The Westerby Sisters (Changing Fortunes Series)

by M C Beaton

  "Of course." Betty picked up her skirts and ran.

  Simon picked up a flat stone and began to skim it across the ruffled water of the lake.

  Bella stood four-square in the middle of the path, staring balefully at the tutor. "Well, Mr. de Brus," said Bella," I am sure you are sorry you will not be able to trip a measure with her ladyship at the ball tomorrow."

  Mr. de Brus smiled in a maddeningly condescending way.

  "Oh, but I shall, Bella, and you will have the pleasure of watching me."

  "Ho, no." Bella shook her great head slowly from side to side, looking for all the world like an old bulldog protecting a bone. "My lady may be free and easy in her ways when there's not but me and Simon at home. But she knows what's fitting and t'would not be fitting for her to have her tutor dancing at her ball and mingling with her guests."

  Peter de Brus looked quickly around. Simon had wandered out of earshot. He seemed to loom over Bella.

  "Mark this," he said softly, "I have no money, but my name and my family are older than that of Westerby. Do not speak to me in such a manner again or it will be the worse for you, old woman."

  Courageous as she was, Bella involuntarily drew back from the venom in his voice. Then she played her trump card.

  "It is not up to my lady as to whether you attend the ball or no. Lady Betty, feeling she is a trifle young to act as hostess to so many guests, has asked the Duchess of Ruthfords to act as hostess for her. The Duke of Ruthfords is indisposed, but Her Grace has come along for to help."

  Peter de Brus was shaken, but only for a moment. Was he not able to charm any woman, no matter what age? Bella did not count, for Bella was not a woman, she was a . . . a . . . thing.

  Without answering, he rudely pushed her aside and went in search of his mistress, forgetting all about Simon.

  Bella stood with her arms folded. Something would need to be done about that young man—and quickly.

  She became aware that Simon was pulling at her skirts and looking up at her, his small piquant face with the strangely slanting brows so like his dead mother's.

  "What is it, my little lord?" asked Bella, her face softening.

  "I skimmed a stone and it splashed five times. Five, Bella."

  "Did you, my ducks? I call to mind when I was but a lass, I managed nine."

  "Nine, Bella? Never!"

  Bella took a quick look around. "Here, I'll show you, my lord. Mayhap your old Bella has not lost the strength of her right arm."

  Soon both were engaged in skimming flat stones over the water, Simon's shrill cries of glee echoing above Bella's gruff laughter. Above them, reflected in the lake, loomed the great bulk of Eppington Chase, almost ghostly in the fading winter light. It had a waiting air, as if waiting for their laughter to die away, as the laughter had died away so often in the past.

  Peter de Brus, bursting into the drawing room, was foiled in his intent of securing Lady Betty's hand for a dance by Miss Fanny Bentley who was crying her eyes out on Betty's bosom. Fanny had just received a letter from Sir Anthony in which he said he was leaving for Italy with his wife as soon as possible and begged her forgiveness.

  The tutor stood in the hall irresolute. He wished to find out the time of the Duchess's arrival, but did not wish to ask the butler, Anderson, who did not approve of him at all.

  He made his way upstairs and espied a pretty housemaid dusting the bannisters and gleaned the information that the Duchess had arrived and was resting in her rooms.

  The Duchess had been given an apartment in the West Wing. Peter de Brus hurried along and had no trouble in gaining admittance. He had envisaged an aristocratic lady of high-breeding and impeccable ton to whom he could chat easily of the gossip of the Town and then persuade into not only allowing him to dance at the ball but into showing him favor above the other guests.

  The Duchess of Ruthfords, in reality, was a bit of a shock. She looked more like a small, rotund country squire in fine silks than a Duchess.

  "Mr. de Brus?" queried the Duchess, her small bright eyes roving over the tutor. "You wished to see me."

  "Of course, Your Grace." Peter swept her his best court bow with great flourishes of a huge lace handkerchief, liberally scented with musk. "Who would not want to see the Duchess of Ruthfords? I have long heard of your charm and wit and . . ."

  "Stow it," said the Duchess rudely. "How much d'ye want and why d'ye want it?"

