by Mira Stables
Chapter Ten
Aunt Thomasine was mildly disgruntled over the increase in the household. There were rooms a-plenty and Mrs. Goodborn had raised no objections to cooking for three extra people, even going so far as to say that it would be quite a treat to cook for a hungry schoolboy. Poor Tamsin, presumably, was expected to have a more lady-like attitude towards food. So there was no particular domestic difficulty. But she and Honor had been going along very comfortably and now the girl would have to spend much of her time in entertaining the twins, while she herself must give up the quiet card parties that she so much enjoyed so that she might bear her cousin company. Though she still chaperoned Honor to most of the functions at the Assembly Rooms, she had lately fallen into the way of allowing her to join Mrs. Charnley’s party for such concerts and lectures as she wished to attend. Even a chaperone was entitled to an occasional evening off, thought Aunt Thomasine, and since Honor did not care for cards the arrangement suited both of them. It was not that she was not genuinely fond of her cousin and the children, rather that she felt that she saw quite enough of them at home. Nor would it improve Honor’s chances in the marriage mart to have a brother and sister for ever tagging at her heels.
Honor, for her part, welcomed her family with a warm upsurge of affection. Not since her school-days had they been so long parted, and it was delightful to spend a long cosy evening hearing all the news of home. But by the end of the first week she was almost ready to admit that Aunt Thomasine had been in the right of it. Mama was deeply interested in her daughter’s social progress. Also in every detail as regards the birth, fortune and expectations of every gentleman who had paid her any attention. The list was a long one, and by the end of the inquisition Honor was brought to feel that she was sadly lacking in both filial duty and feminine cunning that, with so much opportunity, she had not yet brought one of these promising fish safely to grass. However, all was not yet lost, said Mama with kindly encouragement Aunt Thomasine had told her that Sir Ralph Rampton was greatly épris. He would be a prize well worth winning. But fortune and rank were superior and, if her cousin was to be believed, his person and his manners were as distinguished as his birth. But there must be no more of this foolish dilly-dallying. Honor would know just how to drop a hint that an offer would meet with her Mama’s approval. No doubt that was all he was waiting for. Gentlemen were ever wary of a refusal that might injure their self-esteem.
It was useless for Honor to protest that she did not wish to marry Sir Ralph. Mama smiled indulgently and commended the propriety of her attitude. No modest girl, said Mama, would dream of wishing to marry any gentleman until her guardians had signified their approval. Honor was silent. It was plain to her that she was not a modest girl. She thought with longing of the days when Mama had cared not at all for her comings and goings, and smiled wryly at the memory that then she had thought herself neglected.
Tamsin gave her family little trouble. Always a quiet and studious child she could be happy for hours with a book. The sauntering progress of the frequent shop gazing expeditions was just to her taste and, to complete her contentment, she had struck up an immediate friendship with Penelope’s small sister, Marietta. Marietta was only ten, too young to meet Tamsin on equal terms and very sensible of the condescension of the older girl, and Tamsin, presented with the little sister she had always longed for, mothered her to her heart’s content. But there could be no denying that Percy was a positive menace to the peace that had hitherto prevailed in Beaufort Square.
It took that active young gentleman exactly two days to exhaust the attractions that Bath held for him. Left to himself he could have spent long hours entranced by the activities of the sailors and stevedores, or of the builders who were at work in so many parts of the city. Not that he would long have been content with watching. It was odds, he felt, that such hard-working fellows could have used the services of a willing and likely lad. But in a strange city Mama could not endure to have him for long out of her sight. Who knew into what evil company he might fall, what dangers he might encounter?
