He patted her hand. “And perhaps this will not come to pass.” He smiled a smile rife with boyish charm and mischief. “I have devised quite a plan.”
Chapter Sixteen
Lady Wescotte was adorned in a Coburg walking dress, the likes of which Jonathon had never before seen. As he entered the vestibule, she already awaited, slipping into kid gloves so large several animals must have been sacrificed in the making. They matched the expressive emerald dress without flaw, and Jonathon was forced to admit that his dragon of a relative actually looked quite presentable.
“I must express my surprise at seeing you so prompt this morning, Aunt Harriet,” he told her as Simpson took his quiet leave.
She grunted a reply. “I merely want this business over with, you impertinent boy.”
“Where, pray tell, is the young Geoffry?”
She shook her head. “I told the lad to make haste. Better, you be off with him. You will see the difficulties a boy can bring.” She eyed him carefully. “Have you not discussed this matter with your future wife? She will no doubt become completely rag-mannered at the prospect.” Jonathon didn’t miss the air of triumph in Aunt Harriet’s tone, although he chose to ignore it in deference to carrying out his plans.
“Truth be out, I have discussed it with Miss Lark, however, I daresay, it is not her place to disobey my wishes. I am quite happy to inform you that she was not overset in the least. In fact, she was the pattern card of grace and understanding.”
He took a step towards his aunt. “Of course, I didn’t tell her the entire truth, you understand. And I do not intend to allow Geoffry knowledge of his parentage. I will merely extend him an invitation into my home. Is that clearly understood?”
“Of course I understand. I no more wish to cast Geoffry into the briars than do you. Why, it wouldn’t do us much good either.”
Geoffry came then, clattering in a manner most unbecoming of a gentleman. “My apologies for keeping you waiting, Mama.” He gave a smile to Lord Somerset. “Jonathon.”
“Cabbage head!” Lady Wescotte rebuked.
Jonathon frowned. The thought crossed his mind that perhaps he should do away with his deception and actually take the boy. Aunt Harriet was forever oversetting the poor lad. It was true Geoffry was a bit bumbling, but nothing that couldn’t be cured by a little praise and confidence.
Geoffry subdued considerably, but then a smile came across his crooked lips and excitement boiled behind his eyes. “Mama says you are to take us on a special carriage ride this morning?”
“That’s correct. I have a matter of great importance to discuss with you.”
Geoffry beamed with enthusiasm. “Shall we take our leave, then?” Hurriedly, he shrugged into an overcoat that seemed all at once to swallow him up.
Good Heavens, Jonathon thought, the lad needs to be plumped like a Christmas goose.
Without further delay, Jonathon helped Lady Wescotte struggle into the dogcart, and their journey began. She sat very quietly, watching the familiar scenery pass along, but it was not an uncomfortable silence. On the contrary, Jonathon was quite pleased that she’d decided against any flapdoodle to fill the silence.
Geoffry, of course, remained his generally subdued self, thus Jonathon was left with his musings to fill the empty chambers in his head.
When they had been traveling a considerable time, Lady Wescotte broke the silence. “Do you have a particular destination, or were you going to jostle me until I turned up my toes.”
“My, you are a dreadful grouser this morning, are you not?” Jonathon did not cast his gaze in her direction.
“I am not such a thing,” Lady Wescotte shot back, her chin flapping with the indignant snort that came up her throat and out her nose. “And you are a cad! The manners I hear bragged about have dissolved before my very eyes. You are no better than that wastrel brother of yours.”
Jonathon glanced back at Geoffry. “What say you of this trip, dear boy? Are you breathless for its end?”
Geoffry’s face paled as his gaze darted between his mother and his cousin. It was most apparent he feared his opinion might prove to offend one or the other of them.
Lady Wescotte turned a triumphant eye to Jonathon at the precise moment he chose to look at her. He quickly returned his gaze to the horses and the lane ahead. Geoffry never quite answered the query, and Jonathon did not press the situation.
