The Last of Lady Lansdown

by Shirley Kennedy

  “From the looks of you, you could do with some port.” Rennie poured two glasses from a crystal decanter and gave one to his friend. He settled into the matching gilt chair on the other side of the fireplace. “So why did you return early? Surely it wasn’t to tell me you used cast iron instead of stone?”

  Douglas contemplated his glass of port. “Have you noticed it’s raining again? It started not long before I arrived.”

  “So? What has the rain got to do with your return?”

  “I haven’t seen this amount of rain for years. If you must know, it makes me uneasy.”

  “We have had rainy seasons before.”

  “Not like this,” Douglas said. “Never like this.”

  “So what do you think will happen?” With a smile Rennie continued, “Will we all be drowned, do you think? Would you recommend I build an ark?”

  His smile soon faded. Douglas, usually quick to respond to his friend’s sharp wit, remained straight-faced, his brow furrowed. “It has happened before.”

  “Ah, yes. I seem to recall some legend about how the River Hulm flooded its banks and caused a bit of damage a few centuries ago.”

  “More than a ‘bit of damage,’ as you so casually put it. Back in the fourteenth century, a wall of water twenty feet high swept through this valley. It destroyed the village of Sudberry and everything else in its path.”

  “A piddling river like the Hulm? I had no idea. How is that possible?”

  “As you know, the River Hulm flows through a steep, narrow canyon upstream from here.” Douglas motioned his head to the north. “The flood no doubt started in that narrow canyon. I can only make an educated guess, but I would wager conditions weren’t much different than they are today. A narrow gorge, steep walls, little foliage, a sudden cloudburst that dumps ten to twenty inches of rain, and suddenly you have a wall of water crashing down the canyon to the valley below.”

  “’Pon my word! We would all have to run for the hills.”

  “Not you, Rennie. Lancaster Hall is high enough up the slope that I doubt the waters would reach you, but—”

  “Chatfield Court?” Rennie asked, unsmiling. “It’s closer to the river.”

  Douglas nodded grimly. “Chatfield Court would be directly in its path, as would all the little farms along the river clear to Sudberry.”

  “What about Sudberry?”

  “What do you think would happen if a wall of water filled with trees, boulders, and God-knows-what came crashing down upon the town?”

  “Good God.” Rennie sat silent, properly impressed, no doubt conjuring up a ghastly vision of the horror that would ensue should such a disaster occur. “Do you really think it could happen again?”

  “Who can say? I only know that this constant rain has thoroughly soaked the ground. One more good rainstorm and the water will have no place to go except ...” Douglas shrugged.

  “What can we do?”

  “Pray the rain stops.”

  “Oh, I shall.”

  “To be more specific, better pray a cloudburst doesn’t open up over that canyon to the north.”

  Rennie took a sip of port. After a long moment of silence, he said, “Surely that’s not the only reason for your early return. Aside from your fears about a flood that might or might not occur, what else?”

  Douglas gazed toward the window and sighed. “That’s all.”

  “No it’s not. It’s the countess, isn’t it? You couldn’t stay away from her.”

  “Why would you think so?”

  “Your attraction to her is as plain as the nose on your face. Don’t forget, I was there the night of the fire. I noted your behavior. A tender scene, if ever there was one. The way you held her in your arms—as if you’d just made love, not just carried her away from the fire.”

  Douglas opened his mouth to protest, then changed his mind. “Damn you, Rennie, you’re too perceptive for your own good.”

  “Aha! I thought so.”

  “Have you ever been in love?”

  “You know the answer to that.”

  Of course, Millicent. He should have remembered. “What is love? I don’t even know. What I do know is, I cannot get her off my mind. She’s ruining my sleep. So here I am, and why? What good will come of it?”

  Rennie made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “She is a widow, after all. Why don’t you marry the woman and be done with it?”

  “Not possible,” Douglas said with a firm shake of his head. “I just wrote her a letter saying I would soon be leaving for America, which, really, is the best solution for the both of us.”

