by May Burnett
“It has turned out well enough.”
“Why is the older sister here in England, too? It is not the custom to take one’s sister-in-law along on the wedding journey.”
“There was a compelling reason,” Anthony said. “Though there have been more times than I can count when I wished her far away. If she had not broken her leg just as we were leaving, the girls’ mother would also be with our party.”
“You have been busy, I see. And quixotic, unless I miss my guess.”
“I set out to have adventures, so I can hardly complain if I found some when I least expected them. It may be something about Verona … that city has a peculiar atmosphere, as though the old Roman deities were still around, practising their mischief upon hapless humans.”
Rook was not interested in such mystical speculation. “You left your wife’s mother behind with a broken leg?”
“She will be joining my household as soon as she recovers, in fact she might already be on the way.”
“Are you sure that is wise? I regularly thank Providence that I have no mother-in-law to bedevil me.”
“I am not worried,” Anthony dismissed his friend’s comment. That pathetic woman in Verona would not inconvenience him – would she? Of course he had no notion what she would be like when she regained her health. No matter, for a man in possession of so many residences. Emily would know what should be done for her.
“Tell me about your family,” he demanded. “Did I understand right, Anna is expecting another child? How is your little son?”
“Edward is growing every day, and thriving,” Rook said proudly. “He takes after me in size and looks, except the eyes, which are Anna’s.”
“Then he must be a very handsome, clever lad. By the bye, thank you for looking after my estates in my absence. Was it a very burdensome chore?”
“No more than looking after my own will be, when the time comes. When you are not the owner and merely act as steward, you tend to consider decisions more carefully, which may have been good practice. All is well.”
“I never doubted it.”
“You’ll want to see what bills are coming up in the House – that is one part I can only observe from afar.” Unlike Anthony, Rook would not sit in the Lords until his estranged father, the Duke of Ottway, passed away. Anthony did not ask how the Duke was doing. At the time of his departure Ottway had been embroiled in a nasty scandal, but after two years that would have blown over.
“Now that you’ll have more time on your hands, you might easily enter the Commons,” Anthony suggested. “That is where most of the power is anyway, these days.”
Chapter 25
Do not ever forget who you are and what you owe to yourself.
Maxims for Young Gentlewomen, Vol. 2, by a Lady (1824)
The South English hills and meadows looked bleak in the November light, but inside the carriage the four travellers were snug, warmed by hot bricks and thick furs.
Emily smiled a little nervously at the handsome giant sitting opposite - her husband’s close friend Rook, who had been watching over his estates for the last two years. She had heard about him several times on their trip, but Anthony’s remarks had not remotely done justice to this forceful and charismatic young man.
“Anna, my wife, will call upon you as soon as I tell her of your existence,” he said to her. “She chafes a little just now that morning sickness slows her down and prevents our daily rides in the park. I shall have to travel to our stud in the north in a few days; Anna will be pleased at your company, and that of your sister.”
“That sounds most pleasant,” Emily said, grateful for his words, but a little wary. Surely his Marchioness already had a circle of congenial friends in London. If she opened her home and hospitality to them, it would be as a favour to Anthony.
“How did you meet your wife, Lord Molyneux?” Margaret asked. “You mentioned that she was German by birth?”
“Anna’s father is a diplomat; hence she spent some time in England in her youth. Later she returned to our shores in the retinue of a Princess from Obernberg, and stayed behind to marry me, two and a half years ago now.”
Emily’s memory stirred. Those had been the days when they were enveloped in their private tragedy, but even so she had heard something about a controversial engagement between that Princess and an English nobleman – it must have been Rook himself, who was supposed to marry the woman! Any further questions on the subject might be tactless. But how could she tell Margaret without awkwardness?
Anthony intervened before her sister could put her foot in her mouth. “How has Anna adapted to life in England since your wedding?”
“Without the least trouble, remember that even as a child she used to live in different countries for years on end. She is critical of our political system, however, and considers it reckless not to have a written constitution. All that undefined royal privilege can only lead to abuse, she claims.”
Emily blinked. Even stranger than a foreign-born woman having critical opinions on such a point, was that her husband would quote her views. Lady Molyneux must be a very unusual person.
“We have never discussed politics, Emily,” Anthony observed with a lazy smile. “I have yet to learn your views on our system of government, or Margaret’s either.”
Emily wrinkled her nose. “It would be a waste of time to develop views that the Crown and government would only ignore, by virtue of my sex. Will you think me shallow, that I have never devoted much thought to the subject? What of you, Margaret?”
“In England I had other concerns than to worry about politics, but in Italy it was obvious that the Austrians were tolerated rather than truly accepted. There is still a strong aftereffect from the Napoleonic wars, though superficially all may seem quiescent. I believe it is only a question of time till the Austrians are kicked out of the Italian-speaking areas. Though I am by no means sanguine that most citizens will find themselves better off afterwards.”
Emily stared at her sister. Had she been discussing these subjects with Signora Tarcassi on their journey, or was this lingering evidence of her sister’s activities on behalf of the War Office? Had Margaret sent political assessments as well as troop numbers? If so, was it wise to betray her interest in the subject now?
