A Regency Scandal

by Alice Chetwynd Ley

  “Pray don’t restrain your natural interest, ma’am. One of my seditious friends is Percy Bysshe Shelley, the poet. You may not be aware that he was sent down from Oxford while I was there, for publishing a pamphlet entitled The Necessity of Atheism. I daresay that may shock you, as you’re a clergyman’s daughter, what?”

  She paused to consider this. “I should suppose that the main purpose of a University education is that young men may have an opportunity to examine ideas. And a poet will not see things quite as other men do, after all.”

  He looked at her with dawning respect. “You speak your mind with admirable certainty for a very young lady, Miss Somerby.”

  “I am not so very young,” she protested, half indignantly. “I am turned nineteen.”

  “A great age, indeed.”

  She gave him a saucy glance. “Now you’re quizzing me,” she accused. “I’ve not forgotten that you’re my senior by five and a half years — I suppose you mean to patronise me on that account!”

  “Assure you I wouldn’t dare to do so! I must not quarrel with you as soon as we have met again after a lapse of so many years. Besides, I’ve had enough of wrangling for one day.”

  “I expect you have,” she replied, her mood changing. “Was it only for that you and the Earl came to cuffs?”

  Shaldon raised his eyebrows ostentatiously at this slang expression, and she laughed.

  “Now you’re treating me as James does, and it’s a great deal too bad of you. One brother is enough!”

  “I daresay. But no, my father’s animadversions on my friends were not the only cause of our disagreement. He was also bent on planning my marriage.”

  “Oh. I did not know. That is, my brother had not mentioned that you were intending to marry. But possibly you haven’t informed him.”

  “I am not. Nothing is further from my mind, at this present. But the matter seems to be occupying my father’s a good deal, and he took it amiss when I refused to consider the subject with the seriousness which he believes it to merit.”

  “I see. And did he recommend the state in general to your notice, or—” She broke off, dismayed at her temerity, and blushed. “Oh, dear, I really should not ask!”

  His eyes twinkled down at her. “No, perhaps you should not, were you not very nearly my sister. But since you’ve succeeded during this past ten minutes or so in re-establishing that relationship, I may as well tell you. He would like me to marry Miss Lydney.”

  They had reached the door to the house some moments since and were lingering on the threshold, absorbed in their conversation. He saw that a momentary shadow crossed her face, and raised his eyebrows in an unspoken query.

  “Cynthia,” she said, slowly. “I suppose it would seem to be a suitable connection.”

  He shrugged. “But not one to which I aspire. I said as much, and brought a scene about my ears. Indeed, I had the gravest fears that he would go off into an apoplexy! All things considered, it seemed wiser to relieve him of my presence.”

  “I daresay you did right.” Helen pushed open the door. “And now pray do come in and see my parents, while I relieve you of the charge of that tiresome hound.”

  Recognising instantly this reference to itself, the puppy, which had been behaving with surprising docility while led by Shaldon, at once pricked up its ears and emitted a short, sharp yelp.

  “Yes, well, that will be quite enough,” said Helen severely. “I daresay there’ll be some titbits for you in the kitchen. Will you take him, Sally?”

  She took the lead from Shaldon and handed it over to a housemaid, whom Patch greeted as an old friend. Then she conducted Shaldon to a small, oak-panelled parlour furnished with an air of comfort rather than fashion, where her parents were sitting.

  “I’ve brought you a visitor,” she announced.

  The Rector pushed his spectacles up on to his forehead as he glanced up from his book, but his wife at once jumped to her feet.

  “Anthony!” she exclaimed. “Oh, what a delightful surprise!”

  She came impetuously towards him, hands extended. Amanda Somerby’s hair was streaked with grey nowadays and her waist had thickened a little, but she was still an attractive woman. He took her hands, carrying one to his lips in a courtly gesture.

  “I found Lord Shaldon in the wood,” said Helen, “when I was exercising Patch. At least,” she added, laughing, “I’m not sure that it wasn’t the other way about, and that Patch was exercising me! If you will forgive me for a few moments, I really must go and tidy myself.”

