Marjorie Farrell

by Autumn Rose

  “I know it sounds improper, Sam, but neither of us wanted the world to intrude upon such new feelings. Yet, since we knew they were lasting, we wished to make a commitment to one another.”

  “And what of your mother? Your position as earl? Who is Miss Dillon, aside from her bravery?”

  “Her mother is an authoress. She supports them both by writing novels. Popular ones, I’m afraid,” Jeremy said with a smile. “Miss Dillon has been educated by her mother. They are both widely read and I am sure you will love their conversations as much as I do.”

  “And when you told your mother?”

  “She was quite shocked, of course, since she expected me to play the field for a few years and then settle down with some society miss. But I know when she meets Miranda she will love her. And I know I can count on you, Sam, to help her over her disappointment.”

  The viscount was touched by this evidence of Jeremy’s trust in him, and surprised the boy thought he was so unconventional as to countenance a bad match. He was even a bit ashamed of himself, for he and his godson had spent many an evening discussing the issues of the day, and Sam had only himself to blame if Jeremy had developed a libertarian perspective. But that he expected it to extend to domestic matters surprised the viscount. No matter what one’s political leanings, one followed society’s dictates. As a matter of the nobility, it was expected that one marry within one’s class.

  “Jeremy, do you think your mother unreasonable to be disappointed and upset?” queried the viscount.

  Jeremy stood and started pacing in front of the window. He turned to Sam and said earnestly: “Had I not met Miranda, I believe I would understand, Sam. I expected to wait a few years, to marry the usual way, and do my duty to the family. Not because I am at heart convinced of the rightness of that course; merely because it is what one does. Having met Miranda, however, and having fallen deeply in love with her, I feel like someone who has been saved from hurling himself over a cliff along with all the other sheep headed in the same direction.”

  Jeremy turned to face the viscount, and Sam looked at him closely for the first time since he had arrived. The boy combined the best of his mother and father, in appearance and character. He had the striking blondness of Lavinia, made even more striking because he had his father’s brown eyes and the strength and intelligence of the late earl. His face had lost its adolescent downiness, and for a twenty-year-old, was surprisingly mature. But the passion was a young man’s passion, thought Sam. The belief that because one wanted so much, everyone must also see the rightness of it and want the same for him. He remembered how he had thought Lavinia must love him, if only because he loved her. And as his passion for Lavinia had died, so too would Jeremy’s love for this unknown girl.

  “Well, it certainly sounds as though a meeting were in order.”

  “Then you do understand! I knew you would.”

  “Better than you would think, for a gentleman of my advanced years.”

  “Pah. You are in better shape than many of my friends, who spend their time drinking and gambling. You don’t look a day over thirty-five!”

  “Thank you, Jeremy,” Sam replied dryly. “Now I must ask you one thing, which is not, I think, unreasonable.”

  “Yes?”

  “I think it best to keep the engagement informal for a few months.” As Jeremy started to protest, Sam held up his hand. “Hear me out. This will allow your mother and me time to become acquainted with the Dillons. You will have a sanctioned, if private betrothal, and should any change of heart take place on either side, neither you nor Miss Dillon will suffer in the eyes of society. And, to be quite truthful, I cannot, at this point, imagine getting your mother to agree to anything else.”

  Jeremy sighed, and gave in. “You are probably right. And since there will be no change of heart, we can make our announcement at the beginning of the Little Season and introduce Miranda to society then.”

  “Now, how do we arrange our first meeting?”

  “I think I will ride out to Hampstead this afternoon,” Jeremy said. “I will speak with Miranda’s mother, and we will decide who should call on whom first.”

  “You hadn’t spoken with Mrs. Dillon either, I understood from her.”

  Jeremy had the grace to blush. “No, we kept it secret from her also. I can see now it was a thoughtless thing to do. How did you like her?”

  “She seems an independent sort.”

  “Yes, Nora has supported them both on her own,” Jeremy said. “And, Sam, one of the wonderful things about this is that I can offer her some help after all her years of poverty.”

