The Honourable Earl

by Mary Nichols

  Anne was shocked by her daughter’s pallor, the bleakness in her eyes and the shaking of her limbs. ‘Dear child, you truly are not well, are you?’ She reached out for the small bell on the table at her side and gave it a shake. ‘Janet shall put you to bed with a tisane and a hot brick to your feet and we will see how you do tomorrow. If you are unable to go to the ball, I am sure Sir Arthur will understand.’

  ‘Thank you, Mama.’

  ‘There is something else I have to ask you. When Sir Arthur was leaving, I tried to return the umbrella, but he denied it was his.’ She searched her daughter’s face. ‘If it is not his umbrella, Lydia, whose is it? You told me you had called at Sir Arthur’s house and I naturally assumed it was he who lent it to you. That is what you meant me to think, is it not?’

  ‘No, Mama, I had no intention of deceiving you. It belongs to the Earl. His coach overtook me as I was walking home in the rain and he took me up and brought me to the village. He offered me the umbrella to walk up the drive.’

  ‘Why did you not say at the time that you had met him?’

  Lydia shrugged. ‘The less said about him the better. You know what I think of him.’

  ‘Do I? I only know what you tell me. But as you consented to ride in his carriage, perhaps you are beginning to realise you misjudged him. He is not a bad man, you know. He was caught up in circumstances which he could not control, just as we all were. You should understand that.’

  ‘Oh, I understand,’ she said bitterly. She understood what it was like to lose control, to feel like a leaf on the wind buffeted here and there, to feel there was no hard ground beneath her, no safe haven. She rose and made her way towards the door, as Janet arrived in answer to the summons.

  Half an hour later she was in bed and alone, but she knew it was only a temporary reprieve and sooner or later she would have to face up to reality. And the reality was that she must marry Sir Arthur. And Ralph Latimer, Earl of Blackwater, was not the stuff of her dreams. The man of her dreams, the man she had met in Chelmsford, was a figment of her imagination. The tisane must have been liberally dosed with laudanum because she fell asleep in the middle of this thought and did not wake until the next morning.

  When Janet drew back the curtains of her room and let in the sunshine, Lydia got up and went to the window. The mist had gone and the sun was glinting on the wet grass of the meadow. She looked towards the wood which she could just glimpse over the outbuildings to her right. The trees seemed to have burst into leaf overnight and it no longer seemed the sinister place of smugglers and ghosts of the past. But Ralph Latimer was no ghost and he held sway over their lives, just as his father had before him, unless she did something about it.

  She must put him from her mind, right away, banish him from every thought. But how could she, when he refused to be banished? If she thought of Sir Arthur, Ralph Latimer intruded with his whispered criticism; if she thought about the smugglers, he was there with his accusations; if she thought about her mother, she was reminded of those dreadful rumours and there she was, back where she started, blaming him for what had happened ten years before. There was no escaping him; he was omnipresent, ubiquitous, all-seeing, powerful.

  She turned as Annabelle burst into her room. ‘Mama says you are not well and we may not go to the ball. Oh, Lydia, how could you? I declare you are only saying it to be perverse; you were perfectly well yesterday.’

  Lydia gave a huge sigh; it was no good postponing the inevitable. If she made difficulties for Sir Arthur, he might withdraw his offer, and then what? She sat down on the edge of her bed and looked up at her sister’s petulant face. Poor Annabelle! She had set her heart on going to the ball, how could she gainsay her? ‘I am quite recovered,’ she said. ‘Do not concern yourself. We shall go.’

  ‘Oh, you angel!’ Annabelle flung herself on her sister with such exuberance they both fell back on the bed.

  ‘Now, be off with you and let me dress,’ Lydia said, extricating herself. ‘And you had better calm yourself or there will be no dealing with you tonight and Lord and Lady Baverstock with think you are too excitable to make a good wife for their son.’

  Once Annabelle had left her, smiling broadly at having her own way, Lydia washed and dressed slowly and made her way downstairs. It was going to be a long, long day and an even longer night and she dare not think further forward than that.

