The General's Granddaughter

by Dorothy Mack

  Sarah would have welcomed a tour of the interior of Lord Eversley’s home but had had to content herself with intriguing glimpses into open rooms on the way to the lovely drawing room where their hostess had welcomed them. Again, the atmosphere was in startling contrast to the formality of the beautifully proportioned and elegantly furnished rooms at Beech Hill. Perhaps it was the proximity of the outdoors that was responsible for the air of informality prevailing in the delightful room where the tea party had taken place.

  It had been a pleasant interlude, largely owing to the warmth and charm of their hostess. Sarah had liked the viscount’s mother at once and had come away with the happy confidence that Lady Eversley had returned the feeling. If the afternoon had fallen a little short of her expectations, she had only herself to blame. It was inexcusable for someone of her advanced years to indulge in the schoolgirl folly of spinning romantic daydreams. Best to get the shaming confession out into the open. The bronze-green bonnet, the new coiffure, the unadmitted eagerness had all been for Lord Eversley’s benefit.

  And with what result?

  Sarah’s entire share of Lord Eversley’s attention today had consisted of a smiling welcome upon meeting and a firm hand assisting her into the carriage to accompany his smile at parting. It was true that he had seemed to elbow William out of the way in order to extend this assistance, but in all probability the gesture was prompted by the slightly guilty conscience of a good host who has suddenly realized that he has neglected one of his guests.

  A timid knock on the door provided a welcome interruption to her unsatisfactory reasoning. It was Maria, wondering why she had not received a call to do Miss Ridgemont’s hair for dinner.

  “I had planned to leave it in the coil you arranged this afternoon, Maria,” Sarah replied with a swift glance at the clock on the mantel. “Unless you feel it needs to be re-pinned?”

  Maria promised that it would be the work of an instant to redo the coil, and less than five minutes later Sarah ran downstairs to see whether her grandfather still intended to dine with the family.

  Sir Hector, resplendent in a burgundy velvet coat and satin knee breeches, was accepting a large ruby ring from Somers when Sarah entered in response to his invitation.

  “Ah, here is my granddaughter, Somers. I won’t need to trouble you, after all. You may give me your arm to the dining room in a moment, Sarah. I have promised my keeper —” with a darkling look at the imperturbable valet — “not to attempt the stairs just yet. The man was prepared to plague me to death until I agreed.”

  “And quite right too, Grandfather. How elegant you look.” Sarah’s smile was for both master and servant, who both gazed back at her with similar expressions of approval.

  Then Sir Hector growled, “In my day, the way a man dressed told you something about him. None of this boring black and white. Even military uniforms have more variety and appeal than this uninspired passion for anonymity that that ass Brummell has decreed.”

  Sir Hector regaled his escort with his views on the recent decline of elegance in the sartorial habits of both sexes as they walked slowly along the corridor past the chapel and west staircase before turning into the great hall to enter the dining saloon at the end of it. Sarah made appropriate murmurs, though she was preoccupied to some extent with the physical presence of her grandfather. He was a head taller than she and held himself admirably upright, but she was nervously aware that she was taking more of his weight by the time they had gained the dining room, a distance of perhaps a hundred feet. She caught Millbank’s eye as they entered, and he hurried to pull out the chair at the head of the table. Once she had seen her grandfather seated, she volunteered to fetch the others from the drawing room, hastening away on the words to spare him any conversation.

  Out of sight in the hall, Sarah lingered on the bottom step for a few moments to give her grandfather time to recover his breath before she went upstairs to announce dinner. He would absolutely hate to have the rest of his family know what this effort to preside at his own table was costing him.

  As a happy family event, the dinner was doomed from the moment Sir Hector demanded that Sarah be seated opposite him, explaining with a malicious smile directed at his daughter, who was about to take that place, that as his granddaughter was making her home with him, she would naturally assume the role of his hostess. He quelled the appalled protest that rose to Sarah’s lips with a raised hand and a brusque remark that it would save a lot of trouble to begin as they meant to go on.

