Elizabeth Mansfield (5 page)

Almost immediately, she saw her brother, who was searching about for her with an air of desperation. Near hysterics, she pleaded with him to take her home. It took only one look at her strained face to convince him, and without questioning her further, he sought out Mrs. Lorimer and explained that his sister had the headache, and the two departed.

Once safely on the way home in a hired hack, Ned had turned to Letty and demanded to know what had occurred. Letty would say only that a gentleman had mistaken her for another and had handled her rudely. Ned hotheadedly had demanded that they return to the gardens, seek out the miscreant, and demand satisfaction, but Letty would have none of it. “Only take me home, Neddie,” she had pleaded, “and let me forget the entire incident. The sooner forgotten, the better.”

Ned obligingly had forgotten it within a week. But Letty could not forget. Her hero, she’d discovered, had feet of clay. A shrew of a woman—someone named Kitty, with auburn hair and a shrill voice—was “under his protection.” Letty was not such an innocent that she was unaware of the meaning of the phrase; Kitty was his mistress. Kitty was a woman whom he kissed with passionate intensity. Yes, she now knew how men kissed their mistresses. It was disgraceful, shocking, appalling! And if Roger Denham were ever to come near her again,
she would want him to kiss her again in that very same way.
It was
that
awareness that shocked her most of all.

She had not stopped dreaming of him, but her dreams had changed. She no longer saw them waltzing together in a brilliantly lit ballroom watched by hundreds of envious eyes. Now, she pictured them alone in a tree-shaded grove, imagining herself lying in his arms in an intimate, blood-tingling embrace. Just thinking of it made her blush with shame and cover her face with trembling hands. What had that dreadful man done to her?

What an ironic twist of fortune it had been to have him approach her again—this time as a suitor for her hand! If she did not feel so much like crying, she would laugh at the way her fate had mocked her. Roger’s mother had no doubt convinced him that the time had come to take a wife, and she, Letty, had been chosen as a likely candidate. It had been done through the machinations of her aunt Millicent, she had no doubt. She could almost hear her aunt and Lady Denham discussing the advantages of the match— “Oh, yes, Letitia Glendenning is a perfect choice. So properly reared, so unexceptional, so unexciting and undemanding.” To them she was Lady Glendenning’s complaisant, dutiful daughter.
Ha!

Roger had evidently been a dutiful son, for he had let his mother arrange everything. Letty, completely in the dark, had been invited—was it only three weeks ago?—to spend some time visiting her aunt at Lady Upsham’s elegant town house in Jermyn Street. Letty had been stricken speechless when Aunt Millicent had informed her that she was soon to receive a call from none other than the elusive Earl of Arneau, who had expressed his intentions of offering for her. When she could find her tongue to express her objections, her aunt had summarily dismissed them as “nothing but missish nonsense.” Roger had paid a polite morning call, had driven her about the park in his curricle several times, had escorted her aunt, his mother, and her to a play at Drury Lane, and had proposed.

As a dutiful daughter, Letty knew what was expected of her. She was to make the best match she could, marry the man no matter what she felt about him, accept whatever connubial demands he would make upon her, bear his children, run his home, and ask no questions about his activities and liaisons away from home. She was sure she could accept those conditions—with any man in the world but Roger Denham.

No one could deny that Roger was as good a catch as it was possible for a young lady in her position to capture. She owed it to her family to accept him. And she had tried. When his intentions had at first been made clear, she had allowed herself to hope that he had changed—that he had given up his paramour and intended to turn over a new leaf. But it had not been hard to ascertain, from the many acquaintances who were only too delighted to pass on such juicy tidbits of gossip, that Mrs. Kitty Brownell was known to have rejected several recent overtures—one from a duke!—declaring that she was quite content with her “present arrangements” with her earl.

Could Letty marry Lord Denham, accept his bored but polite presence at her dinner table, his bored but polite kisses on her cheek, his bored but polite excuses when he absented himself from home? Could she play the game without flinching when she knew she would find herself filled with jealousy, realizing that he was finding love in the not-very-polite but not-at-all-boring arms of Mrs. Kitty Brownell? Lady Glendenning’s dutiful daughter thought long and hard, through many sleepless nights and agonizing days, and she had come to the inescapable realization that she could not. She could not sentence herself
to a lifetime of the sort of pain she was feeling now. She could
not.

