Authors: Elsie Lee
To cap all, there was but too much reason to fear Imbrie would
not
learn Charlotte was in Bath. Lady Stanwood could not discover that any communication existed between Lady Imbrie and her son. Her companion—a distant relative of wilted appearance and chirruping manners—appeared to be the sole link with Calydon Towers, “whereby,” Miss Clapham simpered, “I am able to keep Cousin Laura abreast of the news.” She then put her hand over her mouth and blushed, aghast at the ungenteel word. Aside from a weekly report by Lucinda’s governess, the Calydon budget consisted of a sort of serial detailing the machinations by which the doctor’s wife was attempting to entrap a local widower for her extremely plain daughter. Lady Imbrie’s disapproval of such duplicity was not calculated to cheer Lady Stanwood at the moment. Of the duke there was no mention, and she ventured to observe, “I wonder his grace should not interest himself in the matter, since the man is one of his best tenants.” “Oh, as for that, Imbrie would feel it not his concern. He thinks it very good fun to see his friends ensnared, but if it were HE—he would leave for the Antipodes at once,” the dowager sniffed. “He has no consideration for the claims of his motherless children, or the strain on
my
health to be charged with their care. I am
mazed
he should remain so long, quite confounded with what Flora tells me of his taking his place in the season. I collect the seas are unsafe due to the wars, but I assure you, my dear Lady Stanwood—had any mama come within a yard of attaching him to her daughter, Imbrie would have taken to his heels at once, pirates or no pirates!”
This, and similar animadversions upon Imbrie’s character, was deeply discouraging. Lady Stanwood settled with herself that if the duke did not arrive within ten days, she would return to Stanbury. “Emily’s ankle is greatly improved, and Sharlie is moped to death.” “Don’t be in a hurry,” Lady Inverclyde said bluntly. “I’ve something you’ll like to hear. Imbrie’s either in London or on his way. I’d a letter from Maria Sefton—said they’d been stayin’ with the Wainfleets, mentioned she’d seen Imbrie at a dinner party and he was for town the next day. That’s where he’ll learn you’re here, Nelly.” Lady Inverclyde grinned triumphantly.
She was quite right, although it was still some days. A peculiarly unsavory local scandal had required Julian’s presence in the north. Once verdict was given, he spent a few days at the Towers, found it as uncomfortable as always, and readily accepted an invitation to try his cousin’s streams near Spitsby. On impulse, he took his children with him.
Lord Arthur’s family was entirely different from Imbrie’s, and roundly condemned by the dowager as a “ramshackle lot. Your father deplored the marriage. ‘A mere Miss Georgina Upton with nine thousand pounds? And who may SHE be?’ I remember him saying, but when you were born, it no longer mattered. Your Uncle Lionel was not heir, and I believe Imbrie later came to think her not a bad thing, for your Uncle Lionel was sadly unstable, as you must know—and now we see the result: six surviving children, of which five are
girls,
before an inflammation of the lungs prevented further increase!”
The duke could not entirely agree with her strictures. It was true that Lionel Voss had done little to expand the fortune of a younger son, but upon his death all was found well to pass. Arthur’s only encumbrance was those five younger sisters, and Julian’s first act at his majority was to assure his Aunt Georgie of five thousand pounds for each of them. Farther he could not go, it would not have been accepted. He was able to assist by offering Grosvenor Square for the come-out of his young cousins; what Lady Voss would have refused for herself, she would instantly take for her children. A further assistance lay in asking Arthur to supervise Imbrie estates, although this was worth far more to Julian than the fee he paid his cousin.
“An independent lot, we Vosses,” Arthur said with his father’s light-heartedness—but it occurred to Julian that the care of two lively ten-year olds would provide his Aunt Georgie with exactly the chance of repayment she would most like, while simultaneously offering a major treat for his twins.
