“That was a change,” Harwell murmured. Rosalind glared at him, but Sylvester took the comment in good spirit.
“Ah, you are being satirical, Harwell,” Sylvester said, laughing. “It is true, one cannot get a word in edgewise when Coleridge is in the room, but then, his conversation is always so enlightening that one is content to sit and listen, and learn. He has agreed to write an essay for the next issue of
Camena.”
“I see you did manage to get a few words in,” Harwell said.
Sylvester, still reeling with triumph, said, “Oh, certainly. I always take every opportunity to advance my cause.”
“When can I meet him?” Rosalind asked eagerly.
“As soon as we get you installed on Glasshouse Street. He is most eager to meet you. He feels certain Wordsworth will also want to make your acquaintance.”
Rosalind was pleased that Sylvester had a good excuse for having remained away overnight and thrilled at the prospect of rubbing shoulders with these poetic giants.
“What of the John Donne fragment?” Harwell asked. “Will it do for
Camena?’
Lord Sylvester rolled his eyes. “The rhyme was by a Joan Dunne. Honestly, I ask you! Lady Amanda has no notion of poetry. ‘Twas mere doggerel.”
Harwell murmured that he was sorry. He noticed that, while Sylvester had left Apple Hill at ten-thirty for a one-mile drive to Merton, he had still been there at midnight when Coleridge arrived. Had it taken him over an hour to discover the few lines were mere doggerel?
“I’m afraid I must be dashing off,” Sylvester said a moment later. “I shall pay only a fleeting visit to Papa, and stop by again on my way to London to let you know about the flat on Glasshouse Street, Miss Lovelace. I shall be back in five days’ time.”
He thanked Rosalind a few times, thanked Harwell for his hospitality, said his farewells, and took his departure. Harwell continued on to Croydon.
Rosalind remained alone in the garden. Beneath all her joy and triumph, she was aware of a troubling shadow. She had been a little hard on Harry. Perhaps he hadn’t come to gloat after all. Sylvester should have let him know he would not be returning last night. He should have let her know as well. Still, Sylvester was young, and one did not get many opportunities to spend an evening alone with the great Coleridge. And soon she would meet him.
Chapter Ten
Dick returned a little later with good news. Sukey and Miss Rafferty had gotten along famously. And Miss Rafferty had agreed to assume the position of governess. Indeed, she was so eager for the post that she would come to begin work the very next day.
“Annabelle will be happy to hear it,” Rosalind said. And she was happy, too. Sylvia Rafferty was exactly the sort of lady she had hoped to find. She had been well educated, she would be sensible and firm, yet was young and pleasant enough that she wouldn’t frighten Sukey to death.
Dick received a note from Annabelle that morning inviting Rosalind and him to take potluck dinner at her house that evening. It was not a party, just a family dinner, and therefore required no elaborate toilette.
The minute they were inside her door, her first conversation was about Lord Sylvester. She was unhappy to hear that he had left, but her temper improved when she learned he would be returning in five days.
“I shall have a little rout party that evening,” she announced.
“I’m not sure he will be remaining overnight,” Rosalind said, although she intended to invite him to do so.
“Oh, you must invite him!” Annabelle said at once. “He will be quite fagged after coming all the way from Astonby.”
“Is it far away?” Rosalind asked. Sylvester had not given her any details of his ancestral home.
“Yes, quite sixty miles away. I looked him—it up in
Debrett’s Peerage.
If he leaves in the morning, he will be too fagged to continue on to London that same night, so I shall have a dinner party and rout after. We don’t want him to think we are complete bumpkins.”
This slur on the entertainment provided for his lordship thus far passed without comment, but not without being noticed.
“That is very kind of you,” Rosalind said. She was grateful that she would not be put to the nuisance of entertaining Sylvester again.
“Papa suggested we should invite him to stay here with us overnight. You don’t mind, Roz?”
“An excellent notion!” Dick declared at once.
Rosalind offered no objection. In fact, she was aware of a feeling of relief. There was no denying Sylvester in large doses could be fatiguing. She felt it was not Sylvester himself so much. It was just that Dick, Sukey, and Harwell did not care for him. Once she was away from them in London, she would be able to enjoy Sylvester’s company without worrying.