  De Brus colored up to the roots of his powdered hair. "I-I d-don't want anything, Your Grace," he stammered. "I merely came to pay my respects and . . ."

  "You've paid 'em. Go away."

  Peter rallied quickly. A different approach was necessary.

  The Duchess, however, spoke again, giving him a lead. "The de Brus," she said thoughtfully. "Anglo-Irish. Lot o' wastrals. Not a feather to fly with."

  "Exactly," said Peter smoothly. "Which is why I am an unusual case. The first of the de Brus to work for a living."

  "Odso? As what?"

  "As tutor to Lord Westerby."

  "Then your business with me, young man?"

  "I wish to be allowed to dance at Lady Lovelace's ball."

  The Duchess roared with laughter, while Peter smiled, an agonizing smile, and privately longed to slap her across her quivering jowls.

  At last the Duchess stopped laughing and there was a long silence. An apple wood fire crackled on the hearth and a little French clock ticked busily on the mantel.

  "So you're a tutor," said the Duchess at last. "Well, you may be a de Brus, but you're being employed by Lady Betty to tute, so why aren't you tuting?"

  "Tutoring," corrected Peter with a faint smile. "Because I considered the matter important enough to be dealt with immediately."

  "You look to me like a young man whose values are this. Anything that is of importance to you is the only thing that is of importance. Who says you can't go?"

  "Bella."

  "Oh, Betty's watchdog. Well, see here, de Brus, I'll look into the matter. As far as I can see, there's no reason why you shouldn't attend the ball. Young Simon will be there, after all, and it's your duty to look after him. But harkee! You can't neglect your duties as a tutor in order to pretend you're one of the guests and all because you're a de Brus. So go back to your duties and I'll speak to Lady Betty."

  Peter de Brus opened his mouth to give his elegant thanks, but the Duchess said, "Go," and pointed to the door.

  After he had gone, the Duchess sent for Bella. It was some time before Bella arrived, breathless and with her cap askew, since the footman had found her down by the lake playing with Simon.

  "Now, Bella," said the Duchess. "What's all this about you telling de Brus he can't dance at the ball? That ain't for you to say."

  "No more it is, Your Grace," said Bella. "No more it is. But someone's got to put a spoke in that young man's wheel or he'll have my lady married to him."

  "You're jealous, Bella."

  "T'ain't that."

  "Well, does he perform his duties as a tutor?"

  "He does and he doesn't," said Bella slowly. "I mean, when it's time for my lord's lessons, Mr. de Brus always manages to suggest that they're done in the drawing room or wherever my lady happens to be. Then my little lord is always wanting for to fish or hunt and he needs a man to help him, but Mr. de Brus always prefers to remain indoors, chatting and flirting with my lady and Miss Fanny."

  "Indeed! Send Lady Betty to me, Bella."

  "I didn't mean no harm," said Bella in alarm.

  "No more you did, but send her anyway."

  Betty arrived some minutes later. She had put Fanny to bed and waited with her until the overwrought girl had at last fallen asleep.

  When the Duchess of Ruthfords explained the problem of the tutor attending the ball as a guest, Betty was at first hot in Mr. de Brus' defense. "He is of good family. Why should he be relegated to the servants' quarters?"

  "Perhaps because he is a servant. Miss Armitage, of course, has therefore received an invitation."
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  Betty turned pink. "I hadn't thought . . ."

  "No, of course not, for Miss Armitage is not a handsome and ingratiating young man. But her position in this household is the same as that of de Brus, so if you decide to invite him, then you must invite Miss Armitage as well. Bella, too, must be elevated to the position of guest, for she acts as your companion and, like Miss Armitage, her status is similar to that of de Brus."

  "Very well," said Betty mulishly, "I will invite them all."

  "Be careful." The Duchess's eyes were very shrewd. "Your dear departed mother was never one for being high in the instep but, for all that, she made sure that anyone in her employ worked for their wages. It is unfair to elevate de Brus simply because of his lineage and ignore the status of Bella and Miss Armitage because they are of common stock."

  Betty remained silent, obviously wishing for the interview to come to an end.

  "Furthermore," said the Duchess, "I understand Collingham has accepted?"

