by May Burnett
The Colonel frowned. “For such a young man, you are very free with threats.”
Anthony shrugged. “Age has nothing to do with the matter. Never doubt that I have the connections to make your life and work very uncomfortable. Do we understand each other?”
The Colonel nodded grudgingly. “It is not my habit to gossip about ladies, and secrets are the bread and butter of our trade. She should be safe enough.”
Anthony left still fuming. What an utter bigot. Instead of being grateful for the information Margaret had provided – by his own account accurate and of high quality – the fellow was annoyed at having to expend part of his precious budget on a woman.
Yet maybe it was better so. What if the Colonel realised that his Captain’s greed had shown the way to new possibilities? How many other desperate women, even children, might be drawn into the dirty game of espionage if men like Robson had their way? For some pittance, or mere extortion without any compensation?
Even one more was too many, to Anthony’s way of thinking.
Chapter 28
That second chance may never come around.
Maxims for Young Gentlewomen, Vol. 2, by a Lady (1824)
Soft violin and woodwind music was audible as Emily, Margaret, Tsien and Anthony drew up in front of Amberley House for Marianne’s entertainment, which had mutated into a small ball. It would not be a squeeze, Marianne has assured them; she had only invited close friends and connections - two hundred, no more.
How could one person, one family, have so many close connections? Had the Bellairs ladies had even a fraction of that number of friends, would they have had to go into exile abroad? Most likely they would; people turned their backs when adversity struck.
Margaret was in her very best looks tonight, brimming with concealed excitement. Emily could tell by tiny signs that strangers would never notice. Her sister’s buttery yellow gown with elaborate embroidery was in the latest style. Emily had lent her a double strand of pearls.
Emily herself was the guest of honour, and as far as regarded fashion, society would not easily find fault with her. She wore the most magnificent of her French gowns, of red silk so dark it looked closer to black, cut daringly straight to expose her naked shoulders. Well, not quite naked, for Anthony had presented her with the family jewels, and advised her on the choice for tonight. The Tollesmere collar had been bestowed by Bloody Mary on a favourite courtier, whose heiress had married the head of the Wetherbys three generations later. Baron Tollesmere was still one of Anthony’s minor titles. The Collar’s nine uncut rubies, each close to cherry size, were surrounded by smaller diamonds and pearls.
“With that dress and these historic jewels, nobody will look at my face,” Emily had said optimistically as they set out.
“Never think it,” Anthony had disagreed. “Most of the guests tonight have similar heirlooms in their bank vaults, if not around their necks. They will be more interested in the new arrival in their ranks. Your every sentence and expression will be parsed and discussed.”
That prediction almost made her refuse to attend, but Emily had to face society’s gauntlet sooner or later; it might as well be under Marianne’s expert auspices. Besides, Margaret was greatly looking forward to the event, quite undaunted by the prospect of meeting so many distinguished personages. Her sister had always been reckless, but now that quality stood her in good stead.
How proud their mother would be, could she see her daughters now! But then she would soon be able to admire their new finery. Emily had received encouraging news the previous day – her mother was healing well and about to set off in easy stages, when she wrote. From Venice she would take ship to London. Between the lines Emily had discerned longing to see her daughters and England, fierce pride at Emily’s social prominence, but also an undertone of melancholy and almost resentment at having to bestir herself. With luck the bracing sea air would chase away her parent’s megrims.
As they walked the few steps from their carriage to the Amberleys’ entrance, Emily remembered the public ball in Verona she had attended with Sir Conrad and Anthony. What a difference! This was only the second ball of her life. She had certainly come a long way in a very short period.
“Has your sister invited Sir Conrad?” she asked her husband. “I had rather expected him to call before this.”
“Indeed, but he only knew us as Mr and Mrs Wetherby; though he could have found us through my Club. I believe Marianne sent him a card.”
“I see,” she murmured, and exchanged a swift glance with Margaret, who maintained a superbly indifferent expression.
There was no more time for private talk – they all had to stand in the receiving line, next to Marianne and George, her amiable husband. Emily had to curtsy three times after all – once to a Royal Duke and his Duchess, more deeply, and twice to other dukes. Yet there were people without any title as well, who looked not a whit less well-bred and confident.
Sometimes only the wife was titled, like Lady Cherry Durwent, who had a cheerful twinkle in her eye. They had already met at Marianne’s dinner party.
At that dinner Anthony’s family connections and close friends had been open and welcoming to Emily. Did it matter if it was for Anthony’s sake? Emily looked forward to knowing them better, even though the more sophisticated ladies made her feel a little out of her depth, and talk of morning sickness, children and toddlers was still beyond her ken. Though possibly not for long…
She danced the opening set with Anthony, the next with George, their host, and the one after that with Rook. There would be no dances to sit out tonight, unless she wished to rest. So far she felt tireless, able to dance all night.
Rook expertly whirled her around in a Viennese waltz. She could not imagine him doing anything clumsily, despite his large size. Anthony had taken time out of his many commitments to practice with her, so Emily could hold her own, more or less.
