The Waltzing Widow (3 page)
"Even if it wasn't. Mama, you needn't have been anxious on William's account. He leads a charmed life, so Grandpapa says,” Abigail said.
"Your grandfather does not rule fate, my dear,” Lady Mary said somewhat tardy. She was recalled by mention of the viscount of her letter. “Abigail, I have written to your grandparents to inform them that we will not be going to London for the Season."
"Oh.” Abigail drew out the syllable in an excess of understanding. “That shall not be well-thought-of at all."
Lady Mary smiled. “I am fully aware of that. However, I have explained the reason and that I am taking you to Brussels. Hopefully that will assuage their natural disappointment not to have you with them this spring.'’ Her daughter looked dubious, but she did not give voice to her thoughts.
Lady Mary could not but feel that Abigail's instincts were correct. Undoubtedly Viscount and Viscountess Catlin would be extremely angered by her communication, and she fully expected a blistering reply. For that reason, for the next few days she dreaded the coming of the return post.
But a fortnight passed and there continued an odd silence from London.
When Lady Mary called on Mrs. Evesleigh to relay her congratulations on Miss Evesleigh's upcoming nuptials and expressed her willingness to aid her friend in whatever manner she could, the lady thanked her warmly for her offer and then turned to another topic that greatly exercised her curiosity. Mrs. Evesleigh had naturally heard from her daughter the exciting news that the Spences were traveling to the Continent, and she sympathetically asked Lady Mary what the reaction from London had been toward her travel plans.
Lady Mary shook her head, frowning slightly. “It is the most puzzling thing, Maggie. I have heard not a single word. I begin to wonder whether my letter went awry."
"Depend upon it, your letter was received. This silence must be your answer,” Mrs. Evesleigh said.
Lady Mary reflected a moment. “Perhaps you are correct. But it is very unlike the viscount. My father is not one in the habit of keeping his opinions to himself, as you know. It would be more like him to post down and demand an explanation of me,” Lady Mary said with a wry grimace.
"Do you truly think so? Then perhaps you should prepare for company,” Mrs. Evesleigh said, casting her a sympathetic glance.
"I devoutly hope that it will not be necessary to do so,” Lady Mary said with a light laugh.
"Let us hope not, indeed,” Mrs. Evesleigh said. She had been Lady Mary's staunch friend and confidante for many years, and though she had never breathed a word of her stronger feelings to her ladyship, she had often thought privately that the viscount and viscountess must be unnatural and unfeeling indeed to have treated their own daughter as they had.
She smiled at Lady Mary, a twinkle in her clear blue eyes. “I am quite selfishly counting on your undivided attention in aiding me with Betsy's wedding, you see. It is come up so sudden, since the good reverend is accepting the living in the neighboring parish and must take up his duties sooner than we anticipated. As you know, I was making plans for a June wedding, but now everything must be readied and accomplished in only a month's time if Betsy is to have a proper send-off. As a consequence, these days I do not know whether I am on my head or my heels most of the time."
"Of course you may rely upon me,” Lady Mary said warmly. “I know that if our positions were reversed and it was Abigail who was suddenly wedded, I would wish to be able to call upon you."
"And certainly you could have done so,” Mrs. Evesleigh said comfortably. She smiled with a touch of sadness. “I shall miss you terribly when you have gone."
Lady Mary reached out for her friend's hand and pressed her fingers. “And I you, Maggie. But it will be just for a few months. I could not disappoint Abigail after giving my solemn word that she could come out when she became seventeen. Perhaps she will contract an eligible match her first Season, though I admit to being in two minds about the possibility. In the meantime let us see what we can do to plan for your daughter's successful establishment."
"And what of you, Lady Mary?” Mrs. Evesleigh asked.
"Whatever do you mean?” Lady Mary asked, even though she had a fair notion. There was a certain look in her friend's eyes that she had seen far too often of late.
"I shall have Mr. Evesleigh when Betsy is wedded. If Abigail does become engaged this Season and marries, how will you go on?"
"I shall go on as I always have,” Lady Mary said. She laughed at her friend's exasperated sigh. “Maggie, if you mean to urge me yet again to reconsider my own unwedded state, pray spare your breath, for I shan't change my mind. I assure you, despite the number of eligible partis that you have managed to bring to my notice these several years, I have not developed an interest in a single gentleman."
