by Dorothy Mack
“It all sounds most uncomfortable. Poor Cleone.”
Lady Pendleston tried, and failed, to project real sympathy for her goddaughter’s plight.
Gazing into amused blue eyes, Jason asked curiously, “Did Uncle Robert woo you in the approved fashion?”
“Heavens, no! I was betrothed to another man when we met.”
Jason drew back in pretended shock. “Aunt, are you about to tell me you were married over the anvil? I’m not sure I can bear the disgrace.”
“It wasn’t quite that scandalous.” She chuckled.
“If it wasn’t a Gretna Green affair, what did happen?”
Lady Pendleston smiled reminiscently. “My parents had arranged my betrothal to a very pleasant young man, the son of neighbours whose land abutted ours. I had known him all my life and liked him very well, but within a sennight of meeting Robert, I knew I could not marry another. Fortunately for all concerned, my fiancé was most understanding. His feelings for me were no more than lukewarm. We simply dissolved the engagement by mutual consent.”
“Just like that? What of your parents? Were they amenable?”
“Anything but amenable! They had browbeaten Julia into marrying your father, but that disaster hadn’t taught them anything. They forbade me to see Robert again, and actually all but incarcerated me in the country until I should come to my senses.”
“I take it you did not come to your senses, since you did marry Uncle Robert.”
“I came to my majority after five months of agonizing worry over whether Robert would forget me in the meantime. The day after my birthday, he passed a letter to my maid when she was in the village on an errand for me. We eloped that night. He had procured a special licence, and we were married from his sister’s home in clothes I stood up in. I had been able to bring nothing but my jewellery with me except for Denby, my maid. She’s been with me ever since.”
“What a romantic story! I had no idea you were such a heroine, Aunt Bess.”
Jason was smiling, but Lady Pendleston did not return the smile. “I did not feel like a heroine,” she said soberly. “I was not a child at the time; my come-out had been delayed by my grandfather’s death, and I was old enough to know my own mind. Nor was Robert some half-pay officer in a scarlet coat who dazzled a witless girl. He was heir to the baronetcy and a stable, established landowner of close to thirty years at the time.”
“Did your parents become reconciled to the match?”
“Never. Do you remember your grandfather Melkinthorpe at all?”
“Very vaguely. He had a permanent sneer on his face that frightened me. I remember my grandmother somewhat better. She was a timid little woman who gave Marcus and me sweetmeats.”
“You are correct about the sneer. My father was a domestic tyrant, a despotic man who never admitted the possibility that he could ever be wrong. My mother was completely under his thumb, poor woman. I can see that now and pity her. At the time, I’m afraid I lumped them together and considered them my enemies, horrible though that sounds. My father never really loved Julia and me. He desperately wished for a son, and all my mother gave him was two daughters.”
Her voice trailed off and both sat silent, isolated in their own memories as the carriage rolled toward Brighton. At last Jason stirred and faced her.
“My grandfather didn’t love my mother, and she in her turn didn’t love my brother and me. It’s a fine heritage I bring to a marriage.”
“Don’t be bitter, Jason, please. Bitterness is so corrosive. The chain can be broken. Robert and I would have loved our children; we loved you. Cleone’s was a very loving family. She will be a wonderful mother.”
“Yes, Cleone,” he said, grasping at the promise of her warmth. “If I can make her love me, we can break the chain. But will she love me?”
“I don’t think so poorly of her intelligence as to doubt that for a second.”
Jason laughed and squeezed her hand. “Let us hope you may impart some of your blind prejudice in my favour to your goddaughter while she is under your roof. Perhaps you should mutter incantations over the tea leaves.”
“None will be needed,” his aunt declared.
