Bless Thine Inheritance

by Sophia Holloway

  Mr Wombwell has been quite persistent and I am becoming annoyed at it. I hope he goes soon. His Mama has been quite unpleasant and I am sure she does not like him chasing after me. Lord Levedale is very friendly and funny but he is not at all in love with me and I do not mind because he would suit Celia very well even with the limp. I am not so old that I need to be afraid that I shall not receive an offer from some nice gentleman. In the meantime I shall be coming home to be happy with you my dearest Papa.

  I remain your loving

  Marianne

  PS I will write to say I am coming home so that the bed is aired.

  Thinking that this would provide her parent with much entertainment, Marianne went to find Lord Mardham so that he might frank the letter. She was already imagining being back at home with Papa and spending several evenings discussing all that had gone on in the last few weeks. She almost walked straight into Lord Levedale as he returned from driving with Miss Mardham.

  ‘Oh! I am so sorry, my lord. I was wool-gathering!’ She blushed, prettily.

  Lord Levedale saw his opportunity, and seized it.

  ‘Miss Burton, might I beg the honour of a few minutes of private conversation with you.’

  ‘I …’ Marianne was not sure how to proceed. She trusted Lord Levedale, but being closeted with a gentleman sounded dubious. His look, which was intent, but not passionate in any way, made up her mind for her. ‘Yes, my lord, a few minutes.’

  He opened the door for her into the yellow saloon, and found it thankfully empty. He invited her to sit, but remained standing. Neither had observed Miss Darwen as she entered the hall, or followed to place her ear to the door.

  ‘Miss Burton, I have a confession to make.’

  Chapter 20

  Marianne took a deep breath.

  ‘My lord, if you are about to tell me that you are not intending to make me an offer, I can only say that it is not in any way a surprise to me. You are very nice, and entertaining, but … why do you pay so much attention to me when it is my friend for whom you have a decided preference?’

  ‘Ah.’ Lord Levedale gave a rueful smile. ‘Ah’ was the best he could come up with in the circumstances. He had no idea what to say. It was Marianne Burton who eased the situation; she whose openness had caused awkward moments.

  ‘I have to confess, my lord, that I am a frequent correspondent with my Papa, who has disclosed to me that you came to Meysey thinking to find, perhaps, a partner in life. Yet at the first I did not think that could be the case. Over the past weeks, however, it has seemed to me that my dear friend Miss Mardham has come to entertain tender feelings towards you, and that they are reciprocated. I fail to understand why you see the need to use me as a diversion. Surely, you are not testing her affections? And you cannot believe that Lord Mardham would not be happy to see Celia established.’

  ‘Miss Burton, I can do nothing but apologise to you.’ Lord Levedale looked most discomfited. ‘There are reasons – reasons which I am not at liberty to disclose – why I came to Meysey, why I …’ He halted. How could he tell this innocent young woman that he had been sent to woo her for her dowry. ‘You had been described to me as a very nice young lady, and very beautiful. I came, forgive me, to see if perhaps we might suit, and with not the slightest idea that my heart would become engaged elsewhere.’

  ‘That does not explain why you have persisted in paying attention to me, sir.’

  ‘No. It does not.’ His collar felt too tight, the room suddenly oppressively hot.

  Miss Burton looked at him, candidly, but with sadness.

  ‘Will gentlemen only ever pay attention to me because I am an heiress, sir?’

  He had thought her a beautiful, guileless ninny, and perhaps in some ways she was, but Marianne Burton had learned a surprising amount during her stay at Meysey, and among a set of people from whom, just occasionally, she felt set apart. Men liked to look at her. She had known that since she was sixteen, and she simply accepted it. She was not a vain girl, and did not preen herself over it. Her Papa, she knew, had ambitions for her to be a titled lady, but not to the exclusion of her happiness. He thought the wealth she would inherit would assist her, but she was coming to the conclusion that it would be a burden.

  Lord Levedale shook his head.

