Earl to the Rescue

by Jane Ashford

  “No, no.” Gwendeline held up her hands in mock horror. “Isn’t it enough that you urged him to write a poem about me? Have you no mercy? Besides, he’s interested only in you. He was quite offended at the idea of writing about anyone else.”

  Lillian laughed. “Well, he’s silly but harmless. Perhaps he’ll get over this craze for sonnets.” They started back to the ballroom; the musicians were beginning to strike up again after the supper interval. “I can’t say the same for Mr. Blane, however,” Lillian continued. “He’s a strange man. Fascinating in a way, but harmless? I wonder.”

  “I don’t like him at all,” Gwendeline said firmly. “And I shan’t dance with him, later.”

  Lillian glanced at her. “Indeed?” she said. “I’ll be on the lookout. I should like to see someone refusing Mr. Blane. I imagine it’s difficult; he’s not an easy man to get round, I would say. I wonder if your mother found him so?”

  “My mother? What do you mean?”

  “Why only the obvious…” Lillian paused and looked at Gwendeline sideways. “Nothing, a meaningless remark. Here we are.”

  When they reentered the ballroom, the dancing had begun again, and Lillian was carried off by an eager partner to join the set. Gwendeline, not previously engaged for it, moved toward the side of the room where she saw Lady Merryn talking to a group of guests. Too late, she realized that it was a circle of her literary friends.

  “His eyes burn, positively burn, when he discusses the rights of man or any of his own philosophical ideas,” Mr. Woodley was saying. “It’s almost frightening to see a man so possessed by thought.” He looked around the group complacently. “A most wonderful thinker.”

  Lady Merryn noticed Gwendeline and leaned over to whisper, “He is telling us about Mr. William Godwin.” Her eyes shone with excitement. “He has been to visit again, Gwendeline. He has talked with him at length. Think of it, the author of Enquiry Concerning Political Justice and Caleb Williams!”

  “His wife, too,” Mr. Woodley was continuing, “has a very creditable grasp of philosophy. She is composing a treatise on the rights and duties of women. A lovely creature.”

  “Indeed,” said a sharp-eyed lady on the other side of Gwendeline. “She is an agitator for women’s rights?”

  “Oh, I think not, I think not,” answered Woodley, smoothing his cravat. “A very gentle woman.”

  “Hmph,” replied his questioner and flounced off.

  “I should so like to meet her,” exclaimed Lady Merryn. “Mr. Woodley, won’t you take me there when you go next?”

  “We shall see, my dear Lady Merryn. It’s difficult to introduce a stranger on such short acquaintance, you see.”

  Gwendeline wandered away as Lady Merryn renewed her request with more vigor. She couldn’t remember whether Mr. Godwin was the famous writer of Gothic novels, the newest poet, or another writer like Rousseau, though she did recall that he was very important in Lady Merryn’s opinion.

  Another set was forming, and Gwendeline was asked to join it. Several dances went by before she found herself standing in a group, chatting once more. She was rather tired and just thinking of finding Lady Merryn to mention the lateness of the hour when Mr. Blane came toward her. She watched his approach with a sinking heart.

  “Miss Gregory,” he said with a small bow. “May I have that dance now?”

  “I’m sorry,” replied Gwendeline quickly, “I’m very tired. I think I won’t dance anymore.”

  “Splendid,” answered Mr. Blane. “Let us go and sit down.” He took her arm and guided her toward a vacant sofa against the wall.

  Gwendeline pulled back. “Oh no, I was, I was just looking for Lady Merryn. I must go; it’s so late.”

  “But you must allow me a few moments of conversation, Miss Gregory,” protested Mr. Blane, retaining his grip on her arm. “We’ve had so little chance to get acquainted since you came to London. I feel ashamed to have neglected the daughter of old friends in this shabby way.” He seated himself and pulled Gwendeline down beside him. “Ah, that’s better. Now we can talk comfortably.” He turned toward Gwendeline and surveyed her with hooded eyes. “Tell me your impressions of London, Miss Gregory, now that you are an established resident.”

