The Lonely Earl (4 page)

“I have vivid recollections from my stay in Grosvenor Square,” said Faustina. “But your mother was kind to me, and I am grateful. Even if my stay didn’t turn out as she had hoped.”

“Mama loved having you,’” said Julia, clearly untruthful. “But…”

“But she wanted me to marry, and I didn’t,” said Faustina bluntly.

“Mama’s been difficult lately. I don’t know, really, what the trouble is. I know it’s not debts, because she detests gambling, and I know she is well-fixed. And Ned doesn’t visit often enough to bore her. He’s always trying to get her to do things she doesn’t want to do.”

“I know that. But what is it now?”

Julia was silent for a long time, her fingers tracing a small circle on the arm of the pale blue velvet chair she had chosen to sit in, facing Faustina. Finally she said, “Ned’s too busy to prod Mama this time. Some trouble in his department. But… you know I must come out next season.”

“I should hope so,” agreed Faustina cheerfully. “It is time, you know. And why are you wearing those awful clothes?”

Julia looked down at her plain white gown with little rosebuds marching up and down the fabric, as though she had not seen it before. “Mama chose it,” she said absently.

The girl looked unsettled, unhappy. Faustina began to realize that she had in her hands the means of finding out what the purpose was in Aunt Louisa’s somewhat fluffy mind.

“
if
you do,” she echoed. “You mean you don’t want to go into society? I must tell you that there is no way out Every girl must get settled in life—”

“You mean married,” said Julia with some bitterness. “I remember once, down at Beaufort, I was allowed to go to the fair on Lady Day. They sold cattle there — the poor things led out, bewildered, even frightened, while the buyers looked them over, prodding them in the ribs — just like the marriage mart in London!”

Faustina burst into laughter. “You think that some beau will poke you in the ribs at Almack’s?” Then she saw her cousin’s very real distress and sobered at once. “Believe me, Julia, I was only funning. You know I’ve been through it, and there is much to what you say. But, how else? Trust me, you will not wish to stay in the schoolroom forever, and to have your own establishment has many advantages. It won’t be as bad as you imagine it.”

But Julia was not consoled. Instead, as she left to go to her own room, she said an odd thing. “Mama doesn’t want me to come out, any more than I do,” she said with an air of wisdom consorting oddly with her very young appearance. “And she has a scheme, Faustina. I hate it, I tell you. And I wish it may not hurt you. But I just know it will!”

She turned and fled, just before the tears welled from her eyes, as they had already appeared in her voice.

A scheme? Aunt Louisa could not be so lost to the proper thing as to simply leave Julia here for Faustina to manage. Could she?

It was a thought that troubled Faustina for some time. She was fond of Julia, whom she had gotten to know well in London. Julia’s only chance of escape from her mother’s domination was through marriage, and while that might not answer, yet Julia must have her chance.

Not until after dinner that night did Faustina catch the first glimmer of Aunt Louisa’s plans. After Lord Egmont and the vicar joined the ladies in the drawing room, Louisa clapped her hands to command their attention. Dressed in dark green, cut cleverly to display her truly magnificent shoulders, she was an exotic creature out of her native habitat in London. Even Faustina was shadowed by her aunt’s sparkling vivacity, and if Miss Bucknell’s unerring judgment considered that Lady Waverly appeared a bit too close to the edge of “flashy,” she kept her opinions hidden behind her usual self-effacing manner.

Louisa cried, “The most wonderful idea has just this minute occurred to me! Tell me, Faustina, what you think of this! A ball!” She glanced quickly around the room. Shrewdly spiking her brother-in-law’s opposing guns, she added, “All at my expense, James.” She smiled sweetly, knowing he could not refuse her without appearing a curmudgeon.

Louisa continued. “Not a real ball, of course, James. That would be totally unsuitable in the depths of the country. A simple — what shall we call it, Faustina? — a rout? That is too grand a name. I have it. A roundel!”

Faustina glanced at her father. To her gratification, he was saying little, but she thought she detected a storm cloud on his brow, a cloud no bigger than a man’s hand. He might have refused Louisa outright, but the vicar had seized the idea and taken off in full cry.

“Lady Waverly, how splendid! We have pined for someone to enliven our little community.” He cast a reproachful glance toward Faustina.

“Whom shall we ask?” wondered Louisa. “I collect there are sufficient neighbors at home now? I know Lady Chittenden is here…” She named others, and Faustina was surprised at the extent of her aunt’s knowledge of local social resources. “Leggetts, there are a couple of young men there, very young, of course. And Mowbrays, and…”

The vicar’s voice rose. “My daughter. Helen, is away from home, my lady, otherwise she could be of such help to you. She’s visiting her mother’s relatives — the Hortons of Hampshire, you know.” He spoke with an air of pride that arrested Lady Waverly in flight.