  From the instant of meeting her aunt’s malignant glance as the latter passed her in tight-lipped silence while the seating arrangements were adjusted to suit the general’s pleasure, Sarah’s appetite deserted her. She sat rearranging the food on her plate while struggling to respond in turn to her uncle and Vincent, who were seated on either side of her. Arabella, looking enchanting in a frothy confection the colour of a raspberry ice, pulled out all the stops in her efforts to charm her grandfather, whom she had run to greet with a delighted kiss on his dry cheek on entering the room. Sarah, trying to swallow tiny morsels that wouldn’t choke her, could only pray that her cousin would prove entertaining enough to keep Sir Hector happily occupied till the penitential meal had ended.

  She had dared set her hopes too high, however, for her grandfather dashed them down during a pause while the dishes from the first course were cleared away. He had been eyeing his ebullient young granddaughter with benign interest as she gestured with a well-kept hand sparkling with rings below a delicate wrist bearing a bracelet of large gold links.

  “I like that rig of yours, Arabella,” he began with a deceptive amiability that brought Sarah’s eyes up from the contemplation of her plate as he went on. “One thing I’ll say for your mother, she’s got good taste. Between the pair of you, you ought to be able to outfit Sarah in style. And no nipcheese notions of economy, mind you. I can stand the damages.”

  It would have been difficult to tell which of the three ladies included in Sir Hector’s masterly plan was most disconcerted. Sarah did not utter a sound, but the colour drained from her face and she gripped the edge of the table with her thumbs for support. Arabella’s pretty mouth hung open for a second or two until she mastered her surprised dismay and snapped it shut. Her mother, who had contributed nothing beyond monosyllabic responses when directly addressed during the first course, lowered her eyes, but not before Sarah quivered under the quick flare of anger that had struck sparks in the dark depths at the general’s casual presumption. Two hectic spots of colour burned in Lady Townsend’s cheeks, and it was she who found her voice first.

  “Sarah is not a marriageable young girl to be dressed by her elders for her presentation to society,” she said, a hard edge to her voice. “She may prefer to select her own wardrobe.”

  “Oh, yes, Grandfather. I would not wish to impose on my aunt or my cousin,” Sarah put in quickly. “Lottie can help me acquire whatever is necessary.”

  “You’ll do as you’re told, girl,” snapped Sir Hector, then his tones became suspiciously bland. “Why should you — or they — consider it an imposition to expect your closest female relatives to assist you in the task of assembling a wardrobe? Shopping is meat and drink to females.”

  “I did not say it was an imposition, Father.” Lady Townsend’s frost-edged voice rang out clearly. “I merely questioned the necessity of bringing other opinions than Sarah’s into the business. At her age, she is entitled to suit herself in the matter of clothes.”

  “She can’t be expected to know all the latest follies and fancies current among the so-called cream of society. That’s where you and Arabella come in. And that’s all I’m going to say on the subject,” he finished with a rising choler that no one wished to intensify.

  William, ever tactful, asked his grandfather’s opinion on the latest news from France, where Wellington’s army was reported to be on the brink of a decisive victory.

  As the men, eager to leave the embarrassing subject of Sarah’s wardrob
e behind, began an animated discussion of the army’s position, Sarah shrank further into her shell, miserably conscious that her grandfather’s high-handed championship had resulted in an augmentation of the animosity already borne her by Aunt Townsend and Arabella. Her cousin, ignored at present, was frankly sulking since her attempts to lure Cecil away from the men’s war talk had been unsuccessful. Lady Townsend was absorbed in her own thoughts, which, if her sour expression spoke true, were anything but pleasant. Of the women, only Mrs. Ridgemont continued to eat her dinner as if nothing untoward had occurred. Sarah had given up any pretence of eating. Without knowing it, her features assumed the stillness of a portrait, her habitual defence whenever a situation became unbearably hurtful.