She turned over and buried her head in her pillow. “Mama, please forgive me,” she whispered tearfully. “Your daughter can’t be dutiful this time. Let me be wayward, just this once!”

L
etty was not permitted the luxury of private tears for very long. An urgent knock at her bedroom door cut short her gloomy musings and brought her reluctantly to her feet. A quick glance at her mirror showed her that her eyes were too red-rimmed and her nose too swollen to permit speedy repair, so she shrugged helplessly and went to the door. Prue bounced in excitedly. “Aunt Millicent is back,” she announced, and perched on the bed. “They want us both in Mama’s room right away.”

“Both of us?” Letty asked in surprise. “Whatever for?”

“I can’t imagine. Unless they want Lord Denham to offer for
me
!” Prue suggested with a giggle.

“That would be very obliging of Lord Denham, wouldn’t it?” Letty muttered sarcastically, turning back to the mirror to see if she could in some way disguise the ruin of her face.

Prue tucked her legs up under her contentedly. “
I
wouldn’t mind accepting an offer from Denham. It might be fun to be mistress of an enormous country house and queen it over hordes of servants, to come to London every month for balls and theaters, to buy lots of exquisite bonnets, and—” Catching her sister’s eye in the mirror, she gasped, “Letty, for heaven’s sake! Have you been here
crying
all morning?”

“Yes, I have, if you must know. And how am I to face Aunt Millicent looking like this?”

Prue regarded her sister in sympathy. “What’s the matter, Letty? Can’t you tell me?”

“It’s nothing, Prue, really. I’m just being missish. Be a dear and pay me no mind.”

“Well, if you’re sure … But we mustn’t stay here talking, in any case. Aunt Millicent is waiting.”

Letty sighed. “I thought I’d heard everything she had to say already. What else has she thought of, I wonder?”

“And how does it involve
me
! Well,” Prue said, getting to her feet, “we may as well go and find out.”

“Can I go looking like this? Am I presentable?” Letty asked.

“You look terrible, but there’s no time to do anything about it now,” Prue answered encouragingly. And the two girls left the room.

Mama was sitting up among a dozen pillows, her face pale and her eyes underlined with purple shadows. Millicent was sitting at her side on a spindly legged chair, still wearing her hat and pelisse. “There you are at last,” she said sourly as the girls entered.

“Good afternoon, Aunt Millicent,” Prue said with a quick curtsy.

“Good day, Aunt,” Letty echoed. Then turning to her mother, she smiled and went to sit beside her on the bed. “You look quite done in, dearest,” she said, taking her mother’s hand in hers. “I’ve made you ill with my disobedience, haven’t I?”

“What did you expect, goosecap?” her aunt asked in irritation.

Lady Glendenning patted her daughter’s hand soothingly. “Never mind, sweetheart,” she said. “I shall be up and about tomorrow, I promise.”

“May I take your hat and pelisse, Aunt?” Prue asked primly.

“No, you may not,” was the curt reply. “I don’t intend to remain above a few minutes.”

“Your aunt has a rather pleasant surprise for you both,” Lady Glendenning put in cheerfully. “I think you’ll both be delighted with the news.”

The two girls turned to their aunt questioningly. Millicent looked from one to the other, frowned, and spoke. “I’ve come to offer you a temporary solution to the predicament that you, Letitia, have made for yourself. Your name is already the subject of gossip and conjecture in the salons of London. Your mother and I have decided that it will be to your advantage to remove you from London for a few months, until the talk has died down. Since I always spend the late summer months in Bath, I propose to take you and Prudence with me for a while.”

“To Bath?” Letty asked bewilderedly.

“With
me
?” Prue added with delight. “Oh, my!”

Millicent grunted. “At least
Prudence
shows some gratitude.”

Letty forced a smile. “I’m grateful too, Aunt. Most grateful. I’d be delighted to accept, if Mama thinks she can spare me.”

“Of course I can spare you. It will be the very thing for both of you,” Lady Glendenning assured her.

“Oh, Mama,” beamed the overjoyed Prue. “Bath! Only think of it! I’ve never traveled anywhere in my life.” And she ran and hugged her aunt in enthusiasm.

“Enough!” muttered Aunt Millicent sourly, pushing her niece away. “I intend to be on my way by noon tomorrow, so don’t waste time in effusive demonstrations. Go and pack your things.”

“Yes, of course, Aunt Millicent,” Prue said, trying to contain her excitement.

“Will you excuse us, Mama?” Letty asked.

