Amy Lake (11 page)

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Miss Barre, when I had explained this train of thought.  “You do him an injustice.”

“Can a gentleman feign such interest, do you think?”

“I shouldn’t think so.  Could you?”

* * * *

Men, of course, were a topic of much discussion among all the young ladies of our immediate circle.  What did they think?  What did they really want?  Later that day Miss Barre and I met Amelia Hingham and Lady Helen at Mr Wright’s circulating library on the Strand, and a whispered conversation ensued.

“To bed us,” Lady Helen declared, flatly.  “And little else.”

“Helen!” said Miss Hingham, colouring pink.

“I’m quite serious.  They have their clubs for talk, and boxing for amusement, and their ridiculous high-perch phaetons for a run in the park.  What do they need us for?”

“Well—children.”

“Exactly my point.”

“And an orderly household.”

“Any housekeeper worth her salt will do that.  Look at Lord Pratt.  Widowed for twenty years, and Mrs Edgecomb organizes him perfectly well.”

“But,” said Amelia, who was blushing madly and evidently bracing herself to say something quite shocking, “they have mistresses for . . . such things.”

“Mistresses are out of fashion,” declared Lady Helen.

We were all thoughtful at this.  Such women were beyond our ken, and we all wondered if we had ever seen one, or if we would know it if we did.

“Gentlemen cannot want to converse only with each other,” said Cassandra, finally.  “’Twould be tiresome.”

“And what do
we
talk about that is so absorbing?  Hats?”

“Lud, Helen, we’re not so hopeless,” said Amelia.  “Reggie is always going on about the Congress of Vienna or some such.”

“And bringing down the countess’s wrath for my trouble,” I admitted.

“You,” said Lady Helen, “are the exception that proves the rule.”

The proctor hushed us at that moment, Helen winked at me, and we all returned to our examination of the books available, although in my case I barely read the titles. 

I had no particularly objection to Lord Davies wishing to . . . well, have marital
relations
with me, as they say.  I suspected I might enjoy the endeavour.  But was that the sum of his interest?  We seemed to have ended up in each other’s arms at every opportunity.  Did he like me otherwise, at all?

* * * *

The next day I received a visit from our man-of-affairs.  The visit was unexpected, as Faulkes had sent me the latest reports only a week previous.  The reports had not been good, of course, but with the economies I had recently made in household expenses I thought we would continue to muddle along for a bit longer. 

“Lady Regina,” said Faulkes, finding me in the music room once again.  He swept his hat to his feet in a charmingly old-fashioned courtier’s bow.  “I am sorry to bother you, but—”

“Oh, dear, what this time?” I sighed.  “Has Lord Wilfred purchased more brandy?”

I’ll strangle him, I thought.

“I’m afraid it’s rather worse than that.”

It was.  When Faulkes had finished explaining, and taken his leave, with promises to assist me to the best of his abilities, I collapsed onto the music room sofa and wondered whether to cry, or break into laughter.

Hysterical laughter, I might add.

My brother, dear besotted Freddie, had attempted to
negotiate
with the Duke of Wenrich, a man well-known not only for being pockets to let but also for having a bitter and ruthless nature.

My brother had made certain promises to his grace, the precise nature of which our man-of-affairs did not know.  What Faulkes did know was Lord Wilfred had somehow convinced the earl to transfer a substantial sum of money—the amount made me gasp—into the duke’s coffers.  In exchange, one assumed, for the hand of Lady Celia.

The more usual procedure was, of course, for the bride to provide a dowry as part of the marriage settlements.  The reverse, albeit less common, was not unknown.  But in this case—

“Are they mad?” I exclaimed, to Faulkes.  “The earl has not the resources to survive such a transfer!”

Our man-of-affairs was aware of this.

“I must speak to my father at once.”

“I spoke to him at some length prior to the exchange of funds.”  Faulkes’s expression suggested this was not a happy interview.  “He remained adamant.” 

I tapped my toe nervously, and suddenly remembered what Cassandra had told me.  About a Mr Richard Avendale, who wished to purchase a hunting lodge in Northumberland—

“Faulkes, how much would Three Stags sell for, do you think?”

