Lady Roma's Romance

by Cynthia Bailey Pratt

  “It’s not my place to tell him anything.”

  Dina breathed out a sigh. “Thank heaven. You don’t know what a sleepless night you gave me.”

  “You weren’t alone in that,” Roma said under her breath. She started brushing her cousin’s softly waving hair.

  “I’m sure you are right,” Dina said, misunderstanding her. “Poor Jasper. He’s dreadfully hidebound, you know. Not like Derwent with his everlasting principles, but little things bother Jasper so much. He is quite ridiculously afraid that his friend Mr. Donovan will think the less of him now. But as I told him, what difference does it make what he thinks? He’ll be going back to Ireland one day, and then this military friendship will peter out naturally. Don’t you think so, Roma?”

  “I suppose it may, though they seem fast friends. I am rather less concerned about Mr. Morningstreet’s friendship with Mr. Donovan than his friendship with you. It won’t do, Dina; you know it won’t do.”

  “Why will it not do? Oh, you are thinking that I am too old for him. He says what does age matter to a goddess?”

  “No, I was not thinking that. If there is a disparity in your ages, what of it? Other couples have a greater,” Roma said, thinking of her father. “But you are married, Dina. Nothing can come of this friendship, and while Mr. Morningstreet fancies himself in love with you, he cannot find a suitable bride.”

  “I don’t see why not. He doesn’t have to be in love with her.”

  “Dina...”

  “Oh, I’m not serious. What will you do to my hair?” she asked, now that it was all brushed out and lying like silk over her shoulders. “It’s a pity we can never wear it long. It takes quite five years off one’s face.”

  “Are you going to wear a cap?”

  “I thought this blue kerchief I bought in town. Unless it’s too fast for Bath?”

  “No, it’s charming. Would you like the point in front, a la Marie Stuart?”

  Dina nodded, gazing at her reflection, enraptured. “Besides, it would break his heart if I refused to see him anymore.”

  “Unless you give him his marching orders now. You could blame it on me if you like.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t do that. I adore him, you see, and must have him to flatter me and escort me and... Well, if you’d ever been in love, you’d know what I mean.”

  “You forget that I was engaged once,” Roma said, refusing to give her the satisfaction of making her display unseemly anger. Her hands moved as gently as ever amid the waves.

  “Yes, that’s right. To your precious Elliot. The love match of the century... if you only knew.”

  Roma pretended that she’d not heard.

  Dina repeated what she’d said, with greater emphasis. “I said, ‘if you only knew.’“

  “If I only knew what, Dina?” Roma asked, though an instant later she wished she had not. But her weakness had betrayed her. There was a gleam of satisfaction in Dina’s eyes at achieving her reaction.

  “Everyone knew that Elliot Brownlow was just waiting for someone high born enough to suit his notions of his own consequence, though what he had to be so proud of I’m sure I cannot guess. His precious father wasn’t a real knight, merely someone who loaned the Prince Regent money and accepted a knighthood in place of repayment.”

  “I knew Elliot was ambitious ...”

  “Ambitious? He was quite mad on the subject. He traced your bloodline before he’d even met you. If you’d been wall-eyed, butter-toothed, spotty and twenty-two stone, he still would have offered for you. It wasn’t you he loved; it was your family tree.”

  “How do you know?” Roma asked, placing the pins just so to hold both curl and kerchief.

  “He told me so. Of course, he used me, too. Or did you honestly think it was just a coincidence that you met?”

  “Do you mean you had a hand in our meeting?”

  “You’d written to tell me where you were, what you were doing, and even that your maid had been ill. I told him all that as lovers will discuss the smallest details of their lives. The next I heard from him was a letter telling me that you two were engaged to be married. Oh, your Elliot was a prize. He plotted and planned; he’d make use of any stratagem, break any heart, to get what he wanted.”

  “I know.”

  “What?” Heedless of her coiffure, Dina swung around in the backless chair to gape up at her cousin.

  “I knew what Elliot was. He used to joke that nothing so important as love should be left to chance. Or he’d hint that he’d taken great pains to woo me. But I was dazzled, I suppose, that anyone so handsome and charming—he was that as I’m sure you’ll agree. I was young and thought I’d been touched by God.”

