The Incomparable Miss Compton

by Regina Scott

  “Oh!” Persephone turned and glared at her. “I believe you are jealous, Sarah! You refuse to marry him, and you can’t stand anyone else to do so. You are petty and vindictive, and that is what I shall tell Mother and Papa.”

  Sarah felt a sliver of fear, but she forced it away. It was not her concerns that mattered, but Malcolm’s future. “You may tell them anything you like. I know the truth in my heart. It will sustain me.”

  “Oh, indeed,” Persephone jibed. “Can you eat truth, I wonder? Can you put it over your head to keep off the rain when you have no other home? Think carefully, Sarah. When I am married to the most powerful man in England, I can afford to be gracious.”

  “You could be gracious now if you wanted,” Sarah said quietly. “I don’t imagine more power will improve you. What happened, Persephone? You were such a sweet child once.”

  “How dare you say that to me!” Persephone snarled, forcing Sarah back a step with her vehemence. “You didn’t like that child. You couldn’t wait to pack her off so that you could have the manor all to yourself.”

  Sarah stared at her. “What are you talking about?”

  “You abandoned me!” Persephone accused her. “You forced Mother to send me away to that horrid school. Why would you do that if not to have her all to yourself?”

  “I thought you would like school,” Sarah told her. “I know I liked it after I grew used to it. You had to be so much by yourself growing up. You deserved a chance to be with other girls your age.”

  Persephone’s face was puckered. “Did you really mean it for good? It was awful! No one did anything I wanted. My wishes meant nothing. They laughed when I complained. They laughed at me, Sarah!” Her lower lip trembled. Sarah took a step toward her, and the girl recoiled.

  “No, do not attempt to tell me it will be all right. I will make it all right. I’ll show them. I’m not spoiled! I’m not weak. I’m not any of those vicious names they called me. I’ll have the very best husband in England. They will all have to come to me to beg for favors.”

  “Oh, my poor dear,” Sarah murmured. “I’m truly sorry, Persephone. I had no idea. I thought you liked it at school. I can see they hurt you deeply, but dearest, do you hear yourself? You despise these girls for their cruelty, but do you plan better?”

  Persephone blinked, and for a moment Sarah thought she would relent. Instead, her face tightened so that she looked years older. “I knew you wouldn’t understand. You have no idea what it’s like to have your dreams thwarted.”

  Sarah felt as if she had been stabbed in the heart. “I don’t know?” she cried, hand to her chest to hold in the pain. “I don’t know? Are you blind? Think about my life, Persephone. Better, think of your threat to me a moment ago. How would you like to live your life with nothing to call your own? How would you like to live with the constant reminder of how much you owe everyone?”

  Persephone stared at her, face paling. Sarah thought she saw a new light spring to her cousin’s tearful eyes. “I guess we’re not so different after all, cousin“ she murmured. “All those years when I was sick, I did feel like everyone was constantly reminding me of how much I needed them. They all had to cater to me, and I hated it.”

  “But I suspect you grew accustomed to it,” Sarah put in. “When no one would cater to you at school, I would think that must have been a very rude awakening.”

  “I had to prove I was somebody after all,” Persephone agreed.

  Sarah shook her head, feeling tears threaten. “Oh, Persy, you were always somebody. I shall always love you as the sister I never had.”

  “You can say that even now?” Persephone all but begged. “Sarah, I’ve said some awful things, done some awful things.”

  “Nothing that can’t be fixed, I trust,” Sarah encouraged her.

  Persephone hung her head. “Perhaps. I am sorry for treating you like an enemy, Sarah. Maybe it’s possible for us to grow closer again. But I fear I’ve made a mull of things. I treated my suitors abominably. It only took one of them to lose his head to see that.”

  Sarah felt a chill. “Who lost his head?” she demanded. “Persephone, are you all right?”

  Persy nodded. “It was terrible, Sarah. I should never have encouraged him. But it’s over now. I see him for what he is. I will tell you more about it another time, but right now I fear I have ruined Lord Breckonridge.”

  Sarah unease only grew. “How so? You said he was the complete gentleman.”

