Lady Vernon and Her Daughter: A Novel of Jane Austen's Lady Susan

by Jane Rubino

  “I am quite well. I hope that you left Sir Reginald and Lady deCourcy and Catherine in good health.”

  “I did, though I cannot say that I left them entirely tranquil,” he replied. “I can no longer allow them to hope that I will ever address my cousin—they might have been spared a great deal of anxiety if I had been frank from the first.”

  “I am very glad that you were frank with them at last.” Lady Vernon smiled.

  “And my frankness with you? You may have cause to resent my advice regarding Mr. Manwaring.”

  “Indeed, I have no cause. Manwaring’s marriage is the sort that ought to be a caution to everybody against marrying for the wrong motives. Our mutual acquaintance and Miss Manwaring’s friendship with Frederica must give him some claim upon my hospitality, but I assure you, I will not have my character at the mercy of a man whose conduct has been so inconstant.”

  Lady Martin, having heard that Reginald deCourcy was in the house, immediately came away from her writing desk to greet him. “How did you travel? Did these terrible rains make the roads very dirty? And what of my dear niece—how does she fare at Parklands? Is she in good looks? The country air will always bring out the best in looks.”

  “Miss Vernon’s beauty is of that superior type that makes improvement unnecessary and injury impossible.”

  “Ah, and if she had only been presented, she would have been universally admired. Did I tell you,” she added, addressing her niece, “that Lord Whitby called yesterday? I am certain that I did. And he asked most particularly after my niece and seemed quite downcast when he learned that she had gone to Kent. Such a handsome, good-humored man,” she added, turning to Reginald once more.

  Lady Vernon repressed a smile and a shake of her head, as her aunt continued, “I told him that he must not hope to meet with Frederica again for a fortnight at least.”

  “A fortnight?” cried Reginald. “I am certain that Catherine said Miss Vernon was to be with her for three or four weeks.”

  “Ah, then I must be mistaken. A person of my age never makes much distinction between two weeks or three. It is only of importance to young people and to those in love.”

  Reginald had no opportunity to reply, as the door was thrown open and Mrs. Johnson entered the room. The spell of heavy rains had kept Lady Vernon and her aunt from being troubled by many callers, but Mrs. Johnson would not be put off by dirty weather. The distinction of being received by Lady Martin and collecting a few scraps of gossip to scatter through London was one that not even the ruin of six inches of hem could suppress.

  She was delighted to meet Reginald again, particularly at Portland Place—it supported her conviction that the young man meant to make Lady Vernon an offer of marriage, and this was confirmed by Lady Vernon’s pale and languid appearance, which must be the result of waiting for him to speak.

  “Are you settled in town for the season, sir?” inquired Mrs. Johnson.

  “I cannot say. There is an interest that brings me to London and another that may call me back to Kent.”

  “Well, you have got to that time of life when everybody will want a share of your company, and it will be difficult to know how to please them and do your duty to your parents as well.”

  “Indeed,” observed Lady Martin, “I tell my son that he must not concern himself with duty—he may keep away from me as long as he likes without ever offending me or thinking me neglected. There will be time enough to settle when you marry. Then your friends and relations may come to you, and I can only hope that the occasion will see such an improvement in Sir Reginald that you will be obliged to find a property of your own when you settle.”

  “Oh, yes, indeed!” chimed in Mrs. Johnson. “For entails can be very awkward arrangements.”

  “I think the purpose of an entail is an excellent one,” replied Reginald.

  “Yes,” Lady Vernon observed, “but the purpose is not always borne out in practice. Not every heir can administer the property entrusted to him, and when an inheritance is neglected or driven into debt, I think that family feeling must suffer.”

  “Yes, indeed,” agreed her aunt. “And only think of all the daughters and wives who are cast adrift when property goes from one hand to another. What is to be done with them ought to be laid out in the entail as well. And where do you go now?” she inquired as Reginald rose to take his leave. “To your club, I expect—which is it, White’s? Clubs are very treacherous places when the weather is so wet. It keeps the members too long at wagering and cards. Many a fortune has been lost at a comfortable club on a rainy day, and that is even harder on the wives and daughters, as it brings disgrace upon them as well as poverty.”