Rook also regarded her sister with mild surprise. “You do not approve of Italian nationalism, Miss Bellairs? Yet most of our countrymen support the Greeks’ independence fight, at least morally.”
“They are inconsistent, as I do not see them supporting Irish independence at the same time. As to nationalism in general, if I were a man, I would be reluctant to spill my blood for this or any other new-fangled idea.”
“Very sensible,” Anthony supported Margaret, surprising Emily once again. Lately her husband and sister seemed to be getting on much better. “When you have travelled as far and seen as many countries as I have, nationalism and patriotism are put in perspective.”
“But you are back now, and will soon readjust your values,” Rook reminded him. “Have you written to Marianne yet? She will want to give a reception or ball for Emily, as soon as she learns of her existence.”
“I wrote from Geneva, after we were married, asking to keep the information confidential until our return. Marianne and George must have had the news a while ago, as we did not hurry home, even apart from the accident in the Channel. There should be a letter or invitation from them waiting at home.”
Emily was glad that her in-laws were forewarned; she would not be sprung on them as an unpleasant surprise.
“More likely you will find Marianne and George in person, especially if they have heard the report of your drowning,” Rook prophesied. “To see you alive and well, and with a young bride, will set the ton about its ears. Prepare for an instant onslaught of curious friends and acquaintances.”
Emily told herself to relax. “I suppose it is inevitable? Do I need to prepare myself for meeting these people?”
Anthony smiled. “Our fellow peers
and their ladies are no different from anyone else, except convinced of their supreme importance. Don’t worry, dear, I shall be by your side when it really matters. Anna and Marianne will do the rest.”
“Mingling with society will be interesting.” Margaret’s eyes sparkled with anticipation. “Whatever happens, it has to be an improvement on our life in the Casa Mardiglio.”
Emily was not so optimistic. “It was not terrible in Verona. Until our uncles returned from Vienna my existence was quite tolerable. I liked the countryside and the language.”
“You two have already seen more of the world than most Englishwomen your age,” Rook said. “It is not as though you were completely green, which will help. If anyone should be impertinent or rude, think of the haughtiest lady you know, and imitate the way she would react.”
“That would be our grandmother, the Contessa,” Margaret said. “She can be almost frightening, but I am not sure I want to aim for that same effect.”
“Not towards your friends and family, of course. But learning to depress pretension is a most important lesson in your new circumstances.”
Emily glanced at Anthony, who nodded. “I am afraid that is correct. Now and then you must give set-downs, or the encroaching members of society will eat you alive. They will ask you to attend soirees you have no desire to attend, give to their pet charities when you already have decided to support your own, write letters of recommendation for some relation you have never met, endorse a lotion for the skin, and so on - you will have to say no more often than yes.”
“Anna can help you, if that should be a problem,” Rook offered. “She has inherited her father’s diplomatic talents.”
“It does not sound too hard,” Emily said, albeit a little doubtfully.
Rook grinned. “Remember you need no longer curtsy except to those of still higher rank, like dukes and royalty.”
“So I need to calculate relative rank at all times?”
“You already do – everyone does,” Margaret said impatiently. “All that has changed is your position on the scale, Emily. Within a few days it will seem very natural to have others curtsy and bow, while you merely incline your head. I wish I were in your position, it would take me no time at all to get used to that.”
“I can well believe it,” Anthony said, smiling.
An hour later, Emily felt as though she had known Rook all her life. But would all of Anthony’s friends be this welcoming?
They stopped for lunch at an ancient inn that Anthony told her had already served medieval pilgrims on their way to the Crusades. The walls were thick enough to last another thousand years, but it was a little chilly inside, until the freshly lit fire in their private room took properly and began to spread its welcome warmth.
While the food was being prepared she repaired to the ladies’ necessary with Margaret.
On their way back they passed a party of three highly fashionable ladies and two gentlemen. Emily gave internal thanks that their carriage dresses from Lyons were as elegant as anything she had yet seen in England.
As they walked by these strangers, she was conscious of murmuring and titters.
“Travelling with Lord Molineux,” one of the ladies said. “What will poor Anna say, when she hears!”
The oldest lady looked down her nose at them, which was the easier as she was over six foot tall.
At that moment Anthony appeared from the door of their private dining room, looking around. The strangers fell on him in a moment. “Lord Pell – can it be you? You are back at last! Welcome home!”
Emily watched as he bowed slightly, none too enthusiastically. “Lady Armengit,” he said, “pleased to meet you, but you will excuse me, I was looking for my wife – ah, there she is.” He turned his back on the fawning group and held out his arm to Emily.
“Your wife!” the old lady exclaimed in a tone of deepest astonishment. “Who would have thought it!”
“Emily,” Anthony said smoothly, “may I present the Dowager Countess Armengit to you? My marchioness, Lady Pell, and this is my sister in law, Miss Bellairs.”