“Your daughter,” she said, suddenly thoughtful. “I think I remember her.” Then she added with bright insincerity, “Too bad she is so far away.”

The vicar clamped his lips together with an air of seeing Lady Waverly in a new light. But Lady Waverly was intent upon her own plans. “Aren’t there others?” she asked presently. “I seem to remember… Ah, I know! Vincent Crale! I heard he had come down to Crale Hall some months back. His father’s death — only a year ago, but surely he is out of mourning? It’s only a country party, after all!”

Mr. Astley spoke archly. “Ah, Lady Waverly, you must not ask young Mr. Crale — not unless you ask his brother, the earl!”

The reaction to his words, while perhaps not what he expected, was nonetheless marked. Lady Waverly managed a look of artless surprise. Lord Egmont stood utterly still, arrested in the act of lifting a teacup to his lips.

Faustina glanced at Julia, whose face in the light of many candles seemed suffused with dark color. Dear Bucky, always observant and sympathetic, was watching Julia with speculation in her gentle brown eyes.

Faustina shifted her glance to her father.

“Oh,” said Lady Waverly after too long a pause, “I believe I had heard that he had returned from the continent. Perhaps he will come, although I have heard that he is a great recluse these days. Too bad!”

Faustina caught the eye of Lord Egmont, and swift intelligence passed between them. If the Earl of Pendarvis could be coaxed into offering for Julia — through what kind of persuasion was not immediately clear — then Julia could be settled for life, and her mother could remain free to enjoy her own way of life, and, as to age, still uncataloged.

Aunt Louisa’s purpose in visiting her brother-in-law was out in the open, and Faustina, remembering the harsh lines etched on the face of the unfeeling earl as she had seen him only yesterday, made a promise to herself. She would do everything in her power to see that her cousin Julia was not given to that arrogant, cruel man.

Engrossed in her own troubled thoughts, she did not see the look on her father’s face, as he watched his only daughter in thoughtful appraisal. 

Chapter 4

The morning sun spread over the breakfast table at Kennett Chase like spilled honey, striking reflections from the silver coffee urn on the mahogany serving table, investing crystal water glasses with rainbow haloes, but failing dismally to sweeten the mood of Lord Egmont. Tackling his breakfast egg with the same determination with which he had led his regiment in the Khyber disturbances, he surveyed the demolished results with distaste.

“Why can’t they cook an egg right?” he complained. “Faustina, I hope I am not one to grumble excessively, but this egg cannot be fresh! I wonder at Mrs. Cotter… He glanced up, to catch the suppressed mirth in his daughter’s eyes.

“Fresh this morning, Papa,” she informed him, reassured when she saw his reluctant grin.

“It’s your aunt,” he said mopishly. “Spoils everything. Even the coffee’s weak as water!”

“Poor Papa!” agreed Faustina.

Bucky caught her eye, and pushing back her chair, said brightly, “I must see to the mending. I shall be glad of a word with you later, Faustina.”

After Bucky had left them alone, Faustina suggested innocently, “Shall I have Bone serve your breakfast in the library tomorrow?”

Her father nearly shouted, “No! I will not be harried from my own breakfast table by that woman. And well you know it. I wish you will not gammon me. How soon will she leave, do you think?”

“Indeed, I do not know.” A troubled expression flickered over her face, routing amusement. A visit of several weeks at least could be expected, judging from the amount of baggage filling the second coach. And if Lady Waverly wrought so much havoc at Kennett Chase in a handful of days, the extent of possible devastation in the days to come was past Faustina’s gloomiest reckoning.

“She insists on this rout,” Faustina added slowly. “Does she really expect the earl to come?” protested Lord Egmont. “And above all things, to offer for Julia? Totally mad. He was trapped by that French dancer — so his father told me — when he was but a green lad. He must have learned something since then.”

The ensuing silence was broken only by the baron noisily munching his toast. Faustina’s humming thoughts overrode the gustatory sounds. “You don’t think, Papa,” she said at last, “that Pendarvis would offer for Julia?”

“Not unless his stay in foreign parts had made him run quite mad,” said Egmont bluntly. “Nothing against the girl, you understand. But good God, he must be twice her age!”

“Isn’t that why my aunt has come?”

Egmont set down his cup deliberately. “My dear, the ways of Louisa Waverly are past the ken of man to discern. The woman is addlepated, vain as a monkey, and grossly selfish!”

“Papa!”

