“No!”
Lenora nodded with authority. “Yes. And when she discovered that my papa was the most sought-after bachelor in London, she instantly set her cap at him, and let nothing stand in her way, until she caught him.”
“But she could not have known—at first—what he was like—” Elvira hardly dared to say what she knew to be scandalous history.
Lenora waved away her friend’s concern. “Oh, no, not precisely. But she told me once that she knew very well he was dangerous, and pursued him nonetheless.”
Elvira gasped, her eyes wide.
“So, I cannot comprehend why she should be so against my meeting a rake, or any dangerous gentleman, if she went so far as to marry one!”
“But—Lenora, you know he was—you know they were not—” Again Elvira hesitated. “She only wants you to be happy, Lenora.”
Lenora pursed her lips, wishing she could deny the assertion but, being a truthful girl, knew she could not. She sighed. “It is too lowering. Why must dangerous men be so exciting, if they are to be inaccessible?” Elvira put a sympathetic hand on her friend’s arm, but Lenora only shrugged dispiritedly. “I oughtn’t to repine, for I shan’t attract such a man at any rate, for I lack both fortune and beauty.”
“You do not, Lenora!” Elvira cried, putting an arm around her friend. “The fashion is for dark hair and eyes, which you have, and put my fair ones to shame, and your figure is—”
“Gangly?”
“It is elegant,” stated her friend positively, “and your eyes are very—very speaking! Any Duke would be a fool not to wish to seduce you!”
Lenora cast a grateful, if tolerant, glance at her friend. “And you, Elvira,” she said, handsomely including Elvira in her felicity. “You must take great care, for you possess both beauty and fortune, which combination is the strongest attractant to an evil Duke.”
“Oh, my!” sighed Elvira, momentarily dazed by her prosperity. But before being carried away, she chanced to catch Lenora’s eye, and they both were sent into cascades of giggles.
Returning to her perusal of the fashion plates, Lenora gave another sigh. “Oh, Elvira! Though I know very well we have not the least chance of it, I still fancy it would be romantic, do you not, to be seduced, or at the very least abducted?”
In answer, Elvira shivered. “Oh, that London were like the Italian countryside, and full of mysterious monks and evil Dukes who reside in sinister castles with oubliettes and hidden passages!”
“You must not forget penniless, stammering heroes, dearest,” added Lenora. “They are indispensable.”
“They are, but it makes no odds. Our mamas would never bring us to such a place. No,” she said mournfully, “we go to reside in bright and spacious townhomes, and meet with upright gentlemen of honest fortune.”
“How insupportably flat!” cried Lenora, a twinkle in her eye, but after a glance at her friend, whose imagination had become so entirely absorbed by this depressing scene that she was drooping apace, Lenora hastened to ask, “However shall we endure the balls, and theaters and parties? We shall be forever fatigued, for there must needs be shopping as well. Oh, the endless tedium!” Eyeing her friend askance, she suggested, “Perhaps we ought to stay home.”
Elvira instantly turned an outraged stare on her. “And miss perhaps your one chance at a London season? You ninny! Of course we shall go, and take the town by storm! And we shall wring delight from every moment!”
“And if we are fortunate,” Lenora put in, “we shall meet with an unprincipled rake at a private ball, or in the gardens after a concert.”
“And he shall prove to be an evil Duke after all.”
“And one of the courteous gentlemen will prove to be quite heroic, despite his having been born hosed and shod, and come to the rescue.” They giggled together at that, and then bent eagerly once more over the fashion plates.
Sir Joshua Stiles accepted a glass of Madeira from Lady Cammerby, leaning his shoulder against the mantelpiece. “No, the lady was not at home, nor, I may add, was the footman, or the butler, or even the housekeeper. The awed kitchen maid, or cook, or some such, at last served me, when I had found her round the back, knee deep in the garden.” He sipped his wine, turning grave eyes upon his sister. “What kind of scrape have you gotten yourself into, Amelia?”
