My Lady Gloriana

by Sylvia Halliday

  “N-no, of course not,” he stuttered.

  “Then why should she be hidden away, like a precious flower under a rock?” She gave Gloriana a motherly smile. “How old are you, my dear?”

  That caught Gloriana by surprise. “I’ll be twenty-one in April.”

  “Humph! ’Tis time to find you a new husband. You and your lovely little boy need someone to take care of you.”

  Lord Sewell wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Really, my nightingale, you go too far.”

  Lady Mary pursed her lips and shook her head, the lappets of her cap bouncing against her rosy cheeks. “I will play matchmaker, husband. I can think of any number of fine young men who would be suitable. Our own grandson, perhaps.” She stared pointedly at Grey and Allegra. “I think I shall have a small assembly in April to celebrate Lady Gloriana’s birthday. Do you have any objections?”

  Grey frowned. “’Twould only be fitting for Allegra and me, as Gloriana’s kin, to hold an assembly for such an important milestone in her life. Though I appreciate your generous offer—and I know my lady wife shares my opinion—Baniard Hall should properly be the site of the festivities.” He turned to Gloriana. “What is the date of your birth?”

  Gloriana’s head was spinning from the sudden shift in the conversation. They had been speaking about the weather, the London season—sharing simple pleasantries, topics that were safe and non-threatening. Suddenly they were discussing her future as though she were invisible and had no say in the matter. “The… the fourteenth,” she stammered.

  Grey tapped the table. “Then it’s settled. Nearly a month to make arrangements.” He raised a questioning eyebrow to Allegra. “That is, if you’re agreed, madam.”

  She gazed tenderly at him. “With all my heart,” she murmured.

  Lady Sewell smiled bravely, clearly trying to hide her disappointment at the usurpation of her own plans. “As you wish, milord. But will you allow me to help you with the guest list, at least? Edwin and I spend far more time in the city than you do. I can think of any number of eligible bachelors.”

  “Just a moment.” Allegra raised her hand in protest. “We’re being quite thoughtless. ’Tis all well and good to make plans, but we haven’t even asked the lady herself if she would like to celebrate her birthday in such a public manner.” She turned to Gloriana. “What do you say, Sister?”

  Gloriana closed her eyes for a moment. Did she feel ready to preside over a hall full of strangers, to smile and laugh and pretend that any other man would suit her after Thorne? Surely, after such an official introduction to society, she would be expected to go to London, to allow a host of men to court her, to choose one for a husband. Despite her newly acquired social skills, she wasn’t sure she could endure such a rigorous routine, so different from the gentle life she had been leading since coming back to Baniard Hall.

  And yet… sooner or later, she would want Billy to have a father. And, more importantly, she would need a father for the child she was carrying. How long before her flat belly began to grow, betraying her, exposing her and her beloved family to scorn? The sooner she found another man and married, the better it would be for all of them. “I think a party for my birthday would be lovely. Thank you, Grey. As for you, Lady Mary, I dub you my official matchmaker. Find me a suitable man and you will be invited to the christening of our first child.” She lifted the plate of sweet cakes in front of her and held them out to the older woman. “Now, will you have another biscuit?”

  She had married Charlie to give her son a name. She was strong enough to marry another man to give her unborn child a heritage. As for love, she was done with it. Thorne had taught her that it was a dangerous emotion, like a poisonous serpent eating away at her soul.

  • • •

  The heady aroma of April lilacs massed in large vases against the wall of Lady Cooper’s large drawing room was almost overpowering. Thorne frowned in vexation and fidgeted in his chair. He didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to be back in London. He missed his forge, and the sight of the assembled guests, so many of whom had been his false friends during his years of riotous living, now merely annoyed him. He nodded mechanically toward several former comrades, then turned to his mother with a tight smile.

  “If it weren’t for Cleve,” he said in a low voice, “I’m damned if I’d sit here for another minute.”

  “Oh, don’t be an old crosspatch, John,” she said with a gentle laugh. “You know you’re as proud of him as I am.”

