A Poor Relation (3 page)

She had resolved to bear with patience any slights the family might heap upon her, but she had not foreseen the possible insolence of their servants. It would be a constant struggle to keep her temper under such treatment.

These unhappy thoughts were interrupted by a loud voice.

“Rowena, my dear child, you are a day early!”

A buxom lady was descending the stair in a rustle of purple satin, both hands held out in welcome. Much heartened by this greeting, however inaccurate, Rowena rose and curtsied.

“Aunt Hermione,” she murmured, and went to embrace her aunt.

She was held off at arms’ length.

“Lud, girl, you are filthy! Never say that you walked from Broadway? Silly creature, you should have hired a gig or stayed the night at the White Hart. We did not expect you before tomorrow, for you wrote that you meant to leave home yesterday, and Millicent was persuaded that you would spend a day shopping in London. Millicent has had two Seasons in town, you know, and is convinced that the only proper modistes are to be found in London. She despises the shops in Broadway, and even in Cheltenham, and indeed her beauty deserves something better. She had suitors by the score, I promise you, but none were quite good enough for the dear girl. Millicent is too sensitive and discriminating to accept the first eligible offer. But we must not stand here chattering, my dear, when Millicent is waiting eagerly to greet you. And Anne and Sir Henry, too, of course!”

“I am very tired and dirty, Aunt, as you observed. I should prefer to wait until tomorrow to meet Sir Henry and my cousins.”

“Nonsense, child. Millicent will never forgive me if I do not make you known to her tonight.”

Lady Grove started up the stairs, with Rowena following perforce. Before they reached the top, a tall, thin girl appeared on the landing. She was wearing the simple white muslin gown of a schoolroom miss, and her dark hair was pulled severely back from her pale face. Rowena thought her quite plain. Surely this was not the beautiful Millicent.

“Cousin Rowena?” Her unexceptional looks were forgotten when she spoke, for her voice was low, melodious, with a bell-like clarity of tone. “I am Anne. How happy I am to meet you!”

“So you have torn yourself from your book, Anne,” said her ladyship. “I fear Anne is quite the bluestocking,” she added to Rowena. “She will never have her sister’s success. Ah, there is Mrs. Dart. I will see whether your bedchamber is prepared. Mrs. Dart! Mrs. Dart!” She sailed away down a corridor.

Rowena smiled sympathetically at her younger cousin.

“Do you like to read?” the girl asked eagerly, ignoring her mother’s criticism.

“I read the classics with Papa. Otherwise I have had little time for anything but agricultural journals. I daresay Cousin Millicent does not share your love of books?”

“No, she never reads anything but
Ackermann’s
and the
Ladies’ Magazine.
Mama says I am no companion for her, which is why she is so pleased that you are come to live with us.”

“I hope Millicent is also pleased?”

“She is afraid that you might be a rival. She will be delighted that you are... Oh, I beg your pardon, cousin! Mama is forever scolding my wretched tongue. I am sure that when you have recovered from your journey and put on an elegant gown you will look quite differently.”

Rowena was piqued, for though she did not count herself a beauty she was generally considered to be passably pretty. However, she was hardly at her best, and Anne looked at her so anxiously that she could not resent her comment.

She forced her lips into a faint smile of reassurance. It was more and more difficult to behave with complaisance when all she wanted was to find her chamber, prepared or not, and sink into bed.

Lady Grove reappeared. They followed her into a drawing room decorated in the Chinese fashion, with an overabundance of imitation bamboo and red lacquer. The only comfortable chair in the room was set before the empty fireplace, and in it slumbered a tall, thin gentleman. His resemblance to Anne made it plain that this was her father, Sir Henry Grove.

In front of the window on the far side of the room, framed by curtains of scarlet Chinese silk embroidered with dragons and mandarins, stood a pianoforte. At it sat a young lady of startling loveliness. Her ringlets were the colour of new-minted guineas, gleaming in the candlelight. Eyes as blue as the midday sky, beneath delicately arched brows; a straight little nose; lips like a rosebud, with a charming suggestion of a pout; all these were set in a perfectly oval face with a complexion of flawless alabaster.

Rowena had to agree: Millicent was a beauty.

