Supervising Sally (16 page)

Phoebe decided it was the duty of a chaperon to discover what his prospects were before Sally became too enamoured of him. She felt a twinge of apprehension. Was this spying? She told herself it was nothing like the spying the earl had asked of her, in regard to Sally's father. Ought she to alert Sir William, and ask him to make the necessary enquiries? He was Sally's father, and would have to be involved in settlements and so on. Then she hesitated. He wanted Sally married and no longer his responsibility. He might encourage Sally without taking due regard of her best interests. Phoebe sighed, and wished Beatrice was there to advise her. Should she write to her friend? She shook her head. There were other young men Sally was friendly with. This might be as short a lived infatuation as the one for George Cowper. Until Sally expressed a definite preference Phoebe could do no more than try to discover whether any of the young men were suitable as husbands.

She must ask the earl. He could make enquiries far more easily than she could. He would not wish Sally to fall into another scrape with an ineligible young man. She pushed aside the uncomfortable reflection that she had refused, and indignantly, his own request for information on Sir William
and the lady he was reputed to be dallying with. Perhaps, she thought, she might just mention that she had seen Sir William driving in the Park with Madame Antoine the previous day. The Earl could make of that what he would.

She forgot during the concert, losing herself in the music. Some of the most important artistes were in Brussels, and Phoebe relished the opportunities of hearing them perform. When they reached home again, though, she attempted to talk to Sally, asking her if she knew where Sir Henry's home was in England.

‘Oh, Phoebe, I really don't know. Somewhere near the south coast, I think, but we don't talk about that sort of thing. Why should we? He was at several of the battles in the Peninsula, and he tells me all about those. I hadn't known before just how awful the conditions were for the poor soldiers. Phoebe, you don't think there will be more fighting, if Napoleon gathers another army?'

‘Everyone seems to think he will soon be stopped and recaptured, so I don't think we need worry,' Phoebe replied.

Sally's lack of interest in Sir Henry's home seemed encouraging. Surely, if she were seriously considering him as a suitor, she would want to know such details? Phoebe decided she need not be concerned. For the time being, she could relax and not have to make enquiries about him.

‘What brings you here?' Zachary demanded of his uncle.

Zachary glanced at the woman he refused to call his aunt, even by marriage. At the age of sixty Jonas, until then the epitome of a rakish bachelor, had astounded his friends and relatives by marrying the thirty-year-old woman everyone had suspected had been his mistress for the past few years. Clorinda Jacoby, before that time, had
made a precarious living on the stage. She was striking but not particularly beautiful, and her talents as either actress or dancer had, so friends had told him, been minimal. The mystery had been solved, to the satisfaction of most of the
ton
, when Clorinda had produced a son barely seven months after the wedding. Some of Zachary's friends had aired their suspicions that Jonas was not the father of the boy, and for three years, ever since Jonas's marriage, his sisters had pressed him with increasing urgency to marry and produce his own heir.

‘For you don't want to risk a bastard succeeding to the earldom,' Beatrice had said, and his other sisters had been equally blunt.

‘How long have you been in Paris?' Zachary asked now.

‘Last April, we went there in time to see fat old Louis come in to take the throne our gallant soldiers had won for him. Clorinda had never been there, of course. She was a child when it was last possible to travel in France.'

Clorinda looked up at Zachary from under impossibly long eyelashes. ‘It was so wonderful,' she breathed.

At that moment a thin wailing cry was heard. Zachary strode across the room and stared down in astonishment at a small baby lying in a straw basket. ‘What the devil?'

‘No, a little angel,' Clorinda said, smiling triumphantly at the earl, ‘another son, my lord.' Then she leant down and lifted the child, pressing him to her breast, and cooing gently to him.

‘I assume you are on your way home?' Zachary said, recovering.

Jonas grinned at him. ‘You surely don't expect me to remain in Paris and put my dear wife and the mother of my children, my heirs, at risk, do you?'

‘Your elder son,' he had to force himself to say the words calmly, ‘is in England, I believe.'