  “That is one advantage of an entail.” Reginald smiled. “I cannot lose Parklands Manor at cards.”

  “A gentleman of property will see that as an advantage,” replied Lady Vernon gravely as she extended her hand, “because he will always be left with something to fall back upon, but a woman whose livelihood is in the custody of a gamester must always tremble when a reckless husband or brother goes to his club.”

  “Oh, yes!” declared Mrs. Johnson. “If Mr. Johnson were affable enough to sit down to cards, he might have lost Eliza Manwaring’s fortune, as it was all left in his charge. You are left better off than Eliza,” she said to her friend, “for one brother will not breach the trust of another, but friendship often does not survive a lifetime, much less beyond it.”

  Lady Vernon was grateful for Mrs. Johnson’s useful vulgarity, as it often caused her to put forth ideas that a more genteel person would be loath to express. At her allusion to Charles Vernon, Reginald became very sober and, soon after, took his leave.

  “How very handsome of him to visit you so immediately upon his coming from Kent!” declared Mrs. Johnson when he was gone. “Such extraordinary attention cannot be without motive!”

  She then made her adieux and hurried to call upon Lady Millbanke, Mrs. Crosby, and Eliza Manwaring and relate all that had passed between Lady Vernon and Reginald deCourcy while their looks and words were still fresh in her head. They would make a match of it, she declared, as soon as Lady Vernon was able to exert, for she had looked very fatigued and sat upon the sofa covered up with shawls for the entire visit.

  As for Reginald, he went directly to his club, where he asked of the more seasoned habitués whether his brother Vernon had been often seen in the card room and if Lord Whitby had been exhibiting any symptoms of being in love.

  chapter forty-eight

  Lady Vernon to Miss Vernon

  Portland Place, London

  My dear Frederica,

  I am very happy that you are so pleased with Parklands. To be warmly received by Lady deCourcy was perhaps too much to hope for, but the civility of Sir Reginald and the companionship of Maria will be ample compensation, particularly in so delightful a setting.

  We have been confined to Portland Place by the weather—or rather, confined by our country habits, which have us content with needlework and books and conversation when it rains. Those who prefer the town to the country are not put off by the wet. Lucy Smith called, wearing blue peacock feathers upon her head and her pink husband on her arm—she expressed great surprise over your being in Kent, great disappointment at your not being here, and great delight to be introduced to Lady Martin. Indeed, every expression and emotion and exclamation was very great—she makes no allowance for shade or degree. The Smiths are inoffensive and silly, but it is the silliness that might easily make them prey to contrivance and double dealing.

  Mr. Manwaring has called every day, but I do not think it is wise to admit him unless my aunt is at leisure to sit with us. He has grown very incautious in a manner that has raised the estrangement with his wife to the level of scandal, yet he is still received everywhere—his manners remain so affable and high-spirited that he cannot be shunned. It is no difficult thing to find good people to put at ones dinner table or saloon, but the clever and entertaining ones are harder to come by, and relief f
rom dullness is purchased at the cost of a little impropriety.

  Eliza Manwaring is so far reconciled to her guardian as to have continual admission at Edward Street. Alicia Johnson declares that he is inclined to consign the whole of Eliza’s fortune to her and be done with it, and so poor Alicia does not know which Manwaring to befriend—the privilege of visiting Langford must be weighed against keeping up an acquaintance who may have thirty thousand. I honor your sense, my dear Freddie, in choosing the best of the three, as Maria is superior to both her brother and his wife, and am very pleased to learn that she will soon be removed to a situation that will ensure her happiness.