  ‘Miss Burton, you are a very beautiful young lady, and unlike some beauties, do not “demand” adoration. I hope I may be as frank with you as you have been with me. Some men will seek you out because of the money you will inherit, and they will charm you, but I think, since you have been so perspicacious in seeing how things lie between myself and Miss Mardham, that you will not be taken in by charm alone. Some men will admire your beauty but find your, forgive me, lack of “lineage”, an obstacle. However, I am certain that there will be gentlemen who will disregard it, for you are most ladylike in all respects, and among them you will find one worthy of your affections. I cannot promise he will be titled, of course, and a title does not guarantee that a man is of good character, I assure you.’

  ‘Thank you. It is perhaps now a case of being where I might meet gentlemen.’

  ‘You have made good acquaintanceships here. I do not doubt you will receive other invitations to visit friends.’

  ‘So no invitation from Miss Darwen then.’ Marianne dimpled, and he laughed.

  ‘No, for which you may be truly thankful. You might find a sojourn in Bath “useful”, if Sir Thomas were to lease a house for some months, and employ a lady to chaperone you.’

  ‘He has vowed never to take the waters again, having tasted them, my lord.’

  ‘I do not blame him for that, but there is more to Bath than taking the cure. You are very young, Miss Burton, still unfurling your petals, so to speak. Do not feel crushed that this foray into Society has not brought forth your “knight in shining armour”.’

  ‘I shall not. This does not, however, make all well between yourself and my friend Celia.’

  ‘No, but it salves my conscience in one part at least. I had feared that my attentions might have led you to anticipate that which I could not, in any honesty, offer you. I may now go to Miss Mardham and try to explain … beg her forgiveness … and hope she forgives me being a prize idiot.’

  *

  Try as she might, Miss Darwen could not catch every word, but she heard enough to be outraged. Lord Levedale was obviously intending to make The Cripple a declaration, and he and The Ninny had laughed at her, Lavinia Darwen. Well, the laughter was past changing, but Miss Darwen’s lips lengthened in a most unpleasant smile. She might yet get her revenge upon him, and ruin his chances. It was all a matter of timing.

  *

  Lord Levedale made a valiant attempt at shaving himself before dressing for dinner, but was all of a doo-dah. He managed to nick his chin to add to the slightly disreputable look that his visage, as yet not fully healed, conveyed. It was not, he admitted to himself, the ideal face for making a proposal of marriage. He had not seen Miss Mardham between the end of their drive and coming upstairs to change, and realistically, there was no possible opportunity of requesting an interview with her alone before dinner.

  When he did go down and joined the others, she was listening to Lord Pocklington and her brother. Richard Mardham was seated, since standing upon one leg only was exceedingly tiring. Lord Pocklington was in discussion with him about whether he would be fit to join him for some cubbing with the Quorn.

  Lord Levedale thought Miss Mardham still had a vague air of preoccupation. Although Miss Clandon had been very quiet, and Lord Deben emollient, their absence seemed to have changed the dynamic of the party. There was an air of dissatisfaction, a feeling that the party must break up. The Corfemullens were together, talking to Lady Mardham, but close together as if for silent but mutual support.

  Miss Burton was being lectured by Miss Darwen, and seemed resigned to her fate, and Mrs Wombwell was engaged in a very desultory discussion with Lord Mardham and Sir Marcus. Mr Wombwell had not yet deigned to make his appeara
nce. When he did so he had an air of arrogant boredom on his face, but immediately placed himself so that he might engage Miss Mardham in conversation, and Lord Levedale thought that he glanced at him and smirked as he did so. Having rather better manners, Lord Levedale, who had been on the point of extricating himself from the Corfemullens and his hostess, moved on without looking towards Miss Mardham, and nobly attempted to rescue Miss Burton by putting himself next to Miss Darwen. She had recently become a little less of a burden to him, but this evening her glance was remarkably cool and supercilious, if not downright antagonistic. He could only assume that his action over the pendant had at last broken her idea of attempting to ensnare him.

  ‘How is your face, my lord?’ she asked, not with sympathy, but, he felt, rather as if she hoped he would say it was giving him continued discomfort.

  ‘Oh, much as you see, Miss Darwen. Shaving is a trifle awkward, but healing takes longer than one would hope. I shall be in the pink of condition in a few days, rather than red of face.’