  They began preparing for the evening hours before the time for them to leave. Water had to be heated for them to take baths before bedroom fires, and then, once in their undergarments, they had to sit to have their hair dressed and make-up applied; with only Janet to help all three, it took a long time. And finally their gowns were slipped over their heads and the fastenings done up, head-dresses arranged and feet slipped into shoes. By the time the coach was brought round at eight o’clock they were ready.

  Unable to buy matching braid, the stomacher of Lydia’s yellow brocade had been embroidered with gold and cream thread and the straight neckline decorated with cream lace and more cream lace tumbled from the tight elbow-length sleeves. The skirt was full and un-adorned. Its simplicity and the way it enhanced her neat waist and uplifted her bosom pleased her. Needing to disguise her cuts and bruises, she had allowed Janet to use rather more maquillage than she would have liked, but it enhanced the green of her eyes; the black patches over the worst of the marks added to her allure. Her wig was piled high and decorated with gold-dyed feathers. A velvet cloak fastened with a large brooch from her mother’s rapidly dwindling collection of jewels, white stockings, satin slippers and a brocade mask to match her dress completed her ensemble.

  ‘I say, Lydia, you look like a princess,’ her brother said, coming from his room to watch his mother and sisters depart.

  She smiled. ‘Then where is the prince?’

  ‘Never mind about a prince,’ their mother put in with a smile. ‘Sir Arthur cannot fail to be impressed.’ She turned to her youngest daughter. ‘And you look very fine too, Annabelle dear. I am so glad I kept those old gowns.’

  ‘You are not to say they are old,’ Annabelle said, looking down at the pink silk with its dozens of large pink bows sewn all over the skirt and the white and aquamarine gauze ruching over the bodice. Pink silk rosebuds filled the décolletage and, instead of feathers in her hair, she wore more rosebuds in a coronet. ‘Nor that we made them up ourselves. They came from the best mantua maker in London and are the latest mode.’

  Anne smiled. ‘Of course. Now let us be off.’ Picking up her fan, she sailed out of the front door, followed by her two daughters, watched by John and Janet.

  The Assembly Rooms were already filling up as they arrived. A long line of carriages stretched from the door, right down the street, and from them emerged the upper crust of the local society and the town’s dignitaries. Others arrived by chair or on foot, accompanied by link boys carrying lanterns. Light spilled from the door and they could hear the musicians tuning their instruments as their own carriage finally reached the entrance and they were able to alight, ducking their heads low so as not to disturb their head-dresses.

  The noise of laughter and conversation hit them as they entered the ballroom which was a-glitter with jewellery and silks and satins, besides the crystal candelabra which hung above their heads. ‘Brought from the Hall,’ Anne whispered to Lydia. ‘I heard the Earl had promised to lend them for the occasion.’

  The Earl. It was the first time his name had been mentioned all day, but he had, Lydia realised with a start, never been far from her thoughts. She didn’t know why she kept thinking of him, when it made her so angry. And now as they made their way into the room, she realised his name was on everyone’s lips. How generous he had been, how handsome he was, and still unattached, or so it was thought. Matrons with eligible daughters looked smug.

  ‘Where has he been all these years?’ everyone wanted to know, but Lydia, who could have told them, remained silent. She could not bear to speak his name, let alone enter into conversation about him.

>   ‘I believe he will come,’ Lady Baverstock was saying as they approached her. She turned when she saw the newcomers. ‘Mrs Fostyn, do come and join us.’ She smiled at Lydia, inclining her feather-decked head in greeting, and then turned to appraise Annabelle. ‘Annabelle, how charming you look.’

  Annabelle blushed and curtsied. ‘Good evening, my lady.’

  ‘I was just saying we thought his lordship will attend tonight, though Bertie…’ she indicated her portly husband with her fan ‘…thinks he will not on account of being in mourning. What do you think?’

  ‘I am sure I do not know,’ Anne said, while Lydia looked round for a way of escape and Annabelle stood searching the room for Peregrine, who was to be seen talking to a group of young men in a corner. He came over when he spotted Annabelle.

