Laura Matthews (16 page)

“Yes, please,” she whispered.

“Very well. Come to the door of the box and we will get your aunt.”

The dowager made no comment on being informed that her niece wished to leave, nor did she hesitate. A cursory glance would have informed her that Jennifer was suffering, but the old woman did not make any sign that she was aware of this. The girl leaned against Pontley’s shoulder in the carriage, but shed no more tears. In the light of the hall she blinked uncertainly and watched the dowager’s rigid back recede up the stairs.

“Come into the parlor for a moment, Jennifer, and I will give you a sip of brandy to steady your nerves."

She followed him obediently and nestled into a corner of the sofa where she attempted to arrange a wisp of handkerchief over her bosom. Pontley made no comment and refrained from allowing his eyes to stray to the pathetic symbol of modesty. Silently she accepted the glass he offered her and took a few tentative sips before rising. “I should like to go to bed now, sir.”

“A maid will be waiting up for you, my dear, so do not hesitate to ask for anything you need.” He kissed her brow before she turned and left him.

This subdued, chastened Jennifer he had not seen before and it encouraged him (for the span of twelve hours) to believe that there might be some hope for her. It had been a hard lesson and an ugly one, but she had seemed to gain from the experience. He was rudely disillusioned the next morning.

By now he was familiar with the signs of her tantrums. Whenever there was a commotion in the household he had not the least doubt who was causing it. It was a new experience for the London servants, however, and they stood about in whispering groups. Pontley was led by the shrieks to Jennifer’s room, where the door stood open and she was ripping the blue gown to shreds. “I hate it! I hate it!”

Pontley strode into the room and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Stop that. You are making a scene again, Jennifer, and I will not have it.”

She stared at him with blazing eyes and screamed, “It is all your fault. I hate you! My aunt knew that such a gown should not be worn by someone of my youth and inexperience. And you let me wear it! Stupid, odious man. It is
your
fault that I was mortified and insulted. I hate you!”

“If you do not control yourself this instant, Jennifer, I will pack you off to Lockwood in the carriage within the hour.”

“How can you?” she taunted. “You have sent your wretched coachman off to convey your housekeeper about the countryside.”

Pontley came close to striking her then. Only with the greatest effort of will was he able to snarl, “There is no shortage of coachmen in London, Jennifer. Control yourself or leave.”

Her bosom rose and fell rapidly, and her hands curled and uncurled, but she was not able to unlock her eyes from his implacable, cold ones. After a space she announced frigidly, “Very well, Philip. If you will please remove yourself from my room, I will dress now.”

In the breakfast room the dowager eyed his grim face warily. “What now, Pontley?”

“The future mistress of Lockwood was disposing of her blue gown in her own inimitable way, Aunt Gertrude. After a night’s reflection she has come to the conclusion that it was a gross error in my judgment to allow her to wear it. You may be pleased to hear that she praised your good sense in the matter.”

“I told you not to let her wear it.” There was a tentative note of triumph in the comment.

“So you did. But then, for all the trouble, I find the results more satisfactory this way. I doubt she will have any desire to wear such a gown again. You might even trade on her current charity with you to see that her new purchases are suitably altered. I would bow to your judgment in this case.”

“No amount of altering will change their colors," the old woman snapped.

“Then return them.”

“You can’t do that with a specially made dress, Pontley. They will have to be given away.”

“An expensive lesson. The first of many, if I am not mistaken.”

They were joined by a sullen Jennifer, who did no more than mumble in reply to any remark addressed to her. Pontley soon excused himself.

For the next two days Jennifer was reasonably well behaved. The dowager, suspicious but grateful, reluctantly agreed to introduce her to some of her friends. Their morning visits were uncommonly successful, for Jennifer set out to charm her hostesses, and few could be as charming as Jennifer when she wished to be. Word of her costume at the theatre had gotten about, but the young lady who now appeared in various drawing rooms was discreetly dressed and demure, with an irresistible helplessness which led her to seek one’s worldly advice. The Dowager Lady Pontley knew well enough not to be taken in by the confiding, spriteful air, but no one else did. They were issued several invitations for fashionable routs and card parties.

