by M. C. Beaton
Now, once more, she vowed she would no longer consider her own beauty of any great importance. She longed to prove to herself and the world that she was not selfish or heedless. She remembered Palmer again. If only she could do something to help those servants, she would begin to like herself again.
Meanwhile, there was the drive with Mary Maddox and Mr. Toby Parry to be endured.
Mary obviously wondered what was troubling her new friend. She pointed out to Jenny that all the gentlemen were staring at her beauty, but Jenny only gave a little snort and changed the conversation. Her eyes sharpened with misery, Jenny noticed that Mr. Toby Parry was deeply in love with Mary, and that Mary was completely blind to that fact. She also noticed with a sort of wonder that Mary, although highly popular, seemed completely unaware of her own attractions. Perhaps it was more important to have looks like Mary’s, thought Jenny, looks that were made appealing and engaging by the very open friendliness of the girl’s manner.
“There is your horrible Duke of Pelham,” cried Mary, her voice interrupting Jenny’s thoughts. “Shall we cut him?”
“No,” said Jenny. “A civil nod will be enough, I think.”
“Who is that remarkably beautiful creature?” said Lady Bellisle to the duke as Jenny, Mary, and Toby drove past.
“A Miss Jenny Sutherland, but lately come to Town.”
The duke wondered what was up with little Miss Sutherland. There had been a certain redness about her eyes that suggested she had been weeping lately, and she looked dejected and miserable. He almost turned his carriage about to go after her, to ask her what was wrong. His conscience gave him a sharp jab. If only he had never said those stupid things about her at Mrs. Bessamy’s party. But he decided he had more important business to attend to.
He had visited his lawyers that morning and they had assured him that an investigation into Lady Bellisle’s past was not necessary, as, by coincidence, they were her ladyship’s lawyers as well. Her husband, Lord Harry Bellisle, had died three years ago, leaving her a fortune. She was very much a lady and had always been so. There was no scandal whatsoever attached to her name.
So the duke decided to get the business of proposing marriage over as soon as possible. He was already bored with the Season. The odd family feeling he had experienced at his town house when he first arrived made him long to retreat to the country and create that atmosphere of home for himself. The fact that Lady Bellisle, who had always lived in Town might not wish to be buried in the country, did not cross his mind. Any lady marrying a duke should have no objections whatsoever.
He was still plagued with a picture of Jenny’s sad face, but decided he would put her in the back of his mind until the proposal had been accepted, as it surely must be.
He was about to drive away to a quieter part of the Park when, to his irritation, Lady Bellisle hailed someone in the crowd.
He reined in. “Mr. Frank!” cried Lady Bellisle. “How goes your search for a harlequin?”
“Badly, my lady,” said Mr. Frank.
Lady Bellisle introduced the theatre owner to the duke. The duke nodded stiffly, reflecting that the only flaw he could find in Lady Bellisle’s character was her absorption in all forms of theatre. From her conversation, he had already gathered she seemed to be on intimate terms with a great number of people in the theatrical profession.
Mr. Frank’s shrewd eyes looked up at the duke. So this was Rainbird’s master. Now here, surely, was a way to arrange for the duke to be away from his town house for the required length of time.
“But,” said Mr. Frank, “I hope to try out a new harlequin tomorrow night. He is a genius. Better than Grimaldi.”
Lady Bellisle laughed. “No one is better than Grimaldi.”
“I should be honoured if your ladyship and your grace would honour my humble establishment tomorrow night as my guests,” said Mr. Frank.
The duke frowned impatiently, but Lady Bellisle turned to him, showing more animation than usual, and pleaded, “Would it not be amusing? Do you care to escort me?”
What else could the cross duke say but “Yes”?
After Mr. Frank had bowed his way backwards as though retreating before royalty, he hurried off to a coffee-house and called for pen, ink, and paper.
He chewed the end of his quill thoughtfully. If he told Rainbird his master was going to be present, then the butler would never put in an appearance. But if he said he had received intelligence that the Duke of Pelham was to be gone from home for the whole length of the performance at some unspecified place and that it was expected to be a small audience at the Spa Theatre, then that might temptthe butler. Pelham would surely sack Rainbird, and that would be all to the good. Mr. Frank was sure Rainbird would be a success. An unemployed butler would be free to take up his new career immediately.
Meanwhile, the duke drove a little way away from the fashionable crowd and reined in his team under the spreading branches of a sycamore tree.
He did wish Lady Bellisle would stop chattering on about the theatre, particularly harlequinades, which the duke considered vulgar.
At last, when she paused for breath, he seized his opportunity.
“I have decided to get married,” he said.
She looked at him with a gleam of amusement in her eyes. “Odso! The pretty miss—what is her name?—ah, Miss Sutherland.”
“Fustian,” said the duke, startled. “Pray why should you think that?”
“I could sense your interest and concern in the girl.”
“Miss Sutherland is much too young,” said the duke, becoming irritated.
Lady Bellisle looked at him in suprise. “I should estimate the fair Miss Sutherland is nearly twenty, and you yourself, your grace, are nearly thirty. A perfect balance of ages.”