  “I…I like it very much,” faltered Gwendeline. “Everyone has been very kind.”

  “Particularly Lord Merryn, I should say.”

  “Yes. And his mother also.”

  “Ah yes, his mother. Are you happy staying with the countess? How long do you remain?”

  “I’m not sure.” Gwendeline felt no inclination to tell him about her own house.

  “So like and yet so unlike,” Mr. Blane mused. “It scarcely seems possible.”

  “B-beg pardon,” said Gwendeline.

  “Forgive me. But I cannot see you without thinking of your mother. Is it true that you never knew Annabella at all?”

  “I rarely saw either of my parents. They were always busy elsewhere.”

  “Sad. Very sad. Your mother was one of the most spirited, delightful women I’ve ever met. You might have learned much from her.”

  “Perhaps, sir,” Gwendeline said stiffly. “Many people seem to think it is better I didn’t. And I must say I’m inclined to agree. My parents certainly didn’t care about my happiness or my future. If it hadn’t been for Lord Merryn and my father’s other friends, I’d be destitute.” She raised her chin.

  “Ah yes, these unknown friends,” Mr. Blane replied. “Do you know, I have made a few inquiries among your father’s friends and acquaintances. None of them knows anything about a provision for you, though many would be delighted to make one, I’m sure. Strange, isn’t it?”

  Gwendeline felt cold. “Lord Merryn knows who they are. He has promised to take me to thank them all.”

  “Has he?” Mr. Blane sounded interested. “How charming for these mysterious benefactors. If only I’d known in time, I too might have had the pleasure of being thanked by you.” His smile made Gwendeline even more uncomfortable. “Another odd thing. You know, it never seemed to me that Lord Merryn liked your father above half. Your mother now, that was another thing. But your father? They never appeared to get on at all.”

  “I’m sure…” Gwendeline stopped, not wishing to explain anything to this man or add to his alarmingly broad knowledge of her circumstances.

  “It’s very strange,” Mr. Blane said reflectively. “Now what could Lord Merryn…”

  “What of Lord Merryn?” said a lazy voice at Gwendeline’s side. “I’m flattered to be the subject of your conversation.” Gwendeline looked up to find the earl standing beside the sofa; she felt a great relief. “This is our dance, I believe, Miss Gregory,” he said. “You haven’t forgotten, surely?”

  “Yes, I…I did,” said Gwendeline, rising. “I mean no, of course not.”

  “Miss Gregory is tired,” put in Mr. Blane. “She doesn’t wish to dance again this evening.”

  “Indeed?” The earl raised his eyebrows. “But it’s the last dance and a waltz. You promised it to me.” He looked at Gwendeline.

  “I feel much better after sitting down for a while,” Gwendeline replied. “And I must keep my promise.” She took Lord Merryn’s proffered arm.

  Mr. Blane stood. “I bow to necessity, but I am desolated. We must continue our delightful conversation some other time, Miss Gregory.”

  Lord Merryn looked at Gwendeline as they walked onto the floor.

  “You’ve rescued me once again,” she said a little breathlessly. “Thank you.”

  “You didn’t enjoy your talk with Blane? Many women find him charming.”

  “Well, I don’t. I find him extremely unpleasant. In fact, I would be happy never to see him again.”

  “Such heat.” The earl smiled. “What has Mr. Blane done to earn your scorn?”

  “I don’t like the way he speaks to me or lo
oks at me. And he talks continually of my mother.” She looked up at the earl. “Was he in love with her, Lord Merryn?”

  For the first time in their acquaintance, the earl looked genuinely and completely startled. “What makes you ask me that?”

  “He talks of her in such an odd tone. I really can’t describe it. But it makes me believe that he felt something for her.”

  The earl was looking at her with a new expression that Gwendeline couldn’t identify. “I really cannot tell you what Mr. Blane feels,” he answered. “We are not well acquainted.”

  “That reminds me of something else he said,” Gwendeline interjected. “He has asked my father’s friends about the money provided for me, and none of them knows anything about it. You’ve never kept your promise to take me to thank them, Lord Merryn.”