  Much as she had longed for the uncomfortable meal to be over, the immediate aftermath might be likened to escaping from the frying pan into the fire as she followed the ladies up to the drawing room on reluctant feet. Arabella and her mother instantly drew apart for private converse, both of them making clear their disinclination for the least share of her company. Aunt Ridgemont took pity on her and initiated a gentle conversation about trivialities, which they managed to sustain until the gentlemen reappeared. Her grandfather had retired directly after the port, she learned from William, who joined her where she sat on the sofa next to his mother’s chair. Sarah could only thank a belated providence for removing a potential source of further dissension from their midst.

  Gradually over the next hour, she relaxed under the calming influence of William’s society. He cheered her at the start by directing the conversation toward the expected arrival of her brother, and she soon entered into his enthusiasm for planning activities to interest a boy of eleven who was unused to country living. If by the time she sought her bed she had not entirely forgotten the aggravated tension that would continue to exist between herself and her cousin and aunt, at least it was no longer so uppermost in her mind as to destroy her rest.

  CHAPTER 11

  Richard and Lottie arrived the next day.

  Until the post chaise hired by Mr. Coke in London pulled into the drive in mid-afternoon, it had been a dreary day. Yesterday’s sunshine was only a memory as the day dawned with overcast skies and an unwelcome chill in the air. Seeking to avoid a similar chill indoors, Sarah breakfasted at an hour when her aunt and Arabella were still in their beds. William, at last able to get into his riding boots, went off with the other men, leaving her to her own devices, which she decided, at least for the morning hours, should not include the doubtful companionship of the other women. When she had conferred with the housekeeper and cook and visited her grandfather, who was a trifle fatigued after his social evening, she whiled away the time remaining before lunch in making sketches of gowns she would like to have made and lists of accessories to buy.

  The presence of the gentlemen at lunch diluted the air of cold enmity emanating from her Aunt Townsend. The men also served to distract Arabella from contributing to her mother’s determined snubbing of Sarah. For her part, Sarah refrained from offering any opportunities for the exercise of her aunt’s caustic tongue, to the point of sitting nearly mumchance throughout the meal. This pusillanimous policy had little to recommend it over any considerable length of time and would, if detected, be roundly condemned by her grandfather. For the moment, however, her diffidence kept the situation from erupting into greater unpleasantness.

  She fled thankfully to her own apartment when the meal was over. She attempted to read a book she had taken from the library shelves the day before, but her state of mind was such that concentration on the printed word was a feat beyond her capabilities. It was a relief, therefore, when William knocked on the door to her antechamber and proposed a tour of the grounds. Sarah accepted the offer with alacrity, donning her black pelisse and bonnet while her cousin waited in the great hall.

  Mrs. Ridgemont emerged from her apartment just as Sarah joined William, so they paused on their way out to tell her of their intention to explore. Mrs. Ridgemont’s vague blue gaze dwelled on Sarah for a second with a bit more interest than she usually displayed before she smiled and wished them an enjoyable outing.

  The cousins were rounding the side of the house in a companionable silence an hour later when the post chaise came into sight at the end of the drive.

  “It’s Lottie and Richard, I know it is! Hurry, William.”

  Sarah set off with the speed and purpose of an arrow in transit, arriving at the foot of the double flight of steps just as the postilion opened the carriage door. By the time William, going more cautiously on his still-weak ankle, reached the scene embraces had been exchanged and Sarah was listening to her young brother’s enthusiastic account of the journey with a fond smile on her lips. A tall straight-backed woman wearing a black pelisse and hat and an uncompromising aspect was surveying her immediate surroundings with a judicial eye as William silently joined the group. He essayed a smile, and the lady unbent sufficiently to give him a polite nod and a direct look that reserved judgment.

  “Oh, William,” Sarah said, catching sight of him at last, “please forgive our poor manners. Stop a minute, Richard, and get your breath back. I’d like you to meet one of our cousins.”

