A Match for Mother

by Mona Gedney, Kathryn Kirkwood, Regina Scott

  “But, Mama, you are lively and amusing and you like to laugh. Aren’t those qualities that make life ‘pleasant and livable’?”

  “Not always, my dear—not for everyone. But you won’t have to worry about it, Elizabeth, because you are sensible. When the time comes for you to marry, you will choose a man who appreciates you.”

  She hugged her daughter again, then pointed her toward the door. “And now, my dear, it is time for both of us to get some rest. I will see you tomorrow.”

  Before Elizabeth closed the door behind her, she turned back to Lady Lovington once more. “Colonel Anderson told me that I didn’t need to alter my behavior at all,” she said shyly. “That was very kind of him, was it not?”

  “He was being truthful, Elizabeth. It is just as I told you—gentlemen do admire the qualities that you possess.”

  After the door clicked shut behind her daughter, Lady Lovington sat and brushed her hair until it shone like a new guinea. Finally, she laid down the brush and stared at herself in the glass. Once again she had chosen a path for her future.

  She thought about Elizabeth’s questions. Why had she chosen to marry the colonel? Because of her children, of course. Would he make her happy? Not particularly. Would she please him? Only for a little while.

  For a moment she thought about Jack Grant. What on earth had made the young man so aware of her unhappiness? She had thought that she had concealed it well, and, judging by her family, she had succeeded. But she had not fooled him. Very curious, that.

  The candles burned low and flickered out as she sat and stared at her reflection. When darkness surrounded her, she finally moved slowly to her bed, opening the curtains around the bed and the drapes at the window so that she could lie and look up at the stars. That at least gave her lasting pleasure.

  What would it be like, she wondered, to marry a man that she loved, one that she could enjoy? For a moment she allowed her mind to wander, and she pictured a laughing-eyed, dark-haired young man.

  Impossible! she thought to herself. And she turned her back, even on the stars.

  Lady Lovington sat back in her carriage, closing her eyes and breathing deeply as they rolled quietly into the greenness of the park. The soft freshness of spring filled her sore heart and for a moment she forgot her unhappiness.

  “Foolish woman!” she thought to herself sharply. “Foolish, ungrateful woman!” For what had she to be unhappy about? She was well, her children were happy, she was about to be married to an excellent man. In short, she had no reason to repine.

  She thought again of Sarah Jellico—bright, happy Sarah, who had refused Sir David and just yesterday happily married the young man who had won her heart—a man not so successful nor so handsome as Sir David, but a man who made her happy. She had attended the wedding and wished her friend well—and had come home to complain of a headache and go to bed early—something quite unheard of for her.

  She opened her eyes just in time to see a pair of lovers disappearing down a garden path together. “Fool!” she muttered to herself. “How could you be such a fool, Mercy Rochester?” she asked herself sharply.

  She wanted no part of the painful misery associated with love. Her first two marriages had been loveless on her part, although in both cases she had grown very fond of the men. Still, there had been none of the sharp pain associated with love—no eager waiting for his eye to catch hers, no warm glow when his hand touched hers, no loss of breath when he pressed close to her.

  She shuddered. How could she be thinking such things just days before her third wedding? And how could she be feeling such things for a man that she was not to marry? Colonel Anderson was a good man and a kind one. She would have a good marriage. How could she be so ungrateful as to be thinking the thoughts that were presently haunting her?

  The driver stopped at her favorite walk, and Lady Lovington allowed the footman to help her down. Perhaps a brisk stroll in the fresh air would free her of the hobgoblins that were troubling her. Smiling at the footman, she signaled her wish to take her stroll unaccompanied, as she often did. Her carriage and her servants would wait patiently until she emerged again from her stroll in the green glades.

  She had scarcely begun her walk when someone else fell in beside her, measuring his pace to hers.

  “Good day, Lady Lovington,” he said, a smile deep within his bright eyes. “I hope that you are doing well.”

