Winthrop Trilogy Box Set

by Burnett, May

  Maybe Lady Susan regretted her proposal in the meantime, and realized in the clear light of morning that even now, she could do better. That would reduce his current errand to total farce.

  North managed to betray no sign of outward tension as he handed his card to the supercilious butler and asked for an interview with the Earl; he added a request that Lady Susan also should be apprised of his call. He was kept waiting in a sitting room upholstered in pale green silk for upwards of fifteen minutes before the butler returned and stated that Lord Branscombe would see him in the library.

  His host’s slightly puzzled expression told North that his betrothed had not yet confessed her predicament to her father.

  “My thanks for receiving me without appointment, Branscombe.”

  “Not at all, my dear fellow. Is there any particular reason for your visit so early in the day? You’re a Whig, aren’t you? Is this about Haversham’s Bill?”

  Branscombe’s guess was not unreasonable, as North had recently taken up the family seat in the House of Lords, a duty his dissolute brother had completely neglected.

  “No, I have not come on a political, but a more personal mission - to request the hand of your daughter, Lady Susan, in marriage.”

  “What!”

  There was a short, painful silence.

  “I am astonished at your effrontery, Northcote,” the earl said, once he had overcome his surprise. “Until now I wouldn’t have taken you for a fortune-hunter. Even if you’re desperate, if you believe you can mend your family fortunes through my daughter, you are a fool. Is it likely I would allow her to throw herself away on a pauper?”

  North felt the blood rushing to his head and had to subdue his own anger before he could go on, talking as reasonably as he could manage. “I fully realize that she is much too good for me, but Lady Susan has given me reason to hope. May I suggest that you consult her wishes on the matter?”

  “She’s not of age, and while I will not force anyone on her, she still needs my consent. Even if she had sworn eternal love to you - which I don’t believe for a moment, - I have the right to refuse her hand to you. Your suggestion that we ask her personally shows you in a very poor light, Northcote. There is no point in prolonging this discussion. You had better leave.”

  The earl approached the bell-pull and was about to summon the butler when Lady Susan entered the library, slightly out of breath, dressed in an elegant and highly becoming morning dress of palest blue muslin. Her father frowned as she greeted him and North with a dimpled smile. North remembered, with a sudden flash, how sweet her soft pink lips had tasted only a few hours ago. He held on to that recollection as best he could.

  “Susan, you should leave this to me,” Branscombe admonished his daughter. “But since you are here, let me ask you, have you encouraged Lord Northcote to ask for your hand?” From his tone, he could imagine nothing more unlikely.

  Susan bit her lips and nodded. “Yes, Papa, I’m afraid so. It’s worse than that - I have to marry him. Don’t be angry with us,” she pleaded, reaching out with her delicate white hand and clutching North’s, as though for support. He gave her a reassuring squeeze, even as he wondered if a wife with such acting abilities might not be somewhat difficult to handle.

  The earl’s face reddened; he was close to apoplectic. “What do you mean, you have to marry him?!”

  “I mean I – I – or rather we –,” she stammered, the picture of maidenly confusion. “Do I really have to spell it out? I’d rather not.”

  North raised the hand clutching his to his mouth and pressed a tender kiss on its back. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, everything will soon be all right.”

  He fleetingly wondered if Lord Branscombe would have a stroke there and then. Surely Lady Susan would not risk the demise of her only surviving parent.

  While Branscombe did not expire of his anger and disappointment, the next fifteen minutes would remain in North’s memory among the most excruciating in his entire life. Susan and he listened to the earl’s shouting, lamentations, and bitter reproaches, never once budging from their story.

  “You are ruining your life, Susan,” Branscombe said heavily at one point. “Is there no one else you can marry, even now? Fenton has written again, just last week, practically threatening me if I don’t make you marry him.”

  “I’d say that I would kill myself before I married Lord Fenton, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction,” Lady Susan retorted. “If I did marry Fenton, I would end up killing him before the first month was over.” She looked at North, smiled briefly. “At least I have better taste than that.”

  Yielding with very poor grace, in the end the earl consented to a marriage two weeks hence, after the necessary settlements had been signed. By then North felt that he was paying a high price for freedom from debt. A glance at Lady Susan’s classic profile reassured him that he was getting much more than that. Why had she chosen him, though? The question that had been nagging at him already in his sleepless night kept recurring. After all, they barely knew each other.

  “Right after the wedding,” Lady Susan said, “I want to go to his estate with my new husband. I believe it is in Cornwall?”

  “Yes, but Ulmsbury, the family estate, is a draughty, baldly maintained medieval castle,” North told her. “By now it may be worse than that. I haven’t been there in ages, but knowing my late brother’s ideas of household management, I fear the place will not be in fit condition for a lady like you.”

  Both the earl and his daughter looked at him askance, no doubt wondering why he had not bothered to ascertain the state of his principal seat since his brother’s death the previous October. Unwilling to confess that he had not wanted to go home without funds, only to disappoint everyone, North gritted his teeth and said nothing more.

