Finding Love on Drury Lane
Charity McColl
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
© 2019 PureRead Ltd
PureRead.com
Contents
1. Another Scandal for Lord Bennington
2. Lady Elizabeth’s Companion
3. A Family Encounter
4. The Happy Bridegroom
5. Aunt Augusta Weighs In
6. An Encounter Along Rotten Row
7. Meeting Marguerite
8. A Decision is Made
9. The Proposal
10. St. own Considers His State
11. An Evening’s Performance
12. The Prince Regent’s Intentions
Sign Up To Receive Free Books Every Week
Boxset Reading Enjoyment
1
Another Scandal for Lord Bennington
Lord St. John was accustomed to receiving daily communications from his family whenever he was in London; it was one of the reasons why he preferred to stay in the country. Unfortunately, his father, Lord Bennington, was in the habit of traveling with an entourage of rumor and scandal no matter where he went. If Lord Bennington traveled to Italy, one could be sure that there would be an opera singer who would enjoy his company for late-night suppers. If he went to Brighton, he would invariably spend time with the Prince Regent, which naturally meant baccarat and gambling debts which of course had to be honored. If he went to London, which he did every Season, there was a banquet of opportunity for vice and indulgence.
Which was why St. John Bennington was in London a full week earlier than he had originally intended to be, and why he was in the office of Niles Carstairs, the family solicitor whose life had become much more orderly since Lord Bennington’s son had achieved his majority seven years ago and had taken over the delicate task of managing his father.
“Yes, Carstairs, the same allowance as before,” St. John said. “He’ll run through it in no time, I know, but it’s the amount that I’ve allocated for his London expenses.”
“Yes, sir,” Mr. Carstairs said. He did not voice his thoughts that it was very fortunate that the previous Lord Bennington, St. John’s grandfather, had written his will in very precise terms so that it reined in his son’s extravagances and directed his grandson to manage the family’s wealth and estates.
“It does not matter how much money my father has,” St. John said matter-of-factly. “He will spend it all.”
“Yes, sir. My lord, what will you do when that happens?”
“Send him home to the country, certainly,” St. John said promptly. “When the purse is empty, my father’s love of London wanes.”
“Yes . . . “ Mr. Carstairs agreed, but his hesitation alerted St. John that his solicitor was not entirely convinced.
“Out with it, Carstairs,” St. John ordered, but with the winning smile that reminded Mr. Carstairs of his mother, the lovely, gentle Lady Bennington, that great beauty who had, alas, left this world far too soon. Her son was the very image of her, but of a more serious demeanor than his cheerful mother. Like her, St. John had brown hair which reminded one of bronze, and dark brown eyes that, in Lady Bennington, had brought to mind a cup of rich cocoa. He had her generous mouth and her innate grace. But St. John Bennington seemed to have very little reason to smile most of the time, so when he did smile, it brought his mother to mind so completely. Mr. Carstairs had nurtured a warm feeling—one could not say a tendre, of course, for the spouse of one of his clients—for Lady Bennington throughout her life and even now that he was a long-time bachelor, he still regarded her as the most charming woman of his acquaintance. It was a shame that young Lady Elizabeth, whose birth had been the cause of her mother’s death, should be such a shy, retiring girl that she possessed none of the late Lady Bennington’s allure.
“It’s simply that . . . you have not been in London long enough to hear, I daresay, but . . . “
“What’s he up to now, Carstairs?” St. John inquired with resignation. “Been challenged to a duel because he had an assignation with another man’s wife? By God, I hope not; I should have to second him, I suppose, and Father is simply not capable of rising at dawn to attend to an affair of honor. Has he lost at cards again? Has he been to Tattersall’s?”
“No . . . that is, I couldn’t say. I have not heard.”
“Come now, Carstairs, I know that you hear everything that happens in London before the gossips do,” St. John said.
Mr. Carstairs pursed his lips primly. He did not care for the comparison to gossips. That he had numerous sources of information was true, but in his business, it was wise to be au currant with the goings on of the ton. Many of its members were his clients and Mr. Carstairs did not like to be surprised by bad news. It was much more effective to know the bad news in advance so that, when his client came for help, he had had time to consider what options were available to provide solutions.
“I have heard, my lord, that Lord Bennington has been quite regular in attendance at the Theatre Royal.”
That was not unusual. His father was an inveterate playgoer, preferring the comedies to the tragedies; during the latter, he spent more time with his quizzing glass, looking out over the audience to spy an acquaintance rather than paying attention to what was happening on stage. Unless, of course, the leading lady was particularly attractive, with the statuesque anatomy and inviting air that Lord Bennington preferred in his cheres amies.
“And?” St. John prompted. There had to be more to this than a fondness for Mrs. Maria Kemble’s performances.
“It is rumored . . . “
St. John restrained his impatience. Carstairs was incapable of simply stating the matter. He was fastidious by nature and this resulted in a prolonged period of suspense over a subject which St. John would have preferred to be made immediately aware.