“The lodge?  A fair sum, I should imagine.  The house itself is nothing grand, but the accompanying land is considerable.”

“And ’tis not entailed.”

“Indeed not.”

“Would it be enough to pay this debt?”

Faulkes had frowned.  “Perhaps.  Has the earl suggested such a sale?”

“No.  But I happen to know of a buyer.  Perhaps I can convince him.”

* * * *

But the earl was not at home, and I paced the floor in frustration, waiting for his return.  Impossible, I thought.  Even my parents must see that this is disaster.  Why would they choose to impoverish themselves?

They must sell Three Stags. 

This notion, which had seemed but a faint possibility when Miss Barre first mentioned it, now appeared as our only salvation. 

They must sell it.  They have no choice.  No matter how much Freddie loves the place.

But it was my own choices in life that were about to be restricted, although I did not know this until a few hours later, when my father—who I barely spoke ten words to in the course of an average week—finally returned, and requested that I attend him in his study.

Chapter 16: The Earl’s Announcement

“Sit down,” said the earl.

I sat in the armchair to the side of his desk, and waited.  I did not find my father intimidating, per se, but I had long ago learned that ’twas best not to cross him openly.  When crossed he became agitated, and loud, and upset the servants, on whom he could more easily vent his rage.

“At the moment,” said my father, “I am making enquiries.  But I have little doubt that an arrangement can be made, and you will be married to the Viscount of Cardingham within very little time.”

He returned to his papers, as if there was nothing else to say.  I sat for a moment and gathered my wits.

“Am I to understand,” I said, carefully, “that his lordship has requested my hand?”

“No,” said the earl.  “But I believe he will.”

“I see,” I said.

The earl gestured in dismissal, without looking up.  “Go on then, please, Regina.”

’Twas best not to cross him openly, but sometimes the occasion demanded it.

“And if I do not wish to marry Lord Davies?”

He looked up, finally.  “That is of no account,” said my father.

 “’Tis of account to me.”

My father said nothing, but a vein began to pulse in his temple. 

“This is all to do with Freddie, isn’t it?” I cried.  “Freddie and his insistence on pursuing Lady Celia!” 

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Fustian!  You’ve given half your money to the . . . that
horrible
Duke of Wenrich, and now I must recoup our fortunes!”

“Leave this room at once,” said the earl.

“No!  Sell Three Stags!” I burst out.  ’Twas not the careful manner in which I meant to introduce this topic, but ’twould have to do.  “I know of a buyer!”

My father stared at me, his eyes cold.  “That is out of the question,” he said.  “The lodge has been in our family for generations.  The Earls of Aveline are not reduced to selling property.”

“Instead you would sell a daughter!”

The earl’s face had now turned an ugly, mottled red.  “You will marry the viscount,” he said, “or you will leave this house.  Do I make myself clear?”

I turned on my heel and walked out. 

* * * *

I disliked the thought of applying to my mother for any assistance, and ’twas a measure of my distress that I even considered it, but in the event I did not need to search out the countess.  She arrived at the music room door—I was making an utter botch of a Couperin
rondeau
—all smiles and flutter.

“Regina!  Darling!”

Gods.

“Is this not the best of news?”

There was no point in pretending ignorance of what she meant.  “I think not, madam,” I said, “as I will not marry him.”

A moment of outraged silence ensued.  The countess’s hand was at her mouth.  “Oh! Regina!” she cried.

I hadn’t intended to speak so plainly.  In my heart I was desperately wishing there was some way in which the situation could be salvaged, some way in which I
could
marry Lord Davies.  Marriage is for many reasons besides love, I reminded myself.  This proposed . . . contract between our two families was hardly unusual, the viscount and I would rub along together quite well, it would all work out.  In addition—and here was a thought I had been avoiding since I spoke to Faulkes—if I did not marry Lord Davies, or
someone
, quite soon, I might find myself all but ruined.  I did not believe my father would throw me out on the street, but he could make my life very difficult.  Society accepted an earl with financial issues; an earl’s daughter with not a ha’penny to recommend her, on the other hand—

You’ve never had much hope of a good dowry, I reminded myself.  That has not changed.  