  The Rector, who had risen in his turn to greet their visitor, gave her a quizzical glance.

  “Yes, my dear, I scarcely think anyone will disagree with that.”

  She wrinkled her nose at him and went out of the room. When she returned about ten minutes later, her hair was pinned neatly back into a chignon with only a few soft tendrils escaping onto her face. She wore a plain dark blue kerseymere gown with a high neck and long sleeves buttoned at the wrist. Shaldon thought that she looked very different now from the madcap girl who had burst through the trees in pursuit of her dog. He felt a little regret for the change, and found his conversation with her a shade more formal because now she looked so much the young lady. But as the Rector and his wife had a great deal to say to him, there was less opportunity at present for him to talk to their daughter.

  Evidently he had explained to her parents in her absence how matters had gone at the Hall, for soon her mother was pressing him to stay overnight at the Rectory.

  “You won’t wish to begin a journey to London without first taking a meal,” she urged. “And you will be doing us a great service by enlivening our dinner table, for we are to be on our own this evening. Now do say that you’ll take pot luck with us! There’s no need of formality, for you were always used to be quite one of the family. And if you’re thinking it will put me to any trouble, you are wrong, I assure you.”

  He hesitated. Before leaving the neighbourhood he had planned to spend a few days with his maternal grandparents at Kenton Manor. Although the Manor was only five miles distant, he had previously decided against going there this evening. The Cottesfords were getting on in years and, moreover, were not expecting him until tomorrow. It had seemed kinder not to present himself prematurely and unannounced, but to stay at the local posting house overnight. The prospect of a solitary dinner at an inn now appeared bleak, however, in comparison with the warm hospitality offered him by the Somerbys.

  Mrs. Somerby saw his hesitation and renewed her persuasions, calling on her husband and daughter to second them. They soon overcame his polite diffidence, and a servant was sent over to the Hall to fetch his luggage and deliver instructions to his groom to bring the curricle round to the Rectory in the morning.

  It was a long time since he had passed such a pleasant yet uneventful evening. The dinner set before him was as Mrs. Somerby claimed, a plain family meal; it consisted of chicken soup, fish with an egg sauce, roast beef and cabbage, with a syllabub to follow. But it was well cooked, attractively served and seasoned by entertaining yet easy conversation. Helen sat beside him in a simple white muslin evening gown that set off her fair skin and gold-brown hair. He found himself once again watching with pleasure the changing expressions on her face, or the set of her head as she turned to speak to him. Certainly she had grown into a lovely girl, and her attraction was enhanced by the fact that she seemed unconscious of her own charm.

  “You can have no notion,” she said, smiling up at him, “how delightful it is to be able to speak freely at mealtimes. I am becoming accustomed to it now, but at first when I came home from the Seminary in Kensington I fear I was a great trial to my parents! I was always trying to entertain them with the kind of elegant conversation permitted there at table.”

  They all laughed over this.

  “It’s very necessary, though,” said Mrs. Somerby, “to know how to manage that kind of civil small talk, even though your own family do not wish for it. And I daresay it will st
and you in good stead, Helen, when you go to Town next month.”

  Shaldon raised his eyebrows.

  “Are you then to make a visit to Town?”

  Helen nodded. “I have been invited to stay with one of my friends, Melissa Chetwode, who lives in Cavendish Square.”

  “We’re very well acquainted with the family,” put in Mrs. Somerby; “otherwise we might have hesitated to accept the invitation, even though Melissa was so set on having Helen there. Sir George Chetwode has been a friend of Mr. Somerby’s since their Oxford days. I first met his wife soon after their marriage, and we became firm friends, too. We were used to see a good deal of them at one time, when they lived in Oxfordshire, but since they took up residence in London we’ve met less frequently.”

  “I too am acquainted with the family, in particular with their eldest son, Philip,” said Shaldon.

  “An agreeable young man,” remarked the Rector. “And interested in literary subjects, I recall from our infrequent meetings.”

  “Oh, yes, Phil’s a trifle in the bluestocking line,” agreed the Viscount.