“I suppose he has bought a pearl necklace for an actress,” St. John said in an effort to spur Carstairs forward. “That’s his usual gift for his latest inamorata.”
“I am very much afraid that the pearl necklace has already happened, my lord. The rumor is that his most recent gift . . . it pains me to say it—“
“It pains me to wait for you to say it, Carstairs,” St. John said, his patience sorely tried.
“It is said that he is very often in the company of Marguerite Winslow.”
“Marguerite Winslow? She must be half his age.”
“Twenty-two years younger, I believe, if my arithmetic and her age are true.”
“She’s not the first Bird of Paradise to catch his eye,” St. John said philosophically. “I suppose it was inevitable that he should begin to seek someone so much younger. He’ll move on to someone else in time. I only hope the next one isn’t a debutante.”
“I am not sure that he will be moving on, my lord. I have heard that Miss Winslow was seen wearing the Bennington sapphire on her left hand.”
For a moment, Carstairs was fearful that being the messenger meant that he was in danger of getting shot, because Lord St. John’s dark eyes suddenly grew even darker as if they were overtaken by a black cloud. His features tightened until they no longer recalled dear Lady Bennington’s countenance in the least. In fact, Carstairs thought, they resembled the look of a man who could be dangerous.
“Are you telling me, Carstairs, that my father gave my mother’s ring to this—this—actress?”
“That is what I have heard, my lord,”
Carstairs said.
“From whom? Who the devil told you this?”
Carstairs was alarmed. Lord St. John was a serious young man, always composed, his manners reserved and perfect, his deportment flawlessly that of a gentleman. Just now, he looked ready to pounce, his hands gripping the arms of the chair as if he had to force himself to remain seated.
“I . . . people tell me things, my lord,” Mr. Carstairs said weakly.
“What else have people been telling you?”
“I think that perhaps it would be as well if you were to go to Lord Bennington and ask him yourself,” Carstairs said, recovering himself and quite eager now for his client to leave. Carstairs doubted that it was advisable for his constitution to be subjected to the sort of volatile episode that further disclosure might incite.
“What else,” St. John inquired, his teeth clenched, “have people been telling you about my father and this woman?”
“One hears things, my lord, but that does not mean that one necessarily credits them, you understand,” Carstairs hedged. “One assembles the information that people provide, but it would be very rash to simply believe it without further investigation. My intention was not to alarm you, but rather to acquaint you with what people are saying.”
“Carstairs, it is apparent that you communicate with a great many more people than do I. I have only just arrived in London; I have not yet been to any of my clubs, nor have I been to my house. If people are saying anything at all, and if any of those subjects of discussion relate to my mother’s ring, I wish to know about it before I am broadsided. Am I clear?”
“Yes, yes, of course, my lord, but . . . “
The man looked terrified. St. John forced himself to sit back in his chair. He crossed his legs and relinquished his iron grip on the arms of the chair. He smiled.
“My apologies, Carstairs, I did not mean to be so churlish. I should not be sentimental about my mother’s jewelry, after all. I had assumed that my father would save it for Elizabeth, that is all. It is on her behalf that I have reacted. Now then, I pray you, what have you heard?”
Carstairs was somewhat mollified by his lordship’s return to decorum, but he was not convinced that St. John Bennington would remain thus.
“I am due for an appointment in half an hour, my lord, and I cannot linger. However, I will tell you that I have heard that the relationship is quite. . . er. . . quite . . .”
“Carstairs,” St. John began in a tone of warning.
“I have heard that they are wedded. Now, my lord, I really must bid you adieu, so that I will not be late for my appointment. I shall be glad to meet with you at another time, but you understand, I cannot be late---my lord? My lord?”
St. John Bennington had risen from his chair. He took up his hat, his coat, and his walking stick and left the office without a backward glance.
Carstairs hurriedly got up and, rushing to the door, locked it. He did not intend to be available once Lord St. John found out on his own the news that had London collectively raising its eyebrows.
2
Lady Elizabeth’s Companion
Lord St. John decided to walk to his father’s London house rather than hiring a hackney to take him there. It was not fashionable to walk the distance, which was not close to Mr. Carstairs’ place of business, but St. John was accustomed to traveling by foot in the country. It was, in fact, his preference. Today, however, he realized that he needed to walk in order to expel the ire which he felt at Mr. Carstairs’ disclosure. His mother’s ring on the hand of an actress! An actress replacing his dead mother as Lady Bennington! A household which had been bereft of its mistress for the past seventeen years, now to be ruled by an actress? An actress! Even for his father, it was intolerable.
