The Lady Next Door (7 page)

Eyeing the earl’s calm countenance now, William had a sudden inspiration, produced, perhaps, by the faintest of twitches to the lips betraying a secret amusement in his employer. Cautiously, he voiced an inner certainty. “If you marry, your mother will probably move to the dower house.”

The earl sighed. “Perhaps even to the estate in Dorset. I would make it very comfortable for her there, and she has often complained of the Yorkshire weather.”

“I dare say the change in climate would do her a world of good, sir.

“Yes, she’s been . . . out of sorts since my father died. Her companion—Madame Lefevre, is it?—would doubtless welcome the change of scene, too. I think Harry and Louisa are a strain on her nerves.”

William lifted his glass to hide the grin which refused to be squelched. “Apparently there are any number of advantages to your lordship’s marrying.”

“I believe there are.” The earl sipped the last of his claret, set the glass on the table and rose. “Shall we go? I have a mind to call on several of the neighborhood families after our business is finished with Hardwick.”

* * * *

Few sounds penetrated to the sick room in the black hours of the night, but neither aunt nor niece slept, the one struggling for breath, and the other gently wiping the damp forehead. One candle burned on the bedside table and by its light, Miss Effington studied Marianne’s watchful countenance. She spoke in a voice hardly louder than a whisper. “What will you do if I die?”

“You aren’t going to die, Aunt Effie.”

“You can’t possibly know that,” the old woman said fretfully, her fingers reaching out to clamp onto Marianne’s wrist. “What will you do?”

“Honestly, Aunt Effie, I haven’t given the matter any thought.”

“You should, my girl. You can’t stay here unchaperoned. For all you think yourself so advanced in years, your character would be in shreds if you lived here with two lodgers.”

“I wouldn’t do that.” Understanding that her aunt was tormented by the thought of leaving her abandoned, Marianne said calmly, “I would find a companion, I suppose, until I could sell the house. Then I would move somewhere—to a village, perhaps, where I would keep chickens and a cow and maybe a few pigs. With my spare money I would invest in Mr. Geddes’s inventions.”

“This is not a jesting matter! Marianne, you should marry.”

“My love,” she laughed, “how can you say so? Have you not convinced me that a woman’s true freedom lies in the single state?”

Much to her surprise, a tear escaped the old lady’s eye and glinted in the candlelight as it slid unheeded down the pale cheek. “You are clever enough to know I spoke so only because of your situation, Marianne. Here in York you needn’t pay the least heed to the London gossip.”

“With Lady Latteridge expected any time?”

“Lady Latteridge can influence only the quality.” The words hung in the air as though written there in burning letters, and Miss Effington shivered despite the fire on the hearth, and the blankets piled about her. “Do you set much store in position? The finest man I ever knew was a gentleman-farmer. Look about you. The doctor, the inventor, the attorney—all minor gentry. What counts is not the orders they can pin on their coats, but the goodness in their hearts. Not that I would have you marry Mr. Oldham. Promise me you won’t marry him!"

“I promise,” Marianne said firmly, pressing her aunt’s frantic hand.

“Of course not. You have a great deal of sense, my dear, and you know it would be disastrous to ally yourself with such a prosy fool.” She struggled for breath and Marianne laid a finger on her lips.

“Don’t talk anymore now, love.”

“I must. I want to tell you something important. Tomorrow may be too late.”

“It won’t be. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not.” The old lady moistened her lips and said very slowly, “I loved that gentleman-farmer, Marianne. But we were quality, as you are, and he was beneath my station. My parents forbade the banns, shuffled me off to France, lavished me with exquisite clothes and jewelry, always, always drumming into my mind the gulf between us. A whole parade of elegant young men was brought forth, in the hopes that one of them would catch my eye, and daily my parents pointed out the differences between their polished behavior and the simple rustic manners of my gentleman-farmer. And it was true. John never in his life could have bowed so gracefully, or conversed so politely, or held a teacup with such poise. My mother would say, with a sad smile, ‘Poor Mr. Deighton would be so uncomfortable at a London rout, wouldn’t he?’ And I realized that he would. I was pretty as a girl, you know, and much attention was paid to me when we went to London for the season. My head was turned, and all those little refinements came to seem so vastly important. Can you understand what I’m saying, Marianne?”