  Her smile could have curdled milk.

  ‘I am very glad we ladies never have to shave,’ said Marianne Burton, with a slight shudder. ‘I would hate to have to wield the sharp blades for fear of cutting myself, and to have to do it daily …’ She pulled a face.

  ‘Ah, but we are spared curling papers, or hot metal tongs, or whatever it is that keeps ladies’ hair so nice, and there is little time wasted upon dressing our hair. A good brushing, and perhaps a little oil, and we are set.’

  ‘But having one’s hair dressed in different ways is quite fun,’ Miss Burton smiled, rather more genuinely than Miss Darwen.

  ‘Only for ladies, Miss Burton, I assure you.’

  She dimpled, and Celia noticed, and then felt guilty for her jealous feeling. It did not improve at dinner, because Lord Levedale was so light-hearted. Being relieved of the concern that Miss Burton, sat next to him, might be taking his advances seriously, and anticipating making a declaration to Miss Mardham, he was plainly happy. He and Miss Burton were at ease, and Miss Darwen smiled all the way through her mushroom soup, even though she was not fond of fungi. Miss Mardham barely touched her food, and was glad when the ladies rose to withdraw. This feeling did not last long.

  Miss Darwen was trying to judge her moment. She did not want to make a scene so early that Miss Mardham disappeared before the gentlemen joined the ladies, but she had to make her move prior to that arrival. She therefore appeared to listen to Lady Corfemullen’s tale of a tipsy cook and an ensuing dinner disaster before going to sit near Miss Mardham and Miss Burton.

  ‘So, Miss Burton, are you going to keep your secret, or tell us your news?’

  ‘My news?’ Marianne looked surprised.

  ‘Come, come, do not tell us you have none, or are you waiting until your dear Papa has been informed?’

  Celia’s mouth felt suddenly dry, and her heart beat too fast.

  ‘I do not know what you mean,’ declared Marianne, but she blushed.

  ‘You were closeted with Lord Levedale some time, and alone. Do not tell us you were discussing the weather,’ Miss Darwen gave a peculiar titter, ‘we really would not believe you.’

  Marianne was in a dilemma. She could not reveal the true conversation, for how could she say ‘We discussed him not wanting to marry me but marrying my friend’, with that friend before her and unaware of the imminent proposal.

  ‘It was nothing important,’ murmured Marianne, looking at the floor.

  ‘Yet both of you seemed very happy this evening,’ purred Miss Darwen. ‘You really cannot disguise a man in love, can you.’

  ‘No, I suppose not, but …’

  ‘Then you have given us our answer.’ Miss Darwen looked triumphant, as well she might.

  Marianne Burton fumbled to find the right words.

  ‘It is not as you imagine. We—’

  ‘Ah, that lovely term “we”, indicative of a couple. How romantic.’

  Celia wanted the floor to open up and swallow her. She felt a little sick and rather faint. Although she had feared that he would offer for Marianne despite, she was sure, having some form of tendre for herself, she had pushed it to one side. Her own feelings for him had become so strong it had to be unthinkable, and yet he had done so, straight after their afternoon drive together when he had seemed so concerned about her agitation of spirits. She could not look Marianne in the eye and say ‘congratulations’, but nor did she blame her for what had happened.

  ‘Are you quite well, Celia?’ Marianne saw her friend’s colour drain from her face.

  ‘Yes, yes. I mean, my leg is somewhat more uncomfortable than usual this evening, that is all.’

  There were sounds from the hallway, male voices, and then the gentlemen entered. Lord Levedale was first, and his eyes went towards the sofa where Celia and Marianne were seated. He smiled. He might not be able to speak to Miss Mardham tonight, but should be able to at least arrange to speak with her in the morning, and she would be in no doubt as to the reason for the interview.