  As Sarah proudly performed the introductions, William realized that he was being regarded with great interest by both members of her immediate family. He found himself hoping they liked what they saw. He certainly did. Both Richard and Miss Miller gazed at the world with the same honest approach that he had noticed in Sarah.

  “How do you do, sir? Sarah wrote that you were the nicest of our cousins,” Richard said, naively carrying frankness too far.

  “Richard! Where are your manners?” cried his sister, aghast, while Miss Miller tutted disapprovingly.

  The dark Ridgemont eyes of the youngster turned on his sister in puzzlement. “But naturally I would not say this in front of the others, Sarah.”

  William laughed and clapped his young cousin on the shoulder. “Of course you would not, Cousin Richard, and I am highly honoured to have earned your sister’s regard, believe me.” He could feel the measuring quality in Miss Miller’s look and was not displeased that Sarah suggested going inside at that moment.

  Joseph was directing the removal of the baggage as they ascended the long flight of steps to the accompaniment of Richard’s awed comments on the size and grandeur of his grandfather’s house. Sarah told William that she was going to take the newcomers in to meet her grandfather. He nodded and proceeded on to the drawing room.

  Leaving Richard and Lottie with Somers in the drawing room of Sir Hector’s suite, Sarah burst into the bedchamber on a quick knock and then drew up short, stammering a surprised apology as she saw that he was not alone.

  The tall man in the dark-green coat and fawn-coloured trousers rose to his feet on her entrance. “That’s all right, Sarah,” he said easily, appearing not to notice her raised eyebrows at the informal mode of address. “Your grandfather has just finished wiping me off the board, and I for one am delighted with the interruption.”

  “Your mind was not on the game today, Eversley,” the general allowed magnanimously. “Did I hear sounds of arrival outside, Sarah? Does that account for your air of suppressed excitement?”

  “Richard and Lottie are here, Grandfather. Will you meet them now?”

  “Bring them in,” he said shortly, rising slowly from the wing chair beside the chess table.

  Lottie dropped a stiff curtsy when Sarah presented her, but her grandfather held out his hand and said with a graciousness she had not before suspected in him, “Welcome to Beech Hill, Miss Miller. I am well aware that I owe you a huge debt of gratitude for taking care of my grandchildren these many years. I hope you will be happy here.”

  Only when he had heard her conventional reply did Sir Hector permit himself to turn his attention to the quietly waiting child. He was every inch the general as he examined the boy, but Sarah was proud to see that Richard’s interested gaze did not waver under the intent scrutin
y.

  “How do you do, sir?” he said politely.

  “Well, you are certainly a Ridgemont if your sister isn’t,” the old man conceded.

  “Not a Ridgemont? What can you mean, sir?” Alarm spread over Richard’s countenance and his eyes flew to his sister’s face.

  “Nothing to make heavy weather about, boy. I meant merely that you look like the Ridgemonts and Sarah doesn’t.”

  “Oh,” said Richard, enlightened, “I see. My father looked a lot like you, sir,” he added, following this line of thought to a not entirely felicitous conclusion, judging by his grandfather’s sudden scowl.

  Sarah broke in to make the newcomers known to Lord Eversley. While the three exchanged amenities, her grandfather sank back into his chair. Guessing that he was more tired than he wished to admit, she proposed taking Richard and Lottie up to the drawing room for a general introduction, adding politely, “I trust you will stay to tea, Lord Eversley.”

  He bowed. “I’ll be delighted, Sarah.”

  Again that bland use of her given name seemed to disconcert Sarah, who swept the others out of the room after promising to send Somers in to her grandfather.

  Lottie, whose keen eyes had not left Sarah’s face for the last few moments, took advantage of Lord Eversley’s question to Richard about the journey to speak for the girl’s ears alone as she deliberately slowed their steps along the corridor. “I’ll have to meet the rest of your family sometime, so it might as well be now, but I won’t be staying to take tea with them.”