Laura Matthews (6 page)

“My relations are not so absurd as yours,” she retorted. “There is...another possibility arisen.”

He studied her until the color mounted to her cheeks. “That young man—Westmore?”

“Westlake.”

“Who is he?”

“Lady Garth’s son, third out of five.”

“And where did he spring from?” he asked shortly.

“I have known Peter for some time. That is, I knew him some time ago, though I have not seen him for six years or so,” she replied stiffly.

“If you didn’t want him six years ago, I wouldn’t take him now! He can only have gotten worse. My God, he must have a perpetual stiff neck from wearing that ridiculous cravat.”

“It is the height of fashion,” she replied defensively. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “And I did want him six years ago.

He stopped his pacing and turned to face her. “Then why didn’t you have him?”

“Because...“ She could not continue.

“He didn’t ask you.”

“He did! Oh, leave me alone. This is none of your business in any case. I do not have to answer to you for anything.”

“Certainly not,” he said amiably, “but I should like to know. Did it have something to do with the insinuations my aunt made?”

Glenna rose and drew herself up to her full height. “I have no idea what insinuations your detestable aunt may have made, but I can only consider you paltry to have listened to anything said against your fiancée.”

“Ah, but I didn’t listen to them, my dear Miss Forbes, though I was burning with curiosity. Let me see, before I shut her up she had managed to cast aspersions on your paternity and hinted at something irregular in your one season in London. No doubt that was when you met Westlake.”

"Go away."

“And then there was the most remarkable effect that evening I drove you to the vicarage when I suggested that you had no need to make sacrifices for your father.” This time he thought she would faint and, disgusted with himself, he hastened to lower her into a chair. “Forgive me. God knows I did not come here to torment you, Miss Forbes.” He chafed her hands, murmuring apologies. “I will leave you, but I beg that you will accept my offer of Manner Hall. Even if you are to wed, it cannot be for some time and I truly believe you would enjoy it there.”

Glenna roused herself to contemplate him, where he crouched beside her chair. “If you were so curious about me, why did you not ask me? Were you willing to marry someone whose background might reflect ill on you?”

“I don’t see how it could have. Your father I knew to be an admirable man; your friends accepted you without reservation. If other gentlemen who knew you far better than I were desirous to marry you, then they must not believe any the worse of you. Had our engagement continued, I might have taxed you for some information, but only so that I would be aware of our strengths and weaknesses.”

“Do you always see life in terms of a naval battle, Lord Pontley?” she asked curiously.

His grin was infectious. “I am a practical man, Miss Forbes. What needs to be done, I do. It would be foolish of me to put myself at a disadvantage through false delicacy, don’t you think?”

“No doubt.” Glenna rose and walked to a small mahogany secretaire from which she extracted a yellowing letter. “If you will read this, you will understand the whole of your aunt’s insinuations.”

Pontley refused the proffered item. “Thank you, no, Miss Forbes. I have no right to do so now, and I have no wish to further upset you.”

“It can only comfort me for you to read it, my lord, for it vindicates my mother most effectively, I believe.”

“I will accept your word for that, ma'am."

“I don’t want you to accept my word, sir; I want you to read the letter.” She continued to hold it out to him until he was forced to take it.

Before doing so he studied her determined face, made a gesture of resignation and walked to the window where he could better discern the faded writing. The letter was dated 23 June 1797, and it was from Lady Garth.

My dear Miss Forbes [it began], It is with a great deal of sorrow that I write you, and I would not do so were it not essential. I have watched with trepidation the growth of affection between you and my son Peter for some months now, and have not found the courage to speak with you. For myself, I would welcome you as a daughter into my family with great warmth were it not for some circumstances in the past of which I cannot believe you are cognizant. When your mother (dear Lady Harriet) married your father it was to the disappointment of my husband, who had courted her assiduously. He had been convinced that his consequence was so much greater than your father’s that she would not throw away such an opportunity. You must understand, dear Miss Forbes, that I am well aware of the ancient lineage of your father’s family, and by no means regard it lightly. Nonetheless, Lord Garth felt that his title, wealth and person were such as your mother could not refuse. He was sadly disillusioned and did not marry me until some years afterward.

