The Bluestocking's Dilemma

by Evelyn Richardson

  She wasn’t at all sure that she liked the idea of wanting so desperately to be with someone or of caring so passionately for another person. Therein lay the road to unhappiness, she felt quite sure. Far better to rely on oneself for happiness than to have it inextricably bound to someone else. Why, only tonight, she had seen the misery that could come of it. Knowing her shallow cousin as she did, Caro felt certain that a man who appeared to care so deeply about things as Nicholas Daventry was well out of it. He could never bear being tied to someone whose mind and attention flitted as easily as a butterfly from one thing to the next, never alighting long enough to understand or appreciate it, always looking for the next object of interest. Still, she had felt sorry for the very real hurt she had read in his eyes. Somehow Caro found all this most upsetting, both the revelations and her furtive role in the episode, and she devoutly hoped there would be nothing more to make her recall the evening’s events.

  She was not to be so lucky, for as she descended to the breakfast room the next day, she heard her uncle’s voice booming out across the hall. “What? Are you mad, girl? You sent Nicholas Daventry whistling down the wind? You’ll not find another such as he, mark my words. He’s twice the man of any of these town beaux you have fawning over you. You’ve made a rare mistake, Lavinia, and I’m sorry for it.”

  “Oh, do hush. Papa. You know I couldn’t marry Nicholas. He’s nothing but a poor soldier. Would you have me an army wife dragged from one camp to another?” A stubborn note had crept into her voice and Caro could picture the mutinous set to her cousin’s jaw. She was just about to flee to the safety of her own room when the butler appeared beside her bearing another tray of coffee and toast and she was caught.

  Trying not to attract any attention, Caro slipped into her place just as Lady Mandeville was saying in a soothing voice, “Now, George, you know Lavinia has better prospects than that. Why, no one could have asked for a more brilliant Season. The Marquess of Edgecombe and the Earl of Welham were most particular in their attentions. Why even the Duke of Hatherill seemed much taken with her. You would not have her waste her life with Nicholas, though I am sure he must be a very dear boy. After all, I have known Abigail Daventry since we were at school together, and certainly the family is an excellent one, as well as being our neighbors, but one must acknowledge, when all is said and done, that he is the younger son. It would be the height of absurdity for Lavinia to consider him when she could be the Marchioness of Edgecombe or the Countess of Welham.”

  “Humph. The girl’s a fool if she chooses either one of those court cards over Nicholas, but I wash my hands of the affair.”

  “Oh, Papa, do not be so out of reason critical. The Earl of Welham and the Marquess of Edgecombe are leaders of the ton and highly sought after.” Lavvy’s patience, never in great supply, was beginning to wear thin.

  Lady Mandeville defended her daughter. “Indeed, George, either one would be a brilliant catch. Why I am sure Sally Jersey told me she had given up on the Marquess this age until she saw the particular attention he paid Lavvy. And everyone knows the earl is one of the ton’s most eligible bachelors.”

  Here the Lord Anthony Mandeville, having just strolled in and helped himself to an enormous plate of eggs and bacon, came to his beleaguered father’s aid. “What’s all this? Why, I made sure that Lavvy would marry Nicholas. He’s a great gun. The stories he tells of the army would make your hair curl. He was mentioned in the dispatches, you know. Ponsonby told me so. They say that even Wellington called him a hero. You must be all about in the head to turn down a fellow like that,” he remarked, dropping into his chair and eyeing the eggs with satisfaction.

  “I know it is difficult for you to fathom, Anthony, but I wish to be a wife, not a companion-at-arms,” Lavinia sniffed.

  Anthony grinned and took another forkful of egg. “It’s a fortunate thing. You’d be dreadful at it. Can’t imagine why a bang-up fellow like Nicky would want you as a life’s companion. Terrible shame though, it would be nice to have him in the family. Would almost make a fellow glad to have a sister.” Tony’s eyes danced at the murderous look on Lavvy’s face.

