by Joan Smith
The nightingale sang again, and during its song they were silent. Griffin looked at Alice and smiled a gentle, sad smile.
“You seem happier, yet sadder somehow, Griffin,” she said.
“I think it is called growing up, Sal. I blame this ill-mannered whelp you have been seeing on the death throes of a youthful dream. I was going to come home, marry Myra, and become a famous botanist. But botanists are not famous. What people want are circuses: black magic and tales of native barbarism. They don't really care about science, and there is no reason why the world should share my particular interest. I was as childish as Myra. Of what use is fame? It is the work that matters. And, of course, love. I have my work. One day, I shall find the other necessity."
“That sounds very sensible."
“And very unlike Griffin,” he added with a smile. “You have been extraordinarily patient with me. I want to thank you—for that, and for showing me the folly of my ways. What a wise little thing you are. We had best go back to the music room. How is the headache?"
“It is still nagging a little. I shall go to bed. Will you make my apologies to your mama?"
“Of course."
They walked together down the hall to the staircase. After they said good night, Griffin watched a moment as Alice ascended the stairs, then he returned to the music room.
In her room, Alice's first sense of relief was rapidly dwindling, leaving a void behind. She was glad she had saved Griffin from Myra, and from Lady Sara. She honestly felt that neither lady was right for him, but the final victory still evaded her. He did not love her. All she had done was set him free to fall in love with someone else.
Chapter Seventeen
The next two days were enjoyable, but Alice could not honestly say she made a single inch of headway with Griffin. He took each of the young ladies out for a drive in his dashing new curricle and team of grays, and let Alice and Lady Sara try the reins. Sukey declined. In various groups, the guests toured the house and gardens, visited neighbors, and went to a fair. It was during a call at Warwick's that the idea of going to the fair in Ashford came up, and Griffin invited Nancy to go with them. Alice took it as a compliment to herself as Nancy was her friend, but other than that, Griffin did not distinguish her from the other guests. He was pleasant and considerate, but he kept some vital part of himself locked away.
The morning rides now included Sukey and Alice, as well as Griffin and Lady Sara. Lady Sara distinguished herself by riding faster and jumping her mount higher than the other ladies, but she failed to impress her target. The harder she tried, the farther Griffin seemed to slip away from her.
When she received a note from her Uncle Avery inviting her to take part in the local hunt, she cut her visit short by one day and left. Avery had informed her that Lord Sethmore, an eligible parti, was staying with him.
The last day of the visit, without Lady Sara, was the most enjoyable of all. Everyone, including Lady Griffin and Mrs. Sutton, drove to Tunbridge Wells. The elder ladies took the waters in the pump room, while the others roamed the town, poking through the shops, strutting on the pantiles, and generally behaving like tourists. They ate at an inn and returned in time for dinner.
“We ought to have invited your friend, Miss Warwick,” Griffin said to Alice when they returned.
Alice sensed a growing warmth between these two, and as Nancy would be staying behind after she left, Alice was a little bothered by it.
“She will be coming this evening,” she reminded him.
For that last evening, a party of youngsters had been invited in for dinner. Mrs. Sutton played the piano afterward, and they had a few country-dances. Alice kept a sharp eye on Nancy Warwick and Griffin, but could discern no dangerous intimacy between them.
It had been settled that the Suttons would return to London in the morning, taking Alice with them. At the last minute, Alice received a letter from her mama, asking her to bring a few items from Newbold Hall that had been forgotten in their hasty departure.
“I am sorry to delay you, Mrs. Sutton. I shall ride over to Newbold. It won't take me a minute,” Alice said.
“Send a footman,” Lady Griffin suggested.
“The servants would not know what Mama wants. She especially asks for a list she has been working on for weeks. It contains last minute details regarding the wedding. I know the one she means, but there are half a dozen places it might be, and it would be a tragedy if the wrong list were sent. She has dozens of lists all over the house."