  “You are generous, Jeremy.”

  “But I have so much,” Jeremy replied, with that openness he had had even as a small boy, when he was forever giving toys and puppies away.

  And I mean to see you are not taken advantage of, thought Sam, who could not help but have lingering doubts about a woman who seemed honest enough, but who was, after all, a mother. And what mother would not want to advance her daughter and herself?

  Chapter 6

  It was not until more than a week later that the first meeting took place. By the time Jeremy and his mother spoke again and he and the Dillons met, having the most formal conversation since they had been acquainted, with Jeremy taking the responsibility for the deception, the earliest convenient time for both the families was the second Tuesday in June. The meeting was to be in Hampstead: a picnic on the Heath with tea later back at the cottage.

  Jeremy and Sam dressed comfortably for a day in the country, but had not been able to convince Lavinia that half-boots would be more appropriate than kid slippers and that an everyday round gown was more appropriate than the muslin walking dress she chose to wear.

  “I am meeting my son’s fiancée for the first time, and no matter that she is beneath him, I intend to dress according to the occasion. And surely I have dressed like this for other picnics. It is quite the thing,” said Lavinia at the door when Sam had remarked upon the formality of her attire. Jeremy grimaced behind her and said: “I tried to convince my mama that a picnic at Richmond is a bit different than one on the Heath, but with no great success.”

  “No matter,” Sam said, thinking things were going according to plan. Lavinia had always been at her best in the city, and aside from riding, enjoyed no physical activity. It was the one discordant note in her marriage to Charles, for he would have spent most of his time in Sussex, had he not been such a doting husband. Lavinia, if he and Mrs. Dillon were lucky, would no doubt ruin the day and the two young lovers were bound to wake up to the difficulties inherent in trying to join two such different families. “Let us go or we will be late,” Sam urged.

  “Late,” moaned Lavinia, as she settled back into the chaise. “This is the earliest I have been out in an age.”

  Jeremy had chosen to ride inside with his mother, a choice he regretted after the first ten minutes, since she hated traveling and suffered from quite genuine motion sickness. She held her vinaigrette in one hand and the strap in the other and looked paler and paler as the chaise proceeded at a snail’s pace. They had chosen a busy market day, so the pig population, as well as sheep and cattle, was out, and the journey to the High Street, and, indeed, part way up, was slow and smelly. Jeremy, although he would never have admitted it, was almost ready to give up and turn back. He loved his mother, but her weaknesses, which often amused him, were at the moment annoying. He was torn between sympathy for her real distress and the disloyal wish that she was more like Miranda’s mother.

  The air and the road cleared as they approached the Dillons’, however, and Lavinia revived. She was not about to disgrace Jeremy, especially in front of this upstart female and her daughter. So there was a hint of battle in her eyes when they pulled up in front of the cottage.

  Miranda and Nora were sitting in the parlor. Or rather, Nora was sitting calmly, reading, and Miranda was up and down at the slightest noise. “Jeremy is more than half an hour past the time he promised,” she s
aid to her mother, “and he is never late. Do you suppose they are not coming after all?”

  “Jeremy is with two other people, dear. Perhaps his mother is delayed,” replied her mother calmly.

  When the chaise at last pulled up, Miranda was up and out before Nora could stop her. She stopped suddenly on the walk and smoothed her dress and hair unconsciously as she watched Jeremy hand his mother down.

  Sam could see a resemblance to the child Romney had painted in her flushed cheeks and startlingly blue eyes. But she is no child, he thought as he watched her control her agitation. She is quite a beautiful young woman. Had she remained inside, in imitation of a polite society miss, or rushed up to Jeremy gushing in a possessive way, Sam would have felt more optimistic. But she walked quietly down the path to meet them, saying, “You must be Jeremy’s mama. I am Miranda Dillon. You are as elegant as he promised,” she continued easily, “but you look worn-out from your drive. We must get you into the house and settled with a glass of water or lemonade.”

