Authors: Elizabeth Johns
“I sent them away. I was too excited to see how the ball went to sleep.” She made an effort to sit upright and patted the spot next to her. “Please come tell me all about it. I'm sure you were the hit of the evening.”
“Oh, Mama. It was all right. Duchess Loring’s grandson escorted us.”
“Mr. Abbott? I thought I heard a man’s voice earlier. Was it he who picked you up dear?”
“Yes, Mama.” She tried to fidget with her dress so her mother did not see her blush. It was ridiculous to even think about Mr. Abbott in such a way.
“He is handsome then? I have not seen him since he was a boy.”
“Yes, Mama. He is very handsome. But not for the likes of me.”
“Why ever not, Gwendolyn? You are of equal birth.”
“Equal birth, perhaps. But not equal standing. I have little to offer but a tarnished name and poverty.”
“Did he treat you with disdain?” she asked, horrified at the thought.
“No, Mama.” She shook her head in adamant denial. “He was everything wonderful, I assure you. He almost made me forget my circumstances. He danced with me twice, he procured lemonade for me, and conversed with me—he was everything delightful.”
“Then whatever is the matter?”
“Nothing is the matter, Mama.” She reached over and took her mother’s hand and gave her a reassuring smile. “The evening was perfect. Do not put your hopes in that quarter, however, I beg of you. Mr. Abbott will not be long in Bath. He has no thoughts of marriage, I am certain.”
“Gwendolyn, I never meant to hold you back.” Her mother looked down as tears began streaming from her eyes. She tried to blot them away with a shaky hand. “You’ve had to waste away your bloom caring and devoting yourself to your invalid mother.”
Gwen scooped her fragile mother into an embrace but both ladies could not help but succumb to a bout of tears.
“You are not holding me back, Mama. The thought never occurred to me. But hoping for a brilliant match with him is unreasonable. He is likely diverting himself with little else to do in Bath—and perhaps doing a favour for his grandmother.”
“I refuse to stop hoping for your future, Gwendolyn. Whatever will become of you? I am growing weaker by the day. I cannot control these shakes and I cannot seem to balance properly to walk without falling.”
“Please do not speak so! I will be fine when that day comes, a long, long time from now. I am content with my situation.” At least she had been until tonight.
“Gwen, there is your father’s family, should you become desperate. Cousin Henrietta informed me that your uncle died some time ago and your cousin Peregrine is the new viscount. He might be willing to help you.”
“I will not beg to a family that made certain they repudiated us! If the new viscount, my
cousin
Peregrine, were so amiable, he has had ample time to make up for the destitution we were left in when my father and brother died. No, I would rather make a living on my back than crawl to him for help.”
“Gwendolyn!” her mother reproached.
“He and James were the best of friends were they not, Mother? He may be more pleasant than his father, but one does not abandon one’s family or best friend when in trouble if you are of noble character! Please do not speak of it.”
“But there was something you were to have known, if I could recall,” her mother said hesitantly.
“No. I beg of you, do not exert the effort. I do not want to know. Come now. Let us get you to bed, you must be fagged.”
“Now that I know you are home, perhaps I may sleep.”
She saw her mother into her bed and kissed her good night.
“Gwen, I am glad you went even if you do not think it useful, I do.”
“Then I am happy I went.”
“One day you will find a man that cares not for fortune. Beauty and a kind heart can cause a man to overlook other unfortunate circumstances that were none of your doing.”
“Pray, hope that you are correct.”
“Sweet dreams, love.”
She smiled and blew out the taper. She knew she would dream all right, but bittersweet was more like it.
***
“It is an utter disgrace. Shameful! And the coward isn’t here to witness the suffering he caused,” the Dowager exclaimed as soon as the carriage door was closed.
“What happened precisely?” Andrew asked curiously.
“Gambling. Her father lost every penny and then some. Fortunately, a commission had already been purchased for the son.”
“Or not so fortunately,” Andrew reflected from personal experience.
“Quite so, dear.”
“And what became of the father? One does not die of disgrace or the world would be a more pleasurable place entirely.”
“After is where the true scandal happened. He called the partner a cheat and was summarily dispensed with at ten paces by one of Manton’s finest.”
Andrew whistled understanding.
“I believe once the initial disgrace passed, Cousin Millicent was so ill she could not leave the house.”
“From what does Mrs. Lambert suffer?”
“You know, I am not entirely sure. It would not be polite to ask, and Millicent will not speak of her troubles even to me.”
“That is very unlike most females of delicate constitution that I know,” he added with his usual flare of sarcasm.
His grandmother swatted him with her fan.
“What will happen to her?” he asked in a more serious tone.
“To Gwendolyn?”
“And Mrs. Lambert, should she survive.”
“They survive on percentages from our grandmother’s estate, but it will cease to exist when she does.”
“And Miss Lambert will have nothing.” Andrew could spit. He wanted to crawl through hell and make the selfish, greedy, snake suffer more than Hades himself.
“Indeed.”
“And her Lambert side of the family?”
“Cast them off. The old Viscount Kendall was a pompous prig. To put it mildly.”
“Kendall? His son seems a tolerable fellow. A bit too foppish for my tastes, but decent nevertheless.”
“He has made no efforts to repair the connection to my knowledge.”
“He likely has not thought of it. And she received no offers?”
“After her father’s fall from grace, the only offers she received were not honourable ones.”
Andrew made a disgusted noise.
“She is intriguing and beautiful. But with no fortune, she has little hope to form an eligible alliance.”