  “I’m baffled. Why would you do that?”

  “For one thing, her life is in turmoil. Her entire family is at sixes and sevens over whether or not she’s carrying the next Earl of Lansdown.”

  “That’s only temporary. You need more port.” Rennie refilled his friend’s wineglass. “So why else can’t you marry the beautiful countess?”

  “I shall never marry. I told you that.”

  “Yes, you did, but I’ve never understood exactly why.”

  “I killed a little girl, that’s why.” The words had just slipped out. Always a private man, Douglas never revealed his intimate thoughts. But the combined seductive forces of the port, the cozy warmth of Rennie’s library and the ear of a trusted friend loosened his tongue.

  Rennie set his wineglass down. “Are you referring to that accident in London a few years back?”

  “I am.”

  “That was four, maybe five years ago, was it not?”

  “It was five years, forty-seven days, and approximately twelve hours since I, in my inexcusable drunken state, ran over and killed an innocent little orange girl who had the bad luck to be in my path.”

  Rennie shook his head in disbelief. “All that time has gone by and you’re still dwelling on it? Of course, it was a most tragic affair, but still—”

  “If you’re going to say she was only an orange girl, pray don’t,” Douglas cut in. “The events of that terrible night have never left me. I attended a ball, gambled and drank at White’s half the night, then left totally foxed. But what did I care? I was so cock-sure—the London dandy who fancied himself a cut above the common man. With nary a care, I raced my phaeton down St. James’ Street. I rounded a corner much too fast and all of a sudden there she was, in the middle of the street. Before I could stop, my horse struck her and threw her under the wheels ...”

  Douglas shut his eyes, attempting to blot out the heart-rending image. “Not a day, an hour, goes by that I don’t remember how I knelt in the street after I hit her, the oranges from her basket scattered about. I held her broken body in my arms, shouting for help. She was conscious, looking up at me with eyes wide with fright. Then a trickle of blood ran out the corner of her mouth. She lived long enough to speak to me. Do you know what she said?”

  “What did she say?” Rennie asked gently.

  “She said, ‘I am sorry, sir.’ She was apologizing to me. ‘I am sorry, sir’ ” His voice caught. Feeling the old, familiar welling in his throat, Douglas set down his wineglass, hastened to the window and stood for a time looking out at the rain. When he regained control, he returned to the fireplace where Rennie sat patiently waiting. “They told me her name was Sarah. I never knew her last name. Nobody did. I would have given her family everything I had, but they said she was an orphan. No one even knew where she lived. She was all alone, you see. Not more than eight years old and all alone in the world.”

  Rennie’s eyes brimmed in sympathy. “How terrible. I can only begin to imagine what you’ve gone through. But Douglas, that was five years ago.”

  “It was yesterday.”

  “I see.” Rennie refilled his wineglass and took a long sip before he spoke again. “I still don’t understand why you say you will never marry.”

  “I vowed I would not. An innocent little girl lay dead on the street because of my carelessness. Don’t you understand? How can I marry? Have children? Lead any ki
nd of a happy life when ...” Damn, he was about to choke up again.

  “Well, of course, I can easily see how you felt at the time. That’s when you gave up your lodgings, as I recall.”

  Douglas nodded. “Never set foot in White’s again, nor shall I ever.”

  “You left London.”

  “I never told you, Rennie, but I traveled north to work as a laborer on the Stratford Canal.” Douglas smiled wryly. “If ever you want to forget your troubles, get a job pulling a narrow boat along the tow path. Work all day in the boiling hot sun with nothing but horses and mules for company.”

  “I shall make a note of it,” Rennie answered agreeably. “Forgive me for saying so, but guilty though you may feel, surely you cannot forever deny yourself life’s pleasures. Be a martyr if you wish, but you will never bring little Sarah back.”

  “It’s my penance. I took a vow. I can never break it, can’t you see?”

  Rennie leaned back and thoughtfully fit his fingers together. “What I see is a soul in torment. You hide it well. I had no idea. If only I could say something, do anything to make you realize—”

  “Don’t waste your breath, dear friend. There’s nothing to be said.”

