‘I shall not talk about it, Miss Beverley, but I shall remember every word of it with pleasure.’
She looked at him doubtfully from under her long eye-lashes. ‘Come, you have my promise,’ he said.
Belinda was crowded by men vying to dance with her for the rest of the evening. She had
forgotten that Lord Gyre set the fashion. As soon as she had left him, Gurney Burke was at the marquess’s elbow. ‘Well, how did you find the farouche Miss Belinda?’
Lord Gyre deliberately raised his voice so that it carried to many listening ears. ‘Not farouche at all. I found her intriguing and enchanting. Miss Belinda Beverley will set the fashion for intelligent young ladies.’
And so it was that society decided that Belinda was to be courted or, in the case of the ladies, emulated.
But tired Belinda, falling into bed that night, could only think that she had made a fool of herself and supplied the formidable Lord Gyre with further ammunition to despise her.
* * *
Society news travels fast, and so it was that Lord St. Clair in Brighton quickly heard that the Marquess of Gyre was to all accounts smitten with Belinda Beverley. His promise to his father came roaring back into his head and, alarmed, he drove at a breakneck pace for London. He sweated through what he considered a truly awful evening at the opera without seeing Belinda. The next day, he dressed in his best and went to call. He was informed by Abigail that Belinda, Lizzie, and her mother were out on calls.
To Abigail’s surprise, he insisted on waiting
for them. After half an hour of the most vacuous conversation poor Abigail felt it had ever been her ill luck to endure, she gratefully heard them return.
Lord St. Clair stood up, suddenly nervous. Belinda came in followed by Lady Beverley. Lizzie had gone to her room.
Lady Beverley had been feeling tired and cross. The fact that various London hostesses envied her for Lord Gyre’s approval of Belinda had passed her by. On the road home she had returned to her usual berating of Belinda for having disaffected Lord St. Clair.
But the knowledge that that young man had actually called had worked like champagne on her spirits. ‘Why, my lord,’ she cried. ‘We are deeply honoured.’
Saint Clair bowed. ‘I am come,’ he said, tugging at his cravat, ‘to invite you, Lady Beverley, and your daughters, to a little house party at Mannerling.’
‘Charmed,’ said Lady Beverley, feeling quite faint with gratitude.
‘Perhaps we could leave next week, ma’am?’
‘I am sure we could manage that,’ said Lady Beverley eagerly. ‘We have so many invitations to cancel, of course, because Belinda is all the crack.’
But Lord St. Clair was looking anxiously at Belinda. ‘Miss Belinda? My invitation pleases you?’
Somewhere inside Belinda’s mind a prison
door slammed shut. She cast down her eyelashes and giggled. ‘I am overwhelmed at the honour, my lord.’
Finding out which function they were to attend that evening, Lord St. Clair promised to be there and bowed his way out.
Lady Beverley hugged her daughter. ‘Mannerling is as good as ours, my precious,’ she cried.
* * *
‘So you’ve done it,’ said Mirabel Dauncey. ‘Couldn’t you find anyone other than a Beverley?’
‘Has its advantages,’ said St. Clair. ‘I mean, everyone notices her and envies me. Besides, she’ll know all these boring things like servants and tenants.’
‘You know,’ said Mirabel cautiously, ‘it’s going the rounds that Belinda Beverley is a bit too intelligent for her own good. Being damned as a bit of a bluestocking.’
Saint Clair sighed and waved a scented handkerchief in the air with one languid white hand. ‘That’s the other reason she fancies me,’ he said with simple vanity. ‘Got a good brain, me.’
‘Have you put that good brain to use and invited other people?’ said Mirabel. ‘I mean, if you go off the chit, you can always protest she was just one of the crowd.’
‘I’ll round up a few people,’ said St. Clair sulkily.
‘Tell you what,’ said Mirabel. ‘I’ll do it for you.’
‘Would you? I say, that’s uncommon kind of you.’
‘I’m your best friend, ain’t I?’
* * *
But Mirabel had an ulterior motive. He often thought St. Clair was too naïve, too innocent, not a downy one like himself. Also, St. Clair was lazy. Belinda Beverley was the easiest and—because of Mannerling—guaranteed not to turn him down. But Mirabel had heard the rumours about Belinda’s lack of dowry. Money should marry money. It was the way of the world. Now there was Miss Jane Chalmers, very rich and quite neat-looking. She was being brought out by her widowed mother. Time to get dressed and make a call there. Then what about Gyre? People said it had obviously amused the marquess to favour Belinda. He was an attractive, rich man. That might put a spoke in the wheel. It would be difficult enough prying people away from the London Season. Hopeful young ladies would be easy enough.
