Joan Smith (19 page)

“Fifty pounds should cover it.”

“Optimist!” Nick said, laughing, and wrote him a check for twice that sum.

After this conversation, Nick went in search of Jane in the conservatory, and Willie went to the saloon to make his own announcement.

“Well, upon my word!” Marie exclaimed when she heard the wonderful news. “How did this happen? Who do you know in the government, Willie? I wager it was the Prince Regent who arranged it. You are hand in glove with him.”

“It could have been Lord Byron,” Aurelia suggested. “I told you, Marie, Willie knows everyone.”

“Now, there we are, Horace,” Marie said to her husband. “We will not need ‘Relia’s connections to get into society in Paris after all. Willie will pave our way.”

“Oh, Willie, you cannot mean you are leaving England!” Aurelia exclaimed.

“Duty calls,” Willie said, matching her woe. “The hardest thing will be leaving my dear, dear friends behind.”

“We won’t be a week behind you,” Marie assured him. “And Nick has promised to take ‘Relia over in the spring.”

Willie picked up Aurelia’s silken fan and fingered it sadly. “What a long winter it will be,” he sighed.

“I think it is horrid of you to leave me!” Aurelia said, and ran, sobbing, from the room.

It was Jane’s intention to stay away from Nick as much as possible, or at least not to be alone with him again. When she had recovered from her experience in the conservatory, she was told Willie’s news, and congratulated him. There was no sign of Nick, but to be safe, she sent a footman to the conservatory for the flowers and helped arrange them, in company with Mrs. Lipton. At luncheon she did not once look within a right angle of the head of the table. No one noticed, as the talk was all of Willie’s new position.

The next excitement at Clareview was the arrival of Edward Townsend and his wife at four o’clock that same afternoon. It was clear at a glance where Marie got her disposition, and both ladies their looks. At fifty years, Mrs. Townsend still wore the fading traces of beauty, along with a very smart pelisse and bonnet. Mr. Townsend had the truculent air of the self-made man who knows he is more capable (and richer) than his so-called betters. He was short and red-faced, with the sort of stomach that results from a prolonged ingestion of beefsteak and ale.

He went about the saloon, pumping hands and slapping backs and making himself at home.

“So this is ‘Relia’s future home. So out-of-the-way, I thought we would never find it. All that land along the road belongs to you, does it, Colonel?”

“The last few miles of it are part of my uncle’s estate,” Nick replied.

“Seems a shame for it to be sitting idle.”

“It is pasture for the cows, and of course, some barley and wheat.”

“You ought to put up some houses there.” He looked around the room. Darkness had fallen early on the last day of .December. “Or build a new one for yourself and ‘Relia, eh? But then, Marie tells me these old heaps are all the rage. A bit old for my taste, dark and drafty, too.” He cast a sharp, appraising glance around the room. “You ought to put in a new Rumford grate. If you threw out a couple of bow windows, you would have a better view. Mind you, there is not much to see save grass and trees. We threw out one in Ellie’s new house. She lives in that window, watching the people passing by.” His eyes descended to the floor, where the one new carpet stood out in sharp relief to the older one below it. “I see you are beginning to spruce the place up,” he said. “Still, it is not a bad place. Not bad at all.” His eyes strayed again to the park, where so much land was unplanted. “I see potential here.”

It was not until this verdict was delivered that Lady Elizabeth could get around to making introductions, and Aurelia to boasting of having met the Prince of Wales.

“He knew of me, did he?” Townsend asked, pleased with his fame. “I shall get you to hit him up for a royal warrant for my Oldham Ale after the marriage, ‘Relia. ‘Suppliers to the Prince of Wales’ on the label would add I don’t know how many gallons per annum. What price do you figure he asks for an endorsement, Colonel?”

Nick was unable to oblige him with a figure. It was Willie who was aware of such matters. “You must apply to the lord chamberlain. Hennessey .paid a thousand for his royal warrant for mustard. Under the table, of course. In theory, the royal warrant is earned by the quality of the product.”

“I will offer him two thousand. Edward Townsend does not go, cap in hand, to anyone.”

During this interval and the serving of a welcoming glass of wine, servants in a steady stream moved from the front door to the stairway, carrying all manner of luggage, and creating a wicked draft.

