Ravenstone (Book 1, The Ravenstone Chronicles)

by Louise Franklin

  “Their ideas are based on the same principles and morals as those of both the French Revolution and the American, I believe,” Sir Arnold said. “Writers like Rousseau can be held responsible.”

  At this last comment, Mrs. Ashton’s head raised, and she glanced at Georgiana with a gleam of satisfaction in her eye.

  “I believe, Lady Fairchild, that you only recently read a book by Rousseau,” she said, pleased with herself.

  Heads turned in Georgiana’s direction and even the sound of silverware on fine china stilled.

  “It is true,” Lord Kingston replied for her, his tone disapproving. “The Social Contract, was it not?”

  “Yes,” she said, smiling. “It was a most provocative book.”

  “But were you able to understand any of it?” asked Sir Arnold.

  “Oh yes, it was clearly written.”

  “Then be so good to tell those here not familiar with the work the sentiment of his ideas,” he said.

  There was in his tone a sense of mocking, and Georgiana looked around the table at the expectant faces, awaiting her answer. Sir Arnold seemed not to believe her, and she wondered with which part he found trouble. Was it that she had read a book like that, or that she had really understood any of it?

  This was her opportunity to behave according to the social dictates that stated modesty was to be preserved at all costs, and that reason was to be left for the minds of men, which were far more capable of it. Women were allowed to ponder the trifles of domestic pursuits, not the philosophies of men.

  What was required of her now was some cheerful and entertaining statement. She knew that to answer any other way would be considered arrogant and brash, both qualities to be seriously avoided in a woman. She should desist, she knew, or follow a dark path that would lead to censure.

  She had no wish to insult her host, but neither could she be anyone other than who she was, with an understanding of the world that was contrary to everything she had been taught. It infuriated her that, as a woman, she was treated as a brainless chit incapable of original thought, or even thought itself. Still she chose her answer carefully, striving for the least harmful perspective.

  “Rousseau claims that all men are born free,” she said. “He writes of conditions that suppress the freedom and will of the people, and by contrast of laws that must ensure liberty and equality for all.”

  “Then he supports the freedom of slaves,” Sir Arnold said, then boasted, “It is a sentiment many share, myself amongst them, and did we not abolish slavery in Britain? You need not have applied yourself with so much effort to understanding Rousseau on this account. You would have better spent the time learning a pretty new tune on the pianoforte so as to amuse us later with your more genteel talents.”

  He was putting her in her place and Georgiana felt herself flush. She glanced at Nicholas and found him wearing an expression of amusement. His watchful glance spoke of daring, for he knew she could not resist.

  “He writes not only of the freedom of slaves,” she said evenly. “But for all those that are not free or equal, for inequality is a form of slavery. I speak of the poor who have no equality and are thus enslaved by the rich and their laws, which favor them, and I speak of women who are destined by men to a life of subservience by the same laws.”

  “Come now, Lady Fairchild, you cannot mean that you are for giving legislative power to the ignorant masses?” Lord Kingston said.

  “I am for individuals rights. Government should be run with the consent of all people, not a privileged few.”

  “Spoken like a true Whig,” Lord Kingston said. “But surely you do not argue against the King’s divine right to rule. He is chosen by God himself to rule over his people.”

  “Is he?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Did God tell you?”

  There was a collective gasp around the table at her statement and her insolence in making it. A low murmur began, and she ignored it.

  “That is blasphemy itself, Lady Fairchild, and I will not have it. You are an abomination,” Lord Kingston said.

  “Come now,” Sir Arnold said, and the whispers died down again. “Lady Fairchild, you are grossly mistaken. A woman cannot understand these matters, for they are complicated. Best leave the discussion of politics to men. Even we barely understand them.” He looked around the table for encouragement and was rewarded with a few low laughs.

  “Was it not Milton who said women are for softness and attractive graces?” asked another gentleman, trying to ingratiate himself and change the mood.

  “I believe it was,” smiled Lady Kingston gratefully.

  “Women are innocent and fragile and we men try only to protect their sweet nature from the hardships of the world,” Nicholas said. “You would not condemn us for this behavior?”

  “Indeed, I would,” Georgiana replied sharply. “Men require women to be innocent like children, so men may govern us and we may respond with obedience. You require in us a mild temper so you may keep your dominance over us. You deny a woman’s ability to think or reason, and it is a wonder that we are allowed a soul at all. Women obey an illegitimate power and they degrade themselves in doing so, for many men lead lives of debauchery and their women must bear the consequences with genteel silence.”

  “A strong sentiment, Lady Fairchild,” Nicholas said, emphasizing her title and piercing her with a look of contempt. “Rest assured no one would ever accuse you of a mild temper or able to suffer in genteel silence. As a gentleman, I give my word that if we govern it is only in hope to take care of the woman in our lives and to show them the love and respect they so rightly deserve. It is not, as you say, a sinister motive that drives us, only a wish of giving happiness.”

  “And yet you do not see the misery it brings.”

