Letitia Or The Convalescent Heart

by Catherine Bowness

  LETITIA

  OR

  THE CONVALESCENT HEART

  by

  CATHERINE BOWNESS

  Copyright © 2018 Catherine Bowness

  All rights reserved.

  9781728727875

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  With love and gratitude to:

  Sophy and Ben for invaluable technical and emotional support

  as always

  and to

  Janis and Lyn for their endless patience, helpful advice and continuing encouragement.

  Previous Books by Catherine Bowness

  The Lost Palace

  Christmas at Great Madden

  For Children

  The Adventure to the Lost Palace

  Regency

  Alethea or A Solemn Vow

  Cynthia or A Short Stretch of Road

  Euphemia or The Secret Widow

  Sylvia or the High Moral Ground

  Mary or The Perils of Imprudence

  Honoria or The Safety of the Frying Pan

  Agnes or The Art of Friendship

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 1

  Nobody who saw the announcement in The Gazette that a marriage was to take place between the Honourable Miss Denton and the Earl of Stonegate supposed that it was for romantic reasons. In spite of being distant connexions, they were not known to have met more than a couple of times before the Earl made his offer and Miss Denton accepted. In such circumstances neither party was considered likely, even by the wildest stretch of the imagination, to have formed an attachment to the other; the alliance must, the on-dits insisted, have been arranged entirely for practical reasons.

  He needed an heir – and therefore required a wife - and she needed a husband – almost any husband would have done when one considered her history.

  In this, the second year of the Regency, brides were not expected to have a history at all; they were generally propelled into Society straight from the schoolroom. Letty had, unfortunately, acquired a whisper – no more than that – of a history some time before she left the schoolroom and had, with uncommon foolishness, added another chapter only two years later.

  The history had begun some six years previously. At the time, her elder sister’s frail craft had been launched upon the choppy waters of Society and she and her family were hoping that a young man to whom she had taken a fancy would make her an offer.

  He, amongst a number of other members of the ton, including his half-brother, had been invited to spend Christmas at the Duke of Appledore’s house, which was less than ten miles distant from Viscount Hankham’s abode. The Hankhams were not known to be a particularly sociable family – indeed rather the reverse - but, having gone to the trouble of presenting their elder daughter, they were determined not to allow the fish they believed they had hooked to slip away. The young man, together with his elder brother, Lord Rushlake, heir to the Earl of Stonegate, were invited to spend an afternoon and evening at Hankham Towers, where it was expected that the convenience of finding himself in the same house as the young woman’s father would precipitate the expected declaration. It did not; Lord Archibald took one look at the débutante’s younger sister and fell violently in love – as did she.

  At the time she was fourteen, he two-and-twenty. The sister, Maria, who had been looking forward with confidence to receiving the offer was furious.

  There was an appalling scene when she found her little sister locked in her young man’s arms and threw a paperweight – which was the only weapon she could lay her hands upon in such a crisis – at the lovers. It hit Letty on the cheekbone with such force that the skin was broken and blood spilled out in an alarming fashion, staining Lord Archibald’s coat - which everyone thought served him right - together with the carpet - which seemed a pity as it had been considered a fine one.

  The result of this loss of temper was that Letty, when the story of what she had done was retailed to their parents by a sobbing Maria, was confined to her chamber. Lord Archibald, driven from the house immediately but seemingly not a whit abashed, swore eternal love to the younger sister - by means of a note delivered through a maid - and Maria accepted an offer from a man more than thirty years her senior and flounced off to the other end of the country.

  This was the first chapter in Letty’s history.

  She recovered only partially from the injury; her face remained oddly dented at the site of the blow – as though she had a dimple where no such concavity would usually be found - and she bore a scar in the shape of a rose. As time passed, this mark grew paler until it resembled nothing so much as a faint watermark beneath a complexion that was in every other respect flawless.

  Her appearance was not, of course, the only lasting legacy of the scene. The lively charm and frank manner which had propelled her into Lord Archibald’s arms, suffered a blow from which it seemed for a time unlikely to recover. She became – perhaps understandably - so mortally afraid of angering others that she was inclined to flinch when anyone frowned or picked up a heavy object in her presence. Indeed, so eager did she appear to please that her parents were – for a time – convinced that she would be easy to marry off in spite of the imperfection in her looks. This comfortable illusion was shattered when she ran off with Lord Archibald two years later.

  He had, after the shameful episode of the kiss, immediately – and quite properly - made an offer for her hand, assuring Lord Hankham that he was perfectly prepared to wait until his love should have reached an age when her parents considered such a step acceptable. Lord Hankham turned it down, partly because he had by no means forgiven his lordship for his shocking behaviour in more or less jilting the elder girl in favour of a schoolgirl and partly because he was convinced that his younger daughter, considerably prettier than her sister, could do better than a younger son.