Limited to petticoat society, Percy soon found city life quite unsupportable. Antiquities were of no interest to him. The Baths themselves were comical enough, he allowed, after a stolen peep at the proceedings of the bathers, but one could not watch them all day. The custom of attending divine service in the Abbey every day took very badly with him and the formal placidity of the social round drove him to outbursts of mischief that must, if they continued, draw down upon him the attention of the law. Honor racked her brains to think of diversions that might absorb some of his restless energy, but puzzles and parlour games soon palled, he had no turn for reading and he sadly missed his country freedom and the comradeship of his favourite crony the doctor’s son. In desperation she persuaded Mama and Aunt Thomasine to consent to an expedition to Wells. Mama protested that it was too far, but Percy, once he had been assured that he would not have to spend hours in a fusty old cathedral, announced that he would like to see the clock and the knights who tilted at each other when the hour struck and Mama was naturally willing to endure the fatigue of the long drive in order to give pleasure to her darling.
A carriage was hired and the little party set out in good time, planning to partake of an early luncheon in Wells and return in time for the evening’s concert. The day was warm and the journey was rather too long for perfect enjoyment, but the clock at least came up to Percy’s expectations, and he was so fortunate as to find a verger who was able and willing to explain its action to him. Tamsin was not interested in matters mechanical but was perfectly happy to wander beside the moat and watch some children who were feeding the swans. It was cool and peaceful there. Honor was quite sorry when Aunt Thomasine proclaimed that it was time to return. Even Percy was a little tired which made him a much more restful travelling companion than he had been on the outward journey. It presently transpired that he was working out the details of making some model knights of his own who would tilt at each other like those over the cathedral clock. The actual making would have to wait until he went home since he had not thought to bring his tools with him, but he hoped that they would be back in Bath in time for him to buy drawing paper and pencils so that he could begin at once upon working a sketch while the details were still fresh in his mind.
Presently, however, his attention was distracted by a pair of horsemen cantering towards them. He expressed the earnest hope that they were highwaymen, and when his sister laughed at him, did his best to terrify her with tales of recent outrages that he had heard from Goodborn. The approaching horsemen, however, bore too peaceful an aspect for even his fertile imagination to turn them into desperate rogues and he turned instead to admiring their mounts. Honor followed his critical gaze, recognized the neat bay hack that was almost as familiar as her precious mare, and blushed. She had not seen Mr. Jocelyn since her family had arrived in Bath. Their daily rides had perforce been abandoned since her time was fully occupied with more domestic preoccupations and though she had looked for him whenever she went abroad it had been in vain. Hastily she withdrew her gaze from that dear familiar figure and glanced instead at his companion, wondering a little breathlessly if he would stop to exchange greetings, for he must, by now, have recognized their party.
The second rider seemed much of Mr. Jocelyn’s height but rather more heavily built, and Honor thought, a little older. It was difficult to pin-point the physical resemblance between the two, but there was a marked air of affinity, something, perhaps in the poise of the two dark heads, that spoke of relationship.
The two checked their horses as they passed the open carriage but did not stop, contenting themselves with raising their hats and bowing to its occupants. Percy wriggled round in his seat to watch them out of sight and Mrs. Fenton said, “Surely that was Mr. Jocelyn? The younger of those two gentlemen?”
“It was, indeed,” agreed Aunt Thomasine, “but I did not know that you were acquainted with him.”
Mrs. Fenton looked mildly s
urprised. “Did I not mention his name when I wrote to you?” she said vaguely. “I quite thought I had done so. He is Lord Melborne’s agent and called upon me some weeks ago concerning the business of the necklace. But I have heard nothing of him since. Oh! Do you suppose that his companion was Lord Melborne himself?” she went on with a sudden access of vivacity.
Aunt Thomasine shrugged her indifference. “I did not particularly notice him. Nor should I have recognised him if I had been paying attention. He was serving overseas in some outlandish place when Honoria married his Papa and I never had the privilege of meeting him. But now that you mention it, there was some talk of his visiting Swynden Hall, so you may well be right.”
Mrs. Fenton considered this possibility in reverent silence for a full minute. Then she asked if Honor’s new gown would be ready for Friday’s Dress Ball at the Old Rooms.
