by Clare Jayne
“Mr Saverney cannot have done something so despicable?” Amelia burst out.
She wondered who had told her. Surely there could not be gossip already? If only she could say it was not true. “He… Mr Saverney … Yes, he has left me…”
“Eloped with some unspeakable woman?”
Lottie dug her fingernails into her palms. “I know nothing against her character, just that she is working class.”
“She was a maid in his own house?”
“Yes.”
“How did he inform you? Did he send you a letter?”
Lottie shook her head, the reminder causing a stab of pain.
“Nothing?” Amelia’s voice shook with fury. “He left you to discover his actions with no word or warning whatsoever?”
Lottie nodded, unable to speak, head bent over as she tried to blink back more tears. She had never thought Mr Saverney was capable of doing anything callous; she still wanted to believe that it was all a mistake and he would appear at any moment to explain the misunderstanding, but she was beginning to accept that he truly had left her and the pain of it was worse than anything she had ever known before.
Amelia rang for a maid and left the room to speak to her. Lottie heard her asking for tea to be brought in to them. As the door opened again Lottie hastily wiped her eyes and told herself she was fine; she would find a way to get through this.
Amelia resumed her seat and took Lottie’s hand and her sympathy nearly made Lottie fall apart. “He is clearly the worst form of cad and was never in any way worthy of you.”
The words, clearly supposed to reassure her, only made her feel more miserable. She had thought she knew everything about Mr Saverney and how could she ever trust her instincts about people again if he had deceived her? “I loved him.”
“I know.” Amelia squeezed her hand. “But I do not believe he was ever the man he pretended to be.”
“Do you think he ever loved me?”
“I do not know.”
Neither did she and somehow that was the worst part.
Chapter Four
SAVERNEY’S SHAMEFUL behaviour and desertion of Lottie were on the lips of everyone by the next day. Her parents were discussing the matter over breakfast. Half the guests were making cruel jokes about it at a picnic she attended; indeed she left early or she would have rebuked them in a way her mother would have been displeased about. Then her father came home mid-afternoon and said the matter had been the sole source of conversation at his club. Amelia grew increasingly worried. How was Lottie ever to get over this if it was such a source of gossip?
She paid a visit to her friend that afternoon and found Lottie shut in her room, sitting by the window, pretending to read, but her pale face and red-rimmed eyes spoke their own tale. Amelia pulled a chair close to her friend’s and removed her gloves and hat, automatically touching her hair to make sure it had not become disordered.
“How was the picnic?” Lottie asked and it clearly took an effort for her to feign interest.
“Quite dull. You certainly missed nothing exciting.”
Lottie aimed a shrewd look at her. “Are people gossiping over me?”
“They are talking about what a revolting specimen Saverney is. You, naturally, have everyone’s sympathy.”
Lottie looked dubious about this. She was innocent but not naïve.
“Perhaps you would feel better for a little fresh air. We could stroll round the park or visit the shops?”
Lottie shook her head. “Mama says the same thing but I just cannot face them all yet.”
“You will feel better soon.” Amelia wondered which of them she was trying to convince. She had never seen Lottie in so broken a state and had no idea what to do to help her. Worse, she remembered her selfish dislike of the engagement and realised what a terrible friend she had been. She would refuse offers of marriage for an entire year if only she could see Lottie happy again.
They spoke for a while longer but Lottie seemed too tired and distracted to cope with much conversation. When Amelia went downstairs she saw Mr Benjamin Harrington looking out of the library window, a shuttered expression on his normally expressive face, and walked into the room to join him.
“I have never seen her so dejected,” she confessed.
“Nor I. I could kill Saverney for this,” Mr Harrington said.
“Yes. Do you think poison would be a sufficiently unpleasant death for him?”
He gave a wan smile and said, “It is worth considering.”
