by Mona Prevel
The butler went to do her bidding, a pained expression on his face.
Althea wondered if her usually stony-faced retainer had yet to recover from the indignity of having to admit the previous visitors into his hallowed domain. Surely, she thought, Marcus Ridley would not have entrusted her mother into the care of someone equally as disreputable.
Althea was still pondering this question when John Soames was ushered into her presence. Althea rose to her feet and stood stock-still as he made his bow. Without a word, she signaled for Jarvis to leave the room.
Once they were alone, Althea sat down and invited her visitor to do likewise. Mr. Soames complied, choosing a chair directly facing hers.
Althea made the opening remark. “It seems that we meet again, Mr. Soames.”
He looked puzzled, then said, “I am afraid you have the advantage of me, madam.”
Althea suffered a stab of disappointment Evidently she had not made a lasting impression on the young man. Then she remembered that her appearance had drastically altered since the afternoon they had met on the pier.
She was about to refresh his memory when he said, “Ah yes, I recognize your voice. Tell me, madam, are you in the habit of pretending to be a dowdy little governess, or was that shoddy little masquerade staged for my benefit?”
No longer in shock, Althea felt her anger rising. “Sir, you delude yourself. At the time we met, I did not even know of your existence. Besides, I did not say I was a governess. You took it upon yourself to presume such, and, I might add, I did not find it at all flattering.”
Althea thought her outburst would elicit an apology from him but instead he gave a short laugh and said, “That would explain why you gave that dreadful coat to one of your servants. Your abigail, most likely. Please extend my apologies. I saw her wearing it along the esplanade and, thinking it was you, ran to catch up with her. She turned around, took one look at me, then turned tail and scurried away like a frightened fox with a pack of hounds in hot pursuit.”
Althea doubted that John Soames had ever been accused of being tactful, but found it hard not to laugh at his story. Then a disquieting thought entered her mind. In Lizzie’s place, would she have waited for him to catch up with her? Her musings came to an end with his next remark.
“You should laugh more often. It crinkles up your face in a most beguiling manner.”
Althea felt an unfamiliar glow of elation, which she instantly quenched. “I beg your pardon?”
He looked rueful. “Forgive me for the impertinence. It may be selfish of me, but in a way I wish you really were a governess, and not a great lady.”
“Oh? What possible difference could it make to you, Mr. Soames?”
“It could have changed both our lives. You see, my lady, ever since I met her, I have been unable to get a proper little governess with the most enchanting eyes I have ever beheld out of my mind, and now I discover that some fairy has waved a magic wand and played a cruel trick.”
“A cruel trick?” Althea echoed, preparing to put an end to his nonsense.
“Yes,” he said solemnly. “The cruelest one a fay could ever devise. She made my governess even more beautiful and then, to punish me for daring to dream, turned her into this rich and powerful lady. Forgive me if I mourn my loss.”
Althea forced a smile. “Really? I rather suspect that your governess would be far too sensible to believe such a tarradiddle.”
He returned her smile, resulting in a flash of white teeth and a heart-lurching display of dimples. The smile faded and the gray of his eyes darkened. Althea was lost in their depths for several moments before she came to her senses. His fairy is working her magic on me, she thought, and immediately broke eye contact with him.
She cleared her throat “To be quite frank, Mr. Soames, I am surprised you called on me. I rather hoped that your, er, associate would see fit to dispense with my mother’s services.”
“As long as Lady Camberly wishes to assist us, neither Lord Ridley nor myself has the heart to deny her.”
“Deny her?”
“You do not know the lady very well, even if she is your mother—or perhaps it is because she is your mother that you do not”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You are not alone in this. Most of us do not really know our parents because of the role they play in our lives. We are all inclined to see Mama and Papa as extensions of the holy family and refuse to acknowledge that our existence stems from a passion they share, or just like us, that they harbor within them, a wellspring of hopes and dreams.”
As he spoke, Althea perceived that his face had taken on an intensity that bespoke a great capacity for passion of his own. His words hit an uncomfortable chord.
“Mr. Soames, I do not think this conversation is quite the thing. Besides, I fail to see how it has any bearing on the subject. My mother is merely exchanging packages with you on the banks of the Camber at a time better spent getting a good night’s sleep.”
Althea was taken aback by his reaction.
“And Joan of Arc was a hysterical young woman who should have been locked up in an asylum, not put at the head of an army.” He threw up his hands. “Brava, Lady Camberly, spoken like a good little member of the flock. Convince your mother that what she does is of little importance, and perhaps you can get her to return to the fold. No doubt it would make your life a lot less complicated. But what would it do to her?”
Althea opened her mouth to object, but the words would not form.
He softened his tone. “Forgive me, Lady Camberly. I am well aware that any number of people could perform the service your mother renders. But put yourself in her place. She saw her family dragged to their deaths, and was powerless to help them.” He leaned forward. “As she was powerless to help herself. The Marquis de Maligny gave her very little say in how her life should be run.”
“You seem to have taken it upon yourself to delve into things that are none of your concern, Mr. Soames.”