“You will be happy to hear I have found a governess for Sukey,” Dick said. “Miss Rafferty, right here in Croydon, has agreed to come to us.”
“Miss Rafferty?” Annabelle said, frowning. “I’m not sure she is the woman I would have chosen. She is a little common.”
“Common? Why, she has spent the last few years taking care of Lady Syon’s girl. She is up to all the rigs.”
“You ought to have consulted me first, Dick. I had in mind someone older.” Miss Rafferty was a deal too pretty to be welcome under Annabelle’s roof.
“Since we were in a bit of a hurry . . .” Dick said.
“Of course. She will do until we find a good ladies’ academy for Sukey. It will be only for a year or so.”
Dick had found that the best way to go on with his beloved was to proceed one step at a time. He had no notion of sending Sukey off to an academy, but he would fight that battle when the time came.
Next morning he sent his rig off to Croydon for Miss Rafferty. He was very well pleased with her. She was a sensible girl who thought much as he and Rosalind did on the subject of raising youngsters. During the summer the lessons were confined to the mornings. In this fine weather the afternoons were more likely to be spent in walks and rides and an occasional drive in the afternoon. The long, cold winter would be time enough to get down to serious work. She drove Sukey into Croydon one day in the donkey cart to visit her mama, now Mrs. Simpson, the wife of a retired merchant.
It was eventually borne in on Dick that Miss Rafferty was dashed pretty. Not an out-and-outer like Annabelle, certainly no fine airs and graces about her, but she had a friendly, open face, warm brown eyes, and a wide smile.
The next few days passed with no major catastrophe. Annabelle called each day at Apple Hill to discuss plans for her rout party with Rosalind. It was clear that it was to be the grandest do ever held in Croydon. Half a dozen musicians had been hired, a new gown made up in a hurry, a new coiffure arranged, and a pastry chef imported from London for the occasion.
Annabelle made a point of speaking to Miss Rafferty each time she was at Apple Hill. On her last visit, the day before Sylvester’s return, she found a complaint.
“You were seen in Croydon yesterday, Miss Rafferty,” she said, in an accusing way.
“Yes, ma’am. I took Sukey to visit my mama.”
“I’m not sure that was wise. You are paid to teach Miss Susan, not entertain yourself.”
“My mama was feeling poorly. I felt I ought to visit her, and since she is so close . . .”
“There is nothing amiss in that,” Dick said at once. “Miss Rafferty asked my permission before going.”
“Lady Syon never objected when I took her daughter to call on Mama,” Miss Rafferty said.
“We are not Lady Syon!” Annabelle said angrily.
“Of course not, Miss Fortescue,” Miss Rafferty said, rather ambiguously.
If Lady Syon permitted such visits, then Annabelle assumed it was a solecism for her to have objected. To give herself an excuse, she said, “I hope your mama is not suffering from anything contagious?”
“Oh no, Miss Fortescue. It was the toothache.”
Stymied on all counts, Annabelle turned her ire on Dick. “If your sister is to be driven into town, Dick, you ought to have given her the use of the carriage. What will everyone think to see your sister in a donkey cart?”
“Why, if they cared, or had any common sense, they would think I was using the carriage that day myself, as I was.”
Annabelle’s cheeks turned pink. “You may leave us now, Miss Rafferty,” she said.
Miss Rafferty was glad to escape. She felt free enough with her employer by this time to make a little grimacing, apologetic face behind Miss Fortescue’s back before darting out the door. Dick smiled and winked. As soon as she was gone, Annabelle turned her wrath on him.
“How dare you take her side against me! And in front of her, too. We must stick together or the servants will walk all over us. Really, I am very dissatisfied with Miss Rafferty. She is an uncommonly sly, encroaching creature. I shall look about for someone more responsible to replace her.”
“We are happy with Miss Rafferty,” Dick said as Rosalind joined them.
“Well, I am not! Every time I call, she is out playing with Sukey. When does she teach the child anything?”
“They spend the morning in the schoolroom. The weather is so fine just now. . . .” Rosalind said placatingly.
“And taking her to visit that mother! I doubt very much that Lady Syon permitted anything of the sort. Do you know who the mother is married to? A merchant!”
