“That is very kind of you, my lord, and I am grateful. Rother thinks I should retire to the country and grow vegetables,” she added bitterly.
Lord Furzeby laughed. “Does such a course of action appeal to you?”
“No; it would be tedious beyond bearing and what in the world should I wear for such a radically different way of life?”
“I cannot imagine. I own I prefer London to the country, which is why, in spite of being quite old, not a gamester and most definitely not looking for a new wife, I remain here most of the time. Apart from anything else, we have the opera to visit and the Hanover Square Rooms; and then there is Drury Lane. When one lives in the country – at least where my house is – there is really nothing to amuse one beyond a set of indifferent assembly rooms and I am too old to derive much amusement from standing around in such places ogling the young ladies.”
“I daresay he just wants to be rid of me,” Cassie observed sulkily. “The other evening Lord Marklye suggested I should go abroad for a spell.”
“It is not such a bad idea. I daresay he thought that, by doing so, you would avoid some of the gossip; people will most likely have forgotten about you by the time you return.”
“That is what he said. But, my lord, I am so alone! How can I go abroad – or to the country - all by myself? Apart from the vegetables, there would be nothing to do and no one to whom I could talk.”
“I don’t doubt you would soon meet people. If you went abroad, you could go to Paris or Rome; it would not be necessary to immure yourself in a vegetable patch. You could pretend to be a widow if you do not wish people to know your background.”
But Cassie did not like this idea. She said, “Rome was the place where I began my career. I do not think I should like to go there again.”
“Paris? That is not so far and, now that we are at peace, is not such an unpleasant place.”
“I went there after Rome.”
“And no doubt dislike it quite as much? Nobody there now would remember you; in any event, most of them probably lost their heads.”
As Lady Wey drove away, Sylvia asked, “Who is Miss Minton? I had the impression that you wished to cut her but were obliged to say ‘how do you do’ by Lord Furzeby’s introducing you.”
“You are quite right and, although I think Furzeby an agreeable man, I own I was shocked – and insulted – to be introduced to such a female.”
“Is she not a member of the ton? She looked perfectly respectable.”
“From what I hear, she is a proud woman who has never quite come to terms with her fall. She most certainly is not respectable – not in the least. She is a woman of ill repute who, for some reason that is perfectly obscure to me, Furzeby seems to wish to foist upon Society. He will not dare to bring her to Lady Barnaby’s.”
“She is very beautiful,” Sylvia said, “but no longer young. Is she his lordship’s ‘peculiar’? Is that the right word?”
Lady Wey was silent for a moment and Sylvia watched her handling of the reins while she waited for her to speak. She could see, from the Countess’s folded lips and anxious frown, that her companion was wrestling with a suitable answer.
At length, her ladyship shrugged her shoulders and said, “Well, it is pointless to try to keep the truth from you; you are bound to discover it in time, particularly in view of Furzeby’s odd behaviour. She was Robert’s peculiar until recently. He has discarded her and Furzeby seems to have snapped her up. Robert would never have attempted to introduce her to me – or to any lady of his acquaintance.”
“I see,” Sylvia said after a long pause. Her heart was hammering. “Has your brother been her protector for long?”
“Yes. But he has now most definitely broken with her for good.”
“Did he tell you that?”
“Yes.”
Sylvia said, “Do you know why he has done so?”
“Because of you, for Heaven’s sake!” the Countess exclaimed, goaded. “Why would you think?”
“He told me that he is planning to offer for Miss Sullington. I would suppose that to be the reason.”
“Well, you are a fool if you believe that. He gave up that female years ago when he offered for you in the first place; he only went back to her when you threw him over. He has been with her ever since – off and on – as well as for many years before he met you. I can see no reason why he should break with her for the sake of offering for Miss Sullington; Lady Sullington would not see his having a peculiar as a bar to his walking up the aisle with her daughter – and nor would most fashionable mamas. He has done it because of meeting you again.”