"But it is such a waste. You are still young. Why, you don't appear above nine-and-twenty, and—"
Lady Mary laughed. “I am four-and-thirty, as well you know, Maggie!"
"Of course I do, but no one else need know it unless you confess to it. Do but look in the mirror, my dear. You've not a wrinkle to mar your face, nor a gray hair on your head, though how anyone may tell it when you insist upon wearing those ridiculous matron caps, I do not know,” Mrs. Evesleigh said.
Surprised, Lady Mary put up her hand to touch her lacy cap. “Why, Maggie, you told me it was vastly pretty."
"So it is, and appropriate for one such as myself. But a matron's cap is hardly suitable for you, my lady. Believe me, you would do far better to leave it off,” Mrs. Evesleigh said, earnestly.
"You forget, Maggie. I am a matron, and a widow to boot. I should appear ludicrous if I were to ape a younger lady's fashions."
Mrs. Evesleigh flushed with the strength of her heartfelt asperity. “What I find ludicrous is that you masquerade as a dame of sixty years!” When she saw Lady Mary's astonished and somewhat hurt expression, she sighed. “Forgive me, my dear. I know that I do not often speak to you in such a fashion, and perhaps it is forward of me to presume to do so now. But I wish only your happiness, and I do not believe that should mean that you spend the rest of your life alone. You have too much to offer some fortunate gentleman for you to do so, Lady Mary. You are kindhearted and gay and compassionate and loving, besides having preserved an enviable figure."
"In truth, I begin to see that I am quite a paragon,” Lady Mary said humorously.
"Exactly so,” Mrs. Evesleigh said firmly. When Lady Mary greeted this conclusion with a laughing protest, she reluctantly smiled. “Oh, very well, perhaps you are not a paragon precisely. You do have the most obstinate nature that I have ever encountered in a female, and you have the most infuriating way of distancing yourself when you do not wish to acknowledge someone's insistence. Yes, just that expression exactly. Quite arrogant of you, actually."
"Really, Maggie!” Lady Mary exclaimed, torn between laughter and affront.
Mrs. Evesleigh was not to be deterred. Ruthlessly she plunged on. “And then there is this idiotic refusal of yours to admit how very attractive you are. It is beyond anything. I would call it false humility, except that I know you too well."
"I see that I am quite sunk beyond reproach,” Lady Mary said quietly.
Mrs. Evesleigh threw up her hands in frustration. “My dear Lady Mary, I am merely pointing up the fact that you are as human as the rest of us mortals and that you cannot spend your life behind that wall of glass that you so easily erect about yourself. You are not a porcelain figure, but a woman of warmth and feelings and flesh and blood. Mary, I am your friend. Pray listen to me this once with an open mind. William has already flown the nest and Abigail must soon follow. Pray consider what your life will be like once Abigail is gone."
"I have considered, Maggie. And if I had ever met another gentleman who compared favorably with my beloved Roger, then perhaps...” Lady Mary paused for a moment before she smiled. “But I have not. Maggie, do not look so anxious for me. I shall be content enough with my memories, I do assure you. And the time will come when I shall have grandchildren to occupy my thoughts and keep me busy. But for now, tell me what I may do for you for Betsy's wedding."
Mrs. Evesleigh shook her head, not really ready to let go of the subject of her friend's unwedded state. But she knew from old that to attempt to pursue a topic that Lady Mary had made obvious she did not wish to dwell upon was futile.
Though Lady Mary would have been aghast at the observation, Mrs. Evesleigh had always privately thought that when her friend wished it, she was every inch the daughter of an autocratic peer of the realm. Lady Mary Spence could don the cloak of haughty superiority and command without thought or effort, and Mrs. Evesleigh was reluctant to bring about the transformation. Already she had noted the little warning signs in her friend—a certain coolness of expression in the wide gray eyes, the slightest rise of the delicately winged brows. No, she must be content with what she had already said and hope that something might take root in Lady Mary's thoughts. Therefore Mrs. Evesleigh, not without a certain relish, turned her attention to that which had most nearly occupied most of her waking thoughts for several weeks.