“I would not presume to do such. During our stay in France, your mother and I confided in one another about many things. Barriers are lowered when two people share the privations of such a journey.”
He held out his hands as if in supplication. “All Lady Camberly wants is to ensure that you are never put in the same situation. To this end she is willing to do anything, however insignificant Do you not see? By this ‘exchanging of packages,’ as you put it, your mother has finally gained some control over her own destiny.”
“A trifle colorful, Mr. Soames, but what you say has some merit and I thank you for championing my mother’s cause. I make but one request.”
“Yes?”
“I ask that in future, you meet with her under this roof at a reasonable hour of the day.”
He smiled ruefully. “I would gladly comply, but alas, I doubt the lady will agree. As it is, she will not be at all happy to hear of my coming here this afternoon.”
“No, I expect not.”
Mr. Soames stood up. “Lady Camberly, it was most kind of you to receive me and I hope you forgive my frankness in championing your mother’s cause in this matter. Over the past year I have grown to harbor a great respect and regard for her and would not like to see her deprived of her raison d’être. I fear it would be most detrimental for her well-being.”
Althea stood up also. “I quite agree, although I confess to having misgivings over the matter.”
“It is only natural. It is hardly the sort of pastime one would wish for one’s mother. But rest assured, she will come to no harm.”
“I fervently hope so. Before you go, Mr. Soames, please allow me to offer you some refreshment. I fully intended to when my butler first announced you, but with the rather unsettling circumstances that followed, I quite forgot.”
He inclined his head. “It is most kind of you, madam, but I must decline. I partook of a meal at the inn in Camberly before coming here.”
“Then I shall deta
in you no further, Mr. Soames.” Althea offered him her hand and immediately regretted it. She was not in the habit of conferring such intimacy on strange gendtlemen. She was not so sure that John Soames should even be considered as such.
He did not take her hand right away, but stared at her for a moment, a quizzical expression on his face. Althea was tempted to pull her hand back, but too late, he took it, scarcely touching more than her gloved fingertips, and gave it a brief shake.
At his touch a strange sensation coursed through Althea and her heartbeat quickened to an alarming rate. It was as if a swarm of butterflies was trapped within her body, desperately trying to get out. With great effort she regained her composure enough to say, “Good afternoon, Mr. Soames. It was good of you to call.”
“No. This is good-bye,” he replied, and searched her face as if committing it to memory. “For I doubt we shall have occasion to meet again.”
Althea thought there was a note of regret in his voice. His words filled her with a terrible sense of loss. She wanted to grab the sleeve of his jacket and prevent him from leaving. Instead she inclined her head when he took his leave, then clutched her throat when his footsteps echoed on the marble floor as he made his way down the front hall to the great double doors at the entrance.
When she heard the sound of his horse’s hooves clopping down the tree-lined approach to the house, she rushed to the window and watched his departure. He turned his head once, then urged the horse to a faster pace. It struck her that the horse, a handsome roan, was too fine an animal to have been hired from The Boar’s Head, and wondered how he came by such a mount. She decided that the animal probably came from Marcus Ridley’s stables and most likely was boarded at the inn.
John made his departure from Camberly Hall, filled with despair. Ever since he met Althea Markham on the pier he had harbored a longing to see her again and hoped that one day he might be allowed to know her better.
He had admired her odd mixture of quiet modesty and haughty pride. Her pale green eyes bespoke an affinity for a sylvan deity. A passionate nature latent in the coolness of their depths. That’s it, he thought She is an odd mixture of fire and water. Everything about her is a paradox. I doubt few men could understand her and even fewer could appreciate what a marvelous creature she is.
Until that afternoon it was bad enough that he harbored a tendre for a young woman he had met but once and was not likely to see again. There was always the possibility that their paths might cross in the future.
To this end, on his visits to Camberly, he had spent an inordinate amount of time leaning against the rails of the pier, his eyes focused on the large house he had seen her enter. But she never crossed the threshold.
Once, he saw an older woman leave the house with several boys in tow and resigned himself to the possibility that the young woman had sought employment elsewhere. He even determined that when control of his life was restored to him, he would make inquiries as to her whereabouts. It was not much but it gave him some hope to cling to.
He turned his head for one last glimpse of Camberly Hall, and thought he saw a curtain move. “You need not worry, my fine lady. I shall bother you no more with my foolish ravings,” he muttered.
He straightened in the saddle and applied a slight pressure to his mount’s flanks with his knees. “Come on, Orion, you can move faster than that.” Once out of the gates of Camberly Hall, he headed in the direction of Brighton, where he picked up the London Road and rode north. With a stopover at Fairfax Towers in Surrey, the countryseat of his parents, he expected to join his brother in London the following morning.
On the way, he had plenty of time to go over his encounter with the Countess of Camberly. He winced when he recalled the way he had spoken to her. As if babbling on about fairies and magic wands was not bad enough, what on earth inspired him to spend the rest of the time pontificating about how she should treat her mother?
“Oh, what difference does it make? I could be the most perspicacious fellow in England, for all the good it would do me. High-in-the-instep countesses do not marry second sons and that’s that.”