  “You beast!” she hissed, descending from the lofty heights of disdain to sisterly fury. “You have not the least sensibility! Papa, make him be quiet.”

  Caro watched in an agony of indecision. She hated to see such dissension in a family she had grown to love—even Lavvy, as much as it was possible to care about someone as self-absorbed as her cousin—and she cast about frantically for a way to soothe troubled waters without intruding into what was really none of her affair.

  “Oh, I’ll be quiet. I have nothing to say to such a nod-cock.” Tony turned to his cousin, “At least Caro has more sense than to set her cap at some wealthy caper merchant with a title, don’t you Caro?”

  Caro was about to reply, but her angry cousin burst in. “Oh, this is beyond enough! Both the Earl of Welham and the Marquess of Edgecombe are extraordinarily well thought of by everyone.” She cast a darkling look at her brother. “They’re both in the Four-in-Hand Club.”

  “So’s Nicky Daventry who can drive circles around each one of them and doesn’t have to add buckram wadding to his shoulders either. But you were going to say something, Caro?”

  “Merely that as I don’t believe I ever shall marry, I do not have a very helpful opinion to offer.” And that, she thought to herself as three pairs of astonished eyes swiveled on her, has stopped the arguing.

  “There’s the spirit,” the earl and his son chimed in together while Lavvy and her mother sat silent, transfixed with horror.

  Lavvy was the first to recover. “Not marry!” Whatever will you do? Whatever will become of you? Why, that is the most absurd notion ...”

  “I expect I shall be tolerably well amused. After all, I am now,” her cousin replied equably. “And I would as liefer have that than endure a Season of nothing but smiling and dressing up.”

  “Not have a Season?” Lavinia could not begin to comprehend such a heretical notion. “Whatever shall you do?”

  Caro chuckled at the patent amazement in her cousin’s voice. “I could never be a diamond like you, Lavvy, and it’s only the diamonds who enjoy such display. I leave it to you to be the incomparable in the family.”

  Lady Mandeville finally gathered her wits together. “Not even my brother Hugo could be so ramshackle as to deny his daughter a Season. Why, I never heard such a nonsensical notion. What can he be thinking of not to insure his daughter’s future?”

  “But he has, Aunt. He has left me Waverly Park when I attain my majority. Papa says it’s a millstone around his neck. And besides, I am a much better manager than he is.” Caro defended her parent.

  This further proof of her brother’s madness completely silenced Lady Mandeville who, left with nothing to say, stared uncomprehendingly at her niece.

  Chapter 3

  Whether or not Lord Hugo Waverly’s ramshackle ways would have included allowing his daughter to dispense with a Season had never become an issue as he died of a mysterious and fatal illness while in Russia. Before his death, he had become Castlereagh’s unofficial ear at that duplicitous court, and he left his daughter alone in the world with the estate in Hertfordshire and twenty thousand a year.

  But Caro’s predictions for Lavvy and herself had all come true. After a second Season, even more brilliant than the first, Lavinia had become Countess Welham and one of the most dashing matrons in the Upper Ten Thousand. Even the birth of two lively boys in close succession had not dimmed her elegance or style. Relegating her darlings to a vast army of underlings, she continued to grace every possible social event where, now that she was married, she was sought out by more admirers than she had been before. Nothing it seemed, not even the death of her husband a mere five years after her brilliant match, stopped the ascent of her social star, though it did make things slightly more complicated. Undaunted, and never one to be kept from her admiring audience for long, she immediately perceived how dear Cousi
n Caro, although barely acknowledged by Lavvy in the intervening years, could be of use to her. The briefest mourning period acceptable to the ton completed, the countess penned a letter to her cousin begging her to come to London as her companion, to lend the young widow a respectable countenance and to allow her to remain in her own establishment without having to turn to parents on either side.

  It was this letter that Caro read one dreary day in January, sitting in front of the library fire at her own establishment. Caro’s other prediction had also come true and the winter of 1817 found her free and the mistress of an estate near Berkhamstead, Hertfordshire.

