Far Beyond Rubies

by Rosemary Morris

  Her ladyship’s sharp voice rang out. “You are not to worry about money. Your brother has made his fortune, which will not benefit your poor mother.”

  Charles and Aphra stared at him.

  He chuckled.

  “Is it really so? Why did you not tell us when you came home from India?” Aphra asked.

  “It must have slipped my memory.”

  His sister wrinkled her forehead. Charles whistled low.

  In response to a painful memory, Gervaise’s grip on his cane tightened. When he had received the news of his father’s death and his elder brother’s protracted illness, he had immediately set sail for England. When he arrived, he had returned to the Abbey with the hope of a warm welcome from his ailing brother. He did not receive one. However, ravages the tumour had wrought in his brother, a man whom he remembered as tall and strong, had shocked him. Now, his lips curled in distaste. His brother had loved no one other than himself, least of all his doe-eyed young wife, for in spite of his fatal illness, he had impregnated her.

  “When shall we prepare to go to London?” his mother asked, an eager glint in her eyes.

  “Madam, you are not going there.”

  “Nonsense, Gervaise, it is as much my duty to look after my daughter as it is to introduce you to eligible ladies.”

  Swounds, he thought, I am expected to marry and produce a male heir. An image of Juliana filled his mind. She would grace these ancient walls better than any other lady he knew. But what would she say when he revealed his past?

  “Did you hear me, Gervaise?”

  “Yes, madam.”

  He clenched his jaw. When had his mother ever looked after her offspring? Gervaise advanced three paces and then scrutinised her.

  She glared at him.

  “Mother,” protested Aphra.

  “You do not need to speak for me,” he said to his sister in a harsh tone he instantly regretted. “Madam, due to business affairs, my visit must be short. While I am away, I shall arrange for Aphra to come to London. I shall also arrange for you to remove from the Abbey to the dower house.”

  Chapter Ten

  Juliana stepped into Barbara’s bedchamber, wishing she had something other than her shabby gown to wear. She looked up at the lofty, painted ceiling with the same admiration she experienced the first time she had seen it. Amorous gods and goddesses floated among rosy clouds set in a dawn sky.

  Everything in the room, from the rose-pink damask wallpaper to the ornate tester bed hung with pale pink silk curtains, was exquisite.

  “There you are, my love,” said Barbara, who was clad only in a petticoat and a filmy chemise.

  Ann, Barbara’s tirewoman, held up blue stays.

  Barbara shook her head. “I think not, the colour does not favour me.”

  Juliana gazed at the billowing gowns, elaborate petticoats, and silk-lined stays which were either heaped on the bed or had tumbled on the floor. “Are you going away, Barbara?”

  “No.” Barbara looked around her bedchamber, her face a picture of dismay. “Such a clutter, but I still cannot decide what to wear.”

  Juliana picked up a fontange, a fashionable muslin head-dress trimmed with the popular crow’s foot pattern. She turned it over noting how cunningly the seamstress had wrought its fan shape.

  “Which one of these gowns would suit me best?” Barbara asked.

  Thoughtful, Juliana raised her eyebrows while considering her answer and replaced the fontange on the dressing table.

  “Take care, my love, your forehead will have permanent wrinkles.” Barbara sighed. “Now tell me true, which gown should I choose?”

  During Juliana’s first few days at The Grange, she had realised Ralph delighted in his wife’s modish appearance. No wonder Barbara strives not only to dress in the height of fashion, at all times, but to enhance her appearance in every possible way, Juliana thought, admiring pretty little lacquered boxes from China containing paint for the toilette, rose and white salves, and an array of perfumes the dressing table bore witness to.

  Juliana smiled. It was virtually a full-time occupation; would she be so anxious to please her husband if she married? Perhaps, if she loved him as much as Barbara seemed to love Ralph. She picked up a cream gown patterned with tiny nosegays of brightly coloured flowers. Would Gervaise admire her in it? Cream would suit her much better than black. What did he think of her? There was not even a hint of anything flirtatious in his behaviour. At least she did not think so, although his eyes sometimes blazed with unexpressed emotion. He did not behave like the gallants who had flirted with her during Father’s lifetime. What would Father have thought of Gervaise? She did not think he would have disliked so amiable a gentleman. In fact, Father might have been grateful to Gervaise for helping her.