“Unfortunately, I am familiar with how most men would view her station,” he said, with growing trepidation. “What do you mean to do? Or more specifically, what do you mean for me to do?”
“You do not have to do anything, dear. But you want to. And what is the harm? You leave soon.”
Andrew was thinking a great deal of harm could occur in a few days. He should run away as fast as he could. It was unlike his grandmother to encourage him to dangle after an unmarried lady for mere friendship.
“I only wish to see Gwendolyn enjoy herself. No one should be stuck inside those dreary rooms for the better of six years.”
“Definitely not. I am going mad being in Bath for six days.”
“Then I shall take care of cousin Millicent while you take care of Gwendolyn.”
Yes, he should most certainly run. But his feet did not seem to be cooperating.
Chapter Three
The next day, Gwen tried to forget about Mr. Abbott. She would not be attending any more balls, and would certainly not be traipsing about the countryside with him as if she had not a care in the world, as if she were a naïve debutante and still an eligible match for the likes of him. He had not treated her with any disrespect, but that did not mean he intended anything honourable. He had nothing else to gain from acquaintance with her, and she would do very well to remember it.
Why the Dowager had taken it into her head to thrust Gwen back into society, when she had no hope for a grand match with a less than illustrious family background, was beyond provoking. The Dowager did not like to take no for an answer, but she would have to. Gwen would not be her pet project. They would leave town and she would have to face the gossip again. The recollection still hurt six years later.
The Dowager arrived like clockwork at precisely two in the afternoon. She brought Mr. Abbott with her, as promised. Gwen steeled herself for the conversation to come. Her mother had dressed with unusual care, thrilled at the prospect of Mr. Abbott's visit. She was very tired, however, from the exertion and sat upright in the parlour with difficulty.
Greetings and formal introductions made, the Dowager made herself comfortable. Mr. Abbott remained standing looking about the room, handsome as sin with his unaffected manners.
“That is a lovely painting. It isn’t quite right for a Delacroix or Gainsborough though,” he was studying the painting on the wall with great interest.
“I'm afraid not, Mr. Abbott. All such luxuries have long been sold,” Gwendolyn remarked.
“You view the talents of my Gwendolyn, here,” her mother replied.
“Upon my word, Miss Lambert! You painted this?” Mr. Abbott said with astonishment.
Gwen’s mother beamed with pride, while a flush began to creep over Gwen. She did not know how to accept praise. She’d had no practice.
“I used to paint as a hobby. I once fancied myself a future master.” She raised her eyebrow to show her self-mockery.
“You are too modest. I would venture to disagree, but can see you will hear none of it.”
“You are correct, Mr. Abbott. I do not paint any longer.”
“Where was this landscape made?” he refused to move on from the painting.
“You may see the poor imitation of the landscape for yourself if it is exercise you want, Mr. Abbott. The walk boasts an incredible view.”
“Just when I had resolved to take the waters at the Pump Room,” he quipped.
She gave him a look. While appreciative of his sentiments, she must remain impervious to his charm. “I have written out directions for several activities for you to embark upon during your time here.” She held out a piece of paper containing a list of a dozen ways he could spend his idle time.
“Why do you not show Andrew the view yourself, Gwendolyn? You do not need to go to the lending library every day, dear,” the Dowager suggested.
Of course she did. That was how she survived. She hesitated on how to answer tactfully.
“I will not accept no for an answer, Miss Lambert. Besides, it is my birthday and it is my wish,” Mr. Abbott said charmingly.
“Your birthday? Why should you wish to spend it with me?”
“Why not?” He was holding his arm out for her and smiling. He was handsome. Devastatingly so. Her mind was protesting loudly, but her heart was screaming yes! She looked towards her mother, who was smiling and nodding encouragement. She would not win this round with three against one. She headed towards the door in resignation.
“Very well. I must warn you, it will be brisk to return in time.” She donned her bonnet and tied the strings as he held the door for her.
“In time for what?” He looked behind them. “Don’t you need a maid?”
“I am too old and too poor to be concerned with a chaperone, sir.”
He stared at her in confusion.
“Your grandmother generously comes by every afternoon so that I may have some time. I must return by the time she leaves.”
“I see. And you have no one that can stay with her?”
“No. Until the Dowager began visiting, there was no one else Mama was comfortable with.”
“If you will beg my pardon for asking, what ailment does your mother suffer from?”
“Primarily, an affliction of the nerves. But, she also suffers severe anxieties.”
“Then let us move with purpose. I am very empathetic to anxious nerves.”
“I do not mean to do her an injustice. She does not suffer nervous spasms as I have seen in many females with a bent towards the dramatic.”
“Is there anything to be done?”
“I fear not. Mr. Norman, the apothecary, seems to think it a disorder tied to her mind, for she becomes addled when she has an attack. Not only do her wits suffer, but her breathing, and her body trembles insufferably.” She shook her head in self-reprimand. “Forgive me, I do not know why I am rattling on like a chatterbox.”
“Do not trouble yourself, Miss Lambert. I have often been told I am a good listener. Your confidences shall go no further.”
“You are very kind. I suppose with no one else to talk to for six years, I suddenly feel the need to blurt out all of my worries at the first sympathetic ear. How vexatious of me!”
“Not at all. It is a relief from the usual female jibbering on about bonnets, slippers and gowns. Although, in my youngest sister’s defence, she is not concerned in the least with fashion.”
“How many sisters do you have, Mr. Abbott?”
“Two. Lady Abernathy and Lady Easton. Do you have any siblings? I think I heard you had a brother in the Army.”