  The stillness that followed was one that she had long grown accustomed. To her, it meant she had succeeded in her remark to unsettle their comfortable notions of order. Striving for composure, she picked up her spoon and continued to eat her dessert as if she had not just gravely insulted everyone at the table.

  The conversation never recovered fully, and after the dessert dishes were removed, the ladies retired from the room, leaving the men to their port. Dixon placed her on the settee near the fire in the drawing room, and she thanked him as he left. Lydia came to sit with her but was soon called away by her mother, leaving her with two old women whose names she could not remember.

  It was just as well since neither would speak to her, but only give her long reproachful stares before looking away. Lady Kingston busied herself in the room speaking to various ladies and encouraging her daughters to play the pianoforte, which they did tolerably well. She imagined her hostess was terribly sorry she had invited her. Or perhaps the evening would be long discussed and it would be declared a success on those grounds.

  She studied the paintings and furnishings in the room and then had nothing else to occupy herself with except the study of the people in the room. Mrs. Naslyton was again sitting by herself, twisting a handkerchief and looking not sad but anxious. She stared at Georgiana, a frown on her face. Mrs. Ashton was reading her book by the window. The young ladies had gathered around Caroline, who had required them to sing while she played. It was a merry tune and did much to improve the mood of the room in which groups of women stood whispering softly in their circles while glancing her way.

  The men soon rejoined them and she watched Nicholas from across the room. He was always surrounded by others and laughter usually followed him. She smiled at the memories of him she had from childhood. He had always been good at making others feel at ease, a skill she greatly lacked.

  Steady to his purpose, he ignored her although she had almost caught his eye. He had looked at her, she was sure of it; she had felt his eyes on her. But why did she care? she wondered. It was good that he had chosen to ignore her. It was easier this way.

  When she could not stand her circumstances one moment more, she bid her host and hostess goodnight, and Dixon depos
ited her back in the coach for the return trip to Ravenstone. She was quite confident she would not receive more invitations any time soon. She glanced out the window into the darkness, annoyed to find tears running down her cheeks. That he had not forgiven her was no surprise, but to have him despise her was unbearable. She wiped the tears from her face, angry with herself.

  14

  Eating his breakfast while he read his newspaper, Charles ignored his mother. She was once again ranting about Georgiana’s behavior. He found it astounding that, despite the distance, his mother still took Georgiana’s every action as a personal embarrassment.

  “I tried my best with her, Charles,” she said.

  “I’m sure you did, Mama,” he lied. She had completely ignored their presence as children, and was relieved to have them live in the countryside with the Markhams, where they spent a good four years of their childhood. He had been eight and Georgiana ten when the miracle had occurred that had changed their lives. At Evansgate, they had grown up under the guidance of Nicholas’s father.

  “Does she not understand the damage she does, not only to her name but to ours? Lady Kingston’s letter was well meant, I am sure. To so malign your hosts, it is unspeakable. She should not have forced her company on them.”

  Charles rather doubted the good intentions of a letter that would voice a condemnation, no matter how appropriately phrased. “I have not seen Georgiana seek out society, Mama. I am sure the invitation came from them.”

  “They would never have invited her,” she said, appalled. “Her condition is not to be borne in polite society.”

  He lowered his newspaper with dissatisfaction. “I cannot fault you for expecting her to behave as a lady of rank, but to make her an outcast based on the condition of her limbs is going too far. There is no reason for her not to be in society.”

  “She makes herself an outcast, and there are certain facts that cannot be overlooked,” she said, her voice rising with anger.

  He put down his newspaper and studied his mother from across the table. Her anger was more intense than he expected. Georgiana’s social life might have merited some mild annoyance, perhaps, but not the depth of anger his mother displayed. More than once, he had noticed that when it came to Georgiana, his mother’s reaction was not at the same level as the grievance.

  “Why do you hold such condemnation for her?” he asked curiously. “What has she done to you that you hate her so?”

  The question surprised his mother as much as it did him.

  “How can you say that? I do not hate her.”

  “Come, Mother,” he said. “Since my return, I have been witness to an undercurrent of animosity toward Georgiana. You deny you prefer my company over hers?”

  “I love both my children equally,” his mother said defensively.

  “Both your children?” he said quietly.

  He watched her face drain of color, and with it he understood suddenly how blind he had been to it all.

  “I meant all my children,” she said, but they both knew it was for naught.

  He retrieved his watch from his pocket. “I will be late.”

  He bid his mother good day and took his gloves from his valet who stood by the door with a hat and walking stick. Charles decided the day warranted a walk, as he needed the time to think. A coal cart rumbled down the street and a hackney followed slowly behind it. He tipped his hat to a gentleman who passed and whistled a tune under his breath, trying to remain calm as the anger boiled inside him.

  How had he not seen it? Jane and Margaret looked like Georgiana not because they were sisters but because she was their mother. She had allowed herself to be compromised, and this was unforgivable to his mother. The reason for his mother’s anger toward Georgiana was all too clear. It explained why Georgiana wrote to him so often wanting to see the girls, her constant need for news of them. He had been so easily fooled and it angered him.

