A Season for the Heart (10 page)

“I am sure it should be my office to pour yours, sir,” the girl said with a smile, suiting action to word.

When she handed her host a cup and gave herself one, Gareth said thoughtfully. “You are very quiet, are you not?” Then, lest his comment had offended her, he added simply, “I like it.”

Pommy stirred cream into the coffee. “Thank you. My uncle could never bear gabble-mongering, as he called it, at the breakfast table, so I got into the habit of silence at that time.”

“Lady Jersey is called ‘Silence,’ ” said Gareth moodily, “but that is because she is forever talking.” His beautiful countenance expressed such intense dissatisfaction that Pommy wondered, first, if he disliked Lady Jersey, then second, if he disliked company at the breakfast table. This consideration so troubled her that, finishing her slice of ham in two bites, she asked gently, “Shall I go now, Gareth? Do you prefer to break your fast alone? Mikkle directed me here today, but I promise I shan’t bother you another morning! Word of honor!”

Gareth stared at her in startled inquiry. “Good God, Miss Rand! I find your company particularly soothing, as a matter of fact. No, if I have been scowling it is because the thought of Lady Jersey’s endless conversation reminded me how much I dislike the whole social crush.”

“You dislike it? Then why—?” Pommy caught herself up. She had no business asking her host for explanations.

But Gareth was apparently eager to confide in his new acquaintance.

“Then why do I stay in London, enduring a silly, wasteful, boring existence, when my estates are crying out for my supervision? You may well wonder at it, Miss Rand! I do myself, twenty times a day!” he concluded with a bitterness which startled Pommy. She decided he must be unhappy indeed, if he would so freely confide in one who was, after all, a comparative stranger. With a sympathetic desire to help, she asked softly:

“Where are they—your estates, Gareth?”

As she had hoped, this simple question set him off on a lengthy and enthusiastic description of his patrimony—its location, acreage, resources, natural beauties—which included a trout stream, a lake large enough for boating and swimming, and woods well supplied with game. “And when I tell you,” he concluded, with a sudden reversion to his former depression, “that we have also a very respectable hunt-club forming in the district—oh, it is not The Quorn, I grant you, but the members are all friends of mine, and very keen!—you will see that going to stupid balls and routs and trying to talk with chattering débutantes and old quizzies is
not
what I would choose to be doing!”

“Then why not leave?” asked Pommy logically.

“Mother!” groaned Gareth.

“Oh,” said Pommy. “I—I see.”

“I am the worst beast in Nature,” Gareth castigated himself. “Mother is so lonely since my father was killed, so fearful of my leaving her, that I have not the heart—” He paused.

Pommy’s own heart warmed to this responsible son. “Of course you have not felt that leaving her was the thing,” she agreed gently. “But the situation has changed, has it not? Lady Masterson now has a companion—and while I am not in any way a substitute for yourself, still I shall do all in my power to amuse and assist her. So might not this be your opportunity to visit your estates, at least briefly?”

Gareth had been looking more cheerful as she spoke, but after a few minutes thought, he sighed deeply and shook his head.

“I cannot tell you how much I appreciate your kindness, Miss Rand, but it will not do! You see, one of Mama’s most frequent remarks is to the effect that she is so
grateful
to have my presence, since she needs a man’s strong arm to lean upon.”

“Does she go into Society, then?” queried Pommy. “I had thought, from what Lord Austell said, that she was much at home.”

“Oh, she is!” agreed her son gloomily. “She is still invited everywhere, for you must know that she and my father were a very welcome couple at every kind of social event, for they were the merriest pair!” He sighed again. “It quite breaks my heart to see her so languid and—and—tearful!” he concluded gruffly.

Pommy felt something rising in her breast which was certainly not sympathy. It was anger, and it was directed at the Lady Masterson, her new mistress. How could she keep this splendid considerate son of hers, on a leading string, like a small child or—or a
puppy
, to amuse and comfort her! Could she not see that she was making him very unhappy? As always happened when she was strongly moved, Pommy began to fantasize some possible solutions to the problem. The first that came to her mind was a substitute. The Lady Masterson, even at her advanced age—for she must be all of thirty-eight or thirty-nine—was still an exceedingly beautiful woman, when she forgot her lachrymose ways. “I understand from Lord Austell,” she said offhandedly, “that he intended to remain for most of the Season in London. Surely he would act as his sister-in-law’s escort, and—uh—strong arm?”

