Lord Greywell's Dilemma (16 page)

Because be had eaten particularly well the previous evening, Andrew slept until seven-thirty in the morning. This would have been ideal, except that Elspeth knew Greywell intended to leave fairly early and she had expected to join him in the Breakfast Parlor a little after seven. She leaped out of bed and tossed on a dressing gown just as a light knock came at the door. Thinking this would be Bates, worried at the baby’s lateness, she called, “Come in,” as she stooped to pick up the child. Her braid of hair had fallen forward over one shoulder and loose wisps of hair curled about her ears and forehead.

“It’s all right, Bates,” she said as she cuddled the child against her shoulder. “He’s only just now woken.” And she turned to find Greywell standing immobile in the doorway, staring at her. “Oh. I didn’t know it was you. I’m afraid I’ve overslept.”

“So I see. I didn’t mean to disturb you. May I hold him?”

Elspeth handed the wide-eyed Andrew to his father. The baby, who had been fussing, immediately stilled in Greywell’s arms, blinking curiously up at the face so far above him. Greywell’s expression was hard for Elspeth to decipher: it was tender and yet sad, hopeful and yet touched with despair. How awful to feel such conflicting emotions when you looked on your child, she thought, feeling a wave of reluctant affection for Greywell. Really, he only wanted to do what was right for his son.

“I’ll take good care of him,” she promised. “By the time you return, he’ll be strong and healthy.”

He believed her. Somehow he had no trouble believing Elspeth would accomplish just about anything to which she set her hand. Greywell told himself he should be grateful to her for his being able to leave everything in her capable hands. And he
was
grateful, as far as Andrew went. As for the rest of it . . . Well, there was no more he could say now. She would do as she wished when he was gone, of that he was as certain as he was of his own name. The startling and traitorous thought that she looked adorable with her sleepy eyes and the clinging tendrils of hair he pushed firmly from his mind.

“You’ll want to take Andrew up to Bates,” he said. “They’re bringing my carriage around, so I’ll say farewell to you both now. I’ll write to you, and I hope you’ll send me word of Andrew’s progress. And of your own, of course,” he added, belatedly.

“I shall. Don’t worry if you haven’t time to write often. I understand how busy you’ll be.” Elspeth accepted the baby back from his arms and smiled up at him. “I hope your mission will be wonderfully successful, Greywell. Godspeed.”

“Take care of yourself.” He bent to kiss her forehead. “I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

When he turned and walked out the door, Elspeth felt the slightest bit of regret,  for which she could not account. After all, she knew him only slightly better than anyone else at Ashfield. Well, she decided with a sigh, it’s all for the best he’ll be away. When he’s here, we’re at odds, and by the time he returns I’ll be so entrenched there will be nothing for it but for him to get accustomed to me. She had every intention, too, of getting accustomed to him, when the time came. Accustomed to his various moods, that is.

* * * *

As Andrew’s health progressed, Elspeth took more interest in the world outside Ashfield. She was a little disappointed to find that the parish was a prosperous one, where the vicar required little assistance in the way of making clothing for the poor or ministering to the sick. The only project she could think of to put in motion was one to teach some of the illiterate how to read and write, and she had a difficult time drumming up enthusiasm for it among the people she’d met.

Emily Marden, for instance, thought it unnecessary. “Why would they want to learn to read, my dear Lady Greywell?” she asked as she and Elspeth headed into Coventry one day on a shopping expedition. “If they had wanted to learn, they would have learned as children. We have a perfectly wonderful dame school here, you know. Your husband’s grandfather helped to establish it eons ago, and each of the Greywells since then has taken a personal interest in it. Very few of the children leave school without knowing how to read and write.”

“But there must be adults who don’t know,” Elspeth insisted. “Surely any number of them come from other parts of the country, where they didn’t have the opportunity as children.”

“You don’t know much about the area yet,” Emily said with a tinkling laugh. “There never was such a place for people staying put. Of course, there are a few people who’ve come from outside, but if they’re smart enough to settle in the village, they probably already know how to read!”

“Well, perhaps I’ll just ask around.”

