Her Grace in Disgrace (The Widows of Woburn Place)

by Claudia Harbaugh

  “Options?” inquired Lady Joanna.

  “If you do not marry what do you plan to do? Live with your parents for their lifetime? And if they pass on, are you provided for at all?” Isobel knew she sounded harsh, but wanted to press upon this idealistic young woman the seriousness of her predicament.

  “I had not thought…” began Lady Joanna.

  “And if they force you to marry, what should you do then? Have you somewhere to go?” persisted Isobel mercilessly.

  “They cannot force me,” Lady Joanna replied, her chin thrust out. “This is not the dark ages.”

  “Can they not? It may not be the dark ages, but unmarried women have little or no power, even in this enlightened age,” Isobel declared baldly.

  “And you know this from your own sad experience,” Lady Joanna said sympathetically.

  “Yes, Lady Joanna, I am indeed a cautionary tale come to life. Behold and beware!” Isobel said with a little laugh.

  Lady Joanna giggled at this as Isobel had meant her to do. For a few moments the two ladies, simply listened to the music in quiet and reflection. Out of the corner of her eye, Isobel could see Lady Doncaster periodically casting nervous glances at her daughter who was cozily chatting with “Her Grace in disgrace”. But, Lady Stoughton was expounding on something that was no doubt of the most vital importance and Lady Doncaster would not risk the Marchioness’ censure by walking away.

  “I would not mind marriage so much if I could find a man that I could really talk to, someone who would respect me, respect my ideas.” Lady Joanna said after a few minutes of contemplation. “A kindred spirit. I dream of such a union.”

  “Ah, so there is a romantic hidden under your hoydenish shell,” declared Isobel with a smile.

  “I confess there is, though I am loathe to admit it to many.” Lady Joanna flashed a playful grin at Isobel. “Do you not wish for such a union, Miss Kennilworth? A partnership with mutual respect and admiration?”

  “My goodness, you should meet my Aunt Maude. She has similar notions of wedded bliss,” Isobel said, avoiding the question altogether. “She has the idea that a successful marriage can only be made a man and a woman with complimentary temperaments.”

  “I would love to meet your Aunt and hear more about her ideas,” piped back Lady Joanna, her eyes sparkling.

  “Perhaps when we return to London there will be an opportunity to do so.” Isobel could not promise the minx.

  “London,” sighed Lady Joanna. “Back to the routs and balls and endless dancing.”

  “Do you not care for dancing?”

  “I love to dance, but for myself,” Lady Joanna said cryptically.

  “Whom else would you dance for?” Isobel raised her eyebrows.

  “My mama, my papa. It is not just about dancing, but one must perform in order to attract the most desirable parti, to snag the elusive bachelor.” She nodded toward Miss Parrish as she continued to play the piano. “Miss Parrish seems to play for herself, something I admire. But I was taught that playing an instrument, stitching a sampler, painting a watercolor, and engaging in witty conversation had but one goal in mind; to catch a husband. For that reason, I never took to any of it. I find that very few husbands, once caught, care a whit about their wives’ watercolors or needlepoint seat covers.”

  “You are a philosopher, Lady Joanna. Where did you learn such wisdom?”

  “Hardly, though my governess is a bit unusual, for a governess. Now, you mustn’t tattle and tell mama, but she has exposed me to a wide array of thinking; Rousseau, Plato, Aristotle, the Bible and not just the stuffy parts… even Mary Wollstonecraft. I do not really enjoy reading philosophy for it often confuses me, but I enjoy discussing it, in a practical sort of way,” admitted Lady Joanna.

  “Well, then, you must engage Lord Saybrooke in conversation, for he also loves to discuss religion, philosophy and how it is incumbent upon all human beings to do what they can to positively impact the world around them. He used to be a vicar.”

  “Truly? I would relish a chance for such a discussion, but I fear it might not be prudent,” sighed Lady Joanna.

  “Why ever not? Lord Saybrooke is a kindly sort of man, to most people; you need not fear him,” Isobel reassured the young woman.

  “Oh, I am not afraid of Lord Saybrooke; I am not willing to tangle with Miss Hyde-Price. She has her trap set out for Lord Saybrooke, and knowing what I know of Miss Hyde-Price, I dare not get in the way of that trap. It could be very dangerous.”

