Authors: A Proper Companion
Chapter Thirty-Two
“W
ithout qualification,” said Mrs. Parton, “I proclaim Miss Newfield’s introduction into Society a success.” She popped a bite of currant tart into her mouth and chased it with a sip of tea.
“Indeed.” Lady Greystone wore a smug smile. “I look forward to Lord Winston’s visit this afternoon. The
gel
has lived up to the better part of her breeding.”
“I cannot think why the baron favored me.” Anna had tired of the way they talked about her as if she were not present. After speaking with Edmond last night, she had made up her mind to be more forthright, especially in regard to her own future. While she could not keep the pompous peer from visiting, she could try to defuse his interest. “I found him rather boring.”
“Why, my dear.” Mrs. Parton’s merry laughter filled the room. “That very disinterest attracted his attention, a decidedly clever ploy.”
“Why, I hardly—”
“Indeed.” Lady Greystone poured herself another cup of tea. “Disinterest will always set a young lady apart from the coy, simpering debutantes.”
Hiding a sigh, Anna gazed toward the drawing room window and thought about her favorite dance partner. Edmond had left shortly after his mother’s crushing censure, but Anna looked forward to his promised visit today. She prayed he would arrive before the baron.
As if summoned by her thoughts, Edmond strolled into the drawing room wearing a stylish black suit with a spotless white shirt. How well they complemented his dark hair and eyes. How important the message they conveyed. “Good afternoon, ladies.” He bowed to each. “This is a beautiful day, is it not? Everyone should be out for a carriage ride.”
Anna’s heart leapt. He did not need a uniform to present the most distinguished appearance of any gentleman she had ever seen. “What a wonderful idea.” She gave Lady Greystone a hopeful look.
“Certainly not.” The viscountess harrumphed rather forcefully. “The baron will be here at any time. I will not have him disappointed.”
“Oh, but, Frances—” Mrs. Parton stopped nibbling her tart. “Parliament will not adjourn until late this afternoon, what with having to deal with the American war. Winston will be in the thick of that, you can be sure. Do let us go for a ride and see who is in Hyde Park. If we wait until Sunday we will have to mingle with every London tradesman taking his day off.” She leaned toward the viscountess and lifted one eyebrow. “You never can say who will be there today. Lady Everton has a grandson—”
“Edmond!” Lady Greystone’s jaw dropped as she stared at him. “
What
are you wearing?”
He glanced at Anna and smirked. “Why, madam, just some old rag my valet pulled from the wardrobe to replace my uniform.” His voice held a note of triumph, and his use of “valet” instead of “batman” bespoke a significant change for both Matthews
and
his employer.
Anna also noticed Lady Greystone’s wince.
* * *
The hurt on Mother’s face cut into Edmond. In the instant before her eyes narrowed into their usual glare, he realized for the first time in his life that he could cause her real pain, not merely displeasure. Mother had always been angry, and her anger often focused on him. But that did not give him license to be less than a gentleman. Regret flooded into him, doubled by what he had learned from Uncle Grenville last night. Tripled by the fact that Anna had witnessed his failure to honor his mother by using such an impudent tone.
“Forgive me, madam.” He prayed Mother could hear the honest contrition in his voice. “I know you will be disappointed, but I know of no way to soften the blow. Uncle Grenville has agreed to sponsor my residence at Lincoln’s Inn. This morning I resigned my army commission.”
Her eyes flared and she stared away from him, her elbow propped on the chair arm, her chin resting on her fist, her jaw clenched. Uncle had helped Edmond understand so much, yet in their first meeting after his resignation he failed to take it all into account. He had hurt her again.
“You have chosen poorly, Edmond.” Mother looked at him, but her expression now held indifference. “If you had followed my advice and permitted my friends to open doors for you, you might have been made a duke, like Wellington. You do know the Prince Regent has granted him a dukedom?”