They reached a secluded spot rich in grasses and wildflowers, and Jonathon brought the horses to a stop. After climbing down from the carriage, he helped Lady Wescotte to the ground. “There you are, Aunt Harriet, a wonderful place for you to cure your aches and pains. Why don’t you sit in the shade of that tree? There is a bench, and Geoffry and I shall exercise our legs and empty the bag.”
Lady Wescotte’s gaze darted to his face and transfixed itself there. “You wish to speak to Geoffry without me present?”
“Why, Aunt Harriet, surely you must know I collected you as a courtesy. If Uncle Wescotte were not indisposed, ’twould be he who would make the decision after Geoffry anyway.”
“Please, allow me to accompany the two of you. Geoffry is used to having some guidance in such matters.”
Jonathon studied his aunt’s uneasy expression. It relieved him to notice that she really didn’t want to lose Geoffry—yet her pride still would not let her voice such. He took pity on her.
“Come, Geoffry. We are to walk a bit,” Jonathon said.
The boy bustled to them, taking his mother’s arm like a gentleman. “Do tell, Jonathon, what is this pressing matter you wished to discuss with me?” Geoffry’s voice squeaked, and Jonathon realized anew, just how young and inexperienced the boy was.
Jonathon glanced at Lady Wescotte. She looked ahead stoically, seeming to ignore them both. He smiled. Maybe she wasn’t such a dragon, after all. The breeze picked up, and he felt the chill. For a brief moment, he wondered if he should torture his aunt so. She may have played a heartless card, but wasn’t this plan of his a trifle cruel in itself?
Pressing onward, he looked to Geoffry. “I have taken over my father’s estate, as you well know, and soon I will be taking a wife. I have discussed it with your mother, and she and I believe that it would be best if you were to come to Somerset Hall and reside there until your majority.”
The boy’s face lost all trace of color with the exception of the maroon tinge that darkened his thin lips. His arm fell away from that of his mother’s, and his steps halted so abruptly that he was left behind before Jonathon or Aunt Harriett could think to wait. For several seconds, Jonathon truly thought Geoffry was going to expire.
Now, as they stood strides in front of him, turned around and staring back at the boy, Jonathon noted the concern etched on his aunt’s face like the immovable smile on the face of the Mona Lisa, and realized at once that her countenance portrayed the same knot that had tightened in his own chest.
“Geoffry?” Jonathon prodded. He took a step towards the boy and Geoffry countered with a backwards step of his own. Jonathon stopped, held out a hand to him. “Geoffry, are you quite the thing?”
Geoffry’s dead eyes were glazed over, his gaze transfixed on his statue of a mother. That woman suddenly moved like lightning to come to stand beside her son. Jonathon was not only taken aback by her quickness, but also by her agility—and her concern. He knew instantly this was not a game he should have played.
“Speak to me this instant,” she instructed Geoffry harshly.
His voice cracked. “Is it the truth that you wish for me to live with my cousins?” His forlorn gaze penetrated his mother’s face. “I know I have always been a disappointment to you, Mama, but I did not expect to be expelled.”
Jonathon’s insides crumbled. He had been so enthralled by his spark of genius that he had failed miserably to see the larger picture. He had been of mind only of the proposed thoughts and actions of Aunt Harriet. Not once had he thought about the effects his plans would have on his cousin—in truth, his own half-brother.
Guilt and remorse packed his stomach with lead. He, above all, should have been able to see what his plan would do to Geoffry. After all, he himself had been ousted from his family home, rejected by his papa. It was most damaging to one’s stamina. He’d certainly struggled with similar woes, and he had never been as delicate as Geoffry.
In all his mind, he would have never thought himself capable of inflicting such circumstance on someone else.
Lady Wescotte’s reply filtered into Jonathon’s mind.
“To be true, I thought Jonathon was much too inexperienced to do justice by you,” she said, and then she did something Jonathon had never been witness to before. She lifted her gloved arms and engaged Geoffry in the most motherly of embraces. “I would not change you for all the world, my dear.”
