Authors: The Nomad Harp
Glenna was perplexed when she tried to envision how he spent his days in London. More to the point, she could not imagine how she would spend hers. In Hastings she had assisted her father with his research into the history of the coastal towns of Kent and Sussex, and turned his notes over to the University when he died, as he had instructed.
London, for all its amusements, appeared a desert to her. She had entered into the challenge of renovating Manner Hall with an enthusiasm she could not sustain, she was sure, through hours of card parties and morning calls. The society in which Peter lived and breathed held only the smallest of fascinations for her. As an eighteen-year-old she had been overawed by meeting the members of the
ton,
putting faces to the names she had read in the papers. Heady stuff for one so young. But now? She was not amused by the bizarre lives of the
ton,
the gambling mania and the indiscreet liaisons. Oh, Peter could make it sound wickedly fun with his turn of a phrase, his comically lifted eyebrows. He did not condemn or approve, but saw the ridiculous and turned it into an anecdote. Belonging as he did to that sphere, he accepted the actions of others as a matter of course, and no doubt indulged as thoughtlessly as they.
She chided herself for her unusually harsh viewpoint. There were many, Peter among them, who contributed generously to charities. If she married him she might take an interest in such activities, and she doubted he would disapprove. His attitude toward children she might have guessed, and she had no more desire than the next woman to prove a brood mare. Peter would be considerate; it would be a matter of pride with him.
Her toilette completed, she descended to the breakfast parlor, where Phoebe and Peter were already established. The Carmichaels, even in the country, seldom rose before eleven. Peter smiled warmly and Glenna took the opportunity, when he spoke to Phoebe, to study him. His sandy hair was as usual carefully arranged in the current windswept fashion. His clothes were perhaps too formal for the country but fit him to admiration, and though his frame was not large, he was well built. She supposed he could be called handsome, but his face was too regular and his eyes too mild to spell a strongly masculine countenance. On the dance floor he excelled, with the grace of an artist, and he was an elegant if not a bruising rider.
When Phoebe excused herself, Peter turned to his hostess and took her hand in an eager clasp. “Well, love, will you have me?”
It was on the tip of her tongue to say yes. Married to him, she would no longer have financial worries, or need to make a decision as to what she should do with her life. There was no course so acceptable to a young woman as marriage, and he would provide a considerate if unexciting husband. Pontley was marrying his "elf” and she would not see him again. But her very being rebelled and she answered softly, “No, Peter, I cannot marry you, much as I like you. You have a way of life which would not suit me, I fear, and I would be a weight to you and an oddity in your circle.”
His face dropped lamentably, and for a moment Glenna wondered if she had done the right thing. When he spoke she was reassured. “Nonsense, Glenna. You would come to delight in the London scene. There would be no need for you to expend your efforts on projects like this.” He gave a careless wave about him. “Instead you would have only to amuse yourself. Your leisure time would be total.”
Glenna could not repress a chuckle. “I cannot bear the thought of it, Peter. Pray say no more. I am truly grateful for your kindness and your...loyalty to me, but I cannot marry you.”
Confused and a little angry, Peter rose and bowed formally to her. “As you wish, of course, Glenna. I am disappointed, and my mother will be, but I only wish for you to be happy.” He could not resist murmuring, “I hope you know what you are doing.”
“I hope so, too, dear Peter,” she whispered as he strode from the room. No doubt it was burning one’s bridges which made her feel achingly lonely, with a lump in her throat and her eyes stinging with unshed tears. Ah, well, she would feel better when she had checked on the kitchen.
When she sought out Phoebe, she found her friend curled before the fire in her bedroom. “That looks cozy. May I join you?”
“Do.” Phoebe studied Glenna’s face and noted the lines of strain. “I heard Peter ordering his carriage for tomorrow. Have you refused him?”
“Yes. I simply could not do it, Phoebe, even though I like him. Was I wrong?”
“I don’t suppose so. Certainly it would have been easier for you to accept, so I imagine you had no choice but to follow your inclination.” Phoebe gave her friend a quick hug. “I’m glad you will be coming home with me.”
