Winthrop Trilogy Box Set

by Burnett, May

  “Who is this fellow Chatteris, what does he have to do with you?” Rob asked, just as his mother had been about to do so.

  “He wrote me a letter of condolence, after all this time. Maybe he was one of Fenton’s friends, and had not heard earlier.”

  “That sounds unlikely,” Mrs. Molton said. “It has been nearly two years, after all, and the duel was in all the papers at the time.” As she had expected, the young widow did not even blink at the reference to her husband’s cruel death at the hand of a merciless duellist. She did not seem to care for his memory at all, as far as Mrs. Molton had been able to ascertain.

  “If by chance you find out who B. Chatteris is, do write to us in London,” Milla said to Rob. “Maybe the servants know more?”

  “Certainly, but I do not have the direction of Miss Trevelyan’s stepmother. Why don’t you write it down for us?”

  The two girls exchanged a swift look. What was going on here?

  “It is not important, after all,” Milla said lightly. “Never mind.”

  “But if there is some need to contact you in town, I still would like to know the direction.” Rob sounded as suspicious now as his mother felt.

  Miss Trevelyan jotted down an address in Chelsea, somewhat reluctantly, and soon the young ladies took their leave with mutual assurances of goodwill. Mother and son looked at each other as their footsteps receded in the distance.

  “Something havey-cavey is going on there,” Rob said. “They are not as good at dissembling as they think.”

  “No,” Mrs. Molton agreed. “But Miss Trevelyan has good sense, and her stepmother does live in London, though I would not bet on her being ill at this moment. We may hear all about it when they return eventually.”

  “This fellow Chatteris may have something to do with their precipitate departure,” Rob mused. “But they seem to have no idea who he is. Any connection to the former Viscount can hardly be considered a recommendation.”

  “No.” She did not know the full story of the last Lord Fenton’s violent end, but Mrs. Molton had formed a tolerably complete picture of the man’s character.

  “The girls may need help,” Rob said. “I have been thinking of going up to town anyway, once the house is free. If I go a little early, I can always stay with Paul.”

  Paul Travis was also a former naval man, who had settled in London and opened a successful wine business. It was not the kind of society to which Rob’s new rank entitled him, but her son was loyal to his old friends and cared little for class distinctions. “I am sure Paul will be delighted.”

  “You can ensure that all runs smoothly here in the meantime, Mother, or do you also want to come?”

  Mrs. Molton shook her head. “Travelling in jolting carriages is no pleasure at my age. Just promise you’ll write if you should get into trouble.”

  He smiled at her. “I have sailed around the world when I was still a boy, and you worry about a simple trip to London?”

  “A mother always worries. There are different dangers, but I have a feeling this is going to be complicated.”

  “I shall be careful,” he promised, as he had done so often before. And, after all, here he was still safe and sound twenty-six years since that painful birth. There was only so much a mother could do when her child was a grown man. She had to trust that his guardian angel would keep up the good work.

  And look at the bright side – maybe Rob would meet some other lady in London who would recognize his value, snap him up, and finally give Mrs. Molton the grandchildren she longed for.

  Chapter 3

  Jeremy Winthrop had hoped to spend a quiet morning at his club, reading the papers and talking only to his few intimates, but it was not to be. He had barely settled down in a deserted corner of the reading room and opened the Morning Post when Lord Sibury, father of the young lady Jeremy had been desultorily courting, lowered himself into the empty chair next to his. “Hello, Barton.”

  “Sibury,” he replied cautiously. “Nice sunshine this morning, don’t you think?” He did not know the rotund baron very well, but the weather was always a safe subject.

  “It is certainly nice and quiet here in the Club, away from female chatter … but you would not know about that, as a bachelor, eh? Over breakfast my wife and daughter were telling me how you danced with Muriel twice last night at Almack’s. Could not say enough about how elegantly you waltz, and so on.”

  “It was my pleasure. Miss Rowan dances very well herself, and looked delightful in primrose last night.”

