by Buck, Gayle
She nodded slowly. “Very well, my lord.”
He detected still a shade of doubt in her eyes and thought it was because of the proposed engagement. “If you cannot feel comfortable with the course as my grandmother has outlined it, then naturally we must make a clean breast of it all,” he said quietly.
“Edward,” exclaimed Lady Cassandra wrathfully.
Lord Humphrey ignored his grandmother’s intervention. “Joan? It shall be just as you prefer.”
Joan looked up at his lordship. She saw the sincerity in his eyes and she heard it in the determination of his voice. Her mouth softened into a faint smile. “You would do that, I think, even though it meant ever so much trouble.”
He smiled and pressed her fingers. “I have told you that I shall shield you as much as it is in my power to do so. But I would not have you think ill of me or question my honor.”
“I would never do so, my lord. You have been all that is honorable and more,” Joan said, her eyes misting. She could feel the heavy signet ring on her finger and its weight was reassuring.
“Then I can only ask that you trust me in this, Joan. I swear that I will not take your confidence lightly,” Lord Humphrey said.
It was an appeal that she could not stand against. The assaulting doubts faded. Joan smiled. “Very well, my lord. I still cannot quite like it all, but I accept the necessity. We shall become an engaged couple.”
“Perhaps I should not ask, but curiosity has always been a failing of mine,” Lady Cassandra said crossly. She was still upset that her carefully wrought entertainment had so narrowly missed its staging, but even so her quick ear was at work. She had not been behind in noting that Joan had spoken of her father in the past tense and it had come to her that she had all along taken for granted that the girl had no family to speak of or with which to acquaint of the present situation. “Who was your father, my dear?”
“Papa was vicar in a neighboring county, my lady. He was a truly generous and godly man. He passed away but eight months ago,” Joan said. As she spoke, she felt the familiar blinding stab of grief and loneliness that had become a hovering companion to her spirits since that fateful day. She squared her shoulders against it. It was always worse when she was tired, and it had been a most arduous afternoon.
“I am sorry, my dear. It is most distressing to lose one who is well-loved,” Lady Cassandra said sincerely. Even so, her agile mind quickly turned over the new piece of information to her advantage. “However, I cannot but think that this delay to announce the match between you and my grandson suits your own private needs very well. You are still in mourning. It would hardly be fitting to announce your marriage, with all the attendant hoopla and exclamation that it would entail, before you were completely out of black gloves.”
“I had not thought of that,” said Lord Humphrey, frowning. More than ever he was convinced of the tightness of his grandmother’s advice on how to introduce his wife into his family. Joan should have her private period of mourning.
“Your mourning will also serve as a logical explanation for the quietness of the engagement, for certainly we must let it be assumed that the understanding between yourself and my grandson is of some duration,” said Lady Cassandra.
“But it is not,” Joan said. Disturbed, she recognized the beginning of a spiral of half-truths and fabrications.
“My dear, when first you entered this room on my grandson’s arm, that is precisely what I assumed. I do not think that you have suffered from it. On the contrary, I suspect that if I had not tumbled to the matter of the special license and had already known of the arranged betrothal, it would have saved both yourself and my grandson several minutes of embarrassment,” said Lady Cassandra.
Joan could not deny it. She smiled, shaking her head. “That is true, my lady.”
Lady Cassandra said significantly, “I do not think that your father would have wished you to suffer through scandal and humiliation, my dear, especially at this sad time.”
Joan was silent, reflecting that her father would have been most shocked and distressed by the lack of support from his parish for his only child. Indeed, the vicar would have been incensed that she had been forced to the extremity of applying for a post simply to keep a roof over her head.
Her thoughts graduated naturally to her prior concern. She hoped that her father would not have been too disappointed at her cowardice in acquiescing to the viscount’s proposal. It had seemed quite the best thing to do, and she did not mink that she would later regret it.
As she met the viscount’s steady gaze, she felt her heart lift. No, she would not regret it, she thought, “I am game enough for it now, I think, my lord.”
