Authors: Elizabeth Johns
She did not recognise him, but his dress and his equipage proclaimed him to be of the first stare. She hesitated and cleared her throat.
He turned at the sound. “I beg your pardon. The door was unlocked.” He looked up. “Cousin Gwendolyn, is that you?” He started towards her.
“Yes, Lord Kendall.” She bowed curtly. What was he doing here?
“Am I too late?” He pulled up at her cold reception.
“Too late?” She was confused. He was six years too late in her opinion.
“Your mother wrote to me of her condition. I came as soon as I received the letter. I'm afraid I only received it two days ago, though it appeared she posted it several weeks prior.”
“The letter. I had not realised.” Gwen had forgotten to ask to whom the letter was for. She should have paid attention. “If you came for my mother, then you are too late. She passed on seven days ago. As you can see I am closing up the rooms.”
“Accept my condolences. I assumed as much with your deep mourning.”
She inclined her head.
“Where do you intend to go?”
It was a natural question to ask, but she did not wish to answer it. Her pride forbade her from proclaiming her destitution and desperation, even though it was likely obvious. She did not want anyone's pity, least of all his. She blushed and turned away.
“It has not yet been decided.”
“I do not pretend to deserve your forgiveness, but I ask for it anyway. I know my family behaved abominably after your father's untimely death. And when Jonathan was killed...Father forbade me from looking for you. I'd no inclination of your direction until your mother wrote to me.”
He seemed sincere, but she had difficulty believing he could not have found them had he tried.
“Why don't you allow me to provide for you now?”
If he was offering another slip on the shoulder, she would find something to harm him with. She could take no more insults at the moment.
“What did you have in mind?”
“For now, I would take you to London. Mother will know what we should do.”
“London?”
“Kendall House is there. I have been up north for the summer, so I did not receive your mother’s letter until I returned.”
“I see. I do not have a maid to travel with me. I had to turn her off.”
“We may travel as brother and sister easily enough. And it is only one night to London. Your brother was my age, and we are related after all.”
Gwen did not wish to go with him. She did not wish to be beholden to him. If she had any other options she would refuse. He seemed to understand this and seemed genuinely repentant.
“Will my aunt and cousins be upset by your generosity?”
“Certainly not.” He dismissed the question with a wave of his hand, but did not look her in the eye. “It was all my father’s doing. He was always a high stickler and overly proud of the family name.”
She looked out the window and pondered in silence a few minutes. If things did not work out, she would have more options for positions. Perhaps her aunt would help her find somewhere if she arrived and was wished at Jericho, as she suspected she would be.
“Please, Cousin Gwendolyn. I owe this to Jonathan, if you will not let it be for your sake alone,” Peregrine pleaded.
Her heart twisted within her chest. Jonathan would have urged her to go with him and have told her to stop letting her pride overcome her sense.
“Thank you, Cousin. I do not wish to take your charity. But you have found me at a point non plus. I have been unable to find a situation here on my own.
I will accept your generosity temporarily until I may find myself something satisfactory.”
He smiled broadly, revealing a handsome set of teeth. He was elegant, but she would not have thought him handsome unless he had smiled. It had changed his face and set her more at ease.
“I will have Connors load your belongings.”
“May we make one stop in town? I need to deliver a message.”
“Of course.”
Gwen dropped off her new direction for Mr. Scott in case he sold one of her paintings. She kept the easel at her cousin’s insistence, and they began their journey to London.
They made a study in contrast together, Gwen reflected, as they toiled along the Bath road. He, with tasselled Hessians, shiny enough to see one’s image in, a yellow-striped waistcoat to match his fitted pale yellow pantaloons, a mathematically-tied cravat, and a blue coat that moulded to his form. His eyes were as black as a moonless night, and his hair was nearly as dark with a small wave through its Brutus style.
Gwen sat across from him in unrelieved black, save for her hair and eyes, in a drab crape gown, feeling like the poor relation she was.
She could not quite be comfortable despite the elegant, well-sprung carriage. She had never been around her cousin much, and she had not allowed that her brother was a good judge of character when Peregrine had broken the connection after their father’s disgrace. He was of her brother’s age, and they had been friends through Eton and Oxford, until Jonathan had left for the Army. Her cousin was all politeness, but she could not help but be uneasy about the welcome she would receive in London.
Chapter Nine
“Where could she have gone?” the Dowager demanded of the footmen she had sent to rescue Gwen.
“I have no idea, ma’am. I did as you ‘nstructed. I drove to the address and knocked on the door, but the place was empty. I asked the neighbours, and one thought they saw’d her drive off with a gent in a fancy coach.”
“Said ‘er maid Hettie had gone back home to ‘er sisters,” the other man added.
“I cannot believe she didn’t come to me,” the Dowager sighed in exasperation. “Very well. I must think of what to do. You may go rest for now.” She rang for her maid.
“Hanson, I need to dress to go to the court. I’d best consult the others on where to look. I’m too upset to think straight. I cannot credit that she ran away without so much as a word.”
“Perhaps she wrote and you ain’t received it yet,” the maid suggested.
“Perhaps. She did write to me of her mother’s death. What if something has happened to her? I will never forgive myself.”
“No need to fret just yet, Your Grace. They’ll know what to do.”
The Dowager hurried uncharacteristically through her toilette in her urgency to reach counsel. She implored Hendricks to call for everyone to meet her in the parlour on a matter of the utmost importance as soon as she entered the court. She went so far as to request her grandson, Lord Fairmont, be sent for from the adjacent Loring Abbey. She paced around the parlour debating her options over and over in her mind until the family began to rush to her summons.