“I think so.”

“We returned to the country in the summer and there was John, just as rustic and honest and straightforward as he had always been, and I told him . . ." The pale face turned aside on the pillow as though only to the darkness opposite could Aunt Effie confess her shame. “I told him we were not suited, that I would never be able to marry him, that he was not to wait until I came of age. At the time I thought I had uncovered a major flaw in him, one that I could not live with. Only later did I come to understand that the flaws were superficial, and infinitely small compared with the ones I found in my suitors. My lord Hercules cheated when racing his horses, my lord Ulysses had gambled away the whole of his family’s fortune, Sir Achilles seldom endured a sober moment, the Honorable Mr. Nestor was anything but honorable. In addition,” she declared, the strength returning momentarily to her voice, “they all quite deserted me when Papa lost most of his money in the South Sea scheme.”

“And what of Mr. Deighton?”

“He had married poor Lavinia Trapper. She was orphaned when her parents were killed in a coaching accident, and it was found that her father was deeply in debt. Do I credit John with too much humanity in thinking he married her out of kindness? Or is it only that I cannot believe he could have loved someone other than me? What a foolish old woman I’ve become.”

“Hush, love. You are nothing of the sort. Can you sleep now?”

Aunt Effie shook her head fretfully. “I haven’t told you what I meant to. I’m rambling on about my stupid affairs. The point is this, Marianne: There are good men among the gentry. They may not have the polish or refinement of a viscount, but for all that, they are honorable, generous-hearted men. If the quality is closed to you, that does not mean you cannot marry. I would rather have married my dear John, for all his muddy boots, than have remained a spinster all my life. No, that is not strong enough. I would rather have married him than any man I ever met, and I should have but for a false pride instilled in me. But it was my fault, too ready to believe my own consequence. How many ladies pace out their lives alone because a proper match is never made for them? One in ten, one in five, one in three? When I think that I could have sat beside the hearth with him every night for the last thirty years . . ." There was a quiet satisfaction to her voice as she said simply, “I have loved him all this time. I could never seem to love anyone else.”

“You are fortunate indeed to have loved such a man, Aunt Effie. If I find so worthy a fellow, you may be sure it will not deter me that he is not from the ton. Sleep now, my love. You need your rest and we can talk more tomorrow.”

“I only spoke of him so that you would understand. Tomorrow I will not wish to share my memories.” She cast a pleading look on her niece.

Marianne nodded. “We won’t speak of him again.”

* * * *

Of the five calls the earl and his secretary made in the evening and the following morning, none could be considered a success, so far as Lord Latteridge was concerned. At Lord Haxby’s he was introduced to two comely maidens who seemed so appallingly young that he afterwards queried his secretary as to whether they were yet out of the schoolroom.

“I wonder if they’ve ever been in one,” was the amused reply. “Miss Agatha seemed to believe that the earth was flat, and Miss Amelia thought Walpole was still the king’s first secretary. But I believe there is a school of thought, in addressing marriage matters, wherein the gentleman should take to wife a woman whom he can mold to his own design. The tabula rasa principle, we might call it.”

“I do not subscribe to such a theory,” the earl grumbled.

Miss Condicote, on their next visit, presented a different problem altogether. If not precisely a bluestocking, and only from large-mindedness would one refrain from the epithet, she was at the very least a scholarly woman, dogmatic beyond her years and beyond reason, holding views on every possible subject, and often on the most scant knowledge. Her learning ran to the classics, and if a contemporary situation could conceivably be compared, or even if it could not, she managed to do so. Latteridge politely excused himself after she had drawn a parallel between Byng’s disaster at Minorca and Ajax’s at Troy.

My Lord Winscombe lived beyond Castleford, and though his medieval manor was somewhat out of the way, the earl remembered hearing the daughter’s name mentioned by his sister. He had no recollection of the context until he had sat with the family for half an hour. Then very clearly he recalled Louisa’s remarks: “Sarah is a flirt. I have seen her cast sheep’s eyes at the parson and the blacksmith, and lift her skirts above the ankles when her brother brought home his friends. Mama would have an hysterical fit if I fluttered my fan the way she does.”