  Celia saw Lord Levedale’s smile, and in that moment all Celia’s misery became anger. Just so had he smiled at her, not once but each time they went out driving, each time their eyes met. How could he be so perfidious as to positively encourage her to lose her heart to him, and do the same with Marianne Burton? Mr Wombwell had a reputation as a ladies’ man and made no real pretence to be otherwise, but he, he had played the decent fellow all the way through, and she had believed him. He was coming towards them, still smiling. She could not bear to be close to him, and so rose, gripping her stick firmly, and turned away. Lady Mardham was speaking to Lady Corfemullen, but not in any great discussion. Celia said the first thing that came into her head.

  ‘Mama, might I order the carriage tomorrow and go into Cirencester? I would like to buy a pair of gloves for when I drive my new phaeton, and I have gone through the heel of one too many stockings. The patten really increases the wear.’

  Lady Mardham looked up at her daughter. There was a brittleness to her voice at odds with the mundane nature of her words, which confused her.

  ‘Well, Lady Corfemullen is coming with me to visit your Grandmama in the morning, so it could not be then, but if you could wait until the afternoon …’

  Lord Levedale was immediately behind Celia.

  ‘If you wish to go to Cirencester in the morning, Miss Mardham, I would be honoured to drive you. I am sure with a little care you could manage to climb—’ He got no further.

  She turned on him, pushing away the arm he extended as she wobbled. Her face was white, not with shock, but fury.

  ‘I would rather … hobble to Cirencester, my lord.’ Her voice was low, but throbbed with passion. He froze.

  ‘If I could be of any assistance, ma’am? I would be immensely honoured to put myself, and my groom, of course, at your disposal.’ Mr Wombwell saw his chance. There had clearly been some rift between Levedale and Miss Mardham, and he was keen to exploit the opportunity it offered.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Wombwell. I shall be delighted.’

  ‘Then let us be away betimes, ma’am. Shall we say nine of the clock?’

  ‘An excellent hour.’ With which Celia grasped her stick firmly, and, casting Lord Levedale a look which combined loathing and defiance, stalked out of the room as best she could. He was left looking after her with such a look of patent astonishment upon his face that Miss Darwen positively beamed at Sir Marcus and invited him to tell her about his orangery.

  *

  There was nothing Lord Levedale could do, and in any case he was at a loss to understand what had just taken place. As he had entered the drawing room he had smiled, thinking to go over to Miss Mardham, and knowing Miss Burton would understand what he was about. He had seen that Miss Mardham’s face was marked by an absence of colour, and she had then flashed him an intensely angry look, but he could not for the life of him think why. It occurred to him that Miss Burton might have revealed something of their afternoon conversation
in some addle-brained attempt to pave the way for him, and it had been misconstrued. Perhaps Miss Mardham felt that he was using Miss Burton as an intermediary and was, quite understandably, annoyed that he was not brave enough to declare himself without the assurance of her friend smoothing the path for him. However, a swift glance at Miss Burton had shown her startled in the extreme.

  Besides, any irritation at his being pusillanimous about making her an offer would not have made her as patently incandescent with anger as she had shown herself to be. There was no logic to it at all, and all he could do was intercept her in the morning, and make things right. It was far from ideal, but it was all he could do.

  *

  He had intended to rise early, but slept fitfully, and finally woke late. He came down to breakfast just after nine and found Miss Burton in possession of the breakfast room. She had hoped to speak with her friend before her expedition, but had just missed her departure.

  ‘Good morning, Miss Burton. Breakfasting alone?’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’ She paused, then asked what was in her mind. ‘Lord Levedale, what happened last night?’ Marianne was curious, and having had such a frank interview with him the day previously, felt she might ask.

  ‘I am not entirely sure, Miss Burton. No, let me be honest. I have no idea at all.’

  ‘I am not sure why she agreed to let Mr Wombwell drive her to Cirencester.’

  ‘You recall, I am sure, that I described myself as “a prize idiot”? I think, Miss Burton, that was to show me that I am indeed a prize idiot.’

  ‘Oh. I see. At least I think I see. But Mr Wombwell is not driving her to Cirencester.’

  ‘He is not?’ Lord Levedale spoke sharply, and Marianne dropped her slice of toast.

  ‘No, for I overheard him telling his valet to have his evening clothes all laid out in readiness, because he might not be back from Bath until shortly before the dinner hour. Had I seen Celia, I would have warned her. ‘