Read Mr Forster's Fortune Online

Authors: Lizzie Church

Mr Forster's Fortune (9 page)

BOOK: Mr Forster's Fortune
13.1Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Ever since he was a small boy Mr Forster had known very little of his somewhat forbidding, somewhat remote father. His lordship had spent no time with his children, even when very young. He had packed them off to school at the earliest opportunity and hardly ever even shaken their hands. Lord Barnham had ever been a somewhat stern, remote figure to him, happy to use the rod when required, slow to praise, unable to show any real warmth, even to his children. But his eldest son had been a sensitive child. He had felt crushed by this lack of interest in him and he had agonised over it for ever. He had blamed himself. He had wondered what ever he had done to cause his father to reject him. He had been desperate to make himself worthy of his affection, desperate to earn a word - a s
ign, even - of approval, some token that he cared. But as time had passed, and he had done his best – done well at school, acquired some charm, some wit, some polish - but the much craved attention had signally failed to appear, this desperation had gradually transformed itself into a bitter resentment, an avoidance of his father altogether. He had stopped even looking in his father’s direction and had turned his mind to less personal things – drinking and gaming and womanising – instead. But even here his wretched father had thwarted him. The miserable nip-farthing had kept his allowance on the tightest possible rein and threatened to disown him if ever he tipped the double. And yet look at what other fellows got up to. Look at his cousin Tom – the cousin who, though three years his junior and three times less bright, was already in possession of all the wealth that he himself could ever hope for, who could spend as freely as a maharaja, yet still demanded more. So Robert had grown up resenting his father. He had never understood. And now, now that he was of age and being treated as his son at last – although he had longed to be taken into his confidence, to be party to his thoughts and fears – well, now that he had reached that particular goal, he was finding that in many ways he wished it had not happened.

‘And the sister – the bracket-faced sister whom you spoke of, sir – my Aunt Springfield. She got what she wished for as well?’

His father nodded once.

‘Aye, your dear Aunt Springfield – a woman who’s as silly as they come. Yes, she got what she said she wanted, too – a rich husband – and she led him a very merry dance, I can tell you. I don’t know who was the more relieved when he passed away – she, so she could enjoy her wealth with her brainless son, or he, for escaping her clutches for the very last time. Why – many’s the time that he and I... well, humph! – I shall not say much of what we got up to. But we were good friends – friends in adversity, if you like – ever since our marriages. It’s a jolly good thing we were – for their brother – your uncle, Mr Franklin – didn’t like either of us above half. I didn’t have the best of credentials, after all, and Mr Springfield, though wealthy, was not the most respectable of men. Yes, Franklin would gladly
have stood in our way, if he could. But his sisters were quite determined. They knew what they wanted, and they were determined to have it, whether their brother approved of their choices or not.’

‘So that is why you are my cousin Tom’s guardian, sir – because my aunt’s brother disliked Mr Springfield so much?’

‘Not his guardian, Robert – his mother, for her sins, is thankfully his guardian – but certainly he left me in charge of all the funds. And I am guarding his capital for him as if it were my own. It is my duty to do so, and it’s what his father would have wanted me to do. He’s a real scapegrace, young Springfield – no real harm in him, I daresay – but hardly a brain cell in his entire head. His father was desperate that he didn’t gamble everything away before his majority. I’ve been doing my best to protect him from himself.’

Mr Forster looked at his father a little desperately. Though his father had not said so – although no word of it had ever passed his lips – Mr Forster could tell that he had told him his story for a purpose. And suddenly, sitting in front of him at the table, letter in hand, he realised what it was. He realised as clearly as if his father had spelled
it out to him. His lordship was suggesting that his son and heir should do as he had done, should sacrifice himself and his happiness for the benefit of others - that he should marry for convenience - for money - for the good of his estate – and that it was by doing just this that he would finally earn his regard.

‘Thank you, sir,’ he said to him
, dully. ‘Thank you for telling me all these things. It seems a shame that James should not be given his commission, though perhaps it is just as well. It would break my mother’s heart to see him go abroad. I had not appreciated quite the position in which we find ourselves. It is important for me to understand the truth.’

