“Dramatic, but true I think you will agree,” he said and finally opened his eyes.
“Well, I suppose it is rather,” Imogen said, still laughing. “But if I might be permitted to make a long story very much shorter than it is, Adeline and I are greatly interested in providing an alternative to the dreadful system of workhouses, most particularly in London.”
“And is the system of workhouses really so dreadful?” Ronald said, clearly playing devil’s advocate.
“Ronald, it is not only dreadful, it is corrupt. It is no longer the provision of charity if ever it was that in truth. It is the provision of cheap, nay free, labour to local businesses and industry. It is an offence before man and God, and it is time that something was done to change it.” Whenever Adeline spoke in such a way, Imogen found that she could not help being impressed.
Lady Adeline Redmond was not only passionate, but she was also always well informed and spoke with confidence upon her subject matter, never once faltering.
“I suppose something like that was inevitable, Adeline. When there are so many poor, it is so very easy to exploit them, is it not?” Ronald said, nodding sadly.
“It is too easy, Ronald.”
“But do you really think that the two of you can go up against such a system and win? Not just win, but turn it upside down and inside out and change things completely? That is not just charity, ladies, that is social reform.” Ronald, not for the first time, seemed just a little concerned.
“I know, I know,” Adeline said, holding her hands out in front of her, palms forward. “It is a system that has long been in place, and it is true that I realize that your daughter and I cannot change it. To be certain, we can hardly fight it. But that does not mean that we should not try.”
“No, indeed.” Ronald was nodding his head slowly.
“And whilst we both know that we likely cannot win and change things as we should like, Papa, we can offer some alternative form of charity. And if we do, and it is a success, then others might seek to join us and help to change things. It is like throwing a tiny pebble into a great lake and watching the ripples slowly making their way, ever wider until the whole lake itself is moved in some way, however small,” Imogen said, feeling a little emotional.
In truth, it had never occurred to her that there was very little chance of her changing things entirely. Beyond the worries that they would not find their initial funding, Imogen had never given a great deal of thought to the size and organization of the institution she sought to fight.
There were not only workhouses all over London, but all over the country. She felt quite silly when she realized that she had thought that two nice ladies from Hertfordshire could change all that. As much as she tried to hide it, and as successful as she was in doing so, the idea that she and Adeline were two women trying to move a mountain had come as quite a blow.
“You have it quite right, my dear,” her father said, his pale blue eyes so like her own surveying her kindly. “One must try, and it is that effort which serves as an example to everyone around. The results might not be instant, my dear, but perhaps change will come one day on the strength of it all.” It struck Imogen that her father had perhaps become a little emotional himself. “Well, what is it that you intend to do? And where does the London Season fit into it all?” He finished on a somewhat more cheerful note, albeit a little forced.
“Well, our plan is to attend as many events of the London Season as we possibly can in a bid to raise funds,” Imogen said succinctly.
“And does it necessarily have to be London?” her father said, more interested than confrontational.
“Yes, Papa, because we want to continually target large groups over the next few months. And we think it a terribly good idea if we work on the same people over and over again. The London Season provides such a unique opportunity to do that since it is full of all manner of people, many of whom cross paths again and again over the spring and summer months.”
“It really would be a great stepping stone to get things started, Ronald,” Adeline said, placing her empty sherry glass down on the table with the sort of smile that indicated that she would like another one.
Without there needing to be a word passed between them, Ronald reached for her empty glass and rose to his feet.
“So, I take it I am about to learn my part in things,” he said, pouring Adeline a generous helping of his finest sherry. “And I can assume, can I, that you are about to ask me to rent a house for the Season, Imogen?”
“Oh no, Papa,” Imogen said, smiling brightly.
Despite his substantial wealth, Lord Pennington had never kept a London home. Unlike so many of his contemporaries, London held very little appeal for him, and he only ever visited when it was necessary for any small matter of business he must conduct there. And whenever he did attend, Ronald Pennington merely stayed in coaching inns, finding them both cozy and convenient.
The only time he had rented a London townhouse for the Season was when his daughter had been in her eighteenth year. She had seemed quite excited by the whole thing, and Ronald had found he could do no other than introduce her to society and allow her all the amusements that her friends had talked of so gaily.
However, he knew his daughter well, and it had come as no surprise to him when she had been more than ready to return to the leafy countryside of Hertfordshire before the Season was quite halfway through. It had further come as no surprise to him when she had never once mentioned any idea of returning to repeat the experience.
“No?” he said and seemed entirely surprised.
“Ronald, there will be no need for expense. And you need not drag yourself to London for the Season when we all know that you have no appetite for it whatsoever.” Adeline had settled down into her more organizational and vaguely hectoring tones. “If you were to consent to it, Imogen can come to me. We shall stay together at my townhouse in Regent’s Park. You know, of course, that I should look after her as if she were my very own.”