  Through the open window, she heard the clatter of hooves. The gown she held dropped from her fingers to the floor. Gervaise! she thought hopefully, hurrying toward the window.

  Barbara joined her. “It is the vicar. I daresay he has come to discuss new cottages on the villagers’ behalf. Most of the buildings are so old they are not worth repairing. My husband is planning to replace them. Indeed, he wants to move the village farther from The Grange and extend our parkland. However, although the vicar wants the villagers to enjoy better accommodation, he does not want to move the village because of the church and vicarage.

  Bitterly disappointed because Gervaise had not arrived, Juliana sighed, and tried not to seem indifferent to the village and its fate.

  Barbara slipped an arm round Juliana’s waist. “Lud, child, never fear. My brother will arrive soon. He will not abandon you.”

  Juliana stared at Barbara, amazed by her perception. She sighed again, hoping Gervaise would indeed arrive very soon. Her head filled with thoughts of him, but she made no reply.

  During the past week, every time a door opened, Juliana had looked up to see if Gervaise had returned. Indeed, though she loved him beyond reason, she had not anticipated how boring and uninteresting the world would seem during his absence.

  Barbara scrutinised Juliana and then sketched an outline of her guest’s figure with her hands. “I vow I grow weary of your shabby gown, and I dare swear you are tired of it.”

  “Yes, I am,” Juliana admitted, ashamed of her appearance.

  “Ann, fetch the gowns I wore after my brother died.” She put her hands on her hips and then gazed at her reflection in the mirror. “Though I look well in black, six months in mourning after my brother’s death was as much as my husband could endure. Is it not fortunate, my love?”

  “Fortunate?” Although Juliana did not understand her hostess’s meaning, she was entertained by her irreverence.

  “Yes. Since I am out of mourning, I am sure you will agree it is to your advantage. Wait until you see how delightfully my gowns and petticoats were designed.” Barbara took her by the hand and guided her to the mirror. “See, you are only a few inches taller than I am, and my breasts and waist are only a little fuller than yours. Ann is clever with her needle. With the seamstress’s help, she shall alter whatever you choose to wear. You will look even more beautiful than you do now. Lud, I envy your complexion. But your hair, my love, it will not do.” Barbara hesitated and then looked at her with a curious gleam in her eye. “Now that you have recovered from your fever, I hope it will grow quickly.”

  Juliana twisted her hands together, too embarrassed to tell Barbara she had been forced to sell her hair.

  “No matter,” Barbara continued. “Let me think.” Like an enthusiastic child, she clapped her hands again. “I know, you shall wear a wig. Think how ravishing you will be.”

  “You are too kind. I cannot accept so much,” Juliana faltered, although even one fashionable ensemble would be an improvement on her two black dresses.

  Barbara stamped her foot. “Do not be so cruel as to refuse me the pleasure of seeing the expression on Gervaise’s face when you are dressed in the height of fashion.”

  Juliana bent her head in
an effort to conceal her hot blushes. Fortunately, Ann’s arrival with an armful of garments spared Juliana the necessity of answering.

  * * * *

  After two hours of being turned this way and that, Juliana fingered the damask petticoat worn with silk-lined, satin-covered stays and a taffeta gown divided down the front to reveal her petticoat. Delighted by her appearance, she stared at herself in the mirror and then twirled around. Never could she have imagined the combination of plain black and blue black—in a variety of materials—would be so attractive. Truly, Barbara was mistress of all things fashionable. She sighed for the third time, wishing her hair was not so sorry a sight.

  “Juliana, sit on the stool at the dressing table.” Barbara beckoned to Ann. “My tirewoman shall wait on you. Ann, arrange the wig on Mistress Kemp’s head.”

  With her usual efficiency, Ann settled the wig on Juliana’s head and then secured a black fontange to it with ebony pins.

  Ann stepped back and tweaked Juliana’s ringlets into place. She gazed at Juliana, nodded, and then smoothed the black lace at the neckline.

