A Lady's Choice

by Donna Lea Simpson

  “Like dying climbing boys and foul air and poverty and gin-soaked mothers and—”

  “Do you think colonial society did not have its fair share of pain and sorrow? The islands attract a poor class of Englishman, I’m afraid. The dissolute, the weak, gamblers, thieves, wastrels; all think the islands will conceal their abundant folly. But weakness is weakness, and the islands have no magic cure.”

  “Did you go there to escape your own weaknesses?”

  He chuckled. “A worthy question, I suppose. No, I went to escape poverty and make my fortune.”

  “So why did you come back?”

  He sighed. “I found it impossible to stay after a time. I made my fortune, and then could no longer wink at the terrible consequences of colonialism. Slavery continues to be a blight on our civilization. We benefit from it, even if we pretend we disapprove.” He looked off still over the gardens below, squinting a little, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes crinkling. “We have abolished the sale of men and women into slavery, but every day children are born into that state. I . . . I’m ashamed now to admit, I owned slaves myself. But I found that it was corroding my soul.”

  Andromeda could not breathe. She moved away from him. “You owned slaves?” She knew her voice betrayed her disgust.

  “I’m not proud of that fact, but as a youth I thought only of making my mark in the world. The colonies are the surest place for a young man of little wealth but much ambition to find his fortune.”

  “And now you have the luxury of conscience?” she said acidly.

  “If you wish to characterize it thus, yes. Maybe that is so. I did not even think about it at first, owning slaves. It was what everyone did.” His expression in the dimness of the moonlit terrace hardened, and his stare was challenging. “But remember this when you put sugar in your tea and clothe yourself in cotton muslin; just because there are no slaves in London parlors, do not think we can look down our noses and say we are superior. If . . . or rather, when all slavery is abolished, as I hope it soon will be, we—English society—will be in an uproar, for our cotton and sugar and rum will become prohibitively expensive. That will be the test of our morals.”

  Andromeda frowned. There was too much to think of in his words, too many moral judgments to make, and far too much reason to believe them all culpable, not just those who owned slaves. She remained silent.

  His expression softened, and so did his voice. “But all of life everywhere has such things to be ashamed of as humans that share this world. The slaves are slaves because their brethren on the African continent sold them to the slavers. They own slaves themselves, you know, the Africans. That does not pardon our shame, though. Someday I will tell you the story of the day I changed from a believer in the institution of slavery to one who abhors the practice. It is not a pretty story, but you are an intelligent woman, not one of these silly little butterflies afraid of the truth. I will just say that one chooses carefully what battles one has the energy and wherewithal to fight, and then one engages the enemy, if that is what one wishes to do. But one man—or woman—cannot fight them all. I have come back to England to do what I can about the plight of the slaves and their children. That is my battle, and I have chosen carefully and thought long on the subject.”

  She thought about what he said and nodded. “You’re right. In my limited sphere as a woman, and an unmarried one at that, I have chosen education for the children of Lesleydale as what I can effect a transformation on.” She shivered and rubbed her arms. “There is change in the air, and the cottagers cannot depend on their looms anymore, nor is one man’s farm enough to feed his family. They must learn and grow. Education is the cure to so many ills.”

  “And you care? You care about the poor children?”

  There was an odd tone in his voice, and she felt if she knew him better, she would understand the meaning behind it. She met his gaze steadily in the dim light cast from the ballroom window. “If you do not care about something, you are dead inside. I have no husband, nor do I have children. I must care about something.” She had never spoken so to anyone, and could not understand what had possessed her to speak so bluntly to a stranger.

  “You’re so young yet.” His tone was gentle, and he reached out one hand to caress her neck. “You will wed and have children, I’m sure of it.”

  She looked up at his dark face in the moonlight. With him, for some reason, honesty came easily to her lips. He didn’t need to know the humiliations she had suffered, nor the disappointments, when she had thought herself close to finding a mate, but he would know her resolve in that direction. “I have made peace with the notion that I will never marry now. I will care for my brother’s house, and when he marries, retire to a cottage in the village. I struggled against it for so long, but now I know life will go on. And I’m not so young, Sir Parnell. Thirty-one is not young.”