“I am interested in a lady of breeding and character,” said the duke acidly.
“Oh, I would say Miss Sutherland has those aplenty,” said Lady Bellisle with deliberate malice. She had heard the gossip about Pelham’s damning of the girl and had decided that Miss Sutherland must have spurned the haughty duke at some time.
“Will you listen to me, madam?” shouted the duke, exasperated.
Lady Bellisle looked at him in amazement, and he coloured faintly. “I apologise for my outburst,” he said stiffly. “I fear you are unaware that I am trying, madam, to propose marriage to you.”
Those rather protruding eyes of Lady Bellisle’s were suddenly hidden as she quickly looked down.
There was a long silence. A light breeze fluttered the sunny leaves above them and flickering shadows dappled their faces. From across the Park came the faint strains of a jaunty march played by the Grenadier Guards. The horses bent their heads and cropped the grass.
“You do not reply,” said the duke at last.
“I was waiting for something,” said Lady Bellisle.
“I do not understand you.”
“It is customary, you know,” said Lady Bellisle gently, “to make some sort of protestations of love or affection. That is how it is done. I am used to being proposed to, you see.”
“My lady!”
“Oh, yes. I am quite rich and of good family and have no children. Why do you want to marry me?”
“For the reasons you have just stated.”
“Well, that is why I am still unmarried. I can afford the luxury of waiting for someone who might love me.”
“My lady, whenever did one of us let love enter into the question?”
“I know marriages are usually more like business contracts. My first marriage was such a one. I was quite unhappy, you know, and now I enjoy my freedom.”
“I believe you are actually refusing me,” said the duke, stunned.
“Yes, Pelham,” she said quietly. “That is exactly what I am doing. We should not suit.”
“Then I trust I have not embarrassed you.”
“Not in the slightest,” she said calmly.
He looked at her in anger. The least she could have done, he though
t, was to show some regret, some maidenly agitation.
He picked up the reins. “I shall take you home,” he said. “The day has become quite chill.”
He moved his carriage out into the glare and heat of the sun. Lady Bellisle unfurled her frilled parasol.
“I shall call for you tomorrow,” he said stiffly. “At what time does the performance begin?”
“At seven, my lord. But if, under the circumstance, you would rather not …”
The duke would definitely most rather not, but he felt it would be churlish and ungracious to say so. “I shall call for you at six-thirty,” he said. “What is the play?”
“It is called The Revenge or The Sad Tale of the Miser’s Daughter. After that comes the harlequinade.”
The duke thought drearily that the play would probably, as usual, last about five hours, and the harlequinade, one. A total of six hours in an undistinguished theatre in Islington in the company of a lady who did not wish to marry him!
After he had taken her home, he went to his club and there met Lord Paul Mannering and heard the news of that gentleman’s engagement.
“I congratulate you,” said the duke warmly, looking at his friend’s happy face. “I fear you must give me some lessons in how to propose.”
“Are you in such need?”
“Alas, yes,” said the duke ruefully. “I proposed marriage this afternoon to Lady Bellisle. She appeared suitable. I checked the matter out with my lawyers. She refused!”
Lord Paul surveyed the duke with some amusement. “I think your heart is still whole but your pride is dented. It must have been very embarrassing to be turned down after making protestations of love.”
“I made none,” said the duke. “I didn’t think I had to, you see. Also, that would have been dishonest.”
“I am afraid only young misses who must marry will settle for a blunt proposal. Rich widows who enjoy their independence are another matter.”
“But Lady Letitia is a rich spinster!”
“Ah, but I love her to distraction. I would not have taken no for an answer. I would have continued to pursue her until she said yes.”
“Do you think I am vain and pompous?” asked the duke abruptly.
“Why?”
“I feel vain and pompous.”
“Never mind. It must be very hard being a rich duke. Being a rich lord is bad enough. One does get pursued by the ladies so much that when one finally proposes it is natural to expect an acceptance.”
“It is such a curst bore,” said the duke. “Am I going to have to court one of the creatures?”
“If you do not believe in love, all you have to do is to select a suitable miss and approach her parents. They will accept for her.”
“That is what happened to Lady Bellisle, I think. She said she was unhappy in her marriage.”
“Quite a number of women are, I believe. But it is their lot.”
“’But what man wants to be married to an unhappy woman?” cried the duke.
“Ah, but often he never knows she is unhappy. She must appear all complacency, and is usually happy at first just to be married and to be the envy of her friends. If she is strong-willed, she may take lovers after she is married. You know that to be the case.”
“It appeared all so simple,” said the duke with a sigh. “Like a military manoeuvre. You select the objective and aim for it. I feel such a fool. Why should I propose to a woman who does not want me?”
“I have always thought you a romantic,” said Lord Paul. “Think how disastrous it would be for you to enter into a marriage of arrangement and then find you were in love with someone else!”
“I do not think I am the type of man to fall in love.”
“Everyone falls in love at least once.”
“I am as bad as Jenny Sutherland,” said the duke.
“Lady Letitia’s niece! Why?”
