by Carola Dunn
“Entitled!”
“Says he could buy up the rest of ’em ten times over and it’s honest merchants as makes this country great.”
Turning to the mirror to tie his neckcloth, Edmund caught his valet’s knowing eye and grinned. “It sounds as if Mr. Ramsbottom will enliven the conversation no end. Am I to entertain the coachman, also?”
“Lord, no! Nor the abigail, neither. She’s a likely lass, that one.”
“And her mistress?”
“Miss Gracechurch? She’s a lady, sure enough. Even Mr. Bradbury says so. Gentry fallen on hard times. Off to visit relatives, like as not.”
“There is a third female, is there not?”
“Miss Brooke. A bold hussy, Mr. Bradbury says. Going to Town to try for a governess or companion, most like, but she won’t get no respectable position if she don’t mend her ways—Mr. Bradbury says.”
Edmund gritted his teeth and tossed the ruined neckcloth on the floor, reaching for another. He suspected Alfred was teasing him but he could not tax him with it without confessing to an unwarranted interest in Miss Brooke. “And does Mr. Bradbury say whether this ‘bold hussy’ is to ‘dine with the nobs’?” he asked casually.
Alfred looked up at the ceiling for inspiration. “Let me see, now, what did he say? Ah, I have it. Being as how your lordship interduced Miss Brooke to her ladyship, he don’t feel like he has no choice in the matter. But he ain’t happy, my lord, he ain’t happy.”
Another neckcloth landed on the floor. “Believe me,” said My Lord Winter dryly, “nor am I.”
CHAPTER THREE
Jane gazed in dismay at her new blue merino travelling dress. “Why did the wretched man go and ask us to dine with himself and Lady Wintringham?” she moaned. “He must have guessed I don’t have an evening gown with me.”
Commiserating, Ella shook her head. “It’s a good job we kept your best by us so’s you’d be respectable arriving in St. James’s Place. Just think, it could be packed away in your trunk, back in Oxford.”
“I suppose so. It will have to do. After all, it scarcely matters since My Lord Winter and her ladyship already hold me in disdain.”
“There’s more than just them, my lady—Miss Jane, I should say. Quite a party, the housekeeper says.”
“Does that man wish to humiliate me before his friends?” Jane demanded indignantly, just as Miss Gracechurch came into the comfortable, though small and plainly furnished, chamber.
“If it is the earl you are referring to, Jane, he may be haughty, but I hesitate to believe him malicious.”
“Only because it was when I said your strength was failing that he relented and let us stay.”
“Oh dear, I cannot think what came over me, to aid and abet your taradiddles! If the marchioness ever hears of it, she will turn me away not only without a reference but without a character.”
“I shall say that you strenuously opposed my wilful behaviour. But Mama will never hear of it.”
“I wish I could be so sanguine. As long as it was only the coach passengers who knew you as Miss Brooke, there was little danger, but you will be moving in the same circles as the Wintringhams in London.”
“Perhaps they will not go to London. Ella, see if you can find out from the housekeeper.”
“Shouldn’t think so, miss. She’s near as high-and-mighty as the countess. But his lordship’s gentleman’s a friendly chap. I’ll try him.”
“Do. Of course, that still leaves all their guests to be met with in Town. I wish the wretched man had not invited us to dine with them. My first ever formal dinner is like to prove a disaster! Is it too late to refuse?”
“Too late, and the height of rudeness when his lordship has been so condescending,” said Miss Gracechurch firmly. “Hurry up and dress, Jane, or we shall be the last down.”
“There’s miles of corridors,” said Ella, slipping the despised blue gown over Jane’s head. “I’d best ring for a servant to show the way or you might get lost and miss your dinners.”
“That would never do. Luncheon in Oxford seems an age ago and we landed in the ditch just about teatime. But don’t worry, Gracie, I shall not put you to the blush by displaying an unladylike appetite.”
“My dear, since no one knows I am your governess, if you gobble your food you will put none but yourself to the blush.”
“True.” Jane laughed, then studied her face in the mirror as Ella tidied her hair. With the severe style dictated by its straightness, she looked more like a governess than Gracie did. Oh, for a curl or two!