“You will have to change into your habit. I dare-say it has already been packed,” Mrs. Sutton pointed out.
“Oh, dear! I am sorry to detain you."
“I'll take you in my new curricle,” Griffin said.
“The very thing. Thank you, Griffin."
She got her bonnet and pelisse, and they left while the others were still at breakfast. Leaden skies threatened an unpleasant trip to London, but the rain did not come yet. Nothing of much interest was said during this last interval when Alice was alone with Griffin. They congratulated themselves on how well the weather had held up for the visit. Alice thanked him for the party; they discussed when the Newbolds might return to Newbold Hall, and Griffin mentioned some articles he was writing for the scientific journals. The name Miss Warwick did not arise.
He waited in the saloon while Alice and the servants dashed about, collecting the items on Mrs. Newbold's list. The wedding list in particular proved troublesome, but was finally discovered stuck in a recent copy of La Belle Assemblé, marking the page that showed the wedding gown Myra had chosen. Alice grabbed it and returned to the saloon.
“All set!” she said, waving the list.
She took her leave of the servants, and they returned to the curricle. As they drove toward Mersham, Griffin said, “There is something I want to ask your opinion about, Sal."
Her heart did not speed. “Ask your opinion” had not the possibilities of “something I want to ask you."
“What is it?"
“Mama and I have received invitations to Myra's wedding. As it is in London, Mama does not plan to attend. They won't expect her to. She seldom goes to London. Do you think I ought to accept? If the invitation was sent as a peace offering, I would feel loutish to refuse. London is not far enough away to serve as an excuse for an able-bodied young man. If it is a mere courtesy, then I daresay they are hoping I don't show up. Did Myra discuss it with you?"
“No. After all the fracas, I just assumed you would not be invited. But, of course, we have been good neighbors forever, and I am glad they asked you, even if you choose not to attend.” She waited to hear his verdict. “Will you go?” she asked a moment later.
“I could use the excuse of a pressing engagement elsewhere. Perhaps that would excuse me, without trodding on anyone's sensitivities."
'Yes,” she said, her voice small with disappointment.
“You think I should go,” he said.
“I truly don't know what Mama had in mind when she invited you."
His head turned, and he smiled. “I have it! Ask Myra what she had in mind when you see her, and drop me a line as soon as you learn. You don't mind?"
“No, not at all."
“I knew you would not object to the bother—you have done me greater favors in the past. What I
meant was whether you objected to writing to a bachelor."
“Don't be silly, Griffin. I agreed to write to you from London before, if Dunsmore appeared to be getting the inside track."
“I noticed you did not write, though."
“He did not have the inner track at that time. I don't think of you as a bachelor."
“There is a facer for me,” he laughed. “I am beneath consideration as a parti, eh?"
“You know perfectly well it is not that. It is just that we have been friends from the egg. I shall be writing your mama a bread-and-butter letter, and shall enclose a note for you. What could be more proper than that? The postman—and the villagers— will never know
how I am pursuing you."
He smiled pensively. “You never did pursue, Sal. Perhaps that is why you are so comfortable to be with."
Alice felt like a traitor, holding her guilty secret to her breast. She sensed that he was referring not only to Lady Sara, but to the hordes of females who chased him in London, and was glad that he did not include her among them.
The Suttons were ready to leave when they reached Mersham. There was a spate of giving thanks and leave-taking. Griffin accompanied them to the carriage. They drew away just as the first fat drops fell with a plop on the roof. Alice watched with a sad twisting of her heart as Griffin scuttled into the house. Was this what he meant by saudades? He waved from the doorway. Alice waved back.
“What a lovely visit,” Sukey said.
The trip passed quickly despite the rain. Mrs. Sutton was as good a gossip as the girls, and they all three crowed over Lady Sara's defeat.
“If I had to listen to those three German tunes one more time, I would have plugged my ears,” Mrs. Sutton declared. “Griffin is fortunate to have avoided that fate. Imagine having to listen to her barrage of culture for the rest of your life. I hear she is off after Sethmore."
