The Earl Returns

by Marek, Lillian

  George could think of any number of things he would rather do, such as playing whist with his grandmother and her cronies or having all his teeth pulled out, but none of them qualified as a viable excuse. “I would be delighted,” he said. Perhaps he could bribe someone to take his place.

  Since Miranda looked so pleased, Lydia could say nothing other than, “That would be lovely.”

  George spotted Lady Carraby about to descend on them in person. He reached out to take Miranda’s arm to pull her away, if necessary, but just then the butler appeared to announce dinner.

  Merton turned to find himself face to face with Lady Carraby. “My lady,” he said, offering his arm, “shall we?”

  Since she could hardly do anything else, she smiled and took his arm to go in to dinner. She did, however, manage to send a glare over her shoulder at her useless son.

  Chapter Ten

  Lady Merton, at the head of the table, had Lord Carraby at her right as usual, as he was the highest ranking of the guests. The privilege of sitting at her left had been revolving among the younger gentlemen at the house party and, this evening, it was the turn of Mr. Rollins. She smiled determinedly and resigned herself to yet another boring meal. Decades as one of the most fashionable hostesses in London had inured her to the fatuous conversation that appeared to be all that young gentlemen could manage.

  At the foot of the table, Lord Merton had a mama at his right and her daughter at his left, Lady Merton having determined that pairing a young lady with a rival candidate’s mama would be, at best, uncomfortable. She shuddered to think what it might be like at worst. This evening, it was Mrs. Singleton and Miss Singleton who had the honor of Merton’s attention. He vowed to be courteous and resigned himself to giggles.

  Miranda found herself, as usual, midway down the table, this time between Mr. Browne and Mr. Philipott. As if that were not bad enough, across from her was Pamela, Mrs. Edgar Wortham, who was regarding her with loathing. Miranda decided she could only hope that Mrs. Wortham would abide by convention and speak only with the gentlemen on either side of her.

  Putting a determined social smile on her face, Miranda turned to her neighbor. “I have been told, Mr. Philipott, that you are quite an accomplished whip. Pray tell me, do you recommend the same horses for both a curricle and a landau?”

  Mr. Philipott was horrified at the notion, and was delighted to explain to her just what was wrong with such an arrangement. “False economy, Miss Rokeby. False economy.” His expatiation on the topic lasted through the soup—a delicious white soup that Miranda was free to enjoy since he required no comments from her.

  Unfortunately, when the soup was removed and the next course laid, it was time to talk to her other neighbor. Mr. Browne was not so easy. He helped her to the dishes before them, carefully explaining what a fricassee of veal was and inquiring whether she was familiar with a salmon pie. Miranda smiled sweetly and simply thanked him, but before she could say anything else, Pamela intervened.

  “Really, Papa, I am sure that, by now, Miss Rokeby has become accustomed to our English customs. I am told that they even have something like our dinner parties in the colonies. Is that not true, Miss Rokeby?”

  It was not going to be a pleasant meal. Miranda wondered if Merton’s aunt had been the one to design this particular seating arrangement. “My parents frequently have guests to dine, if that is what you mean,” she said. “However, our country is no longer a colony.”

  “Dear me, I meant no offense. It is so difficult to think of a place with red Indian savages running around as anything but a wilderness. Tell me, do you often find yourselves under attack?”

  Only at dinner tables in England. “Boston is not precisely on the frontier, Mrs. Wortham,” Miranda said dryly. “I doubt that more than a dozen of my acquaintances have been scalped in the past few years.”

  Mr. Browne dropped the slice of salmon pie to which he had been helping himself onto the cloth. Pamela gasped and then recovered herself. “Oh,” she said. “You are jesting. How droll.”

  Honor satisfied, Miranda sought a neutral topic of conversation. “Mrs. Wortham, I understand from your husband’s mother that you are known for your superior taste. Did you have a hand in the decoration of this house?”

  Pamela flushed, but with anger rather than embarrassment. “I had redecorated this house, and made it magnificently elegant. Unfortunately, Merton has no taste at all and threw out everything I had done. He has turned it back into the house his grandfather inhabited. Hopelessly old-fashioned.”

