The Ruby Pendant

by Mary Nichols

`And you were doubtful, is that what all this is about?' He reached across and patted her hand. 'Do not worry, my dear. If you wish to go, you may.' He smiled suddenly. 'And if Mr Devonshire were to ask to escort you on another occasion, I shall give my blessing to that too. If they are to be rivals...' He smiled knowingly.

  `For me, Papa? I hardly know either of them. It seems to me that Mr Martindale is too flamboyant and confident of his own charm and Mr Devonshire is too sombre. He rarely smiles, unless he is laughing at me, which isn't at all the same thing.'

  'Mr Devonshire has not had an easy life, my dear, and perhaps the social graces have passed him by, but he is an excellent fellow.'

  'Oh, he is not graceless, Papa, far from it. In fact...' She stopped, blushing furiously. 'I do not know quite what to make of him.'

  He smiled. 'You are not alone in that. Half London has become curious about him, but do not let that concern you.'

  'And Mr Martindale?'

  'Until recently, I have had little to do with him, and it is not fair to condemn him for the intolerance and sheer cupidity of his father.'

  `What was the quarrel all about, Papa? May I not know?'

  'It wasn't exactly a quarrel. I had no heir. You know yourself that it was three miscarriages which ruined your mother's health. My brother was due to inherit. Nothing could change that and, indeed, I had no wish to do so.

  'But he took exception to your arrival on the scene when I made it quite clear that he might have the title and the estate, but that the bulk of my wealth would be passed to you, the best dowry I could manage. At that time he was himself a very wealthy man, he had no need of it. But he was also a gambler and his wife was a spendthrift. By the time they died, there was little left. I have been supporting James with an allowance for some time now and recently found him a clerical post at the War Department, though he chooses not to acknowledge his indebtedness and has never until now visited us. Pride, I suppose.'

  'Is he like his father, Papa?' she asked, wondering if her father knew about the new carriage and pair. The allowance and his salary must indeed be generous if they stretched to such luxuries.

  `That I do not know. We will doubtless find out.'

  `Mama seems to like him.'

  `Yes, I believe she does; who am I to quarrel with her judgement? She chose me, after all.' He smiled and poured himself a glass of wine. 'Now you had best run along or you will keep James waiting.'

  She jumped up and bent over to kiss his cheek. 'Thank you, Papa, you are the best of fathers. I shall remember what you said.'

  The carriage way in Hyde Park was crowded with vehicles of all kinds, from barouches and town coaches, to phaetons and curricles which paraded at a pace that was little more than a walk, so that their occupants could see and be seen. On the other side of the fence, riders walked or gently cantered, showing off themselves and their mounts. Juliette, sitting on the padded seat of the open carriage, in a matching skirt and jacket of red and green checked cloth, her pale curls topped by a green bonnet trimmed with a peacock feather that swept across the brim and down on to one cheek, looked very fetching and James was not slow to tell her so.

  She pretended to accept his compliments coolly and sat with her gloved hands in her lap, looking about her. She recognised Lady Carstairs and Lucinda in one barouche and James asked the driver to stop so that they might pass the time of day and thank her for an enjoyable evening.

  Lucinda blushed scarlet when James spoke to her and seemed to be concentrating on one of the buttons on her pelisse, unable to look him in the eye until her mother dug her in the ribs with her fan.

  `Poor thing!' Juliette said, as they bowled away. 'She is so dreadfully shy.'

  `And so dreadfully plain, too.'

  `Mr Martindale, that is very unkind of you! And it is not true. She has wonderfully expressive eyes and lovely hair.'

  He turned to smile at her. `You can afford to be generous, Miss Martindale, when you have so much to commend your own appearance.' He grinned and leaned forward to whisper in her ear. 'You are lovely, cousin, quite lovely. We make a handsome couple, don't you think?'

  `Mr Martindale!' she exclaimed.

  `Could you not call me James when we are alone?'

  'We are not alone.' She glanced across at Anne, who was pretending not to listen.