Her cousin smiled grimly. “It will,” she pronounced. “But if you are thinking that his lordship might chance to attend the ball and take a fancy to the chit, you may spare yourself the trouble. Noblemen of the first stare no longer patronise the public gatherings. It was very different when Honoria and I made our come-out. Then private parties were almost unheard of and I daresay you might rub shoulders with half the Peerage at a dress ball. Matters are very different today. In any event I doubt if the Marquess is a marrying man. He must be all of thirty three or four and past the age of falling in love.”
“But the succession!” exclaimed Mrs. Fenton in shocked tones. “Surely he will wish for an heir to his dignities?”
“If he does, no doubt he will marry some female of his own rank who will understand exactly what is expected of her and will make him a conformable wife. Such a marriage as is arranged for persons of vast consequence. Surely you would not wish your daughter to be a participant in such a contract?”
It was plain to the meanest intelligence that Mrs. Fenton would like it very much indeed, but she stood a little in awe of her forthright cousin and said only, with an air of considerable satisfaction, “But his father did not make such a marriage. You assured me yourself that he and Honoria were deep in love. And he was well past the age of thirty three.”
Since this was unanswerable Aunt Thomasine only snorted and recommended Percy to turn round and sit still instead of screwing his neck round in that uncomfortable fashion. Percy, who also had a healthy respect for his aunt, meekly obeyed and the rest of the journey was accomplished in amity, the three older members of the party each wrapped in her own thoughts and deaf to the intermittent wrangling between the twins who were now playing the age old game of counting the various types of animals that they saw to beguile the tedium of the final stage of the journey.
Since her family had arrived in Bath it was unusual for Honor to find herself alone, but this rare and blissful state did occur on Friday morning. Philip had kindly—not to say rashly—invited Percy to go fishing with him. This was a sport to which Philip was much addicted, since, even if it did not reward him with an impressive catch, it did at least grant him long hours to be spent in meditative contemplation of his beloved wildlife. Tamsin was contentedly spending the day with Marietta. Honor had planned to accompany her Mama and Aunt on their daily pilgrimage to the Pump Room but Jennet had begged for a final fitting of the new dress that she was to wear at the ball that night. Actually the dress was finished, but Jennet was a perfectionist and must be absolutely convinced that the set of the sleeves, the line of the skirt, were exactly as she wished. Honor was rather partial to the gown herself. It was unique, in that Mama had brought the stuff with her on arrival, a gift to her elder daughter unmatched in Honor’s memory. Because the colour did not become Mama it had lain forgotten for years, a gift brought home from the east by poor dear Cousin Charles, the boy who had died in Canada. Mama’s fair prettiness was diminished by the rich glowing amber of the heavy silk. It suited Honor’s more vivid colouring to admiration. Jennet heaved a little sigh of satisfaction in her own creation as Honor turned slowly before her critical eyes. “It is quite perfect, miss,” she said simply. “Even better than the green polonese.”
Privately Honor agreed with her. So that when a tap on the door heralded a flustered and breathless little maid who announced that a Mr. Jocelyn had called enquiring if Miss Fenton was at home and please what was she to say, it did not take long to make up her mind.
“Say that I will be with him in a moment,” she said coolly. “Show him into the small parlour. It will not do to keep him waiting,” she added for Jennet’s benefit. “He is much occupied over Lord Melborne’s arrival. I will not stay to change my dress. I am sure he will understand.”
Jennet’s lids drooped demurely to hide the gleam of appreciation for this masterly opportunism. “Yes, miss,” she said quietly. “Permit me to rearrange your hair. It is a little ruffled from the putting on of the dress.”
Even Mr. Jocelyn’s imperturbability was shaken by the arrival of a lady in full evening dress to receive a morning caller, but his recovery was swift. By the time that he had bowed over her hand he was able to say with smiling aplomb, “It is good of you to receive me at so inconvenient a time, Miss Fenton. I collect that you were engaged with your dresser when my message was brought to you. Pray forgive my intrusion at such an important moment. I cannot even plead the saving grace of urgency as my excuse, since I came only to enquire if you were free to ride with me.”
She looked a little conscious, whereupon he relented and added, “And I can only be grateful to the kindly fates that I did so, since it has brought me such an unexpected reward.”