Jonathon had never hoped to see such a display of affection from his codfish of an aunt, and emotion rose, unbidden, into his heart. He approached them, and Harriett drew herself from Geoffry. When Jonathon looked once again on his nephew, the boy’s eyes were missishly soupy.
Jonathon ignored it. He came to stand directly in front of the lad, all the while, well aware of the vicious stare being projected from the general vicinity of his aunt. “I apologize profusely, Geoffry.” he bowed politely. “I must admit, I devised bird-witted plan. I did not think past the lesson I wished Au—someone—to learn.”
“I don’t understand at all,” Geoffry said.
“Nor could you be expected to,” Jonathon replied. “Remember this: when you love someone, do not risk losing them for anything in this world.” He glanced at his aunt, who, for all her sympathy earlier, was now returned to the dour-puss she seemingly enjoyed most of all.
“You speak nonsense to confuse the boy,” she spat. “Do you think we could call this absurdity over and return to the luxuries of home?”
He eyed her knowingly. “That’s entirely up to you,” he said evenly.
She sighed. “Your father, my brother—rest his soul—is gone. I daresay, whatever lived with him, died with him.”
“I daresay that is an excellent observation, Aunt Harriet.” Jonathon swiveled his head back to Geoffry. “What’s say I treat some of my most beloved relatives to ices at Gunter’s?”
“Well it—” Lady Wescotte began to object before she caught the warning glance from Jonathon. Her attention moved to Geoffry who looked completely overdone.
“I am all agog for Gunter’s,” she amended.
Chapter Seventeen
“You look exquisite, my lady,” Rebekka told Lark as they stood, side by side in front of the full length looking glass.
Lark had to agree despite her initial objection to the revealing décolletage of the new evening gown. The additional flesh exposed by the low neckline caused her to look a great deal more sophisticated than the modest shifts she was used to. The bouffant sleeves puffed out gracefully at her shoulders and caused her waist to appear even smaller than the normal entrappings of stays. And the color the mantuamaker incorporated into the embroidery of the white ivory gown enhanced her pale complexion more than she had believed possible. In truth, she had never given the color of her skin much mind until now. The pastel green and lavender carried through onto the silk cartage cymar highlighted every contour of her body in a way she never dreamed.
She twisted this way, then that, to view the rear of her dress—a flowing train adorned by the silk scarf. She glanced again in the mirror to the reflection of Rebekka. “I do appear to look quite a lady, do I not?”
“Aye,” Rebekka, agreed with relish.
“Do you suppose Lord Somerset will be pleased?” She wanted so to please him above all else. She had seen little of him this fortnight past, and now she was off to a betrothal ball—not a betrothal ball, her betrothal ball—to be held at one of the most prestigious establishments in all of England. Her insides refused to settle. Her mind whirred with the lessons she had endured these last six months—how to dance, how to use one’s fan, how to engage in conversation—something she was over-positive she would not have to engage in once the ton discovered her inability for speech.
Mindfully she went through the steps of the quadrille and the waltz, pictured fashions and recalled their names, brought forth the recollections of all the prominent names in society.
Her delicate confidence crumbled. There was entirely too much information for one person to remember.
“Are you all the thing, Miss Lark?”
“I am but a bowl of rotten fruit!” Lark wailed with flamboyant fingers.
Rebekka chuckled.
“You think it is funny?”
“Not at all, my lady,” Rebekka bubbled between chortles.
“Well, I assure you it is not funny in the least. I’m about to meet society in the most intimate way and do a bang up job of humiliating myself. Not to mention Lord Somerset,” she signed with vigorous gestures.
Rebekka regained control of her laughter and lovingly patted Lark on the back. “Do you not think you could speak? If you could bring yourself to this I know your confidence would grow.”
Lark sighed. “Haven’t we had this conversation before? Do you think that if I had the power to be normal for my lord I would do it not?”
Rebekka appeared rightly chastised. “No,” she answered softly. “I am sure that if it were in your power, you would do him up proud.” She moved to the dressing table. “’Tis almost time. We had best get your gloves on. And, do allow me to check your bonnet once more for security.”