  “Is it?” said Miranda in honest surprise, looking about the room. The walls were covered in a pale green paper decorated with swags and medallions in a deeper green, rather in the style of Adam. An alcove housed a curved mahogany sideboard on which rested a great many elaborate silver serving pieces. Late afternoon sunlight still flooded the room—they kept country hours at Schotten Hall—through the long windows, but the sconces on the walls and the huge chandelier hanging over the table testified that the room would be brightly lit come winter. “I confess I find it quite lovely, but my tastes are doubtless old-fashioned as well. Preserving the things, the pictures, the furnishings, of those we have loved is a way of preserving our memories of them. There is something appealing in that, is there not?”

  “You doubtless have a tender heart,” said Pamela. “Unfortunately, among members of the ton, sentimentality is fashionable only in novels.”

  Mr. Browne smiled patronizingly at Miranda. “It is difficult for you, I am sure. Those who have grown up surrounded by beauty and elegance, living amidst the highest reaches of society, naturally have a refinement of taste and sensibility that cannot be expected of those who have spent their lives on what must seem to us here as beyond the reach of civilization.”

  Miranda turned to him all wide-eyed innocence. “I am sure you must be right. At home in Boston, the homes of the people we know are very comfortable and, to my eyes at least, quite lovely. However, people make an effort to avoid any ostentatious display of wealth. It is our Puritan heritage, no doubt. I confess, London was very splendid—the houses, the gowns, the jewelry, even the horses—but to my eyes, much of the display seemed a trifle vulgar.” She looked at the large but flawed diamond pin in his cravat. “That is doubtless because I am so provincial.”

  *

  At the foot of the table, Merton was seated between Mrs. Singleton and Miss Singleton. Mrs. Singleton’s contributions consisted of praises of Schotten Hall, where everything was precisely as it ought to be, and of her daughter, who was also precisely what she ought to be. Miss Singleton offered giggles and blushes. Nothing seemed to be required of Merton other than the occasional murmur of agreement, so he was free to listen as best he could to the exchanges between Miranda and her neighbors, ready to leap in if she needed defending.

  She did not.

  His sunshine girl could hold her own. He smiled his approval.

  Mrs. Singleton, however, thought the approving smile was for her daughter, and finished her meal in blissful anticipation of having an earl for a son-in-law.

  Chapter Eleven

  After dinner, the party moved to the music room to allow the young ladies to display their accomplishments. This was not Merton’s favorite way to spend the evening. Indeed, it would be difficult to claim that anyone actually enjoyed the exercise. Even the proud mamas, who pushed their chicks into the spotlight, were plagued by the fear of wrong notes, forgotten passages, and other potential disasters. However, Lady Merton had envisioned this as the ideal way to display the young ladies to her grandson. By having only one of the candidates perform each evening, she assured that none would be outshone by the others, and that the performance would be short enough to minimize any pain for the audience.

  Tonight, it was Miss Saunders’ turn to entertain the party. Lady Carraby had no worries about the quality of the performance. Others might groan at the prospect of an evening spent listening to a soprano, but she knew well that her daughter was posses
sed of a lovely voice, pure and clear, and well trained without being so vulgar as to verge on the professional. The only danger was that the stage fright that always preceded a performance might be severe enough to produce an embarrassing disturbance of Lydia’s stomach. There had been one dreadful occasion—Lady Carraby shuddered at the memory. Lord Woffington had been understanding about the carpet, but she doubted Lady Woffington would ever forgive them.

  There was one other worry, however. Miranda was going to accompany Lydia. There were a number of advantages to this arrangement. There was no possibility that Miranda would outshine her cousin in such a performance. She was, at best, competent on the pianoforte. She could get through a piece with reasonable accuracy as far as the notes were concerned and could manage to maintain the tempo. In addition, she was intelligent enough to suspend the bass when she lost her place and continue with only the melody. This was of supreme importance when accompanying a singer.