  “Did you know about Elliot and ...” Her fingers curled in toward her chest.

  “No. No, I never guessed that. But it doesn’t surprise me. He flirted with every woman to a greater or lesser extent.”

  “Would you have married him anyway?” Dina sounded strangely shocked for a woman who admitted to having had at least two lovers in her married life.

  “I can’t begin to answer that. I very well might have done so. I wanted a home of my own. I still do. And perhaps he would have been faithful, eventually. I don’t know what else a woman can expect in this life.”

  Dina sat gazing at her as if seeing her for the first time. “No, Roma. We can expect more. We just won’t get it.” She turned back to her mirror. “You’ve such a touch with hair, Roma. It’s a pity you’re not a ladies’ maid. I should hire you without a second thought.”

  “I’m glad to know I have at least one skill that I could put to a profitable use.” Roma turned aside and picked up the reticule and wrap she’d put down upon entering. “I’ll be off now and let you finish dressing.”

  “Can I count on you not to breathe a word of this . . . this business with Jasper. I daresay Mr. Donovan will give him his word not to speak as well.”

  “Don’t you feel any pangs?” Roma asked. She’d never asked Elliot that question, no matter how he’d behaved, though she’d often wanted to.

  “Pangs? From what?” .

  “Your conscience. You are, after all, deceiving your husband.” Roma was sure she sounded like the worst kind of moralizer and wouldn’t have been surprised to hear Dina give one of her purposeless laughs and see her go flouncing off without a care in the world.

  Suddenly, Dina paused in patting powder onto her cheeks and gave Roma a queer, sideways look. “Yes, I am. But if you think he cares, you are quite, quite wrong. Derwent doesn’t care a finger-snap for what I do or who I see. He never has, and I doubt he ever will.”

  “You’re wrong, Dina. Your husband is devoted to you.”

  “Devoted? He’s never with me. He’s always away on some jaunt or other. Jasper . . . he’s willing to give up everything for me. Even his ambitions. He wants to enter Parliament, but he can’t if his wife is a divorced woman. The scandal, you know.”

  “Could you get a divorce?”

  She hunched one shoulder, wrinkling her nose. “I don’t know. Possibly, if the offense is gross enough that even Derwent can’t swallow it. But it doesn’t matter if I could divorce him or let myself be divorced. I’m not going to let Jasper throw all his hopes away just for me. I’m not really worth it, and he’ll be an ornament to the House.”

  “Then you truly do love him?”

  One of her rippling, mirthless laughs came from her red lips. “I suppose I must. Are you surprised? You usually think I am so heartless,”

  “No, Dina,” Roma said, holding out her hand to her cousin. “Thoughtless, perhaps.”

  Dina took her hand and stared up into her face. “I was wrong to throw Elliot in your teeth like that.”

  “You must have often wanted to tell me about the two of you.”

  “Yes, but your father asked me to hold my tongue.”

  “My father?” Roma cried in amazement, stunned for the first time since they’d begun to talk.

  “He’s much more observant than I
ever believed,” Dina said in a tone of wonder. “Something about the way I looked at Elliot or the way he looked at me told your father our whole history. I felt ready to sink when he asked me to keep it all a dark secret. Then, of course, when Elliot died ... At any rate, there was no point in telling you then and ruining your illusions about him. If I hadn’t felt so foolish about being caught out at last, I never would have said a word. Do say you forgive me?”

  “There’s nothing to forgive. I knew what Elliot was. I was a fool. But I won’t be one again.”

  Maybe in time, Elliot and she would have created a life together, one where both of them loved or neither did. Perhaps she would have loved him in a torturous agony, knowing that he did not requite her love in any but the most trivial way. Those questions and answers belonged to another lifetime, one she would never experience. She would put all that aside, like the ribbons and letters she kept from that blissful summer, and turn all her attention to the future that lay before her now.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The invitation to Mr. Morningstreet’s evening party arrived that afternoon, and Roma at once wrote out her acceptance. The Keanes had invited her father and her to dine that evening. Almost the first thing discussed was the party to be given in three days’ time. Young Livia was in raptures over Mr. Morningstreet’s kindness.