  “Nor is forty-three, but the path of our life is not cut until we walk it. I may yet find a lady . . .”

  He had faltered and she gazed up at him, wondering what was wrong. He was staring at her with an odd expression in his pale eyes, and she thought that perhaps he did not believe his own words. She ached for him, and for the loneliness in his voice.

  But enough. She had come out here to speak of Colin, and instead had ended up talking of everything but. She straightened her spine and lifted her chin.

  “I wish to speak with you about Colin, Sir Parnell.” If honestly indeed came so easily with the gentleman, then she would speak what was on her mind. “I would have you stop this boxing idiocy and tell Colin to quit now, before he gets hurt.”

  He sighed. “I can’t do that, Miss Varens.”

  “Not ‘can’t.’ Won’t. You won’t do anything. Please be honest with me, at least.”

  “All right, I will.” He leaned back against the terrace wall and crossed his arms across his chest. “Whether I train him or not, your brother will box. He did it before I took him on and will continue even if I tell him I will no longer train him. With my guidance he may fight safely and only engage with other trained boxers willing to fight by Broughton’s Rules of Conduct.”

  “Rules? In a fight?” Andromeda felt anger well up at his obstinacy.

  “Yes, rules. Do you know, in fights in which no rules are held to be necessary men have had eyes gouged out and . . .” He paused and stared at her, aghast, reaching out to steady her with one brown hand. “Miss Varens, you have gone white! I am so sorry for saying such a thing. I just wish . . . if you could but once see us practice—”

  “I don’t need to see brutality to know what is brutal.” Andromeda pulled away. “I wish to return to my brother, sir.”

  “Of course. Immediately.”

  The knight’s words had vividly depicted one of her worst fears, and Andromeda could not listen to more. They entered and crossed the ballroom floor, weaving between dancers and circumventing a line of watchers. But as they approached the crowd of young ladies, in the center of which Colin, smiling and chatting, stood, she turned and gazed up at her companion. “If you have any conscience, you will turn Colin away. Stop him from taking part in this foolhardiness. He is precious to me, and I do not wish to see him hurt.”

  “For your sake, Miss Varens, if I thought it would stop him, I would turn him away. How could I resist the plea of a sister who so clearly loves her brother? But I fear that if I turn Sir Colin away, he will only seek out those of the stamp who beat him so badly when he tried to find a match on his own. I can train him properly, and find for him fitting combatants. It will serve your needs better if I go on with the training. I pledge to you that I will do all in my power to see to his safety; and I believe I will accomplish that by making him the best pugilist he can be.”

  Andromeda primmed her lips into a tight line. Perhaps he was right that she should see Colin box. Knowing the enemy was the first step in any battle, and she knew little or nothing about pugilism, by choice. But watching Colin train was not going to tell her anything. She needed
to see the real thing, a true match. She nodded. Yes, she very much feared she would need to find an ally in her desperate battle to save Colin from himself.

  • • •

  Colin felt as if his smile was so tight it was like the grimace of a death mask. He could make no sense of what any lady said anymore, for they all spoke at once, chattering like magpies. Rachel had disappeared, and he saw no polite way to disperse the crowd of young ladies. What to do?

  He saw Andromeda and Sir Parnell approach and reached out to them as though they were a lifeline and he a drowning man. “My sister, ladies, and Sir Parnell Waterford. Sir Parnell, I believe you have many exciting tales to tell of your successful venture as a planter in the islands of the Caribbean!”

  It sounded so patently forced that for a moment he thought no one would take the bait, but these were young ladies who had yet to make a conquest, and so Sir Parnell was fallen upon like fresh strawberries at a picnic. They crowded around him.

  Colin took his sister’s arm, and with a babbled request to be excused while he discussed something with his sister, he led her away.

