The Dutiful Daughter

by Vanessa Gray

  18

  Chloe felt her heart sink into her shoes. Here it comes! she thought. He was about to tell her that he was betrothed. While it was kind of him to want her to know before the rest, yet she did not want to hear it.

  It meant the end of all her reliance on him, her last, even her only anchor slipping its cable and letting her drift away. She had a sudden forlorn feeling, as though she were alone on a vast ocean and no rescuing sail in sight.

  She said, with false brightness, “I hope it is good news?”

  Richard, thinking of Mr. Aston’s letter, was startled. He said, “You have already heard the bad news?”

  She was mystified at his sharp reaction, but she said only, “Sophy tells me that Mr. Invers will offer for me — that’s not good news precisely.”

  Richard said, quizzically, “The good news would be that you are going to refuse him.”

  Chloe looked away, and Richard was conscious once more of the anger that rode him when he considered the vultures that had descended upon Rothwell Manor. How dare Thaddeus Invers, a man barely on the fringe of society, aspire as high as Chloe Rothwell?

  Richard insisted, “You will refuse him?”

  She was so silent for so long that suddenly he was anxious. Finally she burst out, more to herself than to him, “I long to go to Highmoor.”

  Richard’s resolution, fired by the information he had in his pocket, died away. He wanted to offer his heart and his hand to Chloe this very instant. However, he realized again that she was so overwrought that she would not believe his sincerity. The time was not right, but perhaps, he thought, something could be made of this. “Perhaps you can.”

  Richard, remembering the purpose of his visit, pulled a fat volume from his pocket and handed it to her. She turned the book over in her hands, and he explained, “This was in a shipment of books that just came. It is not new. As a matter of fact, it has been out a couple of years. But I believe you have not read it?”

  She read the title aloud. “Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage. No, I have not read it.”

  He said, “I brought it for you, for I have already read it.”

  She was sorely tempted. “This is one of the books that Edward sent back.”

  Richard said then, “I probably should not give it to you then.” Her face fell. He relented. “I shall not give it to you. I shall lend it to you. Then, if Edward finds it, he dare not confiscate it and consign it to the dustbin. I shall insist that he take good care of my property else,” he added with drawling fierceness. “I shall call him out!”

  She giggled, a sound that was music to his ears. He noticed that her eyes strayed often to the book in her hand. She was clearly anxious to read it. She smiled up at him confidingly, and said, “You know, I have never even read a novel.”

  Richard nodded. “I have the strongest suspicion that Lydia and Sophy have, for they were too knowledgeable when Invers was discussing the ruined abbey.”

  “Yes. I fear they are learning deceit, which I cannot help but think is more harmful to them than the novel itself would be.”

  Edward truly had their best interests at heart, and she told Richard so. “Edward is not malicious, he simply wants us to be protected.” Then her gratitude burst forth. “How good you are to me! First my dear little Nimrod, and now this book. What a Great Friend you are. How is it you know what pleases me most?”

  Richard said, gently, “You remember I have known you a long time, Chloe. You haven’t changed much.”

  Chloe, remembering the change that she believed was coming in Richard’s life, a change that must by necessity exclude her, begged him, “I should like, Richard, above all things to know that whatever alteration you make in your own life I may always call you my Great Friend.”

  Richard, not quite understanding the wellsprings from which her words had come, promised at least that much. “I hope you will always consider me, above all else, your friend.” Aston’s letter was still in his mind, but he knew now that the wiser part was not to mention it.

  She said, taking back her puppy, “You have something to tell me?”

  Richard lied. “It was nothing much.”

  Satisfied, she left and he watched her out of sight.

  It was Edward’s duty to tell her, not Richard’s. He was not sure that Edward knew as much as Richard’s agent had told him, but if he didn’t, it was time that he did.

  Richard thought savagely, Let’s see what Edward makes of this coil! He had things to do. He must write to Aston this very day.