“And she must find another protector immediately? Poor Miss Minton! I can find it in my heart to be sorry for her.”
“She has no doubt spent the past seven years in greater comfort than you have,” Lady Wey snapped.
“In a fool’s paradise,” Sylvia replied, thinking that, while the moral high ground was chilly and lonely and one had to hang on by the skin of one’s teeth for fear of tumbling down, the moral low ground might be comfortable and even amusing for a little while but offered no more safety than the higher position. “She looks to be a deal older than Robert,” she added.
“She is. I own I have not discussed her with him, beyond his saying that he had most definitely sent her out to pasture, but I know for a fact she had her claws into him when he was still a boy – long before he met you.”
“Then it must hurt all the more. Has she any children?” Sylvia asked, afraid of the answer.
“Not so far as I am aware. Come, pray do not exercise what I can see is a tender heart on her behalf. She has made her bed and must lie upon it.”
“An unfortunate analogy,” Sylvia murmured.
Chapter 25
The first ball to which the Earl of Wey and his Countess escorted Sylvia was given by Lady Barnaby for her daughter, Clara. Permission having been sought by way of a letter addressed to the hostess, explaining the unexpected arrival of a cousin from the country and the reluctance of her relatives to abandon her to an evening alone with her netting, Sylvia received her own hastily scribbled invitation to this event and duly replied in the affirmative.
Lady Wey chose Sylvia’s gown and oversaw her preparations with what the latter found almost oppressive attention. Her ladyship expected her brother to be there and intended him to be dazzled.
Sylvia’s dress was of cream silk trimmed with tiny apricot roses above a triple line of piping, the whole rendered almost sparkling by the addition of a gauze overskirt. The bodice, fashionably small, was sown with tiny pearls and the puff sleeves were ornamented in a similar manner to the skirt.
Regarding her protégée with approval, her ladyship observed, “Yes, I believe we have managed to convey both your youth and your relative maturity at one and the same time; that touch of colour separates you from the ingénues, who are more or less required to wear undiluted white.”
“How excessively complicated,” Sylvia said, striving to remain indifferent to the remarkable gown in which she was clad. She had never possessed anything half so beautiful and could not help admiring it – and the picture she presented. Her hair, cut and curled by Lady Wey’s own maid, was piled upon her head and threaded through with a matching ribbon, the apricot a delightful contrast to the gleaming ebony locks.
“I believe we need some jewels though,” Lady Wey mused, her head on one side as she surveyed the work of art which she had created.
Sylvia thought with guilty longing of the diamond parure, which would, she knew, have sparkled delightfully upon her bosom, a great deal more of which was exposed by this gown than had ever seen the light of day before. On the other hand, she was well aware that it would be considered a gross impropriety for an unmarried lady to wear such gems.
“I have a single string of pearls,” she confessed.
“Perfect!” her ladyship exclaimed. “Simple, pure and unpretentious: exactly what you are yourself, my dear – and they will match the tiny ones
upon the bodice. I think I can find a pearl fillet for your hair, which will complete the ensemble nicely.”
While the maid was out of the room looking for the fillet, Sylvia found the box containing her pearls; they were not large and the string was not long but, clasped around the slender throat, they gave, the Countess noted, exactly the right impression.
“Oh, my dear, Robert’s will not be the only broken heart by the end of the evening,” his sister declared when the fillet had been clasped around Sylvia’s head and a few dark curls encouraged to fall over it. “Almost, it is a pity that you can have only one husband!”
Sylvia, who had stiffened at the mention of the Duke’s name, laughed at this. “I am persuaded hearts do not break merely at the sight of a woman in a beautiful dress,” she said. “There must be more to falling in love than a person’s appearance.”
“Nothing to signify,” the Countess said. “First impressions are so vastly important, are they not? No man could look at you and not want to display you as his.”
“I cannot imagine that your brother will feel that way,” Sylvia observed dampingly.
“Oh, he wants a great deal more than that,” his sister pointed out with a sideways glance.
