Amy Lake (12 page)

Despite my father’s reaction to the idea of selling Three Stags—and Freddie’s as well, of course—I did not give up immediately on that front.   I had already made the earl quite angry, so I eschewed any personal exchange. 

Instead, I sent him a note.  Cassandra always laughs at the idea of letters between family residing in the same house, but believe me ’twas not uncommon at Roselay.  At any rate, I outlined the possibility suggested by Sir Reginald, due to the interest of Mr Avendale.

I knew the earl would not be happy with this intelligence, but I was unprepared for the extent of his fury.  I heard his cry of “Where is she?  Where
is
she?” a half-hour later, followed by the door to the music room banging open. 

“How dare you, you impertinent little chit!  I told you!  I will not sell a residence!”

I stood up from the piano and faced him.  “It is a solution with many positive aspects,” I said calmly.  “Not the least of which is reducing Lord Wilfred’s expenditures on brandy.”

“Absolutely not!  I will not hear another word!”

I suspected that part of his anger came from the knowledge that our financial circumstances were widely known in the
ton
.  His next words confirmed it.

“You are never to speak of this again to Miss Cassandra Barre.  How dare she conspire with her father against us? 

“Conspire!”

“And you will be married within the month, do I make myself
entirely
clear?”

He banged the music room door open again, on his way out.

Chapter 17: Aunt Sophie

When I was perhaps ten years old my Aunt Sophie came to London for a short visit, for reasons that were never made clear, since—as I have said—the earl disliked her and the feeling was probably mutual.  Even a ten year old could see that.

Lady Sophie Knowles was several years older than my father, and had never married.  She did, on the other hand, have income from a sum settled on her by the old earl, enough to maintain a household in Bath and perhaps not much else.  Freddie and I were never told more, but there were hints of an irregular situation involving a man—a fiancé, ’twas said—and irregular situations of any kind were anathema to my parents.

I thought of her now.

I remembered a tall, thin woman with hair a bit like my own.  I remembered that she wore clothes that looked strange to a child’s eyes, although an adult would have recognized them as merely years out of date.  After the visit I had written to her on several occasions, never receiving a reply.  In hindsight I wondered if the letters, entrusted to one of the earl’s footmen, had ever been sent.

She had no reason to take me in, of course.  But there was one last thing I remembered, unless ’twas a flight of girlish imagination.  Right before she had left Roselay Aunt Sophie had turned to me, her eyes bird-bright, and said—

“You may visit me some time when you are older, my dear Reggie.  I look forward to it.”

* * * *

I was not so addle-minded as to take off for Bath on the spur of the moment, to the house of a possibly scandalous aunt, who—for all I knew—may have passed away years since.  Indeed, I tried to hope that the whole affair would blow over, that Freddie would give up on the hopeless quest of Lady Celia, the duke would return the money, and Lord Davies and I could go back to kissing on odd occasions, until one of us gave in and admitted to being fond of the other.

Ha.

None of this, of course, was going to happen.  But neither would a marriage happen overnight.  I had a few days of respite.  Enough time to talk to Miss Barre, and perhaps, even to the viscount.  It is said that honesty is rarely the best policy with members of the opposing sex, but what choice did I have?

* * * *

“Bath? 
Bath
?  What are you talking about?” said Cassandra.

“I told you!  I won’t marry him!”

“Why on earth not?  He’s handsome, wealthy, and by all accounts kisses extremely well.”

“Oh, don’t remind me!”  I was having difficulty keeping my voice from ranging into the higher octaves.  Cassandra was trying to calm me, but to little effect.

“Reggie, be sensible.  So what if you’re being pressured—”

“I don’t give a tuppence about
my
being pressured!  ’Tis him!”

“But you said he enjoyed—”

“I think he enjoyed our kisses, yes.  But perhaps all men take pleasure in such things, how would I know?”

“Reggie—”

“Can you imagine?  He’s forced to marry but he does not love me, and then he finds some young woman he
does
love, but cannot marry her, and he hates me for it and takes a beautiful mistress, and—”

“Reggie, I vow, if you don’t slow down I will throw a pitcher of water on your head.”

