Shadows of Doubt (15 page)

“It is rather sudden.” She had not expected him to be so forthright with her about the circumstances. Her aunt Louisa had been convinced his gambling was the culprit. Her heart and mind warred with each other: romanticism versus ration.

“I had hoped you would warm to my suit, I admit, but many marriages are built on less connection than ours. Perhaps one day you will return my feelings.”

“Feelings?” she said doubtfully.

“You must know you are a beautiful woman.”

She stared at him blankly.

“Take a few days to think on it. I will not rush you more than necessity demands, but I must have an answer by the end of the week.”

He took her hands and kissed them then left her standing in stunned astonishment.

“Who was that?” the Dowager entered the room as the front door was closing.

“Lord Kendall.”

“The nerve of him to show his face! I never dreamt he would come, or I would have had Barnes bar the door to him!”

“He came to beg my pardon and explain himself.”

“He did, did he? What did he have to say to excuse his behavior?”

“He confessed he must marry to gain his inheritance. He thought it might as well be me. He showed great condescension to bestow a favour on me, I’m sure.”

“Nothing like a hefty dose of flattery to convince you!”

“I believe he thought I could not resist the opportunity to become a viscountess.”

“It is an enviable position in Society,” the Dowager reasoned.
 

“Yes, but…” Gwen hesitated.

“But?” the Dowager prodded.

“I overheard some information I should not have,” Gwen said feeling a twinge of guilt.

“The best kind,” the Dowager said encouragingly.

“Lady Kendall was scolding him for gaming their fortune away. He mentioned receiving a tidy sum if he married, but Lady Kendall said he must marry ‘her’ for the entire fortune.”

“Interesting. And you do not believe this could be you?”
 

“I’ve never heard my name attached to fortune of any sort. Though we never spoke of the Kendall family after Father died.”

“The old Lord Kendall would never have left you a penny,” she said scathingly.

“I agree. I can make no sense of it.”

“Nevertheless, Peregrine is keen to marry you. If he is desperate for funds, he will not be patient for long,” she warned.

“He said I must give him an answer by the end of the week,” Gwen added with a worried frown.

“Then we shall contrive make it inconvenient for him to be answered.”

***

Andrew soon discovered there were still divided political associations in the new America since he had last visited. He had every wish to avoid anything political, but one could only decline so many invitations and not appear uncivil. His neighbours had taken the more rigid American stance, donning only Virginia homespun dresses and suits to declare their loyalty. When he had mentioned attending the British ball, he had received an oratory of their thoughts on the mother country. He assumed they had only befriended him in hopes to convert him to their way of thinking. He bore their views no ill will, but did not wish to be subjected to or prostheletised to about them. They had been born and raised here; he felt the same loyalty to England, and was thankful for a topic to provide some distance between the overly friendly family.

It seemed to Andrew as he stood in wait amongst the carriages to enter the current British Minister’s residence, that Society here had evolved into something akin to mimicry of England. It was not the same, nor could it be in such a large country, but each city seemed to have developed its own hierarchy.

It seemed ironic after the fierce determination to be free from their feelings of tyranny, that the wealthy landowners were little different than the peerage. True, birth was the operative difference, but it seemed human nature ordered themselves regardless.

The new Minister, another Sir Charles, who had replaced his father, had been a friend at Oxford. His wife, Lady Mary Charlotte, was niece to the Duke of Wellington. They were having the annual ball, and had naturally extended Andrew an invitation. He greeted Sir Charles and Lady Bagot, and was shown into his father's old home. Little had changed, save a few trinkets, pictures and furnishings. Elly would be pleased to know the gardens were still cared for in a fastidious manner.

Andrew sat near Lady Bagot during dinner and compared American society to that of England. It was only natural, and she had only been in residence a year.

“What do you think of America, Lady Bagot?”

“Washington is a pleasant city. Not as large as London, of course. I do enjoy the warmer climate.”

“Do you find it difficult after the recent war?”

“There are those who look down upon us, but most treat us with ambivalence or friendliness.”

“There is much to be said for ambivalence.”

“Indeed. I find it a most welcome virtue.” She smiled with a twinkle in her eyes.

“I wish my nearest neighbours were familiar with the notion.”

“They are of the overly friendly variety, I gather?”

“They could certainly stand to be taught a few things about discretion. They are cordial to me, don't misunderstand,” he confided with a faint smile.

“I do not misunderstand.”

“Gran would call them vulgar mushrooms,” he said candidly.

 
She placed a friendly hand on his arm. “A handsome young man of fortune and ease is attractive, no matter. I have no doubt were you to see them in one of these settings their behaviour would be improved.”

“Doubtful, but perhaps they are more comfortable with me in their home. I confess I feel like I'm being circled by vultures with their four single daughters.”

“You poor thing. Should I visit and give them a set down?”

“If I thought it would do any good, dear lady, I would have asked you to do so many weeks ago!”

She laughed. “If you decide to entertain while you are here, I must be so vulgar as to request an invitation. I must see these neighbours for myself.”

“Consider the invitation yours. At the moment, you would be obliged to eat in the kitchen, or amongst sawdust.”

“I believe I can control my urges until the house is finished.” Her lips twitched. “The Americans do work hard to distinguish themselves, like our cits. If you are able to watch their dance steps, I've heard tell they measure their good breeding by their elegance on the dance floor.”

“No!”

She nodded. “With their lands being further apart, there is less chance for women and men to socialise. They meet at subscription balls similar to Almack’s, but political ideas are exchanged more than pedigrees. Blood lines being unimportant here.”