A chambermaid led them through passages, round corners, up and down steps, to the top of the grand staircase descending to the great hall. As she laid her hand on the baluster rail, Jane became aware of another deficiency in her dress. No gloves. Gracie had taught her that gloves must be worn to a formal dinner, yet she could scarcely have appeared in the drawing-room in her fur-lined mittens.
A glance told her that her mentor’s hands were equally bare. Ah, well, there was no sense in repining. Her head held high, she started down the stairs with all the grace and dignity she could muster.
Her audience consisted of two ramrod-stiff footmen in grey livery piped with scarlet, and the supercilious butler. The latter stepped forward with a bow that was little more than a nod, nicely calculated to depress pretensions without being outright insolent.
“This way, if you please.’’
Taking her cue from Miss Gracechurch, Jane followed him without deigning to answer, her pretensions undepressed. The dozen pairs of eyes that turned to stare as Bradbury ushered them into the drawing room were more daunting.
“Miss Gracechurch, Miss Brooke,” he said woodenly, and departed.
For a moment no one moved. Jane wondered whether she ought to curtsy, then decided she had rather be thought presumptuous than meek. She looked with interest at the assembled company.
Lord Wintringham stood near the fireplace, magnificent in evening dress but wearing an expression of insufferable arrogance. A short, thin gentleman of about the same age lounged beside him, leaning against the mantel in a much more relaxed attitude and considerably more dandified apparel. The third in the group was a fair young lady whose pretty face revealed both contempt and animosity. Her gown of pale rose sarcenet trimmed with ribbons and rouleaux filled Jane with envy.
Her gaze moved on. Slightly apart from the three, a second young lady perched awkwardly on a straight chair. She was obviously pregnant, very pregnant if Jane was any judge—no, not pregnant, in the family way was the polite phrase. Whatever one called it, to be present in that condition she must surely live here, though Ella had discovered the earl was unmarried. Her head was turned towards the door, yet she had no interest in the newcomers. She had a remote, inward look that Jane recognized.
Two matrons in their thirties or early forties, elegantly dressed and bejewelled, sat on a gold velvet love seat. The older bore a startling resemblance to the dowager countess, right down to the cold, censorious expression of pride. The other appeared more discontented than proud. Behind the loveseat stood two gentlemen whom Jane guessed to be their husbands, a red-faced squire and a weak-chinned nonentity.
On the other side of the fireplace Lady Wintringham surveyed her unwelcome guests through her lorgnette, her back ramrod straight. An elderly lady in black sat next to her, with a white-haired gentleman on a chair beside them. A small, plump woman in lavender hovered nearby.
It seemed to Jane that an age had passed since the butler had announced her and Gracie, but she supposed it could not be more than a few seconds. Was no one going to introduce them? With relief, she saw Mr. Selwyn and the two disgraced students, standing to one side in an uncomfortable group. She smiled at them and noted equal relief in their answering smiles.
Heartened, Jane looked at Lord Wintringham again. The awkward pause lengthened. The young man leaning against the mantel stirred uneasily and Lord Wintringham glanced at the dowager, who made no move to carry out her duties as hostess.
He came over to them.
“Allow me to make you known to everyone,” he said stiffly. “You have met my aunt. Lady Wintringham, I believe.”
Jane curtsied. Miss Gracechurch gave a slight bow, and the earl went on to introduce the elderly couple and the plump lady, “My cousin, Miss Neville.” As he moved on around the room, presenting them to friends and relatives, Jane was sure she’d never remember all the names, let alone whom they belonged to. However, as they came to the contemptuous young lady, the drawing-room door swung open and Mr. Josiah Ramsbottom made a grand entrance.
“Evenin’, all.” His natural belligerence was diluted with genial self-satisfaction. Absorbing the impact of his brown-and-blue checked coat, his cherry-red waistcoat, and his daffodil-yellow knee-breeches, Jane at once felt her travelling dress to be quite acceptable. “Ye’ve a fine place here, my lord, my lady,” Mr. Ramsbottom continued. “Must cost a mint o’ brass to keep it up. Ye’d do better, happen, to tear the old parts down.”
In the stunned silence that greeted this advice, Bradbury’s announcement of dinner brought a visible relaxation. The bustle that accompanied the removal to the dining room permitted Mr. Ramsbottom’s shocking effrontery to be discreetly ignored.
