A Match for Mother

by Mona Gedney, Kathryn Kirkwood, Regina Scott

  “Yes, of course he is,” she replied slowly. Still, she wondered if Mama really had been happy during her first two marriages. It was a thought that had occurred to her just after the accident, when she realized that her mother had been very distressed. She appeared to have come about, however. Perhaps, she thought, Mama’s nature was so perennially sunny that she was untroubled even by situations that were not precisely to her taste.

  Finally Elizabeth gave herself a brief shake. Of course Mama had been happy in her marriages—and she would be happy with the colonel. What they were doing was for her own well-being and their peace of mind.

  The rest of the day slipped by smoothly enough, and at the end of it they left the colonel to rest as the remainder of the party retired to the dining room.

  “I truly am sorry, Mama,” said her penitent son in a low voice as he led her in to dinner. “You should have told me what really happened and made me mind my manners.”

  She shook her head firmly. “I told you, Reggie—it really was my fault. I knew that I could not control my team well enough to race Letty Vickery—but I didn’t want to give way when she had challenged me.”

  “Mama, will you never learn that you need not accept a challenge? At any rate,” he added, “Lady Vickery has always been jealous of you. You should avoid that woman like the plague.”

  “Reggie!” exclaimed Lady Lovington in distress. “That’s no way to talk about one of my oldest friends!”

  “Well, she is old, Mama. That’s certainly true enough. But she is not so truly your friend. She has always envied you and so she tries to involve you in her harebrained schemes.” He stared down at his mother for a moment. “And just why didn’t Lady Vickery explain that this whole matter was her fault?” he demanded. “Why is she allowing you to take the blame?”

  “You know how Lord Vickery is,” responded his mother pacifically. “He is so much older than she. If he knew that Letty had made a bet or that she had been racing, he would take away her curricle and pair—”

  “Not a bad idea,” commented her son dryly.

  “And he would lock her in her chamber and carry the key about with him,” said Lady Lovington, finishing the story.

  Reginald’s eyebrows shot to his hairline. “I don’t believe it, Mama! Lock her in her room? No one is that old-fashioned—not even Vickery.”

  His mother looked at him reproachfully. “You know very well that he would do precisely that, Reggie. So of course I had no choice but to accept the blame for everything.”

  He dropped a kiss on the top of her head as he held her chair for her. “You are an angel,” he whispered, “and I am not worthy of tying your bootlaces, ma’am.”

  Kindness, he reflected, was no small part of his mother’s charm. He would remember to share that with Elizabeth.

  “The colonel seems a very good sort of man,” he said casually, watching her expression carefully from the corner of his eye.

  “Yes, yes, he is,” she responded. “Very few men would have reacted to this whole beastly mess as he has. He reminds me a great deal of Sir George.”

  “Just so,” replied her son. “I’m sure that you will be sorry to see him leave.”

  Lady Lovington looked up at him, a little puzzled by his remark. “Sorry to see him well again? Why would I be sorry about that?” she inquired.

  “I meant that you would be sorry to lose his company, Mama,” replied her duplicitous son. “I know that the house seems too quiet to you since losing Sir George.”

  She looked at him with raised eyebrows. She had made no such comment to either of her children. In fact, although she had made no mention of it, she had been quite relieved to be on her own again and not have to answer for her every move to someone else—no matter how beloved.

  She sighed. Reggie had an agenda of his own. That much was clear to her—and she had an uneasy notion that she knew exactly what he had in mind.

  And indeed, by the time the evening was over, she knew precisely what Reginald and Elizabeth wished her to do: she was to marry Colonel Anderson.

  The next morning Lady Lovington leaned her forehead against the window of her chamber and watched the spring rain melt down across the splashes of color in the garden behind her house. Normally she allowed few things to distress her, her cheerful temperament minimizing problems and emphasizing the happy events that undoubtedly lay just around the corner.

  Today, however, she could not manage such an attitude. Reggie and Bet were clearly united in their determination to see her married—not, she understood, simply because they wished her to be happy, although they did of course wish that, but because they found her troublesome and were hoping that the colonel would be able to hold her in check.