  “Very well, Mr. Grant,” she returned coolly, glancing at him instead of looking at him directly. “What brings you here at this time of day?”

  “The hope that I might see you, ma’am,” he said quietly. Her heart began to beat too quickly and she suddenly found it difficult to breathe. Nonetheless, her reply was crisp. “Well, and you have seen me now, have you not, sir?”

  “You know that’s not what I meant, Lady Lovington,” he said gently, a smile curving the corners of his lips. “Are you playing with me, ma’am?”

  She carefully avoided looking directly at him, and was profoundly grateful that she had told the footman that she would not need him for the walk. She could tell from the warmth of her cheeks that she was flushed, and it annoyed her a little that he should have her at such a disadvantage. Surely her tendre for him was more than obvious.

  They walked on in silence for a minute or two until he caught her hand and they came to a stop.

  “Are you indeed playing with me, ma’am?” he asked, looking deeply into her eyes before she could look away and feign a lack of interest.

  She shook her head. “Why did you wish to see me, Mr. Grant?” she inquired simply.

  “Because I wished to,” he replied.

  “What sort of answer is that?” she demanded, annoyed by what she considered to be his cavalier attitude.

  “An honest one, Lady Lovington,” he said. “I wish above all things to spend more time with you—and I wish to see you happy.”

  “And do those two things go together in your mind, sir?”

  He nodded. “Perhaps not in yours—but in mine they certainly do. I believe that we could be happy together.”

  She stopped and faced him squarely. “You know perfectly well that such a thing is impossible, sir. My daughter is in love with you and I am engaged. It appears to me that there are obstacles.”

  “I will acknowledge that, ma’am, but I see no insurmountable ones.”

  “Then we differ greatly,” she said shortly, turning her steps toward her carriage. “I would say, sir, that we have seen about enough of each other today. I trust that by the time we meet again you will have had time enough to rethink this matter and behave in a more sensible way.”

  Lady Lovington calmly put the matter behind her, spending her energy on preparing for her wedding, which was to occur in a few days. It was, after all, up to her to be the rational one. Jack Grant was too young to realize the impossibility of what he was suggesting. She talked cheerfully with him—although his responses were brief—and with her son and daughter, both of whom were very pleased with her since she was doing just what they wished her to do. If Elizabeth wondered from time to time about her mother’s real feelings, she made no further attempt to discover what they were. The colonel, of course, was also pleased, and if he had any misgivings, he hid them manfully. In short, everything appeared to be going well.

  It was just two days before the wedding that the storm broke. It was suddenly brought to Lady Lovington’s attention that her beloved son had been spending an unusual amount of time in various gaming hells, and she had grown uneasy. Since he had not taken her into his confidence about his background check on Mr. Grant, the obvious conclusion for her to draw was that her son had developed a gambling problem.

  She decided to investigate the matter further, and took herself to Reginald’s home. He was out—naturally enough, she thought—probably recuperating at his club after a late night of gambling. Unfortunately for both of them, Jarvis, his valet, was at home.

  Having called in the wary valet, who could not ignore her
summons but knew full well that his master would be livid, Lady Lovington proceeded to question him as though he were a soldier caught behind enemy lines.

  “Has Mr. Rochester been out every night this week?” she asked sharply.

  The valet did not move nor speak for a moment, but catching her eye, he nodded—one quick, careful nod.

  “And was he gambling every night?” she demanded.

  “How am I to know, Lady Lovington?” he said pitifully. “I don’t mean to be rude, ma’am, but Mr. Rochester don’t confide in me. He could have been doing anything these nights.”

  “I should like for you to make it your business, Jarvis,” she announced.

  “Do you mean to spy on him?” he gasped, horrified. “Why, he’d let me go without a character if I did such a thing.”

  “I don’t mean actually to spy on him, of course, but you could encourage him not to smoke and to stay away from those hells—couldn’t you?”

  Thus appealed to, Jarvis acknowledged that he could do that much—but he pleaded with her not to tell the master that they had talked because his master would be beside himself.