CHAPTER 16
Lady Pendleston’s coachman was making the same trip he had made two days before: Brighton to Bramble Hall, then back to Brighton. The only difference was that he had an empty carriage on the way into West Sussex this trip and two pretty young ladies and an abigail as passengers on the way back instead of her ladyship and her nephew. The coachman could not know that there was also a radical difference in the atmosphere in the well-sprung carriage with its cheerful rose-coloured velvet upholstery this trip. Gone was the affection and rapport that existed between Lady Pendleston and her nephew. In its place was an aura of constraint and punctilious civility as the two young ladies took turns making observations on the passing scene for the benefit of the excited little maid whose services they were to share in the house on Marine Parade. It was to be observed that Miss Hardwicke studiously avoided meeting her cousin’s eye. Miss Latham presented her usual serene countenance to the world, but she was careful to address only rhetorical remarks to her companion.
The unrelaxed atmosphere did not augur well for the success of the Brighton visit. How young ladies who could not bear to look at or speak to each other could agree to be fellow guests, indeed the only guests, under the same roof was a question that must sorely puzzle a disinterested observer of the scene. The truth was that the constraint between the girls was of recent origin and attributable to the intervention of a third party. Since Lord Carberry’s appearance at Bramble Hall, Emerald had actually been less difficult to live with. She had been a little less sharp with everyone, although no less inclined to go off into reveries. And after Lady Pendleston had extended her invitation to the Hardwicke girls to join their cousin in Brighton, she had made one or two spontaneous overtures toward Cleone, to the older girl’s relief.
Cleone’s pleasure in the idea of a holiday spent with her godmother had rapidly dissipated on hearing that her cousin was to be with her in Brighton. There was little likelihood of concealing the basic lack of rapport between the girls unless Emerald abandoned her veiled hostilities. For a time, Cleone was optimistic that she would do just this, hoping Emerald’s gratitude for the increased opportunity to see Lord Carberry would overcome her active resentment of her cousin for the latter’s perceived role in diverting Lord Altern’s attentions during his visit. And then this morning Cleone’s hopes had come crashing down about her ears.
While packing the last odds and ends, Cleone had recalled a particularly pretty scarf she had lent to Cecily a few days before, so she headed down the corridor to ask for its return. Not finding Cecily in her room, she was about to go back to her own when she heard voices coming from Emerald’s open door. She arrived on the threshold in time to overhear Cecily’s exasperated reply to her sister.
“If you like the gown, take it by all means, but it is perfectly ridiculous to sit here debating which of your clothes Lord Altern has been most complimentary about when it is as plain as the nose on your face that it is Cleo he is in love with. It won’t make a particle of difference what you bring to Brighton.”
Cleone froze on the threshold, her eyes drawn like a magnet to Emerald’s incredulous face, drained of all colour except for two hectic spots on her cheekbones, as she refuted her sister’s claim in a fury of passion.
“That’s not true! He couldn’t be in love with Cleo! Her looks are no more than passable and she’s old.”
Going over the scene in her mind as the carriage ate up the distance to Brighton, Cleone admitted that if only she’d had the wit to vanish before Emerald saw her, matters would not have been quite so awkward. But she had been almost as shaken as Emerald by the conviction in Cecily’s voice. By the time she had taken a shaky step backward, Emerald had become aware of her presence and Cleone had been scorched by the blazing anger in her cousin’s eyes. Her feet had automatically removed her fro
m the vicinity, but it was a case of locking the barn door on emptiness. The damage to Emerald’s pride had been doubled, trebled by having her despised cousin witness her humiliation. Though she had been irritated by Cleone’s ease with Lord Altern earlier, her vanity had precluded the suspicion that any man, once attracted to herself, could actually prefer another woman. Her beauty had hitherto protected her from those insecurities that attacked other females hoping to attract the man of their choice. Even if she dismissed Cecily’s observation as a complete fabrication, she would not forget that her cousin had been present at its utterance.
It required stern self-discipline to maintain her air of composure with the ruins of her holiday staring her in the face, but Cleone could see no other course open to her. Emerald disliked her for reasons that were no doubt valid in her own mind. Without this latest incident, though, they might have contrived to rub along tolerably well in Brighton. Cleone could do nothing save continue her policy of not noticing the sly digs and small discourtesies and pray that her spoiled cousin would have sufficient control not to expose herself in public.