  Lord Branscombe looked at Susan imploringly. “It’s not too late to find some other solution,” he told his daughter, yet again. “That place sounds completely unsuitable, and who knows if there is even a decent physician in such a remote neighbourhood? That could be a question of life and death.”

  “But Papa, you know that of all the family I am least susceptible to colds and draughts. We can start refurbishing and renovating right away.” Lady Susan was undaunted. She turned to North. “And doesn’t your sister reside there? She’s also a lady, after all.”

  North had to admit that this was so, though he had his private doubts. He had not seen his sister Camilla in several years, but as a child Milla had been a terrible hoyden, taking full advantage of the castle’s wild surroundings. What with one thing and another, his parents could not get any governess to stay there for more than a few months. Milla had not learnt to read and write, under protest, until she was nine years old. She would probably shock the refined Lady Susan within minutes of their first meeting.

  “If you are willing to help me put the place to rights, I would be grateful indeed,” was all he said. It would be her money spent on his place, after all. She had a moral right to have a say in how it was used, even if the law said otherwise.

  “All alone in a strange place where you don’t know a soul but your husband? When you might not be feeling well?” Lord Branscombe was still upset at his daughter’s plan. “This is not a good idea, Susan.”

  “That has been the fate of new brides for many centuries,” she pointed out. “I am sure everything will work out, one way or the other. And it’s best under the circumstances.”

  The two men had nothing left to say. North only wished he could share his betrothed’s blithe optimism.

  When Susan left them he tried to take his own leave, but Branscombe did not let him escape. “If we have only two weeks, we need to talk of settlements right away. I’ll have my solicitors draw them up. I want thirty thousand pounds settled on Susan, absolutely, since you presumably won’t be able to offer her a jointure from your own resources.” The earl did not bother to hide his anger at this circumstance.

  “That seems most reasonable.”

 
“I cannot hold back her dowry, since Susan inherited it from my late uncle, who doted on her as a child. Believe me that I would, if it could prevent such a deplorable misalliance.”

  “I am most sensible of my good fortune,” North replied dryly.

  “I suppose most of it will be spent on your debts right away? Just as well that my uncle is not alive to see his substance squandered in such a stupid fashion.”

  “It is indeed stupid,” North readily agreed. “In my defence I can only point out that none of my debts are of my own making. I inherited the estate and title only last October, together with my brother’s debts, when he blew his brains out after a particularly disastrous night of gambling. Since then I have been trying to repay what I could. The sum total of his remaining debts, at this moment, is some twelve thousand guineas – not counting what additional debts I may find in Cornwall. Once those are repaid, I do not plan to get into debt ever again, or to gamble with your daughter’s money.”

  “Hmmph,” Branscombe grumbled. “I met your brother a couple of times. No great loss to the world. Now it’s just you and your sister?”

  “Yes; we two are the last survivors of the Northcotes, an old but not particularly distinguished family. I was destined to the army as a younger son, and held the rank of Major when I sold out after Waterloo.”

  “You were at Waterloo? I did not realize.” The earl’s attitude thawed the tiniest fraction.

  North bowed slightly. “Indeed, but I was plain Major Northcote at the time. I also served in the Peninsular Campaign since I was an eighteen-year-old Cornet.”

  “I don’t really care about the money,” Branscombe said with a defeated sigh. “My daughter’s happiness and health are far more important. And yet today I feel I don’t know her at all. Yesterday I would have bet any fortune that such a day as this would never arrive.”

  North felt an unwelcome twinge of sympathy. “I will look after her to the best of my abilities,” he offered, conscious how little conviction his assurance would carry. Was he not the designated villain here?

  Yet North could not help wondering once again who the real villain might be, the man ultimately responsible for the older man’s despairing and reproachful words.

  Chapter 7

  Although she had not outwardly betrayed it, the scene in her father’s library left Susan harrowed and dispirited. The only bright aspect had been her new fiancé’s steady support. North had not veered an inch from their plan, and withstood her father’s anger far better than most men could have managed. Perhaps he was used to abuse from his army days.

  She sought out the morning room, whose golden yellow walls, southern windows, and bowls of fresh primroses rarely failed to cheer her. Propping her chin on her hand, she realized that she would miss this favourite room – would miss all parts of her home, and her friends and family. For a few moments, her throat felt ominously constricted. But Lady Susan Winthrop never cried, she reminded herself. Besides, she had two weeks left to say good-bye, to get accustomed to the prospect of leaving.

  In the bright sunlight, new doubts crept in. “It is necessary,” she murmured, to reassure herself. Better not make a habit out of talking to herself like that … but soon she would have a husband with whom, if all went well, she could share the thoughts she could only discuss with Abigail now. Closing her eyes, she tried to follow once again the chain of logic that had determined her actions. Its links were pitifully weak.

  “There is a message marked ‘Urgent’, my lady,” the butler interrupted her unprofitable ruminations.

  “Thank you, Murchison.” Susan plucked the sealed letter from the salver and tore it open. The butler was too well trained to linger. She swiftly unfolded the single sheet.