“Wealth certainly is.”

“Indeed. Even the idiot knows he cannot succeed without wealth.”

“No, but the idiot will try,” he said dryly.

“Shall you save a dance for me? I need to measure my political worth with my minuet.”

“By all means! I had not thought you a politician,” she sallied.

“Not I. But I cannot resist knowing how I measure up!”

“I shall enjoy that. If I recall, you were one of the Beau's best dancers. He never could abide anyone that could not dance.”

“Not a bit. He fired more than one officer for their clumsiness.” He laughed.

 
“Do you return to England soon? I confess I was surprised to hear you have been amongst us so long.”

“I would like to be on the next boat. But I promised Father I would finish the restoration,” he said with longing in his voice.

“Why the hurry?” She raised a knowing eyebrow.

He smiled a cheeky grin.
 

“The smile says it all. I will wish you and the lucky lady happiness now.” She raised her glass.

“Thank you, ma’am.” Now to convince Miss Lambert.

Chapter Twelve

Gwen and the Dowager arrived in Sussex and were driven through a grand ducal estate before arriving at the Dower House. Lord and Lady Easton had stayed in town on some urgent matter and were to follow as soon as they could. Gwen had considered her options
ad nauseum
on their journey, from running away to America, to finding a position, to accepting her cousin’s proposal. There were worse fates. But she still held out the smallest piece of hope that Mr. Abbott would return; she no longer fitted into society, nor cared to. She should not be thinking of him. It was somehow different to dream of a fictional character in a book. But Mr. Abbott was real. A living, breathing, in-the-flesh male. He was much more threatening than any of her heroes from the page, and quite beyond her touch.
 

Her cousin was a Society beau, and would expect her to do him credit. She would fail miserably in his world. It was odd that she did not think her cousin so much beyond her touch as out of her realm. A realm that she was content to never enter.

She still had misgivings about taking the Dowager’s charity. She did not want to be a burden or feel indebted. She could not overcome her pride in her self-sufficiency from years of independence. She had come to terms with her new position in society, and she realised she would need help to find a respectable situation, which seemed to be the best choice. She forced her feelings of anger towards her father to the back of her mind. It seemed a lifetime ago that she had lived on a sizable estate, with dreams of a season and a love match.
 

Her aspirations at this point were minimal: to find a kind employer, and have a warm bed and meal every day. That wasn't entirely true, she confessed to herself; she also selfishly wanted a blue-eyed charmer with a roguish smile who was currently away in America. If she had money she would be tempted to purchase a ticket for the next boat there. Talk about wanton! She doubted he would shut the door in her face if she were to show up unattended, but he might assume she was open to a different type of arrangement. This was a case where it would be preferable to be a man. She would not hesitate to leave and start a new life if she were not limited by female restrictions and proprieties.

The footman was opening the carriage door and handing her down as she dismissed her adventurous thoughts. She had no money to even dream of such things. She paused and looked around. She could smell salty air brought in by a cool breeze. Perhaps they were close to the sea as she had heard it described. It was possible in Sussex. She had never seen the sea, except for in paintings, and she suddenly felt a rush of anticipation. She would enjoy her brief foray into freedom, but only long enough to find a good position. She knew the Dowager would object, but she would have to make her understand.

Before she knew what was happening, she’d been ushered up the stairs into a fine bedroom, and was being dressed in a fine gown and her hair tamed by Hanson, Her Grace’s maid.

“We don't have time for a fancy style this evening, miss. But I think this will do for now.”

Gwen turned around to look and saw she has been transformed yet again. Only this time Mr. Abbott would not be there to appreciate it. Stupid,
stupid
girl, she berated herself. She had to stop thinking such thoughts of him. It was going to be difficult to remember who and what her circumstances were whilst staying with the Dowager. She would have to move quickly with her search, though it hurt her heart.

When she was ready, she escorted the Dowager on a short walk to Wyndham. Dusk was beginning to fall, but she could see water in the distance. She paused and inhaled a deep breath, luxuriating in her first view of the Channel. She could not wait to explore in the morning. She thought of Mr. Abbott out on a ship and the sea, and suppressed a chuckle. She could just imagine him clinging to the sides as he had vividly described.
 

They were shown into the mansion, and then to the drawing room where a crowd of strangers awaited her.
 

 
“Let me introduce you to everyone. We do not expect you to remember names on the first day.”
 

She was introduced to Sir Charles, Lady Abernathy, and Lord and Lady Fairmont, and all were equally friendly. How fortunate Mr. Abbott was to have a family such as this. Now she understood his mannerisms better. What she did not understand was why he had not yet married. Perhaps he was not in want of a wife. She smiled inwardly at the first line of genius from
Pride and Prejudice
. She would dearly love to take tea with that authoress one day!

 
“Did you have a pleasant journey?” Lady Fairmont asked.

“It was lovely,” Gwen said dreamily.

“Lovely? You must have taken a new road,” Lady Fairmont said doubtfully.

“Besides this trip to London, I have never been out of Bath, so anywhere is lovely to me.”

“Never left Bath? You must remain in our company then, for we never stay put long. Between America, Scotland, France...you are certain to find plenty of adventure with us.”

Lady Fairmont had no idea how she longed to do just that. They instantly treated her as if she were one of the family, with a genuine kindness which could not be feigned. She felt her throat tighten and water began to form in her eyes. She forced a smile and looked away. She was saved from betraying her emotion by the butler announcing dinner.