by Noël Cades
"I am sure I am very glad for him," Kitty said.
Mrs Linton-Smythe, who was that night draped in a violent shade of puce with a jewelled bandeau about her head, looked gratified. "Likewise I am sure that Lady Julia's engagement is the very reason that the Earl of Southwell saw fit to dance with her twice at the Rexfords'. That is a man who has certainly never been marriage-minded."
Kitty, who had been sipping an unpalatably sweet glass of orgeat, nearly choked. Had she heard correctly?
"You mentioned the Earl of Southwell?" Miss Berystede asked. "He is not yet married, then?"
"No, and well into his thirties! But you know this, surely, for he danced twice with Lady Julia and must have exchanged some words with you?"
Kitty avoided looking at Miss Berystede. She was in absolute turmoil. Mrs Linton-Smythe must be mistaken. She had to be, or they faced utter ruin.
Miss Berystede, unaware of any communing between Jemima and the Earl, did not lose her composure. "I fear my eyesight increasingly betrays me, all the more so when out of daylight."
Mrs Linton-Smythe was all sympathy. "I quite understand, my dear Miss Berystede. Then I must tell you that the Earl is indeed past thirty, and has shown no interest in matrimony. There is quite a scandalous rumour that he has an understanding with Lady Caroline DeClere, but she is not yet widowed a twelvemonth. So I cannot say for certain if it is so, but I am certain he would have no such intentions towards Lady Julia."
She smiled as if to be reassuring, and Kitty was once again awed at Miss Berystede's serene composure in the face of such a revelation. When Mrs Linton-Smythe had departed, Kitty feared she faced terrible censure. But Miss Berystede merely remarked, "I was not aware that Lady Julia had danced with the Earl of Southwell. Have they a prior acquaintance?"
Kitty mumbled that she did not know, but thought that perhaps this was the case. "They have mutual friends in Derbyshire," she improvised.
"I recall his father was judged to be a very fine-looking man, of great learning. I wonder if his son takes after him?" Miss Berystede said.
"He is handsome," Kitty said. "But quite old, of course."
Miss Berystede gave a dry chuckle. "You young women consider any man past five-and-twenty to be long in the tooth. A man of thirty may make a very steady husband, and all the more so if he has come into his title."
Kitty was agonising over how she was going to reveal the dreadful discovery to Jemima. She still held out faint hope that it may all be a mistake. O, when would this wretched dance end?
She watched her friend as she danced with Mr Wiverton. From the glimpses she could see across the room, it was quite clear that he was far more taken with his partner than she with him. Kitty wondered if she might interrupt them and claim some emergency. But to do so would surely draw attention to them all.
So she waited, scarcely able to give any coherent response to any of the remarks Miss Berystede made to her. At least she had not yet seen the Earl of Southwell. Heaven forbid he appear before Kitty had had a chance to warn her friend. For given their embrace, surely it could only be a matter of time before they revealed their names to one another?
What was she to do?
Chapter 10
At last the musicians drew their bows across the final notes and the couples on the dance floor bowed and curtseyed towards one another. Mr Wiverton led Jemima back to Kitty and Miss Berystede. Jemima was thoroughly glad to be rid of him, for he stepped all over her feet when he danced, and his grasp on her arm was clammy.
He bowed in an unctuous way to Kitty, making an elaborate gesture with his fingers, which were long and thin. "After the honour your friend has done me in partnering me for the quadrille, I can hardly hope that you will increase my pleasure in further in taking my hand for the cotillion?"
Despite the professed faintness of his hope, Mr Wiverton clearly anticipated no refusal. He barely masked his indignation when Kitty, who only longed to be rid of him, declined.
"I am most afraid I must sit out this dance, sir, and all others tonight. For I fear the heat has overcome me."
Jemima looked startled. "You are unwell, dear?"