Lady Cammerby furrowed her brow. “Whatever do servants have to do with it, Joshua? I have merely offered to present my good friend’s daughter to society, which I shall vastly enjoy, having no daughters of my own, and with Cammerby gone next month to the Continent for Heaven knows how long, I presumed you would be glad of my having company.”
“Good company is what I’d be glad to know you shall have. What I’d like to know, sister, is why the chit’s family doesn’t present her. No matter how enjoyable it may be for you, it’ll be a deal of trouble and expense.”
His sister looked surprised. “Only a few hundred pounds, Joshua! You know Cammerby is well able to afford it and, what’s more, he’s given his consent. I don’t know how you should have anything to say, for it’s none of your business at all.” She eyed her brother darkly. “If there’s anything I abominate, it’s wealth that is hoarded. I have a conscience if you do not, Joshua! There is nothing better than to use one’s money for good, and I’d do anything for Genevieve, poor woman.”
He humphed. “Poor is exactly what I suspected. You say she knows you well?” At her affirmative, he took a ruminative sip of his wine. “As I thought. She sounds like a spunger to me. With all your high-flown expressions of good will, are you certain you wish to be so intimately aligned with such a woman?”
“Genevieve Breckinridge is no spunger!” cried his sister, bridling in defense of her friend. “She is the most delightful creature, and always has been, though she was a bit high-spirited when she was young, but I never knew her to be unprincipled! It was her detestable husband who is entirely to blame for her present circumstances. He gamed away all his money, and then hers, and left her unpardonably situated. Oh, how we all were deceived in that man. It makes me livid just to think about him, taking such a jewel and reducing her to ruin.”
Sir Joshua settled into a chair, placing his empty glass on the table at his elbow. “Almost you convince me of the lady’s quality, seeing that she was willing to marry such a man.”
“How odious you are! She’s a Wainsley, so you know as well as I she comes from the best stock, for all her father was a gamester and a gaddabout, and forever in his cups! You may take it from me his daughter never inherited any of that!”
“You relieve me excessively.”
“And I told you Bertram Breckinridge had us all fooled,” she pursued, not conciliated by his dry response. “I had an eye to him myself, if you must know, and if Genevieve hadn’t outshone the rest of us, I may be the one in her shoes even now.”
“That you would not,” said Sir Joshua, “for he’d have had to convince me, Amelia, and I would not have been taken in like a gudgeon. I expect her wastrel of a father had no reservations about the match?”
Lady Cammerby’s mouth became prim. “Settlements were all that hateful Lord Kimmeridge cared for. Yes, he was well enough pleased with the match, you may be sure, for Breckinridge had a fortune, you know, and the offer for Genevieve came at a most opportune time for his lordship. Of course, I never knew at the time how things were, but since then I have learned a thing or two about That Man, things that would make your flesh crawl—but I am not one to gossip,” she ended virtuously.
“So, the angel married a devil,” her brother observed, “and now offers her child up from the ashes. Forgive me, Amelia, but I’ve witnessed better tragedies in Cheltenham.”
“What a horrid mood you are in, Joshua! You put me out of all patience!” said Lady Cammerby, eyeing her brother with distaste.
His mouth twisted in a rueful smile. “You’re right, Amelia, I am in a h
orrid mood. I have had my fill of designing females, and have no wish to be forced into acquaintance with yet another.”
This enlightenment interested, but did not engender much sympathy in his sister. “Is that Orping woman still thrusting her spotted daughter at you? Poor Joshua.”
“On the contrary, my dear, it is precisely because I am not poor that she thrusts her daughter at me. As do Mrs. Weller and Lady Castleton—though,” he said fair-mindedly, “neither of their offspring has spots.”
“I trust you do not mean to offer for any of them, for I should be most averse to be connected with such brass-faced girls,” she sniffed. “But one could not expect any different, with such parents as theirs.”
“And yet, you associate with a woman whose parentage is equally poor,” reflected her brother, with maddening acuity, “and whose daughter may very well prove to be as ramshackle as her father.”