“I should not stay long at the vicarage, Phoebe,” she protested. “Where would you put my harp?”
“Very amusing,” Phoebe retorted. "This time you will have to keep it in your own room. Now your furniture, that’s another matter.”
Glenna considered the problem. “Mr. Glover might find a place to store it here until I send for it. The harp, too. We can’t very well travel with it in a post chaise.”
“I’m sure Pontley wouldn’t mind if we took his antiquated carriage. Most unsightly, but roomy enough for the harp.”
“Yes, let’s impose on him,” Glenna suggested mischievously, “and take John as our coachman, too.”
“And we really should have Mr. Glover for our escort. No, I have it. He can drive a cart with your furniture.”
“We shall take Mrs. Morgan for our companion and Mr. Morgan can act as outrider.”
“A magnificent procession,” Phoebe sighed.
Still,” Glenna said thoughtfully, “I cannot think Pontley would mind if we used the carriage, and sent for the furniture later.”
“Peter would say he owes it to you.”
“Yes, and Peter would be right. Do you know I have managed to cover almost the whole of the kitchen expenses from my projects?”
“You really were cut out to be someone’s housekeeper, Glenna. Now don’t take umbrage. I only mean that you have a flair for organization.”
“Hmm. Perhaps you are right. Well, I shall write to Pontley to congratulate him on his engagement, and ask if we may use the carriage.”
Chapter 12
Manner Hall
30 November 1804
My dear Lord Pontley: The work here is nearly completed and I shall be leaving in a short time. I think there is no doubt that you can find a tenant now. Phoebe showed me the announcement of your engagement and we both wish you and Miss Stafford well.
I shall go to the vicarage for a space before returning to Hastings. Would it be acceptable if we used the Manner Hall carriage to transport us there? I will, of course, assume any expense, but we could not fit the harp into a post chaise. Mr. Glover is willing to store my few pieces of furniture until I send for them.
Yours, etc.,
Glenna Forbes
Pontley set the letter down carefully on the center of the blotter. So she was not going to have Westlake after all, it appeared. Probably very unwise of her, considering her situation, but he was relieved. She would not have dealt well with the popinjay, for all his wit and wealth. An idle life would bore her to flinders before a month was out. A commotion in the hall interrupted his thoughts and he reluctantly pushed back his chair and rose to meet the latest crisis wrought by Miss Jennifer Stafford.
"Philip, you must train your servants to admit me at any time,” she announced as she burst through the library door.
“No, my dear, I am not willing to do that. You might catch me in my bath.”
A slight flush crept up her creamy skin, and she adopted a haughty air to cover her embarrassment. “I would hardly invade your bedroom, and I cannot like it when you speak so.”
“Very well, I shall make a point of never mentioning my bath again.” His solemn tone was belied by the laughter in his eyes, but Jennifer was not amused.
“My aunt is very angry with me,” she confessed, taking hold of one of his hands. Pray tell her that I may dress as I please. Nothing could be more vexatious than having her pinch at me all the time. She is much worse than my parents or my sister.”
“Aunt Gertrude has very strong feelings about how a young lady should behave, Jennifer, and wearing breeches does not meet them at all. You must abide by her wishes.” He ruefully surveyed the schoolboy figure
clad in a scarlet page’s outfit.
“When I come to live with you—”
“When we are married I will expect you to behave properly, my dear. Oh, I will not make you burn your favorite costume, but you cannot wear it indiscriminately, either. We are expecting a visitor this morning and your chosen raiment is not acceptable. Please go and change.”
There was a flash of rage in the blue eyes turned up to him. He deftly caught the hand pulled back to slap him and held her still for a full minute while he spoke gently to her.
“I have no wish to disappoint you, Jennifer. There will probably be time later for us to ride together and you may be a page then if you wish, but now I want you to wear something appropriate. Perhaps the jonquil gown that makes you look like a spring flower,” he offered placatingly, as he released her.
Aware that she would not be provided with the opportunity of striking him, she hastily looked about her for some other means of venting her anger and annoying him. Glenna’s letter was most immediately to hand and she grabbed it and tore it to shreds while he watched stony-faced. “There,” she declared triumphantly. “How does it feel to be paid back for your unkindness?”