“Yes, I daresay he would like to display me before dashing me to pieces in some way or another,” Sylvia snapped with barely suppressed fury.
“Nonsense! If you ask me, you are both as muddle-headed as each other! In any event, he may not be at Lady Barnaby’s so it would be as well not to get your hopes up!”
“Oh!” Sylvia cried. “Do you tell me that, after all this trouble and expense, he will very likely not be there to admire me? I declare I am so disappointed I have a good mind to indulge in a fit of hysterics and refuse to leave the house.”
She saw the Countess’s face and added, more quietly and in a more serious tone, “I am not altogether funning. I cannot pretend that I do not wish to – to draw him to me. There is that between us which, while entirely lacking in kindness, cannot be denied. I fear him but my heart beats fit to burst whenever I see him.”
Her ladyship nodded. “You need not fear him; he hits out at you in a perfectly witless attempt to defend himself against you. He would never hurt you; you are more precious to him than his own life.”
Sylvia said, “You are doing it a little too brown, dear Marianna. I hope he appreciates your efforts but I must warn you that, if he wishes to make a declaration of love, he must do it himself.”
“Then you must allow him to approach.”
“I have not driven him away. It has been his decision to avoid me.”
“But, my dear, you did. As you say, he must tell you what he feels and what he wants of you; and you must have it out with him if you have aught of which to complain. All I have done is to prevent you from disappearing again and taking another position – he could not do that himself without compromising you.”
“But he has!” Sylvia cried. “At first he wanted to make me out to be a lightskirt – if that is not too crude a way of putting it. Then, having successfully convinced Lady Sullington, he suddenly changed his mind and decided that I should on the contrary be entirely respectable. But I am still compromised by his having persuaded you to take charge of me.
“The whole thing looks decidedly smoky: he is caught kissing me in the street and is whipped by my employer – in mistake for me; he somehow persuades you to take me under your wing. How now am I to deal with him? In almost every respect I already belong to him: no one is going to be taken in by this taradiddle about my being a relative. Everyone will think I am under his protection in every sense in which that is understood, no matter how carefully you and he have constructed this story to explain my transformation from dowdy governess to ducal cousin.
“You have been exceedingly kind - and patient – and I truly believe that you have the best of all possible motives. Indeed, I am convinced that you are hoping that we will make up and marry after all. I cannot and he will not! I feel like a caged bird; everyone will think I am already his Bird of Paradise.”
“My dear! You refine upon it all too much and are, besides, a great deal too anxious about other people’s judgment. Yes, I should like you to make up and marry for that is what would make him happy – and I believe you too – but you are under no obligation. I should think several men will fall in love with you tonight; you do not have to marry Robert, you can perfectly well choose another.
“As for people thinking you are already his Bird of Paradise, I never heard such nonsense. If that were so, why, pray, are you living with me and not with him? It would be a very odd Bird of Paradise who lived with a man’s sister!
“It seems to me that you have a pernicious desire to reject him in favour of a life of sacrifice and poverty. It is not a question only of taking Robert in some way or another or being a governess; you are at liberty to marry whomever you like. But I think you are in love with him. There I have said it, and I daresay you will be so angry that you will tear off that lovely gown, put on your horrid governess clothes and rush out of the door. I warn you that I shall send him after you.” The Countess, as she made her closing remark, had tears in her eyes.
Sylvia said more gently, “You are right. I could never love another but my feelings are only half of the equation, are they not? His pride prevents him from acknowledging his and there is nothing I can do about that, even for your sake.”
“Oh, lud, do nothing for my sake! Can you not simply be kind to him, be soft with him, let him approach?”
“I should think he would despise me if I were to be such a milksop!” Sylvia declared roundly.
“I despair!” the Countess cried, flinging up her hands. “I do not think I ever met a couple so perfectly suited – you are as proud as each other! Come along, Henry will be chafing downstairs.”