  He made his way to his father’s former place of business, suddenly thankful that there would be little time to think for now about what he would do. He was glad suddenly he had decided to maintain the office. It was not the sort of endeavor a gentleman such as himself would usually undertake but he had decided to try his hand as his father had done so well. He had been highly respected by those in the know with money and financing. Business would occupy him for the day.

  Charles had come to understand from his lawyers that much of the family fortune was tied up in funds of one kind or another, primarily in banking and trade. He could leave it all to his lawyers and live the unfettered life of a gentleman of means. Most of those he knew did not dirty their hands with trade. But it was his sense that he should be more than a man of leisure that had caused him to hesitate when he was questioned about his father’s place of business. He wanted a sense of purpose to his life.

  He strode quickly across the bustling street making sure to keep his shoes from the muck. A small girl begged him for money and he gave her a coin, and then turned down fashionable St James Street. A barouche with a fine pair of grays trotted past him and he tipped his hat to the gentlemen and lady who rode in it. He had met them at a dinner a few nights ago, he believed, but only briefly and could not remember their names.

  He passed the ladies’ shops, which sold fine dresses and hats of the latest fashions. He glanced inside the windows at the finery on display and smiled at a pretty shop girl.

  His thoughts returned to his work. Lord Davenport had requested he take his father’s place in the House of Commons and so had obtained for him a pocket borough from a good friend. For the sum of sixty thousand pounds, Charles would be able to step into Parliament. A considerable favor, Charles knew it would come with considerable expectations of his support on bills in the House of Commons that affected Lord Davenport’s interests in the House of Lords. As a Baronet, Charles could serve in the House of Commons but not the House of Lords. The House of Commons was, however, beginning to prove to be a place of great influence.

  His father had served for over twenty years, and as much as he loathed the man, Charles had to respect the reputation his father had built for himself as a skilled politician. Those whom he had supported and who supported him were wont to fill his place with the son who would, like his father, prove to be a man who could be counted on to support the government. His father had been a staunch Tory party member, conservative, and careful to maintain the traditions of the landed gentry.

  However, his father had also been a man whose fortune was built on manufacturing and industry. Old money and new rarely agreed on politics. Charles knew he would have to be careful whom he chose to support, and which bills he favored. He had found especially interesting that most members of Parliament did not read the bills they voted on out of respect for the opinions of others.

  He arrived at the elegant building, which served as the place of business not only for himself, but for several other barristers and businessmen.

  “Good morning, Mr. Ellis,” he said as he entered through the front door.

  “Good morning, Lord Wyndham,” his clerk said as he took his employer’s hat and walking stick.

  Charles walked down the hall past the great collection of paper work and books neatly organized on shelves. He sat behind his desk and returned to reading the Bill of the Framework Knitters that he was to vote on soon. It was required that he vote against it, he knew. Lord Davenport had not seen the necessity for Charles to read the bill at all.

  “It is far too long and filled with passages of such legal magnitude as to be almost incomprehensible,” he had said over dinner at the club last night.

  Charles picked up the weighty tome, For Preventing Frauds and Abuses in the Frame-Work Knitting Manufacture. Sixty-three pages did seem rather excessive for a bill that was to improve the wages and working conditions of the workers in the mills. He knew it was an attempt to stop the unrest and destruction of factory property by unhappy workers, but it was also so much more.

  With the machines owned by th
e factories instead of the workers themselves in their homes, it had been possible to drive down wages and raise profits. Abuses such as terrible working conditions and long hours had become commonplace. The government could not, however, allow radical workers to form a seditious organization that could ultimately change the workers’ plight across the nation. The bill was doomed to fail because its very nature threatened the owners who had maintained their wealth through the exploitation of those workers. Those in power, both new and old, could never allow the bill to pass.

  This was the sort of legislation that Georgiana would have supported. However, even if the bill did pass the House of Commons where it had some support, the House of Lords would not follow. He was also aware that his family’s fortune was based on the very profits of those factories, as he owned three cotton mills in Derbyshire and two silk mills in Leicestershire.

  He sighed and rubbed his temple, then continued to read the pages before him. Mr. Ellis appeared with forms to sign, and then his lawyer arrived to discuss the East India shares Charles owned. He was to dine later with another friend of his father, Lord Fenwick, to discuss a loan his father had made the man, a substantial sum. Charles was not looking forward to the evening.

  Taking his father’s place was a formidable task, and he feared failure above all else. He feared it because he had performed so poorly as a naval officer. He had been adequate at best and had resented the ease with which Nicholas had taken to life at sea. Charles was far more comfortable on dry land and felt confident he could find a place for himself in politics. His father had been a businessman first and a politician second, and Charles had yet to decide which he was. He returned his attention to the bill, trying to forget why he was so angry with Georgiana.

  ***