  The earl smiled down at her as they whirled across the floor in the waltz. “Your tone is absolutely accusing. What is it you suspect me of? Stealing the money? I assure you I did not.”

  “No, of course not. But I can’t seem to learn anything about the people who helped me, and Mr. Blane said that you and my father didn’t, that is, were not good friends at all. I’m confused.”

  “Mr. Blane seems to have said a great deal. Whom do you prefer to believe, Gwendeline? Mortimer Blane or me?”

  “You, of course,” she answered. “But I should like to find out…”

  “Then you will accept my word. There is nothing wrong or mysterious about your situation.” He went on before Gwendeline could protest this highly unsatisfactory conclusion to the subject. “I hope you approve of the bouquet?”

  “Oh, I forgot to thank you. It’s lovely. And the holder matches the bracelet Lady Merryn gave me. It was so kind of you to send them. You shouldn’t have taken the trouble.”

  Ignoring her last remark, the earl replied, “My mother tells me you also received flowers from a young admirer.”

  “Mr. Horton,” nodded Gwendeline wryly. “I fear he’s begun to think he admires me. It will pass perhaps. He was in love with Lillian Everly only last week.”

  Merryn laughed. “You’re becoming jaded with the pleasures of the city, I see. A suitor leaves you yawning.”

  “Not at all,” Gwendeline protested. “It is just that Mr. Horton is so, so…”

  “I had the pleasure of talking with the young man,” he agreed sardonically. “Mother inflicted him upon me. He is indeed.”

  “Oh, that is too bad of you,” laughed Gwendeline. “He is very nice.”

  “An exemplary character,” the earl said blandly. “You are to be congratulated. I’m sure he would make a model husband.”

  The thought of marrying Mr. Horton was so ridiculous that Gwendeline burst into laughter as the dance was ending. In her amusement, she forgot to question the earl further about Mr. Blane’s puzzling remarks, and it wasn’t until she was home and getting ready for bed that she remembered them. What had he meant by his insinuations about the earl and her parents? And what was Mr. Blane’s own involvement with them? Gwendeline could think of no one she could ask these questions, save the earl himself. And he refused to tell her.

  Six

  Gwendeline woke early the next morning despite her late night, and she immediately resolved to go to her house for a visit with Miss Brown. She might well know something helpful about the tangle Gwendeline felt she was facing. Gwendeline jumped out of bed, rang for Ellen, and in less than an hour the two of them were walking along the streets of Mayfair. Few people were abroad at this early hour, but the sun shone brightly on freshly washed pavements and entryways, and the breeze was warm.

  Miss Brown was already busy with the day’s tasks when they arrived, as Gwendeline had known she would be. They greeted one another affectionately and ordered tea brought to the small drawing room. Gwendeline exclaimed over its appearance as she sat down. It was much more airy and welcoming than the last time she’d seen it.

  “Well, we moved out some of that heavy furniture,” said Miss Brown, “the pieces you said you didn’t like. And we found these curtains in the attic, along with some of the smaller pieces. I can’t understand why you’re so surprised, Gwendeline. It was all done under your direction.”

  “Yes, but I didn’t know just how it would look. It’s amazingly improved, don’t you think?”

  Miss Brown looked around. “Yes, I do. The whole house is wonderfully changed, as you would know if you spent any time here.” She shrugged. “Will you move in soon?”

  Gwendeline looked down, frowning. “Perhaps. I’m confused lately, Brown. I’ve come to talk with you about it.”

  The older woman’s fine eyebrows came together. She looked steadily at her former pupil. “I’ll be happy to do anything I can, Gwendeline. What is the matter?”

  “That’s part of the problem. I hardly know. It involves my mother and father.”

  “I wondered if that would come,” said Miss Brown. “What has been said to you?”

  “Nothing specific, nothing I really understand. I had hoped that you’d tell me what you know about my parents’ lives. Things that occurred when I was a child, perhaps, things I wasn’t aware of or don’t remember.”