Your parents seldom came to town, being quite content, I suppose, with life in Hastings. However, when your aunt, Lady Mary, was to be married, they came to London for the season in ‘78. Although I had then been married to Lord Garth for some years, and had produced three sons for him, he made an utter fool of himself by pursuing your mother quite relentlessly during their stay, much as Sheridan does Lady B. now, but with much less success. There would have been no gossip, and in fact was none at the time because your mother was so obviously devoted to your father, and was consistently cold to Lord Garth. However, your parents had been married for many years by this time without any offspring, and the following winter your mother gave birth to you.

Now, I know for a fact that my husband had no success with your mother (for he is wont to proclaim his triumphs to me), and that the timing of your birth was a matter of coincidence. But it was an unfortunate coincidence, and such as made lovely
on dit
for months in London. So you see, child, there is a rumor abroad that Lord Garth is your father, and it is the greatest ill luck that you and my son should form an attachment. (Not that for yourself it should cause any hindrance in any case, my dear, for Lord Garth is positively
not
Peter’s father.)

At this point Lord Pontley interrupted his reading to mutter, “What a menagerie!” The letter continued:

Your father, however, was much distressed by these rumors. He did not for a moment believe them—I have never seen such a loving couple as your parents, my dear. Perhaps it has something to do with their never coming to London... No matter. What I am trying to say, Miss Forbes, is that an alliance between you and Peter would be most abhorrent to your father, bringing back painful memories, and giving rise to the most vicious gossip here. I could not, of course, in my position, endeavor to allay such rumors. I hope you can understand that. Your devotion to your father is well known, especially since your mother’s death last year, and I felt in explaining all this to you I might prevent you from hurting him deeply. You must do as you wish, of course, but I could not allow you to act without an understanding of the background of the matter. It is a pity that the indiscretion of your elders should cause you heartbreak, dear Miss Forbes, but so it ever has been, I fear. I would be overwhelmingly grateful if you would write to me and apprise me of your sentiments in this instance. Yours, etc.

“If it were not so pathetic,” Pontley commented, “it would be laughable.” He set the letter on the secretaire with a distasteful gesture. “Is Westlake familiar with the contents?”

“Yes, of course. We discussed the matter at the time and agreed to part.”

“You realize that nothing has changed except your father’s death. There would still be gossip if you married him.”

“He does not seem to mind, and I certainly do not. My father can no longer be hurt by such maliciousness, and that was always my only concern.”

“And Westlake has waited all this time for you?”

A shadow passed over Glenna’s face. “No, Lord Pontley, he has not, but on the other hand he has not married and maintains his desire to do so now."

“Admirable, I’m sure, but I hope you will take the time to get to know him again, Miss Forbes. A man changes over six years."

“I intend no precipitate action, my lord, you may be sure,” she replied coolly.

“Do not freeze me now, Miss Forbes. I am gratified by your confidence and wish only for your happiness and comfort. If you will undertake my commission at Manner Hall I will be perfectly satisfied. Please grant me that one indulgence for the sake of my peace of mind.”

Although she hesitated, Glenna was tempted by the offer. It would indeed be difficult for her to remain in Hastings at this time, with all its memories of her father. Her movements would be restricted by her mourning, and she envisioned days passing by purposelessly. The project itself was fascinating to her, and she felt sure that many of her friends would be willing to visit—including Peter. She was not in the habit of accepting such largesse, however, and if she did undertake the supervision of the renovation she intended to do it thoroughly.

“Are there any horses?” she asked suddenly.

Startled, Pontley nodded. “Only a few. Do you ride?”

“Being town-bred does not necessarily preclude such a skill,” she retorted haughtily, but her eyes danced mischievously. “I have never been on an animal more active than a donkey, but I should like to learn.”

