Intermezzo (17 page)

Adela was stunned as Lord Waterston threw back his head and laughed. “Buy a husband? That mincing caper merchant! Miss Muffet, had I wished to
buy
your departure, I can assure you I would have offered him thrice that amount. In fact, I believe the man would have
forcibly
abducted you for under a thousand pounds. Your choice of suitors, Miss Trowle, is execrable.” And then seeing the confused and hurt little face before him he continued more gently.

“Please believe me, Cousin Adela, I want only what is best for you.”

“The two hundred pounds is a hoax is it not, sir?”

“There is no letter of Uncle Horace’s, but the two hundred pounds is not a hoax.”

“Why did you do it, my lord?”

“You know, child, I began to wonder about that the moment the words left my mouth and I saw the expression of greed on Monsieur De La Courte’s face. I do not
know
precisely why. It was
instinctive
, you see. I know only that I was, at the time, very, very angry. Your so-charming Louis was somehow suggesting that you were a penniless orphan and I suppose, in part, that
my
pride was adversely affected. No woman of
my
family would be married without a portion. But, as I come to consider the matter, I think there is more to it than that. You are my cousin, after all, and I have become rather fond of you—proud of you as a person. Whatever ridiculous decision you choose to make I cannot allow you to become totally dependent on the whims and fancies of some mincing fop. For a married woman an income of two hundred pounds will provide a great deal of freedom and a modicum of independence. Independence, as you have yourself pointed out, is often a matter of pounds and shillings. Of course, I realize now that I went about it the wrong way—” then smiling ruefully, he continued, “I should most certainly have thought the matter out carefully and forged the letter from Horace. But I was taken unawares and acted spontaneously.”

For a few moments, Adela was nonplussed and then, smiling, she held out her hand, “My lord, thank you, but I
cannot
accept such largesse and you are making me feel like a perfect ingrate.”

Taking her hand, he answered, “My dear child, you
are
a perfect ingrate. Come, it is time for luncheon and we will resolve this matter some other time.”

That evening, with Aunt Sophia, conversation at the dinner table was restrained and conventional. For the most part, they discussed the weather and the opera they would be attending later. Toward the end of the meal Lady Spencer did inquire about the progress being made in Rebecka’s dancing classes, and Adela became absorbed in skinning a peach as the child responded, “I am sick of dancing, Aunt Sophia. I will never make my come out. It is all a piece of silly nonsense.”

Lady Spencer did not seem surprised. ‘Too true, it is all silly nonsense but a
necessary
form of nonsense. But you do have time, child, you do have several years before you are in your dotage.”

Charles smiled at his ward. “Just so, brat, I agree with your charming aunt—the dancing lessons have been premature.”

Lady Spencer nodded almost imperceptibly and asked his lordship about his plans for the spring concert.

“What spring concert?” Charles asked innocently.

“Gammon, Charles, you know very well what spring concert. For the last five years your ‘little musicals’ as you so quaintly refer to them, have been setting fashion in the world of music as surely as Brummel ever did in the world of dress.”

His lordship answered that he had not, as yet, finalized his plans but would inform his charming aunt Sophia when he had.

They finished their dinner in a companionable silence and the young ladies returned upstairs to dress for the opera.

Twenty minutes later Lady Spencer, having refreshed herself, descended the staircase in a lavish purple slubbed silk and a plethora of diamonds. She was followed by Becka, who waltzed down to the hall in sprigged muslin with a tiny string of pearls and a look of studied nonchalance. The two of them were chatting at the foot of the stairs when Adela came tripping down the stairs, grasping her cloak, and apologizing as always for making every one wait.

“A
lady
,” Aunt Sophia interrupted, “
never
apologises for being late. In fact, most ladies never apologize at all. And a lady always descends the stairs regally as if she were a queen making an entrance. Adela,
you
should be taking lessons from Rebecka.”

“How silly, my dearest aunt Sophia, but fortunately I am not a lady. I am a companion-governess, and unless we run, we truly will be late for the first curtain. Besides,” she added having reached the last stair, “if one makes a grand entrance one is often stared at and I do not enjoy that sort of attention. Do you?”

Aunt Sophia surprised her. “Of course I do. I adore it. And Adela, you will not mind it nearly so much
if
you can only learn to stare back.”

Adela, suddenly laughing, curtsied her capitulation and raced back up half a dozen steps to turn and begin a regal descent. “Bow down, my subjects.” She waved imperiously at Sophia and Rebecka and then inclined her little chin a fraction to acknowledge their curtsies.

Miss Trowle was a lovely picture in her new peach silk with its cream lace overskirt, although the dress, by Miss Trowle’s standards, was cut
shockingly
low. She reached the bottom of the stairs, held out her skirts, and pirouetted on her silken slippers, laughing. “I have never worn anything half so silly.”

“Just so,” Waterston said, light-heartedly grinning as he entered the hall. “Now smile demurely and we shall be off.”

Sitting in Waterston’s box at the opera, Adela truly did feel like demi royalty. All was magnificence—the jewels, the moving colors, the sweeping lines of the theater itself. Adela gazed about her in open admiration.

“Miss Trowle, you are
gawking
,” his lordship remarked under his breath.

“Oh yes, excuse me, sir, I shall endeavor to look properly bored.”

“Do so, at least until the lights dim. It is never ladylike to look the least bit interested in one’s surroundings.”

“Of course, sir.” Adela smiled. It was a relief to have returned again to the level of casual scolding. Suddenly she felt Becka tug at her sleeve.

“Oh, do look, Adela, there she is and isn’t she simply
beautiful
.”