“If you cannot be civil, I would you should go away,” Lady Cammerby muttered in considerable annoyance. “Every family has their dirty laundry, Joshua! Heaven knows we have our own! But the stains do not always filter through the generations, and I am confident that Genevieve’s daughter is unspoiled.” Her brother only gazed cynically at her, and she adjusted her seat uncomfortably. “But we were speaking of your prospects.”
“I have no prospects.”
“But you have any number of prospects!”
“Pardon me. I had mistaken you to mean appealing prospects.”
“Joshua! Come, now, be serious! What of Miss Pickering? Or Miss Whiteshead—she’s quite a beauty, despite her chin! Or—or Miss Tipton, who is more mature, to be sure, but still very eligible!” He only shrugged his shoulders, and his sister sighed in exasperation. “Surely there is a lady who appeals to you?”
“Several have appealed to my fortune, but never to me.”
Goaded, Lady Cammerby said acidly, “I expect you are too nice in your requirements. You must take some responsibility, you know, and at least try to present yourself as agreeable. Such a sneer as you are always wearing! At your age, you must realize that your fortune may be the only attraction you have left.” He lowered his eyes in apparent dismay, and she was at once remorseful. “Really, Joshua, you must try at some lightness, if you wish to attract the right kind of female.”
He snorted derisively. “I fear my fortune quite overshadows any other desirable qualities I might possess.”
“You know full well you are quite good-looking,” she returned, “but you cannot expect a lady to be inconsiderate of fortune, no matter her age. Every woman wishes to be comfortably settled, but it does not follow that they all must be mercenary.”
“Yes, it does, and they are.” He stood and refreshed his glass from the decanter, gesturing with it to his sister. “Not even my advanced years seem to deter them. Perhaps I should put it about that I’ve lost my fortune on ‘Change.”
“But it would ruin you, Joshua! Please be serious. Think of your reputation!”
“I do, my dear,” he said casually, though his countenance was grim. “At present I am known only as a matrimonial prize.”
Lady Cammerby’s demeanor softened as she regarded him. “It is not wonderful that you are cynical, Joshua. I truly pity your circumstance, for I know how lonely you are.” Her brother glanced quickly at her, but said nothing. “Would that I could find you another Rachel.”
“That I forbid you to attempt, Amelia. She could not be matched, nor do I wish her to be.” He bent and pressed his sister’s hand. “I have no wish to eclipse her memory, my dear.”
She sat in stunned silence at this revelation. “But, Joshua, you have put yourself about these three years, as if you wished—”
“I do wish—at least, I thought I did.” He looked ruefully at her. “I had thought to add to her memory, if I could.” He glanced down. “Since I put off mourning for Rachel, I feel an emptiness. I should like to find a woman to fill that emptiness, if she exists.” He shook his head, emerging quickly from his reverie. “But I have little faith left in the notion, for every woman who has been forced into my acquaintance has proven insipid, calculating, or ridiculous.” He nodded at her. “As I shall no doubt find your friend, and her daughter.”
Lady Cammerby huffed. “Genevieve Breckinridge is nothing of the sort, and you do her a great injustice even to think it. You would be justly served if you fell in love with her.”
“She must be nearing forty.” He tsked. “Wouldn’t fadge, Amelia. The quizzes will inform you that I am hanging out for a young wife.” He bent and kissed her cheek. “I wash my hands of the business, but wish you joy of drawing the bustle with your new protegee.” He turned back at the door. “And Amelia, inform Cammerby the next time he engages to give me directions, I shall box his ears.”
The Breckinridges’ journey to Hill Street the following February was accompanied by quite as much adventure as any young lady of sensibility could desire, if not a trifle more. Lenora, having ascertained from the groom the unlikelihood of a brush with highwaymen on their journey—as neither Hounslow Heath nor even Finchley Common lay along their way—resigned herself to an uneventful drive, and settled bravely against the squabs of the post chaise to stare the next four hours at the scenery. But the unanticipated circumstance of a broken trace—which necessitated a stop at an out-of-the-way hostelry just outside Watford—awakened hope in her breast, and she stepped eagerly down from the carriage into the humble yard, to await events. These rapidly transpired in the guise of two rival farmers, who had converged upon the inn to brangle over the merits of a prize pig, the countenance of which was claimed by the owner to be uncommonly similar to that of the Prince Regent.