Chapter 16

Captain Alfred King, proud officer in the Royal Surrey Militia and equally proud recipient of an
investment income of £685 per annum, courtesy of a generous bequest from his grandpapa, was sitting stiffly with his cousin Lady Cecily in the bright drawing room of the house in Pulteney Street. His arrival, a little in advance of the date expected, had thrown his loving mother into a flurry of desperate happiness. It had also brought his father an unmitigated sense of relief.

‘When are you out of mourning, Cess?’ he was asking her, examining the tambour work in which she was then engaged
, with a somewhat critical eye. ‘From the state of readiness of all your ruffles and lace I can see that it will not be too long.’

‘The year is up in
just a few days’ time now, Alfred, so I shall be free to wear all my new-found finery from then. I must admit I shall be pleased to do so. What with my mother and then papa I seem to have been wearing black for ever.’

Her cousin nodded his head solemnly
.

‘It must come hard for a young female,’ he asserted,
nibbling absently at a rough bit of nail. ‘especially one who had only just ‘come out’. You lost a full year’s worth of frippery things in black crape – though I must say your half mourning does you no disfavour. I understand these things to be important to young females. There’s many a young female I know who would wish herself early out of mourning.’

Cecily laughed and put down her work for a moment.

‘And what of you, in your smart regimentals? I daresay you’ve broken many a lady’s heart whilst parading about in Brighton.’

This time it was her cousin’s turn to laugh, though it sounded decidedly forced.
A picture caught his eye for a second. It was hanging very slightly askew. He rose up and set it straight before standing back to review its situation.

‘Well, maybe I have and maybe I have
not,’ he responded, unhelpfully. Now he was jingling the coins in his pocket. It was irritating her more than she could possibly say. ‘But if I
have
won some admirers they are all destined to be most disappointed. We have been given notice to undertake manoeuvres in Ireland in the summer. I doubt that any of them would venture quite so very far as that.’

Cecily had to agree with him, though she was far too polite to
admit it. For despite her teasing allusion to his regimentals poor Alfred was not exactly – well, alluring. Despite him being still a young man – he was only four-and-twenty after all – she found him, most unfortunately, to be sadly unappealing. His figure was subject to more than a hint of portliness, not at all improved by an ever-receding hairline and a slightly self-important, pompous air which made him look more than twice his actual age. His conversation hovered almost exclusively in the military arena and, more specifically, on the manoeuvres and equipment to which he, personally, as a much esteemed officer in the Royal Surreys (the proudest and best of all the militia regiments in the region), had direct exposure. He had begun to provide her with a more fulsome account of his projected Irish expedition already. And although he was a perfectly kind, affable sort of gentleman who was more than happy to escort his cousin and his mama to wherever they wanted him to escort them and who was, additionally, always most careful to behave exactly as he ought, Cecily could not prevent herself from thinking that Captain King was not quite the sort of young gentleman who would easily break any lady’s heart.

Captain King had mater
ialised on the Thursday, and that evening the Kings had engaged to attend the regular fancy ball which was due to be held at the grand Upper Rooms. Cecily was in high spirits at the thought of seeing Mr Forster once again and until his expected appearance she decided to amuse herself by teasing her cousin for a while. Much to her discredit she allowed herself this indulgence every now and again. He was so very formal and serious all the time, she found it quite impossible to resist. It was a way of getting her own back for all the irritation he caused whenever he was anywhere close to hand. And tonight she had the perfect subject. For poor Alfred had suffered the misfortune of slipping on a patch of ice as he stepped down the stairs to escort her to her chair. His landing in an inelegant heap at the bottom of the flight had left his bones thankfully intact but his pride most seriously bruised indeed.

‘I did recommend abstention from the port, if you recall, Alfred,’ she
scolded, playfully. ‘After all, I know how incapable you gentlemen become when you’ve imbibed a bottle or two. I’m only surprised that you managed to negotiate any of the steps at all. But perhaps it was
that
which preserved you in the end? I expect you were so decidedly befuddled that you didn’t even think of getting hurt.’