Across from them in diaphanous green silk which exposed every nook and cranny of her voluptuous body was Jeanette Oliver. Sitting beside her, with his hand in her lap was a well-dressed somber gentleman. Adela gasped and thought that perhaps she should raise a hand in greeting, but before she could decide to do so, his lordship had placed one of his own long arms across the shoulder of her chair and his hand was closing on her neck. “If you so much as twitch an eyebrow in recognition of Miss Oliver, my dear Miss Muffet, I shall throttle you here and now.” As if to confirm this he tightened his grip. All the while looking the picture of avuncular attentiveness.

“As you can see the fair lady over whom you expressed such commiseration has found herself another protector and is more than happily established. Come, admit I was right and you were wrong.”

“I will admit anything you like, sir, so long as I am in imminent danger of being asphyxiated.”

His lordship smiled and removed his hand from behind the curls at her neck and let it drop casually on her shoulders where it threatened to burn a hole in her gown. “Now will you admit that you were mistaken.”

Adela, sitting very straight and very stiff, muttered, “No, I will not, the poor dear has so few alternatives.” Then, noticing some movement to the side of them, Miss Trowle turned and smiled demurely up into his lordship’s eyes saying, “I believe that Lady Diana is gesturing to you, sir. Do you propose to continue this conversation with her? I would be truly interested in
her
opinion on the subject of Miss Oliver.”

“Viper, Lady Diana will have no opinion on that subject.
She
is the daughter of an earl and is, at least on such matters, reputed to be vastly tolerant. I should, however, go and pay my respects.”

A few minutes later, Waterston returned to the box accompanied by Lady Diana Rathbone and her cousin William Worthing.

“Ah, dear Lady Diana,” Adela heard Lady Spencer say with almost an excess of sweetness, “how well you look this evening.”

“Exquisite perfection as always,” drawled his lordship as he moved a chair toward Diana.

Diana acknowledged their praise and greeted Sophia and Rebecka. “I have come to bring little Rebecka a gift. It is the veriest trifle, but Charles insisted that I bring it myself.” And she took from Mr. Worthing’s hands an exceedingly delicate child-size fan.

Rebecka accepted the fan with a deep curtsy and a solemn, “Thank you, my lady,” and returned to her seat silently.

Diana then allowed the footman to seat her and began discussing the merits of the opera and several recent on-dits fit for the ears of a child. William Worthing bowed to the ladies, ran his eyes almost insolently over Adela’s form, and accepted a chair as well.

“What do you think of the new reform effort, Mr. Worthing?” Lady Spencer asked conversationally. “I understand you are considering taking the seat for the Rathbone borough.”

“The reform act? Why I think it shocking, of course. I am certain you will agree, my lord,” he said, turning to Charles for approval. As Charles did not respond, William Worthing continued, “All those coarse hoi polloi sitting in Commons and brandishing their quaint insidious little middle-class morality—trying to destroy the nation, I’d say.”

Unannounced, Thomas Worthing and Nancy Owens had come into the box and Adela was favored with a brilliant smile as Nancy sat down beside her.

Thomas Worthing could not agree with his brother. “Surely the middle classes have
some
rights, William?”

William laughed with embarrassment. “My esteemed older brother has contracted a Whiggish disease—of some sort—the rest of the family is anxiously awaiting his recovery.”

“Nevertheless, William, you might humor a sick man and answer my question,” Thomas persisted.

“Very well then. Rights and responsibilities are for men born to shoulder them. As we distribute those same rights to the middle classes, we shall have the lower classes clamoring for revolution. And so it comes to the Luddite rebellions.”

“Do you suggest then that we do
nothing
to address the problems of the poor?” Charles asked quietly.

“I do believe, sir, in a
moderate
amount of charity, but the poor, by and large, are poor because God intended them to be poor. Poverty, I am convinced, is a reflection of divine justice and the poor are deserving of their fate.” William Worthing adjusted his neck cloth and examined his signet ring while waiting for a response.

Lady Spencer, very grave, responded, “On the contrary, young man, this nation with its poor houses, its debtor’s prisons, and its abject poverty is an affront to Christianity.”

“Very true, Lady Spencer,” Miss Owens said, “and surely we must
address
these problems. We
cannot
simply ignore them.”

William Worthing smiled with some condescension. “I would never presume to disagree with a lady,” he said bowing to Lady Spencer, “nor should I presume to disagree with Miss Owens.” There was a moment of shocked silence and then, as Thomas Worthing moved toward his younger brother, he was forestalled by Lady Spencer.

Sophia Spencer was livid. “It is particularly unfortunate, Mr. Worthing, that Thomas has been blessed with a brother who has the look of a gentleman but the brains of a mackerel, the political judgment of an ass, and the manners of a viper. You have my sympathies, Thomas.”

Lady Diana’s laughter tinkled like fine crystal. “Charles, dearest, shall we make peace between these two?” Diana asked as she placed an ivory hand on his lordship’s arm.

“Peace? Why ever for, Diana? I am quite enjoying the war. I’ll lay odds on my aunt Sophia. I don’t believe young William is up to her weight. What do you say to a wager, Thomas?”

The laughter forgotten, Diana’s voice was chill. “Charles, this is
not
a cock fight.”

“No, of course not. Are you in the habit of attending cock fights, Diana?”

Diana chose to ignore this question, and still addressing Waterston, she continued, “You must admit that while William can be a
trifle
gothic, your aunt Sophia’s political opinions are decidedly radical.” Turning toward her cousin William, she added, “Charles is forever having to restrain Lady Spencer in her various charities—are you not, Charles?” she motioned with her head for her betrothed to agree.

Adela felt Rebecka grip her hand and looked down to see the child, her eyes downcast and a look of intense concentration on her face.

With one quick glance at the other occupants of the box, his lordship answered, “Nonsense, Diana dear, not only am I come to believe that Aunt Sophia is quite correct in her politics, but I am entering into partnership with her on one charity particularly close to my heart.”