* * *
Mr Brightford, too, was worried for Mr Harrington’s family. He had spent the morning looking over horses to find a good quality matching pair for his new curricle, with several friends, and aside from the quality of the aforementioned geldings, Saverney’s desertion of Miss Harrington was all anyone wanted to talk about.
When Brightford had first heard of the scandal he had been appalled. He had always thought Saverney to be a wishy-washy fellow, following the instructions of his mother like a child, but he never expected him to rebel in such a cruel, destructive manner. Saverney had ruined his own standing in society and left Miss Harrington the subject of damaging gossip that might haunt her for the rest of her life.
Miss Harrington was a young lady who had Brightford’s greatest respect, her demure behaviour, modesty and quiet warmth impressing him. She was the opposite of that irritating friend of hers. Miss Daventry might be a beauty of the first order but she was all too aware of the fact and her arrogance, mercenary pursuit of a wealthy husband and outspoken tongue annoyed him every time he saw her.
Miss Harrington was faultless in this matter and she must be suffering badly from Saverney’s treatment and from being the focus of everyone’s interest in the worst way. Without the support of people around her, this event could ruin her life. Brightford resolved to visit her brother the next day and express his desire to help the family in any way he could. He doubted the self-centred Miss Daventry was even concerned about her friend…
* * *
At something of a loss without Lottie beside her, Amelia put on her riding clothes and took her mare for a ride in the park, accompanied by one of the grooms. A couple of men, barely older than her, paid her compliments but she was not interested in silly flattery. She tried to think of some little gift she could get for her friend but such things seemed meaningless compared to the enormity of Lottie’s pain. It seemed like a terrible failure on her own part that she could do nothing to help. Worse still was the memory of her jealousy of Lottie’s engagement. She was not used to finding fault with herself but could not deny the conviction that Lottie had always been a far better friend than she herself had.
Lottie’s engagement to a wealthy man had been a matter of great importance to her family. They had used to have a good deal of money but Lottie’s grandfather had been an idle second son who inherited the estate when his sibling died then spent the rest of his life gambling money away and doing no work to keep the estate in order. It was Lottie’s father who had struggled to re-build the estate, in the end only saving it - Lottie had revealed - by marrying her mother. The story was an interesting one, unlike that of Amelia’s own family who had apparently never been very wealthy. As a child, Amelia had asked Mr Harrington if she could adopt his family’s thrilling story for her own. He had looked doubtfully at her and expressed relief that his daughter did not have Amelia’s imagination.
Lottie was someone who hated being the centre of attention - part of the reason she had always been such an ideal friend for Amelia - and would probably have preferred to return to her family’s country estate until the rumours died down, if not longer. However, Amelia knew that Lottie’s parents would never allow this, still expecting her to make a good marriage. This made Lottie’s situation even more difficult.
Amelia returned home in a depressed mood and half-heartedly worked on a watercolour painting until she had to change for dinner. Walker asked if she felt unwell when Amelia said she did not care what dress she wor
e; she could muster no enthusiasm for such things.
“How is Charlotte?” her mother asked over the first course.
Amelia looked down at her soup, appetite fleeing as she remembered the ghostlike creature her friend had turned into. “She is devastated. How could he have treated her like that? Why did he ask her to marry him?”
“That might well have been pressure from his mother. Mrs Saverney is a strong-willed woman, keen to have her son married to a girl of good family as soon as possible after the late Mr Saverney’s sudden death.”
“Nothing could possibly excuse his conduct.”
“If he marries this chit then he will be excluded from good society,” Mr Daventry said, putting down his spoon and dabbing his mouth with a serviette.
“He should be hanged.”
Mr Daventry patted Amelia’s shoulder. “He certainly behaved in an unnecessarily cruel manner and I am sure he will suffer for it.”
He certainly would if Amelia ever set eyes on him again.
* * *
Benjamin walked to the bar of his club and ordered a double whiskey. He was not usually a heavy drinker but he was so furious over Saverney’s treatment of Lottie that he wanted to kill someone. Tonight he needed to relax over a card game or two and drink himself into a better mood.
