Reckless Griselda (12 page)

“Well, here is the dessert, ma’am,” said Thorpe. “I promise to be as sweet as the syllabub.”

Griselda had noticed that hardly an affectionate word had passed between mother and son. Lady Thorpe never addressed him as anything but “Thorpe” and he had not been less formal.

The dessert was showy. A sponge castle in a sea of whipped syllabub, decorated with crystallised violets, gilded almonds and little paper pennants was placed in the centre of the table, flanked by two large silver stands of fruits.

“Just the thing to amuse a young lady’s appetite,” said Lord Wansford. “You’ll take a piece, Miss Farquarson?”

“Just fruit, thank you, my lord. I could not possibly destroy such an edifice as that.”

She chose a fig and noticed that Tom Thorpe had chosen the same.

“Your favourite fruit?” he asked quietly.

“Yes.”

“There are two very large fig trees at Priorscote – they must be a hundred years old at least. They are very productive. I used to climb them as a boy. The figs are better than any I have ever tasted.”

Hugh who had been helping Lady Mary to some syllabub, smiled and said, “That makes me think of the apricot at Glenmorval. I used to dream of it in Africa, even though we had the fruits of paradise there. Tell me, Grizzy, does it still prosper?”

“Not this year. I think it is a little old now.”

“Then I shall plant a new one directly I return,” said Hugh.

“You must ask our cousin Caroline what sort would be best,” Griselda said. “She is very au fait with such matters, is she not, Sir Thomas?”

“Yes, she is very fond of gardening, I believe.”

Griselda thought she saw a flicker of annoyance cross Lady Thorpe’s face. She turned rather pointedly to Lady Mary.

“Mary dear, I had the sweetest letter from the Duchess this morning,” she said. “She is quite determined to throw a ball in town to celebrate your marriage. She has always been so very fond of you and Thorpe. She could not be happier that you are making a match of it.”

Thorpe who had been in the act of lifting his glass to his lips, put it down.

“You wrote to the Duchess of Renfrew?” he said rather quietly.

“But of course. She is such a dear friend,” Lady Thorpe said rather pointedly to Griselda. “Perhaps you know her?

“No, I have not had the honour to know Her Grace,” said Griselda. She had heard of the Duchess, of course. She was one of the most brilliant and distinguished women in society, a legendary hostess and a patroness not to be trifled with. In truth she never expected nor particularly wanted to know her.

“Then we should arrange it,” said Lord Wansford. “Kitty Renfrew loves to surround herself with clever young women, and now all her girls are married off, she is badly in want of occupation. The beautiful sister of a war hero would be just to her taste, wouldn’t you say, my dear Lady Thorpe?”

“I had thought the very same thing myself,” said Lady Thorpe. “You have not yet had a season, have you, Miss Farquarson? That must be remedied, indeed it must. Colonel, you must not hide this darling creature away any longer. You must prevail on her papa to let her go to town. She will be brilliantly married, I am sure of it.”

They are trying to turn my head, thought Griselda in angry astonishment, to buy me off with promises. It was quite extraordinary but it was plain enough. Lord Wansford was trying to tempt her into disloyalty to her own cousin with all this flattering attention.

“Oh, and you must find a wife for the Colonel too,” said Lord Wansford. “One of the Petersham girls, perhaps? They are as handsome a set of sisters as I ever laid eyes on, Colonel, and they all have fifty thousand a piece.”

“The eldest has sixty,” remarked Lady Thorpe and ate a grape.

Hugh, entirely calm and smiling, said, “I am sure they are charming.”

“Oh, they are. Aren’t they, Thorpe?” said Lady Thorpe. Sir Thomas did not answer but concentrated on draining his glass. “Well, of course my son is in no position to call any other woman charming but dear Mary. He is too gallant, is he not, my dear?”

Lady Mary blushed appropriately and looked down at the remains of her syllabub.

Why does he not defend himself? thought Griselda, glancing at him. He was sitting very still, looking only at the ravaged ramparts of the sponge cake castle. Perhaps he did not because he could not. Perhaps he had written those letters, and in the presence of Lady Mary he could not deny that the marriage was going to take place. He could only make denials to other people. Now she remembered with disgust the way he had kissed Caroline’s hands in public the night before and all his apparent assurances to her. And only that afternoon, he had told her he did not care for Caroline and tried to kiss her again. Who could say what he was capable of?

She was very glad when Lady Mary suggested that they leave the gentlemen to their wine. She hoped they lingered over it.

Lady Thorpe and Lady Mary were not the sort of companions she would have chosen to sit with but she decided she must turn the situation to her advantage and try to find out the truth of the matter.

So as Lady Mary poured out the tea, she asked, “Have you bought your wedding clothes yet, Lady Mary?”

Lady Thorpe smiled very pleasantly at that.

“No, not yet,” said Lady Mary. “But we shall soon, I think, Lady Thorpe?”

“Very soon, my dear,” said Lady Thorpe. “One might even go to Paris for them now. Perhaps you should come with us, Miss Farquarson. I think you would like to see Paris.”

“Oh, very much.”

“We shall see what we can do,” said Lady Thorpe.

“Though I should have thought Lady Mary might wish to save Paris for her wedding journey,” Griselda said, accepting a cup of tea.

“Oh, perhaps. I had not thought…” Lady Mary trailed off. Again the bewildered, rabbit-like glance at Lady Thorpe for guidance. “Sir Thomas has not spoken of the wedding journey yet. We have not even settled a date.”

“A mere formality,” said Lady Thorpe.

“That is such a pretty gown, Miss Farquarson,” said Lady Mary suddenly.

“Thank you. It is my cousin’s,” Griselda could not resist adding.

