A Poor Relation

by Carola Dunn

  “Mr. Ruddle has better manners by far.”

  “But Farleigh is an earl, my love. One must forgive a titled gentleman a great deal. I am certain it must have been Captain Cartwright’s health that kept him at home. Nothing less could keep him from your side, for it was plain that he admired you prodigiously.”

  “It is not at all becoming in a gentleman to fuss so over his health. Captain Cartwright is a bore.”

  Anne flared up. “He is an excessively well-informed gentleman, and kind, too, for he answered all my questions. If you want to flirt with the earl, I wonder that you do not go to the Grange.”

  “That just shows how little you understand. I’ve no intention of making him think I am chasing him. It is for him to do the pursuing.”

  “But you are chasing him.”

  “Anne, go to your room at once. You are not to speak so to your sister. Hush, Millicent dear. You will cry yourself into a spasm. Come up to my room and I shall bathe your temples with lavender water. Anne is a shockingly unfeeling creature to distress you so.”

  Abandonned, Rowena poured herself another cup of tea and sipped it slowly. Why did Aunt Hermione always give in to Millicent? She and Anne had discussed it more than once. Anne’s theory was that her mother was like a hen set to hatch a peacock egg. Being a plain woman, Lady Grove had been overwhelmed to find herself with a beautiful daughter and had spoiled her from the start. Pampering and pleasing Millicent had become a habit, and there was the added incentive of trying to avoid the fits of temper that could render the entire household uncomfortable for days.

  It was impossible not to sympathize with Lady Grove, equally impossible not to be irritated.

  Rowena was not sure which she disliked more, the way Millicent so determinedly relegated her to the background or the constant rows between the sisters. Though Anne did not ruffle Millicent’s feathers on purpose, she had no notion of minding her tongue. In a way it was admirable that she did not allow herself to be cowed by Aunt Hermione’s constant strictures, but it did not make for a comfortable atmosphere. Of course, Anne could always escape to her books.

  That was why Rowena did not go now to join her. She was no doubt poring happily over some weighty tome.

  Rowena had tried to occupy herself with reading during her free time, but she was used to an active life and soon grew restless. She wanted some useful occupation, other than trailing round after her cousin. At least she was free for an hour or two this morning, till Millicent recovered from her fit of pique. She decided to go for a walk.

  A brisk breeze herded clouds across the sky, their shadows sweeping across the hills. It was a perfect day for a wild gallop, and Rowena wondered wistfully if Vixen had found a good home. In the end the mare had been put up to auction along with Chillenden and its contents. She must not think about Chillenden. She turned her thoughts to Lord Farleigh as she rambled across the park and up onto the sheep-cropped slopes beyond.

  Aunt Hermione was right, the earl admired Millie prodigiously. He had scarce been able to tear his eyes from her all evening. With Millie setting her cap at him, the poor man did not stand a chance, which was a pity, for Rowena could not help liking him. There was something about those expressive grey eyes that captivated her.

  She wished she dared discuss the neglect of his orchards with him. The memory of Geoffrey Farnhouse’s disbelief in her capability deterred her. Even Geoffrey’s father, who had helped and advised her, would have been shocked if she had ventured to suggest any improvement in his own management. For some obscure masculine reason, it was beneath a man’s dignity to consult a woman on such a subject, however knowledgeable she might be. Lord Farleigh’s grey eyes would turn to ice if she was so bold as to tell him to prune his trees!

  Instead of alternately pitying and ignoring her, he would take her in aversion, a horrid prospect.

  Walking in a wide circle, Rowena returned to Grove Park near the entrance gate. As she started up the drive towards the house, the sound of hooves and wheels on gravel alerted her and she stepped aside as Mr. Ruddle’s phaeton rolled past. It moved slowly for his blacks, chosen for showy action rather than strength, disliked the hill up to the Park.

  She might as well not have existed for all the notice Mr. Ruddle took of her. In her grey dress and unaccompanied by Millicent she might have been any servant girl, and servants were invisible. All the same, she was glad to see him, for his arrival could only improve Millicent’s mood.