“Good girl,” he said, smiling. He let go of her hand at last and rose to his feet. “Shall you wish my company any longer, Grandmamma? For all that it is early still and incredibly rag-mannered of me to own to it, I find that I am deuced tired and in a few hours I shall wish only for my bed. Therefore I beg that you ladies will accept my excuses and allow me to get onto the road before I am completely done in, as I must return to London at once.”
Joan cast a startled glance up at the viscount, but she said nothing to his unexpected announcement. However, she could not still the sense of apprehension and abandonment that swept through her. In the last several hours the viscount had become a necessary anchor to her. She felt adrift at the very thought of being left to her own devices in a world completely outside her experience.
“No, I think that will be all for the moment, Edward. I do think it would be wise to write at once to the earl and inform him that you will not be arriving quite so soon as expected,” Lady Cassandra said, reaching for her bell and ringing it to alert her staff that the remains of the tea were to be cleared away. The drawing-room door opened at once to admit the butler.
Lord Humphrey grimaced. “You are right, of course. I shall do so as soon as I arrive in London,” he said.
He held out his hand to his wife. Odd how easily he had come to think of her in that fashion, but she was a comfortable little thing. Not at all one to cut up a man’s peace, he thought in a self-congratulatory manner as he compared what this moment might have been like if he had married Miss Ratcliffe instead. “Will you escort me to the door, my lady?”
“Of course,” Joan said. Her voice was quite steady and betrayed none of the trepidation that she felt. She rose to her feet, and placing her hand in his, they walked from the drawing room.
Lady Cassandra delayed the butler in order to inform him that the young lady was Miss Joan Chadwick, the viscount’s betrothed, and as such was to be accorded every courtesy of the house. Carruthers, though used to the rare starts of the gentry, was nevertheless surprised by her ladyship’s revelation. His expression remained wooden, however, as he prepared to depart the drawing room and seek immediate refuge in the servants’ hall, where he could impart the extraordinary news.
In the front hall, Lord Humphrey retrieved his beaver and greatcoat from the attendant footman. As he adjusted the beaver over his brows, he requested the footman to convey a message to the stables that he required his phaeton. The footman left on his errand and the couple was momentarily alone in the entry hall.
He said quietly, “You must not be anxious, Joan. No, do not attempt to deny it. You have the most speaking eyes, you know.” There was the trace of a smile in his voice.
“To my continuing lamentation,” retorted Joan with a touch of tartness.
The viscount laughed. He sobered quickly. He was very aware that the butler was emerging from out of the drawing room, and in an attempt to discourage possible listening ears, he lowered his voice. “I do not desert you at this late date.”
“I never thought it, my lord,” Joan said staunchly. “I shall do very well with her ladyship until your return.”
The footman returned to inform the viscount that his carriage was at that moment being brought around. He opened the front door for his lordship.
Lord Humphrey thanked
the man briefly. He drew Joan with him outside onto the portico. The viscount raised her hand to his lips. After the warm salute across her fingers, he said, “You do not ask me why I must leave.”
“I am certain that if you wished me to know, you would inform me,” Joan said.
“You are by far too trusting of me, my lady,” said Lord Humphrey, shaking his head. “I return to London to place the advertisement of our engagement in the Gazette and also to procure a proper engagement ring for you.”
Joan smiled at him. Her brown eyes suddenly twinkled. “I fancy that will be an onerous task for a confirmed bachelor.”
He laughed. He saw that his phaeton was arriving at the curb and his team was stamping impatiently. “Farewell, my lady.”
He bounded down the steps and climbed up into the phaeton. Taking up his whip, he nodded to the stable groom to let go the leaders and the team instantly started into motion. The phaeton rolled toward. The viscount touched his whip to his beaver and then the carriage swept past Joan.
Joan watched the phaeton progress away from her until the trees that shaded the graveled drive hid it from view. She sighed and, turning to the door standing open behind her, walked back inside and into her new life.
The butler awaited her. “Miss Chadwick, her ladyship has suggested that you might wish a hot bath and to rest in your room before dinner,” he said.