Lady Pendleston greeted her guests with a genuine friendliness that could not fail to please, seeking immediate permission to call Miss Hardwicke by her first name as she did her goddaughter. Emerald was flattered and only too willing to establish herself on an equal footing with Cleone in this house. Their hostess showed them over the attractive villa personally, explaining that she had assigned each a room to herself at present. If Cecily decided to stay over for a night or two on occasion, they could make whatever arrangements suited them best. Both guests succeeded in hiding their relief at not being obliged to share a room.
Lunchtime passed in a comfortable manner, partly because Lady Pendleston held the floor almost exclusively, detailing for her fascinated audience the attractions that Brighton offered to young ladies in the season. The masters of ceremonies from the Castle Inn and the Old Ship had called, so there would be invitations to the assemblies forthcoming. She assured the wide-eyed girls that the Prince Regent was bound to entertain several times during their stay, fond as he was of musical evenings.
“If you would care to rest after lunch and then walk round the town at the fashionable hour, there is an orchestra that plays in the Promenade Grove each afternoon.”
As identical looks of disappointment, quickly masked by polite acquiescence, appeared on the faces of her guests, Lady Pendleston chuckled and relented. “I see rest is not uppermost in your minds at present. Would you like to have a look around now? There will be many opportunities to attend the afternoon concerts.”
“Only if you are not too fatigued, ma’am,” Emerald said, assuming a look of polite concern.
“It was not I who had to rise early and endure a jouncing carriage ride.”
Both girls hastened to assure their hostess that they had found her carriage very comfortable on the short drive to Brighton.
Taking this as clear evidence that sightseeing, not rest, should be the order of the day, Lady Pendleston declared that she would be ready to fare forth in fifteen minutes.
It was a warm day, but the sea air was marvellously refreshing, and the women naturally gravitated toward the ocean. They strolled above the beach, stopping to enjoy for a time the rhythmic motion of the waves lapping the shore before turning inland when they reached the southern end of the Steine. Both girls had seen the outside of the Prince Regent’s gleaming pleasure palace, but repeated viewing scarcely dimmed the initial impact on the senses. Almost five hundred feet long, its exciting stuccoed facade fronted by colonnades of eastern arches formed by trelliswork, though individual enough for singularity, was eclipsed by the gorgeous splendour of the roofline. Fantastic domes, minarets, and cones captured the eyes and the imagination. The incongruity of the Pavilion’s existence in a little English seaside town increased the sense of viewing a dream structure, something from a fabled land of fantasy and romance.
“Wouldn’t it be awful if the interior were commonplace, even richly commonplace on a grand scale, if you take my meaning?” sighed Emerald, her eyes drinking in every detail as they stood on Pavilion Parade gazing across the lawn at the principal front.
“I believe I can safely promise that you won’t be disappointed on that score,” said Lady Pendleston as they walked on.
The girls were entranced by the lovely flower beds and bowers in the Promenade Grove, quite content to linger among the greenery and leave the equally fascinating shops of the area for another day. It was when they were heading back toward the Marine Parade that they rounded a corner and nearly walked into a gentleman whose polite apology was halted in mid-syllable when he recognized them.
“Miss Hardwicke, this is indeed a pleasure. And Miss Latham, how do you do?”
Emerald’s brilliant smile had its customary effect as Lord Carberry blinked and stood transfixed. The other two ladies could be pardoned for wondering if they had suddenly become invisible. Emerald gently withdrew her hand from Lord Carberry’s clutch. Her dancing eyes belied the demure voice in which she requested permission of Lady Pendleston to present a friend.
The gentleman’s bow was a marvel of grace and eagerness, the lady’s smile a model of graciousness as they performed the required amenities.
“Are you making a visit to Bramble Hall, Lady Pendleston?” inquired Lord Carberry.
“Why, no, sir, I am currently residing here in Brighton.”