“I know that of course, Adeline,” Ronald said, carrying the overfull sherry glass across the room with the same sort of care he might use were he carrying a sleeping child. He placed it down on the table in front of her and seemed somewhat victorious that he had made it without spilling a drop.
“Good heavens, Ronald, there was no room for error, was there?” Adeline said, laughing as she reached for the sherry glass with equal care.
“Sorry, Adeline, that really is quite full,” Ronald said and chuckled as he watched the slow and painstaking progress the sherry glass made towards Adeline’s mouth.
“So, what do you say, Papa?” Imogen said, growing excited once more. She felt sure that her father would agree to it all.
“Yes, go if you must,” he said, his voice rising a little. “Go if you can bear to, Imogen.” He began to chuckle again.
“If I can bear to?” Imogen said, feigning confusion.
“Imogen, I know very well your opinion of the London Season. And I know what you were like on our one and only foray into the dreadful experience. You were quite impossible and entirely ready to come home within weeks. I think it only fair that Adeline knows the full facts.” Ronald Pennington was still chuckling.
“I have already told Adeline that I cannot bear it, and she remembers well how I did not enjoy myself. It was only four years ago, after all, Papa.”
Imogen had not enjoyed her one and only London Season. In part, it had been a certain shyness when she had found herself exposed to so many people of a type she was not entirely used to. Whilst she had come from a fine family and did not want invitations, her father’s way of life at Pennington Hall had not included all manner of people desperately climbing the society ladder. And neither had it included a veritable bevy of young ladies all keen for a husband, quite often the same one.
In truth, Imogen had found the whole thing almost predatory in parts and, in others, somewhat baffling. The only entertainment she had enjoyed had been trips to various
London theatres and other places of interest. Any event which took place in one of the great halls or townhouses in Mayfair or Belgravia had made her feel curiously uneasy, and she had realized for the first time the very great differences between herself and many of the other young people of the same or similar station in life. It had been that feeling of otherness, a feeling which she had kept secret then and ever since, which had forced her to abandon the whole thing much earlier than she had intended.
“And after all, Ronald, the pure enjoyment of the London Season is hardly our aim,” Adeline said, laughing also. “We are simply there to raid the purses of the wealthy,” she finished with a flourish.
“Well, I wish you both every success in your endeavours. Here’s to it.” Ronald Pennington smiled warmly at his friend and his daughter and raised his glass in a hearty toast.
Chapter 4
“It is so very close that I can hardly understand why we travel by carriage. Really, it has taken longer to get in and out of the carriage than it took to ride here,” Lady Prudence Montgomery spoke quietly.
In reality, she was not trying to be argumentative but was making an observation of something she thought ought to have been obvious to everybody. They had simply left one wealthy street in Belgravia and travelled to another. They had moved from one stone fronted town mansion to another stone fronted town mansion. The horses had barely made their way into a trot before they were halted again less than two minutes after they had begun.
“For heaven’s sake, Prudence!” Veronica said, taking her daughter seriously. “Did you really think that your brother, the Earl of Reddington, would make his way on foot to an afternoon engagement?”
“No, Mother, I had not,” Prudence said quietly. “I am remarking at the ridiculousness of it all. I was not suggesting that we do anything so vulgar as put one foot in front of the other.”
“I do hope I am not going to have a tiresome afternoon with you, Prudence,” Veronica said with a sigh.
“No indeed, Mother. In fact, I shall do what I can to find other company, thereby releasing you from the dreadful idea of spending time with your own daughter.”
“I do wish you would both stop antagonizing one another.” Finally, Heath Montgomery intervened. “Why can you not get along?”
“I daresay it is because we have nothing in common,” Prudence said shortly although stopping herself from saying anything more after Heath gave her a stern look.
If he were honest, he could entirely understand Prudence’s low feeling for their mother. He had known that his mother favoured him and put all her efforts and intentions his way. He found he cared deep down what Prudence felt about that and even felt guilty to some degree that he was receiving all that she was not. However, he had never sought to change things, finding that being at the top of the tree was a most comfortable position and one he would not seek to change. And yet, as Prudence had grown into a beautiful young woman, he had begun to fear losing her.
It was all very well to take for granted the fact that she would always be there whether he put the effort in or not, but with her age had come a good deal of wisdom, and with that wisdom, he had sensed an ever-widening chasm between them.