Joan flashed her warm smile. “Indeed I would,” she agreed.
Carruthers permitted himself the flicker of a smile. “The footman will show you upstairs to your room, miss.”
Joan followed the manservant. When she entered the bedroom and closed the door behind her, she found that the abigail she had acquired was busily tipping large copper pots of water into a brass hip bath. The bath was set between a roaring fire in the grate and a screen to discourage wayward drafts. “How lovely,” said Joan in anticipation.
The abigail ducked her head in greeting. Her plump cheeks were pink from the steam rising from the water. “But let me finish, m’lady, and I’ll give you a ‘and with your buttons.”
A few minutes later, Joan settled blissfully into the warmth of the water. She closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation. She hardly heard when the abigail announced that Lady Cassandra had sent in a clean gown for her to wear down to dinner.
Once she had bathed and had dressed in the borrowed gown, however, she started to laugh. “Look, Maisie, I am become a veritable beanstalk.’’ Her wrists extended beyond the sleeve cuffs and the skirt ended somewhere up around her ankles, while the gown itself was a size too large around for her slender frame.
The abigail hid her grin behind one hand. “Oh, I don’t know, m’lady. ‘Tis a pretty gown, I’m thinking,” she said stoutly.
Joan squared her posture, attempting to fill out the gown’s drooping bodice. “I shall make a fine spectacle at the dinner table. I am glad his lordship is not here to see it, though,” she said ruefully. She was struck by a thought and turned away from the mirror to look at the abigail. “Maisie, I do hope you have not said anything about his lordship and myself to anyone?”
“Now, what would I be saying, m’lady?”
“No one is to know just yet that his lordship and I are wed,” said Joan. She felt heat rising into her face at the abigail’s expression. She knew how odd it sounded. “Lady Cassandra believes it would be best to break the news gently to his lordship’s family, so we are to pose as an engaged couple for a time.”
“Oh, I’ll not breathe a word to anyone, m’lady. Begging your pardon, miss,” said the abigail.
“Thank you, Maisie.”
Joan went downstairs to join Lady Cassandra for dinner.
Her ladyship eyed Joan’s appearance critically and said, “I suspected you were a bit tall for that gown. You must write for your own things at once, my dear.”
“Yes, my lady. I will be most happy to do so,” Joan said.
Lady Cassandra shot a surprised look at her, then she chuckled. “Indeed! Well, my dear, it is just you and me this evening. We shall make it an early one, if you please. I am an old woman and this shocking situation has exhausted me. Mind you, I shall not sleep a wink for the worry of it all, but that is certainly none of your concern.”
“No, my lady,” Joan said. She thanked the footmen as they finished serving her and took up her fork.
“Aye, you’ve spirit enough, for all that meek tone. We shall begin on the morrow to see what else you are made of, my dear,” said Lady Cassandra.
Joan cast a startled glance at her ladyship.
Lady Cassandra was seemingly oblivious to everything but her repast.
After a moment, Joan resumed eating her own dinner. She wondered, with the slightest frisson of apprehension, exactly what Lady Cassandra had meant.
Chapter Nine
During Lord Humphrey’s absence, Joan settled into her new role as his lordship’s intended. Joan thought the intervening days until Lord Humphrey’s return to Blackhedge Manor would be interminable and uncomfortable in the strange household, but such proved not to be the case. Lady Cassandra treated her civilly and even fondly, though she was a perfect tyrant otherwise.
Lady Cassandra saw to it Joan was kept busy with small tasks, such as running for her ladyship’s shawl or slippers or vinaigrette, a cushion for her ladyship’s chair or her feet, or reading aloud to her. Joan swiftly learned that she was not the material of a hired companion or, as she acknowledged ruefully, that of a governess. She would not have wanted to be forever at some person’s beck and call, even to one as stimulating as Lady Cassandra.
Joan suspected, and quite rightly, that Lady Cassandra did not want to allow her time for solitary reflection and it was to that end that the unceasing demands were made upon her good nature.