  “Wasn’t it kind of him to invite us, for, after all, we only just met. His mother was so sweet. I’m sure this invitation was her doing. Don’t you think so, Mama?”

  “No doubt,” Mrs. Keane said absently as she spoke about the future with her soon-to-be son-in-law. Lord Yarborough had brought a present for his bride-to-be, but the pinkish leather box lay in her mother’s lap. As she spoke to him, she brushed her fingers repeatedly over the entwined links of heavy gold, and the bezel-set silver coin, the obverse showing a broken-nosed emperor in cameo profile.

  Roma, Mrs. Martin, and Sabina were discussing, as women will, what they were going to wear. Sabina didn’t have as much to contribute to the conversation as her sister. Mrs. Martin had apparently employed much of her time since her arrival with the local modistes, naming two that Roma had never heard of. “I’d enjoy seeing those gowns,” Roma said, after listening to raptures on the gifts of these artists. “I’m always in search of a dressmaker with genius.”

  “Oh, come up, do. I would love to have your opinion.”

  * * * *

  Sabina sat quietly while her sister brought out gown after gown. They were all the last word in smartness, but Roma could see where the modiste had, no doubt under pressure from her client, cheapened fabric or trimming, skimped on finishing or chose inferior linings which ruined the hang of the clothing. The colors, too, were a shade “off” for one of Julia’s coloring.

  What Roma saw as the real difficulty, however, was that none of them were remotely suitable for her sister, though Julia did offer Sabina her choice. “I think you’d look charming in the lilac sarsenet,” she said, draping the overflossed dress onto the bed. “Why not try it on to see how it looks?”

  Glancing at Sabina, Roma saw clearly that this offer surprised her, leading her to believe that it was unprecedented. Catching her eye, Roma ever so slightly shook her head. The other girl’s eyes widened.

  “No, thank you, Julia. You look so nice in it that I couldn’t wear it instead. It would be like stealing.”

  “No, not at all. You haven’t anything as nice, and there isn’t time to have anything made. Think how pretty you’ll look with that lovely necklace his lordship has given you.”

  Sabina’s wide blue eyes stayed fixed on her sister, yet Roma felt she was included in that gaze. Since Julia’s back was to her, she shook her head more emphatically. “I do appreciate it,” Sabina said promptly. “But I have my brown silk. It will do very well.”

  “Not that old thing,” Julia protested. “Why, you’ve worn it any time the last five years. You deserve a new dress. Don’t you want to dazzle his lordship? You won’t in brown silk, my girl. It makes you look exactly like a little brown wren.”

  “May I see it?” Roma asked, standing up expectantly.

  “Certainly.” They left Julia rummaging through her wardrobe, trying different combinations of shoes and gowns.

  The brown silk showed definite signs of wear, not surprising when Sabina disclosed that it was, indeed, more than five years old. “Mama does the best she can, but her jointure was not large and with the three of us ...” She smiled apologetically.

  “Yes, I can see how she would find it difficult. But you needn’t ever worry about that sort of thing again.”

  “Your father said ... Roger said that he’d take care of me forever.” A brightness seemed to shine out from her when she spoke of Lord Yarborough.

  “I’ve no doubt of it.” For the first time, Roma felt confident that her father’s peculiar romance would succeed. Sabina Keane obviously adored him which was what he needed most. Perhaps everyone needed that. Perhaps that was why, after all, Elliot had wanted to marry her.

  She made the offer she’d come to make, hoping it would not be spurned. The cool pride in Sabina’s eyes when offered her sister’s dress had roused some doubt in her mind that a similar offer would be accepted. “I have several evening dresses that I have not worn as yet. I don’t want to insult you, but if you would like to have one ... we are more or less the same size, I think.”

  “You’re very kind. I don’t want to embarrass Roger, so I shall accept with thanks.” Roma let out a sigh of relief that brought a shy grin to the other girl’s face. “I’ve been wondering how it is you always look just right, Lady Roma. Is there some secret?”