  It was odd how fond her cousin was of the pompous, vain little man. Rowena did not think his money was the attraction, though no doubt it helped. At least Millicent could be sure that it was not her own fortune that drew him to her side. Besides, they had in common an interest amounting to obsession in fashion and appearance. Yet if Millicent was tempted to accept the fop’s frequent proposals, her mother’s constant reminders that he had no title seemed to be enough to quench her undoubted affection.

  Rowena looked back at the sound of another carriage. This time it was Lord Farleigh’s curricle, driven at a brisk trot by his lordship with the captain next to him. The earl pulled up beside her.

  “Well met, Miss Caxton. May I offer you a ride?”

  “Thank you, my lord, it is only a step to the house and there is no room in your carriage.”

  “You must allow Chris to make amends for his rudeness when we met you in the lane the other day.” The captain moved over on the seat. “See, there is space enough for one slim young lady between us.”

  Suddenly Rowena was tired of being subdued and discreet and compliant. She smiled up at the gentlemen and nodded. Passing the reins to his friend, Lord Farleigh jumped down. She accepted the hand he offered to help her into the curricle and settled herself beside the captain.

  The earl rejoined them and took back the reins. It was a tight fit. Rowena was conscious of his muscular thigh pressed against hers, of every movement of his strong arms as he gave the office to his team and set them trotting up the drive. Captain Cartwright’s words came as a welcome distraction.

  “I understand I have to thank you for your care of me at the Four Feathers, Miss Caxton. Chris tells me I’d have bled to death failing your intervention.”

  “His lordship exaggerates, sir. I was happy to give what little assistance I could, and I am happier still to see you so much recovered.”

  “Do you not think Bernard’s convalescence will proceed more rapidly in the country, ma’am? Your Dr. Benson rightly insisted that he see a London surgeon, but I cannot think town life healthy for an invalid.”

  “Cut line, Chris, I’m no invalid! You make me sound like a gouty old gentleman taking the waters at Bath. A fine idea Miss Caxton will have of me.”

  Rowena giggled. “I think you already look better than when you arrived here. You need not go to Bath. But though I have never lived in London, I believe his lordship is right that the fresh air and peace of the country will suit you better.”

  “As for peace, he is like to get little enough.” Lord Farleigh drew up behind Mr. Ruddle’s phaeton. “We received a round dozen invitations this morning. I hope we may count on seeing you at the dinners and picnics and assemblies our kind neighbours have included us in?”

  “I left this morning before the post arrived, so I cannot tell. I expect Millicent will attend most of them.” Though Rowena knew that was what he wanted to hear, she was a little hurt at his obvious pleasure. She was not at all sure whether any invitations would have been extended to her.

  “Lord, who’s that popinjay?” Once again the captain’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

  Mr. Ruddle, resplendent in his orange outfit, was descending from his carriage with the aid of his black-clad groom. He looked back to see who had driven up behind him, swivelling his whole upper body to avoid being impaled by his shirt points.

  “That’s Mr. Adolphus Ruddle. He is Millicent’s most favoured beau,” said Rowena tartly.

  A challenging light flashed in his lordship’s eyes as he introduced himself and
the captain. Rowena sighed. Not only was the snide remark unworthy of her, it had added the spice of rivalry to the earl’s pursuit of her cousin.

  When she went down after changing, she found Millicent holding court. Besides his lordship, the captain and Mr. Ruddle, a couple of sprigs of the local squirearchy hovered about her. She was in her element.

  Aunt Hermione beamed. Millicent was receiving her due, and she herself was enjoying a certain triumph. A number of callers were there to see with their own eyes that Lord Farleigh was paying his second visit to Grove Park before honouring any other neighbours with his presence. Mrs. Berry-Browning had congratulated her and Lady Amelia Thorncrest was positively green with envy.

  Anne had her own court, consisting of three young ladies and young Mr. Berry-Browning, a discerning youth who had known Millie since she was in leading strings. Rowena had met them all, but there were no free chairs nearby. She retired to a window seat, to gaze out into the garden and try to pretend she did not feel forlorn.