Emily remembered just in time that she outranked the old lady, and caught herself before curtsying. This crowd would mock her forever for a simple mistake like that. “How do you do,” she said languidly. Margaret curtsied, but winked at her as she did so.
“My dear lady Pell,” the old lady said, in a quite different voice. “No doubt we shall see much of each other in town. May I present my daughter, Lady Carstairs, Miss Jennifer Collinghame, my son-in-law Sir Stephen Carstairs, and Mr. Rennoch?”
Emily murmured her acquiescence, noting that the gentlemen were ogling Margaret, even the married Sir Stephen.
“You will excuse us,” Anthony said smoothly, “my friend Molyneux is anxious to continue our journey. So pleased to have run into you.”
Before she knew it, Emily was back in the safety of their private room.
“Are these people typical of the ton?” Margaret asked with a grimace. “I was not very impressed with them.”
“Who?” Rook enquired.
“We ran into old Lady Armengit and several of her set outside,” Anthony explained. “I fear the news of our marriage will be bandied about before the notice in the Morning Post can appear, these are some of the most dedicated gossips of my acquaintance.”
“I was glad when you appeared,” Emily admitted. “They were staring at us in a rude fashion and since they had recognized Lord Molyneux’s arms on the carriage, were already inventing some scandal to strew about.”
“That we were French courtesans, probably,” Margaret said, tossing her head. “I could see the gears in their brainboxes spinning, looking for the most malicious interpretation.”
“You obviously have their measure, Miss Bellairs,” Rook agreed. “It is all too true. People want to think the worst. Anna knows she can trust me, but people keep watching for the slightest hint of trouble in our marriage, and several have tried to make mischief by mere invention. If they tell you lies about Anthony, do not be quick to believe them.”
Emily shivered, despite the cheerfully crackling fire so close to her chair. This was going to be just as hard as she had feared.
Chapter 26
Journeys end in homecomings – for better or worse.
Maxims for Young Gentlewomen, Vol. 2, by a Lady (1824)
The carriage came to a stop. Emily was watching Anthony, whose features reflected relief and yet a smidgen of regret.
“Home at last,” he said.
They had dropped Rook at his own house, smaller than this one, only two streets away.
The large green double doors were staring at Emily. What would her life beyond those doors be like?
“Time to alight, my dear, and inspect your kingdom,” her husband said, as footmen hurried to open the door, placed the steps, stood by for assistance.
As Emily descended, followed by Margaret, a dignified older man approached Anthony.
“Welcome home, my lord, on behalf of your staff!”
“My butler, Gordon,” Anthony explained. “Thanks, Gordon. Please inform the staff that I have brought my wife with me, as well as my sister-in-law. Assemble them in the hall in half an hour – is that convenient, Emily?”
“Quite,” she murmured. How many staff members would there be? Would she be able to remember their names?
“- to be presented to their new mistress.”
Pell House had a large entrance hall, elegant and commodious, if not quite on the massive scale of the Casa Mardiglio. On the other hand, this London mansion would not feature dangerously uneven stairs, blind corridors, or creaky windows.
Margaret looked around approvingly. “It looks very modern,” she commented, as they climbed the broad stairs.
Emily could only agree. “How old is your house?”
“Our house now. It was built during the Regency. My father bought it new, in 1814. We still own the previous Pell House, in Westminster; but as society flocks to Mayfair these da
ys, this location was more convenient for Marianne’s debut.”
The butler led Margaret away, while Emily and Anthony continued along a corridor on the first floor.
“If the staff did not know of my existence, they will not have prepared a room for me.” Aristocratic couples did not share rooms, as they had done in various inns ever since Geneva. Would she see much less of Anthony in consequence?
“The suite next to mine should be ready in a trice. I thought of sending orders to have it prepared from Geneva, but the news would have leaked out and been all over town long before our arrival.”
Would that have been so terrible? It was not as though he could keep it secret now. But then she still did not understand how society gossip worked.
Anthony threw open a white-painted door decorated with carved scrollwork, and led her into a large room, furnished in cherry wood and pale green silk wallpaper. Various sofas and armchairs were draped in canvas.
“This suite has never been in use,” he explained, “as my mother was sickly when the house was purchased, and remained in the country until she died not long after. You can change the colour – many people find green bilious – and anything else you want.”
“It is charming,” Emily said, “or should be when I see the furniture, but so big! You could give a dinner party in here. And where is the bed?”
“Our dining room is still bigger, as you will see presently. This is your personal sitting room – the bedroom, which connects to mine, is in there.” They passed through a door on the left side of the large square room to a bedroom furnished in dark pinks, with a huge bed, not made up. There was however a fire burning in the grate. The bedroom was almost equal in size to the sitting room.
“Show me how it connects to your room,” Emily requested. “It is so big, I fear I may get lost in here without you to keep me company.”
“This door here.” A spacious dressing room connected the bedrooms. The master’s was furnished in masculine style, all leather and dark green, and even larger than hers. Her husband’s bed, shaded by a brocade baldachin, looked big enough to shelter a small regiment. Anthony and she could play hide-and-seek in it. Or would he prefer to come to hers?
