Second Season (20 page)

“Lud, Nelly, I’m to blame for going
fishing?
If you needed me, you’d only to send word.”

“Send it where? You gave me no direction, Robert. In any case, I had no certainty of Imbrie’s sentiments, and the presence of a father kicking his heels in London would be the very circumstance to cause Imbrie’s retreat. All my object was to make him feel there was no expectation.”

“You did too good a job of it!”

“Yes, but how could I dream he would address her without a prior word?” she sighed. “Had he so much as asked where you might be found, given me the least indication of wishing formal permission to speak, Robert
—then
I could have ventured to prepare Sharlie. Now all is at a stand. I’m certain she’s unhappy for it, but he’ll not renew his offer. No man would after such a set-down,” she winced, “for it could not be suppressed, everyone in the house was aflare. It was all over Bath within hours, and Imbrie left next morning. He’ll not try again.”

“Good God, of course not. So that’s why...” his lordship muttered. “Heard he was in town, didn’t happen to run across him, but I fancy he’s going to Greece.”

Lady Stanwood closed her eyes faintly and moaned.

“Well, it may have been someone else,” he said hastily. “I wasn’t paying close attention. Somebody’s going somewhere, and from what you tell me, it’s like to be Imbrie—always off to some devilish foreign place or other, even when he hasn’t been rejected.”

In fact, it
was
Julian and he was thinking of going to Greece—a destination devoutly wished by everyone at Calydon Towers, particularly his children. “Or at least,” amended Lord Giles with a scowl, “I don’t care where he goes, so long as he leaves.”

“That is not a proper way to speak of your father,” said Miss Tolliver severely.

“Oh, stuff,” he retorted. “You wish he’d go away, too, after his raking you over the coals about Cinda’s ‘deplorable accent in the French language,’ and don’t deny it, Tolly.”

“And what is so unfair is that we’ve learned more from Tolly in six months than ever before!” Lady Lucinda agreed indignantly. “Even you, Gillie, because you said yourself she makes it interesting.”

“Thank you,” the governess bowed to her charges with an austere countenance that cast them into giggles. “May I suggest that further application to your arithmetic problems will reveal vistas of interest hitherto undreamed-of?”

“Why?”

“How will you know whether your steward is managing your estates properly unless you can figure the ratio of profit for yourself? How will you know when you can afford an expensive improvement to your lands?” Miss Tolliver asked, surprised. “How will Cinda know whether her housekeeper is efficient and whether the chef is pocketing a percentage for patronizing the most expensive purveyors? Why, you would not know how to place your bets and count your winnings at Boodle’s, or for silver-loo at a lady’s morning party.
Anyone
could cheat you—and let me tell you that indifferent, incompetent masters make lazy, thieving servants. Take up your slates—how much is 13, plus 14, plus 15?”

“All the same,” said Giles when the sums were completed and they were grouped about the globe, “I wish he would go away. I quite liked him at Aunt Georgie’s, he told me all sorts of things and showed me how to cast. He didn’t even mind Cinda tagging along, it was regularly splendid—but now it’s all different. He just grumbles and glooms, and tells us he hasn’t time, but I can’t see that he’s
doing
anything very particular.”

“He’s been crossed in love,” Cinda reminded him. “I
told
you, Gillie. The Clapham wrote the Vicar’s wife all about it. I couldn’t hear it all, because they discovered me sitting outside the window and sent me away. But however, there is no doubt—and I think you should not have asked him if we were to have a step-mamma, Gillie, nor said ‘you mean she doesn’t want you, either,’ when he said we would not.”

“Phoo!” Giles said valiantly. “Very probably we shouldn’t have liked her in any case. Let’s choose a place for him to visit,” spinning the globe. “Close your eyes, Cinda, and point. Any place will do.”

That her finger rested on the Nipponese Isles—on the other side of the world—was thought by the twins to be an exquisite joke!

CHAPTER IX

August was gone,
together with Lord Stanwood and Sir Geoffrey, who departed for Scotland, grouse and salmon. “Damme, milady,” said his lordship irately, “between Sharlie’s sharp tongue and Emily’s vapors, I’ve no appetite for the best dinner you’d set before me. I’ll be off to Kirkcudbright in the morning.”

