by Burnett, May
“Discreetly asking your acquaintances is very different from approaching him yourself, and as for marriage -” words failed North, as he contemplated his unrepentant sibling.
“I had my reasons,” she said, undaunted. “Susan kept pointing out that an unmarried young lady cannot be too careful of her reputation, or wander around alone as I have been doing all my life. Now I am a married lady, just like Susan, and I strongly advise you not to try and invalidate the marriage.”
“It would be awkward,” he conceded. “But you had no right to do something like that on your own.” Could she not see how it threatened to ruin her life? That any chance of a love match was gone, and Fenton’s disgrace would inevitably spill over on his young wife? Hopefully, soon, his young widow.
“Had you not left me to my own devices all my life, I might be more inclined to listen to your strictures now.” She tossed her black locks. “What’s done is done, North. That reminds me, can you give me the direction of your London solicitor? Is he any good?”
“You will leave this to me, if you please. We’d better consult Susan and her brother first,” he told her. “They are better acquainted with Fenton and his set. A year ago he was considered highly eligible, and he’s reputedly very rich, but his reputation has been sinking catastrophically. He made a fool of himself over Susan, and there are worse things, not common knowledge. He is ruthless and brutal. The very last man I would have allowed to marry my only sister.”
“Had you been here,” she added under her breath.
“And where is he now? Both Susan’s brother and I need to settle accounts with the man.”
“I suppose he went back to his boat in the little bay beyond Dennoden and sailed away,” Milla said. “It would have been the smart thing to do. But something tells me he’s not nearly as smart as he thinks.”
“The same is true of you, I fear.”
“We shall see. Will Susan mind very much that I shortened several of her dresses? You can take their value out of my allowance.”
North found himself gnashing his teeth in impotent fury. He had never come so close to physical violence against a family member, but raising a hand against a lady was simply not possible.
“Let’s see what she says about it – come with me.”
Chapter 26
The first dinner after Abigail’s arrival was stiff and tense. It did not help that Milla was wearing Susan’s favourite evening gown, atrociously hemmed to accommodate her shorter stature.
“You were telling me I needed to dress the part of young lady,” she said to Susan with a challenging look.
“And I am glad that you heeded my advice,” Susan said, hiding her annoyance. Her tranquil response only irritated Milla.
Abigail, Susan and Jeremy kept up a lively conversation on trivial subjects, but North hardly participated, and Milla even less. None of the other adults tried to keep her back when she brusquely announced she was retiring immediately after the meal.
“Shall I leave you men to your port?” Susan asked after Milla had left them. “This is the very first time I have more than one gentleman to dinner here, as we have not yet been entertaining. What customs shall we establish?”
“We could take a glass of port to the drawing room, and have tea there,” North suggested. “We are among family here, not actually entertaining as yet. And we urgently need to talk. How does this sudden marriage of Milla’s affect our family?”
They followed this plan, and made sure the doors were securely closed. “I could hardly believe Miss Northcote’s claim,” Abigail said, “it sounds so unlikely. Fenton forced into a marriage with a girl he didn’t even know last week.”
“Sir Jermyn, the local justice of the peace, and the vicar corroborate Milla’s story,” North said. He had ridden out right after the confrontation with his sister to talk to both these gentlemen. “When I pointed out that they had no business to allow my ward – a minor – to marry without my consent, Sir Jermyn had the effrontery to say that Milla had not had much protection from her brothers and guardians in the past.”
“He should not have allowed it to proceed, but he had a point,” Susan said gently.
“Yes, I know – that’s what made it so galling. But I was going to change all that, and take better care of her. I knew my sister was headstrong and hard to fathom, but her reasons for marrying a man she had to know was a villain completely escape me. At least she came back here instead of going with him. It is the only sign of sense I can discover in her conduct.”
“From what I understand, the marriage – such as it was – could easily be contested by either party, or the bride’s legal guardian,” Susan said. “But doing so would ruin Milla for good. Yet as long as she’s Lady Fenton, she will have to be protected against him, and a husband has all the rights.”
“Her marriage may not last all that long,” Jeremy said optimistically. “I would advise you not to worry about it. This problem may solve itself.”
Susan felt a cold frisson at this reminder that Jeremy was still determined to duel with Fenton. She said nothing, however; it was inevitable, now that he knew the true story of that night at the Collingtons’ house party. She had to trust in his keen eye and the justice of his cause, but it was not easy to hide her concern.
“Perhaps so,” North acknowledged. “That would be best from every single point of view. Except that anyone who rids the world of this villain would have to leave the country – duelling is illegal, after all.”
Abigail threw a worried glance at Jeremy.
“I was already going to challenge him ever since I heard of the mauling during that country dance,” he said. “That will be the official cause, and everyone will understand that it had to happen sooner or later. Milla’s name, or Miss Trevelyan’s, will not figure in the matter at all. I expect father’s political influence will shorten the time of exile, if it comes to that.”
“First you have to find him, and make him stand still for the challenge,” North said. “It is amazing that Fenton has been so elusive for all this time. His reputation and honour has suffered irreparable damage, and he does not seem to care.”
