A mild rebuke, but from her it was devastating. Valerie felt like crying, especially when even the earl, to please her, could not bring himself to eat the fish with the sauce. In a strained silence, the guests laid down their forks, the course was hastily removed, and the beef brought in.
After the dinner, Valerie fled to the library, instead of joining the company for coffee. She buried herself in a book of Shakespeare. She would not be with them, she hated them all! She had not wanted to become a housekeeper for Malcolm Villiers, she had not asked to be made a lady he would be proud of. She sniffed, fought back tears; she felt very weepy recently. She wiped her face, thrust the handkerchief away, and strove to find pleasure again in A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
“I say, do you mind if I come in?” It was Reggie Darlington, at the opened door, peering in hopefully.
“If you wish,” she said curtly, sniffing back another tear. She wiped her face furtively again, but he saw the gesture and, entering, shut the door and came over to the sofa.
“I say, that was too bad this evening, in front of everyone. I should have eaten it right down, and said never a word,” he said gallantly.
“You’re very kind. But they are all perfect here,” she said bitterly, extravagantly. “I’ll never fit in, never!”
He patted her hand. “You’re a grand girl, Valerie, they just don’t appreciate you. If I’d only known,” he sighed.
“Reggie, do you return to London next week?” she asked.
He nodded. “Back to Aunt Darlington,” he said. “She’s a dear, but gets a bit cross — her legs, you know. Crippled up. A regular bluestocking, gruff as can be, but good as gold. Aunt Seraphine is in her seventies, but you’d think twenty years younger, she is so bright and keen.”
“I wonder — if you would do me a favour.”
“Anything! Are you coming up for the season? Deidre wants another bang-up season before she settles down to marriage and hum-drum,” said Reggie eagerly. “I’ll show you about if Malcolm isn’t here —”
“No,” she said slowly. “I shan’t go up for the season. I have no wish to be presented at court and dance around. I am not Deidre! And I do want something else —”
Reggie was looking at her in amazement. “Don’t want to be presented? But you’ll get a whole new wardrobe, gowns, jewels, the lot. What do you want, Valerie?”
“To earn my own living,” she said and could have laughed at the frank shock of his earnest face. “I wonder, Reggie, if you would be so good as to scan the gazettes for me and clip out any offers of positions as a governess? I never see the London gazettes here, and I want to remove myself — oh, far away!” and her slim arms in the violet gown swung wide.
“Good gracious,” he said, simply. “Governess? What will Malcolm say?”
“He won’t be here,” she said. “I want this to be a secret, where I am going. He doesn’t really want me here — besides, I shall never make a lady! So would you, or your aunt —”
“Of course. And I’ll ask Aunt to listen about for someone nice,” said Reggie, recovering from his amazement. “She knows the whole world, does Aunt Darlington. I’ll write to you, shall I? Send you clips, and advice from Aunt. She’s a shrewd thing.”
“I would appreciate it very much,” she said, smiling at him. He was so naive, so good-hearted, such a friend.
Malcolm snapped behind them, “So there you are! Is it too much to ask you to join us? Mater wants you!” He was glaring at them both. Valerie wondered how much he had heard.
“Of course,” said Valerie, coolly. She had recovered her self-possession and her determination to quit this place. No matter what happened, she would leave. He did not want a wife, and she would never endure to stay where she was not wanted.
Reggie left the following week. Malcolm was restless, talking of rejoining his regiment. The fighting had grown bitter. There was a ship he could get at the end of March, taking reinforcements down to the Peninsula. The earl was distressed, the countess tearful, but Malcolm was all eagerness to be with his beloved troops. So much for her ability to keep him here at her side, thought Valerie, with growing anger.
Malcolm had found her with a book in her lap, note paper at hand, writing down some Shakespeare quotations she had found for the garden. “Writing and reading, reading and writing,” he jeered, furiously. “I thought you were trying on your gowns for the season! You’ll never be ready to be presented!”