  This information—which must have been confided to you by Maria, as it is of the sort that young ladies will never keep from a bosom friend—has been disclosed to me by Mr. Lewis deCourcy. I think the news, when it is generally known, will surprise many at first, but I am so persuaded of Mr. deCourcy’s sound character and good judgment that I think he would never choose rashly or ill. I hope that Sir Reginald is pleased with her—pleased enough that the news of their engagement will meet with no coldness or opposition from him. How well Lady deCourcy will like to have a girl younger than her own son as her sister, I cannot say, but I do not think that Mr. Lewis deCourcy will be held back in anything because Lady deCourcy does not like it. His brother’s good opinion may have more influence, and therefore, if you may effect anything on your friend’s behalf, I hope that you will do it, as it would be for the best if Maria were not to ever return to either Eliza or Manwaring. I have never been an advocate for long engagements, nor an opponent of marriages where there is some disparity in age or fortune. My own marriage to your honored father came about within months of our introduction and produced so many years of happiness that I cannot think anybody now remembers that it was regarded as a very unequal match.

  My aunt takes Dr. Driggs’s visits in very good humor, and all of her pronouncements upon the charlatanry of London attendants are made out of his hearing, but I fear that the residents of Portland Place have put a very dire construction upon his regular attendance (as my situation is so well concealed that only my aunt, Wilson, and Mrs. Forrester know of it). If, therefore, you should receive word of my imminent demise, do not be alarmed.

  I am very interested in your portrait of Sir Reginald. Write to me faithfully to tell me how you get on with him.

  My aunt bids me send you her love, and Sir James, who is a very faithful visitor, likewise instructs me to close no letter to you without assuring you of his affection.

  Your mother,

  S. Vernon

  Sir James Martin was very much entertained by the gossip making its way through fashionable circles, that Lady Vernon was the object of Reginald deCourcy He imagined what great fun it would be when his engagement to Lady Vernon was made public. Of that prospect, he had not the least doubt—had he any rival, his cousin would have refused him outright and not asked only that he postpone his addresses.

  He called very regularly at Portland Place, always making a grand bow in the direction of the upper window of the Misses Millbanke across the way before he stepped into the house.

  “He must be impatient to advance his marriage with Miss Vernon,” declared Mrs. Johnson to these young ladies. “If he were a poor man, I would advise him to delay, for if Lady Vernon marries Reginald deCourcy, she will be very rich, and in a position to settle a great deal more upon her daughter than she can at present.”

  It was not until a morning near the middle of February, however, that Sir James spied the bowed form of Dr. Driggs as the latter was departing from Portland Place and alighted from his carriage in great haste, afraid that his mother or cousin had been taken ill. To his relief, he saw Lady Martin with her workbasket at her feet and her sewing on her lap, and Lady Vernon reclining by the fire, covered with shawls. She smiled with her customary pleasure when he entered and held out her hand, though she did not stir from her position.

  “You are not ill?” he asked at once, looking earnestly into her face.

  “Illness is too dangerous an indulgence for any woman past the age of nineteen or twenty,” said Lady Vernon with a smile. “It wears down the looks of the sufferer and the patience of those who attend her.”

  “It is the rain, nothing more,” declared Lady Martin. “It is of great use in the country, as it keeps everyone at home. I daresay I never got so much carpet work done as one spring when it rained for a fortnight without a day’s relief. But here in town a lady who lives very near her neighbor may run over and gossip and a gentleman who lives a street or two from his club will fall into hard play.”

  “Particularly if he does not possess a conscience or a wife—which are very much the same. It is an easy thing for a man who is on his own in London to succumb to vice.”

  “I am sure that there are many married men whose wives have driven them to vice.” Lady Vernon smiled.

  “Married or single, a man will always look to someone else to blame for his frailties,” declared Lady Martin.

  “I did not mean to suggest that vice is the inevitable consequence of living in London,” replied Sir James. “Only that those who are inclined toward it will find greater opportunity. At any rate, the rain does not keep the postboy away, and I have got several nice letters from Freddie. She gets on superbly with Sir Reginald—the son will not want for the father’s consent when he makes up his mind to speak. I am so convinced of it that I have made up my mind. I mean to give a ball in Freddie’s honor when she returns to London, and a ball will always be the best means of hurrying a romance on to a proposal.”