  `Then I think we should take steps to remedy that. We will stop and take a stroll, shall we?' He called the driver to pull up. As soon as the coach came to a standstill under a group of trees a little off the road, he stepped down and turned to offer her his hand. She hesitated and he added, 'Come, you have nothing to fear. There are a great many people about and your maid will watch over us.'

  She took his hand and stepped down on to the grass, but before Anne could follow he shut the door. 'From here,' he said, smiling at the maid. 'We will not go out of sight.'

  Before Juliette could protest, he had taken her elbow and was guiding her along a path away from the coach.

  `I am very fond of walking, Miss. Martindale,' he said. `Are you?'

  `At home in the country, yes.' She was very apprehensive and wishing she had never left the carriage. What did he want with her that necessitated leaving Anne out of earshot? Surely not a proposal? It was far too soon for that. Her heart was beating uncomfortably fast. She must control her breathing and converse with him as naturally and impersonally as possible.

  `To be sure, in the country,' he said, apparently unaware of her doubts. 'Hartlea is quite an extensive estate, is it not?'

  `I suppose it must be. I never thought about it. Have you not seen it?'

  `I have passed by, skirted it, you might say, but I have not been privileged to see it properly.'

  `But it is your inheritance.'

  `Yes, but it will not fall into my hands for some time and by then I hope my fortunes will have changed and that I will have the means to see to its upkeep.'

  `You have expectations?'

  He smiled. `Oh, yes, I have expectations.' He stopped suddenly. 'Oh, forgive me, we should not be speaking of so sad a happening. His lordship is your father, after all.'

  She did not know why this statement made her shudder, as if someone had poured cold water over her. On the surface he was charming and attentive, but there was something about those flickering eyes that told her to beware.

  On the other hand, perhaps she was being fanciful. A match between them might be considered by her parents to be ideal. He would have her dowry to spend on the upkeep of the estate and she would still be able to live in her beloved home. She could not imagine living anywhere else. But where was love?

  They turned back towards the carriage and she gave a gasp of surprise to see Mr Devonshire standing beside it, holding a beautiful black horse by its bridle and talking to her maid.

  He doffed his riding hat as they approached. 'Miss Martindale, your obedient.'

  She wanted to ask him if he had followed them and, if he had, why he had taken so much upon himself, but she found she could not find the words. He was looking directly at her, his dark eyes seeing right into her heart, understanding her discomfiture. She was forced to look away.

  `Devonshire, what are you doing here?' James demanded, barely hiding his annoyance.

  `I saw the carriage and the young lady sitting in it, looking distressed. I thought it had broken down and rode over to offer assistance. Miss Golightly informed me she was waiting for her mistress and very upset she was, too.'

  Anne blushed furiously at the way Mr Devonshire used her name and title, as if he had mistaken her for a lady! `Oh, Miss Juliette, you said you would not go out of sight, but you did. I did not know what to do.'

  `As you see, there is no cause for alarm, Anne, no harm has come to me,' Juliette assured her.

  `On the contrary,' Philip said, 'leaving the carriage and going off alone with Mr Martindale in full view of half London's tabbies, will certainly not enhance your reputation, as Mr Martindale well knows.'

  `It is none of your affair, sir,' Ja
mes said. 'Miss Martindale is my cousin.'

  `And what is that to the point? Are you bent on ruining the young lady, sir?'

  `Ruining her?' James repeated pleasantly. 'Nothing was further from my thoughts. Come, Juliette, into the carriage. I must take you home. Stand aside, Devonshire.'

  Juliette, annoyed by James's use of her given name without permission, felt his hand under her elbow and stepped up into the carriage, wondering why it was that Philip Devonshire always seemed to come off worse in his encounters with James. It was not weakness, she was quite sure of that, but there was something holding him back. Was he simply being careful of her, not wishing to quarrel in her presence? Or was there more to it?

  As the carriage pulled away in the direction of the Stanhope Gate, she was conscious that Mr Devonshire had mounted and was sitting his horse, gazing after them; she could feel those dark eyes boring into her back. There was something very mysterious about the man; this was borne out the following afternoon, when she and Lady Martindale called on the Countess of Wentworth. The Countess had invited a few of her friends to take tea with her, simply to gossip, as Juliette soon found out.