  She sighed. Her duty was obvious. She would ease her children’s minds by marrying the colonel. And, if God were good, she would not be responsible for ushering him to an early grave and once again find herself wearing widow’s weeds.

  Smiling into her glass, she smoothed her gown and her hair before going in to see him. Colonel Anderson had made his interest quite clear to her from the first, so she knew that securing a proposal would require no effort at all; the difficulty had been holding him at arm’s length for this long. He was a good man and he was kind—but she felt quite certain that after closer acquaintance, he would not find her as completely charming as he had at first sight.

  Lady Lovington was not a prophet, but she had a very fair knowledge of human nature and of her own particular weaknesses. One week after the announcement of her engagement to Colonel Anderson, she had wagered her quarter’s pin money that the flirtatious Sarah Jellico would not accept the offer of Sir David Barringer. And she had won.

  “But, Mercy,” said the colonel, mystified, “why would you have wagered on such a matter? And why,” he added, “would you have believed that she would not accept so excellent an offer?”

  “Because I know Sarah,” she replied simply. “She has no interest in being bored—and Sir David, no matter how excellent a man he may be, is assuredly quite boring.”

  “But you realize, my dear,” he said, measuring his words carefully, “that betting on the matter in such a public manner is not, not—” He paused, trying to find a diplomatic way to phrase his misgivings.

  “Not the ladylike thing to do?” she suggested wryly, smiling at him. “Perhaps not, but I was scarcely the only lady to lay a wager on it, sir.”

  “But, Mercy, I am not interested in the others—only in you, my own dear wife-to-be.”

  His earnest tone and expression softened her, and she bent over him and dropped a butterfly kiss on his eyebrow. “Of course you are right, my dear. I shall try to be more circumspect in my behavior.”

  “That’s all I ask,” replied the colonel, relieved. “I certainly have no wish to deprive you of your pleasures.”

  On her way down the stairs, she passed Jack Grant, who took one look at her face and asked abruptly, “What is wrong, Lady Lovington?”

  “Nothing, Mr. Grant, nothing at all,” she replied without expression. “How could there be?” She paused a moment before continuing past him, adding in a low voice, “Sarah Jellico is a most fortunate woman.”

  Troubled, Jack Grant watched her as she walked down the stairs and disappeared into the drawing room. Seeking out Elizabeth, who was comfortably ensconced in her own snug sitting room, he accepted her invitation and perched precariously upon a dainty chair artfully upholstered in the straw-colored silk that was all the rage among the members of the ton.

  “Forgive me for intruding, Miss Rochester,” he began, but Elizabeth interrupted him.

  “You aren’t intruding, Mr. Grant,” she assured him warmly. “I knew that you would come to call upon me privately at some point and I have looked forward to it.”

  Jack Grant looked mildly startled by her declaration, since his purpose had been to inquire about her mother. Noting immediately that it would be an error in judgment to tell her that, he decided to defer his question abo
ut Lady Lovington until later.

  “You do me too much honor, ma’am,” he said quite honestly. “However, I do wish to thank you again for smuggling dinner to Colonel Anderson each night. The extra food has helped him regain his strength much more quickly than he would have otherwise.”

  Elizabeth giggled. “Well, he could scarcely live on the bird-like diet Mama had prescribed for him. I am amazed that he keeps up the pretense even now.”

  “I think that the teas and broths your mother prepares have helped him immensely,” Jack assured her honestly. “And her attentiveness to his comfort certainly has made all the difference in his attitude. I must admit that I am amazed by her. I didn’t expect a lady of fashion to put herself out in such a manner.”

  “She has a guilty conscience,” returned Elizabeth. “I’m sure that she feels better because she has made the effort to take care of Colonel Anderson.”

  “Still, most ladies would have thought it sufficient to give the orders to their servants rather than taking care of matters themselves,” persisted Jack, unwilling to have Lady Lovington’s kindness dismissed as a matter of salving her conscience.