  “Don’t look back,” he said, pulling her along with him until they reached the edge of the ballroom floor. When they had put enough distance between them and those left behind, he allowed their pace to slow and passed one hand over his eyes. “What has come over the so-called fair sex? I have never seen so many fluttering eyelashes and heaving . . . yes, well . . .” He glanced at his sister. “I shall just say it is highly uncomfortable to be the center of so much concentrated flirtation. What has happened? Have I suddenly become a ‘beau’ that I am treated to so much female attention?”

  Andromeda chuckled. “No, you will never be a ‘beau.’ But it is the end of the Season, and you are an unclaimed bachelor of a good age and with an unencumbered estate and only one female relative. You are a prize, of sorts, to those who have not managed to find a husband and are becoming, for want of a better word, desperate.”

  Colin let out a shout of laughter. “And I thought I had suddenly become handsome and witty. No one like one’s sister for letting one down easily.” He gave her a sly look. “Now I know how Haven felt all those years when you were trying so desperately to entrap him.”

  She pinched his arm hard and steered him toward their hostess. He yelped, but kept grinning. When they reached Lady Laurier, Andromeda said, “My lady, we have become separated from Miss Neville. Have you seen her?”

  “Oh, yes,” Lady Laurier said, with an ingenuous smile on her pretty face. “Miss Neville is quite the belle of the ball! She is an enormous success with the young gentlemen. Would you like me to guide you to her?”

  Colin was flushed a deep red and said stiffly, “Yes, we would be obliged.”

  Andromeda glanced sideways at him. She thought he had found equanimity where Rachel Neville was concerned. The lady had rejected him often enough, certainly, and he seemed to have finally realized there would never be anything between them. But he looked stricken at the idea of her at the center of a group of gentlemen. “Is this wise?” she murmured, but he did not appear to hear.

  Their hostess led them along a passageway and up some back stairs. Where could they possibly be going? Another set of stairs, and Andromeda began to wonder how Miss Neville, the most correct of young ladies, could have allowed herself to be so separated from the safety of the gathering.

  Pressing one gloved finger to her lips, Lady Laurier led them down another passage. She opened a doorway and beckoned to them to look inside. Colin’s face was grim, and Andromeda approached with trepidation. She peeked inside with her brother.

  Seated in a comfortable chair, Rachel Neville, her gloves stripped off and discarded, sat in a comfortable chair with a baby cradled in her lap and a little boy sleeping next to her, his thumb stuck firmly in his mouth. Belinda was sitting in another chair with a little girl of about five years curled up next to her, and she was reading aloud while Rachel, her eyes closed, stroked the little boy’s golden curls. It was a scene of domestic bliss that Andromeda would never have expected from Miss Rachel Neville. When she turned to say as much to Colin, she was struck by his expression.

  His plain, hard face had softened, and there was such tenderness there that her heart ached. For she knew it had nothing to do with the beautiful Laurier children, and had everything to do with the much more beautiful Rachel Neville. Her poor brother was just as besotted as he always had been, no matter what he might say or think.

  Miss Neville opened her eyes just then, and they gleamed softly with yearning. “Oh, Colin, Andromeda, is this not the most beautiful sight in the world?”

  “Yes, it is,” Colin said. He dragged in a deep breath. “I have never seen anything more enchanting in my whole life.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Mother, you cannot keep ignoring me. It will do no good.” Rachel watched her mother for a moment, but the woman was deliberately not meeting her eyes.

  “I do not speak to ungrateful children, and you are ungrateful.” Lady Haven was seated at the dining room table looking over a letter.

  Rachel knew what it was; Lady Haven had reached some peace concerning Rachel’s jilting of Lord Yarnell and his subsequent elopement. It helped immeasurably that she despised Lady Yarnell so thoroughly. But that was not to say it still did not sting that she had had a daughter on the verge of wedding a marquess in a highly public, completely suitable ceremony in London.