There was a lively twinkle in the blue eyes, and she knew as well as if he had put it into words that he perfectly understood the motive that had caused her to receive him in such unusual fashion. The knowledge made her blush hotly, but her embarrassment should not cause her to refuse the pleasure of a ride with him. “I would dearly like to do so,” she told him with admirable coolness, “but as you see, I am scarcely dressed for riding and by the time that I changed into my habit it would be too late. Tomorrow, perhaps?”
He agreed to that and they settled a time. But Mr. Jocelyn seemed reluctant to take his departure. Possibly the novelty of the circumstances intrigued him. “Do you intend to wear that gown at the ball tonight?” he enquired politely, and, at her nod of assent, added in all sincerity, “You will be the admiration of all beholders.”
She dipped him a mocking curtsey. “Thank you, sir. I take it that you will not be among them?”
“To my deep regret, no. Which is why I am all the more grateful for the chance that brought me here this morning to see you looking so delightful.”
He sounded sincere and it gave her courage to press him a little more closely. “You do not care for such affairs, sir? Or perhaps you are too much occupied. I hear that Lord Melborne has returned to the neighbourhood so no doubt you will be busy about his concerns. Mama tells me that you are acting as his agent in the matter of the necklace. Little wonder that you were so forthright with me about his intention of buying it back.”
It was Mr. Jocelyn’s turn to show embarrassment. “I did not care to distress you with repeated requests for the thing,” he muttered, half angrily, half apologetic. “It seemed better to deal with your guardian.”
She took that calmly enough. “I prefer direct dealing,” she told him. “If it will ease his lordship’s mind you may tell him that I am willing to sell him the necklace when I leave Bath. That will be in six weeks’ time. Nor do I plan to demand an exorbitant price for it. Its sentimental associations for the Swynden family are no concern of mine and I would not dream of making capital out of them. My godmother wished me to have the pleasure of wearing it at an Assembly Ball in Bath and I have done so. When I go home I shall have little use for such ornaments and his lordship may have it back with my good will. A price can be set on it by some reputable jeweller and I will accept the sum that he names.”
He looked at her kindly. “Your decision does you credit, Miss Fenton,
but you cannot expect his lordship to like your charity any more than you cared for his. He named thirty thousand pounds as the price of the necklace and he is a hard man to over-ride.”
“He would rather do without the necklace?”
He shrugged. “Let us rather say that the money is of little account to him. By the terms of your godmother’s will, a sum of money was set aside to be used for the purchase of the necklace if you should decide to sell it. It was that provision that gave me the notion that she had dreamed of a match between you. A notion which you laughed out of court. But the money is there, and his lordship would never allow you to be the sufferer in any dealings between you. Moreover I cannot help being aware that your Mama does not share your views on this head. If you insist on such a one-sided bargain, will she not be very angry with you? She spoke of your brother and his future. Will you permit your pride to deprive your family of a measure of security and comfort?”
She did not answer, looking perplexed and uncertain as she stood before him in her glowing finery. His heart softened to her distress. “You will do much better to leave the money dealings to your elders, child. Enjoy the wearing of your necklace as your godmother wished and forget its price.” And then, as she still had nothing to say, he changed the subject, asking her how the newcomers were enjoying their stay in Bath.
She answered him a little absently at first, her mind still preoccupied with the problem of the necklace. She was beginning to feel that the sooner it was restored to Lord Melborne the happier she would be. Beautiful as it was, it seemed to involve her in difficulties at every turn. But it was impossible to brood for long over these difficulties when Mr. Jocelyn was exerting his very considerable charm to coax her out of her anxious mood and presently she was making him laugh over some of Percy’s escapades. Escapades which seemed very much funnier in the telling than when she had been faced with the task of appeasing his irate victims. When her listener commented that it sounded to him as though it was high time that such an ingenious youth was sent to school, or at least put in charge of a capable tutor, she found herself in complete agreement with him, though family loyalty drove her to defend her brother by saying that he was never so troublesome at home.