‘I don’t believe we’ve met,’ she said. ‘I’m Arethusa Deverill.’
The girl gave her a lofty took, but Arethusa could see the glimmer of gratitude behind it. ‘My name is Margherita Stubbs,’ replied the girl, ‘and this is my mother, Mrs Stubbs.’
‘How do you do,’ said Arethusa.
‘You’re bold for an English girl,’ remarked Mrs Stubbs, narrowing her sharp little eyes and cooling her glowing face with an exquisite feather fan.
‘I’m not an English girl,’ said Arethusa brightly. Margherita raised her eyebrows.
Mrs Stubbs said, ‘Oh?’ and raised hers.
‘I’m Anglo-Irish and there’s a difference.’ Arethusa wanted to be very clear about that.
‘I should say there is,’ said Mrs Stubbs, looking Arethusa up and down. The corners of her lips curled into a smile.
‘Most English girls view us Americans with suspicion,’ said Margherita and there was a regretful edge to her voice which Arethusa noticed and felt sorry for. If there was one thing she couldn’t abide it was judgemental people.
‘Only because they’re threatened by you. You dress better, for a start,’ said Arethusa. ‘I guess your couturier is the famous Worth.’
Margherita’s face brightened. ‘How do you know?’
Arethusa laughed. ‘Because all the most beautiful dresses are his creations. Not that I’ve ever been lucky enough to wear one.’
‘I’ll leave you girls to it,’ said Mrs Stubbs, her eyes straying into the throng. She closed her fan and tapped Margherita’s arm with it. ‘Don’t dawdle too long, my dear, I haven’t brought you all the way from America to chat to the girls!’
As the formidable Mrs Stubbs moved away the two girls laughed. ‘She’s relentless!’ said Margherita with a sigh. ‘If she doesn’t marry me off to a duke she’ll consider the whole enterprise a terrible failure.’
‘What’s wrong with American men?’ Arethusa asked.
‘Mama wants a title.’ She laughed again. ‘And what Mama wants, Mama usually gets. Poor Papa is miles away in New York, signing the cheques.’
‘He’ll have to sign a very large one if you land yourself a duke. They don’t come cheap, you know.’
Margherita frowned. ‘You’re exceedingly outspoken, Miss Deverill.’
‘I have an older brother who tells me how the world works. He’s outspoken too, but somehow it’s acceptable in a man. Please call me Tussy. Everyone does.’
‘I like you, Tussy. I think you and I could be friends.’
‘I’d like that very much,’ said Arethusa, who after a couple of months in London had not until this moment found a girl she liked enough to be her confidante. ‘Do you know how I can meet those Minstrels?’ she asked.
‘Come with me,’ said Margherita with a grin. ‘This is where being American has its advantages. No one is surprised when we’re strident!’ And indeed, no one was.
The two women waited their turn, for the brothers were talking to a group of excited ladies, eager to find out how they could acquire a banjo. But they didn’t have to wait long. Presently, Mr Crawford, who was escorting the Minstrels around the room, introducing them to the guests as if they were royalty, bowed to Arethusa and Margherita.
‘Miss Stubbs and Miss Deverill,’ said Margherita, extending her hand.
Arethusa felt as if her heart had been struck by Cupid’s arrow. She stared at Jonas. He stared back at her and in that fleeting moment there passed between them an imperceptible quiver of energy that was not noticed by anyone in the vicinity, besides the two who had created it. He took her hand. She faltered a second, swallowed into his dark and alluring gaze, but a blink enabled her to focus and smile graciously as she had been brought up to do. It wasn’t until he let go of her hand that she remembered to take a breath. ‘Your music is so wonderfully original,’ said Margherita, and Arethusa was grateful because she didn’t think she was capable of saying a word. ‘Really, I was moved and entertained in equal measure. Surely, you will play again?’
‘Not tonight, Miss Stubbs,’ said George Madison.
‘I suspect banjo playing will be all the rage now that you have made it fashionable,’ Margherita continued.
‘We have the most finely crafted banjos from America, if you would like to purchase one,’ George continued.
Arethusa knew she must speak. If she didn’t speak, she would give herself away. ‘I would very much like to play the banjo,’ she said, then cleared her throat, for her voice had come out thin and reedy. ‘Is it difficult to learn?’