  His mother was only too aware that this statement would be no more than a mild description of his state when he discovered that she had made another invasion into his private domain. Reginald considered himself an independent young fellow, quite a man about town, and his mother was interfering with the image he had of himself. When he found that his mother had again been guilty of taking his home by storm, he paid an unwonted midday visit to her to express his displeasure.

  “Well, damn it all, Mama, why have you been at it again?”

  “Been at what, Reginald?” she asked blandly. “Are you asking why I had a chat with Jarvis?”

  “A chat?” he snorted. “More like the bloody Inquisition from what he says about it! What on earth did you hope to achieve by doing this, Mama?”

  “I hoped to keep you from gambling, Reggie,” she replied.

  He stared at her. “Gambling?” he asked blankly. “What makes you think I’ve taken up a life of gambling?”

  “My sources tell me that you’ve been seen in some of the lowest dives in London, Reggie, drinking Blue Ruin and betting on the ponies. What was I to think?”

  “You were to think, ma’am, that I am a grown man and am capable of making my own decisions. As it happens, I have not been gambling, although I cannot see that it is any of your business if I have.”

  Before she could say anything, he snapped, “And I do want to say, Mama, that I do not expect you ever to interfere with another servant of mine. Your interrogation of Jarvis was a shameful thing—both for him and for me! Mama, I’m afraid that I must forbid you to come to my home unless I have expressly invited you. Do I make myself clear?”

  His mother looked at him for a moment, then nodded her head slowly. “Very clear, Reginald.” She watched him stalk from the room, the very picture of affronted dignity.

  It was there that Jack Grant found her an hour later. When he glanced into the drawing room and saw her there, he started not to enter the room at all. Unable to stay away from her, he had “accidentally” bumped into her during her daily walks in the park, and he knew that he was distressing her by the attention. Giving her privacy now in her own home seemed the kindest thing to do—until he realized that she was crying.

  He shut the door quietly behind him and hurried to her side.

  “What has happened, Mercy?” he asked gently, offering her his fresh handkerchief.

  She took it gratefully, but the tears continued to stream down her cheeks.

  “Tell me what’s wrong. Is someone ill? Has there been another accident?”

  Lady Lovington shook her head.

  “I’ll ring for tea. Perhaps that will help.”

  She shook her head violently, so he returned to the sofa and seated himself beside her.

  “It’s Reggie,” she finally managed to say, her voice broken, “but it isn’t just Reggie—it’s everything! I have made such a mess of everyone’s life!”

  “That’s not true, Mercy,” he said, putting his arms firmly around her and stroking her back comfortingly. “No matter what has just happened, you certainly have not harmed anyone.”

  “How I wish that were true,” she murmured, burying her face in his waistcoat, “but just look at us now! We shouldn’t even be talking to each other!”

  “Not talk to each other?” he asked in surprise. “Why shouldn’t we at least be able to talk?”

  “You know very well why we shouldn’t, Jack Grant!” she exclaimed impatiently. “We don’t even remember that Elizabeth and Malcolm exist when we talk. We concentrate only on each other!”

  Jack caught her closer and put his hand under her chin so that she was forced to face him. “That’s just it, isn’t it, Mercy?” he asked, his voice low. “We do concentrate only on each other. And how will that be after you are married? And what if I were to marry Elizabeth? Do you not see a problem coming?”

  Lady Lovington shook her head vehemently. “There is no problem, Jack, unless we allow there to be one! We will go quietly about our respective lives and make them successful. It won’t matter to us that there ever was a time when we thought only of each other.”

  “Do you really believe that, Mercy?” he demanded, trying to force her to look into his eyes again.

  “You know that I do!” she said sharply, avoiding his gaze.

  “There is nothing for me with you and there is nothing for you with me. I am marrying Malcolm.”

  Once again he turned her chin firmly toward him so that she was forced to look into his eyes. “Do you love me, Mercy?” he asked. “You need only tell me yes or no.”