“By Jove, Miss Pommy,” said Gareth, suddenly appearing hopeful, “You may have something! I myself heard him say he intended a longer stay than usual in the City. Perhaps, a little later, when Mama is engaged with you and with the Earl, I might just slip away—”

It was said so wistfully that Pommy at once vowed she would find some way to help this beautiful youth to the very proper enjoyment of his own estates.

Eight

Gareth and Pommy were just getting up from the table when a maid entered the room to inform Miss Rand that Her Ladyship had decided to rise at the unheard-of hour of nine o’clock in order to take Miss Rand to see Lady Masterson’s dressmaker, and would appreciate Miss Rand being ready to go out by eleven.

“Oh, but surely—this is an imposition!” cried Pommy, much distressed by the notion of disrupting the widow’s morning routine.

Gareth, on the other hand, was looking remarkably pleased. “Do you not see, Pommy, it is just as you said! She is
interested!
She was used to love clothes so, and was considered the best-dressed woman in the
Beau Monde
. It could not be better!”

Pommy reluctantly agreed, noting that the young man had called her Pommy in his excitement. Perhaps it was all for the best, and she must sink her pride and accept whatever good the gods and Lady Masterson were pleased to bestow upon her. But there was one thing she must get clear now, whilst she had Gareth with her.

“What is the stipend paid to a companion?” she asked.

Gareth stared. “Why—er—I really have no idea,” he answered slowly. “Perhaps one hundred pounds a year?”

Pommy broke into joyous laughter. “It is easily seen, sir, that
you
have never hired a companion!
One hundred pounds!
You might as well say one thousand!”

Gareth’s beautiful mouth widened in a sheepish grin. “Is it too much, then? Well, I am sure I do not know.”

“Then you should have said so at the outset, and not led the poor companion into dreams far above her station,” Pommy teased.

The younger man regarded her doubtfully, then laughed. “You are bamming me, are you not? No one has ever done so since I came to Town. I was used to have several friends who were forever cracking wits with me,” he finished wistfully.

“Then you may expect more of the same while I am here,” Pommy replied firmly. It was her private opinion that the youth was far too solemn for his age. It was clearly her duty to rouse him, as well as his melancholy parent, to a realization of the joy to be found in small jokes.

When he went off for his daily ride in the Park, Pommy ran lightly upstairs to her pretty room to don the bonnet which went with the woolen dress. As she took up her reticule and the gloves she had always worn to church, Pommy felt that she was armored to face whatever Fate might bring.

What Fate sent was the Earl, looking more splendid in his formal morning costume than she had yet been privileged to behold him. In fact her eyes and mouth rounded into “O’s” at sight of this sartorial magnificence. The Earl noted this manifestation with a boyish grin.

“Oh, Pommy, you are a refreshment and a delight! You cannot expect me to believe that your open-mouthed admiration is not a put-on! Having been exposed to Gareth’s alamodality, as organized by his mother, you must surely assess my claims as paltry!”

A sudden, and to Pommy, unwelcome blush stained the girl’s cheeks. The Earl noted this sign with amusement, and would no doubt have continued in the same vein had not Lady Masterson entered at that moment, accompanied by Gordon and two maidservants holding various accessories without which Milady apparently deemed it impossible to venture from her home.

The Earl took immediate and good-natured charge of the situation, removing the two parasols between which she could not decide (“My carriage is
covered
, dear Aurora!”), the second and larger of the two reticules (“You do remember you agreed to permit
me
to stand the nonsense today!”), and the fur muff (“Really, Aurora, this is too much! We are not venturing into Polar regions this morning!”).