They passed a cluster of ladies as they walked off the floor, and the words “…has certainly done very well for herself…,” wafted over, clearly audible.
Rook fixed the middle-aged speaker with a bland stare that caused her to blush and hide her face behind her fan of ostrich feathers.
“She was speaking no more than the truth,” Emily said in a low voice as they walked on. “Though I was not aware of Anthony’s title when we married, even had he been the commoner he appeared, the marriage would have greatly bettered my circumstances.”
“It is not the point whether it is true or not. It is bad manners to speak ill of the guest of honour in her in-laws’ house,” he said severely. “I have reason to detest malicious gossip. It should be discouraged whenever possible, though that is a Sisyphean task.”
During the set she danced with James Ellsworthy, Lord Amberley’s younger brother, she noticed a familiar face near the entrance looking around a little uncertainly, in the typical attitude of a man wondering if there were any acquaintances present.
“I just saw my cousin, Sir Conrad Bolland,” she said to James Ellsworthy. “After the dance I would like to have a word with him.”
“I look forward to meeting any relative of yours.”
“Margaret and I do not know him well, but he called on us in Verona, and brought Anthony with him. In a roundabout way I owe him my current happiness.”
“He acted as a makeshift Amor, then?”
“Yes, though Anthony insists that the atmosphere of Verona also had something to do with our meeting.”
“I have never seen that city, though of course any educated person has heard of it,” Ellsworthy said. “Do you agree with Anthony that it has an atmosphere conducive to romance?”
“Not that I could notice during the two years of my sojourn there. I went in fear of being married off to some old man against my will. My uncles, who are natives of the town, are among the least romantic men I know. The older has already buried two young wives and is planning to marry a seventeen-year-old in March, while he is in his forties.”
; “A terrible thing, to be sure.”
“He is not ill-looking for a man of his age, mind,” Emily said, in fairness. “Not fat or balding or anything like that. But he is not kind or generous, which I consider the most important qualities in a husband.”
***
Anthony watched Emily whirl around the floor with James Ellsworthy as he stood talking with Charlotte, James’s wife. She had begged off dancing in favour of sipping champagne and talking, and he was describing some of his journey’s highlights to her when Sir Conrad approached them.
“Wetherby! I hoped to find you here. Is Lady Amberley a relative of yours? I believe she was also a Wetherby?”
“My sister, as a matter of fact,” Anthony said apologetically. “May I present you? Sir Conrad Bolland – Mrs James Ellsworthy.”
“How do you do.” Charlotte smiled at the young man, so similar to her in type, tall and blond; he could have been her younger brother. “You are a friend of Anthony’s? We are all so glad to have him back safe and sound after those dangerous travels; and with a lovely bride as well! He was very much missed.”
“We met on the boat from Ceylon. Sir Conrad is Emily’s and Margaret’s cousin on their mother’s side,” Anthony explained.
“How pleasant - another family connection, even if distantly! I must make you known to James, my husband.”
“How kind,” Sir Conrad’s polite reply was tinged with impatience. “Is Margaret present? I do not see her.”
“I believe she is dancing with Viscount Emmerton, over there - in the yellow dress.” Anthony exchanged a knowing smile with Charlotte. “She seems to be enjoying herself.”
“I am impatient to renew my acquaintance with my cousins. Emily looks very elegant indeed. Who is that she is dancing with?”
“My husband, James,” Charlotte said. “Lord Amberley’s brother.”
“Excuse me, me lord,” a young man addressed Anthony with a bow, “would you be so kind to introduce me to your charming sister-in-law? I have been admiring her from afar.”
Sir Conrad frowned and turned to stare at Anthony.
“Certainly, Sir Roland, if you’ll approach us later.” The young man nodded gratefully and withdrew.
“My lord?” Sir Conrad repeated.
“Anthony is the ninth Marquess of Pell,” Charlotte helpfully told him. “Surely you knew your cousin Emily has become a Marchioness? She is so fresh and unaffected. Everyone is saying she will be a great credit to her position.”
Sir Conrad stared at Anthony. “No, as a matter of fact, I had no idea until this moment. A Marquis? Really?”
Anthony shrugged. It might have been better to have this out in a less public place, but nothing he could do about it now. “I found it expedient to travel without the title. Nobody knew except my valet, the one who died in China. I did not tell even Tsien or your cousins until after the marriage in Geneva, when you had already left.”
“I see, my lord.” The look the younger man directed at him was cold and angry. “I suppose it pleased you to make a fool of the friends you made during your travels, since you never planned to pursue the acquaintance once you returned to your own elevated circles.”
“I shall leave you to your discussion,” Charlotte murmured tactfully, and moved away towards a group of her friends.
Anthony would have liked to shake the offended dignity out of Conrad, but that would only have made him angrier. “That is not how it was. As you can see from the invitation you received to my sister’s ball, I do value our friendship. Besides, your cousins do not possess so many relatives that they would willingly discard one. Come, do not look so resentful, Conrad. I am the same man as before.”