  During the following two years the lovers kept their sentiments alive by means of increasingly passionate letters until, after being turned down again by Lord Hankham, they took matters into their own hands and attempted an elopement.

  They did not get far; they were apprehended on the road to Gretna Green before – so far as anyone could ascertain – anything more improper than a number of kisses had taken place. He was knocked down, bundled into what he had hoped would be the bridal vehicle and sent back the way he had come, while she was returned like a parcel that has gone astray, none the worse except in temper, to her parents’ house. The man who rescued her was Lord Rushlake.

  The result of the aborted elopement was that Letty was more or less kept under lock and key for the two years remaining before she could be launched into Society. For a short time, the passionate correspondence continued unabated wi
th promises on either side to wait the five years until she should reach her majority. However, one day it ceased abruptly, possibly on account of Lord Stonegate having bought his son a commission. Lord Archibald was despatched to serve somewhere in Europe where Lord and Lady Hankham hoped he would be in the thick of whatever fighting was going on at the time.

  Letty, incarcerated in her family home, was cast into despair when the letters from her beloved ceased to arrive. She refused to eat and expressed a strong desire to die as soon as possible. Whether she would have carried out her stated plan of starving herself to death to the bitter end is uncertain for, shortly after this, her mother became ill, took to her bed and never rose again. This unfortunate circumstance diverted Letty’s mind from her romantic tragedy to the impending one of losing her mother. Lady Hankham died some six months later but Letty had been shocked out of her own misery for long enough to abandon the idea of self-destruction.

  After the period of mourning had been completed, it became clear that the London Season Lady Hankham had planned for her younger daughter would not take place at all. Her father, known for being tight-fisted, considered such a vast outlay a waste of money, particularly in view of Letty’s frequently stated determination to marry none but Lord Archibald Meridew.

  The letter from Lord Stonegate offering marriage arrived shortly after her twentieth birthday. It had been assumed at the time of the elopement that Lord Rushlake, as he had been then, had gone after the runaways because he felt responsible for his brother’s conduct, although some said that his action might have been prompted at least partially by a wish to save Letty from her father’s inclination to violence. Lord Hankham was known to fly into ungovernable rages so that, when he found his daughter’s letter propped ominously against the clock on the mantelpiece, it was only a matter of time before something would be broken. That fate initially befell a valuable Chinese vase, which, innocently standing upon the same mantelpiece, was smashed against the mirror behind, breaking both mirror and vase and ensuring seven years’ bad luck for somebody – perhaps everybody – in the household.

  Two years had passed since the promise of a London Season had been withdrawn and Lord Archibald’s name had not been mentioned since but, there being no particular reason to think that Letty had recovered from her infatuation, Lord Hankham was not optimistic of a favourable response when he sent for his daughter to convey the news of the offer. He was astonished when she accepted without demur. What he did not know was that his new wife – who was even more eager to be rid of Letty than he – had taken the precaution of informing his daughter that her erstwhile lover had married.

  “I suppose you know that Stonegate has a mistress – is indeed said to be devoted to her,” Lord Hankham said. Although he wished to dispose of his daughter as soon as possible – and cared little how it were achieved – his contrary nature prompted him to attempt to dissuade her – or perhaps he believed that she was more likely to accept if he made a show of reluctance to entrust her to such a licentious gentleman.

  “I did not,” she admitted, “but I do now. Thank you for informing me, Papa.”

  She was not surprised; most men had mistresses and, since she had no fondness for nor much recollection of the man, she was of the belief that, if he chose to spend most of his time with another woman, it would probably suit her very well. In any event, her heart being by no means healed, she considered that, if her future husband’s affections had already been bestowed elsewhere, it would make matters simpler between them.

  “I imagine he is seeking a wife, almost sight unseen, in order to secure the succession,” her father said. “Very likely he does not wish it to go to his scoundrel of a brother. If you can manage to provide him with a son without too much delay I daresay he will leave you alone.”

  Letty nodded but did not vouchsafe a reply for it seemed to her that this went without saying.

  “I feel it to be my duty to point out the disadvantages of accepting his offer,” Lord Hankham continued in the same ponderous tone. Letty wondered whether he felt that the interview should last a little longer than the two minutes it had taken him to tell her of the offer and receive her acquiescence. Indeed, since he was much given to provoking an argument – which would give him an excuse to threaten her or break something – she suspected that, if she had not accepted with such alacrity, he would instead have been pointing out the advantages.

  “I appreciate your thoughtfulness, Papa,” she said coldly, rising.