‘I find that even students who are not particularly talented learn to play to an acceptable standard,’ said Jonas, without taking his brown eyes off Arethusa, as if he couldn’t take them off.
‘Will you be staying in London long?’ Arethusa asked. The thought of this beautiful man slipping out of her world was suddenly unbearable.
‘We leave for Manchester at the end of July,’ said Jonas. Arethusa’s mind raced as she contemplated the short amount of time they were to spend in London. She could think of nothing more to say. Her mind had gone blank and she stood like a stunned animal, eyes wide, cheeks aflame, feeling the full force of infatuation for the first time in her life.
‘It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Miss Stubbs, Miss Deverill . . .’ George Madison gave a bow, Jonas followed suit. Arethusa was suddenly short of breath. As the brothers were taken off and introduced to other guests, she put a hand on her stomach.
‘I think I need some air,’ she said, overcome by a wave of nausea.
‘Are you all right?’ Margherita asked anxiously.
‘I think I’m going to faint.’
Margherita looked about in panic. She couldn’t let Arethusa sink to the floor, not in the presence of royalty. She caught eyes with a tall, fair-haired man, who swiftly responded to her alarm. ‘Might I be of assistance?’ he said, putting his hand beneath Arethusa’s elbow to steady her.
‘My friend, Miss Deverill, is about to faint,’ Margherita replied.
Rupert, who was standing close, heard the name Deverill and turned to see his sister, as pale as a lily and wilting like one too, sinking into the arms of the Marquess of Penrith. ‘Good Lord!’ he exclaimed, hastening to her side. ‘Tussy, what the devil’s come over you? Let’s get you out of here at once,’ he said, holding her round the waist.
Peregrine watched them leave the room. Then he turned back to Margherita. ‘Lord Penrith,’ he said, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips.
‘Miss Stubbs,’ she replied and gave him her most dazzling smile.
Chapter 17
Arethusa recovered in the conservatory leading off from the ballroom. There, in the cool, fragrant company of palm trees and flowers, she gradually defeated her nausea and managed to breathe calmly again. Rupert, lounging in one of the basket chairs, assumed she’d been overcome by the novelty of the two black men in their midst. ‘I suppose they could be quite shocking to an unworldly girl like you,’ he said, but Arethusa wasn’t in the mood to be teased and ignored him. ‘You were rescued by Peregrine,’ he added, hoping to curry favour. ‘I should think every girl in the ballroom would have liked to have been in your position at that moment.’ He laughed, then shrugged. ‘Every cloud has a silver lining.’
‘I’m not shocked by the black men, Rupert,’ said Arethusa crossly. ‘I find them both charming and talented. It was a pleasure to meet them.’
‘Perhaps it was Peregrine who caused you to faint,’ he suggested.
‘Peregrine came to my rescue because I was fainting. He was not the cause of it.’
‘Then what caused it, I wonder?’ He scratched his chin melodramatically and frowned.
‘My silly corset,’ she replied dismissively, putting a hand on her stomach again. ‘It’s much too tight.’
‘And all that standing. You should sit down with the other old ladies.’ He chuckled and Arethusa smiled reluctantly. ‘Shall we return to the ballroom? There are quadrilles and polkas and waltzes
to dance and I know how much you like dancing. I dare say your dance card is already full.’
‘And what about you, Rupert? Are you going to continue to tease all those poor girls who feel faint in your company?’ She grinned and Rupert could tell she was feeling better.
Arethusa returned to the ball. She searched for Jonas Madison in the crowd, but the Madison brothers were nowhere to be found. The Duchess must think them suitable for entertainment but not for dinner, she thought unhappily. They had gone.