  A few minutes later, Captain Cartwright joined her.

  “Are you tired after your walk, Miss Caxton?” he enquired. “I took a turn about the shrubbery this morning and felt none the worse for it. I believe I shall soon buy a horse. Do you ride?”

  “I love to ride. Before I came here I had the prettiest sorrel mare...”

  “Rowena!” Millicent’s voice was sharp. “Pray fetch the Chinese puzzle from my dressing table.” She turned back to the earl. “It is an amusing trifle, my lord, though I expect you will soon see the trick of it.”

  Rowena was seething with rebellion, but Miss Pinkerton’s training was too strong to allow her to create an ill-bred scene before guests in her aunt’s parlour. Avoiding the captain’s eyes, she trailed out. It took her several minutes to find the wretched trinket, a wooden octahedron made of several odd-shaped pieces ingeniously fitted together. She trudged downstairs again.

  “Oh, we do not want it now,” said her cousin brightly as she approached the group. “You have taken so long we have got onto quite another subject.”

  “On the contrary.” Lord Farleigh rose gallantly to the occasion and his feet. “I should like to see it, Miss Caxton. Let us take it over here where there is more light.”

  A moment later Rowena was once again ensconced on the window seat, this time with the earl at her side. Millicent threw her a fulminating glance and turned to flirt with Mr. Ruddle.

  “I have seen a similar puzzle, though that was a cube,” his lordship was saying. “I expect the principle is the same. Let me see if I can remember. Ah, here we are.” He pressed and pulled and the toy collapsed into its components on the seat between them.

  Rowena smiled at his triumph. “That is the easy part, sir. Can you put it together?”

  He picked up two of the pieces and turned them over in his lean, tanned fingers. “To tell the truth, I have not the first notion how to set about it,” he confessed with a laugh. “I hope Miss Grove will not be too displeased with me.”

  “Not for that, at least,” she said cryptically. He watched in admiration as she quickly reassembled the octahedron.

  “Like the puzzle, there is more to you than meets the eye. Show me how to do it, if you please. I will not confess myself beaten by a few scraps of wood.”

  She had scarce begun to take it apart again when Millicent called a question to the earl. With a word of apology he left her.

  She watched him. He was a splendid sight in his dark brown coat and close-fitting buckskins, broad shouldered, well-muscled, his dark hair slightly ruffled. What had he meant by his remark, that there was more to her than met the eye? At best, it indicated his lack of regard for her appearance, so it might be construed as an insult. She knew he had not intended it that way. He was a straightforward man, uncomprehending of deviousness.

  She was prepared to wager that he had not recognized the spite in Millicent’s behaviour. He had acted out of politeness, and perhaps compassion for Rowena’s unhappy situation, not in disgust at her cousin’s unkindness.

  The Chinese puzzle fell to pieces in her agitated fingers. In a mute gesture of defiance she left the parts scattered on the window seat.

  The latest issue of the Ladies’ Magazine lay on a nearby table. She picked it up and was riffling through it disconsolately when a page of advertisements caught her eye. Among the pleas for governesses able to teach French, embroidery and deportment were several requesting applications from respectable, active young women to companion elderly dowagers. Clutching the magazine, Rowena slipped unnoticed from the room and went up to her chamber to write some letters.

  Being a paid companion could not possibly be worse than living at her cousin’s beck and call. At least she would have a little money in her pocket, and surely a half day off now and then.

  Millicent had deliberately humiliated her before a dozen people. It was not the first time, but today Lord Farleigh had been there. Somehow that made it much worse.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “People will stare if Rowena accepts any invitations.” Millicent helped herself lavishly from a dish of asparagus. “She is in mourning still, and for her father, not some distant relative.”

  “I must not dance, of course,” Rowena said, “but I cannot think it would be disrespectful to go into company. I shall not be in mourning much longer.”

  For once Aunt Hermione backed her. “A number of people have specifically named Rowena on their invitations, though they must know she is in mourning. It would be shocking to offend our neighbours by refusing.”