“I pray you will take Geoffrey with you,” Lady Stanwood returned, and sailed out of the room with her nose in the air.

While the atmosphere of Stanwood Hall was less sulphurous with their absence, discontent remained. Charlotte was irritable, Emily was disconsolate, and Lady Stanwood was at her wit’s end with both of them. She was positive Sharlie pined secretly for Imbrie, yet how to get him back? Before Bath, it was merely to allow Imbrie to learn where Miss Stanwood was to be found, and hope that he would follow. Now, Sharlie must somehow physically cross his path, and apparently by accident. It was far easier to state the problem than to solve it at this time of year. Could they have remained in Bath, a word to Lady Inverclyde would have passed to Lord Arthur who would (she was certain) have informed his cousin that Sharlie appeared to regret her words.
If
Imbrie’s interest had survived, he could have returned to Bath ... or come to Stanbury when Lord Arthur informed him of their removal.

At this season, gentlemen ruralized; their ladies visited relatives, like Lady Inverclyde. When Flora left Bath, she traditionally descended upon her two daughters and three sons, striking terror in all hearts. Even the Sixth Marquis of Inverclyde quailed under his mother’s piercing eye, “and what is so
unfair ”
his wife remarked bitterly, “she never says
when
—she simply
arrives,
and one has no possible chance to arrange previous engagements ... and she has no fixed schedule. One year she visits youngest to oldest, and another year she reverses it, and just as we think this time it will be by ascending age, she makes a circle tour—going to the next nearest, you know.”

“And what is more,” her sister-in-law added, “she will never say who gets her when she leaves you; we cannot even send an express warning, and at this time of year one has always so
many
arrangements to be made for hunting and holiday
house parties
, but
all
must be put aside, or she will insist upon seeing the guest lists—and changing everything about. It quite puts one in a frenzy!”

Lady Stanwood herself, despite her preoccupation with Imbrie, had similar parties to be planned that would carry country society through the winter months. She thought and thought, but could discover no solution. The Duke of Imbrie was undoubtedly catching fish or shooting game birds at the moment, but he could be doing this anywhere in England or Scotland ... and upon reflection she devoutly hoped he would not accidentally encounter Lord Stanwood. It was a groat to a shilling that her spouse wouldn’t make some disastrous reference to Bath! Yet if something were not contrived rapidly, the Duke of Imbrie would be gone travelling again, if Lord Stanwood was right...

In the face of Charlotte’s unhappiness, Lady Stanwood was inclined to impatience with Emily’s dolor. “Had I realized a single taste of Society would so impair your former enjoyment of simple pleasures,” she observed tartly, “I would have sent you to your Aunt Eliza. I wish you will cease these sighs and tears for the cessation of past glories. You will have them again in six months.”

“Y—yes, Mama,” Emily gulped, and ran from the room with a sob.

“It’s Eustace,” Sharlie remarked. “I told you how it would be, Mama. He’s gone back to Spain, that was why he had leave to come to Bath.”

“Oh, dear!”

“I don’t know that he told her, he didn’t intend to do so,” Sharlie sighed, “but she must suspect, particularly when there is no word of him. He was used to being so much in our family that I’m certain he would have written to us to say how all goes on, if he were still in England, don’t you think so?”

“Oh, I suppose,” Lady Stanwood agreed unhappily, “and I admit you were right in your warning, my love, but I hoped ... That is, out of sight out of mind, and she’s still so young. One would expect she would get over it.”

“Not,” said Sharlie, “when one has recognized love, Mama.”

The Stanwood males returned from Scotland, bearing two fine fat salmon wrapped in thick layers of seaweed, and several brace of grouse. For a while their presence created sufficient diversion to draw the girls out of their glooms. There were shooting parties for local gentlemen; county society entertained at dinners, arranged picnics and modest balls. Lord Stanwood directed Geoffrey to lend his curricle to Sharlie, and personally accompanied her for an estimate of her competence—which he declared adequate for setting up her own carriage.
That
indulgence produced such joyous squeals and kisses from his daughter as required her to be sternly called to order.