  Chloe returned to the manor, leaving Richard in the coppice. She was possessed of Richard’s two gifts, one squirming in a desperate attempt to lick her face, the other heavy with promise of delight for her near future. She tucked the book in the pocket of her gown and strolled back to the house with her mood exceptionally lightened.

  She reflected upon every word Richard had spoken, every expression that crossed his pleasant, reliable face.

  She recalled his steady gaze when she had protested that Edward would not approve of the book. She remembered Richard’s conspiratorial smile as he suggested that if he kept ownership of the book, she was safe from Edward’s retaliation. It was curious how that level gaze of Richard’s put heart in her.

  She reflected, for nearly the first time, what her legacy might mean to her. She had a right, at her advanced near-spinster age, to read as she chose, for example.

  Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, no matter what was contained in it, could not be as bad as Edward thought, when everyone in London had been talking about it for two years. With her money now, she could even order books, or whatever else she wished. She could live at Highmoor, which would make life easier in some ways. Yet she shrank at the idea of being alone.

  She could not leave her family, but she might be able to make changes in the way she lived. It was a daring thought — to live at Highmoor. She could no more leave the loving arms of her family than she could ascend in a balloon. But to think of ordering what she wished from London, and paying for it with her own money, was sufficiently adventurous to make her giddy.

  When Chloe reached the manor, she was brought back to earth with a wicked thud. Edward had been looking for her. Awaiting her in his book room with impatience, he felt greatly daring. He did not wish Chloe to wed his idiot cousin Francis, but he knew full well that Lady Rothwell’s formidable pressure would be lowered upon Chloe and Francis both until there was no way they could avoid the match. Edward, in his kind regard for Chloe, and sidestepping his mother’s wishes, had thought of a way out for Chloe.

  When she entered, he told her, “Have you given Francis his answer yet?”

  She said, “I have told him that I will not marry him, if that is what you mean.”

  Edward said, “Do you want to marry him?”

  Chloe said, quite calmly, and yet feeling her heart stifling her breath, “Perhaps you weren’t listening, Edward I said I would not marry Francis. There is no way I can be forced to, is there?” Her eyes were anxious, for she was not quite sure of the ground on which she stood.

  Edward said, “No, you would not have to marry Francis. But it might be very uncomfortable if you did not. I have thought of an alternative for you. I have given Thaddeus Invers permission to pay court to you.”

  “Invers!” she exclaimed in indignation. “Edward, he is no better —”

  Edward interrupted. “He is a man of some intellect, some education, and I vow he is better than Francis. I am sure the two of you would suit.”

  Chloe said, “But I am not at all sure he would suit. I do not know why you did not ask me my opinion of him first!”

  Edward, his voice raised, said, “You know I have only your own good at heart.”

  The little dog, on the floor, took exception to Edward’s harassing of Chloe. He took no heed of his short stature, his stubby little legs, for within him, he had the heart of a mastiff. He advanced upon Edward, growling.

  Edward, suddenly in a temper, took it out on the dog. “L
ook at that idiotic, lop-eared dog. When Richard was foolish enough to offer you a dog, why couldn’t you take one of some value? This pup will never grow into anything at all.”

  While Edward would never kick an animal or otherwise mistreat him, the small puppy seemed to feel that Edward was his born enemy. Chloe scooped up the puppy and quieted him. He still muttered menaces in his throat, but he felt that he had triumphed over her enemy, and he was well satisfied.

  Edward, for his part, realized he had put a wrong foot forward with Chloe. He had told her, much as his mother had, what she should do. He now tried to rectify his mistake.

  “Chloe,” he said, “I cannot help but worry about what will happen to you. You will be better off as mistress of your own establishment. Invers is respectable, and certainly would not be unkind to you. If you were wed, you could order your life as it suited you. Suppose I would marry, and of course, I must. Too many females in the house would certainly make you unhappy. The dower house would be suitable for my mother, but I feel you would not be happy there.”

  Chloe, with spirit, said, “I quite agree. I will go to Highmoor.” Then, curiosity struck her, and she said, “Edward, whom do you have in mind to marry?”