“I am not going to London, Malcolm,” she said, laying aside the book. She turned a little pale, but she was resolute.
“Not going! Nonsense, of course you are. Mater is going to present you. You shall write to me and tell me all about it. Not afraid because I shan’t be at your side, are you?” he asked, with a side glance at her.
“Not a bit of it,” she said stoutly. “I am going to apply for a position as governess. Our marriage was a bad mistake, Malcolm. After we are parted for a decent interval, you may apply for a — a divorce,” she ended in a whisper. So few people got divorces, as they were thought to be a disgrace.
Malcolm went pale under his ruddy tan. “Divorce?” he echoed blankly. “Are you mad? Our marriage is for a lifetime! You don’t think I shall give you up —”
“Yes, I think so,” she said dully, looking down at the book, remembering the bitterness of learning he had diced for her — and lost — and felt himself obliged to marry her. “I think you will adjust very well. And I — I shall devote myself to a life of books and thought, teaching and —”
“A bluestocking!” he scoffed furiously. “You will not! You are married to me, and you’ll do what I say!”
“You have never admitted that I am a person,” she said, thinking of the books she had read recently, by some bluestockings, on the positions of females in English society. “I value my mind, I value my soul, I shall develop them as I choose!”
“Along with dear Reggie to help you?” he scoffed angrily. “Do you plan to join him in London?”
“No, I am applying for a position as governess, as far away from here as possible!”
He drew a deep breath, his fists clenched behind his back. “So that is how you feel,” he said, finally, in an unnaturally soft tone. “You cannot wait to leave us! Well, just wait. The fighting is furious at this time, and you may soon be a happy widow! Then you can do as you please!” He turned and strode out of the room.
They scarcely spoke together more than a few polite words before he departed. He was furious with her and slept alone in his small bedroom. The earl looked anxiously from one to the other. Deidre smiled complacently, and nodded her understanding.
Malcolm sailed at the end of March for the Peninsula Wars, leaving the household tearful, desolate, fearful for his safety.
CHAPTER 4
After Malcolm had left, Valerie applied herself seriously to her books. She refused to be fitted for more gowns, she refused to learn any more etiquette.
The countess was dismayed, her small hands fluttered about. “But my dear child, I promised Malcolm I would do my best to fit you for society! And you are to be presented in two months!”
“No, madam, I thank you, but no,” said Valerie firmly. She turned her head from the anxious look of her mother-in-law. She would soon console herself with lovely Deidre! Deidre was a beautiful woman, a girl to be proud of, a girl to show off to society. “I plan to leave as soon as I obtain a position as a governess.”
“But whatever will Malcolm say?”
“I told him before he left, he did not believe me.” Valerie shrugged. “That is his problem, he never believes what I say. He shall see! I can earn my own living and need not depend on him.”
“But you are married!”
“He may get a divorce and marry someone more suitable.”
The countess clutched at her breast, and looked faint. Valerie rang for her maid, then left the room. She would not be deterred by fainting nor arguments.
She read and studied hard. She reviewed her grammar books, wrote s
mall compositions, practised handwriting, practised the little piano lessons she had studied, muttered over her French and German. She walked back and forth, reciting multiplication tables. The earl found her doing this and studied her gravely.
“My dear Valerie,” he said finally. “I cannot believe you mean to leave us like this.”
He looked concerned and worried, and she wanted to weep a little. But she stiffened her spine. They would all forget her when she left.
“I am sorry, sir,” she said stiffly. “I have enjoyed your company, and you have been very good to me. But I cannot remain married to Malcolm.”
“Some silly fuss you had before he left,” he said, troubled.
“We are not suited to each other,” she said firmly. “He wishes excitement and danger, then to fly about gambling and dancing. I have a more serious nature, I wish to read and study and teach.” She put a bold front to it, not expressing the fears that haunted her at night, the fear of living alone, of starving…
A woman had two choices. She could marry, or she could teach. That was all. Valerie must be strong and brave and firm, she thought. Independence cost much, but she would find it worthwhile.