"Perhaps I may take a rest. If you would be so very kind…"
To Miss Berystede's and Jemima's consternation, and ignoring the pique of Mr Wiverton, Kitty clutched at her friend's arm and fairly dragged her across the room in the direction of the retiring room. There was such a throng of people that it seemed a veritable forest of gowns that evening. Kitty’s anxiety was growing. Why must this place be so crowded? Where could they speak undisturbed?
Finally finding a nook by some stairs, and praying they might not be overheard, Kitty began her terrible revelation.
“O, dearest, the news I have to impart. I can hardly believe it myself, nor bring myself to speak.”
Jemima’s bewilderment was increasing, along with her alarm. She could not recall a time seeing her friend so distressed. What could be wrong?
“Only tell me, Kitty dear, what troubles you?”
"It is the man you have been dancing with. The Lord whatever-his-name is, whom we do not know. I have discovered who he is."
Worried by Kitty's strained whisper but burning to know his identity, Jemima hurried her along. "Who is he, then? Why do you look so anxious?"
Kitty paused, glancing around. No one appeared to be in earshot. In a hushed voice, she revealed her terrible discovery.
"It is the Earl of Southwell."
Jemima was silent for a moment. Her brows drew together as she tried to make sense of such a familiar name. There was some foolish joke, some confusion, she thought. "There cannot be two Earls of Southwell?"
"Of course there cannot," Kitty said. "There is but one, and it is he. Your guardian."
Jemima could not believe it. "But it cannot be he. That man cannot be my guardian. For I recall Aunt Harlington saying that the Earl was headed to Spain again."
She felt dazed. Kitty was jesting, surely. Or she was mistaken?
The whole thing was impossible. It was madness.
Yet Kitty was certain. "Mrs Linton-Smythe swears that it is he. And she is not a woman to mistake such a thing."
"But how…?" A coldness crept through Jemima. She recalled the one glimpse she had had of him, all those years ago. Only the back of his head, but he had been tall, dark-haired and powerfully built. The two men were of similar form, at least. Yet the coincidence was too much. It had to be.
She thought aloud. "He cannot know who I am, surely? No, he cannot, for he would be furious. He said he had discovered my name and situation, yet would not reveal his own."
"He knows you only as Lady Julia, if he knows anything at all," Kitty assured her. "But what can we do? What will he do when he finds out?"
It all seemed like a dreadful dream. A nightmare. How could her mysterious dancing partner be her guardian? Jemima had begun to think herself enamoured of him. Even to hope that he might share such sentiments. A desire to see him again made her unwilling to believe Kitty.
"What if it is all a mix up? After all, Mrs Linton-Smythe may be in error," Jemima said.
"I do not think so. She seems very knowledgeable about everyone in society. And she has no reason to make mischief, for she does not know who you are. I am certain of that," Kitty told her. "O, what are we to do?"
Jemima, whose thoughts had never raced and rushed around her head so madly, could only think of escape. Once she began to speak, her plan came rapidly. "If it is truly him, then we will have to leave, lest he come here tonight. Let us make some excuse to Miss Berystede. Then I must return to Aunt Harlington's house at first light. I am sure I can concoct some tale about having visited Ireland. Though she will of course be furious and doubtless lock me in my room for a month or more and lecture me incessantly."
"But what do we tell Aunt Beatrice?" Kitty asked.
This was a dilemma, for Jemima did not want to bring suspicion or censure upon Kitty through her own irregular conduct. "Let us use the same reason then,
as we give for leaving tonight. I shall tell her that I have had terrible news of some friend or relation, brought to me by some person here, and must visit my relative forthwith. Then a private coach may be arranged so I need not take the mail. And though I am not sure how, I will repay her any expense."
"She will not think of that," Kitty said. "She will be too concerned for you."
"I will write and thank her somehow. My aunt will doubtless keep a close watch on all my correspondence, but I will find a way."
They discussed the details of the scheme. Jemima privately suspected that Miss Berystede would see through the ruse, or at least suspect something untoward. Her hope was that the elderly lady would be too well bred to ask questions.