As if in response to his outburst, Orion gave a startled whinny.
For a brief moment John wondered if it would have helped his suit with Althea Markham if he had been born first and had his brother’s expectations. He immediately dismissed this line of thinking as ignoble.
The following evening after dinner, while enjoying a glass of the cognac with Marcus that he smuggled in from France from time to time, he confided his plight.
“For goodness’ sake, tell the girl how you feel.”
John scowled. “Really, Marcus, I sometimes wonder if you are in complete possession of your faculties. I should imagine that if a rough fellow like John Soames had the effrontery to plead his suit to such a highborn lady, she would have the dogs set on him for his pains.”
Marcus laughed. “I am sure Althea would turn such a fellow down out of hand—but set the dogs on him? I hardly think so. She is far too nice a person for that. But she might be receptive to John Ridley. You do quite nicely once you take a bath and put on some decent clothes.”
“You will forgive me for disagreeing with you, but apart from being the better for a little sprucing up, there is nothing else to commend me.”
Marcus pushed his shoulder. “Enough of that defeatism. What have you got to lose?”
“I fail to see where all this is leading.”
“Do not be so obtuse. If you ask the lady for her hand, what is the worst thing that can happen?”
John frowned. “She could say no, for starters.”
“Yes, she could. But she could also say yes.”
“That is hardly likely.”
“I quite agree. But if you do not ask, you will never know. In other words, brother, you have nothing to lose by trying.”
“I suppose not. Perhaps when this ridiculous masquerade is over, I shall try, in which case it behooves me to lay in considerably more of this cognac. I would have to be foxed for a week before even considering it”
“In which case, it would take another week for you to learn what her answer was.”
John laughed.
“That’s better, John. That is the first time I have seen you laugh since you got here. It won’t do, you know. No girl is worth that.”
John gazed thoughtfully at his brother. “You have never been in love, have you?”
“One or two have set my blood boiling. But not the sort of girl one marries, of course. But love? I expect not. Otherwise, I probably would have been leg-shackled long before now.”
As John lay in his chamber that night, waiting for sleep to give him respite from his misery, he envied Marcus’s seeming immunity to Cupid’s darts.
Chapter 9
The arrival of autumn at Camberly was almost imperceptible, the weather in the early days of October varying little from that of September. Then one night, the frost turned the dew to crystals and the leaves upon the trees began to turn.
The following morning, Althea and Celeste strolled through the gardens, noticing the changes one night of cold had managed to bring about. Celeste plucked a wilted peony. “Even though I know it is inevitable, the passing of summer always fills me with sadness. It is like mourning the death of a friend.”
Althea looked askance; she could never understand her mother’s expenditure of emotion over what she deemed the most mundane of occurrences. “Come now, Mama. That is a trifle extreme. Summer will return next year. Alas, the same cannot be said of departed loved ones.”
Celeste tapped her on the shoulder with the flower. “La, child. Must you always persist in being so single-mindedly English? It can be very tiresome.”
Althea smiled. How could two people from the same family differ so? I love Mama, but I fear I could never understand her.
Celeste chose that moment to venture off the path to take a closer look at a grouping of mature horse chestnut trees.
Noticing how the ground pushed up around the trunks, Althea opened her mouth with the intention of warning her to watch her step, but was too late. With a startled cry, Celeste went sprawling on the grass.
With little heed for her own advice, Althea rushed to her side. Celeste raised her head and gave Althea a rueful look. “That was foolish of me, I must say.”
She held out her hand for Althea to assist her to her feet, but with a tiny moan, sank back. “It is no use—I think I might have sprained my ankle. You had better go for help.”
Althea dashed across the lawn and bounded up to the front of Camberly Hall. She tried to take the huge granite steps two at a time, but tripped and landed on her knees.
A young footman, standing on duty in the Hall, happened to be gazing through the window at the time and dashed outside to help her. But she waved him away and struggled to her feet.
“Pray do not waste time with me. My mother is hurt. She is over by the horse chestnut trees. Please, hurry.”
The young man dashed off and Althea went into the hall and pointed to another footman. “What are you waiting for? Go and help. Hurry. Come on now, for goodness’ sake, hurry.”
Jarvis bustled into the hall. “Is something amiss, madam?”
“Ah, Jarvis. Will you please send for Doctor Hervey? Lady Camberly tripped over a tree root and, I fear, has sustained an injury to her foot.”
By the time the groom had ridden into Camberly and found the doctor, helped saddle his horse, and escorted him back, the better part of an hour had elapsed. By then, Celeste’s usually shapely ankle had swollen and she was in considerable pain.
Doctor Hervey was in his forties, with wispy gray hair and a pale, delicate-looking face. His inspection of Celeste’s ankle involved a lot of palping and squeezing on his part.
“There is no cause for concern—the ankle is merely sprained,” he said. He proceeded to apply a poultice to the injury and secured it with a firmly tied bandage. “I would strongly recommend the application of leeches, but I know that madam has no love for the treatment.”