Lady Cassandra openly made known her determination that Joan was to be made over into the perfect lady of quality before the viscount presented her to the Earl and Countess of Dewesbury. “For I shall tell you directly, my dear, you’ll have an easier time of it if you do not commit some silly faux pas or other that could be easily avoided with a little prior training,” Lady Cassandra said.
“I am most willing to learn, my lady,” Joan said.
“Good. I am glad to hear you say so,” Lady Cassandra said with wicked relish. She began to initiate Joan into the finer graces of society, which ran the gamut from proper greeting of personages of varying degrees of importance to the question of her abigail.
“You shall have to rid yourself of that girl who arrived with you, of course,” said Lady Cassandra. “I shall myself find a replacement, one who is more suitable for your station.”
“I prefer to retain my present abigail, my lady. Oh, I know that she is not up to snuff as a proper lady’s maid, but she learns very quickly and I am comfortable with her,” Joan said.
“My dear, you must be guided by me in this. Believe me, it is quite dangerous to have that girl about. Did you not tell me that she actually witnessed the ceremony? All shall be lost if she so much as hints at what she knows,” said Lady Cassandra. She delivered herself of a broad-brushed opinion. “Servants simply cannot be trusted with one’s secrets.”
“I shall speak to her myself, my lady,” Joan said. She smiled, but there was an expression in her eyes that surprised Lady Cassandra considerably. “I shan’t discuss it further, ma’am.”
“Then we must hope for the best, of course,” said Lady Cassandra, somewhat miffed. But she was also a good deal nonplussed. She had not before seen much evidence of the girl’s strength of will, even though she had suspected Joan’s quiet character cloaked much of interest.
Joan learned much about Lady Cassandra’s character as well. She decided that for all Lady Cassandra’s deliberately provoking ways, her ladyship was very likable. From the sometimes caustic comments that Lady Cassandra let drop, she also began to develop a hazy opinion of the viscount’s relations. It was a large and sprawling family of uncles and aunts and nephews and nieces and cousins of several degr
ees.
“Worthless, most of them. But nevertheless, there are sharp minds among them, so you must always be on your guard. You cannot trust any one of them with the secret of your hole-in-the-wall marriage,” said Lady Cassandra. She was quite aware that she sowed dismay in her recently acquired granddaughter, and seeing the expression of dread in Joan’s eyes, she relented a little. She patted the young woman’s arm. “You will do splendidly, my dear. I have every confidence in you.”
“I hope so. Thank you, my lady,” Joan said.
Joan also learned what would be expected of her in her role as Lord Humphrey’s hostess. “You’ll need all the poise and shrewd wit that God has granted you, my dear, if you are to survive the scrutiny of the most correct,” Lady Cassandra said.
Joan had been used to commanding her father’s household, so she was no stranger to accounts or to entertaining on a small scale—fortunately so, since Lady Cassandra ordered the manor housekeeper to take her in hand and discover what she knew. The housekeeper reported back to her ladyship that the miss’s skills in these areas were suitable enough, which earned Joan a nod of approval from Lady Cassandra.
The old lady was in fact pleasantly surprised at how readily the vicar’s daughter took to the more rarified life that she had been thrust into. Joan was gracious to a fault, her manner was kind and patient, her temper even despite the provocation Lady Cassandra provided by her incessant demands. Joan’s conversation was knowledgeable and on occasion even erudite, reflecting an excellent education. If there was a spark of anger in her brown eyes at those times that her ladyship deliberately sought to overset her or drive her out of countenance, Lady Cassandra thought her the better for such show of spirit.
Joan wrote a note to the Percys requesting that her things be packed up and put into the hands of the messenger who carried her letter to them. Shortly thereafter, her clothes and mementos were with her again. There was also a brief letter from Mrs. Percy, expressing that lady’s well wishes. Mrs. Percy also managed to convey awe and rampant curiosity within her short missive concerning Joan’s unsuspected connections with such a prestigious address.