  “He was,” Persephone agreed. “His valet was not. I gave him all my pin money so he would let me in the room and promise to gossip afterward.”

  “Oh, Persy, you didn’t!”

  “I did,” Persephone murmured. “You were quite right to accuse me of being a conniving little tart.”

  “I’m sure I never said any such thing,” Sarah scolded, although she knew she had been thinking it. “But Persy, you must rectify matters.”

  Her cousin looked thoughtful. “Perhaps if I tell the valet I’ve changed my mind.”

  Sarah shook her head. “If he was willing to be bribed the first time, he will most likely ask for more money this time.”

  “You are right,” Persephone said in a hopeless voice. “And I have nothing more with which to pay him. And even if I do pay him, he’d no doubt come after me again expecting to blackmail me.”

  “I see nothing for it, love,” Sarah told her. “You will have to face Lord Breckonridge with what you did.”

  Persephone paled. “There must be another way. You are clever, Sarah. Think of something.”

  Sarah regarded her with pity. “I’m sorry, love, but it appears you are out of options. You said you were tired of being beholden. Look at this as a chance to stand on your own.”

  “Small comfort,” Persephone replied with a bitter sigh. “Might I at least do it in private?”

  Sarah eyed her. “Certainly. I will look for an opportunity for you to do so. But Persy, if I find that you use that opportunity to Lord Breckonridge’s disadvantage, I will not be shy about denouncing you.”

  Persephone reddened. “I understand. Do you love him, then?”

  Sarah felt a renewed ache. “That matters not,” she said primly. “What matters is that Lord Breckonridge not be forced into marriage.”

  “I suppose so,” Persy replied, but Sarah did not think she sounded convinced. “But Sarah, I must know. Do you intend to accept his suit? Because if you don’t, I see no reason not to continue to attempt to attract his regard. In honest ways,” she hastily added.

  Sarah bit her lip. Could she sit by and watch while Persephone pursued Malcolm? True, he had never shown any attraction to the girl, but that was before Sarah had rejected him yet again. And there was a very good chance that once he heard what her cousin had tried to do, he would want nothing more to do with the girl. On the other hand, there was the slight possibility that he would find her attempts flattering and be willing to enter a courtship. Could Sarah chaperone while they drove in the park, whispered endearments to each other, kissed? Her stomach knotted at the very thought. Yet, Persy was right: if Sarah was unwilling to accept him, she had to accept the fact that he would eventually find another woman to court.

  But not Persephone.

  “Think carefully, cousin,” she told the girl. “I see no reason you would be happy in the match. He does not believe in love. Find someone you love, Persy, not someone whose power you envy.”

  Persephone frowned. “Do you think I cannot love him then?”

  “Oh, no,” Sarah replied, hearing her own voice turn bitter. “No, he is all too easy to love, with his zeal to see his country safe and prosperous, his gilded tongue to persuade, the way his very hair glows as if with suppressed energy. He is the lightning of the storm and the thunder behind it. What woman would not love such a man?”

  “You do love him, don’t you,” Persephone asked, wide-eyed.

  “God help me,” Sarah said, “but I do. And I have no idea what to do about it.”

  Chapter Nine
teen

  Malcolm wasn’t sure he wanted to go down to dinner that evening. On the one hand, there was a likely chance that Persephone Compton was lying in wait for him, perhaps with the local magistrate in tow. He was sure she had the banns all ready to hand to the local minister for reading. He didn’t believe the girl’s act of innocence for a moment. Not that he had lovely young ladies hide in his bed on a regular basis, but he did realize it was an often-used ploy to force a fellow to the altar. He had no idea why someone as popular as Persephone would want to try it, but he simply wasn’t willing to play the victim.

  On the other hand, he was certain he wasn’t ready to face Sarah. He had had to face adversaries from Parliament many times across a dining table. He knew how to keep a smile on his face when his insides churned. He even knew how to graciously admit defeat. He simply wasn’t ready to do so. Yet he also could think of no logical next step in his campaign to win Sarah’s hand.