  Dear friend, the letter began, (I dare not use names), I implore you to let me know at the earliest possible moment if your efforts have borne fruit…. Even the initial was disguised, Susan noted with a wry smile, and scanned the hastily penned rest. As though anyone who knew them would not immediately guess it could only come from Abby. When she was done, she carefully tore the letter into tiny fragments that she scattered among the logs in the unlit fireplace.

  Abby’s writing style was reminiscent of the sentimental novels of Samuel Richardson, which the two of them had devoured at sixteen; secretly, for despite their pious tone these books were deemed too explicit for the younger generation, and the subject matter indelicate. Unfortunately reality could be just as bad as Richardson’s novels, and far less amusing. Susan and Abby had only recently discussed Clarissa, Richardson’s tragic novel of a young woman who died at inordinate length because her honour was compromised. While Abigail was sympathetic to the heroine’s suffering, Susan had forcibly argued that Clarissa was a fool. One had to be pragmatic and resourceful when in trouble, even ruthless, instead of indulging in long-winded self-destruction.

  This bracing reflection, and her friend’s letter, helped Susan subdue her feelings of guilt, and achieve a somewhat more hopeful frame of mind. In any case, second thoughts were moot at this point. She had to marry someone. Lord Northcote was no worse, and quite possibly better than any of her other suitors. She could help him re-establish his family home and standing with all that money left by great-uncle Eugene, whom she only dimly remembered.

  Would her husband appreciate her efforts? And would the young sister-in-law be pleased at her arrival as the new mistress of her husband’s estate? If not, she would somehow manage to win her over. She did not know the girl’s age, but very likely in a few years’ time Miss Northcote would marry and move to her own household. By then she and North would already have a family of their own, possibly several children. The prospect of motherhood was not displeasing to Susan, though she was not eager to face the dangers of childbirth. As the youngest of four children she wanted a big family, if feasible. “Lady Northcote,” she said experimentally. “Susan Northcote of Ulmsbury.” It sounded quite satisfactory.

  Best of all, after the next two weeks she would no longer be hedged about with the countless restrictions hampering unmarried young females, and attain the comparative freedom of a wealthy young matron. This freedom was only bounded by one’s husband’s attitude and character. She hoped that North would prove agreeable in small things, - those, she had observed, where the ones most likely to lead to quarrels. She was not quarrelsome herself, but she did like to get her own way.

  Her eldest brother’s arrival put an abrupt end to this self-examination.

  “Susan! Tell me it is not true!”

  Susan had to use all her willpower to meet his gaze. Jeremy had always been especially protective of her. “I’m sorry, I cannot tell you that.”

  The distraught expression in his blue eyes was hard to withstand. Susan pressed her hands together hard, and took a deep breath. Composure… this too would pass.

  “I cannot believe it. No sane man would dare trifle with my sister. I shall kill the swine. Is this Northcote suicidal, like his older brother? Did he force you? Why didn’t you tell me right away?!”

  He finally stopped when she shook her head. “I want to marry him, so you must not kill him, please. As for the rest,” she looked down at her lap for a moment, “I’d rather not go into details. He didn’t force me. I suppose we both got carried away… you have done such things often enough, I dare say.”

  Her brother was still staring at her, as though trying to solve a riddle, but her attempt to distract him was successful. He gritted his teeth. “I have never seduced an innocent in my life, or I would have been caught in parson’s mousetrap long since. There are rules about these things, dammit! – beg your pardon, Susan, but it is impossible to avoid strong language at a time like this. You are really determined to marry the scoundrel?”

  “I’m afraid so – and I’m sorry about all this,” she said, meaning it.

  He gathered her in a comforting hug. “I’m sorry too, but we’ll come about somehow. You can always count on me. After all, you’re just a baby.”

  “N
ineteen!” she objected.

  “As I said, almost a child, while Northcote must be close to thirty. I hold him entirely to blame. I could kill him for you in a duel,” he offered with a hopeful air.

  “Then I just would have to marry someone else, that I might like less,” she pointed out.

  Without listening to her words, he went on, “I think I have it – you marry him first, and a week later I kill him in a duel. Then you are a rich widow and we are rid of the fellow for good.”

  Susan didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at this last proposal. “No,” she declared firmly. “I want him alive. No duels before or after the wedding. He is not the villain you think, Jeremy, and I hope that in time you might even become friends.”

  “Never,” her brother assured her with complete conviction. “What Northcote has done to you – and don’t pretend you consented, I will not believe it – is unforgiveable. I will think upon his punishment, but do not think he will escape altogether.”

  “Consider the scandal,” Susan warned him. “Can you at least wait a year or so until everyone has accepted the marriage?” By then, Jeremy’s anger would have cooled, and he might think better of his resolve.

  “I won’t promise anything,” her brother retorted. “Except that he’ll be alive until the wedding, since you wish it.”

  She remembered the last time they had spoken of duelling. “Jeremy, there is the duel you proposed to fight with Fenton still outstanding – or have you thought better of that folly?”

  Her brother grimaced with distaste. “No, it would have taken place long since, but Fenton still has not shown his face in town, the coward. He knows I’ll confront him the moment he does so.”