He set out on his rounds.
* * *
Mirabel found it all much easier than he
expected. To his surprise and relief, not only Lord Gyre but his friend, Gurney Burke, agreed to accept the invitation. Jane Chalmers and her mother also said they would come. He then asked the fashionable and dazzling Mrs. Ingram, reputed to have been once Gyre’s mistress, and two débutantes, the Hartley twins, Margaret and Polly, and their parents. His hope in asking Mrs. Ingram was that she might rouse a spark of jealousy in Belinda’s bosom and ignite her interest in Gyre.
Quite carried away by his success in this new role as entrepreneur, Mirabel then urged St. Clair to travel to Mannerling ahead of the guests to oversee all the arrangements for their visit.
* * *
Earl Durbridge looked fondly at his nephew, the Honourable Peregrine Vane, on the day the house party was due to begin, and said, ‘It did the trick sending you to Mannerling, Perry, m’boy. Brought that scapegrace son of mine to heel.’
Perry smiled blandly to cover up his raging feelings. Then he said, ‘I was a bit alarmed to find out that Toby’s intended is Miss Belinda Beverley.’
‘How so? What’s up with the girl?’
So Perry, in a calm, level voice told him all about the past machinations of the Beverleys to
regain Mannerling and waited gleefully for the expected wrathful and horrified reaction of the earl.
But it was the earl who appeared oddly calm. ‘Do you think I don’t know all about the Beverleys? I found out as much about that family as I could. The elder girls have made good marriages, away from Mannerling. And if this Belinda’s interest is in getting Mannerling, then well and good, and I’ll tell you why. No other female has seemed particularly struck with my poor Toby. He cares more for his dress than any female. But I want grandsons. This Belinda is in prime health, and a beauty. She’ll make fine children. She knows Mannerling and the neighbourhood. If she’s strong-willed enough to take on Toby, then she’ll be strong-willed enough to make a man of him. You’re never going to turn mawkish and tell me she doesn’t love him. Who loves who in this wicked world of society marriages, hey?’
‘But Mannerling itself is a jewel,’ said Perry desperately. ‘Toby will offend the tenantry and the county with his wild ways, his profligate ways, and he will run the estates into the ground.’
‘That’s where a strong wife will come in. Tell you what, Perry, and I say this because you are a good-hearted boy. Get back down there and join that house party and tell Toby I sent you. Keep an eye on things and report back to me.’
‘I will gladly do that,’ said Perry. ‘My only
desire is to do your wishes.’
The earl’s normally hard face softened. ‘You’re a Trojan, Perry. Between us, we will see that lad of mine safely wed.’
Over my dead body, Perry thought.
* * *
When the Beverley carriage turned in at the gates of Mannerling, Lizzie was beside herself with excitement. ‘We are going home,’ she said over and over again.
Belinda tried to feel some elation but could not. All she could think of was how soon she would be able to see Miss Trumble again. Everyone was so pleased with her; even her sister Abigail had viewed the possible betrothal to St. Clair with complacence. ‘I always thought of you as the quiet, romantic one,’ Abigail had said. ‘But it looks as if you are the most pragmatic of all of us.’
Belinda felt that if only Miss Trumble would appear to tell her she was throwing her life away for the sake of Mannerling, she could react to the criticism and find all the courage and determination she had lost. She would not admit to herself that courage and determination had faded—not when she thought St. Clair had lost interest in her, but when she had taken supper with Lord Gyre.
The carriage stopped outside the porticoed entrance. Lady Beverley, Lizzie, and Belinda
entered in a flurry of maids and footmen. There was a new butler, very correct and stately, and Mrs. Muir, the housekeeper, whose efficiency had so pleased Perry.
To Belinda’s relief and Lady Beverley’s obvious disappointment, the butler, called Jiggs, informed them that the master was unwell. Saint Clair had indulged in a drinking competition with his friend Mirabel the night before and was suffering from the effects.
Lady Beverley heard the sound of female laughter and frowned. ‘We have other guests, Jiggs?’ she demanded, forgetting that she was a guest at Mannerling and not its mistress.
‘Most of the other guests are arrived, my lady,’ said Jiggs as he led the way up the double staircase under the painted ceilings. The chandelier sent out a merry tinkling sound although there was no wind—the chandelier on which Judd, one of the previous owners, had hanged himself. Lizzie gave it a nervous look. ‘Why is the chandelier moving, Jiggs?’