  Persephone’s appearance in his room would only make matters more difficult. He was certain Sarah knew him well enough that she would not suspect him of harming her cousin in any way. On the other hand, if the girl persisted in claiming otherwise, Sarah would have no choice but to protect her cousin’s reputation. Either way Malcolm looked at it, he was sunk.

  But he could hardly ask for a tray to be sent to his room as if he were a doddering dowager down with dyspepsia. He would have to face them. The most he could hope for was that either Lord or Lady Prestwick would support him. And he rather thought he was done for if it were only Chas.

  Appleby said little as he helped his master change. Indeed, he seemed to have taken Malcolm’s orders to be silent entirely too much to heart. Malcolm had seldom seen the fellow look more Friday-faced.

  “I’d think you would be pleased with yourself,” he remarked as his valet finished a satisfactory knot in his cravat. “You managed to extract yet more money from me for your work. Or are you having second thoughts about that bribery?”

  Appleby licked his lips, gaze darting everywhere but Malcolm’s face. “Bribery, my lord? To what do you refer?”

  “One would almost think you were accepting bribes from more than one person,” Malcolm mused. He was half in jest; if he thought Appleby had so betrayed him, the fellow would not be standing in his presence.

  “Certainly not, my lord,” Appleby intoned, but his hands shook as he took away the two failed attempts at a cravat. “However, I beg my lord to remember that I have served him faithfully for many years. Surely I can be trusted, despite what any others might say.”

  “Surely you can,” Malcolm replied, narrowing his eyes. “Because if you can’t, you will no longer be employed.”

  Appleby paled, but Malcolm had no more time for discussion. If he waited any longer, he would be late. And he didn’t want to give anyone that satisfaction.

  Their hosts had been having everyone gather in the forward salon before going in to dinner each evening. As he had expected, Malcolm found the Misses Compton as well as Lord and Lady Prestwick awaiting him. Standing in a group near the fireplace, they broke off conversation as he entered, heightening the sense that he had become the enemy. Anne, however, was all smiles as he approached.

  “Good evening, my lord,” she said as he bowed to the group. Straightening, he could not help noticing that both Persephone’s and Sarah’s eyes were red-rimmed. He rather hoped Persephone’s tears had been caused by a fit of conscience. He didn’t like to think what had caused Sarah’s.

  “Good evening,” he replied to Anne, managing to include them all in his nod. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.”

  “I’m sure none of us would be happy at dinner without you, my lord,” Persephone put in. Sarah sent her a quelling glance, which made the girl color. So, some confidences had been exchanged, but what exactly he could not tell.

  “Well said, Miss Persephone,” Chas cheered. “Though you mustn’t think I mind being the only gentleman surrounded by such charming ladies.”

  Anne smiled fondly at him, rising to take his arm, even as Persephone’s color deepened. Sarah’s smile at the compliment was strained. Malcolm thought Anne murmured something to her husband, for Chas turned to offer his other arm to Sarah. She hesitated only a moment before accepting it with a polite nod. Malcolm had no choice but to offer his arm to Persephone.

  He wondered whether this gesture would encourage the girl, but if anything she looked more uncomfortable as they crossed the rotunda for the dining room.

  “May I have a moment of your time later, my lord?” she asked so quietly he had to bend nearer to hear her. “I promise not to be impertinent.”

  “Very well,” Malcolm agreed, thankful that he could hand the girl to her seat and escape to the other side of the table.

  Unfortunately, there was no escape to be had. For all meals during the visit, Anne had seated him between Chas at the head of the table on his right and Sarah on his left. He had rather hoped he could count on Chas to keep the conversation flowing. Unfortunately, his host seemed obsessed with the conversation his wife was having with Persephone on her right. Malcolm tried concentrating on the food, a beef ragout that was excellent, but it seemed to him he could hear the silence on his side of the table even over the chime of his silver fork on the bone china.