  The problem was that the girls had decided the program between them. When Lady Carraby had come up to discuss which pieces Lydia should sing, she had been told—by Miranda, no less—that there was no need to worry herself. That all had been arranged.

  To say that Lady Carraby was worried was a gross understatement. She had come to see that she should never have offered to bring Miranda with them to this house party. It was not just that George enjoyed her company far too much. She should have realized what a dreadful influence the girl was on Lydia as well. Lydia had seemed positively annoyed this morning at having her costumes decided upon by her mother instead of being grateful for the guidance.

  Now the moment had arrived when Lydia was going to have an opportunity to display her musical gifts for the earl. While never appearing anything other than modest, she could show him, and the rest of the party, how superior she was to the young ladies who had preceded her. Miss Barbury on the pianoforte had played a Mozart minuet that no one could possibly have danced to, so distorted was the rhythm as the performer kept pausing to find her place. Even more distressing had been Miss Singleton’s performance on harp. Her arpeggios were repeated over and over until she finally stopped, quite unable to remember how the piece ended.

  Lady Carraby need not have worried. Miranda greatly admired her cousin’s singing voice and wanted it displayed to advantage, not necessarily to entrance the earl but to bolster Lydia’s confidence. Between them, the girls devised a program that would not be too long, that would satisfy Lady Carraby, and that might actually please their audience.

  The audience filed in dutifully, Lady Merton and her grandson seating themselves in the front as befitted the hostess and host of the gathering. Lady Carraby sat nervously beside them. Lord Carraby went to the settee at the back of the room. He had found on previous evenings that he could nap here without disturbing anyone or being disturbed. The rest of the party arranged themselves in between and waited with varying degrees of trepidation.

  They were surprised.

  Lydia began with “Di Questa Cetra in Seno”, a sweetly lyrical aria from one of Gluck’s early operas. If a young lady was going to sing, rather than play an instrument, she absolutely had to choose an aria, but this gentle piece suited Lydia’s voice far better than a more dramatic selection. It was not a common choice—few in the audience would have heard it before. They would, however, recognize that it was a serious piece of music since it was in Italian. Then came a selection of songs from Thomas Moore’s Irish Melodies—“How Dear to Me the Hour”, “Oh Breathe Not His Name”, and “The Meeting of the Waters”. These sentimental pieces—the words were written by Byron’s friend and were set to traditional tunes—were wildly popular in London. The earl, who had visited London only on business since his return and paid no attention to its fashions, might not be aware of this, but most in the audience were.

  To finish, Lydia’s brother came up to join her, his pleasant tenor blending nicely with her sweet soprano in a pair of English folk songs, first the lament “Robin Adair” and ending the set with the cheerful “A Fox Went Out on a Chilly Night”.

  For a change, the audience’s applause was honestly enthusiastic, and Lydia glowed with pleasure as the gentlemen shouted, “Brava.” Then some imp of mischief seized her, and she pulled on her brother’s sleeve to whisper in his ear. The same imp seized him, and he gave her a broad smile of agreement.

  Lydia pulled Miranda from her seat at the pianoforte and said, “It is now my turn to play. You and George will sing the song you taught us.”

  Miranda’s eyes widened. “You can’t be serious. That song is not suitable. Your mother will be horrified.”

  George grinned mischievously. “It’s your forfeit. You made me sing with my sister, now you must sing with me.”

  Lydia slid into position on the bench and settled her fingers on the keyboard. “There is no escape, Miranda. If you protest too much, everyone will accuse you of calling attention to yourself by playing coy.” She smiled smugly. “Are you ready?”

  Miranda glared at her cousins in turn. “I will repay you both for this. Do not doubt it.” Then she turned to face the audience with George.

  Holding up his hand as if addressing an aside to the audience, George began:

  On yonder hill there stands a maiden

  Who she is I do not know;

  I shall court her, for her beauty,

  She must answer yes or no.

  Miranda turned to the side, her back to him, and sang sweetly:

  Oh, no, John,

  No, John; no, John, no.