He joined a card table that was just getting started, preparing for a game of piquet. As he sat down his eyes fell upon the man opposite him and he recognised his former friend and the former object of his affection, Mr Duneton, who glared at him, got to his feet with a scrape of his chair and stalked to another table. Benjamin slugged back the rest of his whiskey and ignored the way the other players went quiet.
After another long minute a new gentleman took Mr Duneton’s place and the game began. When he won the first hand he began to relax but then he heard Saverney’s name mentioned at the adjacent table. He looked over at the group of young men.
The gaudily dressed, red-faced gentleman talking, clearly more than a little drunk, was Mr Wenton, someone he knew slightly. “… Clearly thought she had got him under her thumb by forcing him to propose to the Harrington chit, but I had seen his pretty maid and Miss Harrington could not compare…”
Benjamin was not even aware of having got to his feet until he dragged Wenton out of his chair. “You are speaking of my sister, sir, and I demand satisfaction.”
Wenton blanched, protesting that he had meant no offence, then several gentlemen from Benjamin’s table pulled him off the man and tried to calm him down. He was too angry to remain, though, and stalked out of the club in a worse mood than when he had entered it.
Damn Saverney. When he next saw the man, Benjamin would find a way to make him suffer for what he had done.
Chapter Five
AMELIA HAD SPENT a pleasant hour on awaking with a book of poetry by Robert Burns. Her mother would have destroyed the book had she known of its existence, even though the poet had recanted some of his more liberal views before his death four years ago. Amelia loved the poetry, though, and the rich Scottish language it was written in, something else that society frowned upon these days. Speaking or writing Scottish dialect or with a Scottish accent was considered uncultured, something Amelia privately thought ludicrous.
She let Walker help her into a simple morning dress, the plain white design improved by lace and embroidery, and, as always, did not correct Walker’s use of the word lassie.
At breakfast the butler held out a tray for Mrs Daventry upon which was an invitation. Amelia brightened at the sight of it, wondering what form of entertainment it promised. She lowered her cup of chocolate and waited.
“Mr Brightford is holding a ball,” Mama said, “and has invited us.”
“Oh, no.” Amelia groaned, her hopes shattered. “If he holds a ball it will be as tedious as he is.”
Mr Daventry put his newspaper down on the dining table. “I do not know what you have against Mr Brightford. He is intelligent and not unkind.”
Amelia laughed. “Yet the best you can say of him is that he is not unkind. He is sneering and condescending and I am quite sure he dislikes me as heartily as I dislike him.”
“Then you do not wish to attend the ball?” Mama queried.
Amelia paused with her cup halfway to her mouth, considering the astonishing idea of turning down such an invitation. Even a ball held by Mr Brightford was better than none. “I suppose I could suffer his company for one evening.”
She finished her breakfast then took the carriage to see Lottie and discuss the important subject of ball gowns. It was not generally permissible to call upon an acquaintance before one in the afternoon, a morning call actually occurring any time in the afternoon before dinner, but she and Lottie had long-since done away with such formalities, both usually dressed and breakfasted by the unfashionably early time of ten o’clock.
“I do not know if it is a good idea,” Lottie said, as they sat in her bedroom, when Amelia mentioned the subject of the ball. Her family had, of course, received invitations too but, even though three weeks had past since Mr Saverney’s desertion, Lottie had attended no social events. It had been as much as Amelia could do to coax her to the park or to the shops.
“Nonsense,” Amelia said firmly, an image in her mind of Lottie becoming a permanent recluse. “Nothing could be better. Everyone will be agog to meet Mr Brightford’s cousins and find out if his odiousness runs in the family…”
“That is unkind,” Lottie objected but Amelia saw her smile.
“… So no one will even think about any other gossip. Besides, Mr Saverney is old news now. This is your chance to have some fun and you are taking it.”