  ‘He was hardly close to his parents, was he?’ her ladyship went on. ‘The late Earl sent him away and he made no attempt to return…’

  ‘There was a reason for that,’ Anne said.

  ‘Oh, as to that, I cannot believe that to have been sufficient reason for staying away all these years.’

  Lydia could feel her mother’s discomfort and felt like slapping the insensitive woman. She longed to shout that the man she found so agreeable had tried to rape her but, knowing the furore that would cause, she could not do it. Even in her anger, she knew it would be an unjust accusation.

  ‘Prudence, I think such talk is upsetting to Mrs Fostyn,’ her husband said. ‘Pray change the subject.’

  Lydia gave him a look of gratitude and he smiled benignly at her as his wife began profuse apologies. ‘I did not think. Oh, my dear Mrs Fostyn, please forgive me. It has been so long, one is inclined to forget there were others involved. Do you ever hear from your son?’

  ‘Occasionally,’ Anne lied bravely. ‘He is serving in the army…’

  ‘Ah, yes, but now we are at peace, he will come home?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  Lydia wandered off to speak to other acquaintances, but there was no escaping the subject of conversation. Even Robert Dent, who was dressed in puce satin decorated with pounds of silver lace, was talking about the new occupant of the Hall.

  ‘I believe his lordship has plans to refurbish the Hall,’ he said, after sweeping her a bow and asking her for the first dance which was then beginning. ‘And not before time. It has been sadly neglected.’

  ‘I know nothing of it.’ Her answer implied she did not want to know.

  ‘There is rumour that he is preparing it for a wife.’ His grip on her hand tightened as she stumbled. ‘Oh, did I tread on your toe? How clumsy of me. I beg your pardon.’ And then he continued with the conversation as if there had been no interruption. ‘It is surprising if he has not married, but if he has, why did he not bring her back with him?’

  ‘Why is everyone talking about that man?’ she demanded, as they promenaded down the line of dancers, to meet the couple from the opposite end.

  ‘Because, my dear Miss Fostyn, this is a small town where very little happens and the arrival of the prodigal is a source of much curiosity.’

  ‘Prodigal! He is a murderer.’

  ‘Oh, my dear, such vehemence! Surely you are not still harbouring that view of the matter. I was there and I assure you it was an accident—’

  ‘It need never have happened.’

  ‘Oh, I agree wholeheartedly, but I do not blame Ralph Latimer.’

  ‘Why not? I do.’

  ‘I can understand you feeling like that ten years ago, you were only a child then and to children everything is black and white…’ He paused to look down at her and added softly, ‘Now you are a very beautiful woman, and I should have thought able to view things more objectively.’

  ‘How could you? You were Freddie’s second; you should be loyal to him.’

  ‘I am, but that does not blind me to the fact that Freddie asked for it.’

  ‘What was the fight about?’

  ‘You do not know?’

  ‘I would not ask if I did.’

  ‘A young lady Freddie had fallen in love with. Unfortunately she did not feel the same way about him and, well, you know Ralph was, even then, a deuced fine fellow…’

  ‘Oh.’ She had not known about the young lady. Had Ralph taken the unknown girl, kissed her, made love to her, just as he had tried to do with her only the day before, knowing how Freddie felt about her?

  ‘That makes it worse and I do not wish to speak of it again,’ she said primly.

  He was prevented from saying any more as they circled the opposing couple, which was just as well, and they finished the dance in silence. He escorted her back to her mother, bowing before her and asking how she did. Anne was gracious towards him, which only added to Lydia’s torment.

  She hoped fervently that his lordship’s mourning for his parents meant he would not come. So why was she continually looking towards the door, her heart beating madly as if she were waiting for a lover to arrive? But the only other person to come through the door was Sir Arthur. He was dressed in a suit of pale lilac satin. The lapels of the coat, the huge turn-back cuffs and the flaps of the pockets were intricately embroidered with red silk and trimmed with silver braid. His breeches were fastened with ribbon bows just beneath the knee. She could not help noting that his calves were spindly and his white hose a little wrinkled. Seeing Anne and her daughters, he walked over to them, his red heels clicking at every step.

