Honoria and the Family Obligation

by Alicia Cameron

  The room was given extra glamour by the purple silk robe that his relative had obviously cast off, and several waistcoats in gaudy hues that his uncle had discarded in favour of the dull gold brocade that his valet had set aside. As a follower of Mr Brummel, Benedict disapproved the display, but he could not help but be fascinated. His uncle now stood up wearing only a flowing white shirt with pale green pantaloons. His valet stopped and raised an eyebrow at his master who nodded. With a quick glance over his shoulder at the intruder, Pierre removed a white cotton object from a drawer and brought it over. His uncle lifted his shirt and Pierre attached the small stuffed cushion around his waist, fastening it at the back. Benedict got a glimpse of his uncle’s stomach – as slender as his own – before the appendage was added. The shirt dropped, the tiny Pierre mounted a small footstool to help his master shrug into the waistcoat, and his uncle bore the portly shape Benedict knew so well.

  ‘What the Devil?’ he asked.

  ‘Clever, ain’t it?’ his uncle replied. ‘Designed it myself.’ He smiled at Benedict’s obvious astonishment. ‘Ever since the Brummel debacle, Prinny’s even more delicate about his weight.’ The previous year, the Prince had finally fallen out with his friend Brummel and had ‘cut him’ (looked straight through him) at Almack’s. The Beau’s response was legendary. “Alvanley – who’s your fat friend?” Even without the Prince’s patronage, Brummel’s star had not fallen. He continued as the witty, elegant darling of the ton - much to the Prince’s consternation. ‘He cut poor Humphrey last month just because Jessie Mumford -’ Benedict recognised the name of the reigning beauty, Lady Mumford, ‘- said he was a handsome figure of a fellow. He hasn’t been asked to card games or jollifications since.’ He tapped his false stomach. ‘Makes Prinny more comfortable to have men of girth around him. When I said I’d have to get my tailor to let out my coats, he even commiserated and said to send the bill to him!’

  Benedict was amused and shocked at once.

  ‘Well, it’s one less bill to fall on your father.’ His uncle frowned. ‘You here about your coronetcy? Told your father – the very next win!’

  Benedict raised one eyebrow in the manner of his idol. Though he hadn’t known this particular, it was of a piece with what he did know. Since his season on the town, Benedict had learnt more about the state of his father’s finances than ever before - but strictly from the throwaway lines of his uncle who had taken a lazy interest in the young man and squired him to some of the less salubrious corners of the town. Knowing that his father’s tidy estate was a profitable one, it had been a mystery to Benedict why such economies were practised in his household. Occasionally he had heard his parents discuss difficulty with ‘the Brighton property’ and for months now, he had understood that this meant repairing the fortunes of his dreadfully expensive uncle. His father, the eldest, had inherited everything, and had felt for the younger brother who had received even less than he should have after Benedict’s grandfather’s death. Papa had immediately paid his brother a generous income, but even that had to be supplemented to support his uncle’s ruinous career. Now with seven children to support, his generous father had occasionally ‘not come through with the readies’ which had led to his uncle sailing ever closer to the wind. Benedict disapproved, but still fell for his uncle’s scapegrace charm withal.

  ‘Not the coronetcy. Here about something else entirely. I need your help, sir.’

  His uncle regarded him with a wary eye. ‘Got yourself in some hot water? Heard you played with Rennie, I could have warned you.’

  ‘Well, why on earth didn’t you, sir?’ Benedict objected reasonably.

  ‘Good God, boy, if you expected me to make you a list of all the fellows with an inventive line in play, shall we say, it would run to several pages. Burned deep were you?’

  ‘Of course not - just a trifle!’

  ‘Carstairs let you know what’s what?’

  Benedict looked a little sheepish. ‘Fluff? No, he was at another table. Grandiston intervened.’

  ‘The Earl of Grandiston - you walk in fashionable circles, my boy.’

  ‘I don’t. I’d never met him. But he sent me these next day,’ Benedict handed the dice to his uncle.