As fate would have it, Lady Seraphine Darlington wrote to Valerie within two weeks. She had a fine upstanding handwriting, very black and firm on the pages, although a tremor here and there betrayed her age and state of health.
She had an offer of a position for Valerie. Her goddaughter was a Mrs Thomas Fitzhugh, in the Cotswolds. Her husband had recently become the squire on the death of his uncle. Lady Darlington wrote:
They have a small but adequate home in a good-sized town. Bess is troubled by the many occasions when she must play the Lady Bountiful for the countryside. Also she possesses four lively children, with Thomas Junior giving her the most trouble. Eliza, at fifteen, is a sensible and serious girl. Jeanette is given to brooding and much reading. Marianne is but six.
My Reginald has informed me that you are of a sober and good nature, much accustomed to managing a household. I am sure the Countess of Arundel has also given you instruction. If you could see your way clear to becoming governess and companion to the young Fitzhugh household, I for one should be immensely grateful. The pay to begin would be three hundred pounds a year.
Three hundred pounds a year. Little enough to the Arundels, but a fortune to the thankful Valerie. Not just her room and food, but money besides to set aside against a school of her own one day.
She wrote quickly to the address, informing the earl because she needed a frank for the letter. He stamped it for her, with a grave look.
“And if she will have you, shall you go soon?” he asked wistfully. “And what of our Shakespeare garden?”
“Oh, sir, you know you will manage right well without me,” but tears filled her large brown eyes. He pinched her cheek affectionately.
“Now, no tears, but you must promise to write often and give us news of you. What Malcolm will say, I have no doubt! He will blame us all for letting you go. Well, well, when he returns you will make up your difficulties and differences — all marriages have them,” he said with more cheer.
Mrs Fitzhugh answered so promptly that Valerie suspected Lady Darlington had already written to her. She implored Valerie to come, assured her she would have every consideration, and they were longing to make her acquaintance.
So all there was to do was to pack and be off. It was April now, and a letter from Malcolm saying that he had arrived in the Peninsula was expected soon. The fighting, according to the gazettes, would be joined shortly. Sir Arthur Wellesley had arrived in port and would be leaving for Lisbon at once. Then, predicted the gazettes, with intense satisfaction, they would soon learn, those Frenchies, what a British general could do! And Malcolm also, thought Valerie, with a sigh. If she knew him, he would be in the thick of it. Since Moore’s death, all England had waited to see what would happen there.
When the countess heard that Valerie was actually packing to leave, that she had a position far away in the Cotswolds, she was much distressed and dismayed.
“But my dear child, I cannot believe you are serious! We mean to take you to London in two weeks!”
“No, madam, I cannot go. I regret so much that I must disobey your wishes.”
“I will speak to my husband. He is so fond of you, he will persuade you to accompany us. Eustace also will speak, he loves you like a sister.”
But the future wife of Eustace did not love her, thought Valerie. Deidre would be all too glad to have Valerie out of the way. She would have all the more clothes and jewels to herself.
When they were convinced that she would leave, the earl said, “Then Eustace must accompany you, it is a long and dangerous journey.”
Eustace had barely recovered from a bad bout of the flu and still a heavy cold hung on. Valerie shook her head.
“It would be bad for him,” she told the earl simply. “No, please, I can take the coach.”
“Never, never! My daughter-in-law in a public coach! Never!” And he commanded the heavy imposing barouche with the family crest on it, and two coachmen who were middle-aged and long in their service to accompany her.
Valerie was surprised on her last evening to have the countess come to her sitting room. She welcomed her, fussed over her, made sure the lady was seated in a warm place near the fire, as the April night was chill.
“But my dear child,” said the countess plaintively. “Your maid tells me you are not taking her with you!”