  “What about Lady Lansdown?”

  “I shall see her one more time to say goodbye. Then I shall be off to America.”

  “So there’s no chance that you and the countess—?”

  “None whatsoever. Call me a fool, and I know I am, but nothing on this earth could make me break my vow.”

  * * * *

  The next afternoon, Jane was chatting with her grandmother in the old lady’s bedchamber when Griggs knocked and entered.

  “You have a visitor in the drawing room, m’lady. Mister Douglas Cartland.”

  Jane’s pulse quickened as it always did when she heard Douglas’ name. Her first impulse was to tell Griggs she would be right down, but second, wiser considerations told her otherwise. What good would come of seeing him again? She had vowed to end their relationship, and end it she would, right now. “Tell Mister Courtland I cannot see him. I am ... uh, indisposed.”

  “Yes, madam.”

  Griggs had no sooner closed the door than Granny inquired, “Are you daft? I thought—”

  “You thought wrong.” Jane noted Granny’s look of puzzlement. “I have chosen not to continue my friendship with Douglas Cartland.”

  “Why in blazes not?”

  “Because, for one thing, he’s going to America. For another, I do not wish to be made a fool of. He made it clear he will never marry, so what can I expect? Do I want to become his mistress? I think not.”

  Granny applauded. “That’s the spirit! But you still want him, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I want him,” Jane replied with a grim nod. “But I’m not going to see him again. There’s no point. Besides, there are other reasons for my decision.”

  “You mean that bird-brained scheme of Amelia’s?”

  “You know about that?”

  “Your mother tells me everything sooner or later.” Granny clucked her tongue in disapproval. “How could I have given birth to such a ninny? Don’t tell me you even considered carrying out such a plan.”

  “I wasn’t going to,” Jane answered quickly. “I decided I’m done with this charade. I plan to inform the Eltons I am not with child as soon as they return from London. Mama won’t like it, but she will just have to adjust.”

  Granny nodded her approval. “A wise decision, missy.”

  “I think so, too.”

  For the rest of the day, Jane wandered about the mansion. She couldn’t eat. She couldn’t read. She didn’t care to talk to anyone. She kept telling herself she had made the right decision, yet her heart ached at the thought she’d sent Douglas away. She spent part of the time looking out the window of her bedchamber. The dreary rain falling from leaden skies matched her mood. She wished it would stop, even briefly, so she could visit Beauty and perhaps have time for a ride. If she did, might she possibly see Douglas on the trail?

  She laughed at her foolishness. She had made the right decision. Why, then, could she not keep Douglas Cartland out of her mind?

  When the weather broke the next day, Jane quickly donned her blue riding habit and hastened to Rennie’s stables. She found Beauty pawing the ground, impatient for a ride. She saddled the horse herself and headed out. One look at the gray, overcast skies told her that her ride might be a short one.

  She had put Beauty up to a canter along the river trail when she heard the sound of a horse’s hoofs. Without turning to look, she knew who was there.

  She slowed her horse’s pace as Douglas rode up beside her. “Good afternoon, Countess. A fine day for a ride, is it not?”

  She chose not to look at him. Instead, she sniffed and tilted her nose in the air. “It’s going to pour down rain any moment and you call this a fine day?”

  He chuckled. “I cannot tell you how deeply concerned I was yesterday when I learned you were indisposed. Please, I beg you, tell me you have recovered from what must have been a devastating illness.”

  Finally she turned her head and gave him her most scathing glance. “I didn’t care to see you again. Obviously, you could not take the hint.”

  “I need to talk to you.” He wasn’t chuckling now.

  “We’re talking.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I hope you’re not suggesting another rendezvous under the oak tree? Because the ground is too wet.”

  “The dower house.”

  “Ha! You know what happened last time.”

  “I mean it, Jane. There are things that need to be said that I can’t say from the back of a horse.”

  “I’m sure Thunder and Beauty are unshockable.”