The ladies, obliged to wait in the coffee room—the inn boasting only two guest rooms and no private parlor—were witness to the subsequent scene, wherein the first farmer, having been unsuccessful in proving the superiority of his animal by mere posturing, had the happy notion to introduce the pig to the inhabitants of the coffee room, to illustrate his point. The burly proprietor, who had been sedately polishing the bar for the entirety of this interaction, grunted, which was enough encouragement for the owner of the pig. But no sooner had the animal been fetched and shepherded into the room than the proprietress entered, bearing a tray of freshly baked cheesecakes, which she surrendered into the air with an unholy shriek at the sight of a large, smelly animal in her house. The pig, taking immediate exception to such goings-on, hastily made use of the most evident retreat, which happened to be the passage into the kitchen.
The empty tray was shoved into Lenora’s hands as the outraged proprietress surged after the fugitive, closely followed by the pig’s owner, and to the high delight of his rival. This gentleman, startling the ladies with a deafening guffaw, joyfully begged pardon with a pull at his hat brim and, slipping thumbs behind his braces, sauntered out the door to succumb properly to his mirth in the stable yard.
Lenora, regarding first the door, then the empty tray in her hands, uttered, “What a waste of perfectly good cheesecakes!” But as she looked to her mother, whose handkerchief was pressed desperately against her mouth, the distress in that lady’s countenance undermined her own composure, and they both went into most unladylike whoops under the disapproving eye of the proprietor, who continued stolidly to polish the bar. The proprietress entering at that most inauspicious moment, the ladies were forced to endure with humility her muttered aspersions on they that profess to Quality, and were at last rescued by the timely summons of their post boy, with the news that the trace had been repaired, and they could be on their way.
Settling rather regretfully back into the chaise, Mrs. and Miss Breckinridge spent a delightful hour reviewing their adventure, and had no sooner worn the subject out than, just short of London, the coach lurched unceremoniously to the side, and the ladies were thrown against one another.
“Good gracious!” cried Mrs. Breckinridge, righting hersel
f and her hat. “Lenora, love, are you alright?”
“Perfectly, Mama, I believe,” she said, blinking as she pushed herself away from the side of the coach. “But what can have happened?”
Mrs. Breckinridge craned her neck to peer past her daughter out the window, remarking, “I’d not be surprised at footpads, my dear.”
Lenora, gleefully letting down the window, put her head out, but saw, with no little disappointment, merely the post boy regarding with disgust a splintered back wheel. But, as experience had taught her to hope, she took this turn of events philosophically, and again stepped down from the carriage and to the side of the road while the post boys discussed what was best to be done. The ladies were presently informed that they must wait while one of the boys rode a leader into the next town to arrange repair and to fetch back a vehicle to convey them to comfort while this took place.
The sound of hoofbeats roused them all to look around and, to Lenora’s absolute enchantment, a smart curricle, pulled by a gorgeous pair of greys and driven by a dashing gentleman in a many-caped driving coat, rounded the bend and slowed to a stop beside their carriage.
“You seem to be in some distress, ma’am,” the gentleman said to Mrs. Breckinridge, gracefully sweeping off his tall beaver. “May I be of service to you?”
As Lenora stood transfixed with rapture at their good fortune, Mrs. Breckinridge explained their predicament to the gentleman, who smilingly offered to take them up in his curricle. “For it is only a few miles to Kilburn, where you may await repairs.”
This offer being gratefully accepted, the ladies squeezed their slim persons into the curricle, wherein they whiled away the next half-hour by regaling their rescuer with the tale of the pig at the inn. Mr. Ginsham, as he introduced himself, set them down at a small but respectable-looking hostelry in Kilburn, crowning Lenora’s delight by requesting the honor of calling upon them in London. She then felt her happiness was complete, and could conceive of nothing more to ask for the whole of the season.
Two in the Bush Page 4