The Honourable Miss Chatterton stepped forward as if to claim Lord Wintringham’s escort. The earl at once turned to Jane, standing beside him, and offered his arm. Surprised, she smiled at him and laid her hand on his arm, only to be reminded of her glovelessness. He did not appear to notice, but nor did he return her smile or show any sign of gratification at having her for his dinner partner. His face might have been carved in marble.
Miss Chatterton, on the other hand, scowled resentfully at Jane and whispered loudly to her sister, Lady Fitzgerald, “Look, Daphne, they have no gloves! What a pair of provincial dowds.’’
“Hush, Lavinia,” said Lady Fitzgerald as her solicitous husband helped her to stand up.
“Stands to reason they didn’t expect to need evening dress, travelling on the Mail,” pointed out Lord Fitzgerald.
Jane was pleased to find him seated beside her at the dinner table. However, the rules Miss Gracechurch had taught her dictated that she devote her attention to her partner during the first course.
She took a sip of the consommé, served in exquisite Meissen porcelain, and said to the earl, “This soup is delicious, my lord. Have you a French cook?”
“No,” he grunted.
“German china!” rang out Mr. Ramsbottom’s voice from farther down the table. “To my mind, there’s nowt to beat Worcester, or Crown Derby. Support British manufactories, that’s my motto. Not that I’d waste the ready on fine china for the servants to be breaking with their clumsiness.”
Inevitably, an unfortunate footman promptly dropped a soup plate, and Bradbury, with no more than a twitch of one fingertip, sent him from the room in disgrace. After a startled pause, the subdued murmur of conversation resumed.
Jane tried again. “Hot soup is particularly welcome in such cold weather as we have been having. In the north, the frosts have been unusually severe this year. Has it been the same in the south, my lord?”
“No.”
“Not for me, me lad.” Mr. Ramsbottom waved away a footman. “Consommy you can call it but it looks to me like the stuff we give ’em in the poorhouse in Manchester. Fills the belly but it don’t put flesh on a man’s bones. Give me good roast beef any day, and I will say a spot o’ Yorkshire pudding goes down nice, for all I’m a Lancashire man.” His remarks were addressed to the whole table, but little Miss Neville cowered, scarlet-faced, at his side as if she were to blame. Everyone else pretended they didn’t hear.
Jane persevered with her own difficult neighbour. “I was unable to see the countryside for the fog. I daresay it is very pretty, with the Thames flowing nearby?”
“Pretty enough.”
Two consecutive words! Congratulating herself, she pressed on. “Does the river cross your land, my lord?”
“It forms one boundary.”
“Fish!” The word exploded from Mr. Ramsbottom’s lips as the soup was removed with a large turbot in lobster sauce, a dish of eels, and various vegetables. “You might as well throw good money into the sea as waste it on having fish carried up from the coast when you live so far inland, and there’s always good river fish to be had. Not but what turbot’s a fine dish, but extravagance is what I don’t hold with. I’ll take some o’ those eels, too, young feller-me-lad.”
“Do you fish in the Thames, my lord?” Jane asked quickly.
“Occasionally.”
“Have you rowboats, or punts?”
“No.”
“The river bank must be a delightful place to hold picnics?”
The earl vouchsafed no answer, presumably unable to find one short enough. Jane gave up and concentrated on her dinner. She couldn’t help wondering why My Lord Winter had chosen to seat her at his side if he had no desire to converse with her.
“Ah, here comes the solid victuals,” observed Mr. Ramsbottom with satisfaction as the second course arrived—a baron of beef, a leg of mutton, and various ragouts and fricassees. “I don’t hold wi’ them fancy sauces, though. Often as not they’re just a way to hide second-rate meat, and the cook’s pocketed the difference. Not that I’m saying your ladyship would let ’em get away with it!” He bowed gallantly to Lady Wintringham, beaming.
Her ladyship failed to appreciate the compliment. Her glare would have frozen a lesser man to the core, but Josiah Ramsbottom applied himself to his “solid victuals” with undiminished cheer. For some time no more was heard from him but an occasional demand for another slice of beef.