“I have told her so. Many times. And she ignored me.” He shoved his plate away in disgust. “Nothing tastes right,” he complained mechanically. His thoughts clearly were no longer on his disagreeable breakfast. “I’ve got a good mind to send them both packing,” he announced, with a hopeful glance at Faustina.

“Oh, no you don’t!” said Faustina, her eyes brimming with restored amusement. “You’d get me to do it, and Aunt Louisa’s wrath would fall entirely on my head.”

The baron looked guilty.

“Where will you go today?” asked Faustina. “Something on the east farms needs your attention, I suppose?”

“Immediately,” agreed her father. “But I know we can’t…” He broke off at the sight of Julia standing shyly in the doorway. How much had she overheard? He glanced at Faustina, but she had already risen to pull Julia into the room, and had rung for Bone. 

“We like coffee,” said Faustina, “but I suppose that is an old-fashioned custom to you. I know that when I was in London, my aunt teased me greatly about my rustic taste.”

“Tea, please,” said Julia in a small voice.

Not until she had fortified herself with country ham and scones did she begin to relax. There was something vaguely disturbing about her young cousin, thought Faustina. She was strongly convinced that Julia was so dominated by her mama that she was as yet only the mere outline of the woman she could be.

“Aunt Louisa treats you no better than Sanders,” observed Faustina. “And at least Sanders could leave her employ. But you, my love…”

Julia flew to her mother’s defense. “She is merely thoughtless, you know. She has worries of her own.”

Egmont mumbled, “One worry she needn’t take on herself. The ball.”

“Oh, but, sir,” said Julia, swiftly turning to him, “of all things, she needs the ball.”

Faustina’s eyes grew wide. “She needs the ball?” she repeated in unbelieving accents. “Aunt Louisa, a London sensation, to require a country rout? Come, Julia, don’t hoax me!”

“Oh, but it’s true!” Julia was clearly in earnest. “You see, it’s simply
because
she is so well-known in London that she had to leave… Oh, I’m telling this all wrong! Besides, you wouldn’t be interested!”

Her listeners gave the lie to that statement. Egmont held his coffee halfway to his open mouth, and Faustina’s eyes were riveted upon her cousin’s flushed face.

“You can’t stop now!” admonished Faustina. “My aunt Louisa had to
leave
? You don’t mean to tell me that my aunt, whose strictures upon my own deportment I have heard more than once, had to
leave
London
?”

“Not like that!” said Julia, embarrassed by the turn Faustina had given the conversation. “It was simply that she had counted so much on Captain Abernethy…” “Abernethy?” said Egmont, startled. “Old Pug? Last I heard of him, he had developed some odd habits, like dyeing his horses some bright color — yellow? Yes, that was it. An odious color. To match his carriage, I think. Not much in his attic.”

“No, but a great deal in his bank,” said Julia shrewdly. “And he was going to offer for Mama, I know he was. Even her mantua maker was making odds on it, I believe”

Egmont stared at his niece. “You mean Louisa would have
married
him?”

“Oh, yes. He is so very wealthy, you know. But he offered for someone else — Honoria Smith, I believe. And of course, all the
ton
were laughing at Mama. Too high in the instep, they said.”

Egmont was exercised by thoughts of his own. “Louisa would have married old Pug?” he muttered in disbelief. “Those horses were the color of wild mustard!”

“My poor Mama!” continued Julia, as though he had not spoken. “She felt his defection so strongly, don’t you know, that she
refused
to
drive
in the park!”

But Faustina’s ear was quick. She caught an undertone of something forlorn in Julia’s voice, and, being excessively kind, set herself to find that lonely part of Julia and bring it into the light.

“And she’s behaving quite
gothic
to you because of her disappointment,” pronounced Faustina gently. She was proved right by the sudden tears that sprang to Julia’s eyes, glimpsed for a moment before the girl looked down at her folded hands. “You think the ball will do her good?”

Julia, making a strong effort for control, said earnestly, “You see, she’s bound to cut a fine figure here in the country, and she believes that Abernethy will hear of it…”

“Yellow horses,” muttered the baron, aghast over such a memory, long buried and now resurrected, having lost nothing by its absence. He rose and got as far as the door before he turned to eye Julia with something like affection.

“You know that the earl will not come to this affair,” he said. “He’s just back, and young Vincent claims he’s turned hermit.”

If he thought Julia would be dashed by the news, he was mistaken. She clapped her hands, childlike, and crowed, “How grand! I should not like to see him snub my mother.”

*

It was much later in the morning that the thought occurred to Faustina that she had not seen Vincent for several days. Until the earl arrived home, Vincent had come to visit Kennett Chase once a day, at the least. Egmont had found it necessary to warn his daughter about his visits.