  Lady Carstairs and Lucinda were also there, and the two younger ladies sat together, taking no part in the conversation, but intrigued by the way the characters of those who had not been invited were pulled to shreds. Juliette thought it was cruel and once or twice was tempted to put in a good word for the absent ones, but a look from her mother quelled her.

  'I was surprised to see you escorted by Mr Devonshire the other night, Elizabeth,' Lady Wentworth said, during a pause in the flow of talk. 'He is such a strange man.'

  `Strange?' her mother queried vaguely. 'I see nothing exceptional about him. He is a business associate of my husband.'

  `He may be the sort of man with whom another man might do business, but that's not to say he is the sort I would countenance as a suitor for my daughter.'

  `Why not?' Juliette demanded before her mother could stop her.

  `Well, I declare!' her ladyship said, fixing her with a look that was intended to make her quake.

  `Please forgive her,' Lady Martindale put in quickly. `I am sure Juliette did not mean to be impertinent. I am afraid she has been used to saying what she thinks and questioning everything.'

  `Such traits will not serve her well,' her ladyship said, somewhat mollified. 'I cannot conceive of a young man who would entertain them in a wife.'

  Juliette longed to say that in that case, she would stay unwed, but she dare not. She had embarrassed her mother quite enough for one, day. She remained silent, while Lady Martindale tried to retrieve the situation.

  `Mr Devonshire was asked by my husband to escort us both as he was unable to do so,' she said, while Juliette wondered why her mama should feel obliged to justify herself to this pompous woman. 'There is no more to it than that. Mr Devonshire has no interest in Juliette and she certainly has no liking for him.' This statement astonished Juliette, who had offered no opinion to her mother on the subject. It was also untrue.

  'I am glad to hear it. After all, what is known about him? He has no family that anyone can discover, no title or even the sniff of one and though he appears to be plump in the pocket, that may only be a temporary state of affairs. He comes and goes and when he goes, no one has the least idea of where he goes to. And then he reappears as if he had never been away, frequenting White's and being seen everywhere. I have heard it said he made his money in trade. India, I heard.'

  `A nabob!' exclaimed Lucinda. 'Perhaps he has an Indian wife.'

  `That is a possibility,' the Countess went on. 'I had thought you might know, Elizabeth dear. You would hardly countenance him escorting your daughter if there were any chance of that. And he certainly could not be invited to any other social occasions.'

  So that was it, Juliette thought, they were after information. She felt like telling them he had several native wives and his wealth was so immense he could buy up all of London several times over, just to see what they would say, but one look at her mother silenced her.

  `I believe he is unmarried,' Lady Martindale said coolly. 'And Lord Martindale tells me he comes from a very good family. You do not suppose my husband would allow me to entertain a mountebank, do you?'

  `No, that is just what I said,' Lady Carstairs put in, though somewhat overawed by their hostess. 'I would not have invited him to the ball if I had had any doubts about him. Viscount Martindale has vouchsafed him, I told myself. Do I need more than that?'

  Very soon after that, Juliette and Lady Martindale took their leave. Her mother was seething with indignation. `How dare they quiz me like that,' she said, as their carriage left the door. 'Accusing me to my face of harbouring a snake in my bosom.'

  `Oh, Mama,' Juliette said, laughing at her mother's imagery. 'It does not matter what they think, does it? If you are worried, you have only to ask Mr Devonshire for the truth.'

  `And what would your father say if I did that? That I did not trust him to know the character of those with whom he associates. It impugns his judgement.'

  `Yes, especially as he has told me to look favourably on the gentleman and not let Mr Martindale monopolise me. He would hardly have done that if Mr Devonshire had a wife already, would he?'

  `He said that?' Her ladyship was astounded. 'He thinks of that man as a suitable husband for you?'