  “True enough,” he confessed. He wasn’t happy to be in the city, but at least he’d had the chance to see Cleve Dobson again and cement their growing friendship. The man had been a whirlwind of activity since the night they’d discussed his future in Surrey. In less than a month, he’d come to London and found a suitable shop for his music business as well as his lessons, a compact space with living accommodations on the floor above. With the loan from Thorne, he’d purchased a goodly number of instruments, tastefully arranged on the shelves, and hung a discreet sign over the door: Music Shop, C. Dobson, prop.

  He had interviewed half a dozen candidates for the position of valet to Thorne, finally settling on Rowland, an older man who had served several London gentlemen of note. Thorne found the man pleasant enough, and properly deferential, though somewhat set in his ways. He still couldn’t quite manage the business of intermediary between Thorne and his mother, which had produced a few tense moments in their recent encounters. By mutual consent, they had agreed to a truce this evening, leaving Rowland back at Havilland House, and had managed to converse in a civil manner since arriving at Lady Cooper’s home.

  In London, Dobson had sought out his old musician friends, and held a few concerts in his shop, which had brought him to the attention of the gentry. Lady Cooper’s assembly this evening was the happy result.

  Thorne looked around the drawing room, noting that people were beginning to fill more and more of the chairs lined up in rows to face the small platform on one side of the room, which held a harpsichord and three chairs, each with a musical instrument waiting on its seat. He turned to his mother. “It shouldn’t be long now.”

  “I never asked you. Did you spend a pleasant afternoon with Cleve today?”

  Thorne chuckled. “We had a jolly time. The food in the tavern was good, and we had many memories to laugh about. I hope to see a great deal of him while we’re in London. I think I shall value his friendship more and more as the years roll by.”

  “I’m of the same mind. True friendship rests on the ability to share the deepest secrets of your heart. And I suspect your months with him in Whitby were some of the most meaningful times of your life. I think… Oh!”

  Thorne frowned at his mother’s startled cry. “What is it?”

  Lady Sarah fanned herself with agitated fingers. “Lord and Lady DeWitt just came in,” she whispered.

  “Felix and Penelope? Gads! I’m not sure I want to see them.”

  “Too late. Felix has seen us and is coming over here.” She gave her son a motherly scowl. “Do try to be pleasant, John.”

  “I have no quarrel with the man. As to the harpy he married…” Thorne rose from his chair as Felix approached them. He nodded a greeting, and even managed to hold out his hand. “Felix,” he said. “You and your… wife are well?”

  Felix bowed to Thorne’s mother. “Lady Sarah. Thorne,” he murmured, accepting the proffered handshake. Then he sighed deeply. “As well as can be, under the circumstances.” He leaned in close to Thorne’s ear. “I don’t much like the woman,” he muttered softly.

  Thorne glanced briefly at Penelope, who had found chairs next to a young couple, and was chatting gaily with them. “She seems to be happy enough, and glad to be here.”

  Felix snorted. “In truth, she didn’t want to come. But I… persuaded her.”

  Thorne suppressed a smile as he saw Penelope settle into her chair, wincing slightly as she did so. “I’m sure you did. In your own inimitable manner.” He nodded again and regai
ned his seat. “You must rejoin your wife. I’ll wager the music is about to start.”

  “Hah! I’ll wager that that’s the first bet you’ve made in months.” Felix shook his head. “I miss you, friend Thorne. The gaming at Belsize simply isn’t the same without you.”

  “I regret, for your sake, that I’ve turned over a new leaf. But…” He shrugged. “Now go to your wife. It might be awkward if she comes here to fetch you.”

  When Felix had gone, grumbling as he crossed the room, Lady Sarah giggled. “Never have two people more deserved each other.” She pointed with her fan to a door that had opened near the platform. “But it looks as though the musicians will be coming out in a moment. And see! There’s Cleve. And he’s with Mistress Rill.”

  Thorne frowned. “But they seem to be quarreling.” In truth, he had never seen Martha Rill look so miserable. She pouted and wiped at her cheeks as Cleve spoke to her, his brow furrowed in anxiety. “She’s usually as sunny as a spring day.”

  “Indeed. We shall have to ask him when the concert is over.”