  The white-powdered wig curled back from Juliana’s forehead. For a moment, a stranger’s reflection confronted her; a stranger gowned in black, which contrasted with her fashionably pale complexion and emphasised her glowing dark eyes, pink cheeks, and lips.

  Barbara clapped her hands like a child. “Lud, Juliana, I wish my brother could see you now.”

  “He will not recognise me,” Juliana whispered.

  Barbara laughed and shook her head in mock reproof. “You need not fear. My brother will not mistake you for another lady.”

  “Thank you, you are very kind. I scarce know what to say.”

  “Say nothing, my love. It is my pleasure to refurbish your wardrobe.” She turned her head to look at her tirewoman. “I am sure Ann is happy to assist you.”

  The young woman confirmed her mistress’s words by beaming and bobbing a curtsey.

  “Thank you, Ann, you are very obliging.” Juliana pressed a hand against her forehead. “The wig…” she murmured.

  Barbara raised her eyebrows. “What of it?”

  “It is so heavy that it is already causing a headache.”

  “One must suffer to be beautiful, but not so much that one becomes ill,” Barbara said.

  “If I may make a suggestion, my lady,” Ann interrupted, “Mistress Kemp’s hair curls. I think I could cut it so that the curls cluster round her head becomingly.”

  “An excellent idea,” Barbara agreed, “but there is no time to cut it now.”

  “The jet, my lady?” Ann suggested.

  “Excellent creature. The very thing. Why did I not think of it?”

  Ann beamed with pleasure in response to her mistress’s praise as she opened an elaborately carved sandalwood jewel box and took out a string of jet beads with a Celtic cross suspended from it, a pair of pendant earrings and a ring. She fastened the necklace round Juliana’s neck and slipped the earrings into place.

  The intricately shaped cross nestled above the hollow of Juliana’s breasts. The earrings caught the light, swayed with the slightest movement, and cast shadows on her cheeks. Indeed, she thought, I now look fit to be the late Lord Kemp’s daughter.

  In unison, Barbara and her tirewoman sighed with pleasure.

  “Exquisite,” Barbara said. “To please me, you must always present the perfect picture of a lady of fashion.” She clasped her hands together. “Lud, what a beautiful countess you will make.”

  “My lady.” Juliana bent her head, torn between hope and embarrassment.

  Juliana wished she had been dressed fashionably when Gervaise’s footsteps had aroused her from her doze in the salon before he went to Beaumaris Abbey. Between sleep and wakefulness, how she had longed for him to embrace her. What did he think of her when, like a wanton, she stretched her arms out to him? She sighed. He had merely stared at her—his eyes ablaze with unfathomable emotion—before he kissed her hand, whereupon heat spread through her entire body. If she responded thus to a kiss on her hand, how would she react if he ever kissed her on the mouth—other than in a conventional kiss of greeting?

  “Madam,” she said, a hot colour searing her cheeks, “you are mistaken. I have no expectation of becoming a countess.”

  Her benefactress’s laughter rang out. “Are you blind, child?” Barbara chuckled. “Have you nothing to say? Do you not know how he looks at you? Even my lord remarked on his special fondness for you. Of course you will accept his hand in marriage when he proposes.”

  Juliana’s heart fluttered. “He will not, for I have no dowry.” Yet even as she spoke, she hoped to regain Riverside estate, which would provide a magnificent dowry.

  Barbara giggled. “Well, he is too wealthy to seek a rich bride.”

  Hopeful and discomforted, Juliana stared at Barbara. She wanted to end the conversation. “Please excuse me, I have lost my handkerchief.” She hurried out of the bedchamber to the tune of Barbara’s renewed chuckles.

  * * * *

  Juliana perched on the edge of a chair, her sharp needle poised to set neat stitches in the bodice destined to be a gift for Barbara and Ralph’s little daughter. Thoughts of Gervaise preoccupied her. Could his sister be right? Was it possible that he loved her? She shook her head. Such a nobleman would never stoop to marry a penniless orphan. Once more, dreams of regaining her rightful estate filled her head. Unable to concentrate on the intricate pattern of flowers and trailing vines, she put her work on a table next to her chair.