That night Arethusa couldn’t sleep. She lay staring at the ceiling where Jonas’s dark eyes stared back at her. She pictured his handsome face, more handsome than any she had ever seen. In fact, handsome was a common word, she thought, considering the amount of handsome men she had met during her stay in London. No, Jonas was beautiful, and she hadn’t met any beautiful men, ever. She recalled the way his lips curled when he smiled, the way his white teeth shone against his satiny brown skin, the way he had looked right into her. It was as if he had reached in and taken her heart. No one had done that before. No one had got near it. But Jonas, in the first moment of their meeting, had taken it. She put a hand to her forehead in despair. How was she ever going to see him again? She didn’t care about the gentlemen who had proposed, they were insignificant now, chinless and as pink as plucked chickens. She didn’t care about Ronald, either. Even Lord Penrith left her unmoved in spite of his title and estates and all the prestige that went with them. She cared for nothing and no one but Jonas.
However, Arethusa knew very well that Jonas was more than unsuitable, he was forbidden. There was nowhere in the world a woman like her and a man like him could even be acquaintances, let alone friends. It wasn’t even worth contemplating, and yet, Arethusa couldn’t stop herself. She was in love and the feeling was intoxicating. It made her rash; it made her brave.
The following two days were a struggle. Arethusa went through the motions as if her body knew very well what to do in the absence of her mind. She attended the usual social functions and smiled graciously, but everything looked less bright. It was as if London had lost its lustre. Her heart ached for Jonas. It was as if she were carrying a leaden weight in her chest. With every step it grew heavier. How it could trouble her so, having only met him once, was bewildering. But he dominated her every moment and without him the days were monotonous and bland.
Arethusa awoke on the third morning, feigning a headache. She didn’t think she could push herself through another gruelling round of parties with such a melancholy heart and announced at breakfast that she would stay at home with Charlotte, in order to recover. Charlotte, who was quietly sipping tea at the end of the table, looked up in pleasant surprise. However, her hopes were swiftly dashed when a handwritten letter was delivered by a footman in the Sutcliffe family livery, embossed in gold with the Sutcliffe crest. Augusta, who had been busy feeding her Pekinese bacon from her plate, wiped her greasy fingers on a napkin then opened it with a trembling hand. It was from the Duchess of Sutcliffe, requesting the pleasure of Miss Arethusa to join Lady Alexandra that afternoon at 3 p.m. for a banjo lesson with Mr Madison himself.
Arethusa’s heart spluttered back to life. She hoped Mr Madison was Mr Jonas and not Mr George. How disappointing would it be were he Mr George! The Duchess had written underneath that she would very much like the company of Mr Rupert Deverill for tea as well.
‘Have you struck up a friendship with Lady Alexandra?’ Augusta asked, surprised.
Arethusa was as surprised as she was. ‘No,’ she replied. ‘Or not that I’m aware of.’
Charlotte put down her teacup and listened with interest.
Rupert grinned. ‘I think it is I you must shower with gratitude,’ he said, buttering a piece of toast.
‘How so?’ asked Augusta.
‘Because Lady Alexandra has a liking for him,’ said Arethusa with a smile. ‘She blushes scarlet whenever she lays eyes on him.’
‘And do you have a liking for her?’ asked Augusta with mounting excitement.
‘She’s quite pretty, if one is attracted to mice,’ he replied.
Charlotte looked horrified. Arethusa laughed. ‘Oh Rupert! How mean you are!’ she snorted.
‘How very clever you are, Rupert,’ said Augusta admiringly. ‘So Lady Alexandra is using Tussy to get to Rupert. And Lord Penrith is interested in you, Tussy, perhaps?’
‘Oh, Peregrine is not interested in me,’ said Arethusa. Augusta looked disappointed. ‘I would guess that he’s interested in Margherita Stubbs and she is my friend. At the Sutcliffe ball the other night he danced with her three times and was barely out of her company.’
‘Isn’t she the American girl?’ Augusta asked, her face darkening resentfully.
‘Yes, she’s very rich,’ Rupert replied. ‘Nothing speaks louder to an aristocrat like Peregrine than money. Marriage isn’t for fun, you know,’ he added, grinning at his sister. ‘It’s jolly expensive being a duke.’
‘And jolly dull being a duchess, I should imagine,’ said Arethusa provocatively.
‘Tussy!’ Augusta duly gasped. ‘You’d be very lucky to be a duchess. Well, I’m not convinced Lord Penrith has his eye on your American friend. I’m sure the Duke and Duchess would strongly disapprove. It’s new money and new money is frightfully common. Didn’t Mr Stubbs make his money with a hardware store?’