  "Yes," Betty was glad the subject had moved away from de Brus. "He wrote to beg my permission to allow a certain Mr. Beauly to come as well. And now if you will excuse me . . ."

  Betty made for the door.

  The Duchess gave a sharp bark of laughter. "Well, if you hope to make Collingham jealous, you'd better find a better mark than de Brus."

  "I have not the faintest idea of what you are talking about," said Betty, escaping from the Duchess as fast as she could.

  One hour before the ball was due to commence, Peter de Brus was dressing carefully in his room at the top of the East Wing. Although it was comfortably furnished, he looked around it with contempt. Soon he would be changing these modest quarters for the master's apartments next to Betty's. He felt he was attired as befitted a gentleman. His knee breeches were smoothed over his muscular thighs without a wrinkle, his blue satin coat edged with gimp fitted him to perfection. It was a pity he had no jewels but tonight would remedy that. He leaned forward and pressed a black patch neatly at the side of his mouth. Then he frowned. It was really his duty to go along to little Lord Westerby's rooms and lead him to the ballroom but he did not want to spoil his entrance by being accompanied by a brat who by rights should be in the schoolroom where brats belonged.

  He sat down, picking up a copy of the Sporting Magazine. Some time before it would be ripe to make his entrance.

  Betty and the Duchess of Ruthfords were standing at the open doors of the ballroom to greet the guests. The Duke of Collingham was just about to make his entrance. He had to admit he was curious. It suddenly seemed like a very long time since he had seen Betty last and he wondered if she still looked the same. Of course, she looked quite insipid and vulgar in the picture his resentment had built up in his mind. For if you want to stop thinking about someone, then the best way to do it is to fantasize them into something quite annoying and dreary and so long as you keep away from the reality of the real person, why, it is easy to effect a cure from any infatuation.

  And so the real Lady Betty came as quite a dreadful shock. He realized she had suddenly blossomed into a very beautiful woman. She was dressed in a white satin gown embroidered lavishly with silver thread in a fern-leaf design.

  Her hair was powdered and she wore a fairy-like tiara of diamonds of the finest water. Her face was unpainted and the country air had given her complexion a fresh and healthy pink glow.

  The Duke introduced Mr. Beauly and Betty murmured some sort of greeting, not exactly sure of what she said.

  Shortly afterwards, Peter de Brus made his entrance. The Duchess of Ruthfords opened her mouth to say something sharp and then closed it again. Let the young man hang himself.

  "Mr. de Brus!" exclaimed Betty, tugging away the hand that he was trying to kiss, "Where is Lord Westerby? I told him to wait in his room until you should collect him."

  Mr. de Brus flushed. "I understood from your invitation that I was to attend the ball as a guest."

  "Yes, of course," said Betty, miserably aware of the Duchess's cynical gaze. "I shall send Bella or Miss Armitage. Oh, dear, they are guests as well. I must go myself. Please go into the ballroom, there are other guests waiting to be introduced."

  Peter de Brus could have redeemed himself immediately in Betty's eyes had he gone immediately in search of Simon, but his vanity was so great and he was so sure of her that he gave an elaborate bow and strutted off into the ballroom.

  The minuets had not yet begun and various groups were standing chatting easily of this and that. Peter hesitated, wondering how to break into one of these charmed circles.

  It was then he realized he had made a dreadful strategic mistake. Bella, resplendent in scarlet silk and powdered hair and feathers, Bella, as magnificent as a Duchess, entered the ballroom holding Simon by the hand. Behind her walked Miss Armitage wearing a faded gray dress to match her faded personality. She was nonetheless wearing a fine rope of pearls which Peter recognized as belonging to Lady Betty. The guests closed in around them, exclaiming how tall young Simon had grown and teasing Bella on her new feathers. "I'm a real live guest," said Bella proudly, "and Miss Armitage, too."

  As Peter watched with jealous eyes, no less a personage than the great Duke of Collingham bent his head and kissed Bella's podgy hand. It was then that he realized what Betty had told him. She had said that Bella and Miss Armitage were guests, too. Good God! Who else had she invited? The scullery maid?