This denial sparked a gleam of excitement in the fine hazel eyes regarding her. He glanced briefly at Emerald’s faintly smiling countenance and ventured, “Dare I hope that the young ladies are paying a visit to you, ma’am?”
“Sometimes hopes are rewarded, sir, and this seems to be your hour.” Lady Pendleston favoured Lord Carberry with an impish smile that brought her years nearer to the age of her companions. “I wonder if I can guess your next question?”
“I imagine you might, but I would not dream of being so presumptuous as to anticipate your answer.”
“Yes, sir, you may call on us,” said Lady Pendleston with a chuckle, putting him out of his misery. She gave him their direction and they parted on Lord Carberry’s profuse apologies and regrets that an imminent engagement should prevent his escorting them to their door.
“Now, wasn’t that nice to meet a friend on your very first day in town,” said Lady Pendleston as the women continued on toward the villa. Both girls murmured suitably, but neither volunteered any additional information, and their hostess chatted on. “Of course, with two such pretty girls, I had every expectation that you would soon become acquainted with a number of young persons. It stood to reason that all the unattached gentlemen would flock around you, and I wouldn’t put it past a number of attached ones either. I anticipate having my rooms full of company over the next few weeks,” she went on complacently.
There were indeed a number of cards on the tray when they reached home, but as none of the names were known to the girls, they could only conclude that Lady Pendleston’s rooms would be full of company even without the attraction of marriageable young women in temporary residence.
The ladies dressed and breakfasted in a leisurely fashion the next morning and had barely introduced the topic of plans for the day when Barrows, the butler, announced a caller. To no one’s surprise it was Lord Carberry who entered the room, the epitome of a fashionable town beau in his wasp-waisted wine-coloured coat, chaste white waistcoat, and dove-grey inexpressibles. His shirt points were stiffly starched but not so high as to impede the free movement of his head, and his cravat, though intricately arranged, was of a moderate width that didn’t call attention to itself. A single large ruby held it in place while a matching stone was set in a gold ring on one shapely hand. Two fobs dangled below his waistcoat and a quizzing glass hung around his neck on a black ribbon.
He greeted his hostess with charming deference, but Cleone, to her secret shame, could not prevent a stray speculation about whether his easy confidence sprang from a rather less appealin
g satisfaction with himself. She reproached herself for being overly critical and made a conscious effort to be receptive. However, no particular effort was required of the elder ladies along these lines because Lord Carberry was unable to conceal that his interest was primarily in Emerald. Cleone found herself comparing his demeanour with that of Lord Altern when he had arrived at Bramble Hall. Perhaps it was the latter’s few years’ seniority that had enabled him to project an interest in Emerald’s family, or perhaps he had simply been less infatuated than Lord Carberry.
Cleone had refused absolutely to admit the image of Lord Altern into her consciousness ever since Cecily’s outburst, censoring her thoughts whenever they drifted in his direction. Her cousin’s contention that he was in love with herself was merely a young girl’s romantical flight, if it could not be explained even more simply as a means of revenge on her sister, who had consistently displayed a contemptuous attitude toward Mr. Ludlow’s attractions. Catching herself straying into forbidden territory again, Cleone was attempting to bring her attention back to the company present when the door opened and the object of her unwilling speculation strolled in, accompanied by her cousin Philip. She noted Philip’s quickly suppressed frown on discovering a caller before them. Lord Altern’s habitual composure withstood this blow nicely, nor did it desert him when, having presented the viscount to his aunt, she in turn made him known to Lord Carberry, and the latter put up his quizzing glass the better to study the newcomer.
“I’ve seen you somewhere before,” the younger man declared with an intent look.
“London?” suggested the earl. “Jackson’s perhaps. I spend an hour or so there on a fairly regular basis.”
“I don’t box,” the other countered shortly.
“Here in Brighton, then. It’s a small town.” Lord Altern apparently considered he had been as helpful as civility demanded, for he now greeted the girls with a friendly smile and took the seat between Emerald and Cleone on the sofa, seemingly forgetful that Lord Carberry had been sitting there when he and Philip had arrived.