Emily patted her hand. “Yes, do. There may be people I don’t know of, though the question once came up at Crawley and it turned out every one of the servants knew at least the basics. That would be most unusual in some parts of the country, wouldn’t it?”

“It certainly wasn’t the case at Lyndhurst.” Before I undertook my little project, Elspeth could have added, but didn’t.

To Greywell she wrote:

Andrew is thriving these days. His new crib is ready (you will recall I thought the old one too dark and gloomy), so we have set it up in the original nursery next to Bates’ room. I’ve had new curtains made, light, airy ones, but have saved the old mauve hangings in the attic as you requested I do with the furniture. Andrew seems to like the crib and bats at the little cloth animals which dangle from a band across the top. You aren’t to worry that he can get them in his mouth! We’ve given him safer things to chew on. Bates is delighted with his progress, as I am.

Emily Marden and I went shopping in Coventry the other day and I’ve ordered five new dresses. One of them is jaconet muslin over a peach-colored sarsnet which she insisted upon, though the weather is far too chilly for it now. She has the most incredible taste in headdresses! You will be surprised to hear she talked me into a leghorn hat with a large brim and a crown ornamented with four rouleaux of peach-colored satin twined with white cord. It makes me feel exceedingly frivolous!

The question of the dairymaids has been settled. The cowkeeper will milk half the cows.

I am interested in undertaking a project of teaching illiterate
adults in the neighborhood how to read and write. Mrs. Marden says there aren’t any. I find that difficult to believe! I shall look into it further.

By all accounts things progress slowly in Vienna. I hope you are not discouraged.

Your obedient servant, Elspeth

When Greywell received this missive, he was tempted to write her that he would prefer she not call herself his “obedient servant” if she had no intention of following any of his instructions, but he forbore. With so many of the British delegation to the Congress seemingly more intent on attending parties than to the matter in hand, he found himself overworked as one of the few who were determined to find a long-range solution to the division of Europe.

So he wrote back:

Your report on Andrew’s progress is encouraging. I should like to see him right now in his new crib batting at the cloth animals. Thank you again for your care of him.

The Regent should have come himself instead of sending Castlereagh. He would have appreciated the balls and
petits soupers,
the operas and the promenades a great deal more than Castlereagh does. Besides, most of the Allied sovereigns are here, and it is something of a slight that he should disdain appearing. Nonetheless, I have hopes that progress will be made sometime soon, my fear is that it will be the wrong sort of progress. I press for something which will be less disastrous and not bring so much misery.

I was pleased to hear you had gone shopping with Mrs. Marden. She has exquisite taste from all I’ve witnessed. She is probably also right that there are few illiterate adults around the village.

Is your father still planning to come for Christmas? Some will come home for the holiday but there is too much work for me to get away. I hope you will understand.

Yours, etc. Greywell

Much to Elspeth’s surprise, her father did come for Christmas. He arrived the week before, laden with all the paraphernalia for hunting. The staff in the stables were delighted by his interest, and by the two fine hunters he brought with him. Emily Marden’s husband, John, willingly provided an introduction for him to the local meet, and agreed to accompany him to Leicester once for a meeting with the Quorn under the famous Assheton-Smith. On the day they were gone, only two days before Christmas, Emily Marden came to Ashfield for a visit.

“I don’t begrudge him his hunting,” she began, nervously folding her hands over the huge mound of her stomach, “but the baby is due any day now, and I should so dislike his being away when my pains begin.”

It was Emily’s first child, and Elspeth wondered if Caroline’s death in childbirth was weighing on her mind. “You can send for me the moment you feel the slightest discomfort,” she assured her guest. “should it come at a time Mr. Marden is from home. Or even if you’d just like the company. I’ve sat with several women, you know. Are you frightened of the pain?”

“A little. My mother said it’s all worth it in the end, and that you start to forget it after a while.” She gazed fondly down at where Andrew lay gurgling and kicking his legs on a blanket spread on the floor. “I suppose most of all I’m simply impatient. I want it over with and a baby of my own to show for it.”