Her cousin did not rise to greet her but continued to play while her mother looked on with fond admiration. Rowena was ready to excuse herself and retire forthwith, when the sonata ended with a flourish.

Millicent turned from her music with an elaborate show of surprise. “Dearest Mama, I did not realize you had returned. Is this my cousin?” The calculating look in her blue eyes was instantly replaced by dismissal as she took in Rowena’s dishevelled appearance. “How do you do, cousin,” she said carelessly, still remaining seated. “Do you play the pianoforte?”

“No,” said Rowena baldly, then with an effort added, “I shall be delighted to listen to you tomorrow. At present I am too tired to appreciate your talent.”

Millicent sniffed, turned back to the keyboard and began another piece.

“The gentlemen are in raptures over her playing,” whispered Lady Grove. “Come and meet Sir Henry now.”

“Papa is asleep,” objected Anne, “and Cousin Rowena not far from it.”

Her words were ignored as her mother shook her father’s shoulder. “Sir Henry, here is my niece arrived early. You recollect I told you she was coining to live at Grove Park.”

The baronet blinked in drowsy bewilderment as Rowena curtsied.

“Charmed, I’m sure,” he murmured, and his head nodded again.

Anne took Rowena’s hand and tugged her towards the door.

“I shall take Rowena to her room now,” she announced firmly, and they made their escape before her ladyship could protest.

Rowena was asleep before Anne left her chamber. If a certain soldier haunted her dreams, she was unaware of it.

CHAPTER THREE

Her first morning at Grove Park, Rowena was awakened by a maid who set a cup of tea on the table by her bed and flung back the window curtains to admit a flood of sunlight.

“T’carrier brung your trunk from the White Hart already, miss,” the girl told her. “Miss Minton said as I’m to hang up your things.”

“Miss Minton?”

“Miss Millicent’s abigail. What’ll you wear, miss?”

“I’m not sure. I should like a bath first, if you please.” Rowena had been too tired the night before to do more than wash her face and hands.

“Doubt there’s time, miss.” The maid shook her head. “Miss Millicent wants to walk down to t’village and Miss Anne won’t go wi’ her so she sent to wake you. Miss Millicent gets that impatient, it don’t do to keep her waiting.”

Rowena opened her mouth to say that her cousin could certainly wait while she bathed, when the impropriety of discussing the matter with a servant struck her. For the moment she would comply with Millicent’s expectations. At least the maid, though friendly, was properly respectful.

The footman carried in her trunk and she donned the least crushed of her dresses, a pale grey muslin. She had never been much concerned with clothes, but she was longing to escape her half-mourning and wear colours again.

She found Millicent in the breakfast room.

“So here you are at last, Rowena. I have been waiting this age.”

“Good morning, cousin. It looks like a beautiful day for a walk. I shall be with you shortly.”

Despite Millicent’s obvious impatience, Rowena sat down to a hearty meal of toast, eggs and ham, for she had scarcely eaten in two days. She must demonstrate that though willing to oblige she was not to be bullied. She consumed every bite before putting on her bonnet and declaring herself ready to go.

The house, an unpretentious manor built of the local stone, was situated in a shallow valley on the edge of the Cotswolds, facing west across the Vale of Evesham. As the girls walked across the park, Rowena saw that it was surrounded on three sides by rolling hills covered with grass cropped short by countless sheep. They left the park and followed a winding lane downhill between hawthorn hedges riotous with sweet-scented honeysuckle.

After about half a mile, Millicent interrupted her discourse on the joys of a London Season and the boredom of country life to point out a short cut to the village. They climbed a stile beside a five-barred gate, and started across an apple orchard.

“Whose land is this, cousin?” asked Rowena. “They are going to have a poor harvest, I fear. It looks as if the trees have not been pruned this age, and they are all old-fashioned varieties.”

Millicent raised her charming eyebrows at this display of unladylike knowledge, but the question was of interest to her and she answered readily.

“It is part of Farleigh Grange. The earl died over a year ago, and there has been some difficulty finding his heir. He had no sons, and no close male relatives. We visit Lady Farleigh, of course, though she is shockingly rude sometimes. She is a disagreeable old cat, and invalidish, too, but after all she is a countess.”