‘He did, Augusta. He made his fortune selling hammers and nails in San Francisco. His was the only hardware store when the gold rush came.’
‘Very lucky,’ said Augusta tightly. ‘But it does not make him a gentleman.’
‘Everyone must start somewhere, surely,’ said Arethusa. ‘I bet our ancestor Barton Deverill was as common as muck before King Charles gave him a title and lands to boast about. Anyway, why is there so much concern about a person’s pedigree? Can’t we like people simply because they’re nice people? Does a dukedom make a man a better human being than, say, George or Jonas Madison, who are far more accomplished but quite possibly descended from slaves?’ It was a throwaway line and yet, as soon as she had uttered the word ‘slave’ she felt so nauseated by it that she wished she hadn’t said it. She knew enough about American history to know that it was likely to be so, and the thought of their people’s suffering sickened her to the core.
Augusta looked perplexed. ‘You get those opinions from your mama, no doubt. I would keep them to yourself, if I were you.’ She gave Charlotte a stern look. ‘It is your job, Charlotte, to educate this child, is it not? Opinions like hers are not fit to be spoken aloud!’
‘I’m not sure I’ve heard them before,’ said Charlotte in her defence, a little offended by Augusta’s reproving tone.
‘Then let’s ensure that we do not hear them again.’
Arethusa sighed loudly and put a hand to her head, well aware that if she was indisposed afternoon tea with the Duchess of Sutcliffe would be off and Augusta would be bitterly disappointed. But Augusta ignored her dramatics. ‘Now, I think I must reply at once to this thrilling invitation. My dear, it will be an education to learn how to play the banjo and advantageous to you to do so with Lady Alexandra. Perhaps you will become friends. Goodness, wait until I write and tell your mama.’
After breakfast, Arethusa followed Charlotte up to her bedroom. It was the first time since arriving in London that Arethusa had seen her governess’s room. With a high brass bed, floral wallpaper and thick curtains it was most definitely not a servant’s room. Sunshine streamed in through the little dormer windows and below, the street was already busy with carriages and people. Charlotte gave Arethusa a quizzical look. It wasn’t habitual for her charge to seek her out, at least, not since she had been a child. In those days the young Arethusa had been curious to learn and intrigued by this new person who had arrived at the castle especially for her. She had followed her around like a puppy. But since Arethusa had grown up, her pursuit of independence had led her away from the schoolroom, and shaking off her governess had become a sport as diverting as hunting and c
roquet. Charlotte wasn’t as much of a fool as Arethusa thought she was; after all, isn’t it also sporting to give the player a chance?
Arethusa flopped onto Charlotte’s bed, which had been neatly made without so much as a crease. She reached for the book on the bedside table and opened it absent-mindedly, but her eyes didn’t take in a single word. ‘Have you ever been in love, Charlotte?’ she asked casually.
Charlotte frowned. ‘I think everyone of my age has been in love at least once in their life, don’t you?’
‘But have you?’
There was a short pause. Charlotte hesitated, unsure how to answer. ‘Yes,’ she said at last, turning her eyes to the window. Then she sighed and feigned distraction. ‘It’ll be a lovely day for the park. If you’re feeling up to it the sunshine will do you good.’
‘Who was he and why didn’t you marry him?’ Arethusa persisted, forgetting that she had pretended to be unwell. She put down the book and looked at Charlotte’s serious face. ‘Did he hurt you?’ she asked.
‘Oh really, Tussy. You ask too many questions,’ Charlotte replied briskly.
‘Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do? You’re here to teach me about the world. So, teach me about love. So far, discussions about marriage have never had anything to do with love.’
Charlotte sat on the edge of the bed and put her small hands in her lap. ‘I did love a man once, Tussy,’ she conceded. ‘I loved him very much.’
Surprised by this intriguing piece of information, Arethusa arranged herself so that she was lying back against the pillows and settled down for what she hoped would be a long and enlightening conversation. ‘What happened?’ she asked.
Charlotte was amused. It was a long time since the girl had asked her about herself. ‘He was called Tom,’ she told her. ‘He was the elder brother of my charge, who was a very spoilt girl, but then American girls are much more indulged than English ones.’
The Secret Hours Page 22