  Mr Fenton threw them in the air twice. ‘Loaded.’ He threw them and they showed twelve. ‘A bit overdone,’ he remarked, ‘- eleven is less obvious.’

  The toilette was completed. Benedict saw that his uncle’s raddled face had been treated to the veriest touch of rouge and a wisp of powder, but it was subtly done. ‘Not sure what you wanted of me, but tell me over breakfast.’

  Breakfast at noon was a lavish affair, but Benedict, though he’d already supped with Carstairs, had a young man’s appetite. However, watching his uncle eat, it was easy to believe that his girth was real. Benedict looked on in admiration.

  Waiting until the servants departed, Benedict raised the reason for his visit. ‘Those dice sir-’ he began.

  ‘Nothing to be done about that now my boy, if you suspected anything at all, you needed to call for the dice to be broken open at the table. Or Grandiston should. But he wouldn’t. Dashed bad form.’

  Benedict looked appalled, he had a young man’s horror of being at the centre of such a scene. ‘No sir, it’s not that. It’s just that Carstairs told me Rennie must have, what he called, ‘palmed’ the dice. And, um, I wanted to learn how to do it.’

  His uncle let out a crack of laughter. ‘And you thought of me as the man to have the gift! Charming!’

  His nephew blushed, ‘Well, sir. It’s just that you’ve been on the town for a long time, and-’

  ‘And you think I’m a loose screw? A triche as the French would have it!’ He wiped his mouth with a linen napkin. ‘Well, you’d be wrong my boy. I’d never stoop to cheats’ tricks. It doesn’t answer-’ he said in a tone of rectitude. Benedict was about to apologise when he added, ‘- except in the case of extreme necessity. So you want to win what you lost from Rennie, my boy? A laudable desire, but you’ll never know enough. I knew his father. Up to every rig and row in town since he was a babe in arms. He’d spot you.’

  ‘No sir - I want to cheat someone else entirely.’ He smiled.

  ‘Is he a knowing ’un?’

  ‘Let’s hope not, sir.’

  Mr Fenton senior smiled. ‘A lad after my own heart.’ They toasted with teacups.

  Honoria knew her duty, but her ability to carry off a noble demeanour faltered at times - though no one seemed to notice. In any other extremity she had Serena to confide in. But, of course, she could not tell her sister now.

  In the next week, preparations were continuing for Bassington Hall and Honoria was aware that she was going around in “tragedy queen” mode. She knew that the prospects of marriage to a handsome and rich man would have been the pinnacle of her desire. But the necessity of it appalled her. And Mr Allison frightened her. He was a man devoid of romance. Honoria had a dread of being married to him.

  Serena wandered around, talking happily about Astley’s Amphitheatre and the chance to visit the Metropolis. That lowered Honoria’s spirits further, for she knew that without her marriage Serena would have no prospect of visiting London again - maybe ever. She sighed the deep sigh that had become usual to her - she would smile and simper at Mr Allison and do everything that was required of her. For Serena’s sake.

  ‘I seem to have stained your second best walking dress, Orry,’ said Serena carelessly, ‘Bunter says she doubts she can get it off.’

  ‘Well, why did you wear it?’ asked Honoria, stung from her dejection.

  ‘I didn’t think you’d mind - I stained my own yesterday.’ Serena explained, as though she was reasoning with a child.

  If one’s annoying little sister could only know how much she was indebted to one, perhaps one could bear this sacrifice a little better. Despite herself, Honoria sighed.

  Bassington Hall was being prepared for its incoming guests. The butler, Blake, let Mr Allison know that all was ready. Despite himse
lf, and the presence of Mr Scribster, Mr Allison sighed.

  Chapter 4

  Genevieve’s Marriage

  Genevieve felt much more like Miss Horton than her ladyship now that she was home again, and had to smile as old retainers started sentences with “Excuse me, Miss Jenny-, oh, I mean your ladyship—”

  But underneath, her dread still remained. No one in her home knew the circumstances of her visit and they must not. How she had come to so expose herself to Dickie Fenton she could not imagine. Benedict may still feature as a silly young boy in her head, but she knew he was not stupid. When he saw the injuries to her neck she could simply have passed it off, but her nerves were closer to the surface now and for a moment she had betrayed herself. She’d seen that look in his eyes, the one that he’d had when he used to bring back birds with broken wings or try to revive a drowned kitten all those years ago. And now he would wish to mend her broken wing, but that was quite impossible.