Lady Stanwood began to breathe more easily. Sharlie was sparkle-eyed at the promise of a curricle. Emily was revived by the increase of social engagements. Geoff was enjoying his status as the local buck, fluttering all female sensibilities, and finding Georgie grown enough for endurance on a ride, or fishing the local streams when nothing better offered for amusement. Lord Stanwood rode his land, approved of Charlotte’s decisions in his absence, and Edmund and Louisa did
not
do anything outrageous—such as coating various church pews with fresh glue.

The inhabitants of Stanwood Hall were in perfect harmony for a full two weeks—after which all reversed itself to such a point that Lady Stanwood had recourse to her vinaigrette on every occasion.

There was first a formal missive delivered to Lord Stanwood from the new Earl of Waxe, requesting the hand of his elder daughter. “Lud, Nelly, what’s to do about this?”

“She won’t have him,” his wife said flatly, “but you’d better leave it to me to get her answer.”

“Why?”

“Why
what?”
she countered impatiently. “If you mean why won’t she have him, it’s because she’s finally realized she wants Imbrie.”

Charlotte put it more simply. Summoned to her father’s study and apprised by Lady Stanwood, “My love, your father has received a request for your hand from the Earl of Waxe—but it is agreed you are to make your own choice,” Charlotte was first astounded and then distressed.

“No,” she said succinctly.

“Why not?” her father inquired.

“Papa, you cannot wish me to marry someone called Cedric!” Sharlie said desperately.

“Good God, what has that to say to anything?” he demanded, bewildered. “It’s a family name, all the Wrenthams have a Cedric. It was his father’s name and his grandfather’s, and it’ll go to his oldest son, and what of it, Sharlie? Man can’t help his name ... I must say.”

“Not
now
, Robert,” Lady Stanwood said firmly. “Charlotte refuses him, you must write a rejection—and if you are uncertain of the phrasing, I will assist you later. Come, my dear.”

“Is Papa angry with me?” Sharlie asked fearfully.

“No, indeed,” her mother assured her. “I fancy he may be surprised, for you seemed to like Wrentham very well in London, but no one will give you a scold.”

But when this was shortly followed by Emily’s refusal of Viscount Pelham, Lord Stanwood was somewhat more than surprised. “God bless me, Nelly, what is wrong with your daughters? Are they meaning to turn down every member of the peerage in descending order?” he asked in astonishment. “So far we’ve had a duke, an earl and the heir to a marquis—I don’t know how it will end. In heaven’s name, what do the girls want?”

In a burst of temper two days later, Geoffrey said he didn’t care
what
they wanted
—he
didn’t want two aged spinsters in his future establishment.

“Do not worry,” Sharlie retorted with spirit. “If you are meaning to offer for that platter-faced daughter of the Harbisons, I wouldn’t live in the house with her.”

“Elizabeth is
not
platter-faced,” Geoffrey flushed furiously.

“No,” his small sister Louisa agreed, “
I
think she looks more like a fish, don’t you, Emily?”

“A tench,” Edmund added helpfully. “It’s your turn to deal, Louisa.”

Matters were not improved by Sharlie’s involuntary giggle, but worse was to follow. Upon entering Emily’s chamber unexpectedly, Lady Stanwood discovered her weeping over a sheet of paper. “What have you there?” she asked suspiciously, and twitched it from Emily’s fingers to identify—a letter from Eustace! That it was remarkably ill-spelled and contained no word of
love
did not mitigate the shock of an illicit correspondence. The uproar in Bath was nothing compared to Lord Stanwood’s explosion; even Beamish trembled, while Miss Tinsdale took pains to keep out of his lordship’s way.

Everybody wept, but Emily most of all. “You don’t understand,” she moaned when Sharlie sought to console her. “I
am
glad he’s safe, but—but he’s
enjoying
himself in Madrid!”

The sight of his favorite daughter in constant tears became too much for Lord Stanwood. “Good God, Nelly, I can’t stand this curst weeping,” he said irascibly. “Geoff can remove himself to friends, but I’m fixed here for the Bench sessions and Assizes. Send Emily to Eliza and for heaven’s sake, let us have a little peace.”