  Jeremy threw a grateful look at Miranda, and Sam felt a twinge of jealousy as their eyes met in what was obviously perfect understanding. They were not gazing soulfully at each other, like calf-lovers, all intent upon themselves, but were, instead, working like partners to handle an awkward situation. He dismounted, and watched Miranda murmuring sympathetically to the countess as they proceeded up the walk. He grinned to himself as he realized that Lavinia had lost the first round immediately. There had been no chance for her to come over the proud countess, and it would be hard to pull off now, with such an attentive young lady.

  Nora met them at the door and let them past her as she turned to meet the viscount. She felt like a conspirator as he smiled and took her extended hand.

  “My lord. Please come and join us in the parlor. You look like you had a dry and dusty journey.”

  Sam brushed himself off. “There did seem to be an overabundance of livestock as we came into town,” he replied.

  “Oh, I am sorry,” Nora said. “We are so used to market day that I never thought that Tuesday would not be ideal. Although the weather is perfect for our picnic,” she said as she looked up at the almost-clear blue sky. “This dry spell might have raised the dust, but it has also dried out the Heath, so our walk will not be muddy and our rugs will not get damp. Please come in.”

  Lavinia had been settled and Miranda was in the kitchen getting lemonade and glasses. The color was returning to the countess’s face and she was trying to take in the room without looking vulgarly curious. She had to admit that while it was not a richly or fashionably furnished room, it was quite comfortable and not at all vulgar.

  Jeremy got up immediately as Nora entered the room, and introduced her to his mother. She walked over to shake hands, and Lavinia looked up into calm gray eyes. Surely this could not be the encroaching Mrs. Dillon, this soft-spoken, attractive woman?

  “We are honored to have you with us, Lady Whitford,” Nora said. “Jeremy has told us so much about you, we feel we know you already.”

  Lavinia replied frostily: “I can’t say he has told us anything about you.”

  Nora colored, and with a naturalness that bespoke an easy intimacy, placed a hand on Jeremy’s arm. “I know, and I have scolded him for it.”

  Jeremy looked down and smiled ruefully. “I know this is a surprise for all of us,” Nora continued, “and I am sure not the match you might have chosen. But I feel it is important to respect the feelings of our children, do you not?”

  Lavinia looked up into the studiously bland face of Mrs. Dillon and remembered what the “plan” was. “You are quite correct on both counts, Mrs. Dillon,” she answered coolly.

  Miranda came in with the lemonade, and Nora turned to Jeremy again. “My dear, there is a crock of ale in the larder. Would you pour out a glass for the viscount and yourself, if you want something stronger.”

  Nora, finally realizing that the viscount was waiting for her to sit down, sat and poured the lemonade for the three ladies.

  “You must be quite eager to stretch your legs after your long ride,” she said to the countess.

  Lavinia was taken aback, for the last thing she had been thinking about was exercise. What she was eager to do was stretch out on her own sofa and nap. But Sam had said they must be agreeable, so she murmured something about a stroll being welcome.

  “We only planned a short walk for you for this first time,” said Miranda. “There is a path right up from the cottage, which will take us to the Heath for our picnic, and then it circles back. We need to walk only twenty minutes or so to get there.”

  Bless the girl, Nora thought, as she looked at Lavinia’s face struggling not to frown at the thought of more exercise off horseback than she had had in years. They had originally planned an hour’s walk out, but Miranda had taken the countess’s measure in a glance and realized she would never make it. Indeed, should she walk half the distance in those slippers, it would be a miracle. Whatever was she thinking of, dressing like that?

  Mrs. Dillon’s face was so open that Sam almost laughed out loud as he saw her look down with consternation at Lavinia’s shoes. She herself was comfortably dressed, as was Miranda, in a gown suitable for walking, as most “walking dresses” weren’t, thought Sam. And he guessed, quite correctly, that mother and daughter would exchange their slippers for some sort of footwear worn by hours of walking.