"I am sure Mrs Linton-Smythe will ask questions," Kitty said. "She is bound to pry if you depart town so suddenly. I do not suppose there is anything we can do about it, though."
The prospect of that woman discovering the situation was quite horrid. "She must not suspect anything. For with her fearful tongue, she will spread it across the whole of society," Jemima said.
There was no one they could turn to for help.
"What do you suppose your guardian will do should he discover who you are?" Kitty asked.
This was a quite unbearable notion. "He cannot. He may not even know that I am gone, unless my aunt has written to him. If she has, well then, she will write again and let him know that I am returned. And that will be all."
Kitty was less confident. "What if he should visit your aunt’s house?"
Jemima considered. "Then I will find some way to avoid seeing him." She feared it was unlikely she would manage this, but a plan might come to her before this calamity presented itself.
“You might take to your bed,” Kitty suggested. “Perhaps you might feign a deadly sickness.”
They discussed what this might be, and devices by which Jemima might alternately redden or whiten her complexion.
“O! It will be no use. For my aunt Harlington will be certain to send for a doctor, and I am sure there will be no deceiving a physician,” Jemima said.
For a while the two young women sat, still absorbing the horror of the situation.
“And you let him kiss you!” Kitty remembered. “What must he think of you for that?”
Jemima felt some irritation at this. “He kissed me, if you recall. I had little choice about the matter. It is he who has compromised me.”
“Yes. But I do not think he will see it like that. You know how gentlemen are,” Kitty said.
In truth, neither girl had much knowledge of how gentlemen were, given their limited contact with the supposedly less gentle sex. But they were conscious that society afforded considerable censure to women for acts in which a man must have played at least an equal part. Yet the men, in such situations, received little blame nor condemnation.
Jemima found herself wishing that Lord Dalrymple, whose imaginary presence she had been desperate to dispose of only a day ago, could be more substance than spectre. For then at least she might escape through an elopement. She rapidly considered all the young men she had met and danced with. Might one of them be persuaded into this wild notion?
Yet even should one accept such a proposal - and she had scant dowry with which to tempt a fortune hunter even in the most strained of circumstances - Jemima found herself little reassured by the prospect of marriage to the Honourable Stephen Sangster. Or - she shuddered, remembering his limp white hands - a Mr Walter Wiverton.
The problem was, though it troubled Jemima to admit it to herself, that none of the men she had danced with had sent fire and ice through her body at the merest touch. Unlike the Earl of Southwell.
Chapter 11
So the troublesome girl had returned. Marcus scanned the letter, his jaw clenched in fury.
It had not been a good week. He summoned a servant and ordered the coach to be made ready. His aunt had made it quite clear that she expected his presence, to address the situation.
"She gives some wild story of visiting an old nursemaid in Ireland, but will not say how or why she managed to travel there and back, alone and without any chaperone. I am at my wits' end to deal with such an unruly and headstrong girl. Clearly a more severe authority is needed. Therefore I beg you, Southwell, to assume your responsibilities and carry out the duty entrusted to you as her guardian. For it is your family name that must be tarnished by such outrageous behaviour of one in your care."
Marcus was furious as he set out for his aunt's house. His anger at his runaway ward was not helped by the fact he was now having to leave London, at a time when Lady Incognita - Lady Julia - had disappeared. He had arrived at Almack's the previous Wednesday only to discover that she had already left. Since then he had attended event after event in the hope of seeing her, though he denied this vehemently to both himself and Gresham. But she was nowhere to be found.
She had got under his skin, and now he suspected she had played him for a fool. Doubtless she had been reunited with her damned betrothed, that fop of a Lord Dalrymple.
Well, Dalrymple was welcome to her. She was clearly a wanton, both for dancing with him and for failing to resist his embrace.