  The guests grew quiet as the musicians filed into the hall and took their seats, Cleve at the last, plodding to his place as though the world rested heavily on his shoulders. Mistress Rill turned about and flounced to the door that led to the vestibule and the street beyond. A very serious quarrel, thought Thorne sadly. He had never seen Cleve looking so dejected.

  The concert was pleasant enough, but Thorne was distracted by his concern over Cleve. The man lacked his usual enthusiasm, even during his flute solos. Thorne burst with impatience, waiting to question him about the direction of a growing courtship that had, up until now, seemed to be going smoothly.

  But when the small orchestra began to play a delicate minuet, Thorne’s thoughts turned unexpectedly to the night he had danced in the garden with Gloriana. They had been one person in two bodies in those moments, joined with a strong thread that seemed to connect his heart to hers. He felt an odd twinge of anger that surprised him. After that night, and their joyous reunion in Newgate, how could she have been so unfeeling as to believe Penelope? How could she have doubted his love for a moment? And to leave for America without even speaking to him, allowing him to explain…

  His mother tapped him on the wrist with her fan. “Are you so displeased with the music that you must frown so, John?” she whispered.

  He forced himself to smile weakly and shook his head. But he had to acknowledge his anger at Gloriana. If he admitted it to himself, he couldn’t quite forgive her for her lack of faith in him.

  The concert was over. The assembled guests applauded politely, then began to rise and move toward an adjoining room, where supper had been laid out. Thorne gestured toward Dobson and patted the empty chair next to him. “A fine performance, Cleve,” he said with enthusiasm, when Dobson had joined them.

  “Thank you, Your… Thorne,” Dobson said in a lackluster voice.

  Thorne eyed him with sympathy. “I can see that this evening didn’t bring you as much pleasure as you gave to this company. May I credit the disappearance of Mistress Rill for your unhappiness?”

  Dobson sighed. “You may. If you must know, I’ve heard from my father again. With another large bank draft from which I shall be able to pay back your generous loan.”

  “And that makes you unhappy?”

  “Alas. His generosity is not without intrigue. He complains again about his failing health. And his need for someone to help him manage the plantation.”

  Thorne shook his head. “Perhaps he should have been the musician. Playing upon the strings of your conscience.”

  “Yes. I fear his next missive will be a direct plea for me to join him in Ceylon.”

  “And Mistress Rill is not amenable to that.”

  “I fear not.” Dobson rose from his chair. “Well, allow me to leave you and find her if I can. I’ve scarcely made up my own mind on the matter, but she is so unalterably opposed that it’s difficult for me to make a reasoned decision.”

  Thorne watched him go, then turned to Lady Sarah. “The poor man. In the years I’ve known him, I’ve never seen a woman turn his head the way Mistress Rill has. Ah, well.” He held out his arm. “Supper, madam?”

  The moment they entered the tea room for supper, Thorne knew that something was wrong. He had heard the buzz of conversation as they approached the door, but the whole room seemed to fall silent as he led his mother toward a table. And he distinctly heard a snicker from Felix, sitting in a corner with several mutual friends.

  Lady Sarah frowned. “Something is amiss.”

  “Indeed. Is my periwig askew?”

  “Of course not, John. You look fine.” She waved to a couple sitting to one side. “Look. There are Lord and Lady Latham. Shall we sit with them?”

  They crossed the room to the table. Thorne was aware that many eyes followed their progress. He smiled at the Lathams. “May we join you?” he asked, scarcely waiting for their reply to hold out a chair for his mother.

  Lord Latham stood and bowed in deference to Thorne’s rank, then regained his chair as Thorne and his mother sat down. “You are well, Your Grace?” he asked.

  Thorne quirked a smile in his direction. “Unless I’ve suddenly grown horns.” He indicated the guests, who had begun to buzz amongst themselves again. “Have we missed the latest gossip? I see Lady Singleton has come in.”

  Lady Latham blushed, while Lord Latham suddenly found a speck of lint on his impeccable velvet sleeve.

  “Well?” demanded Thorne.

  Lord Latham cleared his throat. “Well,” he began reluctantly, “we are all wondering if Your Grace, so noted for your wild wagers, intends to make another bet.”