“He is obsessed with Susan,” Abigail said in a low voice. “From the things he said, he cannot cope with rejection. Nothing else seemed as important to him, at least three months ago. Being thwarted will have made him very angry.”
“We all saw that at Susan’s wedding,” Jeremy recalled. “That ridiculous scene did not do anything for his reputation either. Society is attributing his recent behaviour to a bout of sudden madness. That might be another way to have the marriage to Milla annulled, if you decide to go that way; a madman cannot contract a legal contract.”
They had to interrupt their talk as the tea tray was brought in. Susan began to pour for Abby and herself. “Do either of you want tea?”
“I would not mind a cup,” Jeremy said, setting down his empty wineglass.
“I can bring the decanter if you’d rather stick with port,” North offered.
“No, that’s all right, I like tea.” Jeremy received his cup from his sister.
“Promise you’ll be careful,” she said, watching the new parlour maid close the door behind her.
“Always.” Jeremy’s insouciant smile did not fool Susan. “If worst came to worst, Barnaby will do a good job. I left him in charge of our estates, and was surprised at his keen interest and grasp of business. He was somewhat at loose ends, I found.”
“It is not easy being a younger son, unless you have a career like the military or the navy,” North said.
“Depending on a man’s temperament, I should think it could be a pleasant enough position,” Abigail said thoughtfully. “Most younger sons have little idea of the problems and responsibilities coming with being the oldest.”
“Well, Barnaby is learning them even now,” Jeremy said. “But we have more immediate worries.”
Susan sighed. If only Lord Fenton had not conceived this unbridled obsession with her. Sh
e knew now that it had nothing to do with love. Love was warm and comforting. It grounded a person, made the future brilliant with hope, and the present full and enjoyable minute by minute.
When had it crept up on her? At some point between the wedding and now – so gradually and imperceptibly that she could not point to any particular moment. The only thing missing was the assurance that her love was returned. Even if she never heard the words, she was already happy enough. But having been so lucky, why not hope for yet more?
She cast a speculative glance at North, who was frowning into his port, worried about Milla. Susan was less concerned, now that she had a better measure of the girl’s character. She was a survivor who would undoubtedly come out on top, as long as Fenton never caught her all alone.
***
Jeremy sought out Abigail in the castle’s small vegetable garden. She was weeding a carrot patch with a stout pair of gloves, and a large apron protecting her clothes. Her head was uncovered and exposed to the sun, most unusually. “Surely there are gardeners to do this?”
“I find gardening a pleasant pastime,” Abigail replied, “it calms the mind more than reading or sewing. And the fresh air is also welcome; I love the tang of salt here, so close to the sea. Are you leaving?”
“After luncheon,” he confirmed. “Since there is still no trace of Fenton and his boat in the neighbourhood, I’m going to pursue my enquiries in Polperro. According to Sir Jermyn, the hired boat came from there. Its skipper talked to him quite willingly during Fenton’s captivity.”
“Be careful,” she said, echoing Susan’s words at tea the previous day. “In a fair fight I’m certain you can prevail, but I do believe Fenton is mad, and such people are unpredictable.”
“A young lady should not even think about such things.” Jeremy hesitated a few moments before going on. “I came to ask you if you had thought further on my proposal. For my part, I continue to think it a capital notion. You know I have to marry, and I cannot think of anyone I’d rather have – we seem to be getting on very comfortably.”
“I had hoped you had forgotten all about that.” Abigail tore out a weed with surprising vigour, considering her recent illness. “My answer must remain the same. I thank you for your chivalry, but one day you will fall in love with a lady. I would not want to stand in your way then.”
“You believe in love, after all that has happened?”
She flinched.
“I beg your pardon, Miss Trevelyan, I don’t want to raise bad memories. I’m not sure I do – believe in love, I mean. I have been upon the town for several years and danced and flirted with the prettiest women, without feeling overwhelming passion for any of them. I wonder if our family – Susan and I – are immune to the romantic kind of love.”
“You may be surprised. I think Susan has discovered love, though I am unsure if she has realised it yet.”
“Susan loves North?” Was it possible? They did seem to get on surprisingly well. “What about him?”
“I suspect he loves her too, but I don’t know him as well as Susan. Neither of them wears their feelings on their sleeves.”
“No,” Jeremy had to admit. “Barnaby suspects that Susan learned to hide her feelings when she was small, and we used to tease her all the time.”
“That might explain it.” Abigail deposited another weed on the small heap of doomed plants by the side of the carrot patch. “If you plan to challenge Fenton, as you implied, a marriage now might not be a good idea in any case. You may have to leave the country.”
“Temporary exile might be more bearable with a wife at my side. And in the very worst case, you’d be a respectable widow, no longer under your stepmother’s authority.”
“That thought is almost enough to persuade me. But no, it would not do. I shall remain a spinster, most likely.”
“How old are you, Miss Trevelyan?”
“Nineteen, just like Susan.”
“Nineteen is far too young for such a decision. I don’t pretend to be older and wiser than you at twenty-five, but I do know that at nineteen I was not in any position to know what such a course would entail, compared to the alternatives.”