“She has become so used to being courted for her beauty that she expects all men to fall at her feet, and I have become so used to toadies and match-making mamas that I, too, think I have only to nod to some female for her to fall into my arms. You must remember, they even followed me to the Peninsula, dragging their daughters along.”
Lord Paul smiled. What the duke said was true. Some indomitable matrons thought the rigours of war might prompt a good marriage for one of their daughters if the daughter was on the battlefield, so to speak, and many had succeeded in marrying off plain girls in that way, girls who had failed miserably at their first Season. Lord Paul wondered whether to tell his friend about Jenny having thoughthis proposal of marriage was meant for her, but loyalty to Lady Letitia kept him silent.
“I trust you and Lady Bellisle parted friends?” he said instead.
“Yes. And now I am promised to escort her to some long and tiresome play at the Spa Theatre in Islington!” The duke laughed. “Do you know, I wanted to shout and rave at her and say, ‘Madam, how dare you spurn me! Me, of all people.’ But instead I meekly said of course, our arrangement to visit the theatre together still stood.”
When the duke arrived home, he asked Rainbird to follow him into the front parlour. Rainbird had received Mr. Frank’s letter a bare ten minutes before, Mr. Frank having sent it round by hand.
“I shall be dining at home tonight,” said the duke. “Tomorrow night I shall leave about six and be out until late. It is not necessary to wait up for me. There is a change in the air of this house, and I fear it is due to the late hours kept in the servants’ hall. Tired servants make unhappy servants. You will see all the staff are in bed at a reasonable hour.”
“Yes, your grace.”
“Now, send Fergus to me.”
When Fergus came in, the duke looked at him impatiently, for his servant was looking tired and sad.
“I am persuaded that no one in this house is getting enough sleep,” said the duke, “and that includes you, Fergus. I shall stay at home tonight and tomorrow evening I shall be out late. There is no need for you to accompany me.”
Now what, wondered the duke, had he said to make Fergus’s face light up, not knowing that Fergus had im-mediately planned to ask Alice to go out with him the following evening.
“Very good, your grace,” said Fergus.
“And see if you can find out if anything is troubling them belowstairs, other than a lack of sleep.”
Fergus bowed and went out.
But Fergus’s almost constant presence in the servants’ hall was why the others could not talk openly. Mrs. Middleton and Angus had planned to announce their engagement as soon as they had gained their freedom. To announce it beforehand would mean Fergus might tell the duke, and as the duke knew that servants were not allowed to marry, he might demand the reason for the odd engagement. Lizzie was nervous and strung up. Mr. Gendreau had given her to the end of the Season to tell the others about her engagement. He had said if she had any free time, then she was to send a note to Manchester Square arranging to meet him. Lizzie was now wondering how she could send that note and was debating whether to take little Dave into her confidence.
She feared Joseph might have sensed something, he was so rude and surly. But Joseph had told Blenkinsop he would take the post as first footman, and, lacking the courage to tell Rainbird, he was unconsciously behaving as badly as possible so as to provoke a quarrel and in the heat of the row bring the whole thing out into the open.
The duke had not told Fergus he was to attend the theatre, and so Rainbird, unaware that his master was to be in the audience, told the others he planned to take Dave out for a walk when the duke was absent. Dave’s eyes glowed with excitement, for he guessed Rainbird meant to go to the theatre. Fergus shyly asked Alice to go out walking withhim, and promptly went deaf and blind to everything else when she accepted.
Chambermaid Jenny heard Mrs. Middleton saying she and Angus would take a stroll the following evening and offered to go with them. Mrs. Middleton concealed her disappointment very well.
Rainbird went upstairs to stand o
n the front steps and wonder whether he was being a fool to take such an enormous risk as to face a London audience. He saw Miss Sutherland arriving home and waving goodbye to two friends. Jenny turned to enter the house, but as she did so she looked along the street and saw Rainbird and hurried towards him.
“You should not be seen talking to servants in the street,” said Rainbird severely.
“I suppose not,” said Jenny, looking not in the slightest concerned. “I heard something the other day about the Duke of Pelham’s agent … what is his name?”
“Palmer. Jonas Palmer.”
“Ah, yes. And he has his offices in the Tottenham Court Road, does he not?”
“No, miss. He’s at Twenty-five Holborn.”
“How very odd. My friend seems to have heard things all wrong. Thank you, Rainbird.”
“What did you hear about Mr. Palmer?”
“You are quite right to reprimand me,” said Jenny primly. “I should not be standing here talking to you.”
She hurried off and left Rainbird staring after her.
The duke tossed and turned that night, thinking always of Lady Bellisle’s rejection of his suit. Was he as romantic as Lord Paul believed? Certainly, his desire to leave his rich and comfortable existence and fight for his country mightbe construed as romantic. But marriage should be a civilised arrangement, not a turbulent and messy courting full of sighs and sobs such as a person like Miss Jenny Sutherland would surely expect.
And yet she would probably never receive such a blow to her amour propre as he had endured. She would finally settle for a suitable gentleman, bear him children, and become placid and fat. He tried to conjure up a picture of a fat Miss Sutherland, but all he could remember was how enchantingly she had danced in the servants’ hall and how her curls had tickled his nose.