  “Concerning what?”

  “The… the Lady Gloriana Baniard.”

  Thorne nearly choked on his anger. Was he never to live down that shameful episode? “’Twas a foolish wager,” he snapped. “An insult to an honorable lady. I was only too happy to concede my defeat. Why should it matter now, after all these months?”

  “Because the lady has come home. She is even now at Baniard Hall in Shropshire, with her kin.”

  Thorne struggled to hide his shocked surprise, though he kept his hands in his lap to keep them from shaking. She was here? In England? He said nothing, fearful that his voice would betray his roiling emotions.

  His mother rescued him. “Why shouldn’t she return home?” she asked with an airy laugh. “She owed it to her family, to ease their fears. What is so extraordinary about that?”

  Lord Latham snorted. “If I were her kin, I’d be filled with recriminations for burdening them with months of scandal and grief. Instead, Lord and Lady Ridley are celebrating her return—and her birthday, if I understand the gossip—by holding a large assembly at their country home.”

  Lady Latham gave Thorne a waspish smile, twisted with malice. “And Lady Mary Sewell has agreed to serve as matchmaker, inviting a dozen eligible London bachelors to come to Shropshire and pay court to the lady.” The smile deepened to a grin of pure vindictiveness. “Have you received your invitation yet, Your Grace?” Thorne clenched his jaw, stifling the string of curses he ached to hurl at these vile creatures.

  Lord Latham, all smug confidence, was clearly enjoying Thorne’s discomfort. “The company this evening has been speculating on whether Your Grace intends to make another wager. ’Tis too late to find the lady, but…” He shrugged. “I shan’t continue, out of respect for the ladies.”

  Thorne jumped to his feet and held out his hand to his mother. “Come, madam,” he growled. “It would seem that this evening’s company is too low-minded for our taste.” A proud smile on his face, he guided his mother to the door, accepted his cocked hat from the footman, and waved to his waiting carriage on the street. But once settled onto the plush seat, he sagged in misery.

  Damn her to hell, he thought. She had stayed in England, and still had not found the generosity of heart to send him a message. And to accept suitors with such haste, as though their m
onths together had meant nothing to her?

  He would need a great deal of Madeira tonight to wash away the bitterness he could almost taste at her complete betrayal.

  • • •

  Thorne drained the wine from his glass and hastily poured himself another. No matter how much he drank, he couldn’t ease the pain and anger in his heart. He had taught her to be a lady, to be self-sufficient and confident—and she had repaid him by accepting Penelope’s lies without question. He hated her.

  He glared at the nearly empty decanter and hurled it toward the hearth, where it smashed into a dozen pieces and sent up a tongue of flame from the last few drops of liquid. That made him feel better. He glanced around his sitting room, his eyes lighting on a collection of antique China vases on a side table. With one sweep of his arm, he cast them to the floor, grimacing in pleasure at the loud crash.

  The door flew open. Lady Sarah and his valet Rowland burst into the room. “Dear God, John, what is it?” exclaimed his mother.

  He hated her. He hated Rowland. He hated the whole damned world. He turned to Rowland with frosty eyes. “Kindly tell my mother I wish to be alone.”

  Rowland smiled uneasily. “Milady, His Grace wishes to be alone.”

  Lady Sarah shook her head. “To wallow in self-pity?”

  “Tell my mother ’tis none of her concern,” said Thorne, his eyes narrowing.

  Rowland sighed. “His lordship says ’tis none of—”

  Lady Sarah stamped her foot to silence him and pointed to the door. “Rowland. Out!”

  “But milady…”

  “Out, I say!” When the valet had slunk from the room, she slammed the door viciously behind him and whirled on her son. “Now, John, you may be too foolish, or addled with wine, to answer me, but you will hear what I have to say.”

  He sneered at her. “And should I believe you? I might have learned by now. Women are liars, deceivers.”

  “But surely not your Gloriana.”

  “Why not?” he said bitterly. “Was her faith in me so shallow that she could not come to me with Penelope’s story? She said she loved me, and now she looks for suitors. How am I to reconcile that? I have my pride.”