‘Little Jonas is safe enough, well looked after by Clorinda's own mama. We're taking Zach – we named him after you, as he's in line for your title, after me and little Jonas – for her to look after,' Jonas said, and Zachary shuddered.

He had, on one memorable occasion, met the lady's parent soon after Jonas had married. His younger sister had been in London and given a party. Jonas, not invited, had heard of it and brought his wife and mother-in-law to, he proudly announced, meet their new family. Mrs Jacoby was, she coyly informed Zachary, the principal of a school for young ladies. Zachary had subsequently discovered that the ‘school' was a cover for a discreet brothel, patronized by country squires and merchants, in London to sample, without their wives' knowledge, the delights of the capital.

Zachary determined, once more, that he must marry as soon as possible. Now Jonas had two sons he began to look more kindly on the idea. It was inconceivable to think a future Earl of Wrekin might not only be brought up in such a place, but had a grandmother who was a madam. The trouble was, he refused to marry as a matter of convenience. His own parents had married for love, and had created a wonderfully happy home for their children. He wanted to do the same, but so far had met no girl with whom he could contemplate spending the rest of his life.

A vision of Phoebe Kingston came into his mind, and he ceased listening to Jonas, who was explaining again how he intended to return to Brussels once he had taken the baby to London, and wait until it was safe to go back to Paris. Phoebe? She was by turns irritating and companionable. She was intelligent and sensible. He corrected his thoughts. He had only felt irritation because of her youth, or when Sally had done something reprehensible. And on those occasions Phoebe had proved both sensible and competent. She was pretty, but not the raving beauty his friends expected him to
marry. And her brother-in-law was a deplorable, toadying bully.

He shook his head. He had no intention of marrying Phoebe Kingston, and he could not think where such a preposterous notion had come from.

T
HREE DAYS LATER Sally once more claimed she had a migraine and wanted only to stay in bed with the blinds down. Phoebe, concerned, wanted to send for a Doctor.

‘It isn't natural for a young girl to suffer such frequent headaches,' she said, as she drew the curtains in Sally's room.

‘Miss Sally has suffered for the past year,' Annie said, from where she was straightening the bedcovers and tucking Sally in.

‘Then it's time a doctor saw her.'

‘Mother called one, and he said I'd grow out of them,' Sally whispered. ‘Now please, leave me alone! All I need is the peace to sleep.'

‘I'll just make up the fire, then you can be left in peace for an hour or two until I need to make it up again, and bring you some broth,' Annie said, provoking a groan from Sally.

‘I'm warm enough, and I don't want to be disturbed. I just want to sleep. And I don't want any broth.'

‘You need to keep your strength up.'

‘Annie, if you don't go away and leave me alone I'll scream!'

‘That won't improve your headache,' Phoebe said, but she drew the protesting maid towards the door.

‘I'll lock the door,' she thought she heard Sally mutter as she closed it and led Annie along the landing to her own room.

‘Annie, how long has she had these headaches?'

‘About a year, miss, just after her birthday last April, they started. Sometimes there'd be two or three weeks between attacks, sometimes she'd have a couple or more a week.'

‘But her mother's doctor said it was nothing to be concerned about?'

Annie sniffed. ‘What did he know? Man-milliner, he were, just came and looked at the poor girl, didn't even touch her head to see if she were feverish. Looked as though he dain't want to get his lily-white hands dirty, if you want my opinion, for what it's worth. Just asked if she ached anywhere else, and that were it. Back to drawing-room and Lady Benton's sherry.'

‘Should we call a doctor here?'

Annie sighed. ‘We don't know any, and I wouldn't trust one of these foreigners. And she never seems the worse afterwards. Bright as a button, usually, by the evening, ready for a party if there's one going.'

Phoebe decided to leave it for now, but she would ask about discreetly for a doctor who could be recommended, and if the headaches persisted, Sally would see him, whatever she said.

Annie's mention of Sally's birthday had made her wonder if Sir William would be prepared to give her a party, even a ball. Sally had missed the normal presentation of debutantes in London, where she could have expected a ball for her come-out during the Season, and invitations to those given for fellow-debutantes. It wasn't that she was lacking invitations, they seemed to have more than one for every evening, and there were many daytime functions too, which would increase in number as the weather grew warmer.

