The Loves of Lord Granton (The Changing Fortunes Series, Vol. 2)

by M C Beaton

Dear banisher of strife!

  Absence can never break the bands

  When Love and Friendship join their hands;

  The only foil is death:

  Nor can he long the vict’ry claim,

  They will above renew the same,

  And dwell in firmer faith.”

  This was received in a polite silence. The major cleared his throat and said politely, “Jolly fine, that.”

  “Yes indeed,” agreed Lord Granton. “I particularly like that bit about the glowing bosom.”

  Amy and Harriet giggled happily, but Mary preened and rustled her sheaf of papers. “I have another here,” she began.

  “Oh, spare us,” snapped Annabelle. “You will bore our guests to extinction.”

  “Do sit down, Mary dear,” her mother said hurriedly.

  The door opened and Frederica walked in. She curtsied to the company and then went and sat on the window seat. Lord Granton noticed with some irritation that she was wearing that rather worn, rather large muslin gown he’d seen on her before.

  “Have you been out walking, Miss Frederica?” he asked.

  The rest of the company looked surprised that this distinguished guest should single out the least distinguished member.

  “Yes, my lord,” said Frederica.

  “Ah, that is why you are wearing one of your old gowns.”

  Mrs. Hadley looked flustered and the rest of the young ladies, shocked.

  “On the contrary, my lord,” said Frederica, “this is my best gown. I saw the carriage and went upstairs to change.”

  Lord Granton took out his quizzing glass and studied the finery of Frederica’s sisters.

  Then he tucked the quizzing glass away again. “I am flattered that you have gone to such effort for the company, Miss Frederica. I did not mean to appear rude. I was contrasting your gown with that of your sisters.”

  “We were just about to order a new wardrobe for Frederica,” Mrs. Hadley rushed to say.

  “I shall look forward to seeing the results,” said Lord Granton. “Where did your walk take you, Miss Frederica?”

  “One of the parishioners is sick. I was taking a jar of Mama’s calves’-foot jelly to her.”

  Annabelle gave a little scream and pulled her skirts close. “Nothing infectious, I trust?”

  “Ah, here is the tea tray,” said Mrs. Hadley with obvious relief.

  “Just typhoid,” said Frederica.

  “Typhoid!” screamed Annabelle. “Mama, Papa, we must leave.”

  Suddenly everyone seemed to be on their feet. Annabelle burst into tears and was led weeping from the room. Mrs. Hadley was shouting that there was no typhoid in the village, that Frederica had gone to see old Mrs. Partridge who was suffering from nothing less dire than a common cold.

  Lord Granton glanced at Frederica quickly. He saw a gleam of amusement in her eyes. He bowed all round and followed his hosts from the room.

  “You told a lie!” Mrs. Hadley screamed as the carriage rumbled off.

  “I was beginning to say that Mrs. Partridge, who is very nervous, thought she had the typhoid,” said Frederica, looking the picture of innocence, “but I was able to persuade her it was only a common cold.”

  Mrs. Hadley found her voice. “Go to your room immediately, Frederica, until I think how to deal with you. Your father will need to go to the hall and explain matters. How could you, you bad, bad girl.”

  “Just because you are never likely to attract a man,” said Mary waspishly, “you want to spoil things for the rest of us.”

  Lord Granton was not surprised to learn later that there was no typhoid whatsoever in the village, and he was amused. He wanted to see Frederica again and find out why she had told such a lie.

  He sought out the major and told him that the typhoid scare was all a hum.

  “Do you mean that little girl deliberately made it all up?” declared the major wrathfully. “Poor Miss Annabelle was quite overset.”

  “The story from the rector, who came up oiling and cringing, is that Frederica meant to say that Mrs. Partridge only thought she had the typhoid.”

  “And I think that odd little girl only said it to break up the party.”

  “Were you sorry? Had she not done so, we might have had to endure another of Mary’s poems.”

  “I thought the other Hadley girls were pretty and charming. There is something strange-looking about that Frederica. And why did you go on about her shabby gown? Not the thing at all to make personal comments like that.”

  “I was sorry for her,” said Lord Granton. “I do not see why she cannot be as finely gowned as her sisters.”

  “The reason,” said the major, still angry, “is because she is probably all about in her upper chambers. Lots of inbreeding in these villages.”

  “Come, now, I do not think our good rector married his first cousin, or anything like that. I believe Miss Frederica to be the most interesting person in this dull bit of the country.”

  “Some little rectory miss who is not even old enough to put her hair up and behaves in a farouche manner?”

  “She is eighteen. She should have her hair up, and she should have a new gown.”

