Authors: Elizabeth Johns
“Nonsense, my dear. I will not hear of it. We have more than enough room, and are delighted to have you. Now that my Fanny is married, I will enjoy having your company. Mother does not enjoy going to balls and parties.”
“Too old to give a…”
“Yes, thank you, Mother,” Aunt Louisa interrupted before Mrs. Morris could finish.
Gwen bit back a smile. Apparently the woman had no restraint. She watched her toss back the contents of her glass and call for another.
“I insist on presenting you when you cast off your weeds. You are still in bloom and should take nicely.”
“I thank you, ma’am, but I have not a penny to rub together. I can ill afford to be presented, and would hardly be a matrimonial prize,” she said frankly, knowing she was being crass.
“You shall leave that for me to worry over.” Louisa reached out to pat Gwen’s hand. “We have time, and you might change your mind when you become accustomed to being here.”
Her tone suggested she would not argue the point, and Gwen had no intention of remaining in the house long enough to bother.
“Shall we withdraw, ladies? Perhaps, when the men join us, we could play some cards.”
The women followed her aunt into the parlour, and she sat down, feeling even more out of place with Peregrine gone. She was slightly more at ease with him, and she felt somewhat sheltered from viperish tongues with a man present. Not that the ladies had given any inclination to speak of her so, but she was wary because of how her mother had been treated by them.
Aunt Louisa and Fanny began a discourse on where it would be appropriate to introduce Gwen, and all of the places she needed to be taken to be outfitted first. Gwen had no intention of being beholden to them longer than necessary. She would pretend the headache if necessary, and find her way to the employment agencies.
When the men rejoined them, she was only aware of a pressing need to be alone. She made her excuses and retired early. Once the maid had helped her into her night clothes, she sat on the window seat hugging her knees and wondered what Mr. Abbott was doing in America. Was he looking at the same stars as she? The week with him seemed a distant memory. In her wildest fantasies, she had hoped he would return and come for her. For a time, it had seemed a remote possibility. Now, her hopes were fading. She had no way to send a letter to him now. Instead, she decided to pen a letter to the Dowager to let her know where she was and have her cousin frank it for her.
***
Andrew wiped the sweat from his brow as he heard a horse approaching. He was rarely presentable these days because he was working—and hard. They had been framing the new stables, while the masonry workers laid brick and mortar to part of the façade. He continued driving in a nail without looking to see who approached.
The horse pulled up near to him with one Miss Jenny Bradley perched atop in a plum-coloured riding habit. He looked behind her to see if she was unaccompanied. He shook his head. He remembered his sister use to ride about these parts on her own as well.
“Miss Bradley.” He bowed slightly.
“Mr. Abbott.” She gave a nod of her head, and eyed his open shirt and rolled up sleeves with a glance beneath her hat. He was not here for social purposes, so he wasn't about to apologise to an uninvited miss. He would make certain that they were not alone together before he found himself staring down the end of her father’s shotgun.
“How may I help you today, Miss Bradley?” he said in his normal cordial manner.
“Mama sent a picnic for you and your workers.” She nodded to the loaded down saddlebags. “She thought you strapping young lads might be hungry,” she added with a coy smile.
“Much obliged, Miss Bradley.” He turned towards the men. “Abe? Would you find someone to help Miss Bradley unload her gifts in the kitchen?”
The girl looked perplexed. Obviously she had planned to unload it right there and partake of it in his company. Andrew was not keen on her plan. It was one thing to converse amiably when at her family’s home for dinner. He had too much town bronze not to notice a female looking to trap him.
“But…but are you not hungry now, sir? I'd be happy to serve you.”
“Not at all, ma’am. The Marshalls brought us some fresh muffins and biscuits earlier.” He rubbed on his full belly to enhance the effect. His London friends would be horrified at his vulgarity, but he was desperate. “We cannot stop for a break for a few more hours. We have to get this done before the sun sets. Please send my appreciation to Mrs. Bradley.”
He watched the young lady stew a moment trying to forge a new plan. She was not a bad looking chit, but no one held a candle to his Gwendolyn. He had never been one for females who put themselves forward, though he really could not blame them for trying.
“Papa also invited you to come for dinner tomorrow night. He has a new home brew he wants your opinion on.”
“Ah, perhaps that could be arranged. Tell him I would be delighted. Good day, Miss Bradley.” He tipped his hat and turned away.
“Good day, Mr. Abbott.” He went back to nailing, so she reluctantly allowed Abe to lead her horse around to the kitchens. She came back by one last time when they were finished, even though it was not the direct route to the road. She waved and jumped the hedge.
“That one's going to break her neck,” one of the workers remarked.
“Showing off for Mr. Abbott, she was,” another worker retorted.
“She can show off for me anytime.”
“We're not posh enough for the likes of her,” the second scoffed.
“You are both welcome to try,” Andrew replied with a smile.
“You don't seem to fancy her,” the workers looked at Andrew as if he was daft.
“She's well enough, I suppose, but I've got someone else in mind for the role of Mrs. Abbott.”
“You've got a sweetheart back home?”
“A stunning redhead,” he said dreamily, before catching himself. He would regret saying that later, he was certain.
“Oh, that will make the ladies’ feathers fly here. They ain't going to like that one bit.”
“We won't mention it unless it becomes necessary,” Andrew suggested.
“Well, that ain't right if you don't mind me saying so, sir. They've all got their hopes up, you see.”
“Pardon?”
“Yes, sir. That's all they ever talks about in town.”
“You'd be best off hushin’ them up now.”