  “She’s been practicing long enough, with those snooty dancing masters. The thing is, Barton, if you should want to see me on a particular matter, just say the word and I’ll be at home.” Sibury actually winked at him before heaving his considerable bulk out of the chair and toddling off in the direction of the dining room.

  Jeremy looked after him with a frown. Had he been so particular in his attentions that the girl’s father was impatiently awaiting his declaration? Most likely the elderly baron was acting on his wife’s orders. Lady Sibury brooked no resistance, and Jeremy wondered, not for the first time, if he truly wanted to join his family to hers. The baron’s effusive hint roused his suspicions. Could it be that the duns were after Sibury’s family, and an advantageous marriage for pretty Muriel more urgent than the world thought? No, surely not.

  If his own father had not extracted that promise to marry within the year, Jeremy would not even seriously consider Muriel Rowan. She was pretty and not nearly as stupid as her mother tried to make her look, with strict orders never to contradict a gentleman, and feign a burning interest in whatever he cared to say. Yet what basis for marriage was it that the girl had been enjoined to practice deceit from the first day of her Season?

  He could still escape. He had not officially asked for permission to pay his addresses to Muriel – though one could interpret her mother’s clear encouragement and her father’s recent hint as permission enough. He could be engaged by tomorrow, if he wished.

  It probably would come to that, as there was no more appealing candidate at hand. He only wished he could feel more enthusiastic about the prospect.

  “Why are you so morose?” His younger brother Barnaby settled in the chair Sibury had so recently vacated, rather more gracefully. “You have everything a man could desire, Jer, and no right to look so downcast.”

  “Easy for you to say.” Jeremy shrugged away his momentary malaise with the ease of long practice. “By this time next year, I’ll be a married man and for all I know, a father.”

  Barnaby grinned. “That is the least you can do as the heir who gets to keep the bulk of the family fortune. Everything has its price, and most men survive this terrible fate just fine. Our sister seems happy enough with her married state, though at first all signs stood against it. Bear up.”

  “Forget what I just said.” Jeremy knew his younger brother would not gossip about him, but he already regretted showing doubt or weakness. “Have you made any progress with the affair we discussed yesterday?”

  “All resolved. There will be no lawsuit,” Barnaby reported with satisfaction. Over the past two years he had gradually taken over much of the work that Jeremy had previously carried on his own shoulders – the administration of four large estates, and oversight of the Winthrop family’s considerable business interests. That Barnaby had been able to avert the threatened lawsuit was only the latest proof of his business acumen.

  “I might take the plunge myself once you are married,” Barnaby said thoughtfully. “If I meet the right girl.”

  As a younger son Barnaby could take his time. Nobody pressured him to tie the knot, though he was well able to support a family. Lucky fellow. “How will you know she is the right one?”

  “If the thought of facing her across the breakfast table for the rest of my life is attractive rather than fearsome, I’ll know that I need look no further. Admittedly, few girls can pass that test. It also helps to look at their mothers. Most daughters will resemble them in
later life.”

  A picture of Lady Sibury’s acid smile flashed across Jeremy’s mind. No, he would not want to live with the woman, but her daughter would not be like that … would she? To his dismay, he did not know Muriel well enough to completely exclude the possibility.

  “So, are you going to offer for Sibury’s chit or not?” Barnaby asked, easily following the trend of his thoughts. “Odds are about even in the clubs.”

  It figured that there would be bets placed upon his private affairs. Familiar with society’s ways, Jeremy could not even work up righteous indignation. “Have you placed a bet?”

  “Of course. Fifty pounds against. It is not like you to hesitate when your interest is truly fixed. If you were in love with the girl, you would already have moved to formalise matters.”

  “In love? That is irrelevant. I promised Father that I would get married this year, and the season is half over.”

  “You never should have allowed him to coerce you into such a promise, Jer. He took advantage of his temporary illness, and your anxiety and sense of duty.”