  Edward said, “No one. I am simply looking ahead. You simply must not consider Highmoor.”

  “Why not? It is mine.”

  “It is totally ineligible for you to live alone.”

  She said, “Sooner or later I will be alone, and I might as well get used to it now.”

  Lurking in her mind was the thought that besides the advantages of living where she chose, she would be away from Richard and the sight of his new wife.

  Edward, blustering, said, “How would it look? As though your family had thrown you out! You couldn’t do that to my mother, for you have known nothing but kindness at her hands.”

  Chloe was forced to agree. But she said, “My family insists upon throwing me into the hands of men who wish to marry my inheritance.”

  Edward, wounded, said, “There is no such thing as throwing you —”

  Chloe insisted. “Francis, for example. He is such a constant bore, and he wishes to marry me no more than I wish to wed him.”

  Edward agreed, and said, “There is no need to tell my mother what I say, but I promise you need not marry Francis if you do not wish to.”

  Chloe said, with an appearance of innocence, “Then Mr. Invers is your choice?”

  Edward had the grace to flush, but he held doggedly to his choice. “We aren’t children any more, and we must look at things in a commonsensical way. Invers has some money — enough to set up a modest establishment — and you would do well to consider him.”

  Chloe, unexpectedly persistent, said, “Then why does he wish to marry me, if he has sufficient?”

  Edward, almost under his breath, muttered, “Because no one else would have him.”

  Chloe said, “Then I too do not wish to have him.”

  Edward, as palliative, said, “I promise you this. I’ll send Francis home after the ball at Lady Partridge’s.”

  Chloe, suddenly tired of the whole conversation, retorted, “Don’t bother. Perhaps Francis has his uses.” She turned to leave the library with Nimrod in her arms. She addressed the dog, but her words were intended for Edward. “Francis,” she said to Nimrod, “is in need of instruction, and perhaps Mr. Invers can provide it.”

  She had left the room, and Edward remained behind, troubled in his mind. There was something a little altered about Chloe, an obscure difference in her attitude that he could not quite fathom, but he did know one thing — he did not like it.

  His eyes fell upon an object on the floor, fallen from Chloe’s pocket when she bent to pick up the dog. He crossed the room to pick it up, and saw the title. That foolish book by Lord Byron! He was incensed. Where had it come from? How had Chloe gotten it? He himself distinctly remembered sending the thing back, after glancing through it, and he knew that it had not come from his shelves.

  The door opened and she returned. He fixed her with a baleful eye. He gestured toward the fire, when she called out — “Edward! Don’t do that!”

  He demanded, “Where did you get this book? It’s not fit for a lady to read!”

  She took it from his unresisting fingers. “Richard would not like his property destroyed. It is a good thing you did not throw it into the fire, for you would have had to answer for it.”

  She left the room again, and would have been gratified had she been able to glance through the closed door. Her brother did not move, a look of stupefaction on his face and his jaw dropping in a very unbecoming manner.

  19

  The day before Lady Partridge’s ball, Lady Rothwell, taking Lydia and Sophy, set off in the Rothwell carriage to Miss Sinclair’s to pick up Lydia’s ball gown.

  Miss Sinclair was the most popular seamstress in the area. Last week Lady Rothwell had shamelessly engaged in a genteel kind of blackmail, announcing in a casual fashion that Lydia would be going to London for the Little Season in less than two months. She allowed Miss Sinclair’s thoughts to dwell on the vast amount of sewing to be done. Having obtained Miss Sinclair’s promise to put Lydia’s ball gown at the top of her list, she then proceeded to discuss Lydia’s London wardrobe.

  Miss Sinclair’s efficiency was apparent the moment that Lady Rothwell swept into the tiny house. The ball gown for Lydia was finished, waiting for its new owner. Every flat surface was covered with bolts of cloth that had been sent down from London. Such exquisite colors, such elaborate materials! Damasks and muslins and gossamer gauzes, materials embroidered with gold threads or silver — Lydia was struck into silence.