  And every once in a while something would remind her of all that they had lost with Yarnell’s rejection. Rachel knew what it was that had triggered this bout of anguish. She had heard at length about the letter her mother had received the day before from Haven, her only son, another “ungrateful child,” as their mother styled them. He had eloped just a month or so before rather than enjoy the glorious London wedding she was planning for him and his fiancée. The eager couple had fled to Yorkshire, wed in haste, and were living on the Haven estate, but not at magnificent, ancient Haven Court; instead, at the new Lady Jane Haven’s request, they were cozily occupying a cottage on the grounds. His letter spoke no apology, though, for their rash behavior in forgoing the grandeur of a London wedding. Instead he gushed immodestly of how happy he was, how perfect his life and how wonderful his wife.

  Lady Lydia Haven could not even think about the missed opportunity to celebrate the ancient and noble title of Lord Haven in suitable wedding, displaying to the ton the grandeur of their splendid line, without becoming choleric. She was livid with fury over her son’s ingratitude to his mother for all of her labor to create the perfect wedding for the Haven name. But in the end, after much debate on both sides, he had chosen to honor his wife-to-be’s wishes over those of his mother, and had carried Jane north to marry hastily and enjoy the fruits of his marriage in bucolic peace. Society was snickering, Lady Lydia felt sure, behind their fans and gloved hands.

  And now Rachel had rejected a suitor she had chosen herself, with no prompting from her mother, and all for some unfathomable scruples about the gentleman’s past love life. Incomprehensible. Her children were most certainly a flock of mockingbirds in the familial nest, for they surely were not her own offspring, to be so cavalier about the important things in life: status, wealth, a good settlement, and the proper and elaborate display of all of the aforementioned. That Pamela’s wedding had been celebrated in London was not even to be mentioned, for it was a hasty thing, accomplished within two weeks of the proposal instead of two months.

  Rachel knew the labyrinthine pathways of her mother’s resentment because before she had stopped speaking to her daughter, the area had been well canvassed. She let the subject drop. Just a month or so before she would have agreed wholeheartedly with her mother and could not begin to explain the strange changes that were taking place in her heart. “I am going to sit with Grandmother for a while, and then I have promised Miss Varens and Belinda that I will accompany them to a poetry reading.”

  Lady Haven snorted, but it was followed by a quick fr
own. “Your grandmother . . . ask her if she needs anything. I will see that cook makes her a beef broth for her luncheon, if she will just try to take some of it.”

  Rachel, rising from the table, paused and sat back down, watching her mother’s lined face. “You aren’t worried about her, are you?”

  “She’s over eighty,” Lady Haven said with apparent asperity, staring down at the letter—her son’s ungrateful missive—and folding one corner of it over and over. “She’s outlived her usefulness. Time and past that she should go to her reward.”

  “Mother,” Rachel said sharply. “Just admit you’re worried about Grandmother. Why can you not do that?”

  The woman shrugged, then her shoulders dropped, and she slumped. “I have known her for almost thirty-four years. I cannot imagine what will happen when she . . . when she goes.”

  “I know. She’s so strong.” Rachel was silent for a moment, wondering how to ask what she wanted to know. “But . . . pardon me, Mother, you two always seemed to dislike each other so. And you bicker constantly. Will you not at least enjoy some peace once she is gone?”

  “I suppose.” She tossed the letter aside and clasped her hands together, staring at them, her lips working as if she were fighting some strong emotion. “But I would rather not have that peace yet.” She swallowed hard and cleared her throat. Her gaze became unfocused, as though she were looking back on some past scene. “I will never forget when . . . when I was very ill and lost a child. I was devastated. I pray you never suffer that torment, Rachel. She was a rock, not like your father, who just closed himself off and would not speak to me. He never could bear illness, coward that he was.”

  Lady Haven had always spoken disparagingly of her husband, and Rachel resisted the urge to lash out. Her father had been dear to Rachel, and yet she must live with her mother the way she was, not how she would wish she was. It was a hard-learned lesson.