Even at these functions Jennifer disported herself becomingly under her aunt’s watchful eye and her affianced husband’s solicitous guidance. Pontley was not accustomed to London society and he made no pretense of being familiar with its niceties. There were examples enough to follow, to say nothing of the dowager’s pungent comments. He made himself agreeable where it was necessary and formed a friendship or two where he was inclined. One of these men offered to put him up for Watier’s, but Pontley was not as yet inclined to delve into London’s exclusive clubs. He had quite enough on his hands with Jennifer.

“Well, ride with me in the morning,” Mr. Archer suggested. “Nothing clears the head after one of these affairs better than an early morning ride.”

Pontley had agreed and found himself the following day in Hyde Park mounted on one of the two hacks he had purchased at Tattersall’s. The other, a distinctively marked black mare, he had acquired for Jennifer as a token of his appreciation for her becoming behavior the past few days. She had proved suitably grateful, with a dimpled smile and an impulsive hug.

After the days bound in by the city, Pontley thoroughly enjoyed the ride, a long one which would make him later than usual for breakfast, but since he was always the first in the household to have his meal, it made no difference. Archer proved an interesting companion, conversant on politics and the arts, society and the theatre. As they approached the gates, their attention was claimed by a gathering of people about a young man who appeared to be delivering a speech. Archer called to an acquaintance to ask who it was.

“The boy actor, you know the one. Betty his name is, William Betty. He’s doing a scene from Hamlet for his audience,” the gentleman replied.

Archer turned to Pontley and asked if he had as yet seen the Young Roscius, but Pontley was not attending to him. He could not take his eyes from the black horse whose reins the boy held; there was no mistaking the distinct white markings on the black mare. With an effort he withdrew his gaze and Archer was struck by the grimness of his expression.

"Not impressed with the prodigy, eh, Pontley? Haven’t seen him yet myself, but there’s no going anywhere in town where they aren’t talking of him. Shall we ride over?”

“No. That is, you may if you wish but I have no desire to see him.”

“I have tickets for the theatre this evening and I’m devilish sharp-set, so I’ll give it a pass.”

The two men rode on and Pontley was grateful when their ways diverged a short distance from the entrance. He retraced his route into the park and rode close enough to the gathering to have an excellent view of the young man. It was indeed Jennifer, tricked out in a young man’s dress and cleverly made up to bear an incredible likeness to the actor. Her voice, too, carried a good distance (probably from years of practice screaming, he thought mournfully) and she was reciting Hamlet’s speeches as though she were born to the role. It was a matter of astonishment to him, though, that she was able to fool the gathering, since many of its number must have seen the boy perform. She was nearing the completion of a monologue and he placed himself where she could not fail to see him. When her eyes met his there was a glint of defiance in them, and he was not sure that she would obey the beckoning gesture he made.

Jennifer had begun to wonder how to extract herself from her prank, for it seemed likely that this partisan crowd would follow her when she attempted to leave the park. More from self-preservation than from a desire to obey her fiancé
,
she made an elaborate bow to the hearty applause, sprang onto her mare like a boy and joined Pontley. Together they rode from the park without a word, and quickly lost themselves in the maze of streets beyond. It was not until they neared the house in Brook Street that he spoke.

“You appeared to be enjoying yourself, Jennifer.”

Her chin lifted stubbornly. “I was, and it did no one any harm.”

“I dare say. And yet you rode out alone, which was not only improper but might have been dangerous."

“You bought the horse for me to amuse myself, Philip.”

Another expensive lesson, he thought. “I am not sure the Young Roscius would appreciate being imitated, and your performance, though excellent, did not perhaps reach his standards. What if someone had attempted to expose you as a fraud?”

She gave a nervous giggle. “I had them all fooled, as you could see. Much leeway is given for the lack of costume and scenery, my dear fellow. And I thought my disguise admirable.”

“You look enough like him to pass as a double. Where did you come by the clothes?”