  “I won’t beg. It’s either yes or no, and if it’s no, then farewell forever. I wish you good fortune wherever you go.”

  Obviously, he meant what he said. She enjoyed their banter and was satisfied she’d shown him she was not some mealy-mouthed female he could intimidate. Yes, indeed, she would most certainly stick by her decision never to see him again, only ... Farewell forever? Her spirits sank at the thought. How could she bear never to see him again?

  You must be strong. Bid him a firm farewell and ride off. That will show him.

  She reined in her horse. Douglas did the same. She faced him. “If we go to the dower house, it will be to talk and nothing more. Is that understood?”

  “Of course, Countess. Shall we proceed?”

  * * * *

  Ah, those hips!

  As he guided his horse behind Jane’s, Douglas reflected how, in reality, his head and heart were in conflict. He had suggested that they meet at the dower house only because he needed a proper setting in which to say goodbye. In the kindest, most gentle terms, he would explain why they must sever their relationship. He was simply not a marrying man. No need to dwell on the details. In the event she cried, he would refrain from laying a hand on her. Instead, he would loan her his handkerchief and utter whatever words of sympathy were required. After she regained control of herself, they would part on good terms, friends forever.

  His lusty heart defied his logic. He caught himself examining the totally captivating bottom of the Countess of Lansdale as she perched in her saddle ahead of him. His fingers itched to trace those luscious curves, beginning at her slender waist, flaring out over the swell of her hips, across her leg to that soft, warm triangle hidden beneath her skirt, and from there ...

  Uh-oh, he was getting an erection. Not in his plans. What kind of a lowlife bastard was he? With a swift shake of his head, he put his mind to his farewell speech to the Countess. Or tried to. But, by the time they reached the dower house, Douglas, the logical man, had let all logic fly to the wind.

  She stood in the entry hall of the dower house, hands on hips, head tipped to one side. “So what did you have to say that you could not say from the back of a horse?”

  What indeed? “You talk too much.” He pul
led her silly hat from her head, tossed it aside, and pulled her into his arms. He ran his hand through her hair and tugged her mouth to his in a long, unrelenting kiss. Would she struggle? Fight to free herself? Au contraire. In no time, her tongue darted into his mouth, the tip of it finding his own tongue, and she thrust herself against him, pressing her hips against what was now a huge bulge in his pants.

  She lifted her lips from his. “I vowed I would not do this.”

  He ran a trail of kisses to her ear and sucked on her delicate, white ear lobe. “I don’t know why not. You like it, don’t you?”

  “Too much.” With a low moan, she stuck her teasing tongue back in his mouth again and pressed her hips harder against his cock. Uh-oh. He would explode if she didn’t stop. Better back away fast, or he would embarrass himself right here in the front hall.

  “Time to go upstairs.” He pulled away.

  She glanced to the top of the stairs. “I’m not sure. You know what happened last time.”

  “I would not worry about Percy.”

  She started to laugh. “Did you really threaten to cut off his balls?”

  His state of arousal was such he could hardly think straight, but he managed a grin. “Percy ran back to London with his tail between his legs. I doubt he’ll be lurking outside the door.”

  “He told me someone else was with him.”

  “A lie. Percy indulged in his vile snooping all by his despicable self.” He took her hand. “Come on, there are things I want to do to you.”

  Eagerly she took his hand. “Let’s go.”

  They left a trail of discarded clothing up the stairway and into the bedchamber. By the time they lay down on the mad countess’ pink satin bed, they were completely naked, their arms entwined around each other.

  “Lie there while I explore.” He began a slow journey down her body, kissing her lips, nibbling at her neck. When he reached her breasts, he stopped and took his time, sucking each pink nipple in turn until each grew marble hard. By now she was whimpering and crying out with little moans of delight, which brought him pleasure, too. He resumed his journey, planting kisses down her taut belly, swirling his tongue around her navel, then farther down still until he reached her silky triangle. He stopped, raised his head. “Are you ready?”