  Isobel looked at the little blond cherub, smiling sweetly as she chatted with Lady Cynthia and Henrietta.

  “Miss Hyde-Price?”

  “Do not let her angelic appearance fool you,” answered Lady Joanna, also taking in the beatific picture that Miss Hyde-Price made. “She is anything but sweet.”

  “Of whom are you speaking, Joanna,” came a voice behind Isobel’s shoulder.

  Lady Joanna looked up at her mother and sighed, something Isobel noted that Lady Joanna did with frequency. “Miss Hyde-Price, Mama.”

  “Good heavens, Joanna,” said that lady in hushed tones. “Be careful what you say. The Hyde-Prices are excellent ton and very influential.”

  “Yes, Mama. Sorry, Mama,” intoned Lady Joanna flatly.

  “Now, it is time you took your place at the piano. The gentlemen will be returning shortly. You must display yourself to your best advantage.”

  “Mama, I play the piano poorly and certainly not with the passion that Miss Parrish played.”

  “What has passion to do with it? Just play the correct notes and all will be well.”

  “Which gentleman would you have me impress? How will I know whether to play Bach or Mozart or a country tune?” Lady Joanna managed a straight face and a sincere timbre to her voice. Isobel was glad her back was toward Lady Doncaster because she could not suppress a smile.

  “Just play the piece you know the best. Come now. Do not bother Miss Kennilworth with your childish prattle any longer.”

  “Oh, but I enjoyed my conversation with Lady Joanna very much. You have a remarkable daughter, Lady Doncaster. I am sure she will be the toast of this season. You must be very proud of her.” Isobel turned to look at Lady Doncaster and bestowed on that lady her brightest smile.

  Lady Joanna covered a laugh with a fit of coughing just as the gentleman entered. Out of the corner of her eye, Isobel noticed Lord Mercer taking his wife aside. She wondered what was in the note that was delivered to Lord Mercer at dinner. In the meantime, Lady Doncaster hurried to ring for a glass of water for her daughter, just as Lady Joanna’s coughing ceased. Isobel and the reluctant debutante exchanged knowing smiles.

  “The toast of the season?” laughed Lady Joanna.

  Just then, Lord Mercer cleared his throat. “Ladies and Gentlemen, I fear I have had some devastating news from my estate in Surrey. There has been a fire that has taken a number of lives and many of the crofters’ cottages. I regret that I must leave on the morrow, for I am needed there. However, nothing need change here at Adelphi. I beg that you would all stay as planned and keep my wife company. I hope to be back by week’s end for the ball. ”

  Isobel could see the insincere smile pasted on Lady Mercer’s face; after all these were mostly his friends! But, of course, her words were warm and welcoming. “Oh, my goodness, yes, you all must stay! I have been quite cut off here, languishing in the country. I beg you to remain and entertain me!”

  There were smiles and murmurs of assurances. Lord Mercer would go, the guests would stay.

  Distracted by the unexpected announcement, Isobel did not see Lord Saybrooke approach.

  “Miss Kennilworth, it is a fine night. I thought it might be pleasant to take a stroll in the garden. Would you care to join me?” Saybrooke asked without a trace of pleasantness in his voice.

  “I was about to propose the same thing, Saybrooke,” drawled Lord Westcott.

  “Joanna!” called Lady Doncaster, indicating the recently vacated piano.

 
“Excuse me gentlemen, Miss Kennilworth. I must perform like a trained bear.” Lady Joanna shot Isobel a parting smile and obediently played a mediocre rendition of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata.

  “A thousand pardons, Westcott, but I did ask first,” Saybrooke said through gritted teeth.

  Westcott was much more at ease and gave Isobel a dazzling smile. “Let us let the lady decide, shall we?”

  Isobel looked at Drew and saw his discomfort.

  “Lord Westcott, I would be pleased to stroll in the garden with you on another occasion. I must concede to Lord Saybrooke’s prior request.” Lord Westcott’s smile remained fixed in place, though it no longer reached his eyes. He bowed to Isobel. “I look forward to it.”