“Yes, madam, I heard the news.” What she failed to consider, or perhaps even admit, was how many years it had taken the man to reach that position, how many years he had been forced to wait to marry the lady he loved. While Edmond knew his own lady’s faith would undergird her constancy, he had no wish or patience to face the future without her. “But history does not favor many men that way.”
“Humph.” She offered him a dismissive wave of her hand. “Well then, go enjoy your day.”
Anna’s hopeful smile emboldened him. “Miss Newfield, would you honor me by accompanying me?”
“Yes—”
“Indeed
not.
” Mother moved to the edge of her chair. “I forbid it.”
Edmond could see the battle in Anna’s face, but he had no idea what to pray for. As much as he longed for her company, he longed for her to follow God’s will even more. After last night, one thing was certain: they had a future together. But would it begin today, or be delayed?
“Madam.” Anna stood, causing Edmond’s hopes to soar. “I should like to go with Major…Mr. Grenville.”
“There. You see?” Mother sneered at Edmond. “How much more impressive it sounds to be addressed as ‘Major.’” She turned her quizzing glass on Anna. “If you go with him, you will no longer be in my employ.”
Anna’s sweet face crumpled. “I should be very sad for that to happen, madam, but I must follow my heart.”
“So this is your true character revealed at last. Just like your rebellious mother.” Mother dismissed her with a wave like the one she had given Edmond. “Go on, then. Follow your heart.” Her tone was laced with sarcasm. “But if you do, you may not return to this house.”
* * *
Doubt filling her, Anna looked at Edmond. “I—I have no other place to go.”
“Nonsense.” This time Mrs. Parton used Lady Greystone’s favorite word. “I shall give you a place of refuge until…hmm, what shall it be, Major, eh, Mr. Grenville. Goodness, it will be difficult to remember that change.” She shook her head, causing the purple plume on her orange turban to flutter. “Will you marry the girl?”
“Julia!” Lady Greystone dug her fingernails into the arms of her blue brocade chair. “Will you betray me this way?”
“My dear Frances, if you are so foolish as to not recognize or appreciate true love when you see it, I hold no hope for your happiness.”
“True love? Happiness? What nonsense! Why—”
“Oh, hush.” Mrs. Parton stood, bustled over to Anna and took her hand. “Now, Miss Newfield, should you decide to marry this charming young soon-to-be barrister, you may live with me for the three weeks while the banns are cried. Should you decide not to marry him, you may have a position teaching my little charges at St. Ann’s Orphanage, where I am a patroness.”
Anna stared at the dear woman, unable to speak. She owed so much to Lady Greystone and despaired of coming between these two close friends.
“Close your mouth, dear.” Mrs. Parton giggled. “And send that footman over there to tell your lady’s maid to bring your bonnet and spencer. There may be a breeze in the park.”
Anna looked at Edmond, then at Lady Greystone. The viscountess’s glower was nothing less than a warning, and yet Anna knew what she must do.
“Edmond, if you will give me a moment, I will be delighted to accompany you.”
* * *
“Uncle Grenville loaned me his phaeton.” Edmond made a quick study of the black carriage, lest it had picked up too much dust on the trip from Uncle’s house. To his relief, the conveyance passed inspection. “Shall we ride, or walk?”
Anna’s trusting smile, which had given him such courage the night before, warmed his heart once again. “Whichever you prefer.”
“As the distance is over a mile, I believe we should ride.”
He handed her into the phaeton and climbed in beside her. At his direction, the mare set off on a moderate walk toward Piccadilly Street, with Edmond answering Anna’s questions about the scenery. They passed Burlington House in all its Palladian beauty, then moved toward the shopping district. Usually Edmond noticed only the stray dogs, pickpockets and evidence of horses. Today his attention was drawn more to the pristine buildings and attractive shops. Among the crowds were elegant ladies accompanied by maids and bewigged footmen carrying wrapped purchases. Well-dressed gentlemen rode sleek steeds. And, as always, costermongers haggled loudly with customers over prices.