When Lady Mary finally stood up to take her leave, it was felt by both ladies that much had been accomplished. Mrs. Evesleigh walked with her guest to the door, remarking, “Your help is all the more appreciated, Lady Mary, since I know that you shall have your hands full in making preparations for your journey to the Continent."
"I shall manage, never fear. I always have,” Lady Mary said, a gleam of humor in her eyes. She climbed into her carriage and leaned out the window for a last word, but as it happened, Mrs. Evesleigh forestalled her.
"Oh, I know that you will. Manage, I mean. I but wish that you could feel free to rely on another's strength now and again,'’ Mrs. Evesleigh said. She waved good-bye as the carriage got under way.
Lady Mary returned her friend's wave before she sat back against the seat squabs with a sigh. She could not help pondering Mrs. Evesleigh's parting shot, and that led her to their previous conversation. Perhaps Maggie had the right of it after all, she thought. It would be very lonely without Abigail to enliven her days. Perhaps she should remarry. Of course, such a marriage would not bring with it the blissful happiness that she had been blessed with in her marriage to Sir Roger Spence. But perhaps she was too nice in her requirements. A marriage based on mutual kindness and respect could prove quite comfortable once she became adjusted to it.
She thought about the possibility for several more minutes before she shook her head in almost a regretful way. A faint smile played about her full mouth. Such comfortable dependence was not for her. She had known something so precious and, she supposed, so rare with her late husband that she knew she could never be satisfied with less. It was better to remain alone than to enter into another relationship that was from the outset certain to prove a disappointment.
The weeks that followed were a blur of activity. Lady Mary helped with the preparations for the Evesleigh wedding and getting Abigail ready for it, as well as making their own travel arrangements. She had written again to her friend in London to request her help in finding a reputable agent who could locate a respectable residence to lease for the term in Brussels. Meanwhile, she and Abigail oversaw the packing of those possessions necessary for a prolonged stay abroad and made several visits to the local seamstress.
Lady Mary arranged for a caretaker for her home and paid off the staff, with the assurance that the major portion of their wages would be paid to them while she was gone. The servants were free to go on holiday or might choose to remain on the estate under the caretaker's watchful eyes or even take up temporary positions elsewhere in the neighborhood while she was gone. She did not have a large staff, consisting as it did of a housekeeper, two parlor maids, a cook, a scullery maid, a footman, a butler, a groom, and a stableboy. Her own personal maid and Abigail's dresser would accompany the ladies to the Continent, as would their paid companion.
Miss Steepleton had first come to the house as governess and had remained on as Abigail's chaperone and as companion to both ladies because Lady Mary had not had the heart to thrust the timid woman, who was now well into middle age, into the awkwardness of finding a new position.
Lady Mary eventually heard from the agent that Emily Downing had written to for her, and he respectfully notified her that he had engaged to rent a residence with household staff intact that he felt humbly certain would meet all her expectations. She sent her approval by the return post and made arrangements to meet with him before leaving England so that she could get all the particulars from him and settle his fee.
Lady Mary also received the long-overdue letter from her parents. She broke the seal and unfolded the pages rather reluctantly. But as she read, she felt a gathering astonishment. It was unusually short for a communiqué from Viscountess Catlin and it expressed approval for Lady Mary's good sense in providing the best possible Season for Abigail, with her love, etc. etc.
Lady Mary stared at the crossed sheets for some seconds before she thoughtfully folded the letter away. Later, when she had occasion to mention the letter's contents to Mrs. Evesleigh, she said, “It was the oddest letter of my life. Not one word of reproach, not one counterproposal, nor even a word of complaint over my selfishness. In short, my decision to take Abigail to Brussels was received with unprecedented approval. I was never more astonished in my life."
"I must admit to surprise at what you tell me. I do not recall that you have ever received such a gentle communication,” Mrs. Evesleigh said, not looking up. She was embroidering the last delicate silk rose onto her daughter's wedding dress. Rather than depend upon the services of the seamstress, Mrs. Evesleigh, who was a notable needlewoman in her own right, had elected to add such exquisite touches to her daughter's gown as a visible expression of her love. She held up the train to look critically at the effect and she felt a glowing sense of pleasure. It had turned out just as she had hoped, she thought happily. She looked at Lady Mary, again returning her attention to her friend's preoccupation. “It occurs to me that perhaps the viscountess has mellowed."