  “Dear me!” exclaimed Helen. “It looks as though I shall need to polish up my elegant conversation to include some literary allusions!”

  Her father smiled at her. “I venture to think that you will acquit yourself sufficiently creditably, my dear, without any scholarly burning of the midnight oil. But we must allow for your nonsense.”

  “Well, Melissa isn’t at all a bluestocking, at any rate,” said Helen. “And we know each other so well that I may be as nonsensical as I like with her.”

  “She’s devoted to you,” Mrs. Somerby remarked, with a smile. “She once told me that but for your kindness to her when she first went to school and felt so dreadfully homesick, poor child, she would have begged her Mama to take her home again.”

  Helen looked embarrassed for a moment. “Oh, well, all of us felt like that at first, Mama, but it soon passed off, and then we had no end of fun, in spite of Old Catty and her rules! But,” she added, looking apologetically at their guest, “we mustn’t bore Lord Shaldon with such talk.”

  “Not at all. I am fascinated. But you mustn’t think that my friend Chetwode is at all stuffy, for all his bookish leanings. Nothing could be further from the truth, assure you. I shall hope to see you, then, ma’am, when you are staying with the family in Town. That is, if you don’t find yourself too occupied, for the London season is a rackety business, you know.”

  Helen glanced a little ruefully at her father, and Shaldon wondered if perhaps he had said the wrong thing. However, the Rector made no comment, but smiled tolerantly as his wife and daughter rose from the table, the meal being concluded, to leave the gentlemen to sit over their wine.

  “It must be more than five years since you last saw Anthony,” said Mrs. Somerby, as they seated themselves in the drawing room. “What do you think of him now, Helen?”

  “He seems to be everything that a gentleman should be — handsome, amusing, and with considerable address,” replied her daughter, carelessly. “He’s a regular dasher, or so I’m told.”

  Amanda Somerby frowned. “I must say I don’t quite like such a description of him. Who told you so?”

  “Oh, Cynthia. She also hinted that he was — well…” Helen’s voice trailed off as she met her mother’s indignant glance.

  “Cynthia! I suppose you know how much credence you can place in anything she says!” Her tone changed. “He was telling us while you were upstairs that the Earl wishes him to marry that girl. I must say I sincerely hope he doesn’t! We’ve known Anthony since he was a child, and he’s almost like another son to me, little though I’ve seen of him since he came to manhood. He’s not in the least like his father in disposition, but takes after his dear Mama. Marriage with such a girl as Cynthia would totally wreck his happiness. Of that I’m convinced!”

  “But, Mama, what can you really know of him nowadays?” protested Helen. “Surely one needs to be constantly in company with people to judge? I’ll confess that when he told me the Earl had decided upon Cynthia as a wife for him, I was dismayed for the moment. But that was a foolishness — a kind of echo from my childhood, when I, too, thought of him as one of my own family. He and I are strangers, now, meeting as if for the first time.”

  “Well, that may be true, my love, but I think we can never quite cast off our childhood associations,” persisted her mother.

  “Oh, Mama, you must have forgotten what it’s like to be young!” laughed Helen. “At my age, that’s the very thing one tries hard to do! At any rate, I haven’t the slightest intention of concerning myself with Lord Shaldon’s marriage. He may wed whom he chooses, for my part!”

  The entrance of the gentlemen naturally put an end to this conversation; and it was only later, in the privacy of her bedchamber, that Helen was able to consider the day’s events and speculate further on the subject of Viscount Shaldon.

  He was certainly most agreeable, and she had found a great deal of entertainment in his company. Was he really the kind of man Cynthia’s dark hints suggested? She surprised herself by discovering a hope that he might not be. But that was absurd. What could it possibly matter to her, one way or another? In London she hoped to meet many agreeable gentlemen, besides other interesting people of both sexes. So far, she had never been much in society, and the prospect of new places and faces excited her eager curiosity. Viscount Shaldon would be only one amongst many, if indeed he did take the trouble to renew their acquaintance once he had returned to his own circle.