I stopped, gasping for breath.

“You’re normally a reasonable individual, you know,” said Cassie.

“I know,” I said, and burst into what was at first laughter, and then became tears.  Miss Barre waited several minutes until I had myself under better control, passing one handkerchief after another in my direction.

“Now please explain to me why you are going to Bath.”

“Aunt Sophie lives there.”

“The same Aunt Sophie who you now tell me never answered your letters.”

I nodded.

“And who may no longer number among the living.”

“I’ve been thinking about that.  For all they don’t get along, I’m sure the earl would have said something if his sister had died.”

“Probably so.  But Reggie,” said Cassandra.  “Just marry the viscount.  You’ve as much chance of making him happy as anyone.”

“I couldn’t
bear
it if he hated me.”

“My dear, why would he agree if he dislikes the idea so much?  Lord Davies cannot care about Freddie’s negotiations with the Duke of Wenrich.  Or your father’s threats.”

“I suppose.  But what if ’tis all for his sisters?”

“The connection, you mean? 
Tant pis
.  Young women have survived worse reasons to marry.”

“I am not like those young women!” 

“Well, that’s true.  And you say the earl will not hear of selling Three Stags?”

“He became apoplectic at the thought.”

Miss Barre sighed.  “Most unfortunate.  But I suppose we should not be surprised.”

“A hunting lodge against his own daughter’s happiness—”  The tears began again.

“You are fussing,” said Cassandra.  “Besides, Lord Davies may decide against the whole thing, you know, and your problem will be solved.”

That only made me feel worse.

* * * *

Cassie brought me better news the next day. 

“Lady Helen says that Peter says that Lord Davies is attending a
musicale
—tonight.”

My heart took a leap.  “Lady Brougham’s?”

“The very.  Shall we take a look through my wardrobe?”

Chapter 18:  Lady Brougham’s
Musicale

He was already sitting down when we arrived.  I had dithered so long over my gown that we were a few minutes late and our carriage became stuck in the last-minute crush outside Lady Brougham’s house, and once you have too many carriages on a London side street, there is no hope for speed.  I sat and bounced on the seat, nervously.  Miss Barre twitched the curtains aside and stared out into the chaos of teams and shouting drivers.

“Who needs a six-horse team for a London
musicale
?” she asked aloud.  “Really, are they bringing baggage?”

I ignored her, bouncing.

“Has your mother said nothing about this
musicale
?” said Cassie, after a minute.

I’d wondered the same thing.  “No.  But she does not have Lady Helen’s information.”

“True.”

 When we finally got inside, nearly everyone was seated.  Miss Barre spotted the viscount immediately, towards the back, but there were no empty places nearby.  We found chairs off to one side and I managed to sit still, although I could not tell you a single thing that was played that night.  When the interval arrived we stood up and began to squeeze through the crowd toward a table filled with bowls of punch and enough food for twice the number actually attending.

’Tis a miracle we do not all weigh fifteen stone.

Cassandra was suddenly gone from my side, and when I turned to find her,
he
was in her place.

“Lady Regina.”

I felt light-headed, but managed a nod.

“Perhaps we could speak for a moment,” said the viscount.

“Of course.”

In retrospect, the ensuing interview might have been less difficult had we been indifferent to one another.  ’Tis not fair to speak for his lordship, I suppose, but for myself, if I had not cared so much about the Viscount of Cardingham and what he thought of me, I might have remained more composed.

We had moved to the edge of the crowd surrounding the punch.  This refreshment is a sore point with me; one is so thirsty that one is forced to drink it, but since many young gentlemen think ’tis great fun to add liquors of various kinds, the result is neither palatable nor particularly refreshing.  I was holding my own glass in my hand, attempting not to spill anything on the silk of Miss Barre’s gown.  ’Twas a watered silk, by the by, with an embroidered overskirt, and very fine. 

“Several days ago,” said the viscount, “your father called upon me at my home.”