Lady Stanwood heartily agreed, she was sick of the girls, too. For good measure, she sent Sharlie with her sister, “and I do not want you back until you have stopped crying,” she said severely, “so you may as well take Moonshine and Firefly.”

Charlotte was able to face the visit with fortitude. Her father’s sister was domiciled near Grantham which was Melton country and considered the best hunting in England. On Moonshine’s back, she could always get away from Lady Eliza’s caustic remarks. Emily was not so fortunate, although, between the devil of her aunt and the deep blue sea of riding, Emily would take Firefly. Her lamentations and protests against the removal were in vain, however.

“Nonsense,” said Lady Stanwood, bracingly. “One would think you were being cast out of heaven. A change of air will be good for you.”

“Stanbury is no heaven,” Emily muttered sulkily, “but Grantham is certainly hell.”

“WHAT did you say?” her mother demanded, awe-fully.

“I beg your pardon, Mama,” Emily stuttered, and burst into tears exactly as her father entered the room.

“Oh, good GOD, not
again
!” said Lord Stanwood violently, and departed without pausing.

Lady Stanwood’s heart was touched by Emily’s misery, she was half-minded to send the girls to her own sister near Oxford, but the riding horses had already been despatched to Eliza. Best to leave it as it was—but had she known, she would have sent her daughters to Lady Eliza long since, for Calydon Towers was no more than eight miles away.

The Duke of Imbrie was not presently in residence, to the unabashed relief of his children. As Lady Stanwood had surmised, Julian had shot birds in Aberdeen, fished in Inverness and Argyll, gone north to Moray and south to Roxburghe—moving restlessly from one host to another, and finding himself hard put for civility. He was in no humor for the evening wine and gambling of male parties, but even less inclined for the conventional insipidities of the young ladies introduced to his notice. Neither was solitude to his taste after a week at Rickaby. By the time Arthur joined him for the sport of Calydon coverts, Julian owned to desperation.

“I’ll be off on the first boat out of Portsmouth,” he shrugged, “preferably to the Mediterranean. It should be safe enough by now; the latest dispatches indicate Wellington’s pushing Joseph ahead of him up to the Pyrenees, and Boney’s too far to the North to reinforce in Spain.”

Arthur nodded. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, “but maybe it’s best you should go away entirely for a time. It may be easier among total strangers.”

“It’ll never be easier,” Julian muttered. “Damme, I’d got used to her, Arthur. I could talk to her, I’d no need to guard my tongue or confine myself to chitchat. I’m too old for the ninnyhammers, I found them boring from the moment I returned last year—and after finding one female with a mind, how can I endure a return to simpers, blushes, social pretenses?”

“You don’t feel like trying again?”

“How can I? I would not so embarrass her. I’ve had my answer. It would be the same if I made a formal offer to Lord Stanwood. I hoped perhaps, if I went away, you might have noted a change,” Julian sighed, “but it didn’t answer.”

“There was not the time, no more than ten days before Lady Stanwood was forced to remove by illness in her nursery. I wrote you.”

“Yes, but I’m not upon such terms with her parents that I could venture to call without a formal invitation. Depend upon it, she will have Waxe,” Julian finished gloomily.

“Now
there
I’m positive you’re out,” Arthur observed. “I fancy he’s been rejected, too. Saw him at Boodle’s a while back, he was looking almighty pleased with himself that evening—saw him again about a week later, and he was definitely glum when Miss Stanwood’s name was mentioned.”

“What of it? Doesn’t mean she’d have me,” but Arthur thought his cousin looked faintly cheered, and since he was sincerely fond of Julian, he set his mind to discovering some way by which to determine Sharlie’s possible change of heart. The simplest procedure, when he’d located Stanbury on the map, would be to call upon Lady Stanwood, on the pretense of discovering Stanwood Hall was on his way to a friend. Luckily, before he had set forth, a chance houseparty word revealed that Lord Stanwood would be at home for his duties in local justice—so
that
was ruled out: Arthur could not call informally at the home of a man with .whom he was unacquainted when the man was in residence. It would have been brash enough to visit Lady Stanwood on the strength of no more than a few weeks in Bath, but under the circumstances, he had thought he might risk it.