  Mama, of course, felt differently about him, for she was emotionally involved. Mama, bless her, like most of her generation, lived chiefly in the past. To Helen, avid for the new experiences that life might offer, it was the present that mattered.

  CHAPTER XVII

  “Good God, Neville, I think you must have run mad!”

  Baron Lydney faced the Earl of Alvington in consternation.

  “Have you paused to consider what a pretty scandal you’ll be bringing about your ears — and your son’s too, come to that! Why, that damned fellow Bryon’s affairs will be nothing to it!”

  The Earl’s face took on a mulish look. “What should I care for scandal? I live out of the world here, so they can say what they will and never trouble me. As for Anthony, he must take his chance. Time he learnt that everything ain’t going to fall into his lap.”

  “You never liked the boy, did you?” asked Lydney, curiously. “Can’t quite think why. He’s a pleasant enough chap, by what I’ve seen of him. Don’t visit you much, but then none of ’em want to hang about the parental home once they come to manhood. A good thing, too, I’d say. And in any case, you only seem to come to cuffs whenever you are together, so mayhap he’s wiser to stay away.”

  “I never got the chance to stay away from my own father, and well you know it,” growled the Earl. “Why the devil should he be able to go his own road without so much as a by your leave? Tell me that!”

  Lydney shot an acute glance at him. “Jealous of the boy, are you?” he asked. “Don’t care to see him independent when your own case was so different? All the same, no need to play him such a shabby trick as this.”

  “You don’t mince your words, b’God, do you?”

  “We’ve known each other too long for that.” Lydney changed his tone to a persuasive one. “Be guided by me, Neville, and let matters stand as they are. No point in bringing out your dirty linen to wash in public for everyone’s amusement. Especially as it must be pointless. Depend on it, the child died years ago, as the woman told you it must.”

  “She could have been mistaken,” replied the Earl, obstinately.

  “Stands to sense it can’t have survived, my dear fellow, or you don’t suppose she’d have allowed you to remain in ignorance of its continued existence?”

  “She told me she’d take nothing — ordered me off.”

  Lydney smiled cynically. “Yes, in the first emotional high flight, very likely. But afterwards, as the chi
ld grew older, needed food, clothes and so on, do you suppose for a moment that her rancour would have withstood her cupidity? She’d have been after you like a shot.”

  “Ah, but she couldn’t.” A look of cunning crossed the Earl’s face. “You may have forgotten, Ned, but I told you at the time that I was careful — very careful. She never knew my title or so much as the county where I lived, let alone the actual residence. There was nothing by which she could have traced me.”

  “You went through the marriage ceremony in your family name. It would not be impossible for a determined person to trace you through that.”

  “Pshaw! She was without friends or connections who could have helped her in that regard, and she was not the kind of woman to tackle such a task on her own. Besides, if she had ever been able to make any such enquiries, she would surely have done so during my long absences while I was wedded to her daughter. She trusted me little enough; I could see that.”

  Lord Lydney reflected that in this the unknown woman had showed great common sense, but he wisely suppressed the comment.

  “Well, even if you feel secure on that point, you may easily have left other clues that you’ve forgotten — letters, for instance, or small items of personal property?”

  “The only letter I ever wrote to the girl — my first wife — I took good care not to put any heading on it, I can tell you. As for items of personal property—” He broke off, looking discomfited for a moment. “I’d forgotten until now, but she did keep my signet ring. I had made use of it for the marriage ceremony, because like a fool I forgot to procure one beforehand. She begged to retain it afterwards, and I couldn’t well refuse. Besides, I saw no harm in that. It bore the initial N and the flower of the Stratton crest — a poppy. But how many people could identify that, I ask you? And of the few who could, none would be at all likely to have any acquaintance with Mrs. Lathom.”

  “No, but if she took it to a lawyer, as she well might do if she wished to trace you, it would not have been beyond his powers,” Lydney pointed out. “And that’s why I feel confident that the child could not have survived. So why not let things be, and save yourself from stirring up a nasty scandal that can achieve nothing?”