  The major looked at him doubtfully. “I have been persuading you to stay on. Perhaps I should take your suggestion and leave. Of course, there is this ball.”

  “What ball?”

  “The ball in your honor,” said the major. “It’s to be held in two weeks’ time. I told you all about it and so did the Crowns.”

  “I probably wasn’t listening.”

  “I believe you are expected to announce your engagement to Annabelle Crown at this ball.”

  “Never! We had best leave.”

  “Can’t do that,” said the major. “All the invitations have been out this age. You’ve made it pretty plain you don’t like Miss Crown.”

  “I have been all that is polite!”

  “But hardly the lover. So they cannot expect you to propose.”

  “I do not know about that,” said Lord Granton slowly. “Annabelle is quite vain. I think that is why she did not take during her Season. She is very spoilt and makes no effort to please, and she has little conversation.”

  “Damning. But I cannot agree. I find her charming.”

  “Then you propose to her!”

  The major walked across the room and studied himself in the mirror and then shook his head. “With my face and figure, I would not have a hope.”

  “You underrate yourself, Harry.”

  “We’ll see. Anyway, Frederica has made it possible for the Crowns to say that the Hadley girls will not be welcome at the ball.”

  “That seems harsh.”

  “I do not see what you can do about it.”

  “I should be able to find a way. Where is Lady Crown?”

  “In the drawing room. What are you going to do?”

  “I’ll think of something on my road there.”

  When he entered the drawing room, he found the family assembled—Sir Giles, Lady Crown, and Annabelle.

  “I am so sorry,” he began. “I had quite forgot about your ball. I was about to announce my leave.”

  Annabelle’s mouth fell open in dismay. Lady Crown said, “But you cannot leave! The ball is in your honor.”

  “It is my guilty conscience which makes me feel I must leave.”

  “What is the matter?” asked Sir Giles, finding his voice.

  “Those poor girls from the rectory must have little in the way of a social life. I feel it is because of me that they have been told they cannot come.”

  “Frederica’s behavior this day was disgraceful,” protested Lady Crown.

  “But I still feel guilty. I really should return to London.”

  “In that case,” said Sir Giles, all forced jollity, “they may come.”

  “I am most grateful to you,” said Lord Granton while Annabelle’s mind worked busily. Why this interest in the welfare of the Hadley girls? The only one he had addressed was Frederic
a.

  When the viscount had left, Lady Crown said fretfully, “I had best send one of the footmen over to the rectory with a letter.”

  “May I suggest, Mama,” said Annabelle sweetly, “that since Frederica is the cause of all the trouble, she should be excluded as a just punishment.”

  “Yes, I think so,” agreed Sir Giles. “There’s something odd about that girl.”

  “Perhaps Lord Granton is a trifle eccentric,” suggested Annabelle. “I do not think it necessary to tell him that Frederica is not invited. Good heavens, we are doing enough having the rest of them.”

  The rector gloomily took the letter from the Townley Hall footman. What now, he thought with a shudder. He had earlier received a letter telling him that he and his family were uninvited to the ball. He felt he was dwelling in a house of mourning. Frederica, as usual, was out walking. Her sisters and Mrs. Hadley were in their respective rooms.

  He bleakly asked the footman if any reply was expected, and having been told none, waited until the footman had left and then gloomily cracked open the seal. He was sure it would contain nothing more than further recriminations on Frederica’s behavior. It didn’t.

  He read it again slowly. His face lightened. He thought it a charming letter. They were to go after all. Lady Crown said she felt it unfair they should be punished over just one girl’s rudeness. To that end, Frederica should still be excluded.

  He rushed upstairs and entered his wife’s bedroom. “Go away,” she said faintly. “We are socially ruined.”

  “No, my dear,” said the rector triumphantly. “Here is a delightful letter from Lady Crown re-inviting us.”

  “Oh, my stars!” cried Mrs. Hadley, raising herself from the bed on which she had been lying. “We must tell the girls.”

  “Wait!” He held up his hand. “There is one thing. Frederica is not to go.”

  “Then she will be receiving a much needed lesson.”

  There was a silence while both Frederica’s parents thought about her iniquities.

  Finally Mrs. Hadley said, “There is something incalculable about our youngest. Perhaps it might be diplomatic not to tell her she is not invited until the last minute.”

  “That seems cruel,” protested the rector.

  “But listen.” Mrs. Hadley swung herself down from the high bed. “What if Lord Granton calls again? And what if Frederica should say something rude or awkward simply out of pique because she knows she has not been invited?”

  The rector continued to protest for a few minutes but was not very forceful and soon found himself agreeing weakly to his wife’s plan.