“But it's none of their concern!” Andrew exclaimed.
“Mebbe not, but they be doin’ it anyways.”
Andrew hit a nail as hard as he could in frustration.
“Very well. Say what you must. I've done nothing beyond the common civilities, and I'm not about to shackle myself to any of them.”
The men stared at him.
“I beg your pardon. The ways are very different here. There is nothing wrong with any of your ladies, I just never realised they were so, so...." What could he say that would not be offensive?
“Eager?” One of the men offered.
“Precisely.” Their word was much better than his choice.
“That's all right then. You leave it to us.”
Chapter Ten
The Dowager was beginning to fret. She never fretted. It had been a week, and she had heard nothing. There had been no reply from Lord Kendall to Nathaniel’s query. She decided to make her way back to the court to see if Easton had returned with news. What would she tell Andrew if she could not find her?
“Good morning, Grandmamma,” Elly said cheerfully.
“Good morning, dear. Please tell me you've heard from your darling husband.”
“Indeed. He arrived late last night and did not want to wake you. He is in his study.”
Elly rose awkwardly from her chair and greeted her grandmother with a kiss on the cheek before escorting her to the study. Lord Easton looked up from his desk and smiled at the pair. He stood and came over to greet them.
“Yes, yes, good morning to you, Adam dearest. I must know what you learned,” the Dowager said impatiently. The ladies sat down and he perched on the edge of the desk.
“Unfortunately, I did not find Miss Lambert. I did discover there was a crest on the carriage, but little else. None of the neighbours have any idea where she has gone.”
“For shame!” the Dowager exclaimed.
“I also spoke to the employment agency. The woman finally confirmed after much coaxing that she not only told Miss Lambert she was unqualified for a governess or companion position, but she had also had the good sense to recommend a well-respected brothel to her.”
“The odious mushroom! How dare her!” the Dowager cried indignantly.
“Oh, she was rather proud of herself for her charity,” Adam added dryly.
“I've no doubt. Were you able to discover anything else? Nathaniel has received no response to the enquiry he sent Lord Kendall. I assume Elly filled you in on the connection?”
“She did. I had the men search the posting houses along the Bath road and confirmed Lord Kendall stayed with his
sister
in Reading the evening Miss Lambert left.”
“That, we may keep to ourselves,” she muttered.
“I do not understand why he has not returned Nathaniel's enquiry when they are clearly in town? It is easy enough to allay our fears,” Elly remarked.
“I do not understand why they are taking her in. You may not remember their Turkish treatment after her father's death, but I do,” the Dowager said, incredulous.
Sir Charles, who had joined them and was listening intently spoke. “I find it curious myself after having dealings with the old Lord and Lady Kendall. I cannot credit that Lady Kendall would suddenly change her stripes.”
The Dowager stood abruptly. “That’s it! I have had enough!”
“Where are you going, Grandmamma?”
“To London, of course. Something about this smells rotten and I do not intend to be fobbed off!”
***
A week had passed and Gwen had received no response from the Dowager. It was unlike her not to respond, but her plate must be full with her granddaughters. She was attempting to acclimate to life in a great house. The first morning she’d been awake with the servants. She was so accustomed to performing household chores and tasks that she could no longer sleep in. When the maid came to empty her chamber pot and bring fresh water she’d been startled and almost sent the maid away.
She did her best to be grateful for a roof over her head and plenty of food, but there was no affection in this house. The civilities seemed trite and insincere. The smiles they offered her never reached their eyes, and the conversations never reached beyond the superficial.
Days were quiet and filled with indolence. She did not know how to sleep until noon, have someone perform every task she was very capable of doing herself, and then be expected to spend the entire day with embroidery or chatting nonsense over tea. She did enjoy the moments of reprieve where she could lose herself in a book, but Aunt Louisa’s ideas of appropriate literature did not agree with hers.
Cousin Peregrine was ever attentive, and if she did not know better, she would think he was courting her. He drove her in the park nearly every day, walked with her in the garden, and attempted to flatter her with words. She wanted to broach the topic of her finding a situation, but every mention was dismissed as ridiculous or insulting.
Gwen decided she would need to escape the house to search on her own. She had heard them speaking about making calls in the afternoon. She would excuse herself and find her way to some employment agencies. She walked towards the breakfast room, outside where she overheard her aunt Louisa speaking with Peregrine.
“How long are you going to keep the letters from her? I cannot put them off forever. It seems wrong.” Her cousin’s voice spoke.
“She may speak to them after you are betrothed,” Aunt Louisa’s voice spoke.
“She has not warmed to me, Mother. I cannot like forcing it,” he complained.
“You best overcome your scruples or you will be rotting in debtor’s prison. If you weren’t so bacon-brained as to have gambled our fortune away, this marriage would not be necessary!” Louisa said in anger.
“I believe they would sell off my estates before it came to that,” Peregrine pointed out.
“It had better not come to that,” Louisa replied coldly.
“I am still to receive a nice inheritance if she marries another.”
“That will barely cover the current debts. No, you must secure her hand and the entire fortune. I refuse to let this windfall out of our hands. I consider it a stroke of good luck that the idiot had enough wits left to inform us of their whereabouts. She must have forgotten about the will or her scruples. Either way, I insist you bring her up to scratch within a fortnight, or I will take matters into my own hands.”
“You want me to compromise her? “
“I do. We must arrange for you to be alone with her and discovered.”
“Can we not give her more time? I believe she will come around.”
“We do not have the luxury of time,” she reminded him.
“I refuse to go to her bedroom.”