  Spreading his arms as he sang to her, George continued:

  Madam, in your face is beauty

  On your lips red roses grow;

  Will you have me for your lover?

  Madam, answer yes or no.

  With a look of shocked modesty, Miranda sang:

  Oh, no, John,

  No, John; no, John, no.

  George now went down on his knees to her:

  Madam, I will give you jewels,

  I will make you rich and free;

  I have sworn to love you always,

  Madam, will you marry me?

  Miranda tapped a finger in consideration on her chin while Lydia played a few delaying chords and then shook her head and repeated:

  Oh, no, John,

  No, John; no, John, no.

  Finally, George turned away from her and sang:

  Madam since you are so cruel,

  And since you do scorn me so,

  If you say I may not love you,

  Madam will you let me go?

  At this, Miranda turned to him in mock horror, seized his arm to pull him back and sang:

  Oh, no, John,

  No, John; no, John, no.

  The performance—for it was more performance than song—drew mixed reactions. Merton, Mr. Rollins and Mr. Philipott greeted it with loud applause and laughter. Lady Carraby was pale with horror and would have liked nothing better than to sink in a swoon but feared drawing even more attention to the song. Miss Barbury and Miss Singleton had thought it amusing but, under their mothers’ glares, kept their eyes modestly down and stifled their laughter. Mrs. Edgar Wortham smiled a smile of feline satisfaction, certain that this performance would mean the immediate departure of the American upstart.

  From Lord Carraby, Mr. Wortham and Mr. Browne there was no reaction whatsoever. All three gentlemen had fallen asleep to the first strains of the Gluck aria, and were only now being awakened by the applause and laughter.

  Miranda took one look at her aunt’s face and began to edge toward the door. Until she saw the reaction of the ladies, she had not realized how improper they would consider the song. Perhaps she could be packed and on her way to her parents in London before Aunt Fanny came looking for her.

  Mrs. Bertram Wortham turned to Lady Merton with satisfaction. “There. Now you can see what comes of associating with Americans. What an outrageous performance. The girl might have been raised in a pothouse for all the sense of decorum she displays. Dis
graceful!”

  Instead of agreeing, Lady Merton said, “Stop being tiresome, Arabella, and go away.” Stretching a hand out to Miranda, she called out, “Do come over here Miss Rokeby,” and patted the chair beside her.

  Foiled in her attempted escape, Miranda sat down nervously, expecting a severe reprimand. “I am sorry, I fear that was not an appropriate song.”

  Instead, the countess gave a roguish smile that hinted at the lively beauty she had once been. “Nonsense, my dear. I have fond memories of that song from my own youth. I used to perform it myself along with my brother, and it was always very well received. Not that Miss Saunders does not have a lovely voice, but it was pleasant to have something to enliven these musical evenings.” Then she leaned over and whispered in the young woman’s ear. “The lyrics we sang were a trifle more bawdy, however.”

  Miranda choked on a surprised laugh and then began to breathe again. But it seemed the countess was not finished.

  “I have been hoping for an opportunity to speak with you,” she began with a kindly smile. “My grandson seems quite taken with you. That is understandable. You are a delightfully cheerful and pleasant young woman.”

  “Thank you,” said Miranda. She did not feel at all reassured by the compliment, for this seemed to be the prelude to a warning, not a welcome.

  “I remember your mother when she was young. She made quite an impact upon her come out and had many offers, even one from the Earl of Carbonyl. She no doubt regrets what she gave up when she ran off to marry an American.” Miranda gasped, but Lady Merton continued. “She obviously brought you here in hopes that you would make a good marriage.”

  “On the contrary,” said Miranda, “she brought me here to show me what a narrow, circumscribed life she escaped.”

  Lady Merton simply looked disbelieving and changed the subject slightly. “Merton has had a difficult time of it, you know. After those years when he was missing, he is finding it difficult to adjust once more to the world in which he belongs. However, his grandfather made certain as he was growing up that he always knew where his duty lay. He will return to his place in the world, but he needs a wife who will help him to make that adjustment.”