  ‘My dear Mrs Fostyn.’ He swept Anne a magnificent bow, so that the top of his new white wig was presented to her gaze. And then he repeated the process towards Lydia. ‘Miss Fostyn, I hope you are fully recovered from your megrim?’

  ‘Indeed, I am, Sir Arthur.’ She smiled at him. She really must be pleasant towards him, she really must, however much it cost her.

  He turned and greeted Annabelle who had just returned from dancing with Peregrine, and then bowed to Lord and Lady Baverstock, remarking on the good attendance and the weather, which was more clement than it had been of late. As soon as the orchestra struck up the next dance he took Lydia’s hand and led her into the set. He danced correctly, but stiffly, as if it was a chore to be got over but not enjoyed and, because he had to concentrate on the steps, he hardly spoke. Lydia’s smile became stuck, as she moved like an automaton beside him, moving in and out, round and under his raised arm, her feet obeying the music while her mind wandered.

  This was going to be her life, stiff, correct, no real enjoyment and no fire. She could not imagine him raising his voice or quarrelling with her, nor could she imagine his face lit by the sheer pleasure of being alive. When the dance came to an end, he did not return her to her party, but tucked her hand into his arm and led her to a quiet corner beside a pillar which had been decorated with greenery. My goodness, she thought, looking about her in dismay, he is surely not going to attempt to kiss me? And then, looking past his shoulder, she saw a slight movement by the door, people giving way, small curtsies from the ladies and then he was there.

  Tall, arrogant and magnificent in black velvet with white ruffles, he stood in the doorway, surveying the scene, utterly composed. His dark wig was so like his own hair that, for a moment, she thought he had come without one. Diamonds glittered in the folds of his cravat and on his fingers. Sir Arthur felt her tension and turned to follow her gaze. ‘Ah, the Earl,’ he said. ‘I was not sure he would grace us with his presence, but he has hit just the right note with that black suit. No doubt he is only putting in a token appearance and will soon leave again.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said flatly.

  ‘We will go and greet him. Perhaps I can persuade him to stay for our announcement. Shall we ask him if he would be so kind as to make it for us? It will be quite fitting, don’t you think?’

  ‘Announcement?’ she echoed as he almost dragged her unwillingly across the room. Now the time had come she was almost in a panic and racking her brains to find a way of stopping him.

  ‘Why, yes. Surely your mama told you I hoped it would be m
ade tonight?’

  ‘Sir Arthur.’ She stopped so suddenly he was obliged to come to a halt himself. ‘Sir Arthur, you are in too much haste. We have not discussed this properly. Mama said you would be speaking to me tonight, not that you would take it as fait accompli.’

  ‘Oh…but Mrs Fostyn led me to believe you would agree, that you would put up no resistance.’

  ‘Sir, you have given me no opportunity to agree or resist.’

  ‘No, ’tis true, but I did not know when, or even if, the Earl of Blackwater would appear, but as he has come, his approval would set the seal—’

  ‘I care not one fig for the Earl of Blackwater’s participation in what should be a private affair,’ she said tartly. ‘And if you think it so important, pray, let us postpone the whole matter to another time.’

  ‘But do you not wish to be presented to his lordship and receive his congratulations?’

  She became aware that Ralph had noticed them crossing the room towards him and then had seen them stop; a slight smile crossed his face, almost as if he knew what the altercation was about. She lifted her chin defiantly and laid her hand on Sir Arthur’s sleeve. ‘Very well, sir. Let us greet the Earl of Blackwater.’

  They continued their stately way, until they stood before the Earl who was surrounded by sycophants, young men who wanted to be like him and eager mamas, anxious to present their daughters.

  ‘My lord,’ Sir Arthur began. ‘May I present—?’

  ‘No need, old fellow,’ Ralph said, grinning wickedly at Lydia. ‘Miss Fostyn and I are already well acquainted. You do not mind if I take her off to dance with her, do you? I have been promising myself that pleasure all evening.’ And without waiting for the astonished Sir Arthur to frame a reply, he had taken Lydia by the hand and drawn her away on to the middle of the dance floor where a minuet was just beginning.