“It would be pleasant to dance again and forget about … the past. Not that anyone is likely to ask me to dance.”
“I wager you are entirely wrong there and to prove your side of the bet you will have to attend the ball.”
Lottie smiled. “Very well.”
Amelia gave an internal sigh of relief at this victory and got back to the subject of what they should both wear.
* * *
Amelia entered the assembly room with her parents where Mr Brightford was greeting guests, two unknown men at his side. He introduced the brown-haired man, who looked to be a few years older than him, as Mr Alexander Fenbridge. The blond man, who seemed in his mid-twenties like Brightford, was another cousin, Mr Nathaniel Fenbridge. They bowed and smiled at Amelia and her parents in a way that suggested a friendliness of character she instantly liked.
Another group entered the room so they could not linger to talk to the men, but two good-looking new gentlemen were an excellent start to the evening. She curtsied and exchanged greetings with several acquaintances, the ball already more than half full of people in full dress, the pale colours of the unmarried women’s dresses competing with the brighter ones of the married women and many of the men’s outfits were equally grand. Amelia paused to admire a blue gauze gown covered in pink satin roses, ignoring her mother’s comment that several women had gowns with an indecently low décolletage.
Across the noisy room Amelia saw Lottie, Benjamin and their parents arrive so she hurried over and pulled her friend to one side to ask what she thought of Mr Brightford’s cousins.
“They seem most pleasant,” Lottie said. She was looking about her with a nervous frown, jittery as if waiting for someone to make a comment about Mr Saverney.
“They seem most handsome,” Amelia corrected, getting her attention. “Do you know if they are married?”
“No.”
“Then we must find out. Let us approach Mrs Fraser. As Mr Brightford’s sister, she will know everything we could possibly wish to discover.”
Mrs Fraser, a friendly woman quite the opposite in character from her brother, was most helpful. Neither gentleman was married and she described them both as having excellent characters. She was just getting onto the important subject of wealth when another guest unfortunately drew her away.
Both ladies were then ask
ed to dance, after which they - standing with Lottie’s parents and brother - ran into the gentlemen themselves. The men fetched drinks for them and Mr Nathaniel Fenbridge declared what a wonderful evening he was having, his easy good humour causing smiles all round.
“I know that you are cousins of Mr Brightford but are you cousins to each other, sir, or brothers?” Amelia asked.
“Brothers,” Mr Nathaniel Fenbridge said. “Alex here is the wealthy one while I am a useless younger sibling.” He smiled and Amelia caught Benjamin’s melting expression. Oh, no: not again! she thought. Still, the man was attractive with golden hair and piercingly blue eyes - she could not fault Benjamin’s taste. It was a shame he was not the one with the money. Not that Mr Alexander Fenbridge was unattractive in the least, just as tall and broad-shouldered as his brother but with light brown hair.
“Not useless at all,” Mr Alexander Fenbridge was answering. “My brother is an excellent estate manager, far better than me. I rely on him a great deal and there is plenty of land for us to share.”
“And do you spend much time in London?” Amelia asked.
“We visit the capital quite often,” Mr Nathaniel Fenbridge replied. When Amelia asked what it was like he said, “It is an exciting place full of exhibitions and interesting places to visit along with constant invitations to dinners and balls. Indeed, sometimes there are not enough hours in the day to fit everything in.”
Amelia daydreamed over this, almost able to imagine herself there.
“Still,” he concluded, “I prefer the countryside. I greatly enjoy the everyday concerns of running an estate.”
“We are in agreement on that,” Benjamin said at once, without doubt smitten. “I always feel more useful at the estate, which is a, er, pleasant feeling.” He tailed off, going red.
“Indeed.”
They discussed estate matters for several rather dull minutes then, during a pause, Mr Alexander Fenbridge asked Lottie to dance. She agreed, cheeks slightly flushed, and Amelia was delighted at how well the evening was succeeding in bringing her out of her depression.