The Dowager's Daughter (14 page)

John called on Althea the following morning to inquire after her health. The incident with the gossips on the pier had been a revelation to him. It was clear that years of humiliation at the hands of opportunists had taken their toll.

As he waited for the door to be opened, he clenched his fists in outrage, wishing he could beat senseless every knave who had caused his beloved even a moment’s anguish.

Jarvis invited him in, but shook his head upon hearing that he wished to see the mistress of Camberly.

“I regret to inform you, sir, that her ladyship is not receiving visitors today.”

“Then her headache is no better?”

Jarvis fixed his eyes somewhat to the left of John’s head. “I cannot say, sir. I was not informed.”

John thanked him and turned to leave, his thoughts in turmoil.

She is slipping away from me. The poor girl is afraid to entrust her heart to any man.

He was about to exit the door Jarvis held open for him when a feminine voice, which he recognized as Celeste Markham’s melodious contralto, called out to him.

“If you are looking for Althea, try the lily pond. That is where she can usually be found at this hour.”

“Not this time, Lady Camberly. Jarvis just told me she is not at home to anyone right now. I rather suspect that she has yet to recover from the headache she incurred yesterday.”

Celeste looked thoughtful. “Do you think so? I suppose that would account for her not coming down to breakfast this morning. In any case, I am hurt that you did not see fit to pay me a little visit”

He bowed to her. “My abject apologies, Lady Camberly.”

“Unless you stop that Lady Camberly nonsense this instant, your apologies will go unheeded.”

She linked her arm through his. “Come now, let me walk you to your carriage. I have been told by one of the grooms that you have the handsomest of curricles. Your horses I have seen many a time, of course. You have no idea how much I envied your late uncle his magnificent grays, and now you, of course.”

They had reached the carriage and she patted the flank of the horse closest to her. “There is no help for it. From this day forth you are the recipient of my never-ending envy.”

John suspected that Althea’s mother was striving a little too hard to be amiable.

He forced a smile. “It is whispered in some circles that the dowager of Camberly Hall handles the racing ribbons as well as any man.”

She laughed outright. “That must be one of the mildest things that is said of me in most circles.”

“Most of it undeserved. One day, I hope to tell all of those gossips how they have maligned you.”

She looked horrified. “Pray reconsider. I should hate everyone to find out how dull my life
really
is.”

He saw how wistful she looked and realized there was a kernel of truth behind the banter. Celeste Markham had probably missed a lot of life’s sweeter moments.

“I presume you will attend the Prince Regent’s grand midsummer fete on the nineteenth?”

“I expect so. I have heard it will be a dreadful crush.”

“You have heard aright. Marcus says it will be on a scale unheard-of since the days of the Caesars.”

“In that case, how can one refuse? It will most likely be talked about for generations to come.”

“And while we are in Town, nothing would give me greater pleasure than to see you handle the ribbons to my curricle.”

Her face lit up. “That is excessively kind of you. I think I should enjoy that far more than Prinny’s gaudy affair.”

As soon as John departed, the smile left her face and she went inside with the determination of one bent on a mission.

Althea, who was in her sewing room diligently embroidering yet a third rose on her square of cambric, had heard everything. When her mother reentered the house, Althea detected anger in the sound of her footsteps.

They stopped directly at her door, and her mother walked in without even bothering to knock, the curve of her generously proportioned mouth pressed into a straight line. Althea decided to meet her head-on.

“Thank you for telling John that I was not at breakfast.”

Celeste did not respond right away, and when she pulled up a flimsy little chair and sat down next to her, as closely as possible, Althea knew she was in for a difficult time.

“The falsehood was for his benefit, not yours. I take it that on closer acquaintance you have decided that Mr. Ridley does not measure up to your high standards?”

Althea lowered her eyes. “Something of the sort.”