  “A ball!” exclaimed Lady Martin. “What do you say to it, Susan? It will be quite as handsome as if she had been presented, James, for I know you do nothing by halves. But much of London still believes that she is your object. To have young deCourcy engage her interest under your very roof would make you a laughingstock!”

  “But that ridicule would not extend to you, Mother, nor to you, Susan—and I think that neither of you would mind very much if I were made to look foolish.”

  “How could we mind anything to which we are so well accustomed?” Lady Vernon replied with a grave smile.

  “And when the proposals are made and the wedding date is fixed, I mean to settle Vernon Castle on Freddie as a wedding present, what do you think? Nobody else will take it off my hands and I cannot see them installed in Parklands Cottage.”

  “Such a gesture may injure Mr. deCourcy’s pride.”

  “Yes, but when he is made to understand Freddie’s affection for the place, his pride will be overcome by his love for her and that will be the end of it. I will write to Freddie at once and allow her to name the date for the ball, so that she and Miss Manwaring may begin to engage in that frenzy of decision over what each will wear, and whether they ought to dress their hair alike or in contrasting styles, and if artificial flowers are now more à la mode than fresh ones.”

  He made several more remarks in this lighthearted tone, but when he took his leave, he made some excuse to get his mother to accompany him to the hallway and said in a low voice, “Do not trifle with me, ma’am, I beg you. Is my cousin well?”

  “She is only a little pale, which comes from having no opportunity to get a good airing.”

  “There is talk of influenza.”

  “There is always talk of influenza—a spell of dirty weather will always bring about talk of influenza. Indeed, Miss Sophia Millbanke had almost decided upon taking it when Miss Elliot invited her to pass a fortnight at Kellynch. Miss Elliot’s father has a dread of anything like contagion, and Miss Elliot began to think that Miss Claudia Hamilton would suit her better, and that brought Miss Sophia around to health once more.”

  chapter forty-nine

  Lady deCourcy and her daughter had got very fond of Miss Vernon and Miss Manwaring. The young ladies were never idle; they were always teaching and playing with the children, or making up a table for whist in the evening, or writing the letters and lists accordi
ng to Lady deCourcy’s dictation, or reading aloud, or playing on the pianoforte. Before the first week of their visit had concluded, Lady deCourcy declared her guests to be very good, pretty girls. “If Miss Vernon should marry Sir James,” she said to her daughter, “I think Miss Manwaring would do as well for my sister Hamilton’s clergyman. And if she will not have him, you might do well to engage her as governess. She is a clever, patient sort of person, her manners are good, and she reads aloud very nicely. But there is no need to hurry anything along, as I am not imposed upon in the least by having them here.”

  Lady deCourcy was particularly pleased with Miss Vernon for taking Sir Reginald off her hands. She had never had very much to say to him and that had all been said in the early years of their marriage—afterward, her remarks were confined to “How tall our Reginald has got!” or “Catherine must have some new gowns for the winter,” to which Sir Reginald would reply, “I daresay you are right.”

  His infirmity relieved her of even these inconvenient attentions, as they often had him confined to his own apartments, and Lady deCourcy had got into the habit of doing as she liked without consulting her husband’s opinion or making any accommodation for his wishes, while at the same time enjoying the expediency of Sir Reginald’s ill health when she did not like to do anything at all. She had settled into the comfortable conviction that she would not be troubled by him at all until his demise compelled her to order her mourning—and, indeed, she had already laid aside one or two things to have ready so as not to be caught up short.

  Much to his wife’s dismay, Sir Reginald had improved so far as to spend much of his day with his family and young guests, and to join in their interests and conversation. Miss Vernon prevented Lady deCourcy from being imposed upon by taking Sir Reginald out of their way. They often breakfasted before the family had come down and then went out to examine the grounds and succession houses, calculating how many more pineapples might be got with just a little change in the soil and enumerating what remedies for poor digestion and sleeplessness and ill health might be cultivated in the kitchen garden. They sat down to dinner full of conversation, and if Lady deCourcy did not think that the table was a suitable place for terms such as mulching and bile, at least she was not troubled for her opinion of either.