Valerie smiled, a quick grin that lit up her brown eyes and her rather serious little face. “I cannot see arriving at my new position in a barouche with a crest on it, Maman,” she said impulsively. “And if I should take my own maid — oh, no, they would think I was too high in the instep as it was!”
The countess sighed, looked about. “You do not take your lovely evening dresses, your velvet cloaks,” she commented. “And your jewels, I wanted to give you some diamonds of your own. Malcolm spoke to me of it before he left.”
Valerie suppressed the hot words, spoke gently. The countess looked old and weary tonight, and in the firelight there were unaccustomed lines about her eyes and mouth.
“It would not be appropriate to my position. I shall take a few modest gowns, and I thank you for your kindness in giving them to me. But I do not expect to be much in the social swim.”
“It seems such a waste,” the countess murmured. “The right wife for Malcolm — oh, dear, I do wish he had not gone. I am sure he is not safe — oh, I have the most terrible dreams at night —” Her voice trailed off, her hands fluttered and then were still, clasped tightly to each other.
Valerie soothed her, turning her thoughts to the subject of the tenants, and the new apple orchard, to the times they would have in London.
“May I charge you with a message for Lady Darlington? I am most grateful to her for her trouble in assisting me with the position,” Valerie requested.
With unusual pettishness, her mother-in-law replied, “I am not grateful to her, not at all! Without her interference, you should still remain with us. I shall tell her I am most displeased!”
Valerie’s heart warmed somewhat at this, yet she felt that her mother-in-law would be quite satisfied with the presence of Eustace and Deidre.
The next morning, she started out early. The trunks were strapped into the coach, she was made comfortable with more rugs than she needed, cushions against the chill, several more warnings to the grooms that they must have every care of her.
Eustace came down in his silk and velvet dressing gown to bid her farewell. He remained in the warm drawing room, with their warnings ringing in his ears, but he insisted on kissing Valerie on both cheeks.
“And my dear, you will write often, and tell us how you do. We are not strangers, but your family, you know,” he said sweetly, with an anxious look on his handsome drawn face.
“And you will come home as soon as you can,” added the countess wistfully.
Valerie
opened her mouth to say she did not intend to return. She caught the warning eye of Mr Louis Kenyon, and his slight shake of the head.
“I shall miss you, Maman,” she whispered in the countess’s ear, and the lady kissed her farewell.
Then Valerie turned to the earl. “I shall see you into the carriage,” he said gruffly. He had a sad, gloomy look to his face, he seemed older this morning.
He took her to the coach, lingered to cover her with rugs, admonish her to write often, ask her for the tenth time if she had sufficient funds with her.
“You must write when you need more, my dear!”
She forebore to tell him again that she would be earning a salary for her duties, and leaned forwards to kiss his whiskery cheek with great affection.
“You have all been so good to me, too good. You must forget —” But she choked on the words. The groom took away the steps, the door was banged shut and fastened, and the horses whipped up. She turned about for one last look at the earl and the great hall, but the sight was blurred by her tears.
It was a long dreary journey of two days, made worse by a light incessant rain that dripped onto the barouche top, chilled the horses, and wet the grooms through. They stopped for luncheon and a change of horses, went on, through the afternoon into the evening. At the inn the earl had recommended, they spent the night.
Valerie ate a light supper, drank thirstily of the hot tea, and fell into the strange bed, to weep into her pillow for sadness and sheer exhaustion.
The next day was like the first. The rain continued, the April day was gloomy and dark. They entered the Cotswold region in late afternoon, and she sat up to peer out with interest at the golden stone of the hills, the creamy gold of the cottages, the thatched roofs, the early roses that twined about every hedge and cot.
About seven of the evening, they reached the village of the Fitzhugh family. The coachmen opened the door for Valerie, helped her out. She was stiff with weariness. A light blazed from the good-sized manor house, and a maid, a butler and a plump greying lady came hurrying out to greet her, with an awed look at the splendid barouche.
Amethyst Love: A passionate Regency romance Page 5