  “I daresay the others meant to include her in the family,” Anne put in.

  This drew Millicent’s ire. “Anne has not made her come out in London yet. It is not at all proper for her to go to parties before she has her Season.”

  “You did,” protested her sister. “Besides, I am not at all sure that I want a Season, yet I do not mean to be a hermit all my life.”

  “I am not surprised that you do not want a Season. Antidotes have a miserable time of it in London, watching everyone else dancing.”

  This was too much even for Aunt Hermione’s prejudiced mind. “Millicent, that was unkind.” In her agitation, she reached for the parsley potatoes. “It will not hurt for Anne to attend a few informal gatherings. Indeed it will be better for her to be comfortable among friends before she is presented to Society, since she cannot expect your instant success.”

  “Enough!” Sir Henry, who had been steadily eating his way through an extraordinary quantity of dinner for so thin a man, for once took a hand in his family’s affairs. “Rowena and Anne shall both attend those events to which they are invited and I don’t want to hear another word on the matter. Pass the pigeon pie, Rowena my dear.”

  With a grateful look, she complied. Six letters of application had gone out in the morning post, but at least she was to have a chance to enjoy herself before taking up her duties as a paid companion.

  “Thank you, Papa,” cried Anne.

  Aunt Hermione patted Millicent’s hand, which was curled into an impotent fist. “You cannot want people to think you selfish, love. I know you are justly concerned for the proprieties, but it would present an odd appearance to keep your sister and your cousin mewed up.”

  “Millie’s jealous because Lord Farleigh deserted her for Rowena for quite five minutes this morning, and Captain Cartwright was talking to me for half an hour. Mama, Rowena needs some new dresses. She does not have many and they are growing shockingly shabby.”

  “Oh, dear, we shall have to find time to drive into Cheltenham, for there is not a decent seamstress to be found in Evesham and no choice of fabrics.”

  “It is pointless to buy new gowns while she is still in mourning, Mama, unless she means to wear grey forever.” Millicent paused to consider. “Or perhaps that would be best, after all.”

  “Oh, no, so depressing. But you are right as always, love—we had best wait until your cousin is out of mourning. As you said, Rowena, it will not be long.”
>
  Rowena’s spirits sank at the thought of her drab wardrobe. As usual she would fade into the woodwork and Lord... everyone would ignore her.

  Sighing, she finished her plum tart and followed her well-intentioned aunt out of the dining room. Another endless evening of sorting embroidery silks and turning music pages loomed ahead.

  * * * *

  Another endless morning of account books loomed ahead. Chris sighed and hoped for visitors. Quite apart from the inherent tedium of his task, he did not like the look of what he was learning.

  “Why did you halve the rents on the farms?” he asked Deakins. “Let me see, that was just a year ago.”

  “Aye, my lord, right after the old earl went to his reward. Mr. Verity approved the cuts. I wouldn’t take it upon myself to do something like that without approval.”

  “Of course, but why?” Chris tried to be patient but the bailiff’s talent for roundaboutation defeated him at every turn.

  “You’ll need to look back through the past twenty years, my lord.” He shook his grey head. “Never a thought of the consequences.”

  “I have looked. Rents rose steadily.”

  “Aye, my lord, and that was the problem. Oh, I’m not saying some increase wasn’t natural. Prices are up all over, after all. Something to do with the war, they say, but that’s all over now, with Boney safe tucked away on Elba, thanks to you and the captain and the other brave lads, my lord.”

  “What,” said Chris through clenched teeth, “was the problem?”

  “Why, I’ve just been telling you.” The man was surprised! “Rents went up so steeply the tenants hadn’t a penny to spare for improvements. You can’t just let farmland sit there, you know, my lord.”

  “No, I didn’t know. What needs to be done?”

  “Now that’s a long list, if you like. Put a shilling in, get a pound out, I say, and it may be a bit of an exaggeration but there’s truth in it yet. The late earl, God rest his soul, wrung every groat out of the land for his building and never ploughed a farthing back. You can do that for a while, my lord, but it tells in the end, make no doubt.”