  Jeremy shrugged. He was not going to argue like a barrister against a promise to his only surviving parent.

  Barnaby shook his head in frustration. “To offer for a girl because you promised Father to marry this year is cheating her out of a possible better match, if you are not able to offer her your heart. Your future wife deserves more consideration than Father. You are about to make a terrible mistake.”

  “I want to agree with you, but a promise is a promise. And I have never pretended to be in love with Miss Rowan, or anyone else. If she accepts me on those terms then she knows the score.” He paused, disconcerted; that did not come out quite right, and sounded downright callous.

  Barnaby was quick to point out the hole in his logic. “The poor girl is only eighteen. All she knows are her parents’ expectations. After a year or two as your wife she’ll fall desperately in love with some other fellow, and you will all three be wretched. Don’t do it, Jer.”

  Jeremy was stung by the suggestion that any wife of his might long for another man. “Maybe she’ll fall in love with me.”

  “When she realises you don’t love her back, she’ll be just as unhappy. If you have to marry in such cold-blooded fashion, find some woman who is not naïve and romantic, who has given up on love.”

  It was unlike Barnaby to lecture his elder brother like this. “Do you have a personal interest in Muriel, by any chance? If so, you only had to say a word.”

  “No, I don’t.” Barnaby looked unwontedly stern. “That you are so willing to cede her is yet more proof that she is not the right wife for you. Have you never found a female that you truly wanted to marry?”

  “Well, there was one young lady I offered for – twice – but she wanted nothing to do with me, for reasons that I had to respect. The first time it was more out of duty, and I was almost relieved when she said no; but the second time I felt a bit hurt at her rejection.” He had never planned to talk about this to any living soul, but Barnaby would keep his confidence.

  Barnaby stared, as well he might. “I had no idea that you already got your courage up to propose – it must have been kept very quiet, I haven’t heard any rumours.”

  “It happened far away from town.”

  “Well, has this woman married anyone else in the meantime? Did she actually prefer another to the prospect of becoming a Countess? Just from knowing she was able to say no to you, I think I would like her.”

  Barnaby knew the girl as their sister’s best friend, but Jeremy had no intention of blabbing any more than he had already done. “No, she is still unmarried, to my knowledge.” Abigail would find it problematic to marry anyone else, given that she had been raped by a villain whom Jeremy had since killed in the only duel he had ever fought. The wedding night would involve awkward explanations. But if she had spurned the protection of his name, at least he had dispatched Abigail’s tormentor where she no longer ran the slightest risk of meeting him again. Not even in the afterlife, given their respective natures.

  “I don’t suppose she would look at you more favourably now?”

  “A gentleman does not persist where he is not welcome,” Jeremy said frostily.

  “But if she was agreeable, and you saw her side by side with Muriel, which would you rather marry?”

  “The question is nonsensical, and I refuse to answer,” Jeremy snapped. The strange thing was that Muriel was prettier, better dressed and better born, but even so he would have picked Abigail over her in a heartbeat. Odd, when he had never been in love with either girl.

  “Promise me something,” Barnaby said earnestly, undaunted by his brother’s ill humour. “Wait for the end of the Season before you make up your mind. Something may happen to snap you out of this determination to ruin your life, Jer. I certainly hope so.”

  “I can’t imagine what,” Jeremy grumbled. “After making that promise to Father I should be wary of additional and conflicting promises.”

  Barnaby just looked at him and waited for a few long seconds.

  “Oh, all right, I promise,” Jeremy gave in, secretly glad of the reprieve. “Although I cannot imagine what difference a few weeks will make.”

