“I am.”
“I’m sorry.” She sank into the matching boudoir chair, concern lining her hazel eyes. “Are you ill?”
“No. Not physically. But I am distressed by what I have become.”
“I am confused. What do you mean?”
“I wanted to tell you that I know full well the damage I’ve done you.”
“If you’re talking about that incident with the earl of Langdon, of course you do. We’ve been over it. Done with it. It was long ago, Mary.”
“But you still suffer for it.”
“Mary,” she said and reached across to take her hand, “you apologized to me years ago. I accepted it. Remember please, I was the one who came to you to ask for help. One of your ‘plans’ to help me keep the earl’s interest. You did as I asked. I blame myself.”
“Good of you, but the awful thing I did lives on.”
“If you mean that Langdon’s friends here—Lords Charlton and Bridges—have asked me about it, then yes, they know of it. I wish everyone would let it go. Accept it for what it was. A mistake. A horrid prank that turned so very wrong.”
“But you wish it never happened,” she bemoaned.
“Oh, Mary. Of course, I do. I’ve found no other man to love. None as funny or wise. I’ve written to him often. Too often, I’d say.” She got a wistful expression to her delicate features.
“And? What does he reply?” Mary hoped the end of the wars might change many people’s lives.
“Nothing.”
“But he…he lives! He was wounded.” Mary had heard that from someone.
“Badly. Yes. But he does not wish to correspond with me, Mary. I understand.” She winced and curled her fingers into the white fabric of her gown. Her knuckles went white with strain. “I don’t agree. But then, I must allow him to live as he chooses. Soon, I fervently hope, he’ll find another lady to take to wife.”
This was another ending Mary abhorred. Another she must accept.
She struggled to her feet. “I should never have meddled. I was so used to volunteering to be of help. But I never understood my actions as malevolent. I should have.”
“Mary, listen to me.” Millicent followed her to the door. “You are not wicked.”
She paused with an inkling of what her motives were to help fix her friends’ challenges. “No, but I saw myself as right. And the biggest question is why. Why?”
“Don’t torment yourself. It’s over.”
Hot tears scalded her cheeks. For Millicent, it was not. She pined for a man she had lost. For Mary, it wasn’t, either. She too would pine for a man she lost and do it for years to come. So, yes, her remedies—her ‘plans’—were done.
She’d never do another.
* * *
Two mornings later, she stomped inside from her garden and yanked off her boots. They were so old the soles came away at the seams. It did no good to coddle and croon to her little seedlings anyway. The weather was so cold, so dreary that her plants were struggling, pale and feeble. Her talents at nurturing anything, anyone, had all gone bad.
She shrugged out of her father’s frayed frock coat, looped it over the hook by the back door and headed for the parlor.
When Thompson appeared with her tea, she’d made one firm decision. She had to get on with her life. Here. With those friends she might still enjoy if she were wise and retiring.
“Ma’am?”
“I’ll serve myself, Thompson.” She turned from the window. Her leg ached in this miserable chilly weather and she took her time to make for her favorite chair. “I’ve decided to go to London. The coach is repaired. Please tell Wilkins we leave day after tomorrow. Early. I’ll stay with my Aunt Georgiana in Brook Street. Not for long. Four days at most. Then I’ll return home.”
Her mother’s sister was a canny lady who would poke and tickle her for news of Bath, the Northington wedding and gossip of the event. She’d endure her aunt’s queries because she had few other good choices of accommodations in town. She’d keep a buttoned lip and hope her aunt would tire of the chase.
“Shall I tell callers the purpose of your visit to London?” The poor man was probing to learn what had happened at Courtland Hall that sent her scrambling home.
She would not tell him the calls she planned to make. “Simply say I see my aunt. Long overdue.”
“Even Lady Fiona gets no news?”