“It’s a great pity there’s so much pain associated with having a baby,” Elspeth mused. “And the men get off with so little of it.”

Emily laughed. “So far as I can tell, they don’t get any of it at all.”

“Not at the birth, certainly. I meant at the conception.”

Her companion regarded her curiously. “Why should they feel any pain at the conception? They don’t even know it’s happened, and it’s not their bodies it happens to.”

Confused, Elspeth tried to explain. “Well, I meant when men and women were . . . intimate. That pain.”

“Pain?” Emily’s brow wrinkled in a frown, and then cleared. “Oh, you mean the first time for a woman. But that’s such a brief thing, hardly even noticeable. And it doesn’t cause the man any pain, surely. I rather think they like proving how
masculine
they are.” And she blushed with the temerity of speaking so frankly.

Elspeth wished she would speak a little
more
frankly. What was it Mrs. Marden was actually saying? That there was no pain in that ludicrous configuration human mating consisted of? Impossible! She herself had heard the groans and cries of pain. It had nagged at her, of course, that if there was really so much pain, why did people indulge in it so freely? Her father, for instance, had never shown any other evidence of wantonly causing himself pain. If anything, he was a consummate hedonist. On the other hand, he would thoroughly enjoy proving his masculinity, even at the cost of a little (or a lot?) of pain.

“Do you . . .” Elspeth began, and thought better of it. “My mother died when I was only fifteen,” she tried again.

“I’m so sorry,” Emily murmured, wondering at the abrupt change of subject.

“Yes, well, she didn’t . . . I wasn’t . . . Greywell agreed . . .” There was no way she could put it without sounding hopelessly naive. She, a married woman. What would Mrs. Marden think of her? Already she was regarding Elspeth with a slightly puzzled lift of her brows. Elspeth decided it was easier to give up on the subject. With a forced cheerfulness she said, “It’s not every woman who can have a child to raise the day she’s married, is it? Andrew is such a dear.”

Emily wondered if Lady Greywell’s mind had wandered a little during this conversation, since she hadn’t been able to keep track of its direction, and she was usually very good at that. With her husband she needed to be. “Yes, you’re very fortunate. And I do admire the way you’ve taken hold here. Andrew’s health has so vastly improved, and you are so very fond of him. Poor Caroline! But she would be pleased to know her son has someone like you to care for him.”

“I’m not at all like her, am I?”

“Like Caroline? Good gracious, no!” Afraid this might sound rude, Emily hastened to say, “She was a very small, ethereal-looking woman. She had the most beautiful long blond hair with wide green eyes and the merriest dimples. Everything was a lark for her. I don’t think she took anything seriously, which was what made her so much fun to be with. I swear she could wrap any man around her little finger. Greywell was besotted.” Emily clapped a hand over her mouth and lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry! My tongue runs away with me sometimes.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” Elspeth assured her, but feeling the tiniest bit disturbed. “We have an understanding, my husband and I. He needed someone to care for his son and manage things for him here, and I . . . well, I wanted to get away from Lyndhurst. It was the best offer I was likely to receive.”

“I cannot believe that!” Emily declared, loyal already to this strange woman. “Not that Greywell isn’t a splendid match, but there must have been all sorts of men who took an interest in a woman of your merits.”

“Men aren’t particularly interested in merits.”

Emily considered this for a moment, and sighed. “You may be right. Most of them are interested in the beauties that everyone else acknowledges. My cousin is going to London in the spring for her first season. Lord, she’d rank as a diamond of the first water, if my aunt could afford to outfit her properly. She’s very like Caroline in looks, actually, but with a meager wardrobe. I’ll bet she won’t have half the attention Caroline got. Not that she hasn’t any other merits! She’s quite a charming girl.”

“Would she be willing to accept Caroline’s clothes?” Elspeth asked abruptly. “They’re just sitting in the closets in her room, of no use to absolutely anyone. I don’t think Greywell would mind, you know. I doubt if he’s given any thought to disposing of them, but they really should be used before they’re entirely out of fashion. Yes, that’s exactly what should be done with them, they should be given to your cousin so she will have a proper introduction to London.”