  “I should imagine,” he went on, “that he has not found it easy to persuade anyone to become his wife on account of his attachment to Lady Vanston. Very likely he thought that, in the circumstances, you would leap at the chance of becoming the Countess of Stonegate.”

  “Well, he has been proved right,” she said, wondering to what circumstances her father alluded, but reluctant to spend any longer in the library with him than was absolutely necessary in case he should find an excuse to lose his temper. “Pray inform his lordship that I accept his offer with pleasure.”

  She dropped her father a small curtsey and left the room with unimpaired dignity.

  Lord Stonegate, according to her stepmother, who could generally be relied upon to be au fait with the latest gossip, spent the majority of his time in London, no doubt in order to be close to his mistress. Lord Vanston was a general and rarely at home on account of his job requiring him to spend the majority of his time in various troubled areas in Europe.

  Lord Stonegate’s mother, the Dowager Countess, still lived in the Castle, and it was from this lady that Letty received a letter some few days after she had accepted the offer, inviting her to visit the family so that she could inspect the house which was to be hers and meet the staff.

  The visit was delayed for a few weeks while a suitable companion for the journey was sought. During this time Lady Hankham, who wanted to make sure that the Earl did not cry off when he saw his bride for the first time, concentrated upon Letty’s wardrobe.

  “If you look too dowdy, he will very likely change his mind,” she warned.

  “I suppose he might,” Letty acknowledged without much interest, “but it would look very bad if he did.”

  “Are you not afraid that he will simply find a catalogue of excuses not to proceed for an indefinite period – as your previous suitor did?” Lady Hankham asked cruelly.

  “No, I am not in the least afraid,” Letty said, answering the question in the annoyingly literal way she often did. “If he does any such thing, I cannot imagine that I will be particularly saddened; I do not, after all, know him well and certainly do not hold him in affection. I cannot, therefore, conceive it likely that, whatever he does or does not do, it will break my heart.”

  Lady Hankham was afraid though for, if the union failed to take place, Letty, for all her sanguine words, would probably be plunged into an even more impenetrable sulk, as a consequence of which she would likely hang about her father’s house for the rest of her life – or his at any rate. If she failed to tie the knot this time it did not seem likely that she would have another chance for she would surely gain a reputation as a fence no horse could be persuaded to clear.

  Accordingly, the Viscountess insisted on shepherding her stepdaughter on an outing to buy clothes and shoes which she hoped would render the girl a little less of an antidote.

  Letty, who had not had a new dress for years, apart from one or two black ones after her mother died, was surprised by how pleased she was to try on gowns and, for the first time for what seemed like an aeon, receive compliments, even if they only came from the dressmaker.

  “There, you see,” Lady Hankham said triumphantly as they drove home again. “Did I not say that it would be possible to improve your appearance with some new gowns?”

  Letty recalled no such prediction but said, quite pleasantly, “I own it is agreeable to have new clothes. Thank you for taking me.”

  “It was a pleasure,” the Viscountess said at once. “I will get Sally to cut an
d curl your hair when we get home.”

  Lady Hankham, nearly two years younger than her stepdaughter, was an excessively pretty woman with pale golden locks, large blue eyes and a rosebud mouth. Letty thought she resembled a shepherdess in a children’s storybook but acknowledged that this sort of prettiness was no doubt the kind admired by gentlemen; certainly, she knew it was admired by Lord Hankham for her own mother, as depicted in the portrait in the drawing room, had been just such a pretty creature in youth.

  She herself had, when Lord Archibald Meridew fell in love with her, possessed similarly striking looks, although she resembled her father’s side of the family more than her mother’s. Now fully grown, her features had lost their youthful roundness and uncertainty and settled into what most people would consider lines of classical beauty. Her hair was no longer the almost incandescent white of childhood but had developed a more tawny shade resembling honey, although during the hotter months of the year it took on a faintly striped appearance where the sun bleached it. Only the colour of her eyes remained unchanged, a blue so striking as to dazzle the observer, although their expression was no longer eager or trusting but shadowed with pain and disillusion.

  “You should not sit in the sun without a hat,” Lady Hankham had said several times, observing the streaks. “You will ruin your complexion.”

  “It is already spoiled,” Letty pointed out, touching the pale scar.

  “Nobody will even see that if you arrange your hair properly,” her ladyship snapped. “I will get Sally to cut it so that there’s a curl over that bit.” But she never did and Letty had not reminded her. She had grown used to people who did not do as they promised and, not looking for a suitor, was indifferent to her own beauty.

  However, Sally was brought into Letty’s chamber by her ladyship while they were changing for dinner the night before the visit to Stonegate so that the hair could be cut and curled under the Viscountess’s direction.