“You think he has designs on me?” scoffed Faustina. “He’s just a boy.”

Secretly, trusting her father’s judgment, she had resolved to be more circumspect in entertaining Vincent, even though he was their nearest neighbor and a lonely young man. But, perversely, now that he had stayed away for several days, she began to wonder whether the earl kept him on such a tight rein that he could not even cross the road to see his friends. It would be just like that odious man she had met in Trevan that day!

He had become cruel and arrogant, self-centered in the extreme, and though she was sufficiently fair-minded to put the blame where rumor said it fitted — on his own French marriage — yet she scorned a man who would take out his own unhappiness on his small daughter and his despised half-brother.

She too was glad that the earl would not come to the ball. She would be forced to be pleasant to him, in her own house, and she feared such a strain on her civility would overtax it.

And yet, she resented his aloofness. How dare he think, just because of his superior rank, that he could snub the Kennetts? Top-lofty, that’s what he was, and a good thing he wasn’t at hand right that moment, or she might have told him so!

She moved to the open window of her sitting room, above the entrance hall on the ground floor, and looked restlessly into the branches of the mammoth oaks, planted by the first Baron Egmont.

Her unsettled state of mind, a novelty in her usual untroubled existence, was destined to become worse. Lady Waverly swept through the open door from the hall without ceremony. She was already dressed, surprisingly, since it was not yet eleven o’clock. She wore a plain gown of pale green silk, ruffled at the throat and along the draped flounce of the skirt. It was cleverly cut to show off her tiny waist, still only a hand span’s width.

“How anyone can contrive to sleep,” she said abruptly, “in this deadly silence! I vow I never closed my eyes all night.”

Since her eyes were clear and sparkling, Faustina discounted her aunt’s complaint. Soothingly she offered, “I am sure you will feel better for a dish of tea.”

“Never!” said Louisa. “Tea darkens the complexion and muddies the eyes, didn’t you know that? Dr. Gee has said so. And of course I believe him. You won’t credit the change in me since I stopped drinking that insidious infusion.”

Faustina could think of nothing to say. Fortunately, there was no need for comment. Louisa would have paid no heed. After some moments of aimless conversation, Lady Waverly said in an artless manner, “What do you find to do down here in this forsaken spot?”

“We manage,” said Faustina dryly, adding, “You must admit there is much attraction in peace and quiet. I believe you said as much when you arrived.”

Louisa’s eyes narrowed as she regarded her niece without favor. “Don’t be impertinent, Faustina,” she said. “I believe no one can say that I am not willing to make sacrifices for my family, when it is necessary. And put the best face on it that could be desired, too! Surely you had nothing to comolain of when you came to me in London.”

“No, Aunt,” said Faustina. “I appreciate your sacrifices for me.” She would have appreciated them more, she reflected, had she known what they were. The incessant gaiety of her seasons were much more to her aunt’s taste than to her own. 

“But it was all for nothing,” mourned Louisa. “Why didn’t you marry Denton? He was worth ten thousand, if he was worth a penny. You came to London to marry — why not Denton?”

Seeing that her aunt really expected an answer, Faustina could not oblige her. Lamely she suggested, “Because he had cold hands.”

Her aunt stood aghast. “Cold hands? A taradiddle! My dear girl, if that were all you must put up with—”

Faustina leaped into the breach. “But why must I put up with anything? Is marriage an ordeal to be endured?”

“You misunderstood me.” Louisa averted her eyes. “It is a duty, and I find you sadly lacking in a sense of what your responsibilities are.”

“Duty, Mama?” said Julia mildly, on the threshold of the room.

Louisa welcomed the diversion. Swinging around on her daughter, she pronounced, “And you too, miss. I am capable of a great many sacrifices for my family — none knows that better than Faustina, or should know — but I should like to see a little appreciation of what I go through. Coming down to this forsaken place…”

She paused in mid-cry. Faustina insinuated gently, “And why did you come, Aunt? I confess it is a question that has puzzled me since your letter came.”

After a moment Louisa said, “My duty.”

Faustina echoed blankly, “To me?”

“You could have married Denton. Very well, you chose not to. But Lord Boulton? Surely you would have suited. But no, you saw fit to turn him down. But there was Lenox… or—”

Faustina interrupted, half-amused, half-nettled, “Not the whole of London, I beg! I had offers from only a small segment of the eligibles.”

Without knowing it, her voice had risen. She could not penetrate her aunt’s shell of selfish concern by reason, and obscurely she thought volume must be the key.

Louisa cried out, “Your father is the trouble! He has kept you cloistered here!”