Carola Dunn (16 page)

“Aubrey is always up early,” Raymond observed, ponderously witty. “He is never down early, however, owing to the exigencies of his toilet. ‘The fashion of this world passeth away,’ Aubrey. ‘Vanity of vanities, all is vanity.’“ He got up to leave.

Aubrey flushed, looking sulky.

“‘The glass of fashion and the mould of form,’“ Nerissa quoted consolingly, “‘The observ’d of all observers.’“

Hamlet again. Avoiding Miles’s eye, she heard him choke on his muffin, but Aubrey was gratified. He smoothed the sleeve of his tight-waisted mulberry coat and modestly touched the garnet nestled in his elaborately tied cravat.

“Thank you, cousin. I have always striven to win for my family a certain reputation for elegance of dress, without assistance until you came to Addlescombe.” He studied Nerissa’s apricot morning gown with approval, then cast a disparaging glance at Raymond’s sober black-clad back at the door. “In fact, that is why I have come down a little earlier than usual. I wish to do you a service.”

“A service, cousin?”

“My man tells me you intend to make a round of the neighbours today?”

“Yes. Miles and I have already been out riding and we confirmed that the lanes are rapidly drying, as the groom reported yesterday.”

“I shall go with you.”

A muffin-muffled groan came from Miles’s direction, but Nerissa looked at Miss Sophie and saw her give a pleased nod. Aubrey, son and heir to the baronet, would make up to some extent for Lady Philpott’s defection.

“Thank you, cousin, I shall be glad of your escort,” she said demurely.

“Not at all, not at all. I am, of course, acquainted with everyone of importance, and I believe I may claim a degree of prominence among those with aspirations to fashion.” He glanced complacently down at his mulberry-and-cream striped waistcoat. “I must tell you, Nerissa,” he continued in a burst of candour, “everyone is vastly eager to meet you. And you, too, Courtenay, naturally.”

“We are vastly flattered, Philpott,” said Miles with a touch of mockery which Aubrey altogether failed to recognize. “Nonetheless, your presence cannot but facilitate our entrée into local society.”

Aubrey nodded graciously. Finishing his dry toast and weak tea, he departed to complete his preparations for the outing.

“It is very good-natured of him to offer to go with us,” Nerissa chided Miles. “You must not tease him so.”

“He doesn’t notice. As for good-nature--he’s panting for the prestige of being our sponsor. Surely you don’t believe that nonsense about his preeminence in matters of fashion!”

Nerissa giggled. “Well, no, but he might be quite a smart if only he did not dye his hair and plaster his face with white lead and pinch in his waist with a corset.”

“Really, dear,” said Miss Sophie, blushing, “you simply must not mention such... such items of attire in mixed company, even if it is just dear Miles. You know, you will do much better if I go simply as your chaperon and you have Aubrey to introduce you.”

“As long as you are with me, Cousin Sophie, I don’t mind who does the honours.” She looked at Miles, laughing. “Besides, I thought Aubrey’s waistcoat monstrous elegant.”

“It would not be considered out of place in Town,” he acknowledged reluctantly, “but for country wear it’s downright foppish. Anyway, if it will make you more comfortable, Miss Sophie, it will be worth the mortification of making our appearance under his auspices.”

“He’s not your relative,” Nerissa pointed out tartly.

“Thank heaven!” Miles retorted.

They set out half an hour later. The sun was just beginning to melt the sparkling frost from leafless twig and thorn. Swathed in rugs and scarves, hot bricks at their feet, they had the front of the carriage open after Nerissa soothed Aubrey’s protests by taking his place with her back to the horses. He entertained the ladies by pointing out landmarks in between his descriptions of the clothes he had worn on previous visits to the neighbours.

Miles rode alongside, or ahead when the lane narrowed, on Grandee, a splendid black with a star on his forehead. Nerissa wished she could ride with him but he said it was too far for both her and Vinnie, and Miss Sophie said it was not proper for a lady to call on strangers on horseback. Once she had made friends, she might ride over to see them.

Friends seemed too much to hope for, Nerissa thought wistfully. The best she dared wish was to be accepted as a well-brought-up young lady.

From the first, the Pettigrews appeared to have no suspicion that she might be anything else. The family was quite new to the neighbourhood as Brigadier-General Pettigrew, a large, hearty man with a flourishing moustache, had purchased his small estate after Waterloo. His stiff-mannered wife seldom opened her mouth without mentioning the “dear Duke” and the titled officers they had consorted with in Brussels.