  After Barnaby finally left him alone, he did not immediately return to the paper. Maybe he had been going about this courting business all wrong. Here he had spent weeks dancing and flirting at balls, attending soirées and musicales, picnics and routs, and wasted a lot of time without gaining a clear idea of Miss Rowan’s true character and opinions. Her Mama had made sure that she only presented an attractive surface, and the real woman was hidden under polite commonplaces. Was there even a real woman, who would kiss him lustily once he got her in a bed alone, away from her parents? She was so young, unripe somehow, for all her prettiness. The prospect of sleeping with Muriel was not as enticing as it should have been, if he was going to make her his lady and promise eternal fidelity. True, among gentlemen this vow was not kept all that strictly; but if he contemplated infidelity even at the outset, what the devil was he about, marrying the chit at all? Maybe Barnaby was right, and he should think better of the whole thing while he still could.

  Where would he find another woman, though, to marry this year as he had promised his father? The Season was half gone. It was not that he had not looked, and he had fixed on Muriel as the best of the lot. His bride had to be born and educated as a lady, young and fertile, able to hold her own in conversation, and intelligent; he did not want stupid children or grandchildren. No madness or other hereditary illnesses in the family, that went without saying. So far several dozen ladies in London qualified, perhaps even a few hundred. But to find someone who would not bore him over the years, and preferably not cuckold him, that was more difficult. Or was he being a coxcomb? Maybe he would bore his wife.

  With an inward sigh, he shoved the whole messy subject away and opened the newspaper again.

  Chapter 4

  “Rob and his mother would be shocked if they knew we are staying in a hotel,” Milla said after Abigail had paid the deposit and took possession of the keys to their suite. “But how else is this B. Chatteris to find us? You have put my name in the guest book?”

  “Yes, but with misgivings,” Abigail replied, uneasy at this unconventional step. “It is not so very bad,” she reassured herself as much as Milla. “You are a widow, and I am your companion. We have two respectable maids with us.” Even so, she had only written ‘and companion’ and omitted her own name from the guest book, though the hotel concierge knew it, of course.

  “Do you suppose your step-mama will hear of this?”

  “Very likely,” Abigail said gloomily. Too bad the woman was not truly bedbound, as they had pretended as a pretext for the sudden journey. “It may lead her to wash her hands of me for good.” But that was overly optimistic. The best she could hope for was that Mrs. Trevelyan would not hear of their stay until they had returned to Dorset.

  Outside their suite Milla had wo
rn a thin black veil, but her narrowness of waist and youthful grace of figure made for an alluring contrast, to judge by the way people in the hotel lobby had stared at them with patent curiosity. Abigail had wished she could hide her own face, but one of them must deal with clerks and servants. As long as she did not meet any old acquaintances she could cope.

  “London at last.” As the maids went bustling off to inspect the rooms, Milla unpinned the hat and veil, shook her dark curls, and peered out of the window at the street and roofs visible from this third-floor vantage point.

  Their suite was comfortable enough, though Abigail could not forget that there had been strangers sitting in the upholstered chairs before them, strangers sleeping in the beds – at least the sheets were freshly laundered. She must not refine so much on such details. Had she not slept in inns on her travels, modest inns that were a far cry from the luxury of their current premises? Still, a faint lingering odour of pipe smoke reminded her that this was not her own familiar room in Dorset, but a dangerous, strange environment.

  Milla had also noted the lingering smell. “Open the windows wide, we have to air out this place,” she ordered the maids. After obeying this command, the servants continued to unpack and hang their mistresses’ clothes into the wardrobe.

  “I fear it will do little good, tobacco smell lingers forever in curtains and cushions,” Abigail said. “I am going to send a letter to Lord Barton, as we discussed earlier.”

  “I suppose it is necessary.” Milla had never been on particularly good terms with Jeremy, whose younger sister Susan was married to Milla’s only surviving brother North. That might be why he only saw her as a tiresome brat, title or not. He had rid her of her husband in that duel, which was another constraint between them – Milla was probably grateful for what he had done, but could not ever say so out loud.

  “He will call upon us without delay, I imagine, but it would be better if nobody knows about it. I shall enjoin strict silence upon him, so that no gossip arises. A gentleman calling upon a lady at a hotel is frowned upon, you know.”