’s jilting of her betrothed, the better. And Cherry wanted no awkward questions regarding the intruders who had so fortuitously arrived and quickly departed, merely acting as catalyst in an already fraught situation.
If Anthea continued to be in disgrace with her parents, and did not want to accept Charles – though he would suit her well enough – maybe she should invite her and Cecily for a long visit, until tempers cooled. And Irmaline too, if she was allowed to come. She liked the girls, and a temporary removal from Lady Desborough’s benign but overly conventional influence might benefit them.
From the way Anthea and Charles sneaked glances at each other across the long table, it would not be necessary. Charles was honourable and loyal, everything Winstanton was not. Her sister could hardly do better. Maybe Cherry could assist in bringing the Earl and Countess to that understanding, if they should be slow in giving permission.
Where was Winstanton now? Would he leave the Hall without his mother? And would the bruiser disguised as Mrs. Fisher prove a match for him, should the Viscount catch up with the coach after all? Cherry rather thought so. It took far more strength and cunning to survive among the lower classes than the aristocracy.
Yet another toast to celebrate her reunion with the family. She smiled graciously. This visit was not nearly as dreary as she had feared. She would tell Jonathan that she conceded their bet, and allow him to claim his prize, as soon as they were alone. She could hardly wait.
***
The gentlemen did not linger over the port for more than thirty minutes; half an hour too long for
Charles. Yet when they re-joined the ladies in the drawing room, where Miss Trevor was once again performing on the pianoforte, he did not see Anthea anywhere. All the chairs being occupied, he leaned against the wall near the doorjamb. Where could she be? Both her parents were accounted for.
Charles applauded politely when the sonata ended. Within less than a minute another young lady from a neighbouring estate was preening next to the huge inlaid harp, settling her skirts carefully as she prepared to display her art.
Even as he resigned himself to another performance, Miss Trevor appeared by his side. “Anthea is in the Conservatory,” she said in a murmur so low nobody else could have made out the words, over the first chords of the harp. “Don’t keep her waiting.”
While all eyes were on the young lady and harp in front, he slipped from the room, his heart racing. His fate would be decided this night, he felt it – and welcomed the prospect.
The Conservatory was cool and dark – what was Anthea thinking, to risk her health by lingering in this place? What if Winstanton found and cornered her here? She was resting on a chaise-longue, her white dress luminous in the dim light coming through the large glass windows from the distant lanterns outside.
“Charles. You came at once.” That fact seemed to afford her satisfaction. As though he would not hurry to her side whenever she wanted him.
“Love,” he said tenderly, “aren’t you cold here? Let me give you my coat.” He struggled out of the tight garment, and draped it over her shoulders. Unbidden, he sat down beside her, almost touching, and took her hands in his.
“We should not be here alone – I wonder your parents allow it. You should not expose yourself to any danger or scandal, Anthea. What if Winstanton sneaked back in?”
She shrugged. “I took precautions, and this is important. I need to talk to you privately.” She was silent for a while, as his heart sank. Was she about to let him down easily? He waited, allowing her to take her time.