Miss Anna Pettigrew was a pretty, lively blonde, her elder sister quiet and rather plain. The latter, upon a signal from her mother, came to sit beside Nerissa.

A silence ensued, during which Nerissa tried desperately to think of something both appropriate and innocuous to say. She knew how to enter a room and greet her hostess, how to respond to civil enquiries about her health and how to handle a teacup gracefully. However, Miles and Miss Sophie had not taught her how to chatter with a young lady of her own age who would presumably expect more than polite nothings about the weather.

Recalling certain conversations with Betsy Rigby, Nerissa blushed. At the same moment, Miss Pettigrew blushed and said diffidently, “I understand you have lived in the North, Miss Wingate?”

“Yes, in York.”

“I have heard it is an interesting city.”

Nerissa contrived to describe the beauties of the medieval streets and buildings, the Minster, the city walls, and the castle, without approaching the dangerous topic of the theatre. Indeed, she had attention to spare for her surroundings, which included Miss Anna flirting in a shockingly forward manner with Miles.

At least, it looked shockingly forward to Nerissa, but she had to admit she was no judge. Miles seemed not at all averse, and Mrs Pettigrew watched with a doting air. No doubt she considered Mr Courtenay of Addlescombe a great catch for her daughter.

“It sounds delightful,” said Miss Pettigrew, recalling Nerissa’s wandering wits. “I have never been in the North although we lived in many different places before Papa bought this house.”

“Do you like living here?”

“Oh yes, the countryside is beautiful, is it not?”

They talked of local beauty-spots and places of interest, and Miss Pettigrew offered to take Nerissa to see them in the summer when the weather made such outings possible. Nerissa gratefully accepted, afraid that to say she would be gone by next summer, which might entail an explanation of her grandfather’s Will.

“Were you really never in Dorset before?” Miss Pettigrew flushed. “I beg your pardon, Miss Wingate, I do not mean to pry. Lady Philpott mentioned that Sir Barnabas quarrelled with your mother. I am so sorry. It must be horrid to have a breach in the family.”

“I never knew my grandfather, so I never missed him.” To prevent Miss Pettigrew from enquiring after her mother, she rushed on, “From what I have heard of him, I cannot be sorry to have lived at such a distance.”

Slightly shocked, Miss Pettigrew nodded doubtfully. “I am fortunate,” she said with another blush, “in that I shall not have to remove far from my family when I marry. The gentleman to whom I am betrothed is a curate at present, but he has a promise of a living quite nearby, at Buckford.”

With a silent sigh of relief at the change of subject, Nerissa pressed her for details and was treated to a rhapsody on the positively angelic young man. After such confidences, it was only natural that Nerissa and Caroline reached Christian-name terms before Miss Sophie indicated it was time to take their leave.

Nerissa was sorry she had been unable to match Caroline’s openness. However, she had learned that the best way to avoid speaking of herself was to show an interest in the person she was with.

On the other hand, Miles’s interest in Miss Anna appeared to be all too personal. Did he really need to press her hand in parting and assure her fervently that he could scarcely wait for their next meeting to hear her perform upon the harp? Not that Nerissa cared, but once they were seated again in the landau, Miles at a safe distance on Grandee, she asked Miss Sophie about Anna Pettigrew’s coquettish ways.

“A little forward, perhaps,” Miss Sophie admitted, “though I hesitate to call her fast. Such conduct is barely acceptable in a young lady of impeccable background, my dear, and will not do at all for you. Not that I mean to cast the least reflection upon dear Anthea and your papa!”

“I cannot fault your deportment, Nerissa,” said Aubrey judicially. “I shall not mind taking you about. Mrs Pettigrew remarked to me that you are a pretty-behaved miss.”

“For that I have Cousin Sophie to thank.” Nerissa leaned forward and kissed the little lady’s petal-soft cheek.

At the Digbys, Nerissa was singled out by the younger son, Mr Clive. Though not much older than herself, he had the red nose of a confirmed toper, and he wore an ancient shooting coat with sagging pockets and curious tufts of feathers stuck in the lapels. Putting her new-found wisdom into practice, she soon discovered that he was a passionate angler. The wire and feather devices were fishing flies and the hue of his nose, she guessed, was due to sitting out in the damp in all weathers. Before they parted she knew more about the pursuit of perch, roach, tench, chub, gudgeon, and the wily pike than she could possibly have imagined there was to know.