“P’raps they ought to have used the back door for that,” Marie said uncertainly.

“I like to keep an eye on my employees,” Town-send said, and indeed did keep a sharp eye on them as they labored under the weight of trunks and boxes. “Turn your back on them for a minute and they are sitting on their thumbs. Here, Jack! Mind you don’t bump against that table. That is a brand-new trunk you are carrying.”

“And the table is priceless,” Lizzie added.

It was Marie who made the announcement of Willie’s new posting.

“You never mean it! Paree?” Mrs. Townsend exclaimed. “You will be able to call on ‘Relia and Nick, Sir William.”

“We will not be going to Paris until the spring, Mama,” Aurelia said, and tossed her curls at Nick to show her displeasure.

Mr. Townsend spoke in his carrying voice, drowning out whatever shock or grief the ladies might have indulged in at this tragic news.

“My congrats to you, Sir William. I never thought you had it in you. Here I have been taking you for a shiftless sort of fellow, from what Marie tells me. Ran through your own inheritance, I think?”

“For my sins,” Willie admitted, “but I have turned over
a
new leaf, Mr. Townsend.”

“Never too late to mend. I always believe in giving a fellow a second chance.”

Jane, Lady Elizabeth, Mrs. Lipton, Pelham, and Nick just sat and listened, for it was impossible to speak with so many Townsends all talking at once. The Townsend ladies kept up their own undercurrent of chatter while Mr. Townsend held the floor. Odd scraps of conversation were overheard amidst the din of “tied houses” and “one hundred thousand gallons.” “Smartest bonnet—Brighton, of course—a new fur muff—” Eventually it was time to go abovestairs and prepare for the evening.

In the general melee, Jane found herself walking upstairs with Nick. Her head was swimming from nearly two hours of incessant shouting and chatter, without anything of the least importance having been said.

“Cat got your tongue?” he asked.

She essayed a wan smile. “Your future in-laws are very
...
gregarious,” she said.

“That is strange. I scarcely heard them utter a word.”

She stared in confusion. “Your hearing must be impaired from the war.”

“Yes, my hearing, too,” he said, and smiled nonchalantly.

They parted at the head of the stairs. Mrs. Lipton said, while they were dressing, “Lizzie has decided to remove to the Dower House if Nick marries her.”

“If?
Surely it is too late to speak of
if.”
Too late. The awful words were with her as she dressed. She wished she had not let Nick kiss her in the conservatory. Now she knew what she was missing. Yet she could not be so very sorry. At least she had had one small taste of the true glory of love.

No grass grew under Edward Townsend’s feet. While ostensibly abovestairs preparing for dinner, he had taken a quick self-guided tour of Clare-view. He had been born and raised in a small cottage in Manchester. When he made his fortune, he built himself the grandest mansion his imagination and money could contrive, but he began to see that it was not enough. A man needed the stretching acres, the picture gallery with old pictures, and the armaments room full of rusty arms that had been around before Gaul was divided into three, before he had really arrived.

He had been told it was all the crack to have aristocratic connections, and while it had been his experience in the past that he could buy whatever he wanted, he began to sense that not all things could be purchased. He had encountered Pillar during the course of his self-appointed tour. Pillar had spoken of Goderiches going back for centuries, of wars he had never heard of in which Goderiches defended monarchs who were also unknown by name to him. “We are strong on tradition at Clareview,” he said at one point.

A man could not buy tradition, but by God, he could rub up against it to remove the rough edges of commerce if his daughter was a genuine lady. Hunting, for instance, was a sport that had always attracted him. It would be fine to be darting through a field in a red jacket, mounted on a prime bit o’ blood, rattling after Reynard. He envisaged himself as Master of Hounds, leading the pack. And it was little ‘Relia who would introduce him to this new style of life that stretched enticingly before him.

While he discussed these matters with Mrs. Town-send, Jane Ramsey dressed in her dark green velvet gown for dinner and the evening. She had not that luxurious surfeit of gowns possessed by the Town-sends. Nick was looking out for her, and when he espied her descending the staircase, with her coppery curls sitting like a crown on her head, he felt a wrenching inside. What if his plan didn’t work? What if he had to go through with this wedding with Aurelia? What if Aurelia begged off, and Jane still refused to have him? He had disgusted her by his behavior that morning. He would be at pains to act the role of gentleman tonight.