She went on to provide details of the various occasions upon which Lady Farleigh had insulted Lady Grove. Rowena gave her half her attention, the other half being on the neglected state of the orchards through which they strolled. She mentally catalogued all the improvements she would make if they belonged to her.

Soon they reached the village of Down Stanton, a tiny hamlet boasting a single shop. Rolls of ribbon and cards of pins hung between barrels of flour and a rickety stack of cheap tin buckets. Millicent gathered her skirts close about her and sniffed in disdain as she examined the ribbons in a desultory manner. Rowena wondered why she had come here. Surely there was nothing to attract a young lady who wore London fashions.

Millicent brightened at the sound of hooves and wheels in the village street. She hurried outside without a word to the shop’s proprietor, a tiny, plump woman who had hovered hopefully since their arrival.

“I believe my cousin was unable to find the precise shade she needs,” said Rowena apologetically.

“Never you mind, dearie. Miss Grove is never satisfied,” the woman assured her. “Her cousin, are you then? Come to visit for a while?”

“I am going to live at Grove Park,” said Rowena, well aware that the news would be all over the neighbourhood before dark. With a nod of farewell, she followed Millicent out into the street.

She was standing beside a smart phaeton, orange with black trim, beaming up at the driver. That gentleman was also orange with black trim, Rowena saw with a shock of amusement. At least, his coat, with its pinched-in waist and padded shoulders, and his boots were black, his waistcoat and pantaloons a startling shade of orange. A huge topaz stickpin adorned a neckcloth, of ordinary white muslin, so high and starched that the effort of looking down at Millicent appeared to be strangling him. His face clashed horribly with his apparel.

“Mr. Ruddle has invited me to go for a drive,” Millicent called gaily, not troubling to perform any introductions. “You will not mind walking home, will you, Rowena? It is not far and you know the way now. There is scarce room in the carriage for more than two.”

Before Rowena could voice the least objection, the black-clad groom had helped her cousin into the phaeton and Mr. Ruddle, saluting her with a wave of his whip, had set his coal-black team in motion. She watched till they were out of sight, hoping that her aunt would not hold her responsible for Millicent’s escapade.

She enjoyed the walk back up the hill without Millicent’s endless chatter. A blackbird sang to her and she was at leisure to admire the tall spikes of foxgloves by the wayside. She might almost have been at home, only there she would probably have been riding. Where was Vixen now?

On reaching the house, she sought out Lady Grove at once and told her of her daughter’s defection.

“I do not mean to carry tales,” she said, “but I cannot think it right to let her go off alone with a gentleman of whom I know nothing.”

“It is perfectly unexceptionable as long as there was a groom present.” Her ladyship was complacent. “Mr. Adolphus Ruddle never goes anywhere without a servant. He is rich as Golden Ball and he admires dear Millicent excessively, but it is a pity that he has no title. Indeed, Millicent is quite fond of him, but naturally she cannot like to marry a man without a title even if he is wealthy and quite the gentleman. I have told her a thousand times that she deserves a duke.”

“But perhaps she would be happier with Mr. Ruddle, if she is fond of him.”

Aunt Hermione shook her head indulgently at this irrelevant comment. “Why, even I managed to catch a baronet, and I did not have one-tenth Millicent’s looks. And then Ruddle is such an unfortunate name! Ruddle Towers simply does not have that
ring
to it, though it is a splendid house, to be sure. I daresay they will be home before luncheon. I must see Cook.”

Rowena soon learned that Millicent could do no wrong in her mother’s eyes. The combination of startling beauty and the fortune inherited from the great-aunt after whom she was named set her above reproach. Sir Henry had long since abdicated responsibility for his daughters, and only Anne ever crossed her sister, retiring to her books to escape the scolds this brought her for being disagreeable. As long as Rowena deferred to Millicent’s wishes, Aunt Hermione treated her as another daughter. If Millicent frowned, her mother frowned.

Lady Grove was extremely conscientious about her duties as a landowner’s wife, visiting the tenants regularly to keep an eye on their welfare. Neither of her daughters ever offered to accompany her on her rounds.

Rowena would have been delighted to do so, but she was not invited and she felt it was not her place to suggest it. Having little else to occupy her time, she had no objection to accompanying her cousin on walks and carriage rides, and calling on the neighbours with her when Lady Grove was otherwise occupied.