That gave her pause. She’d had a note from Fifi last night, saying she’d returned home yesterday. Welles had come with her, both of them brought to Bath by Lord Charlton in his coach. Fifi was concerned about Mary, that she’d left Courtland Hall without farewell and she wished to call. Fifi announced that she and Charlton were to be wed and soon, too. Welles, who took up her position with Mary once more, was aflutter with the prospect.
But the other news that Fifi conveyed—and Welles repeated—disturbed her more. Esme had fled before the wedding. Upon the discovery, her mother fainted. Minutes afterward, her father announced the painful news in the chapel. Esme had forsaken her fiancé. God only knew where she’d gone. Her father left in search of her. So had Northington. As previously planned, the wedding guests had dined in the house and the parishioners on the lawn that morning. Later all had dispersed to their homes. Among them were Fifi and Charlton.
Mary was just as upset to learn that Blake had left Courtland Hall early as well. Like she, he’d been undone by the revelations of her misconduct.
She sighed. She had so much to do to repair the damage she’d done.
She gave her butler a consoling half smile. “I must complete my business in London before I dare discuss my issues with Fifi. If she calls here while I’m away, be certain to feed her cake and—”
“Caesar wants cake!”
“And cover Caesar so he makes less a fuss.”
“If I may say, my lady, you should…ahem…take some care before you leave for your Aunt Georgiana’s.”
“Why?” She faced him, her long hair a tangle over shoulders.
“Your aunt will want to feed you.”
“I look famished?”
He looked startled as an owl. “And clothe you.”
She sighed. Her aunt was a stickler for perfection of hair and dress. “I look unkempt?”
“Shall we say, you are not in the pink, ma’am.”
She mashed her lips together. The man meant well. “You have suggestions, I assume?”
“That you stop walking the floor at night. Take a brandy or two, three if you must. Rest. And stop arguing with yourself.”
She did do that. Had to. “Often?”
“All day long, ma’am. Nighttime, too.”
“Anything that I say aloud?” God forbid!
He rolled his eyes. “You know.”
She crossed her arms and tapped a toe on the wooden floor. She did know. But she’d hear him utter the words. She could not bear to. “Well. What?”
“‘I have one more problem to fix.’”
I do.
“‘Me.’”
Chapter 11
He jogged down the front steps of ‘The Shop’. The school he had loved, that had given him so much integrity and purpose, would always live in his heart as his salvation. But today, his commanding officer gave him no orders. He remained in limbo.
What was he to do now?
Without resolution to his status in the Corps, he could not make any final decisions about his future. Each day must come as it would. With decisions that he could make in good conscience. About his home. His land. His tenants.
His coachman pulled alongside, his footman jumping down at the ready to the door.
Inside, he sat and brushed his hand down his uniform. He hated to part with it, but he might have to. He’d have to choose a priority and live by it. Home or profession? He doubted he could do both and do them well.
His commander had discussed possible assignments. Soon the Corps would receive new orders for work abroad. Settlements in Quebec, relations with natives in Kathmandu
, Delhi and expeditions to Algiers were all possible assignments for any engineer. One of his friends was soon to be appointed adjutant of the Royal Sappers and Miners in Woolwich, a good post at home. But Blake could not and should not count on an assignment here in Britain. A few of his comrades hoped to be placed on half-pay. That seemed a half life of uncertainty and he would not request it. One alternative to give him ultimate freedom was for him to sell his commission. To part from the service grieved him. The Corps had given him purpose, education and fulfillment. It had nurtured an excitement to create useful structures—roads and dams and maps to chart the paths for others. How could he leave it?
Without firm direction as a soldier, he had two goals now. To see to his duties as baron at home. And to see to his friend, Langdon. The first he could address with money, skill and delight. The second, he had no goal other than renewing a relationship he’d valued for years.