The carriage pulled up at Berkeley Square in mid-afternoon. As soon as the greetings were over and the items just retrieved from Newbold were turned over, Alice inquired about Griffin's wedding invitation.
“Do you really want him to come, Mama, or was it a courtesy invitation?” she asked.
“I could hardly not send his mama a card when we have been neighbors for twenty-five years. How could I invite her and not Griffin? He will have the sense to refuse. Myra does not want him here, to destroy her special day."
Alice looked for Myra's opinion, as it was really her feelings Griffin was interested in.
Myra looked hatefully smug. She glanced at Dunsmore, who sat with the ladies. “What do you think, Dunny?"
“What is the point discussing it? He has the invitation. He will come if he wants to, stirring up trouble. No way of preventing it.” He began rubbing his arm, which troubled him at the very name of Griffin.
“He won't stir up trouble,” Alice said. “He is quite resigned to the match.” Myra just looked at her, as if she were a bedlamite.
“If he behaves himself, there is no harm in his coming, I suppose,” Dunsmore conceded gracelessly.
Short of announcing that she was going to write to Griffin, Alice could not push the issue any further. It was pretty clear that her mama and Dunsmore wanted Griffin to stay away. Myra, she thought, would enjoy another display of Griffin's undying devotion.
Alice went upstairs and wrote her letters, a thank-you note to Lady Griffin, with an enclosure to Griffin. “You are off the hook,” she wrote bluntly. “Mama does not expect you to come; Dunsmore's arm hurt him at the very idea, and Myra only wants to flaunt your broken heart.” This sounded so curt when she read it over that she added a postscript. “But if you want to come, please do. I would like to see you."
Then she hastily sealed up the letters, and took them belowstairs to place on the mail salver for posting. The modiste was coming to put the finishing touches on the wedding gowns that afternoon, so there was no outing.
That evening they were invited to dinner with Dunsmore's relatives, a dull scald but considered a great step up socially. The party consisted largely of Cabinet ministers, the conversation of the Corn Laws. It seemed the height of irony that Lady Sara was there, and played her three tunes for the guests after dinner. Alice could only assume she had managed to lose Sethmore with even greater haste than she had lost Griffin. It would be a kindness if someone would tell her not to try so hard. Any animal will run when it is chased.
The wedding drew nearer, with frenzy growing at each passing day. The Season was officially over, but those debs who had made a match and wanted to have their wedding at St. George's in Hanover Square lingered on, throwing little intimate parties of thirty or forty people. Myra and Dunsmore were invited to most of them, and of course the invitations included Alice and her mama. The theaters were still open as well, so that there was no shortage of entertainment.
Griffin's polite refusal to the wedding arrived, bearing the excuse of a heavy load of work after his trip.
“Poor Griffin,” Myra said, sighing over the note. “He decided he could not bear the sight of me marrying Dunny after all. It is very sad, really. I shouldn't be surprised to see him lurking in the back row at the church. You know how people cannot help prodding an old pain."
“Yes, I know what you mean,” Alice replied, with an unusual degree of feeling.
The ache in her heart did not go away, nor even diminish. She kept thinking of Griffin, wondering what he was doing, and with whom. He had been quite attentive to Nancy Warwick. Perhaps, in his loneliness, he was seeking comfort there. She was sorry she had told him not to come for the wedding. It would have been a chance to see him again. She had a feeling she would not see much of him after she returned home. That little constraint due to his ruptured engagement would keep him away, and his work would keep him busy.
Chapter Eighteen
“You are off the hook. Mama does not expect you to come.” Griffin read it with a sense of relief. To see Myra again would be like returning to the scene of an unpleasant experience—a death, perhaps, or the drawing of a bad tooth. That period of his life was over, and he was happy in his work. Colleagues came to Mersham to lighten the loneliness of long evenings. These colleagues were invariably males, however, and Griffin soon realized something vital was missing in his existence. An emptiness would settle on him at odd hours, a sense, almost, of futility.