So it proved, and induced his grace to linger a full two weeks at Spitsby, although the fishing was indifferent. Nevertheless, he found himself in a family life he had never known. For the first time he saw his son and daughter as
people
with distinct personalities. At Spitsby they suddenly began
talking
to him, and Julian was stunned by Giles’ grasp of land and estate management. Lucinda was not far behind, although her father suspected it was principally emulation of her adored twin. Still, it would serve her well. She would listen knowledgeably to her husband, instead of falling asleep in the middle—like Isabella.
Time and again, with the twins tagging at his heels, his mind turned to Miss Stanwood. A chance word from Giles or Lucinda, and he wished Sharlie could have shared his amusement ... or what she’d have contributed to their comments and inquiries, how she’d have instructed Lucinda in flowers and plants. Even, Julian could visualize Sharlie beside him, watching eagerly for the rise of a trout to his cast.
“What’s amiss, Coz?” Arthur drawled one evening when Julian had silently poured a fourth glass of port.
“You won’t roast me?” Julian asked after a moment.
“You know me better!”
“I think I’m in love.”
Lord Arthur opened his mouth to say “Cheer up, you’ll recover,
3
’ or some such pleasantry, but a glance at his cousin’s serious face changed the matter. “That is good news,” he said sincerely. “Do I know the lady?”
Julian shook his head. “That is why you would roast me. It is Miss Stanwood ... Sharlie,” his grace murmured affectionately, while his cousin stared at him. “She understands French, German and Greek, Arthur. She rides like Diana Artemis, she waltzes like a feather in the arms; she has the knack of dealing with servants, gardeners, country folk. She listens, asks to hear more, and never forgets what she is told. She is eager, and teachable, sincerely interested. She says what comes to her mind, and then blushes for fear it
is too out of the mode, but even when she is minding her manners, Sharlie is...” Julian’s voice died away dreamily.
“Miss Stanwood?
,,
Arthur repeated cautiously. “Well—well, I’m sure I wish you very happy, Julian. She’s a most beautiful creature, I hear she had all London at her feet.”
“No, no, that’s the little widgeon with a harp. All the same, she’s a complication.”
“How so? It’s expected the older sister will go off first.”
“Not by Sharlie. She is convinced my attention is for Emily. To say truth, I’d no special attention for either of ’em, Arthur, beyond amusement. They’re a pair of nice youngsters, I like the parents, it tickled my fancy to get Brummell to give Sharlie the nod, but I’d no real thought beyond helping her to a successful second season. Thing is,” Julian said moodily, “I didn’t wake up in time, Arthur. I should have made it clear to Sharlie at the outset that I had
no
interest in Emily, and was only a friend of Lord Stanwood, but it didn’t seem to matter. I could see Lady Stanwood was under no misapprehension, she welcomed me as a London neighbor known to her husband—hence, an entirely acceptable escort for either daughter.
“But now—damme, what a coil! I’ve no reason to suppose Sharlie’s ever thought of me except as a possibility for her sister. If I ask permission to address her, the Stanwoods will give it. I fancy they’ll be amazed, but they like me very well—and in that family, titles and money are less.” Julian smiled faintly, “Oh, they’d be alive to the coup of catching Imbrie, but if she rejected me, she’d not be devilled for it.”
“She wouldn’t reject you.”
“She very well might. God, what am I to do?”
Lord Arthur regarded his cousin with concern. This was a man he’d not suspected. In common with the rest of the world, he’d come to view Julian as a dedicated bachelor with a low opinion of wedded bliss, but his dreamy catalog of Charlotte Stanwood’s virtues betokened lovesickness of no mean order. “Consult m’mother,” he decided, tossing off his wine and pushing aside the bottle. “M’mother has a good head for this sort of thing. Come along, Julian.”
Lady Voss opened her grey eyes very wide at her son’s
précis
of the situation. “Julian’s in love—unexceptionable girl, but hasn’t a notion, thinks he’s after her younger sister. What’s his course, mama?”
It could not be supposed that his Aunt Georgie would instantly render a verdict. All must first be explained in great detail, “for it is in the highest degree unlikely that she would promote your pursuit of her sister—yes, I
know
you have not, Julian, but she thought you were. I wish you will not interrupt,” Lady Voss said severely. “Now I have lost my train of thought, where was I?”