  Miss Brown sat back, sighing. Though she was a tall, rangy woman, her graceful carriage and the immaculate neatness of her plain dresses and dark brown hair gave her a certain distinction. But now, this air was tinged with concern. “I’ll try,” she replied. “But I know very little, Gwendeline. I spent all my time with you in the country, as you know. However, since I left you a year ago, I have heard some talk about your parents. When people learn I was employed by them, they imagine I would be interested in gossip. And one of my school friends has just become governess to Lady Forester’s children in Berkeley Square. She hears all the tattle-mongering.”

  “Oh, tell me what they say, please,” said Gwendeline.

  “I shall not repeat malicious stories,” Brown answered disapprovingly. “But I have learned something of your parents’ history. I can tell you that.” She sat straighter. “They married very young, it seems, and most unwillingly. Your father especially, I’ve heard, was opposed to marriage at that time of his life. He was a very wild young man by all accounts, and his parents wished to see him settled. His father was ill, and by emphasizing that fact and using other pressures, they persuaded him at last. Your mother was just out, the darling of the ton in her first season—she was very beautiful, as you know, Gwendeline—and she, too, wished to wait before marrying. But all four parents felt the financial advantages were too important to put it off.” She looked at Gwendeline. “As I think you know already, the lands that made up your mother’s dowry were adjacent to the Brooklands estate.”

  Gwendeline nodded. This, at least, she’d been told.

  “So they were married,” Miss Brown continued. “It was the event of the season, I understand, a very elegant wedding. They went abroad, to Paris and Rome, on an extended trip, then came home to settle in London. You were born that first year.” She paused, looking uncomfortable. “But the marriage was evidently, ah, not an entirely happy one, Gwendeline. Perhaps because they were forced into it. For whatever reason, the regard that married couples should have for one another did not develop between your mother and father. He returned to the activities and acquaintances of the past, and she gathered a circle of rather unsuitable friends about her. Like many couples today, their lives were almost separate.”

  “But they always came down to Brooklands together,” said Gwendeline. “They can’t have been always apart.”

  Miss Brown shook her head. “Of course not, Gwendeline, there were appearances to be maintained. And in the later years, those you remember best, your parents’ two groups of friends were becoming one group. Your mother began to, ah, join in some of your father’s pastimes.”

  “Perhaps they were becoming closer to one another after so many years,” said Gwendeline hopefully.
>
  Miss Brown seemed reluctant to continue. “I wish I could say that was so, Gwendeline,” she went on finally. “But I believe the bond involved no more than your mother’s developing interest in gambling. She started to accompany your father to the gaming table. And to go on her own account as well.”

  “Oh,” answered Gwendeline. Her face fell. “I see.”

  “I tell you these things only because you ask me,” Miss Brown said. “And because I think you should know them if you are to go about in London society. I would not hurt you for the world, Gwendeline.”

  “I’m sure of that. And you’re right. It’s important that I know something of my parents if I’m to get along in society. Do go on.”

  “There’s little more to say. Things only got worse in the last years of your parents’ lives, I understand. I saw your mother once soon after I left you. She looked unhappy.”

  Gwendeline felt like crying. The story would have been sad in any circumstance, but to hear of so much unhappiness involving her own parents was doubly melancholy. She was silent for a few moments. “Did you ever meet a Mr. Blane or hear anyone speak of him?” she asked finally.

  Miss Brown thought for a moment. “There was once some talk of a Mr. Blane among the servants, I believe.” She looked doubtful.

  “Yes, Brown,” said Gwendeline. “He was a friend of my father’s?”

  “Well, he was mentioned more often in connection with your mother.” Miss Brown was reluctant, but Gwendeline looked at her pleadingly. “You know how servants gossip, Gwendeline. Some said that there was a clandestine connection of some sort between your mother and Mr. Blane.”

  “Oh,” said Gwendeline.

  “I daresay it was nothing but backstairs imaginings. Doubtless entirely fabricated by a disgruntled footman.” Miss Brown’s gaze grew sharper. “Have you met the man?”