That familiar sensation was particularly strong on the eve of Myra's wedding, as he worked in his conservatory. Marriage had been on his mind a good deal that day. Time lent a charm to his old error. He missed his romantic memories of Myra, but he did not miss her, or want her. He wanted a woman, of course, but not just a woman. It was the fulfillment of marriage and children that he craved. His wife would have to be a special sort of lady, someone who would not object to his occasional trips, or preferably agree to accompany him. If she could take an interest in his work, that would be ideal, but at least she must be able to amuse herself in some sensible manner while he worked. Such ladies, he feared, were few and far between. Myra would have been a disaster. Lady Sara was a better match, but pretty as she was, he had not warmed to her. She had been on the town too long, was too fast, too experienced, too predatory. A younger lady would suit him better.
The nightingale suddenly burst into song, as it often did. It never failed to enchant him. Its futile warbling for a mate reminded him of himself. He had left the conservatory door open several times, but the bird never left, and no mate came to him. He listened, remembering the evening it had first sung for him. Alice had been here.
He often thought of Alice. Her having grown up was a vivid reminder that he was getting on himself. She had been in pigtails when he left, and was a young lady when he returned. A very pretty young lady. He was aware of the growing attachment to her. But Myra's sister. God, what a fool he would look, running from one Newbold girl to the other. People would think he was trying to hold on to some part of Myra. Not that the girls were anything alike. They could hardly be more different. Now that the scales had fallen from his eyes, he judged Myra more rationally. A spoiled, inane beauty, who thought of nothing but herself.
Sal had hit it on the head. Myra only wanted him to come to her wedding to flaunt his broken heart. He was through with being led by what Myra wanted. He would stay away to spite her. He felt a sense of frustration, and eventually figured out that what was bothering him was that he wanted to attend that wedding—not to see Myra, but to see Alice. And he was staying away because of Myra, still being led by her.
He remembered Alice laughing with him and at him, scolding him and advising, coming to his conservatory and asking him questions about Brazil. She knew a lot about Brazil, more than most people. She must have
been reading up on it. Odd that she should. Unless...
But that was ridiculous. Alice didn't love him. She was only a— But she wasn't a child any longer. She was a lady now. The nightingale called again, and he was ambushed by a sudden memory of Alice’ radiant face when she had first heard it. It was the same expression she had worn when they first met in Calmet's saloon in London, after his trip. A look of enchantment, almost of love. How had he been so blind?
He wanted to rush to his curricle that instant and head for London. Of course he would go to the wedding—but he had sent in his refusal. No matter, he could crouch in the back row. Alice would see him. He hadn't a doubt in the world that she would feel his presence. He would find a moment alone with her somehow, and test her feelings. Was he imagining that she cared for him? He felt no doubt at all of his feelings for her. This love had been growing insensibly ever since his return, perhaps ever since his departure for Brazil. He remembered she had stood at the roadside, waving and smiling heroically through her tears. He had looked in vain for Myra; she had been too distraught to leave her room.
He strode into the house, to find his mama sitting with Monty, making him play cards with her. How she abused the poor soul. After threatening to not let him step a toe into Mersham, she ended up sending for him two nights out of three.
“I have decided to take a run up to London, Mama,” he said.
“When, tomorrow?"
“No, tonight."
“Why, James? This is very sudden, is it not?"
“Yes, I just decided."
“But you won't arrive until the middle of the night. Why do you not wait until morning?"
“I want to be there in the morning. Myra is being married at eleven."
“You sent in a refusal! You cannot go scrambling in without an invitation. I thought you had got over that miserable girl. Don't go making a cake of yourself. If you are going to stand up and shout when the minister asks if there is any reason why this couple should not be married, I shall go with you,” she said, pulling herself up from her chair. “I always wanted to see that."