Lord St. John walked with a purposeful gait which took no notice of others in his path as he moved forward, oblivious to the startled expressions and even glares which came his way as he advanced. He was dressed, others noticed, in the height of fashion. Clearly he was a man of some stature. But he could not be a member of the beau monde, because no gentlemen of breeding would ever be so uncouth as to hurry. Gentlemen moved at a leisurely pace, indolently making their way to their destination. Therefore, although he was quite handsome, and carried himself as if he were of note, he must not be, the people decided and dismissed him from their thoughts.
Lord St. John, having arrived at his father’s Belgrave house, moved swiftly up the stairs and, taking out his key, unlocked the door.
“My lord!” Billings, the butler, revealed his surprise when St. John entered. “I did not expect you.”
“No? You should have, Billings. Why is it that I must learn that my father has married an actress not from my father himself, or from my sister, or from my aunt, but from the solicitor?” Lord St. John demanded. “Have I not specifically told you to inform me of any occasion which may require my attention? Was I unclear in my instructions?”
“No, sir,” Billings said as he took his lordship’s hat and coat. “But, you see, Lord Bennington wanted to tell you himself.”
“Did he? Did he indeed? Did he think that I shall be rejoicing at the news that my father has married an actress and that he has bestowed upon her my mother’s ring?”
“I cannot say what his lordship’s thoughts are, my lord,” Billings replied. “I only know that he is eager to see you and tell you himself. I myself posted his letter to you. It must be on its way now.”
“It’s just as well that I am here now to learn of it. I should not care to receive a letter with such news.”
“I believe Lord Bennington was more circumspect than that, my lord. His letter merely asked you to come to London sooner than you originally planned to do.”
“Is that so? Now that I am in London, he may tell me the news himself,” Lord St. John said in a belligerent tone of voice. “Where is he, that I may extend my felicitations upon his nuptial joy?”
“I believe—that is, he generally accompanies Lady Bennington to the theatre so that she may make herself ready, and after that, he proceeds to his club until he returns to the theatre to watch her performance.”
“I see. And what of Lady Elizabeth?”
“She is out shopping with Miss Dorchester, my lord.”
“And who, pray tell, is Miss Dorchester?”
“She is the protégé of Lady Bennington.”
“Protégé? You mean she is an actress? My sister is out in public with an actress? Has my father entirely lost his mind?”
“Yes, sir, I mean, yes, she is an actress and Lady Elizabeth is out with her, but I did not mean yes that Lord Bennington has lost his mind. That was not my meaning, my lord.”
“Where has this—protégé—taken my sister?”
“She—they—Lady Elizabeth mentioned that she planned to go shopping. Lady Bennington has told her that, as she will be coming out this season, she must have a new wardrobe.”
“A new wardrobe?” St. John did not begrudge his sister new attire; she seemed to be entirely uninterested in fashion and seldom requested anything. In fact, he was the one who had to urge her to go to Worth’s so that she would be suitably dressed.
“Yes, my lord. Lady Bennington said that Lady Elizabeth is far too pretty to be dressed so dowdily.”
“Did she, indeed?”
“Yes, sir,” Billings said. “Lady Bennington has taken quite an interest in Lady Elizabeth.”
“What are you saying, Billings? Is my father’s actress wife plotting to marry my sister off to some debauched member of her profession?”
Billings did not disguise his shocked expression. “I should not think so, my lord. The affection seems to be genuine, and it is returned. I believe that Lady Elizabeth enjoys having another female in the house.”
Was this a subtle means of criticism from the dispassionate butler, chiding St. John for his bachelor status? Was it an indictment of the fact that he spent so much of the year in the country, leaving his sister to her own company while in London? One
could never be sure with Billings. His features revealed nothing of his thoughts.
“They are shopping. So I should expect to find them easily.”
“Yes, my lord. But Miss Dorchester is a young woman of great comportment.”
“Is she not an actress?” St. John demanded.
“Yes, my lord, but—“
“She is, no doubt, well able to feign this comportment of which you speak. It is nothing more to her than a performance, I should think, and apparently, a convincing one, for it has fooled you.”
Despite his status as the butler, Billings was confident of his position. “I do not think, my lord, that I am so easily fooled,” he returned stiffly.
It was no use berating Billings when his true displeasure was directed at his father. “My apologies, Billings. My sister is young and sheltered and I do not wish her to be manipulated by someone whose profession marks her as a woman who must inevitably be much more worldly than Lady Elizabeth.”
“Yes, sir,” Billings said.
St. John sighed. He was not forgiven; Billings’ tone told him as much. But the butler’s words had struck him in a vulnerable spot. He ought to pay more attention to Elizabeth, he knew. She was shy and not at all at ease in society; she was, furthermore, terrified at the thought of making her debut. St. John knew that he ought to have been more vigilant, making sure that she made the rounds of society so that she would be familiar with them when she was invited to the engagements which made the London Season so busy.
“I am going to seek my sister,” he said. “Please inform my father that I shall see him tonight.”
“Will you be dining here, my lord? When Her Ladyship is performing, they dine at three o’clock.”
Finding Love on Drury Lane Page 1