I could marry him.  I could.

But I knew from the first moments in my father’s study that none of these ratiocinations would be adequate.  Nor did they answer the many questions now crowding my mind.  The earl must have been in communication with Lord Davies.  What had been said between them?   And why the quick transfer of funds to his grace, and this sudden demand? 

What else had Freddie promised the duke? 

Previously I had concerned myself with the viscount’s motives, worrying that he had shown interest in me only for his sisters’ sake.  

What did my father care about Isolde and Carys?  Nothing.

Of course I wished to marry Talfryn Davies.  Of course I wanted nothing better than to spend my life with him.  But not like this. 

The countess was on the verge of a faint.  “Oh!  Oh!  Never say!” she cried, and slipped weakly into the nearest armchair.  “Lord Davies will surely offer for you.  Why would you not wish to—”  She trailed off, unable to continue.

“We would not suit,” I told her.

“But . . . but you
must
marry him,” said my mother.  With her hand now clutched at her heart and tears threatening to spill from her eyes, she was the portrait of a woman overcome by emotion.

“Why?” I asked, wondering if ’twas possible to get a sensible answer from the countess.

“Because . . . your father . . . because you must!”

No. 

I turned back to the
rondeau
.  After a few minutes of heartfelt sighs and soft cries of ‘oh, my dearest, no!’—all of which I ignored—my mother left. 

* * * *

In the end Freddie himself provided the needed clarity.  He found me hours later, sitting and staring sightlessly from my bedroom window.

“I say,” said my brother, popping his head in the door.  “A word?”

“Why not?” I sighed.

“I suppose you know—” began Freddie.

I turned to him, abruptly angry.  “I don’t know
anything
.”

“Well, hang on,” he said, “it’s not really my fault, you know.” 

“It most certainly is.”

“I had to do it!” said Freddie.

I had heard those words from my brother too many times before.  “Precisely what,” I said, “did you have to do?”

“The duke would hear nothing of my suit without a bride price.  That old man is a fiend, I tell you, do you know there was actually talk of Lady Celia and Lord
Wardfrell
?”

That was disturbing, I had to admit.  Lord Wardfrell was a loathsome old roué with money—of course—and a bad case, one suspected, of the pox. 

“So you are paying for the privilege of wedding the girl.”

“Not exactly, but—”

 He hesitated. 

“I should say exactly.  And is his grace aware that there is now very little where that came from?”

Freddie’s face told me that I would not like what came next.  “We are agreed that the amount is a . . . start.”

“A start!  ’Tis an end, Freddie, there is no more!”

“Not if you marry the viscount.”

He had the wit to look abashed, but ’twas only what I had begun to suspect.  Until that point I had been anxious, upset, and outraged.  Now all those emotions fell away from me and an icy calm took their place.  So the Duke of Wenrich had agreed that my brother and Celia could wed.  His grace had extracted a
legem pone
—an initial payment as it were, with the understanding that more was to come.  But no more would come if I did not wed a gentleman who was very, very rich.

“So I am to obtain this for you,” I said coldly.  “You can think of no other way.”

“No!”

“Like selling Three Stags, perhaps?  I happen to know of a buyer.”

“Sell the lodge?  It’s been in the Knowles family for generations!”

“Is it worth more than Lady Celia, then?”

Freddie’s face had turned red, like my father’s.  “Oh, get off your high horse.  You just want to keep your hands on the purse strings.  That’s all you’ve ever wanted!  You don’t care if the people around you—your own family—have the happiness they deserve!”

I half-expected my brother to throw himself on the floor and begin beating it with his fists.  I nearly wanted to laugh, and yet the fix I was in was no jest.  Caution kept me from saying more to Freddie at that moment.  I needed some time to myself, to regain my calm and to think.

“Good day to you,” I told him, with a nod.

“Reggie, love, don’t cut up snappish on me!  I’ve seen the man and I should say he’s handsome enough for—”

But I had already left the room—my own bedroom, yes, and he was left with nothing but the furniture to berate.

* * * *