Relations between Heath and Prudence had become such that he felt sure any marriage of hers would sever all ties as far as Prudence was concerned. After all, what did she really have to hold onto at Reddington Hall? A mother who had made it clear that she was an encumbrance to be married off at the first opportunity to a man who did not covet a large dowry? Or a brother who had allowed things to go on most unfairly because it suited his selfish purposes? No, once Prudence had found a husband and a life of her own, Heath had no doubt in his mind that she would never look back. If ever there was a time to try to win back her favour, it was now before it was too late. And of course, it might already be too late. Prudence was almost one and twenty and strikingly beautiful. She had his extraordinarily dark hair and bright blue eyes, but none of his height. Prudence was little and neat, and Heath would not be at all surprised if she caught the attention of some fine gentleman or other during the upcoming Season.
“I suppose you are right really, Prudence,” he said, trying to convey a jaunty tone. “Had we walked we would already be inside by now.” He laughed and looked at her, hoping to see her smile back, but she did not. “Well, shall we?” He continued to smile and held out his arms to indicate that his mother and sister should walk before him towards the open front door of the town mansion of Lord and Lady Seaton.
The black wooden door, immense and shining with glossy paint, had been pulled full back and, either side of it on the white stone steps stood a footman. The two footmen were dressed in the very finest livery, better even than the Earl’s own men wore. Lord Seaton’s men wore long tailcoats in heavy cream-coloured brocade. In truth, it seemed a little too heavy for the warmth of the afternoon, although it was unlikely that the comfort of Lord Seaton’s servants was of great concern to him.
Beneath the immaculate tailcoats, the two footmen wore equally heavy waistcoats in a rich golden colour with intricate embroidery upon the fabric. The black knee breeches they wore were neatly met by brilliant white stockings, a look which Heath thought a little ostentatious given the current fashion for somewhat longer trousers and knee length boots. To maintain footman in the breeches, stockings, and buckle-fronted shoes struck Heath as a little regal.
As they approached the steps, Heath almost laughed when he saw his mother making a fine study of the two footmen. For a few moments, he wondered how long it would be before his own footman were returned to the more old-fashioned yet very rich style that the Seatons had employed.
“Ah, my dear Lord Reddington,” Lord Seaton boomed in the way that older and somewhat deaf men tended to do as he approached Heath, his hand already outstretched. “I am so very glad you came down early too. It should have been a very sorry little afternoon buffet otherwise.”
“Indeed, Lord Seaton. Tell me, have you been down long? I am myself just arrived but a few days ago.” Whilst Heath enjoyed an afternoon event, particularly if there was good food on offer, he had always secretly despised the dreadful small talk that one was forced to make at the beginning of things. He thought it would be quite refreshing if society had done with the whole idea of the long-winded greeting. And he didn’t mind betting that there was more than just him who would be glad of it.
“We have been here two weeks already. I had a little business to be done with, you see, so I thought we would come down early and get that out of the way before the Season truly begins. Anyway, given that we have been here two weeks, Lady Seaton was growing a little restless and wanted some afternoon entertainment. And there you have it; in no time at all the invites were out, and here we are.”
“Here we are indeed,” Heath said in a friendly manner which he hoped would signify the end of their conversation.
“Ah, my dear Countess,” Lord Seaton began, turning his attention upon Heath’s mother.
Heath moved a little away from the group and began to follow a small gathering of people as they made their way towards the immense drawing room. There seemed to be all sorts of good food on offer, and the wonderful smells of warm pastry filled his nostrils and made his mouth water.
Lord and Lady Seaton always did put on a good spread, and Heath smiled to himself when he thought that that was truly the only reason that he never once turned down one of their invitations.
Fully determined to make his way clear across the room and help himself to a little pastry or two before he was waylaid by some company or other that he did not want, Heath increased his pace a little.
He reached the table without incident, smiling vaguely this way and that as he went, and was immediately handed a small plate by a young serving maid.
“Thank you,” he said, giving the young girl a smile.
He was pleased to see that she blushed in response and looked up at him shyly. She could have been no more than seventeen years of age, and s
he was inordinately pretty. He could not help thinking it a great shame that she was nothing more than a maid; otherwise, he might have dallied there a little longer. Still, her response to his appearance was quite satisfying enough for a man as vain as Heath Montgomery.
In truth, he knew himself to be a handsome man and took great solace in the fact that, when the time for marriage came, he would certainly have his pick of the ladies. There would be none who would turn him down, and many who would fight to win him were it not for etiquette and propriety.
“I must say, these pastries are awfully tasty.” Heath could not resist spending a few moments more with the pretty young maid. The more she blushed, the more he liked it.
“I believe so, sir,” she said as she placed another on his plate.
“My dear, you really are spoiling me, are you not?” He fixed her with a stare which she seemed almost unable to wriggle out from beneath.
A Lady for the Brazen Earl: A Historical Regency Romance Book Page 3