Observing the clashes, Anna frowned. “I am dismayed to think Mrs. Parton has destroyed her friendship with your mother on my account.” She clasped her hands together in her lap.
“Have no fear, my darling.” Speaking the endearment for the first time gave him more joy than he ever imagined. Yet he had a few things to tell her before they discussed their love. “My mother owes her life to Mrs. Parton.”
“What?” Her horror-stricken expression gave him pause. Just how much should he tell her?
“Uncle Grenville did me the courtesy of explaining some of Mother’s…oddities.” He cringed inwardly, thinking of all she had endured, but Anna need not know the whole of it. “My father, who died when I was so small I do not remember him, was less than kind to her.”
“I gathered that from conversations among the three ladies.”
“But when his
unkindness
became so severe her life was threatened, Mrs. Parton and her husband gave her refuge.”
“Ah.” She was silent for a moment. “That was very brave of them.”
“Yes. Crossing a peer is never advisable.”
Anna’s eyes reddened. “Perhaps I should not say this, but I do so wish to understand her unhappiness.”
“What is it, my darling?” He leaned against her arm, wishing he could embrace her.
“I suspect she and your uncle have strong feelings for one another.”
“I agree.” Edmond easily reined the mare around a broken cart. Unfortunately, his mother and uncle had no such easy way around their broken relationship. English law forbade a widow to marry her late husband’s brother. Had she chosen the wrong brother to marry simply because of his title and suffered for her decision? Was this the source of her bitterness? Such questions helped him understand and forgive her, even when she punished him for her unhappiness.
They wended their way past Whitehall and sunlight flooded the phaeton, filling Edmond with joy. Enough about Mother. At last he and Anna were free to decide their future. “I have something important to tell you.”
“Oh, dear. What is it?” Worry clouded her grey-green eyes.
“Shh. Don’t fret.” Her bonnet kept him from kissing her cheek, so he bent at an angle and placed a quick peck beside her mouth. Then sat back and enjoyed her blush. “You asked me last night where I have been these past weeks.”
Her eyes cleared. “Yes?”
“I traveled to Blandon to find your Squire Beamish.”
“Ah.” The clouds returned, then dispersed again. “Did you see any of my friends? How is Mrs. Brown?”
He chuckled at the direction of her thoughts. “She is well and sends her love, as does Mrs. Pitcher.” He paused for effect. “And the good squire sends his kindest regards.”
“Hmm. How kind of him.” She seemed less than cheered by his last remark.
“Dearest, I shall not keep you in suspense any longer. The long and the short of it is that the squire left all too much in Mr. Danders’s hands, and the man cheated you out of your inheritance.”
“My inheritance? Do you mean to say I actually did inherit something from
Papá?
”
“No, not from your father. As a country vicar, he had little to save or invest. Or for his son to buy a commission.”
“But Peter did buy his commission.”
“Yes, but the funds came from another source.”
She tilted her head prettily. “Another source? But who?”
“Your grandfather.”
“But—” she looked away, a frown furrowing her brow “—we were told Sir Reginald disowned
Mamá.
”
“He did, and he never surrendered his bitterness toward your parents. However, in his old age, he apparently wanted to do something for his only grandchildren. While he did not change his will entirely, he bequeathed sufficient funds for a modest future for both you and your brother.” Renewed sorrow for young Newfield’s death wrenched Edmond’s soul. “He arranged the matter through Squire Beamish, with instructions that your parents—and you—would never know where the money came from. The good squire informed your father of a mysterious benefactor whose identity he could not disclose.
“Being a prudent man, your father did not inquire further. After all, you and your brother would now have the future he could never promise you. At the age of eighteen, your brother was to receive three hundred pounds to establish a career. At your father’s death, you were to receive fifty pounds annual. Unfortunately, the squire left the execution of it all to Danders. Because your father expected the inheritance for Peter, Danders had no choice but to surrender the funds for his chosen profession. However, when your father died, the solicitor must have decided an unprotected young lady was easier to rob, even with a brother expected to return from America.”