“Not quite,” Sir Conrad muttered, but his attention was once again wandering towards the bright figure of Margaret circling her partner on the dance floor. “Then Emily is Lady Pell? The one in whose honour this ball is being given?”
“Indeed.”
“She must have been elated at the news.”
“You do not know her at all. She told me if she had to be styled my Lady, a simple baronetcy would have been more than enough for her aspirations. Yet she does not act overly impressed with the nobility, which will stand her in good stead.”
“Good for her.”
“We have been back in London for a number of days,” Anthony watched Emily laugh at some sally. She already seemed on excellent terms with James. “You could easily have discovered our direction through my Club.”
“I was busy with my inheritance, the solicitors, the tenants, a lawsuit… you know how it is.”
Anthony nodded. “I have also been very busy.” The Lords had an important vote this week, and he was already back in the thick of politics. “You will be glad to know that your aunt, Mrs Bellairs, is better and on her way to England. We plan to have a traditional English wedding when she arrives, likely in January, in the Bellairs’ ancestral parish in Derbyshire. The ladies would probably appreciate your attending, if you can stand yet another wedding.”
“Willingly … Derbyshire is not that far from my own estate. Please remember me to my aunt, when you see her.”
The dance ended. Margaret and her partner walked over, as did James and Emily.
Emily was beaming. “Welcome, Cousin. I was wondering if we would see you here tonight.”
“Sir Conrad,” Margaret added with a slight smile, “I am glad to find you in good health.”
“And you are in great beauty tonight, Cousin, as is - ah - your sister too. “ Sir Conrad bowed to Emily. “My lady! Imagine my surprise when I learned that my young relative had risen so high!”
“No greater than my own surprise, I wager,” Emily returned.
Sir Conrad asked Margaret for a dance, but she shook her head. “There are no empty slots left. It only took ten minutes for my dance card to fill up. Emily is the guest of honour and everyone was curious about us.”
“I see,” the baronet said a trifle stiffly. Within a minute Margaret was claimed by her next partner, Sir Talbot Merrivale, and Emily by Jonathan Durwent, leaving the two friends alone, if you could call it that amidst two hundred guests.
“She was so indifferent,” Conrad murmured, as though unable to believe it.
“My sister assures me Margaret will soon make an eligible match. Miss Bellairs is much admired.”
Sir Conrad twitched irritably. “Do you mean to mock me, Wetherby - I mean, my lord?”
“You might as well call me Anthony. As for mocking you, not at all. Even if you are a little disappointed that you let the chance to woo Miss Bellairs without competition slip out of your grasp, you will come to see it is for the best. Had your heart really been in it, you would not have departed ahead of us in Geneva, and made sure of her then and there. And had Margaret only accepted you because there was nobody else to properly appreciate her, it might not have turned out a happy match in any case.”
“I hear your words, but I cannot agree.”
“Let me introduce you to some other young ladies.” Anthony pulled his friend in the direction of several hopeful, pretty debutantes. “A simple English girl without foreign sophistication or strong opinions will suit you far better.”
Sir Conrad allowed himself to be presented to the Honourable Eugenia Protheroe, and soon led that blushing damsel into the dance under the watchful eye of her mama, Viscountess Restondale.
Anthony decided not to interfere any further in his friend’s search for a bride. Conrad’s heart was not broken, - a little chipped at most - and though in his way he was an estimable young man, a laggard in love was unsuitable for a girl as passionate as Margaret. They would find a better match for Emily’s sister, the kind of man who would not be shocked by her exploits in Verona, and who discussed subjects like politics and reform over the breakfast table. There had to be someone in the Lords who fit the bill…
Chapter 29
Your acquaintances may wish you well and mean it at the time, but they rarely like to see you far surpass their ow
n estate.
Maxims for Young Gentlewomen, Vol. 2, by a Lady (1824)
“It looks just as I remember the village.” Mrs Bellairs spoke wonderingly, as though unable to believe that the English countryside had not drastically changed in the last two and a half years, as she peered out of the carriage window. To Anthony’s jaded eyes Bankington was a grey-brown and undistinguished place in this grey wintry light, but then he had not grown up here. Whatever the reason, he was glad to see his mother-in-law so animated.
“Do you suppose the butcher still remembers the unpaid bill?” Margaret asked. “I do hope not.”
“How much was it?” Anthony asked with interest. “Of course he will. People never forget money owed them, especially large amounts.”
Emily looked grim. “Almost a hundred pounds, I believe. He no longer extended credit the last few months, nor did anyone else. Doing without coals was the worst part.”
“Yes, it makes me shiver to even think of those days,” Margaret agreed. “I shall be glad to shake the dust of this place off my shoes, Emily. Only the affection I bear you as my only sister could have forced me to return.”
“We are not staying in in the village proper, so you are not returning altogether,” Anthony reminded her. “Paul’s house is perfectly well-heated, and as comfortable as can be expected in January.” They were staying at Dellamere Manor, a large country house two villages removed from Bankington, until the wedding ceremony scheduled for the coming Saturday.