“Julian’s supposed pursuit of Emily.”
“Oh—yes, she would not promote that if she did not like you very well for yourself, Julian, for from what you say, she is not at all
worldly
minded. Sharlie—what a cunning name! I long to know her, I feel sure I shall like her excessively which, if you will forgive me, I could
not
say for Isabella, but however—Sharlie does not sound at all the girl to wish for an unsympathetic brother-in-law, no matter how rich he is.”
“Very true, but how shall I make her wish for me as a husband?”
Lady Voss pursed her lips, and sipped her tea while her son and nephew regarded her hopefully. When mama (Aunt Georgie) pondered, SOMETHING
useful was bound to emerge. At last she said, oracularly, “You must contrive to be at hand wherever she is. You must devote yourself to her, and by your conversation let her know that you have never thought of the sister as anything more than a sweet little schoolgirl.”
“In heaven’s name, how will he do
that
, mama?”
“Oh, he will inquire particularly for her beaux, which does she favor, give his opinion that so-and-so would be a very good thing,” Lady Voss stated. “First, let Sharlie realize that he has no intentions whatever for the sister. Then, when she has accustomed herself to the disappointment of her plans ... then it will be time for Julian to show his real objective by a few pretty speeches, a glance, a pressure of the hand.” She shrugged, “by that time I fancy Lady Stanwood will see how the wind blows and afford some discreet assistance. It is really very simple, Julian, although it may take you some time to convince Sharlie that you are not hanging out for the sister ... and I may say,” severely, “you’ve no one to blame but yourself if you’re rolled up.
“You’ve been far too will-o’-the-wisp for too many years. By now you’ve been written off as a prospect by any wise mother. Small wonder your divertissement has caught you amidships, and it will do you good to be uncertain! That is all I have to say.” Lady Voss finished her tea with austerity.
“Yes, ma’am,” Julian replied meekly, but upon reflection, he felt the advice to be sound ... although how was he to contrive to be at hand when he’d no idea where Sharlie was? London would be a good starting point; unlikely the Stanwoods would still be in residence, but a servant would certainly know where they had gone.
Two days later he returned his children to Calydon Towers, stayed the night and set out for London at an early hour. Sitting beside his master, Stepan covertly observed the silent set-jawed determination and occasional reminiscent smile with a hopeful heart. “We shall have a mistress.
Kahloss!
It is time to stop roaming,” Stepan said to himself, “and, that Maria suits me very well.”
By a circuitous route, his grace managed to drive
up
Park Street and round the corner to drive
down
Grosvenor Square. A swift glance to the Stanwood residence showed it darkened but for a basement light. Well, he’d expected nothing more; London would be well-nigh deserted in late July. Some word might be gained from one of the clubs. “I shall be content with the simplest of dinners,” he informed Robsey, “at nine if this can be managed—or at ten, if it cannot.”
“Very good, your grace,” Robsey bowed imperturbably. “Will there be guests?”
“No, I doubt I shall stay longer than tonight.” Julian went up to his chamber while Robsey was murmuring, “Very good, your grace,” and stripped off his driving clothes. “I’ll bathe now, Stepan—see what’s in the study, and go to a club after dinner.” It did not get so far. The instant the duke had closed the study door, Stepan hastened to the rear door of No. 10 Park Street.
“
’Alio, mon vieux! J’y suis
,”
he said jovially to Anatole. “We are here for only a little—and where is milady and
les demoiselles
?”
“They have gone to Bath, which is a detestable place that gives no scope for art,” Anatole replied. “Once I have been there—it is many years past, with a relative of milord’s to whom he offers a house and servants.
Mais, figurez-vous:
no one has heard of
l’
escargots
or
les rognons oporto!
All that is wanted is a chicken, a joint of beef or lamb, with a
Gateau St. Honoré
—in
August. C’est impossible!
I hope I never see the place again—and where have you been, Stepan?”