Already Phoebe had heard of picnics and cricket matches being planned.

A ball for herself, though, was important for any girl, as Phoebe knew. It marked her final passage from childhood into the adult world. Phoebe was not in the ranks of the
ton
, but even her parents had held a special party on her eighteenth birthday. She blinked away a wetness in her eyes as she recalled it. It was only months afterwards that her father had been killed and her life changed for ever.

Sally would no doubt want a part in the planning, but first she had to secure Sir William's permission, and then find a suitable venue, as this small hired house was not at all adequate for a large party. They already knew so many people here, and Sally would want to invite them all. But until these matters were decided she would not mention the idea to Sally. If Sir William refused, she did not want Sally to be disappointed and resentful. She went to find Jeanette and ask if she knew when her master would be at home.

As Phoebe had expected, Sally was better by the evening. She had, Phoebe had discovered, indeed locked her door to prevent Annie disturbing her. Meeting Annie on the landing, holding a tray with a bowl of broth and a tisane, she had comforted the maid who complained she was not being allowed to do her duty towards her young mistress.

‘Leave her alone; she'll be recovered the sooner if we don't disturb her sleep.'

‘She used to do this back at Benton Manor,' Annie grumbled. ‘Even as a child, some nights, she'd lock her door and say she wanted to be on her own and not be disturbed by anyone. If I'd been her mother I'd not have allowed it!' she added, stumping away down the stairs.

Sally appeared at dinnertime, and Phoebe wondered if she might after all be ill, as her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright.

‘I'm quite better,' Sally protested. ‘I always am after I've had a good sleep, but Annie just won't accept that's all I need. We're going to the ball tonight. Papa said yesterday he'd be there. I wonder if he's going with Madame Antoine?'

‘Don't you mind, the attention he pays to her?' Phoebe asked.

Sally stared at her. ‘Why should I? Mama has her friends, why shouldn't Papa amuse himself if he wishes? She's from a good family. It's not as though she's some dubious bit of muslin.'

‘Sally!'

‘What's the matter? Oh, are you shocked I know about such things?' Sally laughed. ‘As far as I can tell almost everyone does it. I daresay I might too, once I've been married for simply ages and want something exciting to do.'

Phoebe could not disguise her shock at this attitude. ‘But, when you marry, won't you want to love your husband?'

‘Well, of course, or I wouldn't marry him. But I don't think that sort of love can last for ever, do you?'

‘I would hope both love and respect would last. Sally, how would you feel if your parents were to be divorced? That would create such a scandal.'

‘Oh, they would probably all have to live abroad for a while, but it wouldn't affect me, if I were married by then. And after a while no one bothers. They are accepted by all except the stuffy high sticklers. Look at the Earl of Uxbridge. He is in the House of Lords even though he did run away with Lord Wellington's sister-in-law. They got divorced and married, and they had a dozen children between them to be offended by it.'

Phoebe laughed. She couldn't help it. At least Sally might not suffer unduly if what the earl feared happened.

An hour later they were entering the ballroom. Sally wore one of the gowns she had bought in Brussels, of pale pink crepe trimmed with white lace on the bodice and white embroidery around the hem. Phoebe, who had been tempted to spend some of the money Lady Benton had given her for clothing, had a plain amber satin gown, embroidered in the same colour on the bodice.

Sally was approached immediately by Sir Henry ffoulkes, who seemed to have been loitering in the doorway to the ballroom, as if to intercept her. He was growing quite particular in his attentions, and Phoebe determined again she must discover more about him. They moved away, watching the dancers. It was a cotillion, and would not finish for some time, so there was time to talk.

Phoebe's opportunity came a few minutes later when the earl came to talk to her. She plunged straight in.

‘Sir Henry ffoulkes, with Sally. Do you know anything about him?'

‘In the cavalry. Did quite well in the Peninsula, I believe. Is that what you wish to know?'

Phoebe took a deep breath. ‘His family, prospects, the sort of things a good chaperon ought to know before encouraging her charge to accept his increasingly persistent attention.'