  He busied himself by mentally listing the acts yet to the brought to the floor next session and calculating their chances of success. He’d been to the next estate to see Brentfield and thought he knew how the fellow would vote, but Wenworth, whom they’d met last week, was still noncommittal. He’d have to see whether he could convince Prestwick to have a word with the fellow. Of course, it would be a lot easier if Sarah could talk to her friend the Countess of Wenworth. Wenworth was obviously as doting a husband as Chas. In fact, he’d have said the same about Brentfield and his charming artist wife. What was it about the Somerset countryside that bred such intimate marriages?

  And why wasn’t his to be one of them?

  At length, he became aware that the silence had stretched. Sarah sat with head bowed, pushing her food about the plate. She was miserable, and he had caused it. Impulsively, he slid his foot until he pressed against hers under the table. She glanced up at him with a start.

  “Forgive me,” he murmured. “I wish I knew what to say to bridge this widening gulf between us.”

  She smiled ruefully, the silver misery in her eyes melting to blue. “If I’ve put you at a loss for words, this is indeed a gulf. But surely we are both of a mature nature and can overcome it, my lord.“

  “The very fact that you are back to calling me ‘my lord’ should prove to you the truth of the matter,” Malcolm replied.

  She shook her head. “Very well, Malcolm. I’ve been doing a great deal of thinking about this. All emotions aside, we simply have chosen to disagree. I imagine that happens fairly frequently in your vocation.”

  “Certainly,” he acknowledged, feeling himself relax now that emotions were not part of the conversation. “But then several hundred of my closest friends civilly discuss the matter and vote on it, and we are bound by their decision.”

  She made a face. “I would not like my private life run in such a manner.”

  “Nor would I,” he assured her. Sharing her smile, he felt something constrict in the vicinity of his heart. They shared thoughts as easily as smiles, and kisses more easily still. “I wish I knew how to change your mind,” he murmured.

  She reached out and touched his hand, a fleeting gesture, hastily withdrawn, yet surprisingly comforting. “Perhaps you can. You know my stance, Malcolm. And I know yours. Give me time to think. Who knows, perhaps I can change your mind.”

  She returned her gaze to her food, but he found little of interest in his. She had no idea what she suggested. He had worked too hard, come too far, to place anyone or anything before his work. It was a vocation, really. He thought of the great men of history he admired -- Alexander the Great, Constantine, Jesus. They had been focused on a goal, and their personal li
ves, whether married or not, did not distract them. If he fell in love, wouldn’t he lose all? He shook his head. Sarah was right -- the one thing she wanted he could not give.

  Chas chose not to linger over their gentlemanly discussion following dinner, so that Malcolm was not even given that reprieve to think. They rejoined the ladies in the forward salon, listening while Persephone played a series of airs on the pianoforte. Sarah sat next to Anne in chairs nearby. As Malcolm watched, Chas walked up behind his wife and placed a hand on her shoulder. His thumb tenderly grazed her ear. Anne’s hand came up to rest on his, holding him against her. Malcolm felt a stab of longing. How easily could he imagine such tenderness with Sarah. How difficult was it to imagine such a scene with any other woman. He was truly trapped.

  Persephone finished playing, and Sarah and Anne argued good-naturedly as to who would entertain the company next. Malcolm could see the struggle in Chas. On the one hand, he clearly wanted Sarah to play so he could continue to stand beside his wife. On the other hand, he just as clearly longed to show off his wife’s talents. At last, Anne agreed to play. As she went to the instrument, Persephone made her way across the room to Malcolm’s side. He stiffened, but she did not turn away.

  “I must apologize to you, my lord,” she murmured, eyes downcast.

  Malcolm crossed his arms over his chest. “About what, Miss Persephone?” he asked, even though he suspected what she was about to confess.

  “I attempted to force you to ask for my hand,” she replied in the same low voice. He had to admit she sounded suitably humble, but he could not be sure of her sincerity.

  “And why would a young lady who is the toast of the ton need to do such a thing?” he asked.

  She seemed to shrink even further into herself. “Please, my lord, do not make this more difficult for me. I had my reasons, and I realize they were wrong. The only reason to marry is for love. I knew that; I had simply forgotten.”

  “I would wager you have your cousin to thank for the reminder,” he surmised.