  Conversation could not be said to be sprightly. After a few polite inquiries, Lavinia gave up. It would not have done to get personal, and no one was relaxed enough to utter more than stilted comments on the weather, and the inevitable remarks upon the ubiquitous black pigs. The only sincere words were Sam’s and Jeremy’s praises for the ale.

  Miranda and Jeremy had not imagined it would be so difficult. They, after all, could talk for hours and had no more in common than their respective parents. But they had forgotten that in addition to the sweet inanities of young lovers, their conversations ranged over everything from literature to politics, Miranda being better read than most of Jeremy’s friends who had come down from Oxford. But Lady Lavinia had little conversation aside from the ton gossip. After a few aborted attempted to relate the latest on-dit, she realized that the Dillons not only did not know the Duchess of Handley or the Earl of Staveley, but were only being polite when they expressed their interest. So Lavinia sipped her lemonade slowly, and the others watched her, as though it were the most original act in the world.

  Nora realized the first meeting was going almost too well, from the parental point of view. She could not stand the increasing discomfort, and suggested they set off for their picnic. Even Lavinia seemed to welcome the suggestion.

  “Would you like to borrow a pair of boots, Lady Whitford?” asked Nora. “We look of a size, and I promise you would be more comfortable.”

  The countess looked with distaste at the brogues Nora was holding out to her.

  “No, thank you. My slippers are sufficiently comfortable.”

  “You are sure, Mother?”

  Lavinia was not about to ruin her appearance for anything. So she refused again, and once they had distributed the rugs and picnic baskets, they set off.

  Chapter 7

  The day was unusually warm for June, and it took only ten minutes for them to realize the countess was not going to make even the shorter walk. At first, she was bothered only by the fact that the bottom of her gown was getting dusty. But then she began to feel the pebbles and ruts in the path through her slippers. To give her credit, she did try to keep up, and made only one despairing cry when, after limping alone in the rear, she was slapped in the face by a rebounding twig. Miranda, who had moved back to give Lavinia her arm, hurried up to the front of their small procession to speak with her mother and Jeremy.

  Nora walked back with her daughter and said, with genuine sympathy: “Lady Whitford, we had forgotten how used we are to walking. Perhaps we can picnic a little closer to the cottage. Do you think you can walk just five more minutes? There is
a spot ahead, not as ideal as what we had planned, but adequately shaded.”

  Lavinia was so grateful to be spared ten minutes of torture that she offered Nora a genuine smile and admitted that perhaps she was not properly dressed for this kind of exercise.

  “Jeremy,” called Nora, “come and take your mother’s arm.”

  Jeremy, who had wanted his mother and Miranda to become better acquainted, had been walking ahead with Sam and was quite oblivious to Lavinia’s discomfort. He came back immediately and took his mother’s arm. Miranda fell in front of them, and Nora strode quickly to catch up with the viscount.

  “My lord, I think we will have to cut short our walk. The countess is quite obviously miserable, and even though it would suit our purpose well, I cannot torture the poor lady further. There is a spot up ahead, next to a small pond with a few trees to shade us. We could spread the rugs out there. The countess can rest, and if you and Jeremy and Miranda wish to go further, I will stay with her and keep her company.”

  Sam looked back and could not help himself from smiling at the contrast between the limping countess and the woman beside him. She was clearly full of energy and could have continued for hours.

  “That is very kind of you, Mrs. Dillon. Are you sure you want to sacrifice your own exercise? I could stay with Lavinia.”

  “No, no. You go on with the young people. I get out almost every day, and in truth, this sort of day is not one of my favorites. I prefer a few clouds and a bit of wind in my face to this heat.”

  Within a few minutes they had reached the small pond which bordered the upper end of the High Street.

  “This is not as wild a place as we would find on a longer walk, for we are barely onto the Heath,” Nora said. “But it is a pleasant spot for a picnic.”

  Jeremy and Sam spread out the rugs and settled Lavinia under the shade of a small willow. Nora waved the three of them off.

  “I will arrange the picnic and keep the countess company. You three go on a bit further.”