  Closer to her father than most children after their years of travel together, Caro missed him desperately. Being her father’s daughter, she would have buried her grief and soldiered on stoically, had the mourning period not provided her with a perfect opportunity to live precisely the reclusive and scholarly life she had dreamed of for herself. “For you know, I consider the custom of a Season to be a barbaric ritual designed for the purest show,” she confided to Helena Gray, leading light among the instructresses at Miss Chillingford’s Select Seminary for Genteel Young Ladies. Miss Gray had readily agreed with her favorite pupil.

  She had agreed even more readily when Lady Caroline had proposed that she leave the education of genteel young ladies to lesser talents and accompany her to Hertfordshire as her companion. “Not that I consider you need a companion to lend you countenance, but I know the world and how censorious it will be of a young lady who not only refuses to subject herself to the doubtful bliss of matrimony, but who proposes to set up her own establishment,” Miss Gray had replied to Caro’s generous offer. Then, a humorous gleam in her hazel eyes, Helena continued, “But chiefly, I come because I would miss you and the eagerness to learn which, in the years you have been here, has transformed my occupation from one of drudgery to one of challenge, and I cannot say that I relish the prospect of it being drudgery again.”

  Caro, touched by this last admission, had acted quickly and, bidding the briefest of adieux to the proprietress and her envious schoolmates, had quitted without a backward glance the establishment that had been her home for five years.

  She had thrown herself into the improvement of Waverly Court which had been under the nominal care of two aged retainers during her father’s peregrinations. They were only too happy to accept the offer of a small cottage and the prospect of spending their declining years in comfort on the estate, thus giving Caro free rein to employ whomever she wished. She had delegated this task to the enterprising William, having sketched for him a general idea of her plans for the place. “As it is a smallish estate, I intend to employ the methods of Mr. Tull and Mr. Townshend to ensure the highest degree of productivity. In short, I wish Waverly to become a model of progressive agriculture, and I do not care to have my efforts subverted by some old rustic who thinks I am acting in defiance of the laws of God and nature.”

  Seeing the determined set to his mistress’s jaw, William’s weather-beaten face broke into one of his rare grins. “Now don’t you fret yourself. Miss Caro. I shall find people as will help you out, nor will they worrit you over your being a single young lady alone in the world.”

  He had been as good as his word, even managing to unearth a highly respectable housekeeper, Mrs. Crawford, and Susan, a forthcoming young woman, as a maid for Caro. On her side, Caro had been extraordinarily grateful at having such a genial and competent household assembled for her. Accustomed to William’s resourcefulness in the most trying of situations—uncovering accommodations or palatable meals in barren surroundings and foreign climes—Caro was nonetheless surprised at his ability to procure such respectable help for a female establishment. William, however, had dismissed her heartfelt appreciation. “I told them as there was households grander than this, but they would never find a kinder nor more understanding mistress.”

  And indeed, he had proved correct. Miss Caroline was different, to be sure, and there was much talk around the kitchen table as to her unusual ideas, but as Mrs. Crawford maintained and the others concurred, “She’s a funny little thing. Her head is stuffed full of strange ideas and odd notions, but she knows what she’s about. Why even Farmer Tring allows as how she has a good head on her shoulders and knows what price to pay for fodder and seed. And if she prefers to bury her head in books and improve the estate instead of going to assemblies and parties, I say let her.” They all nodded solemnly, though, privately Susan wished that her mistress were a little more interested in the social affairs of the surrounding neighborhood because that would have given the little maid an excuse to give her talents free rein. For Susan had aspirations. Born with the soul of an artist to the burgeoning family of a local farmer, she had vowed she would become more than a village dairymaid and had seized every opportunity to learn the dress and coiffures of grand folk. She had practiced long winter evenings on her sisters’ hair in an effort to replicate those she had seen on the local gentry at church. Her previous position, as under housemaid at the Hall, had been more valuable to her for the peeps she had taken at Ackermann’s Repository and La Belle Assemblée while dusting the morning room, than for the small remuneration she took home to her parents.