When everyone was present she began to recite the few facts she had at her disposal.
“Is there anyone in Bath she might have left her direction with?” Lord Easton asked.
“I would have thought she would have left it at Sir Charles's place, but she did not,” the Dowager remarked with a frown.
“Is there any place she frequented? Any friends she would have informed?”
“No friends. She never left the house, except to go to the lending library.”
“Did the footman say if the carriage had a crest on it?”
“No, but we could certainly ask. It would narrow the field to some extent.”
“I think we should send some more men to ask around. We can also send some out to the posting inns along the main roads from Bath,” Lord Easton decided.
Elly spoke up after listening thoughtfully. “I think we should try to determine what gentlemen she would have been comfortable leaving with. You said she was not the type to turn towards a less genteel occupation—”
“Certainly not!” the Dowager interrupted.
“I was going to say, what else would give her cause to leave with a gentleman?” Elly finished, unperturbed.
“She could be seeking a governess post, or even that of a companion. They could be retrieving her,” Lord Fairmont said.
“I do not believe she had adequate connections to obtain such a post, but it might be worth enquiring at the employment agency in Bath. However, a gentleman would not normally go themselves to retrieve a paid servant,” the Dowager replied, growing more worried.
Lord Easton rose. “I will go myself with some of the men to Bath to search immediately. I will send word if I find anything.”
“Grandmamma, if you do not think she could have been hired by a gentleman, who else could it be? You said you were her last remaining family.”
“That is not entirely true. I am her last relative who acknowledges her.”
“I see. Do you think it possible her other relations could have come for her?”
“I think it highly unlikely. However, Millicent did remark on the connection shortly before I left. Perhaps she contacted them.”
“What is the family name? I could enquire of them,” Lord Fairmont offered.
“Kendall.”
“I know of him. I can send an express immediately.”
“If they had not been so brutal about severing the connection, I could more easily credit it. Very high in the instep the old Lord and Lady Kendall were.”
“The son seems tolerable, but I hear the estates are encumbered and he shows no predilection for economy—especially at Waitier’s.” It was a well-known high-stakes gaming establishment in London.
“I had not heard their circumstances were precarious. It makes even less sense why they would be willing to take in a poor relation.”
“Try not to fret. Adam will find something,” Elly said in attempt to reassure her.
“I pray he does, or I may never forgive myself,” the Dowager said in a rare display of discomposure.
***
“Mother, you remember Cousin Gwendolyn,” the Viscount said when they arrived after two days on the road.
Gwen curtsied deeply, conscious of her inferior appearance in the grand townhouse. “Hello, Lady Kendall.”
“Oh, child! Such formality! I will be most offended if I hear anything other than Aunt Louisa, if you please. You are very welcome.” She took Gwen’s hands and kissed each cheek. “I dare say you are dreadfully exhausted after your recent ordeal.”
She was momentarily taken aback by the unexpected greeting. After she recovered, she said, “I am rather tired, but I am grateful for a place to put up temporarily.”
“Nonsense!” Louisa waved her hand dismissively. “I won't hear of temporary. You are family, and this is where you belong. Let us allow you to rest before dinner, and we can chat when you feel more the thing.”
Gwen could not have been more astonished at her reception, she reflected when finally alone. She sensed that she was expected, when all the while she had been anxious about the family’s feelings at seeing her again. She had been welcomed by her aunt Louisa whom she had not seen since she was a girl some twelve years prior. She was embraced like a long-lost child and ushered upstairs to an elegant bedroom outfitted in the current mode of luxury. She had expected bare civility at best and a small room with the servants. She could not help but be suspicious.
After she had bathed and rested, a maid came to dress her for dinner. Her wardrobe was sparse, save the one gown given by the Dowager she could not bear to part with, and a few black dresses for mourning—and her mood.
She was shown downstairs to the parlour, where her aunt and cousin Peregrine awaited her. They were joined by her other cousin, Lady Fanny, her husband Lord Dabney, and Louisa’s mother, Mrs. Morris. She was made known to everyone. Her cousin Fanny she’d had little acquaintance with, and while everyone was openly friendly with her, she could not feel at ease. She wished she had not come. She wished she’d had a choice.
She was escorted into dinner by her cousin Peregrine and seated next to him. A lavish dinner was placed before her, and they began to talk of her stay.
“Is this your first visit to London, Cousin Gwen?” Lady Fanny asked.
“It is.”
“What do you think of our busy metropolis?” Lady Dabney asked, making small talk.
“I have yet seen very little. I confess it is much more crowded and noisy than I had imagined.”
“And Town is quite empty right now!” she exclaimed.
“It is no matter. There is very little she may be permitted to do in mourning,” Aunt Louisa remarked.
“Surely we may do a few things without offending the proprieties. She must have some dresses at any rate,” Lady Fanny added, with an indiscreet glance at Gwen’s dowdy dress.
“That will not be necessary ma’am. I do not wish to attend anything other than perhaps church. If I may take some walks in the park I believe that will satisfy me.”
“I had hoped to have a few small dinner parties to introduce you. Nothing grand or inappropriate, mind you. No musicales or dancing until your mourning is lifted and you may be presented properly.”
“Thank you. I hope you will not put yourself to trouble on my account, however. I do not intend to stay long. Only long enough to find an acceptable position.”