  A commotion caused her to raise her head. She went out onto the landing above the wide flight of stairs which led up from the reception hall. From below she heard Dick’s familiar voice arguing with Baines.

  “For Lord’s sake, I knows I don’t look much, but I must see Mistress Kemp. I ’ave to warn her, the fat gentleman knows where she’s ’ere.”

  She pressed her hands to her cheeks. Could Dick be referring to William? Her heart pounded with anger and fear at the thought of her half-brother. She gathered her courage, raised her skirts to ankle level to prevent herself from tripping, and then hurried down the stairs, her modish high-heeled slippers tapping on the oak treads.

  In the entrance hall, she repressed a chuckle at the sight of Dick. No wonder the immaculate butler looked askance at Dick’s shabby clothes and hat with its drooping feather. Even the bird, which once sported it, would not have recognised the bedraggled plume. As for his dusty boots, they were not fit to tread the spotless floors.

  “Dick, what brings you here?”

  “Is that you, Mistress?” Dick’s eyes rounded. He bowed clumsily. His hat fell off. Out of breath, he picked it up. “Lord oh Lord, begging yer pardon, what ’ave yer done to yerself?”

  Juliana accepted his words as a compliment. “You have no need to beg my pardon.”

  “I always told me Ma you were a lady.”

  “Thank you for those kind words, Dick. Now, please tell me why you have come here.” Her jaw tightened. “I overheard you mention a fat gentleman. Please tell me who he is.”

  “I don’t rightly know, but it was like this, yer see.” Dick shuffled from one foot to the other, his boots dirtying the hitherto pristine floor.

  Her heart pounded. She tried to suppress her fear. With a quick look around, she led the young man into a small antechamber.

  With many stops and starts, Dick finished his tale before Barbara—beautiful in a gown of figured lilac—tripped into the antechamber. “Baines told me you have a visitor.”

  “Barbara, this is Dick, to whom I am much obliged. May he be accommodated at The Grange before he returns to London tomorrow?”

  Her ladyship’s topaz eyes widened while she regarded Dick’s dirty boots and lank hair, loosely tied with a frayed ribbon at the nape of his neck. However, she posed no awkward questions. Instead she rang a hand bell. When Baines answered the summons, she gave the necessary instructions.

  “Thank you for coming to tell me about the gentleman, I sha
ll make it worth your while,” Juliana began, “and I hope to be in a position to help you one day. In the meantime, when you return to London, please convey my good wishes to your mother and sister. I would be obliged if you tell them I remember their kindness.”

  Dick’s cheeks turned beetroot red. “Thank you.”

  “In the meantime, I am sure you would like to see your cousin, Sukey. She is well, but she misses all of her family. I daresay she would like to hear how they fare.”

  “Thank you, Mistress, you are very kind,” Dick mumbled before Baines led him away.

  The “fat gentleman” Dick described must be her half-brother. She could not imagine how he had traced her, but it did not matter. A smile turned up the corner of her mouth. If William knew she was here, he would come in search of her. Tomorrow, she would seize the chance offered by William’s absence from Riverside, to seek answers to some of her questions. Juliana frowned, remembering her oath to Gervaise. No, she could not go, no matter how much she desired to do so, she had promised him she would remain at The Grange.

  * * * *

  After Gervaise had left Juliana at The Grange, thoughts of her filled his mind. He could forget neither her voice—which enthralled him before he first set eyes on her—her beauty, nor her courage. For it had taken courage not to submit to Lord Kemp’s plans for her and her sister after their father’s death.

  A smile hovered at the corners of his mouth. Society expected an earl to contract an alliance which would enhance his name, increase his lands, and add to his prestige. If either affection or love developed between husband and wife, it was considered no more than fortuitous.

  Gervaise’s coach drew to a halt outside an alehouse in Riverside village. The building was one of a number of timber framed ones. They included cottages, a shoeing blacksmith, and a shop with wares set on a trestle table outside. All of the thatched-roofed buildings clustered beneath a pale grey sky, around a rectangular green which incorporated a duck pond inhabited by mallards, moorhens, and a pair of swans. However, set back from the rest stood a couple of stone houses as well as an ancient Norman church, to one side of which was a well-tended graveyard.