  Lord Saybrooke extended his hand, helping Isobel rise from the settee. Placing her hand in the crook of his arm, Isobel and Saybrooke walked into the torch lit garden. Isobel took a few steps away from Saybrooke and admired Henrietta’s charming garden. The scent of lily of the valley drifted in the unusually warm spring air and Isobel breathed in the sweet, seductive smell. Saybrooke looked at her, wreathed in moonlight. His breath caught.

  “Izzy, I must talk to you.” Saybrooke’s voice was barely above a whisper.

  “I assumed so, since you are not one to suggest a moonlight garden stroll.” Isobel turned to face him and they stood without speaking for a few moments.

  “I am truly sorry about what happened when I last saw you,” began Saybrooke.

  “But not about what you said.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Dash it all, Izzy. Can we not just forget about it? Can we not be friends again?” Lord Saybrooke, former vicar and used to making sermons, was having a very hard time finding the words he wanted to say to Isobel. Saybrooke pulled his fingers through his sandy hair ruining, his valet’s effort.

  “We were friends when we were children. When we last parted, not recently in London, but years ago in Kent, we were much more than friends, Drew. I do not think we know how to be friends in adulthood. We seem to have lost the knack of it.”

  “We have not even tried. Not really. Perhaps you can help me? What can I do to prove a friend to you?”

  “It seems to be my night for receiving the offer of masculine friendship. Lord Westcott also offered his friendship, but he did not need to ask how, Drew. He seemed to realize that all I needed was a little kindness and not a lecture,” Isobel looked at Saybrooke his tall frame swathed in moonlight. How she had loved him once.

  “Westcott! The man is a thorough scoundrel, Izzy. I do not know what you were about at dinner, exchanging coy smiles and fluttering your eyelashes, completely ignoring your other dinner partner.”

  “Evidently the same thing you were doing, for if you knew that I had abandoned Mr. Hyde-Price, you also must have disregarded your dinner partners,” Isobel said evenly.

  “Never mind that,” Saybrooke barked dismissively. “Westcott is not to be trusted, Izzy. He cannot have honorable intentions.”

  “Why not? Am I so lost to propriety that a man would not behave honorably toward me?”

  “Not when you behave the way you did at dinner tonight.” Lord Saybrooke knew the instant he spoke that he had erred badly. “That came out wrong. You know what I meant.”

  Saybrooke saw Isobel’s anger flashing from her gray eyes in the light of the torches. She did not speak for some moments. At last she aired her thoughts. “I know what you meant, Lord Saybrooke. Let me answer your previous question, shall I? If you truly care to be a friend to me, I would suggest ceasing to impugn my character. That is as good a place as any to begin.” Isobel’s tone was impressively calm.

  “I am convinced that true friends tell each other the truth and not just what they want to hear. We have always been honest with each other, have we not Izzy?” Saybrooke reached out and took Isobel’s hand in his own.

  “The truth? I wonder, Lord Saybrooke that if you believe me to be such a wanton, to possess such a wicked character, why you would want to be my friend.” Isobel pulled her hand out of his light grasp. “I am a bit chilly. I think I shall go in now.”

  She brushed past him and he could only follow, inwardly chiding himself for being such a fool.

  CHAPTER 5

  The next few days were resplendent with sunshine, good food, and good company. Adelphi was a magnificent Greek revival mansion commissioned by Mercer’s grandfather, who had tired of the family’s dreary and decaying castle. It had extensive grounds replete with two waterfalls and a handful of Greek inspired statues. The gardens alone were noteworthy, having no less than four scattered about the premises. The group gathered at Lord Mercer’s home for the sennight enjoyed all the amenities that the grand house had to offer. There were picnics and archery competitions, gallops through the countryside and a trip to the ruins of St. Albans Abbey. Isobel could not remember a happier time. Lord Westcott was all that was proper, and yet remained steadfastly attentive. Though, ever the gentleman he was careful not to slight the other ladies in the party. Lady Cynthia, in particular, demanded his attention more often than Isobel liked, but she, too, was too polite to show her displeasure. But the few moments that Isobel and Westcott were able to spend alone together convinced Isobel that Westcott cared for her. He was thoughtful, witty, self-possessed, but not arrogant. They conversed easily and enjoyed each other’s company immensely. Lord Westcott seemed so genuine that Isobel felt a hope surge in her that she might yet have a chance for happiness.