  “True,” said Elizabeth a little reluctantly, “although Mama does like to see to things herself. Then she knows that they have been done properly.”

  “Another admirable characteristic,” mused Mr. Grant. “She is considerably more complex than she first appears.”

  “So are we all,” returned Elizabeth, anxious to divert the conversation from its too-familiar focus. “I daresay that both of us also possess more interesting contradictions and admirable qualities than we might first appear to have.”

  “I am sure that you are right, Miss Rochester,” he returned amiably, bowing over her hand.

  “For instance,” continued Elizabeth, “I know, Mr. Grant, that you are a man with many exceptional characteristics: you are patient, for you have given no sign that this inactive life troubles you; you are discreet, for you haven’t breathed a word to Mama about the extra meals that Colonel Anderson receives; you are gracious, for you make all of the inconveniences seem as though they are advantages planned especially for your benefit.”

  He grinned at her. “You make me sound as though I am ready for sainthood, Miss Rochester—and I assure you that you have been too kind in your estimate of my character. It’s fortunate that you don’t know that I am a gambler and something of a wastrel.”

  “Nonsense!” exclaimed Elizabeth firmly. “I’m sure that you are no such thing. You should not be ashamed of being virtuous, Mr. Grant.”

  He bent over her hand, glancing up at her with a bright glint in his eye as he did so. “If I were virtuous, Miss Rochester, I would not be ashamed of it. I would proclaim myself a paragon to any who would listen to me—but since I am not, I cannot falsely claim what is not my own.”

  Elizabeth, however, refused to discuss the possibility. “Colonel Anderson thinks you a very fine man, Mr. Grant, and that is a high enough recommendation for me.”

  “Now there is your paragon,” returned Jack, his tone serious now. “If you would take up with a man of virtue, Colonel Malcolm Anderson has few equals.”

  “Tell me a little about him,” said Elizabeth. “I know that he is from Scotland and that he was once married, but I really know no more than that. What happened to his wife?”

  “She died in childbirth,” replied Jack. “And I think it must have been the single most grievous experience in the colonel’s life. He will not speak of it even today.”

  “How very sad,” said Elizabeth slowly. “And the child? Did the child die, too?”

  Jack Grant nodded, for once looking quite serious. “I don’t think that he ever recovered from the loss. Your mother, I believe, will help him to live again.”

  “Mama?” exclaimed Elizabeth. “She will most certainly do that, whether he wills it or not. I hope that Colonel Anderson is feeling very strong, for he will need to be when he marries Mama.”

  Jack laughed, then added in an absentminded sort of way, “Miss Rochester, who is Sarah Jellico?”

  “Sarah? Oh, you must have heard something about that scandalous bet!”

  He nodded encouragingly, and she continued, “Sarah has been courted by Sir David Barringer, and a most unfortunate bet was made about whether or not she would accept his offer.”

  “Indeed?” inquired Jack in an absent tone, although he was listening most attentively.

  “And Mama, of course, had to make her wager along with the others.”

  “Your mother placed a wager upon the matter?” he asked, surprised into asking more than he had intended.

  Elizabeth nodded, pleased to think that he would be surprised by such a lapse in her mother’s behavior. “Mama is very fond of betting, and of course she has known Sarah from the cradle.”

  “And how did your mother bet?” he inquired.

  “She wagered that Sarah wouldn’t marry him because she would be bored by Sir David.” She put a hand to her mouth to smother a laugh. “Can you feature it? I wouldn’t think that my mother would know what boredom is. She certainly has never been bored herself, nor allowed anyone closely connected with her to be so.”

  “Is that so?” he asked, remembering Lady Lovington’s expression and her comment that Sarah Jellico was to be envied. “Do you think your mother has always been happy, that she has never been bored?”

  Elizabeth looked at him sharply, for the questions were too much like those that she had asked herself. “Of course not!” she replied. “Even though you don’t know her well, think of the times you have seen her. Has she ever appeared unhappy or bored?”