The gentleman, unsurprisingly, immediately attempted a spirited defence
of his behaviour. He had not been bosky, he assured her – not even the slightest bit tipsy. His one glass of wine had been watered, as it always was. It was the ice, and the ice alone, that had taken him by surprise.

Unfortunately, in his eagerness to explain his accident away
, he confused himself entirely and tied himself up in a knot.

‘So you see, Cess,
’ he was contending to her, ‘the wine was most certainly to blame. It was not the ice, I can assure you.’

A look was all that was needed. Alfred was vanquished. His look of mortification was clear, and complete. It was just too much for
Cecily to bear. She burst into a peal of laughter and patted his arm triumphantly. Alfred could only produce a much less convincing grimace in return.

He
was more successful in surviving his cotillons, though he manoeuvred so stiffly and ponderously that Cecily had almost rather he’d tripped right over on the spot. It was while they were dancing their second dance that the topic shifted from ice to the cooling effects of Cecily’s grisaille fan, which she had just that moment been utilising to good effect now that the ballroom was becoming somewhat heated. She determined on providing her cousin with some enlightenment as to its other, much more interesting, roles.

‘For you must know that a lady’s fan
has no end of uses, Alfred,’ she informed him, seriously. ‘It is quite a mistake to think of it merely as a tool for circulating air.’

No. Alfred had not known this curious fact. She had sort of suspected that
this might be the case.

‘Well, the most skilled amongst us may utilise a fan to communicate
just what we are thinking. It offers a whole new world of conversational possibilities, and can tell the expert receiver much more than mere words can ever do. A gentleman could do much worse than to con the subtleties of the language. How could he know the lady’s intentions, else? For this operation, you see,’ (taking on a somewhat teasing pose and fluttering the equipment most delicately) ‘this one means something quite different from this,’ (working away furiously for a second) – ‘though if you were ever to experience this application’ (looking most coquettish and instigating an impressively agitated shiver) ‘you should feel safe in the knowledge that the lady is your own.’

It was
at that very moment that she spotted Mr Forster. He was talking with some gentlemen at the far end of the room. A sudden turn in the dance had brought him fleetingly into view.

Cecily found herself blushing. She was pleased that the dance allowed her to turn away from him in an instant. But the conversation
had suddenly lost its appeal. Indeed, she hardly said another word – and heard not another word of her partner’s - for the whole of the rest of the dance. Alfred, she thought, had asked her for another lesson. He had not quite grasped the subtleties of the code. She had promised him one, she believed, in the privacy of the drawing room back home. At least, she hoped that this was what she had promised. She really hadn’t heard a word of what he had asked. All she could think of was Mr Forster. Was he still there? Had he seen her yet? Was he admiring her? Would he invite her to dance?

But no. Her dances with Alfred were thankfully over and she had just been safely returned to Mrs King’s side when she saw Mr Forster heading off determinedly in the opposite direction. She watched him surreptitiously
, and with not a little disappointed surprise. He was making his way towards a small group of ladies who, even at that distance, Cecily was quite able to tell had a good deal more money than breeding. Then she saw him bowing respectfully over the hand of one of their number, and leading her elegantly onto the floor. He flickered a glance in her direction. She felt convinced that he knew that she was there. Cecily felt mortified. Not only did she have the disgrace of being one of the very few young ladies still remaining by the wall but she also had the humiliation of seeing Mr Forster smiling and laughing with his partner (who looked old enough to be his mother, though far more flighty in her over-ruffled sarcenet and unlikely black curls), looking for all the world as if he was enjoying her company no end.

BOOK: Mr Forster's Fortune
13.1Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

The Truth and Other Lies by Sascha Arango
Darwin's Children by Greg Bear
Amour Provence by Constance Leisure
Way Down Dark by J.P. Smythe
Found by Karen Kingsbury
Touching the Wire by Rebecca Bryn
QB 1 by Mike Lupica