After those two were accomplished, he could address himself to the task of sorting his personal life. He’d have it out with Mary, as he should have done at Courtland Hall. But he’d walked the floor most of the night after the ugly revelations in the orangery and when he’d knocked upon her door the next morning, Welles told him she’d departed already for home. Try as he might, he never thought Mary mean-spirited. But this childish business had gone awry. He’d have this out with her to settle the issue once and for all.
Next week, he’d journey to Bath.
* * *
She returned to her aunt’s house late in the day, handing over her hat and her pelisse with a polite smile for the family butler.
“Tea, Lady Mary? Your aunt awaits you in the yellow salon.”
“Thank you, Jenkins. I will go.” Though she’ll ask me a thousand questions. Gossip of much ado at the Courtlands’ May Day frolic had met her aunt’s ears and she was persistent in requiring details. Mary girded herself for the foray.
“Good afternoon, Aunt. Lovely day, isn’t it?” Mary had not seen the lady before she left. Her aunt took her breakfast in her bed each day until noon. Mary had enjoyed a solitary meal.
“I say, my dear girl, you look pale.” Her aunt was of substantial figure, awash in an apple green silk sarsnet that suited her parchment complexion which she famously treated with lemons. Four of them. Sliced. Every day. “Cold outside, wouldn’t you say?”
“Unusual.”
“You look suited for it, I’m pleased to say.” Her aunt waggled a finger at her wool walking dress with benevolent approval. “Your mama would worry over you, with your head in your plants and your eyes on your telescope.”
Mary considered what that posture would look like and surrendered to a laugh. It was her first in many days. “She would.”
“Come sit here beside me.” She tapped the cushion of the old Queen Anne settee. Proximity to Aunt Georgina always meant a storm was coming. “Now. Where’ve you been? Visiting one of your school friends?”
“No.” She hesitated to give all the details.
“You’ve been gone all afternoon.”
“Indeed.”
“You might as well tell me, my dear.” She fiddled with the the tea service. “My friends will be about me like flies to honey with their questions and conclusions. Dare I argue with them without facts, hmm?”
“I called upon Lord Langdon. Afterward, upon Lord Lawton-Bridges.”
“Dear me.” Aunt paused, her hand on the Meissen tea pot aloft in mid-pour and surprise. “Two gentlemen. I applaud you, sweet girl. Courage is your middle name.”
More like arrogance.
“Not that, at all!”
Mary sighed at her bluntness. “I might as well think nothing, simply speak every thought I’ve ever had aloud.”
“Your Grandmother Dayton was like that. You’ve inherited the trait.”
“No consolation, Aunt.”
“You’ll live and do it well.”
“I’m not so sure.”
“You are not malicious, my darling girl. You speak truth. For yourself. Perhaps embarrassing now and again, but well, we each have our wrinkles, don’t we? Hmm. Yes. Glum is not a pretty color on you. So. Tell me why call upon Langdon.”
“I owe him an apology.”
Her aunt narrowed rheumy eyes upon her and huffed. “Not that old business with Sir Henry Weaver’s daughter!”
How many people knew about that fiasco? Mary wanted to be done with the agony of this. “Yes. Millicent.”
“Langdon should have recovered from that by now. I hope he was civil. What did he say when you said you were sorry?”
“He didn’t. He’s in the country at Cranford Haven.”
“Dear me. Is that why you’re sulking? Sulking is not good for the posture.”
Or anything else, for that matter. “I’m sad because of that and because after I left Langdon’s house, I called upon Lord Lawton-Bridges.”
“Oh? He attended the Courtlands’ affair. Why go to see him? Not proper for you to call upon him by yourself. Even if he was a childhood friend. But all is not lost! You wore a suitable color to complement your eyes.”
The peacock blue of her new outfit had given Mary courage that she could deliver her speech to Blake without faltering. But her preparation was for naught. “Yes, I thought it pretty. Appropriate for the afternoon.”
“And for…what else?” The lady offered Mary a cup and saucer.
Everyone in town must’ve seen my coach stop before his door. They’ll know too when I ride off to Lawton Abbey in pursuit of him.