As she did not reply, bending instead over her self-imposed task, he said after a pause, “I have no right or intention to insist. You are the final arbiter of your own fate. Perhaps we will meet back in town at some future date.”
“Perhaps. I shall remain in Cornwall for several months, even if it is no longer necessary to stay here permanently, as was my original plan.”
“Surely you will return to town when Susan and North do – the winter will be more comfortable there, than in this damp climate.”
“We shall see,” she said. “I thank you for repeating your most obliging offer, Lord Barton, and wish you all the best.”
Jeremy recognized a dismissal when he heard one. He bowed. “To you also, Miss Trevelyan, all the best for your future, whatever it may turn out to be.”
Chapter 27
For once, Susan had difficulty remaining cool and composed. The previous day North had received word that Lord Fenton was staying in Truro. He was still not using his title, but the scratches on his face made him easy to recognize. North had sent a messenger to Jeremy to meet him there, and left immediately.
Milla had listened to the news with a stony face, and to Susan’s relief, made no attempt to leave the castle and its immediate environs. They had achieved a kind of truce. Though Susan had felt momentary irritation at losing some of her gowns, she had quickly overcome it. Mere clothes were easily replaced, and poor Milla had had to do without anything pretty for all those years of her youth. She should have offered to lend her some dresses earlier.
When Susan said as much to Milla, the reaction was hostile. They were at tea, enjoying the cook’s skill with local pastries. Abigail had gone for a walk; she spent more time outdoors than Susan had known her to do at any previous time, and loved the sea air. Already she was far less pale than at her arrival. Susan made sure that a couple of stout grooms always followed her at a discreet distance.
“I want none of your generosity,” Milla said firmly. “When I am in a position to do so, I shall reimburse the value of your gowns to the last penny.”
“Very well.” It really was not worth arguing over. “Here, have some more tea.” Pouring tea correctly was one of the many social skills Milla had never mastered, Susan suspected. “We should consider your future, if the marriage stands. It is true that a married lady – or widow - has more freedom, but in case of a young and pretty woman like you, censorious tongues will always wag. I understand that you are used to that and do not mind shocking others on occasion. But would it not be preferable to shock them on purpose, and not for things you may do through ignorance of social custom?”
“Like using the right cutlery and pouring tea, you mean? My mother taught me all that. I simply don’t choose to practise it.”
“There are advantages to conforming to expectations most of the time. Society is like a game – you play your cards to the best of your ability, but an experienced player who has formed solid alliances will have the advantage. Abigail and I can show you how to go on, in your own interest, if you want to convince society you really are Lady Fenton.” After all, it was the role Fenton, and much of society, had expected Susan herself to fill only a few months ago.
Milla frowned. “I don’t suppose it could hurt,” she said at last. “But don’t expect me to be grateful.”
She really was the most exasperating brat. “Noted and understood. Since you are my sister-in-law, it is in my own interest to have you presentable and able to hold your own in society.”
“You may be family, but I like Miss Trevelyan better than you.”
“Fine. She’ll be happy to know it,” Susan replied drily. “Does it not affect you at all that your only brother and your husband are likely at each other’s throats at this very moment?”
“Of course I expect North to win,” Milla said with a shrug. “I
t would suit my purposes better.”
Susan wanted to ask if she really was this hard, but thought better of it at the last moment.
“Maybe we should hold off ordering more clothes, until we know which of us has to go into mourning,” Milla blithely continued. Susan had her answer, and could only shake her head.
“I don’t think so, Milla. Besides, the local seamstresses need our business. The expense of clothes made here in the Cornwall is only a small fraction of what I used to pay in London, anyway.”
“How much exactly?” Milla looked at her expectantly. “What would be the best place to go to for gowns, and which is the most fashionable milliner? How much does a lady need per quarter, to maintain a position in society? How much does it cost to rent a house with a good address, and how many servants would it take to run it?”
“Excellent questions.” Susan resigned herself and began to dispense her expert knowledge to her young sister-in-law. She only hoped that Milla would be able to use this information, which she soaked up with amazing speed.
“You would probably have to do something about the tan,” she said eventually, “there are lotions supposed to help, though not exposing your skin to the sun for several months is the best remedy.”
“I cannot go out in my boat with a large bonnet. It would only get in the way.”
“You’ll have to think what is more important to you, Milla. The winter is not a good time for sailing anyway. The next season will only begin after the New Year. Time enough to acquire a respectable pallor.” She could tell from Milla’s face that the notion was not palatable, but Milla did not contradict her. “A veil might help to some extent, but it cannot be worn all the time, for instance at dinner.”
There was also the issue of Milla’s hands, roughened by the sailing and fishing she had been doing. Most of the time they would be hidden by fine gloves, but these had to be taken off now and then. Susan would have liked to suggest beginning a treatment right away – at Milla’s age they could be reclaimed – but how to put it tactfully? In the end she only said, “Hands are also important. I suggest avoiding all hard physical work from now on – you can hire somebody to help you out on the boat – and wearing gloves more than you have been doing, to get used to them. I can lend you some of my own pairs right now.”