  Miss Sinclair watched her, appreciating the effect that her artfully contrived display had made, and turned to Lady Rothwell. “The London draper,” she said, “informs me that these are the most sought-after fabrics in his shop. You see how well they will become Miss Lydia, and I think the patterns we spoke of will make the child some exquisite gowns.”

  Miss Sinclair, true daughter of her Scottish ancestors, insisted that Lady Rothwell examine each fabric and each pattern. “I should like your approval, Lady Rothwell, before it’s cut into, for once the shears touch the fabric the die is cast, as Caesar said on the banks of the Ruby River.” No one corrected her.

  Two hours passed very pleasantly for Lady Rothwell and Lydia. Sophy had time to brood, and her spirits moved rapidly from envy to jealousy, to disappointment. Finally, toward the end of the two-hour session, Sophy was simply bored.

  Lady Rothwell, watching the footman stow the ball gown in the boot, wrapped in tissue paper and carefully spread out to avoid wrinkles, said quietly to Sophy, “Don’t get overset. Just trust your mama, pet.”

  Sophy cried, climbing into the coach behind her mother, “What can you do? Old Edward has spoiled everything. I don’t know why he thinks of me as a child yet, for if Emma can attend the ball, and after all it is in her house, why can’t I?”

  On the way home, they stopped at the Partridge manor. Lady Partridge met them at the door, smiling broadly in welcome. She was in the midst of her party arrangements, and her mind was further distracted by the coming trip to Bath. Even her hair took on some of the excitement, for it stood out from her face in small, uncontrolled tendrils. The house smelled of beeswax and soap, with a faint undertone of cooking and flowery scents from the conservatory. Lady Partridge’s house had, in the newest fashion, a conservatory built on instead of greenhouses in the garden. It was enough for Lady Partridge to hear of a new fashion that pleased her, for her to have it as soon as it could be accomplished.

  Now she welcomed her guests, and said, “Let’s go in here; I think they have not cleaned here yet.”

  They moved into a large parlor behind the main salon. Emma came dashing down the stairs, folded Sophy in her arms, and took her off upstairs to exchange secrets. They had not seen each other for three days, and there was much to talk about.

  Lady Partridge and Lady Rothwell relaxed for a
comfortable prose. They had very little in common, except that they understood each other and were allied in the need to circumvent the men who ran their lives.

  Lady Partridge said, “What trouble for only a simple country dance. Nothing like the affairs they have in London! After all, we are simple people, and I do not attempt anything more than a quiet gathering of my friends and neighbors.” She looked around her at the very luxuriously furnished room with secret pleasure. She was quite sure the Prince Regent had nothing more comfortable than her rooms, no matter how much he spent.

  Lady Partridge was simply paying off social obligations before she left the area for her journey to Bath. She turned to Lady Rothwell and said, “I understand from Emma that Sophy can’t come? Is this true? Emma will be devastated.”

  “Rothwell has said that Sophy is too young.”

  Lady Partridge, remembering certain incidents in Sophy’s not uncheckered past, could only agree with Edward, but yet her daughter’s wishes ruled her heart, if not her head.

  Lady Rothwell, beginning her campaign, said shyly, “But Emma will be at the ball, will she not?”

  Lady Partridge said, “Naturally, but I have every hope that Emma will behave unobtrusively, so that no one’s attention will be called to her. After all, Emma is almost fifteen, and very shortly she will be in London. I should not like to have any untoward rumor mar her reputation.”

  After a few more remarks, Lady Rothwell inserted the next step in her plan. “I’m anxious to see Sophy have a little fun, and see how things are managed in the better households. I feel that Edward is wrong in not letting Sophy come.”

  There was much unsaid between the two ladies, but their understanding was complete. It was arranged in only moments that Sophy would stay, the night before the ball, to spend the night with Emma. Thus the question of Sophy’s riding from Rothwell Manor to Lady Partridge’s home was avoided. Edward would see nothing to disturb his sense of propriety, and Lady Rothwell gave a few pertinent instructions to Sophy.