“I see,” said Lady Thorpe. “She is a charming girl, of course. I do not know Miss Rufford but she is spoken of so highly everywhere. It has quite concerned me that she could have come under such a disagreeable misapprehension concerning Thorpe. I do hope you will clarify the matter with her, Miss Farquarson.”

“I will endeavour to do what I can,” said Griselda.

Lady Thorpe smiled even more at that and then got up and went to the card table and began to lay out a game of patience for herself.

“Why do you young ladies not take a turn about the room together?” she said. “I wish to see you make friends with one another.”

It was not so much a request as a command, and so Griselda, with Lady Mary on her arm, found herself having to make several circuits of the long room, while Lady Thorpe fretted over the complexities of her game of patience. She took the opportunity to try to draw Lady Mary out as they stood at the window, at the far end of the room, away from Lady Thorpe.

“You must be very excited to be married,” she said. “Sir Thomas is very handsome.”

“He is,” said Lady Mary.

“And to have the Duchess of Renfrew give a ball in your honour. It will be very romantic, I think. You should ask her to make it a masquerade.”

“Oh, do you think?”

“Yes, then you may ask your husband to dress as something that befits him. Who do you think? Some gallant hero from the past, perhaps? “

“I do not know. I cannot think just now. It is a diverting idea, though.”

“Very,” said Griselda. “Perhaps Byron’s corsair, or a hero from Mrs Radcliffe? Or Sir Charles Grandison, even? Though that would not be very pretty for a masquerade.”

“Oh, you are so clever, Miss Farquarson,” said Lady Mary. “I could never think of such things.”

“But you do think of him,” said Griselda rather daringly. “Do you not?”

Lady Mary blushed and bit her lip. She whispered that yes indeed, she did think of him.

“Tell me, Lady Mary,” said Griselda, whispering herself now, “what is it like to be in love? I have never been in love.”

“Oh!” she said, blushing some more but smiling. “Oh, but I cannot say. It is very nice, I think, very nice.”

“Does he write you letters?” Griselda asked. “What must it be like to have a love letter from a gentleman?”

Lady Mary blenched. She was as pale as her white dress. Then she hesitated and said, “He has sent me letters, yes,” and flushed crimson again.

The door opened and the gentlemen returned. Conscious that she was the hostess, Lady Mary fluttered away and busied herself with the tea tray.

Griselda stood for some minutes at the window, watching them all. Lady Thorpe and Wansford might lie – they were used to the world and were probably practised at it – but Lady Mary, so fresh from the schoolroom, did not strike her as a natural liar. Her father would surely not threaten to bring the matter to court if it meant that his own daughter would have to perjure herself.

Thorpe was walking across the room to her now. She quickly turned towards the window, determined not to look at him. But it seemed they would have to talk. The others were sitting down at the card table.

“I hear you have been asking about wedding clothes,” he said quietly.

“Of course I did. It is generally what you do ask about when a marriage is talked of. Amongst women at any rate. You must have been talking through the settlement with Lord Wansford. Tell me, how much will she bring you?”

“She will not bring me anything, because I am not going to marry her.”

“You may have convinced my brother of your innocence – of course he must believe you, but I cannot.”

“You are very stupid to believe anything you hear from Wansford,” he said. “You do not know what you are dealing with.”

“Oh, I think I do. I know about innocent girls straight from the schoolroom, Sir Thomas. I know that they are not brought up to lie. She told me she had letters from you.”

He was silent for a moment, fiddling with his signet ring. She hated that silence.

“What am I supposed to think of that?” she burst out.

“I did not write to her. I wish you would believe me.”

“Why should I?”

“Because your good opinion matters to me.”

“Well, it is a little too late to start worrying about that now,” she said, and walked down the room to the card table.

As she did, she met Lord Wansford, who had got up from the card table and opened the piano.

“I have an urgent desire for some music,” he said, taking her arm and leading her to the piano. “Look, a book of Scotch airs – how apt. Won’t you play one for us, Miss Farquarson?”

“I’m afraid I must decline – and save the ears of the company.”

“Then you will sing – surely you must sing? I never knew a young lady who did not sing. Come, Mary, come and accompany Miss Farquarson. I wish to hear some of these Scotch airs sung by a Scotswoman.”

Griselda felt herself flushing, and her heart pounding with anxiety. She liked to sing, but not in drawing rooms – she had never studied singing and to have to perform now would leave her exposed. She glanced at Hugh, hoping he would help her, but to her dismay he smiled and said, “I should like to hear my sister sing too, Lord Wansford. It has been too long and she has a sweet voice.”

“Then I might have done,” Griselda said, “but now…”

“Now, now, you must sing for your brother,” Lord Wansford said. “I cannot believe you would be so lacking in family feeling.”

Lady Mary had already obediently taken her place at the instrument and was looking through the accompaniments.

“Which air am I to play?” she said.

Lord Wansford went to her side and flipped through the book.

“Duncan Gray Came Here To Woo – that sounds charming. Is it charming?”

“Yes,” said Griselda, “but I am not sure…”

“Come, come, my dear. You are among friends,” said Lord Wansford, handing her her part.

He crossed the room and sat down expectantly. Hugh gave her an encouraging smile. Carefully Griselda made sure that she did not look up the room to where Thorpe was standing still by the window. She did not want to be unsettled any more than she was already.

Lady Mary began the accompaniment, playing with confident speed. The setting was an elaborate one with which Griselda was not familiar and she missed the place where she was supposed to come in. She limped in on the second phrase, knowing that she was not quite in tune, and only just in time. She was concentrating hard but she knew she had not imagined Lady Thorpe raising a contemptuous eyebrow. It made her stumble spectacularly over the next passage. And in the background, Lady Mary played on and on in relentless good time and in just the wrong pitch for Griselda.