Pommy, accustomed to the Rand family’s constant contentiousness, was greatly surprised to see how cheerfully Lady Masterson reacted to the Earl’s masterful behavior. Her Ladyship did not appear to find it odd that the gentleman should take over their shopping expedition so cavalierly; in fact she accepted it with the complacent enjoyment of a stroked kitten. It became plain to Pommy that it would be sensible to secure a worldly-wise, strong-minded, and well-to-pass partner for Lady Masterson, since she clearly forgot her melancholy while in the company of such a gentleman. Lord Austell would seem to be the obvious choice, for he was available, acceptable to the lady, and satisfied all requirements. Pommy found herself reluctant, for no reason she could discover, to promote this decidedly suitable match. And for once she did not try to fantasize the course of events which would follow a declaration from the Earl to Lady Masterson. In fact, she suddenly felt quite out of sorts with herself and her two gaily chatting companions, and wondered if this wave of loneliness which threatened to swamp her spirits and cut up her peace would be her habitual mood as Lady Masterson’s companion. Contrasting this trip in the Earl’s carriage with her first day’s ride from Sayre Village, she recalled her naive pleasure in the Earl’s attention, and their shared laughter, and could almost find it in her heart to resent her employer’s presence. Then, disgusted with her own petty ingratitude, she resolutely turned her attention to the light banter of her fellow-passengers, and assumed an attentive yet properly respectful demeanor.

When they reached the establishment of Mlle. Lutetie, the Earl offered each of the ladies an arm, and when Pommy would have held back, he gave her such a quelling glance that she hastily put her fingers upon his sleeve.

The salon was decorated with gold-framed mirrors and beautiful gold and crystal chandeliers whose lusters sparkled like diamonds in the light of their candles. A thick carpet covered the floor, flowers were displayed in large bowls, and an exotic drift of perfume sweetened the air. Pommy drew in a long breath.

“It’s gorgeous,” she whispered, “but where are the dresses?”

For some reason this set both her companions to laughing. It was a jovial group which presented itself to the other patrons and the proprietress of the salon. Mlle. Lutetie hurried toward them, her attitude that of a sharp business woman under the veneer of Gallic enthusiasm with which she greeted these important clients. While she was arranging chairs for Lady Masterson and Pommy, the Earl, casting a harassed look at the stylishly dressed ladies in the room, suddenly announced that an urgent appointment, till this instant forgotten, would compel him to leave them to their delicate negotiations. He promised to return in two hours to drive them home, or through the Park if they would so honor him. He promised to return in two hours to drive them home, or through the Park if they would so honor him.

“Nonsense, Derek,” said Lady Masterson astringently. “You are either bored or terrified at the notion of having to talk about female garments for two hours.” At this rueful acknowledgment, she went on, “Leave us, then, timorous creature!”

The Earl bowed his gratitude for her forbearance, and after a word in private with Mlle. Lutetie, which left her smiling broadly, he made his adieux.

Mademoiselle had already alerted her minions, who were displaying luscious bolts of silk, satin, velvet, and delicate crepe materials, as well as swatches of trimmings in laces, braid, and feathers. These enticements were draped over chair backs or thrown on the soft carpet like the gleaming treasure of Ali Baba for their inspection. Lady Masterson, to Pommy’s dismay, was firmly resistant both to her companion’s hints that the latter would be more comfortable and certainly more suitably appareled in some less fashionable emporium, and to Mademoiselle’s coaxing assertion that Her Ladyship would look as lovely as a dream in that silver tissue from Lyons.

Lady Masterson, exquisite and ethereal in black silk, was smiling negation of both proposals when a pair of ladies who had been concealed in a fitting room strolled into the main salon. Recognition was instant and unfriendly. Lady Masterson acknowledged their babble of greetings and exclamations introduced her companion as Miss Rand, a friend from Cornwall, and civilly enough asked them how they were enjoying the Season.

“Oh, above anything!” gushed the elder and less attractive of the two ladies, who had been introduced as Mrs. Rogart. “Such a pity that you have sequestered yourself from Society, dear Aurora! And are we to assume, from your presence here, that you have at last decided to rejoin the World?”