“Why go to Lawton Abbey?” Her aunt stood on the precipice between curiosity and condemnation.
Mary had once more spoken her thoughts aloud. She sighed, unable to contain her distress. She would learn to manage this other frustrating characteristic of herself.
“Mary!?”
“Yes, ma’am. I must go down to the Abbey. I owe Lord Bridges an explanation and an apology.”
“Most improper for you to go.”
“I’ll have Welles.” She put her tea aside.
“A maid cannot keep you from scandal.”
“Oh, Aunt, I assure you that Lord Bridges has no intention of accosting my person.”
“That I do doubt. He loved you. Probably still does.”
That her aunt would know this was one surprise, but that she’d assume he still did was utterly wrong. “No. I hurt him. Not intentionally but there was a misunderstanding at the May Day event. I’m to blame.”
“I see. Caused by your old ways?”
She clasped her hands together and nodded.
“Fixing everyone and everything. Always about it since your accident.”
Mary considered her aunt with new perspective. Since she’d fallen, she did this?
“Not good, my dear. Not at all when you have your own life to fix. As it were.” She cleared her throat. “Come now. Eat. You are too thin. Men do not like ladies who disappear into the plaster. You need food to think clearly. So do I.” She availed herself of another iced cake. Her aunt’s hunger reminded Mary of Fifi who ate anything set before her.
She took the plate her aunt offered, filled with creme this and jelly that.
“You must seek strength, dear girl. It’s not often a woman should apologize to a man.”
She gulped. “Do others know what happened at the Courtlands’ event?”
The lady examined her features in minute detail. “You must hear it?”
“Yes.” I have to know how badly my reputation has suffered. I may have to retire to Bath and never leave the house!
“Tut, tut. Bath? That goes too far, dear girl.”
She winced. A tapestry needle would not keep her lips sealed. She needed glue!
“My friends are very reliable. I appreciate their…shall we say, attention to detail?”
Mary withered in her skin.
“Not the worst story I’ve heard, certainly. But it does you no justice. You have helped to marry off quite a few of your friends. My thought was why not marry yourself off,
eh? But yes, well. Difficult that.”
“What have you heard, Aunt?”
“You kissed him. Played with him. The piano. But also…in some other way, not terribly kind of you. Why, I want to know.”
She explained as best she could the terrible events at the Courtlands’. “I would not hurt him for the world! He has always been the only man I wanted. And after he was home two years ago, I thought he was to be mine. But he heard about Langdon and Millicent and concluded me…a meddler.”
“Your attempts to order a few of your friends’ lives has been misconstrued as, shall we say,…unnecessary?”
“Damnable is more like it.”
The word did not shock her aunt. Instead, she reached over and patted Mary’s cheek. “No, my sweet girl. Not that. But a practice borne of desire—”
“For order.” She shot to her feet. “And control.”
Chapter 12
Cranfield Haven near Maidstone was a manor house built to emulate the finest in interpretations of Palladian architectural style. Pristine in Portland stone, The Earl of Langdon’s house resembled an elegant box fronted by a pebbled circular drive.
As Mary’s coachman pulled to the entrance, the earl’s butler appeared before the door. She’d sent a letter yesterday that she wished to call and Langdon’s man knew who she was. Officious, he was young and quick about his work to usher her inside and take her pelisse. When he extended his hand for her walking stick, she demurred.
“I will keep this, thank you.” She refused use of it for much too long and now was the time to reclaim the wooden prop she’d shunned to her own discomfort. “The weather is not the best.”
“For old injuries, no,” he said with an understanding of such in his voice. “This way, my lady.”
At a set of doors, he opened both to reveal a large library that smelled of old leather and fine wood. “His lordship will be with you in a few minutes,” he said and closed her inside.
Lady Mary's May Day Mischief: Four Weddings and a Frolic, Book 2 Page 9