“What is wrong with that?” Dick asked at once. “Her papa was an officer and a gentleman. In fact, he was a dashed hero in the Peninsula.”
“It won’t do,” Annabelle said firmly. Then she proceeded to the conservatory to tell the gardener what bouquets he should send for her rout party.
In the saloon, Rosalind turned a troubled face to Dick. “I do hope she doesn’t turn Miss Rafferty off. I think we were very fortunate to get her.”
“She’ll not turn her off. I am still the master here, and I am very well satisfied with Syl—Miss Rafferty.” On this firm speech, Dick rose and strode angrily to his study.
Rosalind felt a stab of apprehension. Perhaps Dick was becoming too fond of Miss Rafferty. Rosalind hadn’t noticed it, but no doubt a fiancée was more attuned to such things. Perhaps Annabelle had seen that wink as Miss Rafferty left. She must warn Dick to be more discreet.
It was odd, too, that Dick had no objection to Lord Sylvester staying with the Fortescues when Annabelle was quite obviously infatuated with him— or his title. Rosalind herself had no worry on that score. Lord Sylvester would have nothing in common with Annabelle. She feared he would not find any of the Fortescues congenial, but it was only for one night.
Chapter Eleven
Annabelle was once again at Apple Hill when Lord Sylvester returned in five days’ time, as promised. In fact, she had been there since half past one, and he did not arrive until four. She was extremely eager to get home and keep an eye on the party preparations, almost as eager as her hostess was to be rid of her.
Rosalind noticed at once that Sylvester’s exultation at having met Coleridge had worn off. He wore a petulant face when he stepped into the saloon. It struck her that he looked like a sulky little boy, closer to twelve than twenty-two. There was no deluge of poetic quotations expressing his pleasure at seeing her again.
“Good day, Miss Lovelace,” he said, and made one of his exquisite bows.
“How was your visit to Astonby?” she asked, when he had spoken to Annabelle and was seated in the saloon.
“Not so fruitful as I had hoped,” he replied curtly. “Papa refused to advance me any of my money to run
Camena.
My own money, mind you! Oh, don’t worry that I shall have to close down entirely. Lady Amanda has expressed some interest, though I am not sure it would be wise to accept anything from her. And of course, the subscriptions are picking up every day. We shall pull through, but I had hoped to enlarge the magazine and upgrade the quality of the presentation and articles. You have to pay the established writers a decent price to contribute something. And of course, there is advertising. One cannot rely entirely on word of mouth. The advertising does not come cheap.”
“All that takes a little time,” Rosalind said supportively.
“Indeed it does, and a deal of work. At least it is all arranged about your flat. Papa says the painters have left, so you can move in anytime it suits you. You will want to see about furnishings and so on.” He mentioned a rent that was not only reasonable but a bargain.
Annabelle sat listening, with every fiber of her being wishing that flat in London were to be hers. That she were the one to share Sylvester’s troubles, two city creatures, struggling together.
“And now I must be getting on,” he said, rising. “I shall be in London by nightfall if I get away early. I am sorry to dash off so quickly, Miss Lovelace, but soon we will be together for long visits.”
Until this point, Annabelle had been sitting, quietly listening. At this speech, she was suddenly thrown into a tizzy.
“Oh, Lord Sylvester, you cannot leave today! I have planned a dinner especially in your honor!”
Sylvester received this news with considerable astonishment, and very little pleasure. In fact, with an air of pique. How should she have planned a party for him when they were virtual strangers, and to do it without even making sure he would be here at the time?
“I’m sorry if it inconveniences you, Miss—” What was the chit’s name? “Miss Montague.”
“Fortescue,” she said. “I am engaged to Miss Lovelace’s brother, you recall. Oh, but you must stay! I have promised all my friends they would meet you this evening. They are looking forward to it so. And Papa! He wants to hear all about the
Camena.”
He recalled, then, that her papa was a wealthy man. He might very well invest in the magazine, when his son-in-law’s sister was gaining fame through it. These rich cits liked to rub elbows with the ton. A largish party would yield many subscriptions to
Camena.
And of course, it was always flattering to be told people were eager to meet him.
“I have a great many calls I must make in London,” he said, but he said it in the tone of a man who might be dissuaded from the path of duty.