  “First, you must never call me Lady Roma. You outrank me, or will shortly. Secondly, we are family now. Whatever I can do to help you, I will do.”

  Tears glistened in Sabina’s eyes, but she kept her head well up. “Thank you. I never thought I’d be anything, let alone a countess. I confess I’m a little frightened.”

  “There’s nothing to it. You have only to please my father, and the rest of the world can go mind its own business.”

  “But will they? Won’t everyone be looking at me?”

  Roma sat down beside her on the bed. “It’s not as if you will be making a great splash in society. Or is that your aim?”

  She looked nearly sick at the thought. “Oh, no. Never. Roger promised that I need never go back to London if I don’t wish it.”

  “I’m sure he did. My father is no rarefied blossom, blooming only in the capital. He’s happiest rooting about in middens, ditches, and dirt.”

  “I know. I’m to record his finds.” Her sigh spoke blissful volumes. “What a wonderful life he leads, to be sure.”

  Roma was not about to burst this bubble. After all, there was no accounting for taste. If the prospect of a lifetime spent in damp lodgings in rural villages while one’s husband grubbed for artifacts seemed like an adventure, it was not for her to inject vile reality into the prospect.

  As for herself, she’d had more than enough of that life. She wondered where Bret lived when he was not visiting Lady Brownlow. She would not care if it were a hovel or a country mansion so long as she need never move again. She wanted to unpack her trunks and stay somewhere long enough to put down roots. Deep within, she knew she’d been made for permanency. Let Sabina inherit her peripatetic life, and may she enjoy good health and great happiness.

  “I think we shall be friends, Lady... Roma.”

  “I know we will.”

  * * * *

  The evening came at last. Roma took special care with her appearance. She chose a gown of pure white silk, spangled with slightly raised golden spots woven into the fabric. Though Pigeon protested, Roma asked her to remove the half inch of golden frill sewn about the already-low neckline. “It’s not decent,” the maid said, ripping out the stitches.

  “Is the difference between decent and indecent a mere half inch?” Roma teased.

  “Sometimes it’s a good deal less as I hope you
’ll never learn. Little did I think I’d live to see the day my lady would be running about like an Incognita!”

  Roma laughed. Though when she put the gown on, she did feel rather naked. Even Pigeon had to admit, however, that she looked magnificent. “You do look a picture,” she said, from her position on the floor where she’d fixed an unevenness in the hem. “Don’t go getting overheated at this rigmarole this evening. You’ll catch your death with your fronts all open as they are.”

  Roma whisked a little powder over her décolletage, wishful for a moment that her “fronts” would cooperate and make a plump shelf instead of remaining so widely spaced. She tucked another jeweled pin into her hair, knowing that if she asked Pigeon to replace the frill, not only would she be late, but she would never hear the end of it.

  “I think I will wear my aquamarine set tonight after all,” she said. “Ask Father for my jewel case, please.”

  “Ah, I knew you’d want something to fill in.”

  “You’re quite right; now hurry.”

  “No need, no need.” Pigeon whisked the boxes out of a drawer. In a moment, rich blue drops hung from Roma’s ears, and a necklet of aquamarines and pearls shimmered about her neck. A tiny golden tiara was almost lost amid her piled red hair.

  “Too much?” Roma asked, turning from the mirror. Her maid silently shook her head, gulping a little as a tear ran from her eye. “What’s wrong, dear Pigeon?”

  “You’d better be on your way, my lady,” Pigeon said with a watery gurgle. “Tis after seven.”

  “Gracious! Yes, and with a forty-minute drive after we collect the Keane party and Lady Brownlow.” She’d never been happier to know that only mushrooms and Cits arrived punctually to the instant stated on invitations. She took her gloves and flowers, stole a last peep in the mirror to allay her fears that her hair was coming down in the back, pressed a kiss to Pigeon’s cheek, and hastened down the stairs, feeling rather like Cinderella.

  Instead of an impatient stepmother, her father waited at the foot of the stairs, watch in hand. She hoped for some reaction to her appearance, but he only said, “Ah, there you are. I knew you’d not be late.”