“My father?”  I stared at him, not expecting this approach.

“I am given to understand that we are expected to wed.”

Plain speaking is usually my preference; not so on this occasion.  No hint of a smile crossed his face, and I felt betrayed by his irritation, or his disappointment.

And indeed, what could one say to such a beginning?  I could have laughed charmingly and batted my eyes and professed ignorance of any such thing—a lie, of course, something not unheard of in the
ton
.  I could have asked him to excuse the earl, who sometimes entertained strange notions.  I could even have blushed, prettily, and begged his pardon, confessing that I knew something of the matter, but entreating him only to follow his own wishes.

I did none of these.  Stung by his demeanor, the annoyance I thought I saw in his eyes, what I
did
do was to blurt out the first thing that entered my head.

“That should prove beneficial for you, then.”

Gods.  Lord Davies frowned, and even if I had imagined anger before, ’twas quite real now.

“I beg your pardon?” he began, carefully enough.

I was having none of it.  “Why do people say that when they mean no such thing?” I hissed.  We were both turned slightly away from most of the crowd, who were fortunately so loud as a group as to make our conversation unnoticed.

“Prove beneficial for me?” continued the viscount, ignoring my last comment.

’Twas much like a runaway carriage.  I had spoken without thinking, and his reaction made me feel embarrassed and lowered, which made my next comment even less . . . felicitous.

“Your entire family will benefit from the connection, no doubt,” I told him.

I can’t think of this moment, now, without feeling shame.  Lord Davies’s expression froze.

“No more than yours,” he replied, quietly but with a coldness that went to my heart.  “The Duke of Wenrich should find himself well-satisfied with
my
money.  As you no doubt knew when you chose to be forward with your kisses.”

“Oh! 
I
chose—”

Neither of us spoke further for several moments.  I thought I saw something of my own feelings mirrored in his eyes, but since I could barely comprehend my own emotion, I was unable to describe his.

He bowed.  “My lady,” said the Viscount of Cardingham.  He turned and left, and I did not see him again for the rest of the evening.  Or for some time thereafter. 

Chapter 19:  Decision

I do not believe there is much more to explain.  I was angry at what Lord Davies had said, horrified by what I had said myself, and not at all reassured by Miss Barre, who when informed of the event rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath.

“What? 
What
?”

“People in love,” said Cassie, “are quite stupid.”

“I’m not in love.”

“Ha.”

“I . . . esteem him.  Or I did.  But—”

I heard a small, ladylike snort.  “You esteem him,” she repeated.

“What I am trying to say,” I told her, “is that I am not as certain anymore.”

Cassandra nodded.  “It was quite awful of him to say such a thing.”

“Yes!  And—”

“Although not quite as bad as what you said.  And I’m guessing for the same reason.  He is just as in love as you are.”

This last statement, unexpectedly, brought tears to my eyes.  If ’twas true—if  he loved me—what had I done?

* * * *

I spent the next few days in the blue devils, avoiding the rest of my family—admittedly, not difficult—and haunting the kitchen, where I drank pot after pot of tea, and consumed an alarming number of Cook’s cinnamon scones.

Cook always said I was too thin. 

The servants could tell something was wrong, of course, and at first they had no idea of the details, but rumours and gossip travel nearly as quickly belowstairs as they do above, and soon—to my chagrin—even the footmen were attempting to cheer me up.

“Don’t worry, dearie,” said Mrs Peaseley.  “He’ll come around, you’ll see.”

I wasn’t sure if she meant Lord Davies or my father, and I didn’t ask.

I expected that the earl and countess, who knew nothing of the events at the
musicale
, would continue their attempts to marry me off, and I was correct.  In due course I was once again summoned to my father’s study.

He was smiling.  I blinked, wondering if I had ever before seen that expression on his face.  It did not suit him.

“Well, well, Regina.  You have made a conquest!”

The earl’s tone was almost . . . jovial.  “The Viscount of Cardingham has contacted me through his man-of-affairs, and all is settled!  Congratulations, my dear!”

“Lord Davies?” I said.