  Her mother’s difficult pregnancy had forced Susan to leave her post to look after the little ones and she had been in despair at this setback to her hopes for advancement. Then, as if by magic, William had appeared with his undreamt of offer. To be a lady’s maid so soon! Even if Lady Caroline Waverly had been the most pettish and demanding of mistresses, Susan would have been ecstatic at the sudden realization of all her hopes. However, Caro was the merriest, kindest, and most interested of employers and Susan had been her devoted slave from the moment she had looked into the smiling gray eyes and heard, “I am so glad that William was able to convince you to come and help me. I fear I am a sad case, but I count on you to take me in hand.”

  Susan had taken this charge to heart with the fervor of a zealot. She was bound and determined that whenever Lady Caroline Waverly set foot in public, even if it were to inspect some promising ewes at Farmer Tring’s or to purchase some ribbons for the refurbishment of a bonnet, she would outshine all the females within twenty miles who had any pretensions to fashion.

  To do her justice, Caro always did look elegant, but she favored the most quiet and severe of styles. “Whyever would I wish to look like some gaudy butterfly?’’ she would laugh when her maid tried gently to steer her towards brighter colors, more frivolous designs, and less serviceable materials. “I leave such matters to those who wish to catch a husband. Let them spend their days worrying over such matters. There is so much else I would rather do with my time.”

  Still, Susan did not despair, for when she could persuade her mistress to let her do her hair or add a frill or some lace, Caro was always appreciative. “You do have an eye, there’s no mistake. A deft touch here, a twist there and you trick me out so I even make Lady Belham and her daughters look to their laurels and no one could spend more time on their toilettes than they. Thank you, Susan. I only hope that some day you have a mistress who does more justice to your talents.”

  “Never, Miss,” the maid had declared stoutly. “It’s just a crying shame there’s no one to appreciate how pretty you are.’’

  “I, pretty?” Caro had been amazed. “I don’t suppose I ever thought of such a thing.”

  “And I don’t believe she ever has, poor thing,” Susan had later confided to Mrs. Crawford. “It’s that rackety life she led with no mother to teach her how to go on and now she lives like a hermit, only paying the necessary social calls. I know she thinks she’s happy, but it would do her ever so much good to go to balls and have an admirer or two.” The little maid sighed gustily.

  The housekeeper nodded sagely. “Perhaps she will. William says that a letter arrived from her cousin in London the other day. It’s only natural that someone in her family should wish to give her a Season. I do believe she used to spend her school holidays
with her father’s sister and her family.”

  “Oh, I do hope so,” Susan breathed, hardly daring to wish for such a thing when she had already been showered with such good fortune.

  Her mistress, however, was inclined to view the invitation as a nuisance rather than an opportunity. “Bother! I shall just have to write and tell her I am unable to come,” she exclaimed to Helena when, having read through the list of Lavvy’s many and brilliant invitations, the boredom of having to remain at home, and the naughtiness of her two boys, Caro finally divined the true import of the missive.

  Her companion looked up from the latest issue of Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine. “But why shouldn’t you? You might enjoy yourself.’’

  “What, with all that needs to be done here and planting to be looked after? Why, I wouldn’t dream of it!’’

  But Caro had reckoned without her cousin. Never one to be thwarted in her pursuit of pleasure and admiration, Lavinia was not about to take no for an answer. An indifferent correspondent at best, she nevertheless took umbrage by return post. “My dear Caro, I am persuaded you cannot actually prefer the dubious charms of the country to those of London. No doubt those who have cultivated the land there far longer than you are entirely capable of doing so for another year. In the meantime, I am in most desperate need of your company now. Do not forget, dear Cousin, that the Mandevilles were prepared to stand by you in your need. Do not, I beg of you, desert me in mine. After all, I have never asked much of you and now I beseech you, please come.”