  For the first time he began to wonder whether he was as secure in her affections as he had thought. But if Simon were the attraction necessary to ingratiate himself into this high and mighty company, then the sooner he joined Simon the better.

  He quickly walked over to the group and, murmuring his excuses, edged in next to Simon. "Well, my young fellow," he said. "you're looking very fine tonight."

  "Why didn't you come to fetch me?" asked Simon. "If Bella hadn't found me, I would still be waiting." Simon turned his engaging smile on the group and piped, "Mr. de Brus is my tutor."

  There was a silly young debutante with a high, penetrating voice which she now used to devasting effect. "La!" she caroled. "How republican of Lady Lovelace! Let me see . . . there's you, Mr. de Brus, there's Bella, and Miss Whatsername here. Are there any other servants? What fun!"

  "Only us," said Bella proudly while Peter tried to mask his look of anger. He, a de Brus, to be classed with Bella and Miss Armitage!

  The guests, embarrassed, began to drift away. Peter bit his lip. No matter. They would see him perform the first minuet with Betty and they would see the pretty way she smiled at him and when they were married, he would see that old fool Bella turned out of doors. Why, she was hardly sane! Some days he had heard her rambling on to herself for hours. Soon this would be all his. As the orchestra arranged the music on their stands, he looked around the ballroom, at the hundreds of beeswax candles, at the banks of hothouse flowers, at the rich assembly blazing with jewels.

  For a few minutes he remembered his original purpose for accepting the post as tutor. Then he shrugged. Once married to Lady Betty, he would be rich and powerful enough to do as he pleased.

  He realized with a start that gentlemen were beginning to choose their partners for the first minuet. He straightened his waistcoat and strode confidently across the ballroom to where Lady Betty was standing with the Duke of Collingham. He could sense a little stillness behind him, a curious waiting, and could not help flashing a triumphant smile around the ballroom.

  "My dance, Lady Betty," he said.

  To his surprise Betty looked embarrassed and a shade angry. "This dance is promised to the Duke of Collingham," she said.

  Peter de Brus bowed low and retreated, affecting a swagger to cover his confusion. Betty was angry because she assumed Mr. de Brus would naturally know that she had to dance with the guest of the highest rank first and that only the couples selected by the Duchess of Ruthfords were allowed to perform the minuet. Such was the form.

  Peter de Brus had often told her that his lack of fortune was of recent
date and that hitherto he had been a shining star of the London ton. But in fact, he had never had any money, having gained what he could by card-sharping and less savory pursuits. So he felt snubbed and was only consoled by the sudden thought that Lady Betty was, of course, trying to make him jealous.

  Eppington Chase! How he longed to possess it, so much more than he wanted to possess Lady Betty. Some days, he felt the very stones calling to him to take possession. With eyes sharpened with jealousy, he watched Betty closely as she danced with the Duke.

  Both performed the minuet with exquisite grace. Occasionally the Duke would say something to Betty and she would answer him with a rather tight little smile pinned on her face.

  No trouble there. No cause for alarm. He breathed a sigh of relief and went to claim a partner, a young lady who patiently explained to him that since the couples to dance the minuet had been chosen by the Duchess, she must wait to the start of the country dance.

  All Peter's feeling of humiliation left him. The evening was not lost, after all. He would not have felt so reassured could he have heard the conversation that was taking place between the Duke and Betty as they promenaded around the floor after the first minuet was finished.

  After a few general queries as to her health and welfare, the Duke said, despite himself, "Flirting with your nephew's tutor, my lady?"

  "I am not so high and mighty as you, Your Grace," Betty flashed back. "Mr. de Brus is a gentleman. You may sneer because he is only a tutor . . ."

  "I have not said anything about the young man other than that you appear to be flirting with him. But I must say that for a tutor he is very much on the strut."

  "For a tutor, for a tutor," mimicked Betty waspishly. "I suppose your grand friend, Mr. Beauly, supports you in your prideful criticisms."

  "My grand friend Mr. Beauly is one of my farmers who is a gentleman at all times because he never tries to be anyone other than himself—like Bella. Now your Mr. de Brus would do well to emulate your maid. I fear you are as guilty of as much pride as you lay at my door."