So Marcus tried to convince himself. But he struggled in his efforts to condemn her. He could not fully block out the memory of the widened eyes, the trembling as he embraced her. The parted lips and the flush that had suffused her flawless complexion as she regarded him afterwards. There may be a fiery nature there, but it was not one that had previously been ignited, he would warrant. Doubtless Dalrymple was as limp as he sounded.
All these thoughts boiled through the Earl of Southwell's mind as the horses charged on towards the home of his aunt and ward. The fury he felt towards everything would be unleashed upon his ward.
Were it not for her absconding, he would have been safely away in Spain. Free from all these entanglements. Were it not for her sudden return, he would have been able to remain in London to track down the elusive Lady Julia, and sort these entanglements out.
After what seemed like an interminably long and uncomfortable ride, during which Marcus had alternately cursed his ward, George Gresham, the potholes in the road, the speed of the horses and even the distracting beauty of Lady Julia, the coach drew up outside Hortensia Harlington's residence.
Marcus alighted. He wished to get this first and hopefully last meeting over forthwith. He had every intention now of agreeing with his aunt's earlier suggestion that the girl be sent to a convent. Let her be transported to some nunnery in her precious Ireland, where there must be many such establishments. Then he could wash his hands of her.
He dismissed the notion that his rage towards a young girl, who had not deliberately sought to confound or embarrass him, was disproportionate. He knew that it was, but he needed a focus for his frustration.
The door was opened for him and the footman announced him. He was ushered to his aunt's drawing room. She was sitting when he entered but did not indicate that he should sit.
"You are earlier than I expected. I will call for refreshments, but you may as well see the girl immediately. I will have Foljambe fetch her and send her to the library. O, it is more than a disaster. I might have been able to marry her off to Sir Hubert Frobisher, for he had expressed some interest. But he will not want her tainted with scandal."
Marcus had a vague memory of Frobisher, and not a pleasant one. He recalled a man at least three decades older than himself, with cold, fishy eyes and a licentious quiver to his lips. Marriage to him might be punishment too far, even for the most wayward of girls. Yet if she had ruined herself there would be few options for her future.
He strode to the library, hoping to get this over with as quickly as possible.
The awful moment had come. Jemima had braced herself for every form of Aunt Harlington's fury and punishment. But that she might summon her guardian she had never expected. What was she to do? She longed for Kitty's counsel but she was back in London. There was no one Jemima could c
onsult, and her aunt kept her largely confined to her room as it was.
"O, Kitty, how would you advise me now? What should I do?" she said to herself. Could she change her appearance so he might not recognise her? With her hair pulled into a different style, and without the benefit of Kitty's beautiful gowns, might she perhaps be unrecognisable?
But no. Jemima regarded herself in the glass. The man who awaited her downstairs, doubtless in a white fury, had been so close to her as to kiss her. Even now she shivered with a mix of delight and regret at this memory. Having her handsome, mystery man torn from her and transformed into a terrifyingly angry guardian had caused her some turmoil.
She had even shed tears, which was most unlike her, remembering how joyful she had felt at dancing with him.
There were other dread prospects too. Aunt Harlington had revealed the frightful news that Sir Hubert had made inquiries after her. "I believe he intended to ask for you, but I am sure it is too late for that now. Still, we will see what can be done. If your disgrace can be hushed up, he might be persuaded to pay his attentions to you."
The prospect of this filled Jemima with such horror that she wished she had utterly ruined herself and been cast out into the wilderness. Better to wander the woods and be torn apart by wolves and bears than to be wed to a man like Sir Hubert. Unfortunately there were few wolves and even fewer bears in the surrounding countryside.
There was one last thing she might attempt. Rummaging in a trunk she drew out a length of material. Made of a fine, black fabric that had been an off-cut from some mourning garment, it might do for a veil.
Hurriedly she pulled it over her head and tried to arrange it. It looked absurd, but at least it concealed her features. She might claim to be in mourning for her old nursemaid or some other friend in Ireland. Or perhaps in deep grief over her conduct.
It was the best she could manage. She prayed it would work.