“Yes, dears, go along. I feel so much better that I shall get up and come to help you select some suitable clothes in a little while.”

When the girls had closed the door behind them, Lady Glendenning looked at her sister-in-law with misgiving. “Are you sure it’s wise not to tell her that Denham will be there?”

“Yes. Lady Denham and I agreed it would be best. She is convinced that the reason Letty refused him is that their acquaintance was too short. She feels—and I am quite inclined to agree—that Roger was too precipitous. Half-a-dozen meetings in three weeks—they scarcely had time to become acquainted. A month or two in Bath, with very few other young people about to distract them, should do the trick. Of course, Lady Denham has not yet broached Roger on the subject …”

“Suppose he refuses to go?”

“He may balk, but he won’t refuse. The attachment between him and his mother is quite strong.”

“As yours is to my girls,” Lady Glendenning said, smiling affectionately at her sister-in-law, “though you pretend to be indifferent. I hope you know how grateful I am to you for all you’ve done for my children.”

“Whom else have I to care for?” Millicent said gruffly, standing up and adjusting her bonnet. “They are my brother’s children, after all.” She stood up and held out her hand to her sister-in-law. “I don’t despair. With luck, we shall have them married before the year is out.”

Lady Glendenning’s smile clouded over. “I hope we’re doing the right thing. All I want is my children’s happiness.”

Millicent dismissed her qualms with a wave of her hand and went to the door. “I don’t know what maggot has got into Letty’s head,” she said firmly, “but don’t let it get into yours. If those two do not make a perfect couple, I know nothing of human nature.”

***

Lady Glendenning, mysteriously cured of the ailment that had sent her to bed, appeared in Letty’s doorway an hour later, fully clothed and looking surprisingly healthy and cheerful. There on Letty’s bed lay a huge mound of garments of all colors and descriptions. Prue was sorting the clothing into piles, watched by an abstracted Letty and the two younger girls who were observing the activity with envious faces. “I see you’ve made a good start,” Lady Glendenning said optimistically, and entered to lend assistance.

“Here,” Prue said to Gussie, “fold these petticoats. You may as well make yourself useful if you’re going to sit here with us.”

“I won’t,” said Gussie with a pout. “You’re the one going, so
you
do the folding.”

“Gussie, you jealous cat,” Prue said accusingly, “you sound just like Clara.”

“I’m not a jealous cat,” Clara said sullenly, but she was ignored, as usual.

Lady Glendenning patted Gussie’s head. “Don’t be envious, Augusta. Your time will come one day, you’ll see.”

“I don’t see that there’s anything to be envious of,” Letty added with a small sigh. “Bath is no longer a very exciting place to visit, unless one is elderly or infirm.”

“Why, Letty!” her mother said in mild reproach. “How can you say so, when your aunt has provided you with the constant companionship of your sister to sustain you and has undoubtedly planned any number of amusements and outings for you both to enjoy?”

“I’m sorry, Mama,” Letty said, lowering her eyes. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. It’s just that I’m tired of being grateful to Aunt Millicent for things I don’t want. If she hadn’t …” But here she stopped herself, bit her lip, turned, and went to the window where she stood staring out at the summer blooms with unseeing eyes.

“Hadn’t
what,
Letty dear?” her mother asked in concern.

“If she hadn’t pushed Lord Denham to offer,” Letty said from the window, “I wouldn’t be in this fix, and we wouldn’t have to go to Bath at all.”

Prue looked up from the red Norwich crepe gown she was folding carefully and frowned at Letty in annoyance. “Well, I, for one, am glad she did. There’s nothing lost by it—you are not being forced to marry him against your will, are you?—and
I
have gained this chance to travel. I don’t care what you say about Bath—I shall love it. I’ve never been beyond ten miles of this house, and as far as I’m concerned, this trip will be a great adventure.”

Letty, on whom the strain of the last few weeks was beginning to tell, wheeled about and snapped back at Prue curtly, “An adventure? You’ll see what a great adventure it will be! We shall be beholden to Aunt Millicent for every bite of food, every night’s lodging, every penny of pin-money. Wait until you try to thank her, and all you get in return is a cold grunt. Wait until you try to dress for dinner, and her sour-faced abigail, Miss Tristle, comes in to dress your hair, grumbling that she’s neglecting her generous mistress who insists on indulging spoiled young ladies at her own expense. And if you tell her you will not need her, she will sniff and say, ’Lady Upsham insists!’”