  `He said he would trust him with his life.' Realising she had said too much, she added quickly, 'Not that I would countenance Mr Devonshire if he should offer for me, which I am sure he will not. I do not think I am at all the sort of person he would look for as a wife.'

  Her mother did not reply. She said very little for the remainder of the short journey from Piccadilly to Mount Street and as soon as they arrived went up to her boudoir, pleading a headache.

  Juliette spent the remainder of the afternoon reading the latest of Miss Austen's novels, though her thoughts constantly strayed to Mr Devonshire. The popular conception of him and the high esteem in which her father held him were at odds and she wondered who was being deceived, her father or Society in general. And why did Mr Devonshire and Mr Martindale dislike each other so much? She was not so conceited as to think it had anything to do with her, but if her father had intimated to them both that they were rivals and therefore in competition for her dowry, it might account for it. She wished she had no dowry, then she would not be constantly looking for motives and she could choose for love. She smiled to herself. James Martindale had certainly seized his opportunities but Mr Devonshire, though never far away had not shown his hand. If she were a flirt, she might play one against the other, but it was not in her nature either to deceive or to tease. By the time she had dressed ready for a visit to the opera that evening, she had decided to put them both from her mind and enjoy the occasion.

  Although it was her first Season, she was a year or two older than was usual and, because white did not suit her very fair colouring, Lady Martindale had decreed that she might wear muted colours. She came downstairs at seven dressed in a gown of pale blue crepe over a white silk slip. It had a high waist and a round neck and was topped by an evening cape of dark blue velvet.

  Anne had spent over half an hour on her hair and the result was a young lady who was confident of her looks and not over-awed by the prospect of meeting the Prince Regent, who was expected to occupy his box. It was, so her father had told her, to be a celebration of Lord Wellington's latest success in the Peninsula. He had completely routed Napoleon's brother, Joseph, and driven him out of Spain and back into France. The country was beginning to sense victory.

  Her parents were in the library; she could hear them talking as she descended the stairs, but just as she was about to join them, she was halted by their raised voices. `I was never so humiliated,' her mother was saying. `Sylvia Wentworth was gloating over it. And then for Juliette to tell me you had encouraged him to offer...'

  `I said nothing to him.' Her father's voice was pitched a little lower than her mother's
but she could tell he, too, was annoyed. 'I spoke to Juliette, not to him. It is my wish that she should think carefully before accepting anyone.'

  `Yes, I am perfectly aware that you would like her to have her own way in this as in everything else. I know that she is everything to you, but sooner or later, the truth will out and then what will you do?'

  `Nothing.'

  `It would be easier if she were safely married.'

  `And is her husband to know?' her father asked, so quietly that Juliette could barely hear him.

  `Her dowry will keep him silent. And better it were James Martindale, who probably has an idea of the truth anyway and is too poor to care.'

  `That is exactly my point. I should like to think that, above everything, whoever marries Juliette cares for her. And she for him.'

  Dear, dear Papa! But whatever were they talking about? What truth? She was so busy questioning herself that she did not hear her mother's reply, until she became aware of the words, 'She is your daughter, Edward, you must do what you think is best. But I wish you would consider my position.'

  `Oh, I do, my dear, believe me, I do. I would not for the world have you embarrassed, but Mr Devonshire's services are unique and important. And truly the gossip will die down. Hold your head up and pretend not to hear it...'

  Juliette was astonished to hear her mother say, 'Bah!' in a most scathing tone. 'There is no talking to you.' She retreated a little way up the stairs and stood waiting so that when her mother opened the door and came out, she appeared to be just descending.

  Lady Martindale was dressed for the opera, except for her cloak, which lay across a chair in the hall. She looked up when she saw her daughter and visibly pulled herself together. 'There you are, Juliette, we must hurry or we shall be late.'

  Lord Martindale appeared behind her, smiling up at Juliette as if nothing had happened and ushered them out to the waiting carriage.

  Juliette could not afterwards recount anything of the opera or the host of well-known people who attended it. She vaguely recalled dropping a curtsy to the Prince when she was taken to his box to be presented, but what he said or what she replied, she could not remember.