The butler glanced at the chandelier and said, ‘It sometimes does that, miss, and to tell you the truth, we have never been able to find out why. In fact, the servants this very day are putting steel cords on either side, to moor it, so to speak, miss.’
‘Who are these other guests?’ fretted Lady Beverley.
‘Mrs. Chalmers and her daughter; Mrs. Ingram; Mr. and Mrs. Hartley and their twin
daughters; Lord Saint Clair’s friend, Mr. Dauncey; his cousin, Mr. Vane; Lord Gyre; and Mr. Burke.’
‘Gyre…here?’ demanded Lady Beverley.
‘We are indeed honoured to have the marquess’s presence,’ said Jiggs smoothly.
As soon as they were in their rooms, Lizzie scampered along to Belinda’s and said, ‘So Gyre is here? Do not tell me history is going to repeat itself and you are going to throw away Mannerling for Gyre?’
Belinda coloured slightly but said in an even voice, ‘Do not nag me, Lizzie. We are home, are we not? But there are other ladies here…competition.’
‘Nobody can compete with you, Belinda.’
‘I have heard of this Miss Jane Chalmers,’ said Belinda. ‘She is very, very rich.’
‘Pooh! So is Saint Clair.’
‘All the more reason for him to marry money. The Hartley twins, Margaret and Polly, are frivolous and also rich. Does Mannerling still mean so very much to you, Lizzie?’
‘Of course it does, and to you, too.’
Belinda walked to the window and stared down, willing her old home to exert its usual magic on her, but she felt nothing. Then she saw the little carriage from Brookfield House coming up the drive, driven by Barry. And sitting bolt upright in it was Miss Trumble.
‘Miss Trumble is come!’ cried Belinda, and without waiting for Lizzie, she shot out of the
room.
Lizzie stayed where she was. For once in her life she wished Miss Trumble would stay away. What if Miss Trumble talked Belinda out of her ambitions?
Miss Trumble smiled as the little carriage came to a halt and Belinda erupted out of the house, her skirts flying. But she said severely, ‘Ladies do not run, Belinda.’
Unabashed, Belinda smiled. ‘Only when they see you. Come with me and take tea. We shall have it in my private sitting-room. They have given me the Yellow Room. I would have liked my old rooms but visitors can’t be choosers. Barry! Are you well?’
‘Fair to middling, Miss Belinda,’ said the odd man. ‘Bit of stiffness in the joints.’
‘Take the carriage to the stables, Barry,’ said Miss Trumble. ‘I heard you were come, Belinda, with other guests.’
‘Yes, other guests,’ agreed Belinda, linking her arm in the governess’s. ‘Pretty girls, and rich, too! What of my chances?’
‘Shh. The servants will hear you.’
Once they were in Belinda’s sitting-room and tea had been served, Miss Trumble said, ‘Do you think Saint Clair means to propose to you?’
‘Yes, I do,’ said Belinda. ‘I may of course be terribly mistaken. He may just be shopping for a bride and so has asked those he considers suitable.’
She waited expectantly for Miss Trumble to lecture her on her folly, but the governess took a delicate sip of tea and said, ‘Who are the other guests? Tell me about them.’
Belinda listed the guests, ending up with the name of Lord Gyre.
‘Lord Gyre,’ said Miss Trumble thoughtfully. ‘How odd that he should leave the Season right in the middle to come here.’
‘He is a strange gentleman,’ said Belinda. ‘Perhaps the Season bores him.’
‘Or perhaps he means to renew his acquaintance with the charms of Mrs. Ingram.’
‘I do not know this Mrs. Ingram. Who is she?’
‘A very dashing widow. I believe it was rumored that she was having an affair with Gyre about three years ago.’
‘And so he has perhaps taken the opportunity of this house party to court her favours again?’
‘Perhaps,’ said Miss Trumble. ‘Rumour always had it that it was Gyre who ended the liaison and not Mrs. Ingram.’
‘I wish the whole sorry business was over with,’ said Belinda.
Miss Trumble opened her mouth to say that surely the most sensible thing would be to persuade Lady Beverley to take her leave, but decided against it. Perhaps the dashing Mrs. Ingram was just the necessary ingredient to spark Belinda’s interest in Lord Gyre.
Instead she talked comfortably about Brookfield House and how the hens were laying well because Barry sang to them. He swore the music of his voice increased the egg supply, although Miss Trumble said he sounded more like a corncrake than a nightingale.