She picked up Sylvia’s new velvet mantle, wrapped it around her shoulders and led her out of the room and down the stairs. The Earl of Wey was in the library, elegantly attired for the evening’s entertainment and engaged in passing the time with a book until his womenfolk were ready.
Miss Barnaby might have been forgiven for feeling that her small nose was put out of joint by the arrival of Lord and Lady Wey and their new-found relative. Fortunately, she set no store by being the belle of the ball, not considering herself to be more than passably pretty. She was a pleasant girl with a snub nose, soft brown hair and a character which was quite naturally interested in other people. Her great friend was Miss Sullington and the two were standing together when the Wey party was announced.
“Miss Holmdale?” Miss Sullington squeaked, grasping her friend’s arm and pushing forward to see if the person announced was indeed her former governess.
“Do you know her?” Miss Barnaby asked. “She is quite the prettiest female I ever beheld. Only look at her – she is like a fairy!”
“Her wings appear to have fallen off! I wonder if she has crashed to Earth!” said a cynical male voice beside them.
“On the contrary they have not yet grown,” Miss Sullington countered, looking with some disfavour at the speaker, who was none other than the Duke of Rother.
He smiled and said, “She is by way of being a distant cousin of mine, who has come to visit my sister. I know her too well to suppose that she is a fairy but she is certainly very pretty and Marianna has done her proud, has she not?”
“Yes, but is she your cousin? She did not say so when we discussed you.”
“Did you discuss me with her? I am well aware that I am by no means your favourite person. I daresay she hesitated to claim me as a relation in view of your criticism,” the Duke said, adding, when she looked embarrassed, “She does not like me either.”
Melissa blinked. “But – when we met in Bond Street … I do not perfectly understand …”
“No, I do not suppose that you do and it is not to be wondered at. What reason did your mama give for her sudden departure from your household, if you have no objection to divulging it?”
Melissa Sullington blushed uncomfortably. “She said – but I did not believe her – she said that she had stolen some money and that she had been dismissed but that, because I was so attached to her, Papa had consented not to have her arrested. That is not true, is it?” she asked in a small voice, gazing up at the handsome face beside her.
“No, it is not true. Your mama was mistaken in what she accused your governess of doing; the misunderstanding was my fault and, when I confided the whole to my sister, she insisted on taking Miss Holmdale under her protection. I don’t suppose many people know that she was previously your governess and I would be immensely grateful if you would say nothing of it to anyone. Will you do me the honour of standing up with me, Miss Sullington?” he added as the musicians struck up for the first dance.
She nodded. “But what will Mama say when she sees her here?” Melissa asked when the movements of the dance allowed her to speak to the Duke once more.
“I should not suppose that she will say anything,” he replied. “My sister is well known and what you might call a ‘pillar of Society’. I should be surprised if your mama will dare to suggest that the connexion we have claimed with Miss Holmdale is spurious. She and I – and now my sister – know what took place recently and, while I cannot divulge the details, I can promise you that I shall not allow Miss Holmdale’s name to be muddied.”
“I am happy to hear it,” Melissa exclaimed, pressing his hand with a degree of warmth she had never shown him before.
Miss Holmdale meanwhile had been besieged almost as soon as she entered the room by a crowd of gentlemen, suing for a chance to lead her out, and not a few ladies, who were acquainted with Lady Wey and wished to satisfy their curiosity about her previously unheard-of relative.
One of the first to reach her side was Lord Marklye. He was a very tall man, who stood head and shoulders above most of the other guests. As he was almost the only person she recognised, she was delighted to see him although a little nervous as to how he would greet her after her rejection of the diamonds. He managed to disperse the other gentlemen surrounding her with a cool, “Miss Holmdale promised me this dance some time ago,” and led her off to join the same set in which the Duke was paired with Miss Sullington. It being a country dance, there was little opportunity for speech but he managed to say, “How wonderful you look, transformed like Cinderella.”
Sylvia Or The Moral High Ground Page 22