‘Oh, that sort of information? He is not married, not paying special attention to any other girl, and so far as I know not promised to anyone,' he drawled, and Phoebe flushed, recalling his request that she watched Sir William.

‘He – his family?' she asked.

‘He inherited the title several years ago. It's an old creation, dates at least from Charles the Second. He is comparatively wealthy, owns a good estate in Hampshire, and a hunting box near Melton Mowbray. He has two sisters and a young brother, and his mother is still alive and devoted to him.'

Phoebe blinked. ‘You know a great deal, my lord.'

The earl grinned at her. ‘I, too, have been watching Sally,' he said. ‘Much as the chit irritates me I have her interests at heart. Beatrice would be annoyed with me if I did not answer her weekly letters with details about Sally's conduct. And about how you are enjoying your visit here,' he added.

Phoebe was both pleased and embarrassed that Beatrice enquired about her from the earl. ‘I have letters from her too,' she said. ‘The latest came this morning, and she is concerned. News of Napoleon's escape had just reached Yorkshire. Jane had driven to Ridgeway Park to ask her advice. Jane had never been there before, but she is very worried for the safety of her husband and his sisters. And me, of course,' she added with a laugh.

‘Have you seen Mr Bradshaw? Do you know what he means to do?'

‘He called yesterday while we were out, and left a message that he had to go again to Ghent and would call again in a few days. It did not appear he was unduly worried, though his sisters seem terrified whenever I see them.'

‘Ah, Zachary, my boy, finding time to enjoy feminine company despite the advance of the monster?'

Phoebe looked at the man who had interrupted them. He was in his sixties, grey-haired and rather stooped, though the padding in the shoulders of his coat disguised this a little. He wore old-fashioned black satin knee breeches, and after a quick glance she decided he certainly had some padding around his calves. His spindly legs could never, by nature, have developed such shapely muscles. His face was badly shaved, whiskers visible in the deep creases that ran from his nose, and on his lined cheeks. His eyes, pale blue and sunken, were scrutinizing her with deep interest.

Clinging to his arm was a slender woman a few inches taller. Much bejewelled, she was in her thirties, simpering
and blinking her eyes in a way which would have better suited a shy fifteen-year-old. Phoebe could see traces of cosmetics on her highly coloured face. No lips or cheeks could possibly be that bright without the aid of paint. Nor could her hair, which was almost the colour of brass, be natural. The neck of her bright blue gown was indecently low, and Phoebe, embarrassed, averted her gaze.

‘My dear Uncle Jonas. Phoebe, this is my uncle, the Right Honourable Jonas Walton and his wife Clorinda. Jonas, this is Miss Kingston, a friend of Beatrice's.'

He nodded to her, but looked offended, and Phoebe wondered why the earl had been so brusque and unconventional in his introduction of his uncle and Clorinda. It was obvious he disapproved of her, and Phoebe, after one glance, could appreciate the feeling, but he was not the sort of man who would normally show this so openly and, what's more, be discourteous to a member of his family.

Jonas, if he was annoyed, had soon recovered his temper.

‘I'm so glad to have seen you here tonight, my boy. Wanted to tell you I'm taking Clorinda and little Zach to England tomorrow. After all, must keep the heirs of the Wrekin title safe from old Boney, mustn't we?'

He sketched a bow to Phoebe, his gaze never leaving her face, then, with what looked like a triumphant grin towards the earl, swung round on his heels and guided his wife away.

‘Damned jackanapes!' the earl swore under his breath, and then took a deep breath. ‘My apologies, Phoebe. The thought of that woman's sons possibly inheriting my title makes my blood boil. Her mother kept a bawdy house, and I wouldn't be surprised to know she had once worked in it before she trapped that fool Jonas!'

Phoebe couldn't help laughing at his outraged expression.

‘Oh, lord, I shouldn't be talking to you like this!' he exclaimed, clapping a hand to his brow. ‘He makes me forget
civility. He's welcome to name his firstborn after himself, but I find it insupportable that he names the second after me. He need not look to me to act as godfather!'