  She’d married Frederick Sumner, because he’d talked to her non-stop about horses. On his estate he bred the beasts and of all the men she’d met on her boring season, he was the nearest to someone she could bear. Her sister Veronica was already married to the man who would one day live at Ottershaw with her, one Colonel Edward Forbes, and after listening to his inane conversation (which Veronica thought charming as it was full of compliments to her person) and his braying laugh, Genevieve was sure that she would need to set up her own establishment before that day ever arose. So when Sumner paid his addresses, Genevieve said yes. Everyone was charmed. It was a good match. Her inheritance would help his struggling estate and his birth and position would reflect well on the family. She’d received a rare kiss from her cold Papa on the occasion of her engagement.

  Frederick was not handsome, but ordinary. Medium build and height, mouse coloured hair, and the slightest leaning towards corpulence still allowed a man to be held of as handsome when he was also a Lord. She knew herself, moreover, to be a very plain girl. His eyes moved around the room as he spoke, but Genevieve had put this down to insecurity. To share his acclaimed love of horses and of the country, to share his life and home was what Genevieve had desired, for she was a practical girl and had hardly known how to dream of more. But life was so different, so very different than she had believed. And now this.

  She was glad that Dickie had not come back - she might be able to pass off the questions of her old nurse when she came to fill her bath, but she did not know how she would have fared against the wounded-animal sympathy in Dickie Fenton’s eyes. She had been sure he would have pushed her with questions as the younger Dickie would have done, but the new sophistication of town had possibly stopped him. She was glad. There was little to be done. What little could be done she was doing now. She’d come home. But it could not be forever - her father was already asking when Sumner would arrive.

  Meanwhile, she enjoyed the freedom to practically live at the stables, even if at first she had to field questions from Ned about Sumner’s stable. The truth was, her husband bought showy nags who had little or any breeding possibilities. He considered himself an expert and would certainly take no advice from her. He had agreed with her (during their short conversations at balls) that country life was far preferable than town. But now that he could afford it, he spent as much time in London as he could and had her accompany him, though he knew she would rather stay in the country.

  At a ball given by the Marchioness of Stevely, the reason for her presence became flesh. She was pushed before Lady Harrington, widow of Lord Harrington, and the aunt of Lord Sumner, who had been travelling on the continent at the time of Genevieve’s wedding. Genevieve, squeezed into another satin creation of the Dowager Lady Sumner’s dress maker, with her hair painfully scraped into a coiffure that it’s natural frizz had resisted with the utmost force, beheld a plump vision in an outmoded gown of purple satin, topped by a turban and a perilously high trio of ostrich feathers. At her breast, her wrist and clasping the feathers in place, were large glittering amethysts, each stone surrounded by diamonds. Her husband bowed low and playfully said, ‘You take the shine out of every woman here, Aunt. May I present Genevieve, Lady Sumner!’

  Lady Harrington did not seem impressed, but she gave a grunt and shook Genevieve’s hand. ‘I suppose you agree that I take the shine from all the young girls around?’

  Genevieve blinked. ‘Well, no,’ she said, ’but then I am not at all fond of purple.’

  Her husband gasped and Genevieve flinched. She had, once more, let her mouth say whatever came into her head. He was not alone in abhorring this; her mother had repeatedly told her to be careful what she said. But her ladyship, after a pregnant moment, merely gave a crack of laughter and begged her to be seated. ‘No, go away Frederick,’ she said as her nephew tried to bestow her shawl on her shoulders a little better, ‘let me talk to your wife in peace.’

  Frederick had gone with a hooded glance at his wife.

  ‘I have three nephews, you know, all equally anxious for me to die.’