  Jack stared at the toes of his boots for a moment as though studying the matter seriously. “Yes, I think that she has,” he replied unexpectedly. “I think that she does not wish for anyone to suspect it, but I think that it has been so.”

  “Nonsense!” she exclaimed sharply. “I have known her for much, much longer than you, Mr. Grant, and I have never seen her behave in such a manner!”

  “Perhaps, Miss Rochester, she wishes for you not to know it, precisely because you are so very close to her. From what I have seen, your mother appears to be a very kind woman. Why would she wish to distress you?”

  Elizabeth stared at him, unwilling to accept his words as accurate. “And I suppose, sir, that you too are in love with my mother?” she inquired bitterly.

  He looked at her mildly. “How could I be, ma’am?” he inquired reasonably. “She is engaged to the colonel, is she not? And are they not to be married next month?”

  Elizabeth nodded miserably. “Yes, yes, of course they are to be married. Forgive me, Mr. Grant, for my shortness of temper.”

  “What could there be to forgive?” he asked gently. “She would not wish for you to be unhappy—nor would I.”

  “Truly?” she asked, blinking back tears. “Would you not wish me to be unhappy, Mr. Grant?” No one had ever expressed a particular interest in her happiness at all.”

  He shook his head. “I cannot think that there could be a reason for your unhappiness, ma’am,” he replied. “You are lovely, you are pleasant and intelligent, you are well-situated in this world—how could you be unhappy?”

  “You make a good case,” she acknowledged, “but sometimes, sir, loneliness can be the root of unhappiness.”

  “Need you be lonely?” he asked, innocently enough.

  She looked at him tenderly, her dark eyes melting as she looked deeply into his own. “Not if you are here, Jack,” she replied in a low voice.

  Startled, he realized too late the turn the conversation had taken. There was nothing to be done, he thought miserably. How could he tell her that he was not interested? He should have been more alert and he had not been. He thought of Elizabeth made unhappy by his indifference and of her mother’s consequent unhappiness. He could not do it. Lady Lovington was unhappy enough.

  Smiling gently, he looked back at Elizabeth. “I am here, Elizabeth,” he assured her.

&nbs
p; “Well, I must say that this is splendid!” exclaimed Reginald gleefully, hugging his sister. “Not only do we have Mama safely in tow with the colonel, but now you also have a very likely young man of your own!”

  “Well, he isn’t my own yet,” demurred Elizabeth, fearful of tempting fate by being too happy. “But at least Jack has shown his interest in me.”

  She hugged her brother again. “Don’t you think he is a marvelous man?” she exclaimed.

  “Yes, of course he is everything that a young man should be,” returned Reginald. He paused a moment, fearful of disturbing her happiness, but then added gently, “Tell me what you know of him, Bet. What is his history?”

  Elizabeth stared at him a moment, then said slowly, “Well, I actually know little enough, I suppose. Of course we know that he is the colonel’s aide, and has been for the past three years.”

  Reginald nodded encouragingly. “And we know that Colonel Anderson thinks very highly of him.”

  “Yes, we know that everyone loves Jack.” Her expression darkened a moment. “Probably every young woman he sees falls in love with him.”

  “Now that’s going it much too strong, Bet! Don’t judge all young women by yourself!” He strolled to the glass and smoothed his hair carefully, admiring his reflection. “After all, there are other handsome, available young men. Jack Grant is not the only fish in the sea.”

  Elizabeth laughed in spite of herself. “Don’t be absurd, Reggie. You and Jack are two completely different types.”

  “I know,” returned her brother complacently. “And I assure you that I have my fair share of admirers, dear sister, so clearly young Mr. Grant does not overwhelm every young female who sees him.”

  “Very well, Reggie,” she conceded, “but you must admit that he has a very pleasing presence and that everyone is inclined to like him.”

  Reginald nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, I will agree with that, Bet. I like him myself—or at least I like him as far as I know him.”

  “What else must you know about him? We know that the colonel thinks him loyal and courageous—and we have seen how well he has conducted himself here since the accident.”