As he handed her into the carriage, he begged permission to call on her at Addlescombe. She graciously consented, though she suspected that after a few more half hours with him she would never be able to eat fish again.

She noticed that Miles looked sour. No pretty girls for him to flirt with at the Digbys’, she thought.

The lack was doubly remedied at the Firstons’, where they were invited to take a nuncheon. The young squire’s two sisters gaily plied Miles with delicacies and he blatantly revelled in their attentions. Their widowed mother, dressed in slate-grey satin overelaborately trimmed with lace and jet, discussed the finer points of fashion with Aubrey. Nerissa was entertained by the younger Mrs Firston, a friendly young matron who was more than willing to discourse endlessly on the cleverness of her two small children.

Now and then Mrs Firston broke off to say anxiously, “I do hope Peter will come home in time to make your acquaintance, Miss Wingate.”

Mr Firston was riding about his estate with his brother, John, who was a doctor with a practice based in Porchester. “You will like John,” Mrs Firston assured Nerissa. “The children are very fond of their uncle, and he of them.” She could give no higher praise.

Nerissa had just promised to visit the nursery after luncheon when the two young men came in. John Firston, a tall, blond, handsome gentleman, was urged by his sister-in-law and his mother to take the place beside Nerissa, which he did without visible reluctance.

While he ate, he satisfied Nerissa’s genuine curiosity about the life of a country doctor. She found him charming and was sorry when, after the meal, he apologized for having to rush off to see his patients.

“I must dash up to the nursery before I go,” he said with a smile. “Paul and Bella would never forgive me if I failed to visit them.”

“Do take Miss Wingate with you,” Mrs Firston urged. “I must have a word with Peter before I go up.”

On the stairs, Dr Firston turned to Nerissa, his face tinged with pink, and said hesitantly, “If you have no objection, Miss Wingate, I should like to bring a young lady to call on you at Addlescombe. She is Miss Herriott, daughter of the vicar of Penfold.”

“I shall be pleased to make Miss Herriott’s acquaintance,” Nerissa told him, glad that despite his relatives’ matchmaking he appeared not to be on the catch for a supposedly wealthy wife. At present she felt far more in need of female friends than of admirers.

When they left the Firstons, Miss Sophie was wilting after the agitation and exertions of the day. Miles curtly ordered the coachman to turn the horses’ heads for home. He rode ahead, and when the landau reached the manor he was waiting to hand the old lady down and give her his arm into the house.

“I’d like a word with you in the library, Nerissa,” he said with a foreboding look, “if you can spare me a moment.”

“As soon as I have taken off my hat and seen Miss Sophie laid down comfortably on her bed. Now don’t argue, pray, Cousin Sophie. You will feel much better for a little rest, and Miles can wait.”

Despite her resolute response, Nerissa worried as she helped Miss Sophie take off her her bonnet and pelisse and doffed her own. Had she done something dreadfully wrong which everyone but Miles had been too polite to mention? She had never seen him so stern.

She tidied her hair, wishing it were as fair as Miss Anna Pettigrew’s, took up a shawl and went down to the library.

As she entered, Miles stopped pacing and turned towards her. “I just want to warn you,” he said stiffly, “or rather to remind you, that your suitors will have to be told about Sir Barnabas’s Will.”

“Suitors!”

“Clive Digby and the doctor fellow. They are courting you believing you a wealthy heiress. You cannot marry without explaining that your inheritance is conditional, and I cannot suppose you wish to reveal the conditions.”

“For heavens sake, Miles, I’m not about to marry anyone!” Nerissa was exasperated, and hurt by the implication that her supposed wealth was the only reason for anyone to want to marry her. She was not about to tell him John Firston already had a sweetheart--and she wouldn’t have Clive Digby if he was filleted and dished up with lobster sauce, garnished with lemon and parsley. “Besides, the same goes for you,” she snapped.

“For me?”

“Anna Pettigrew and both Miss Firstons! How do you propose to reveal the mythical nature of your fortune to their guardians?”

He flushed and retorted angrily, “I can wait to propose until the myth becomes reality. You cannot choose the moment when you receive an offer.”