  Genevieve blinked again. She was tense and her tongue was only under control when she was at ease. ‘Well, I must suppose by -’ she gave a vague wave of her hand towards Lady Harrington’s neck, ‘-that you are very rich.’

  Once more the crack of laughter. ‘And I suppose you’ll tell me that you will be very sorry to see me die, despite the hope of inheritance.’

  ‘Since I have only just met you, I cannot say I would be very sorry, my Lady, but I have not thought at all of an inheritance.’

  ‘Well, we have established you are not fond of amethysts, but I suspect my diamonds will excite a different response.’ She looked at Genevieve under her brows, her little eyes as sharp as needles.

  Genevieve was silent. She hardly cared, but was it not very vulgar to be talking of diamonds?

  ‘Not fond of diamonds either, eh? Why not?’

  ‘I can’t think what use to me they would be in the stables, your ladyship,’ she replied, after some consideration.

  This set Lady Harrington off in a paroxysm of laughter, which made Lord Sumner approach from the other side of the ballroom. She waved him away, however, ‘Let us be frank,’ Lady Harrington continued, and Genevieve had raised a brow. She did not think they had been less than candid thus far. ‘None of my brothers have sons who can produce an heir. I trust that you and Fredrick will be able to continue my father’s name.’

  Genevieve, thinking of the awful nights where Frederick paid his quick visits to her bed, said fervently, ‘I hope so too.’ Maybe then he would leave her alone.

  The old lady sat up straighter. ‘Well, I do not hold with this modern practise of married couples living separate lives. If your husband is here, so should you be. I-’she said, with raised brows, ‘-accompanied my husband always.’ As her husband had lived only two years, this, Genevieve later discovered, was not as strong a claim as it might have been. ‘How on earth are young women to have children if they live separately from their husbands? I myself lost two children before they could be born. It is my greatest regret, but my husband at least had brothers who could continue the line.’

  Genevieve was silent. She was certain her mother-in-law, the Dowager, must have complained of Genevieve’s reluctance to come to town.

  ‘And I suppose, since you are not fond of my ensemble, that you think yourself dressed more fashionably?’

  Genevieve looked at her peach satin gown. ‘Good God, no!’ she blushed. ‘I beg your pardon. I have the tongue of a stable boy sometimes, my mother informs me. I cannot seem to mind it.’

  But her ladyship seemed merely amused. ‘I never choose to mind mine.’ She looked at Genevieve closely. ‘So you don’t like your gown and you’d rather be in the stables. I suppose you are of help to Frederick in this horse breeding enterprise.’

  Genevieve was silent once more. It behoved her to support her husband by some assertion here, but she was not gifted at lying to order. Her husband’s ‘enterprise’ was doomed to failure unless
he let her help. Which he would not.

  Lady Harrington didn’t appear to notice, ‘You are obviously a woman who has little time for London parties. But it is my will that my father’s name live on, and for the moment you, my dear, are my best hope of this. So let me see you always with your husband - until you find yourself increasing, that is.’

  Genevieve stood up swiftly, finally pricked by the old woman’s words - so accurate a portrayal of the duty she was harnessed to that she could hardly bare it. If Frederick had been merely boring, it may have been bearable, but instead she was living a sort of nightmare.

  ‘What is it like, Lady Harrington,’ Genevieve said, looking down at her, ‘to have the power to order other people’s lives?’

  The old lady’s eyebrows raised and a flush of anger raised on her cheeks. Genevieve felt Sumner at her shoulder and flinched. He could not have heard, but he would hear the old lady’s reply.

  Lady Harrington spoke to Genevieve only. ‘It is a privilege of age and riches, my dear,’ she said smoothly.

  Frederick’s hand was on her shoulder, he squeezed so hard that Genevieve had a difficulty not to wince.

  ‘And how are my favourite ladies getting along?’

  Genevieve looked away, waiting for the axe to fall.

  ‘Don’t let your mother hear you say that, Frederick,’ her ladyship said in her usual dismissive tone to her nephew. ‘But your wife and I are dealing extremely well together. In fact, she’s agreed to accompany me to a friend’s house tomorrow afternoon.’