  The rest of the party was not quite so fortunate. Lady Cynthia was enamored of Lord Westcott and her parents were enamored of his wealth. Lord Westcott was courteous to Lady Cynthia, but much to her chagrin, showed a decided partiality toward “Her Grace in disgrace”.

  The dashing Captain Danvers was surprisingly inclined toward the almost mute Miss Parrish, who in her own shy way showed a decided partiality toward Peter Collins, the local Squire’s son. Though not part of the house party, he was invited to join most of the activities to even the numbers. Mr. Collins was in awe of Lady Cynthia, who considered the countrified gentleman infinitely below her.

  Lady Edgerton was partial to no one in particular, but flirted with every male in the party. Only Lord Stoughton seemed disposed to take her flirting seriously and while he was neither young nor particularly handsome, he was a conquest, and Lady Edgerton made the best of it. Lady Stoughton, as she had done her entire married life, chose to be blind to the liaison and concentrated on getting her daughter wed.

  Lord and Lady Doncaster were wavering between Lord Pelton and Lord Saybrooke. Both were handsome, titled men, but Pelton’s fortune was much greater and he was an earl to Saybrooke’s viscount. But Saybrooke seemed the steadier of the two, which the harried parents of the impetuous Lady Joanna counted in Saybrooke’s favor. Lady Joanna, however, had a preference for neither of the gentleman. She was intent upon one task; to make herself distasteful to every eligible male by being opinionated, painfully frank, and in general, extremely obnoxious. Her campaign proved largely successful, except in one quarter. Lord Pelton, a reputed womanizer and gambler, was captivated by the little minx. He had no interest in the milk and water misses that simpered and giggled their way through season after season in London. Lady Joanna was magnificent! However, Lady Joanna not did notice Lord Pelton’s partiality, assuming her machinations would put off any man in his right mind.

  All three Hyde-Prices had their hearts set on Lord Saybrooke. The outwardly cherubic, but inwardly conniving Lydia Hyde-Price was doing everything in her power to fix his interest. Where Lord Saybrooke went, there went Miss Hyde-Price. Despite his every effort to avoid her, she was able to maneuver a way to be at his side. She was determined to have him. However, Lord Saybrooke had a decided partiality in another direction – the Reverend Parrish. He and the vicar spent many an hour debating good naturedly about life, religion and philosophy. While the two men disagreed on almost everything, they heartily enjoyed the exchange. Lord Saybrooke, to his delight, discovered that not even the devoted Mi
ss Hyde-Price could endure more than a few minutes of the lofty dialogue. Other than Parrish, Saybrooke had no desire to socialize with anyone save Izzy. And after their argument in the garden on the first night, Izzy had studiously avoided him. So, if Mr. Parrish was not available and there was no activity planned, Saybrooke took solace (and refuge from the onslaughts of Miss Hyde-Price) in Lord Mercer’s well stocked library.

  Following the three days of sunshine came three full days of inevitable spring rain. Lady Mercer did her best to amuse her guests with games, music and an abundance of food. On the evening of the second day of captivity, however, the overfed and under exercised guests began to be restless. Thus, when Lady Joanna announced that she had written a short play, a farce, that they could perform on the following evening, it was greeted with a great deal of enthusiasm.

  “Those of us who want to participate in the play,” Lady Joanna told them, “can rehearse during the day tomorrow. Jenkins, the head gardener has assured me the rain will continue.”

  “If that is true, then count me in,” said Captain Danvers.

  Lady Cynthia wrinkled her lovely nose, as if she had smelt a foul odor. “One day of rehearsal? You could not possibly have a play of any merit with such a short rehearsal time.”

  “It is an amateur theatrical, Lady Cynthia, not a Drury Lane production. I wrote it two hours today while I was supposed to be resting. It is simply a lark, something to do.” Lady Joanna did not try to mask her exasperation with the stiff-rumped Lady Cynthia.

  To everyone’s shock, Miss Parrish spoke up. “I think it sounds like such fun. I am not much of an actress, but I would like to try.”

  “Of course, Miss Parrish. Anyone who would care to join in is welcome. I can always rewrite parts to suit the actors. We can give a performance in the evening, after dinner for those who do not care to act.” Lady Joanna said decisively.