“Daughter, I did not take you for a coward. How could you hide behind the coattails of your butler in such a craven fashion?” Celeste’s tone expressed profound disappointment “Tell me, do you intend to apprise him of your disinterest in his courtship, or will you continue to keep him knocking at your door until he decides that for himself?”

“Of course I shall speak to him. What do you take me for? But not today. I have to choose my words carefully so as to do the least amount of harm.”

Celeste stroked Althea’s cheek.
“La,
child. I am thinking that however kindly your rejection is worded, it will not lessen the hurt. I happen to think that John is terribly in love with you.”

Althea jerked her head away. “You cannot know that. My experiences make it hard for me to trust any man. When all those dreadful people on the pier started to talk about me, every hurt and humiliation I ever suffered at the hands of rich mushrooms and impoverished lords rushed back to hurt me anew.”

“And you are punishing a fine young man who truly loves you because of these creatures?”

“You cannot possibly know how he feels about me. I want to believe him but I am afraid. I love him so much that if he proved untrue, I swear to you, Mama, I would shrivel up and die.”

Celeste took Althea’s hand and held it to her own cheek. “Neither life nor love comes with guarantees. Be careful, my darling, lest you throw away the latter, for it will color everything else that you do in this life.”

Althea’s entourage arrived at the house in Mayfair on the sixteenth of June in plenty of time to prepare for the Prince Regent’s grand midsummer fete. Rumor had it that two thousand people would attend.

Althea was not enthusiastic about going, even though they were to be among those invited to sit at the prince’s table in the Gothic conservatory. Since sending John away, her life had dragged by, one gray day after another.

His absence left her feeling a terrible sense of loss. She found that tears came easily and were difficult to hide from both family and servants.

During one such teary episode her mother came upon her in the library.

“There, there, my little cabbage, tell Mama what is troubling you,” she crooned.

Althea turned aside. “It is nothing. I just wish that we had not received the invitation to the Regent’s tiresome affair, that is all. You know how much I despise being in the City.”

“Poor darling. Nothing you do these days seems to be worth the effort, does it?”

“Exactly.
Mama, does it not also strike you that way?”

“No, it does not”

Althea wrung her hands together. “Then what is the matter with me? Life seems so—”

“Pointless?”

“I was going to say gray, but pointless will serve. Am I ill, do you suppose?”

“Ah. Did I not warn you that if you deny love, nothing else in life much matters? Go to John and tell him that you love him.”

“I would not know where to find him. He left Camberly the very same day I sent him away. He did not tell his household staff where he was going or when he was coming back.”

“Who told you that?”

“Jarvis, of course.”

Celeste was triumphant “I have it on good authority that John will be attending this evening’s festivities.”

“Jarvis, again?”

“But of course. Servants know about our comings and goings almost before we do. Perhaps you will be able to put things right with John tonight”

Althea was torn. “I am not sure. Suppose I marry him and then find out that he does not love me? I would be absolutely devastated.”

“And at this moment you are dancing for joy?”

“Do not tease, Mama.”

“Let me put it another way. Suppose you marry him and discover that you are the moon and stars to him? Is it not worth the chance to trade a misery you
know
you are suffering for the possibility of achieving a lifetime of bliss?”

Mama makes a lot of sense. But then, she has a gift forgetting to the heart of things. She faces life with courage and fortitude, and as her daughter, I should do no less.

“Are you suggesting that I accost him this evening?”

“Not exactly. I have arranged through Marcus for John to come to you. Now, all that is needed is for you to agree.”

Althea gave her a heartfelt hug. “Thank you, Mama—that would be much better.”

The rest of the morning, Althea’s voice was heard all over the house, singing songs about country maidens and their lovers.

Promptly at nine that evening, Althea and her mother and uncle joined other notables in a large reception room to await the arrival of their host. Marcus Ridley took his place beside Althea.

All the ladies were dazzlingly arrayed in their finest evening dresses. Althea looked beautiful in the green-and-lavender shot silk. It was fashioned in a grand manner, complete with a train and a heart-shaped bodice embroidered with tiny opals.