“Excellent. I will send word that you are to be expected within the month, but you had best give a few days’ notice yourself.”

“I had not actually accepted yet,” she protested.

“Well, do so and I will allow you to return to your friends. You have kept them waiting far too long already."

“Very well,” she sighed. “Please believe that I am grateful to you, Lord Pontley.”

“There is no need for gratitude. I am satisfied that your father would be pleased. And now, if you will excuse me to your friends, I will be on my way. You have only to write if there is a problem. I. will be at Huntley for a while and will advise you when I depart for Lockwood.”

“And the renovations? Have you left instructions with your agent?”

“He will have them by the time you arrive, Miss Forbes.” Pontley mentally noted that his agent would be vastly surprised at this turn of events, but he was committed now to follow through with it, and he did not regret his actions.

Chapter 6

The sale of Glenna’s house in Hastings was accomplished quickly through the office of friends of hers. She included most of the furniture but retained those items which seemed especially memorable, in spite of the carter’s charges she would have to pay to have them taken to Minehead. Her friend Phoebe had agreed to accompany her, as Glenna had found situations for all of the servants, another parting which had caused her distress. The activity, though, had occupied her mind and her time, for which she could but be grateful. Two days before she and Phoebe were to set out there was a note from Pontley advising her that a civilian captain who was a friend of his would be willing to take the ladies and their belongings on board on his way to Bristol. The journey, Pontley wrote, would be quicker, less expensive, and interesting for her. She would have to be ready on the Wednesday, however, rather than the following day she had mentioned in her note as her starting date.

Going by sea had never occurred to Glenna, and the thought frankly horrified her, but Phoebe was delighted with the idea and pressed home the advantage of monetary savings.

“But my harp will probably be ruined by the salty air,” Glenna protested.

“I dare say it will survive as well as it did in that post chaise,” her friend responded dryly. “How can you not wish to go by sea? You very nearly married a captain in the Royal Navy, Glenna.”

“He did not make it a condition of our marriage that I ever come on board a ship.”

"Well, you would have had to, you know. I met a Mrs. Fremantle last autumn in St. Helens whose husband is a captain on the
Ganges.
She spoke of being on board frequently, and told me that the previous day the Prince of Wales had drunk six glasses of cherry brandy at luncheon with her husband, plus a bottle of mulled port wine. Imagine!”

“I can easily imagine, my dear Phoebe, and I fear the only way I could get through a sea voyage would be on six glasses of cherry brandy for each meal.”

“Don’t be a goose, love. Please say we may. I shall probably never have the opportunity again.”

“Very well, but I give you fair warning I will as like as not be ill the entire passage.”

Captain Andrews was startled by the amount of baggage he was expected to take on for the ladies, but he ignored the inconvenience with a cavalier shrug of his shoulders and settled Glenna and Phoebe into a large cabin with a fireplace and two comfortable cots designed to prevent motion. They sailed with a fair wind and a calm sea which quickly reassured Glenna, and she soon found herself intrigued by the voyage.

Phoebe took to sketching the scenes they passed, and Captain Andrews willingly provided information on Eastbourne and Brighton, the Isle of Wight and St. Alban’s Head. They took dinner with the captain, who dined in splendor and assured them that he had been to no special trouble for the meal.

“When you spend as much time at sea as I do, you learn to make yourself as comfortable on board as you would at home. And the little touches of civilization take on extra importance. You have no idea how lonely a man gets when he is at sea for weeks on end, often out of sight of land, with nothing but his own thoughts and monotonous duties.”

“Have you a family to go home to, Captain Andrews?” Glenna asked.

“No, ma’am, but I have a comfortable little house near Weston super Mare and my brother and his family live hard by. The children love to come on board and climb over everything, talking twelve to the dozen and asking more questions than could be answered in a fortnight.” He smiled approvingly. “I think the eldest lad will take to the sea; perhaps the youngest as well.”