Lark took one last look in the mirror at the babet covering her ears and the back of her head. She was more inclined to prefer flowers arranged in her hair, but she supposed this would do.
“Come on, then. Cheer up that long face. This is your come-out, Miss. Treat it as such and you shall have not a care in the world.”
Lark began her way to the dressing table and allowed Rebekka to adjust the hat. “This is an engagement to-do, not a come-out. Were it a come-out, I would have all the excitement of finding a suitable match.”
Rebekka scoffed. “You don’t call Lord Somerset a suitable match? You must’ve gone round the bend! Think yourself lucky, my gel; you don’t have to parade yourself like a prize stallion in hopes of making a match like other girls your age. You can be set in the fact that you have already secured a sought-after suitor. You will be the envy of all.”
“The envy of all, or the envy of all those who are themselves deficient?”
“We are all deficient in something,” Rebekka told her outright. “Take me, for instance. I am not a proficient reader, yet, after taking my learnings and passing them on to you, you have well surpassed my ability.”
“Forgive me, Rebekka, but you are a servant. I am not going to be judged by the same standards that you are judged. As a lady I will be expected to be perfect.”
“You most certainly have grown up this ha’year past,” Rebekka observed wistfully. “I daresay I preferred you full of innocence rather than vinegar.”
“I am not full of vinegar!” Lark signed wildly. “I am—”
“Still yourself, before you get a head full of pins!”
Lark quieted and allowed Rebekka to finish securing the bonnet to her head. “I am merely realistic,” Lark finished when Rebekka had completed her task.
Rebekka picked up one glove from the dressing table and motioned for Lark to hold out her arm. “I will not lie to you, as I never have. This night will be frightful. It is the most important night of your life, thus far. But you will be better served by remaining calm and confident rather than allowing your fears and the vultures of the ton to best you.” She finished applying the glove to Lark’s hand and began with the next one.
“Remember, I am all for you and will be at your side, as will Lord Somerset, and I daresay, Master Cyril. That outlandish gentleman has the best in mind for you just as well as Lord Somerset. You are blessed to be so well taken care of. Relax and be thankful, not rancid.”
Lark sighed. She could do n
othing else since her hands were being attended. Perhaps Rebekka was right. Perhaps she would be better served by meeting the ton with an air of confidence rather than shriveling into a corner and disappearing behind a pot plant.
She had spent the better part of the last six months wondering if she could make Jonathon love her, if she could get through their betrothal and subsequent marriage without disgracing everything he was. Now, tonight, all her fears were piled like a barrel full of snow in winter. And how would it end? She was unsure.
Smiling at Rebekka’s reflection, Lark took a cleansing breath and pulled herself out of the chair. “Do you suppose Lord Somerset awaits? I haven’t seen him since this morning, and then it was but in passing.”
“I’m sure he awaits you anxiously, my lady. And so does the rest of the ton.” Rebekka smiled and picked off a remnant of lint from the bodice of Lark’s gown. “We’re ready, I do believe.”
Lark would enter society with confidence, she decided. She only hoped it didn’t flee once she was announced.
~*∞*~
Dread filled Jonathon. He couldn’t remember being so utterly out of sorts since the first time he had confronted a member of Society after his father removed him from the house. He paced laboriously the length of his chamber.
He pulled out his pocket watch and took note of the time. Lark should be ready to take her leave. He wondered if she were as nervous as he. She must be—more so, perhaps. He had wanted to speak to her these days past but had neither the time, nor the courage, to do so. He was still perturbed at himself over the mess he had made with his scheme to teach Aunt Harriet a lesson. And that did not mingle well with his growing agitation at the lack of facts Hollingsworth had been able to uncover regarding Lark’s past.
Jonathon let out a growl. He was a damned fool and needed to rethink all his motivations of late. He had completely overset young Geoffry without even considering the possibility, and neither could he find any cause in Lark’s past for her to be in danger. For all his attempts, he was no good to anybody.
The Resurrection of Lady Somerset Page 13