“Go and change, Jennifer. If you do not present yourself to Miss Dowell in such a way as to meet with her idea of what is fitting, I will not come to visit you this evening.”
Jennifer had long since realized that there was no fate worse than being left alone in her aunt’s company for the whole of a long, dreary evening. It was Pontley’s habit to dine with them or ride over after dinner to play cribbage or jackstraws with his betrothed. Occasionally he read to them, if Jennifer was not too impatient.
“You are punishing me like a child! What do I care if you call or not?” She stamped her foot and glared at him. “I do not have to sit and hear my aunt prattle of my duty. She does not have a very high regard for you, by the way, Philip.”
“I am aware of it, my dear, and I assure you it does not bother me in the least. Mrs. Ruffing went through the old schoolroom yesterday and found several items which will interest you—a peepshow with rotating pictures and some puzzles. I had intended to bring them with me this evening."
Jennifer gave in with ill grace. “Oh, very well, but I think you are the greatest bully alive.” She swung about on the heels of her riding boots and stalked out of the room, taking care to slam the door after her.
Pontley exasperatedly picked up the scattered pieces of his letter and tossed them in the grate. Every encounter with the child-woman had the potential to turn into such a scene, and his patience was wearing very thin. The only thing which cheered him in the entire situation was the knowledge that his aunt’s nerves were already entirely frayed. She had long since regretted her interference; since she had come to realize that there was not the least chance of her imposing her own will on her niece, she had taken to unending lectures on behavior which ended, as one might expect, with Jennifer storming from the room and Aunt Gertrude calling for her companion.
Pontley had watched the realization dawning in Lady Pontley that Jennifer was indeed an unstable woman. Although she refused to acknowledge this to him, and perpetually taunted him with his inability to control the girl, he knew she could barely wait to have Jennifer removed from her house. There was no escape from the daily tantrums wrought by the old woman’s unbending attitudes. Surely no two people were less likely to live in harmony than the dowager and her niece.
Those soft, whimsical moods which had originally captivated Pontley were not so frequent now, as Jennifer found him less the romantic suitor who would help her escape from her family and find freedom, and more the enforcer of a loose propriety for which she had no regard. Jennifer had begun to chafe at being perpetually in the country; she longed to set London by the ear, and she had no doubt that she could do so. Pontley didn’t either, and he was loath to take her there, but had agreed to an expedition of a few days’ duration when she pleaded with him in her most appealing manner. They were due to leave, with his aunt, in two days.
Seated once more at the desk he drew forth a sheet of paper and wrote:
Lockwood
5 December 1804
My dear Miss Forbes: I thank you for your good wishes and for the news that the kitchen is near completion. You know that there is no necessity for you to leave immediately, but I doubt I could convince you to stay on. The carriage is at your disposal, and I will send my coachman as soon as we arrive in London so that he should be with you in a week.
My regards to Miss Thomas. With her permission I would like to call on you when you arrive at the vicarage, to express in person my appreciation for all you have done at Manner and to introduce you to Miss Stafford.
Yours, etc.,
Pontley
P.S. I trust you have recovered from your affliction.
Glenna looked up from the letter with a crooked grin. “He does not think we can find our own coachman, Phoebe, and is sending us his.”
“How very thoughtful of him. Does he say anything of Miss Stafford?”
“Only that he will bring her to call when we are at the vicarage, with your permission, of course. How very proper he has become! I have no doubt it is Miss Stafford’s influence.” Glenna slipped the letter into her reticule and gazed fondly out the window. “I am going to miss Manner, you know. There is so much to do in the country.”
“Quite
a different viewpoint than Peter’s, my love.”
“Yes, he was restless in the few weeks he was here. London is his place, and ever will be. Lady Garth is quite exasperated with me that I would not have him, but perhaps the least bit relieved as well. Not that his engagement or lack of it was the thought uppermost in her mind. There is a much-heralded boy actor coming to London, and she is vexed beyond anything to be in the country at such a time."