As soon as he saw Jane, he nipped back into the saloon and was found seated next to his fiancée when Jane entered the saloon. Her eyes flew directly to him. He sensed it without turning to see, as if by some extrasensory power. The only empty seat in the group was next to Mr. Townsend, and she took it, to have her poor ears bombarded by tales of acquisitions of tied houses, and the price of hops.

“I have been looking into buying my own hop farm,” he said. “But after seeing all the colonel’s acres sitting next door to idle, growing corn, I see no reason why I should not hire the land from my son-in-law. Are there any hops grown hereabouts, Miss ... or is it Mrs.?”

“Miss Ramsey.”

“Well, what about it?”

“There is a hop farm five miles down the road.”

“I thought as much! The location will be convenient when I open my Kent brewery.”

She was reprieved by the announcement of dinner. Pel came to accompany her to the table.

“I hope my mouth still knows how to open. I have not been able to speak since this batch of yahoos landed in,” he grumbled.

He had no difficulty getting it open to eat once dinner was on the table. The talk was a solo performance by Edward Townsend. The colonel sat at the head of the table, but there was no doubt as to who ruled the roast. Townsend only interrupted his talk to shovel forkfuls of roast beef and potatoes into his mouth. With no conversational duties, Jane was free to observe her companions. She found it distinctly strange that everyone appeared so contented. Mr. Townsend’s behavior was nothing new to his own family, of course, but it was odd that Lady Elizabeth and Nick showed no dismay at his farouche behavior.

She could only conclude that her scold to Nick had borne results, and he was on his best behavior. Being unable to speak to Aurelia, Nick smiled often in her direction, and kept offering her things from the table. She hardly ate a bite. Halfway through the meal she put down her fork and picked up her fan, to toy with it while sulking in Willie’s direction.

After dinner, the ladies moved gratefully to the saloon, to give their ears a rest. Before long, the gentlemen joined them, and soon the other guests for the rout began to arrive. Although it was not a formal ball, Aurelia and Nick opened the dancing.

“I would have liked to see the colonel in his regimentals,” Townsend said to the little group around him, “but he is a fine figure of a lad, even in a black jacket. I will be happy to have him as a son-in-law.”

Jane thought Nick might have stood up once with her without causing any scandal, but he didn’t ask her. He stood up with Marie Huddleston and several of the neighbors, but not with her. The dancing continued unabated until eleven-thirty, at which time the music stopped and Lord Goderich was led into the room, propped up on one side by Nick and on the other by Willie. His black evening suit had been pressed to within an inch of its life. At his throat, a diamond as big as a cherry sparkled in his white cravat. His hair was brushed and he had had a fresh shave for the occasion. The neighbors surged forward to wish him well and congratulate him on being mobile again.

“Here is the little lady who is responsible for it,” Goderich said, taking Mrs. Lipton’s hand. Mrs. Lipton gave a simpering smile, so unlike her usual sensible behavior. “Will you tell them, my dear, or shall I?” he asked archly.

“Let Nick make the announcement,” Mrs. Lipton said.

Nick went to the platform that had been erected for the orchestra, to make the formal announcement.

“It gives me great pleasure to announce that Mrs. Lipton has accepted my uncle’s offer of marriage,” he said.

A flurry of excitement ensued, drowning out any  other words he might have planned to add. The neighbors, after they had digested their shock, clapped weakly. Jane stared at her aunt in disbelief. Aunt Emily marrying Goderich? It was impossible!

“Bit of a shocker,” Pel said, pulling at his ear. “Still, no denying the old gaffer is improving every day.”

The Townsends were less tentative in their disapproval. “Mad as a hatter!” Marie scolded.

“It is no odds,” Townsend said, after a good scrutiny of Goderich. “He will be pushing up daisies in no time. ‘Relia will still be a countess.”

“You never can tell,” his good wife cautioned. “It only takes one time. And she, you know, is not all that old. If she has a son
...
”

“Rubbish! The old boy is inches from the grave. You don’t throw over an earl for that. I have plans for Clareview.”