  Mrs. Hadley, satisfied, rushed from the room to tell Frederica’s elder sisters the glad news. But she did not tell them that Frederica was not to go to the ball. She feared that Mary might find it too tempting to crow over the younger girl because Mary was often jealous of Frederica’s learning.

  So when Frederica returned it was to find a festive air about the old rectory. She tried to tell herself that she was totally unaffected by the news. But deep in her heart was a bright little image of dancing with Lord Granton. She would insist on wearing her hair up and demand a new gown.

  And then her face fell. She had never learned how to dance. Her sisters had been taught by an itinerant dancing master, but the lessons had not extended to her, and she had not minded very much at the time.

  Now what was she to do?

  Chapter Three

  Lord Granton kept glancing at the clock over the mantel in the dining room. He could not keep pleading a headache in order to slip out and meet Frederica. He thought hard and as soon as the ladies had retired, he said to Sir Giles, “I must beg to be excused for the rest of the evening. I have been neglecting my writing.”

  “Didn’t know you were a scholar,” remarked Sir Giles, surprised. “What are you writing?”

  “A novel.”

  “You surprise me! Novels are for the ladies.”

  “Men write novels, too. In fact I am basing this novel on my pleasant visit to Townley Hall. May I dedicate it to you and your family?”

  “I am most gratified… honored,” said Sir Giles. Wait until he told his wife and Annabelle about this! “Let me not delay you.”

  Lord Granton smiled sweetly and escaped upstairs, where he changed quickly out of his evening dress. A little stab of conscience told him he was behaving disgracefully in having secret assignations with a young virgin. If they were ever discovered, Frederica would land in the middle of a scandal.

  But his desire to escape the stuffy surroundings of Townley Hall overrode any pangs of conscience.

  Soon he was hurrying off in the direction of the wood.

  He stopped before he reached the pond. Frederica was there, pirouetting slowly in the moonlight. “What are you doing?” he called softly.

  She turned round and said sadly, “I was wishing I could dance.”

  He came up to her. “You cannot dance?”

  She shook her head. “I never learned. My sisters were taught by a dancing master, but it was not considered necessary for me to learn.”

  Lord Granton did not know that Frederica was to be excluded from the ball.

  “You do seem to lack bottom,” he complained. “I am sure had you insisted on being taught, your mother would have agreed.”

  “Perhaps,” said Frederica on a sigh.

  “There is nothing else for it. I will need to teach you myself.”

  “Where?”

  “Here, I suppose. If we move back to that grassy glade, it will be our ballroom floor. Now, we will start with a simple country dance. You will need to imagine the other people in the set, say eight couples in all.”

  He began to hum a jaunty air in a strong baritone.

  Frederica was too excited to observe that the situation was odd or amusing. And Lord Granton found her an apt pupil as they crossed and recrossed in the figure of the dance over the springy turf.

  “Enough,” he said at last. “Next time we will try the quadrille.”

  “When can that be… the next time?”

  “I have made an excuse that I am writing a novel based on my visit to Townley Hall.”

  “Which, of course, you are not.”

  “You know me well. I shall tell them I can work only in the evenings.”

  “I wonder if Mama will buy me a new gown for the ball. There is not time enough to have one made, but perhaps at the dressmakers’ in Chipping Norton they might have something.”

  “I should think anything Chipping Norton has to offer would be sadly provincial.”

  “Not at all. Miss Hendry has retired from London, and she is very clever and still very expensive.”

  “And you think Mrs. Hadley will comply?”

  “I can only ask. There is a book in the library at Townley Hall which describes the various figures and steps of dances. I overheard Annabelle talking about it one day.”

  “If I can find it, I will bring it tomorrow.” He hesitated. “We must make sure we are not surprised, Frederica. No one must know of our meetings.”

  She looked at him innocently. “I most certainly would not dream of telling anyone.”

  “Now, I want to know why you told that dreadful lie about Mrs. Partridge having typhoid.”

  “Oh, you knew I was lying.”

  “Of course, you dreadful brat.”

  “I saw Mary with her poems and I knew if I did not do something, you would be trapped forever and Sir Giles would be furious with my father.”

  “But as it was, everyone was furious with you!”

  “I am truly sorry to have alarmed everyone. I have never behaved quite so wantonly before. It is the boredom, you see.”

  “Try not to be so wicked again or you will all be banned from the ball, and how can I dance with you if you are not there?”

  Frederica looked at him, her eyes glowing in the moonlight. “Oh, I should like that above all things!”

  He wondered uneasily whether she might be falling in love wit
h him, but her next remark reassured him.

  “You must dance two whole dances with me. I have never been able to put the ladies’ noses out of joint before. I have never had anyone jealous of me. It would be a new experience.”