Celeste’s dress was a flattering shade of peach, overlaid with a copper-colored mesh. It was the perfect foil for her fiery hair. Marcus complimented both ladies on their choices.

The gendtlemen were elegantly attired in full court dress. Marcus wore a coat of rich dark blue teamed with black breeches and hose. Althea deemed his black leather slippers to be particularly elegant.

The prince was to be joined by exiled members of the French royal family; the room had been hung in blue silk wall hangings with fleur-de-lis richly embroidered with gold thread.

Althea overheard one querulous gentleman say, “As if our battling prince has not spent enough on this affair.”

Althea was shocked. “I wonder how one gentleman can disparage another while partaking of his hospitality?” she whispered to Marcus.

Marcus bent his head low to reply. “He is not a gentleman, my dear, not in the truest sense of the word. He happens to be a poet.”

“Really?” Althea gave him a closer look. “Lord Byron looks more the part, I fear.”

Marcus laughed out loud, and received a chastising glare from the poet for his trouble.

The prince entered the room at a quarter after nine. He was resplendent in the uniform of a field marshal, a rank he had had the foresight to bestow upon himself directly after assuming the title of Prince Regent.

The exiled members of the French royal family were then ushered in, their high-bridged Bourbon noses making them easy to recognize. After a lengthy exchange of tributes, larded with flowery compliments between host and guests, dinner was announced.

Marcus escorted Althea into the Gothic conservatory. The room was a good two hundred feet in length and the table was not much shorter. They were placed about halfway down, a comfortable distance from the coterie of royalty surrounding the prince at the head.

Althea took her seat, not quite believing the spectacle unfolding before her. A stream, fed by a large catch-bowl, meandered down the middle of the table around huge banks of flowers. Flashes of gold and silver betrayed the presence of fishes swimming in the water.

Her gaze followed the stream to the end of the table—she saw that John was seated there. They exchanged glances. He gave her a brief smile before looking away.

Iron butterflies danced in her stomach.

When soup was served from gargantuan silver tureens, she was unable to swallow it. A lavish meal of roasts, cold dishes, plus mountains of fruit, both in and out of season, followed this. It was accompanied by the appropriate wines and iced champagne offered in copious amounts, but Althea merely toyed with her food and drank very little.

Although she took little interest in what was set before her, Althea did notice that everyone who sat at the prince’s table was served their food on silver plates. She mentioned it to Marcus.

Marcus nodded. “You might be interested to know that even the multitude dining outside in the garden are being served their food on silver. I suspect that our host used up every ingot of silver the smiths had at their disposal. I pity anyone setting up house right now. There is bound to be a shortage of silverware for a while.”

When the banquet was over, Marcus took Althea aside. “If you have anything to say to my brother, he will be waiting for you in a small room directly opposite the one we were in earlier.”

Her heart beat faster.

“I do not mean this unkindly, my dear. I think you would make a fine addition to our family, but please, I beg of you, do not go there unless you have made up your mind to marry him. He has been hurt enough.”

“I am sorry for that. I love John and I want to marry him. I was not sure that he loved me in return. Since my come-out I have been subjected to all sorts of indignities.”

“I can imagine. You are considered to be the most eligible young lady to enter Society for many a year. Fortunately, our parents were a love-match and John and I were raised to believe that love is the only reason to get married.”

“I think I shall get along with your parents very well.” She gave Marcus a shy smile. “You also.”

Marcus gave her a bow. “Thank you, Althea. It will make life more pleasant. Now just wait another five minutes before you go, or tongues will be wagging harder than hounds’ tails at a foxhunt.”

John waited for a slight nod from Marcus, then walked down the corridor to the room that their host had graciously allowed him to use. He found that the room was furnished in the Chinese style, reminiscent of the pavilion at Brighton.

He had been there less than a minute when the door opened. He rushed forward, eager to reconcile with Althea. “I am so glad you came,” he said, then stood stock-still.