Jane turned to Lord Fitzgerald. He grinned at her and remarked, “Interesting chap, that. Did you travel far with him?”
“Only from Oxford, thank heaven. Mr. Ramsbottom gave me a great deal of useful information on how to avoid being cheated when buying muslins.”
“I must get him to tell me how to avoid being cheated by my tailor!” He embarked on a long and involved story about an argument with Weston over a set of gilt buttons, interrupted now and then by his rather asinine laugh. Jane failed to grasp the point of the story, except that the tailor had won, but she didn’t mind. At least Lord Fitzgerald was friendly and good-natured. She liked the way he turned frequently to his wife, on his other side, urging her to eat a morsel to keep up her strength.
Though Jane would have liked to discuss Lady Fitzgerald’s pregnancy with his lordship, she knew the subject was considered indelicate. Once or twice she caught Gracie glancing at her anxiously and would have liked to reassure her that she was minding her tongue. Then she realized that Gracie was actually concerned about Lady Fitzgerald. The urge to speak out redoubled, but Jane restrained herself.
Gracie was sitting beside Mr. Selwyn. Jane had noticed them talking together during the first course. Now Gracie was attempting to converse with the lacklustre gentleman to whom they had not been introduced owing to Mr. Ramsbottom’s eruption into the drawing-room. The gentleman appeared to be as monosyllabic as Lord Wintringham.
The earl was now well matched. His other neighbour was the lady who so closely resembled his aunt, and she made no effort to break his silence.
Jane laughed at the conclusion of Lord Fitzgerald’s story and asked him a question which started him off on another. A remove of game pies and roast fowl came and went, and was succeeded by a third course of fruit pies, pastries, jellies, cheeses, and savouries. Mr. Ramsbottom pronounced his contempt for such fal-lals. Jane turned back to Lord Wintringham.
He looked unutterably bored. She resolved to break his reserve or die trying.
CHAPTER FOUR
With mingled dismay and curiosity, Edmund observed the glint of determination in Miss Brooke’s blue eyes. What notion had the chit taken into her head now? So far, she had behaved with surprising propriety, even laughing at Fitz’s dullest stories.
However captivating her laugh, Edmund had no intention of attempting to am
use her. She was useful as a foil against Lavinia, but he owed her no especial courtesy. On the contrary, in fact. He feared that by bringing her in to dinner he had set her up in her own conceit and he might be forced to give her a set-down.
Nonetheless, he awaited her words with no little interest. Anything must be preferable to his cousin Amelia’s disdainful silence.
“I must beg a favour, my lord,” Miss Brooke began, and he automatically stiffened in preparation for refusing whatever encroaching petition she uttered. “Would you mind telling me who everyone is? You see, I have been little in company and I have not the knack of remembering names. Besides, you were interrupted when you were so kindly introducing us to your guests.”
“If you wish.” He felt a ridiculous sense of disappointment at so ordinary a request. “Next to me is my cousin, Lady Amelia Danforth. She is Lady Wintringham’s daughter.”
“I guessed as much. They are very alike, are they not?” Miss Brooke had the wit to speak softly—and the effrontery to raise her nose in the air and peer down it superciliously. She had caught Amelia’s expression to the life, and Edmund could not prevent his lips twitching. What was worse, she saw it, damn her impudence.
“Lady Amelia and my aunt are both uncommonly fastidious,” he said coldly. She was unabashed. “Next to my cousin is my brother-in-law, Mr. Henry Parmenter,” he continued. Parmenter bore an undeniable resemblance to a codfish—a boiled codfish, at that. Miss Brooke wisely made no attempt at mimicry.
“Hmm,” was all she said, but she gave him a commiserating look.
“Miss Gracechurch and Mr. Selwyn you know. Miss Neville is a distant cousin of mine who acts as companion to my aunt.”
“She seems sadly woebegone.”
Edmund had scarcely noticed his poor relation for a long time. Now he saw that she was indeed in low spirits, with lines of tiredness and anxiety on her plump, round face. The position of companion to Lady Wintringham was no sinecure. There had been some talk awhile since of Miss Neville’s going to keep house for a widowed brother, but her ladyship had declared that she could not manage without her. Should he have taken the trouble to ensure that his little cousin followed her own inclination?