The fan Sarah used on this occasion had ivory sticks and gossamer-like lace insets. Latteridge had seen fans worked with consummate skill by ladies of every European country, but he had never seen the like of Sarah’s artistry, not even by the most accomplished courtesans of the day. Fascinated, he watched as she drew the partially extended fan across the milky white expanse of her bosom, largely revealed in her low-cut gown. The sensuousness of the gesture was only heightened by the luminous blue eyes which rested adoringly on her beholder. With a longing sigh she proceeded to manipulate the accessory in such a way that each stroke brushed lightly against the taut fabric across her bosom. Some scientific observation concerning the concurrent heating and cooling of an object distracted Latteridge’s mind so that he entirely missed Lady Winscombe’s sage counsel on the pruning of fruit trees.

When he was once more seated in the phaeton, the ribbons in his hands, he murmured, “Dear God!” to which the staunch William replied, “Just so, my lord.”

Chapter Six

At this point, the earl would as lief have discontinued his endeavors for the day had he not, in his usual courteous manner, sent word ahead that he would call on Mr. Tremaine and Sir Joseph Horton. Despite years spent out of England, the earl had some acquaintance with most of the county families, and knew which possessed daughters of marriageable age. He found that his knowledge was rather out-of-date, however, in the case of the Tremaines, since all four of their daughters were apparently now married and the only one to encourage his attention was Mrs. Tremaine herself, who, looking to the future (her husband being seventy-five to her youthful fifty-eight) thought to provide herself with a splendid match in the event of Mr. Tremaine’s timely death.

“One could tire very quickly of this pursuit,” the earl remarked as he stepped once more into his carriage, having successfully disengaged his hand from the hopeful widow-to-be. “I have the most lowering feeling that the Hortons are abstainers from intoxicating beverages. Shall we stop at an inn on the way?”

“We would likely be unable to avoid dining with them if we arrive after two, sir."

"Then by all means let us press on.”

When the requisite time had been spent with the Hortons, Miss Clare Horton had not as yet presented herself, being above stairs dressing for the weighty occasion. As it turned out, her toilette was well worth the effort, and she floated into the great drawing room much as a goddess might, trailed by the poor cousin who lived with the Hortons in a rather servile capacity. The cousin’s cheeks were aflame from the abuse Miss Horton had heaped upon her during the delicate operation of dressing for his lordship’s presence, and the earl found that the family considered the girl of so little notice that they did not even bother to introduce her. Annoyed with such vulgar behavior, he performed the service for himself and his secretary, grimly pleased at the baronet’s discomposure.

Miss Horton was oblivious to the entire proceeding. Standing where the light caught her profile and silver-blonde hair to her best advantage, she smiled on the assembled party and said graciously, “Lord Latteridge must stay to dine. I have had no opportunity to speak with him yet.”

The earl avoided his secretary’s speaking eyes and declared his willingness to comply with the lady’s command. The expedition had degenerated to such depths that he may have had in mind to amuse himself, or his purpose might have been to gain an acquaintance with the silent cousin, but if it was the latter, he was doomed to failure. Sir Joseph placed the girl beside William and proceeded to ignore both of them, while encouraging his only child to demonstrate her accomplishments in the art of conversation.

“You will find, Lord Latteridge,” she announced, “that the county families have deteriorated during your long absence from Yorkshire. You must accept my condolences on your father’s death, of course. It is the greatest pity that you both should have spent lengthy periods on the continent, as your presence here might have added a very necessary tone to the county. I must tell you that the manners one sees displayed in York are anything but pleasing. That is lemonade, my lord. We are of the opinion that intoxicating beverages are at the root of the demoralization of our society.”

“An interesting theory.” The earl pushed his glass far enough away that he would not mechanically reach for and imbibe of it since, although he had no violent objection to the beverage itself, it did not accompany the boiled tench, roast beef, and broiled blade bone of veal to perfection. “Have you considered serving coffee or tea with meals?”