“Oh, that was a simple matter. I asked a footman to purchase me an outfit, as I wished to surprise my brother with it. When I told him my brother was younger but about the same size, he came up with these and they fit very well.”

“And I suppose the bill will be sent to me.”

“Of course. Well, I have no money of my own left, Philip,” she confided, “and they were not so very expensive. Not so much as one of my gowns."

Pontley assisted her to dismount before the waiting groom, who nervously cast a worried look at his lordship. The groom had attempted to refuse Miss Stafford when she arrived at the stables in a boy’s costume demanding that her new horse be saddled, and not with a sidesaddle, either. She had railed at him like a fishwife, and since Lord Pontley was out and could not be consulted, he had done as she bid. The viscount did not now reprimand him but led the young lady back to the house, where they were directed to the dowager, who smoldered in the breakfast room. She had long since been informed that Jennifer was not in the house, and had not left with the viscount. As she studied the girl’s costume, her face became more sour than usual, her eyes filled with fury.

“You have been abroad in that outfit, Jennifer? And you permitted it, Pontley?”

“I had nothing to say to it, Aunt. Jennifer conceived the idea of passing herself off as the actor Betty in the park, where I found her.”

The young lady’s face became mulish. “There was no harm in it, Aunt Gertrude. No one suspected that I was not the real actor."

“Have you no shame? Parading about as a boy, calling notice to yourself in the park? You are intent on disgracing your family and yourself! What if word of this gets about? Not a drawing room in town will be open to you! We scarcely live down one incipient scandal when you must throw yourself into another. And don’t look to me to save you from disgrace, missy. One day your cozening smile will no longer work for you with anyone, you will be so far beyond the pale.” She turned in her fury on Pontley. “You must control the chit. Have her locked in her room, if it is necessary, but do not let her go about town casting shame on us all.”

“I would remind you, dear aunt, that I am not yet married to Miss Stafford. She is presently under your chaperonage."

"Then as her chaperone I insist that we retire to the country immediately. The next time she comes to London it will have to be under your aegis, Pontley, where her behavior cannot reflect on me.”

Jennifer wailed her anger at such a decision, but Pontley bowed and agreed. “I can be ready to leave whenever you wish, ma’am, but I would remind you that as your niece, Miss Stafford’s behavior is like to reflect on you always.”

The old woman gave a shudder of repulsion. “I will be ready to leave in two hours.”

It was vexing beyond anything for Jennifer to be discussed as though she were not present. She grasped a cup and flung it at Pontley’s head, which it grazed slightly. His lips compressed into a hard line. “Get to your room and see that your maid begins packing immediately, Jennifer. I will not hesitate to have you carried to the carriage if you are not ready or willing.”

Jennifer knew she had gone too far, but she did not apologize. Instead she glared at him and stomped from the room. Pontley immediately summoned a footman and gave instructions for a departure. When they were alone again he turned to the dowager.

“I would suggest, ma ‘am, that you have a close watch kept on your niece until we depart, since I do not think it beyond her in her present frame of mine to try to run away. It would matter nothing to her that she has nowhere to go."

Even Lady Pontley was shocked by this suggestion, but she realized that it was not an impossibility, and she accorded him a bitter nod before stiffly leaving the room. Pontley, as usual, was forced to keep at bay the thought that this sort of crisis was now a permanent feature of his life. It would become no better on their marriage, and perhaps worse.

Chapter 14

Mrs. Morgan blew her nose repeatedly, and Betsey’s eyes were wet with tears when Glenna bid them farewell. She took a last look about the house as nostalgically as though she had lived there the better part of her life rather than a few months. Mr. Glover saw that there was a ham for the vicarage loaded into the carriage, and assured Glenna that her furniture would be well cared for.

The sun broke through an overcast day as the two young ladies climbed into the carriage and they waved forlornly to the group who had made their stay so pleasant. No longer was the carriage-way overgrown with grass, nor the brambles so wild as to scratch the sides of a vehicle passing along it. The grounds were manicured and the hedges trimmed, and just before they were out of sight of the far coppice they had a glimpse of a deer.