  There was a long pause, but finally, in a small, quiet voice, she said, “Yes—yes, of course I do.”

  “Then marry me, Mercy—marry me!”

  Crushing her to his chest, he kissed her eyelids and the corners of her lips and the wide expanse of tender skin above the ruched bosom of her lilac gown.

  Before he could say anything else, Mercy suddenly broke free of his embrace and ran from the drawing room to the stairway. As he sat there, he could hear her footsteps growing fainter. If there was an easy solution to their problem, one that would hurt no one, he could not see it.

  Dinner was a quiet affair that evening. Lady Lovington stayed upstairs with a headache, Reginald did not join them, and Mr. Grant dined at his club. Lucinda and Elizabeth, left to their own thoughts, ate in virtual silence, each of them keenly aware of the tension in the house.

  When she came down to breakfast the next morning, Elizabeth was dismayed to discover that her mother had left the house with her maid, leaving behind a note for her daughter and one for the colonel. In them she announced that she was not feeling herself and that she needed to be alone for a while. If the colonel still wished to marry her when she returned, they could have the wedding then. She did not tell them where she had gone.

  A footman sent hastily round to Reginald brought him there in short order.

  “Whatever did you say to Mama that would have made her run away like this?” demanded Elizabeth. “And don’t tell me that you aren’t responsible, Reggie! I know very well that Mama talked to Jarvis yesterday and I am sure that you were as mad as fire!”

  “Well, of course I was, Bet!” he responded, burying his face in his hands as he tried to think. “But I was entitled to be angry—and I didn’t think that she would do such a rattlebrained thing as running away.”

  “I think that you might ask yourself just what she is running away from, Reggie. You still haven’t told me what you said to her.”

  He sat quietly for a moment, and finally said in a low voice, “I forbade her to come to my house unless I had invited her.”

  Elizabeth stared at him. “How devastatingly rude, Reggie! How could you say such a thing to her?”

  “She made me lose my temper, Bet! You know that she can do it!”

  They sat for a moment in silence,
but then he said, “There must be more to it than this, Bet! Mama has more ginger than to give way before something addlepated that I say to her. What do you suppose she’s up to?”

  The butler appeared in the doorway, bearing a salver with a folded note upon it.

  “This just came round by a messenger, miss,” he said, offering it to Elizabeth. “It’s addressed to Lady Lovington, but I thought that in the circumstances—”

  “Yes, thank you, Roberts,” she replied, taking it and staring at it for a moment before opening it.

  Reginald watched her while she read through its brief contents. “Well?” he demanded impatiently. “What does it say?”

  “You may be right, Reggie,” she said. “Maybe Mama is in another scrape.”

  “Why? For heaven’s sake, Bet, tell me what’s going on!”

  “This is from the owner of a jewelry store on Oxford Street. He writes to Mama that he would like to buy the rest of the set that the diamond necklace belongs to. It is, he writes, a particularly fine piece.”

  She stared at her brother. “She has been selling her jewelry? Why would she do such a thing?”

  Reginald looked no happier than his sister. “Why would you ask such a reasonable question, Bet?” he responded. “Remember that we’re talking about Mama. Why would she run away? There is absolutely no telling why she has done it!”

  “She ran away because she’s unhappy,” she said flatly. “I knew it because Jack told me, and Mama as much as admitted it when I asked her.”

  “Unhappy?” her brother said blankly. “Mama? And why would Jack Grant have known anything about her unhappiness? Why didn’t I know?”

  “You are always too wrapped up in yourself to notice anyone else, Reggie,” returned Elizabeth. “But I suppose that I’m no better. I knew and I still did nothing about it.”

  “I don’t think that I’m following this properly,” said Reginald. “Just what could you have done about Mama’s unhappiness?”

  “Kept her from marrying Colonel Anderson,” she returned briefly. “But of course that’s what we wanted her to do, so I wasn’t going to go against that.”