Aunt Caroline gave what she called ‘soirées’ at her small but elegant house in a fashionable part of London. It was decorated and furnished in the latest aesthetic fashion, with the walls festooned with peacocks and pomegranates and several pieces of Japanese porcelain.
Her guests were mainly invited through her charities—she worked on several committees—but there were sometimes politicians and a sprinkling of what she called ‘the Bohemians’: artists, musicians and writers and such like. Sometimes she would engage a violinist or a pianist to perform—those were her musical evenings—then there were card evenings and some supper parties. She enjoyed entertaining, but her charities were always at the forefront of her mind and the money that could be raised from these occasions.
Today she was hosting one of her charity events attended by several of her fellow patrons. A gentle, caring soul, Caroline Standish was a very worthy lady who took her work seriously. The destitution and brutish conditions in some parts of the capital touched her deeply and she worked hard to alleviate the suffering in any way she could.
Jane watched ladies sip the very best tea from Assam and Ceylon out of her aunt’s best china cups and eat cucumber sandwiches and cakes off china plates, her eyes coming to rest on one before moving on to the next.
They were a mixed collection of ladies. Most of them led privileged lives. Their husbands were gentlemen and some titled. The younger ladies were quite beautiful and Jane wondered that such beauty could exist. As an unmarried woman of limited importance and at least three inches taller than what was considered fashionable, it was with wry amusement that she also wondered why nature had seen fit to bless so many with the gift of so much beauty, of face and figure, affording herself nothing more than a tenacity of spirit and a wry amusement that up until now had allowed her to transcend her own shortcomings.
As far as husbands were concerned, Jane didn’t suppose it would happen to her. Even if she did meet someone, she would rather die a spinster than submit herself to a man she did not love—a man who did not love her. All her life she had been aware and deeply moved by the quiet dignity and deep, voiceless love her parents had borne for each other and by their example she would settle for nothing less in her own marriage. With a mind of her own, she possessed a will to live her life as she saw fit and would not submit to mere circumstance.
In her opinion she was nothing out of the ordinary, her looks being unconventional. Being neither stylish nor dashing, she couldn’t blame anyone for not favouring her with a second glance.
‘Too thin,’ an elderly lady had once said. ‘Too tall,’ said another. ‘Too plain,’ someone else had commented.
But as Jane looked at her reflection in the mirror, she doubted a glimpse of her face would frighten anyone. Some men might actually like cheekbones that were too high, a mouth that was too wide and eyes that were a peculiar shade of violet touched with grey. Her hair was the bane of her life. It was long and thick and so rich a brown to be almost red. The weight of it was brushed back severely from her brow in an attempt to subdue its defiant inclination to curl. Most of the time it was kept confined in an unflattering tight knot at the nape of her neck.
Jane knew she didn’t make the best of herself. But if anyone had been inclined to look deeper they would have found that behind the unprepossessing appearance there was a veritable treasure trove. Twenty-one years of age and formidably intelligent, she had a distinct and memorable personality, and could hold the most fascinating conversations on most subjects. She had a genuinely kind heart, wasn’t boastful and rarely offended anybody. She was also unselfish and willing to take on the troubles of others.
Aunt Caroline had told her she was expecting Lady Lansbury—the Countess of Lansbury—and her young daughter at her gathering.
‘They have been in America—New York, I believe,’ she explained, ‘and have spent some time in Paris before returning to England. They have a house in town, but I understand they will shortly be leaving for their estate in Oxfordshire.’
‘How did you meet Lady Lansbury?’
‘She came to one of my Tuesdays. Such a caring soul. She likes to be involved and gives of her time unsparingly, but donations cannot be relied upon. The poor woman was left quite destitute when her husband died. Her son inherited the Chalfont estate in Oxfordshire—at least what was left of it. The old earl left them near bankrupt. But that was twelve years ago and the present earl has worked hard and managed to keep his head above water. But rumour has it that unless he can find a way to inject some money into the place, he might have to let it go.’
‘What a worry it must be for them.’
‘I’m sure it is. I believe Lord Lansbury is considering selling the London house to raise some capital. It is rumoured that he might even resort to marrying an heiress—an American heiress—and why not? He won’t be the first impoverished nobleman to marry for money and he won’t be the last.’
‘That seems rather drastic.’
‘To you, having lived almost all your life abroad, I suppose it does. In English society, marrying for money is considered a perfectly acceptable undertaking. However, pride is a dominant Chalfont trait and the Earl of Lansbury will find it extremely distasteful having to resort to such extreme measures. But that does not concern us. Young Lady Octavia is a charming girl, although she gave Lady Lansbury a hard time when she came along. Born early, she was pronounced delicate. She has—difficulties, but she’s of a gentle, loving disposition. You will love her.’
* * *
Aunt Caroline was right. Lady Lansbury, a regal lady, arrived with her daughter in a carriage with a resplendent coachman and a little page at the back to leap down and open doors.
Jane could not believe her eyes when she saw Lady Lansbury—she was the woman she had met on the ship and the child Octavia was just as she remembered. She was touched that Lady Lansbury should remember her.
‘Why, Miss Mortimer! I am so pleased to see you again. Allow me to thank you once again for what you did for Octavia. Your niece was extremely brave, Mrs Standish,’ she said to Jane’s aunt. ‘She risked her life to save Octavia when she fell on the deck of the ship when we were crossing the Channel and was in danger of sliding into the sea. I was journeying from Paris accompanied by my son, Lord Lansbury. We were indeed grateful that Miss Mortimer acted so quickly.’
Mrs Standish looked at her niece with some degree of surprise. ‘Really? You never mentioned it, Jane.’
‘I had no reason to. We were not introduced so I had no idea the two of you are acquainted. When the child slipped and fell I did what anyone else would have done. At the time I was close to her.’
‘You are too modest, my dear,’ Lady Lansbury said. ‘Your prompt action saved her life.’
‘I was glad I was able to help.’ Jane longed to ask after Lady Lansbury’s son, but thought better of it. After all it was unlikely they would meet again. Lord Lansbury had made a large impression on her virgin heart. When she was least expecting it thoughts of him would fill her mind so that she was unable to think of anything else which totally confused her. No man had ever had this effect on her before. But he was an earl, the Earl of Lansbury, way above her station in life and all she could do was admire him from afar. She looked at the child, who, it was clear, didn’t remember her. ‘Lady Octavia is such a lovely child.’
Jane’s wonder increased when Octavia, clutching her beloved Pekinese in the crook of one arm, danced up to her and said, ‘I like your dress. It’s very pretty.’
‘Thank you,’ Jane said, responding warmly to the compliment, even though she disagreed with her. It was much worn and certainly not fashionable. But the colours were bright, the pattern bold, and she was in no doubt that it was this that had drawn Octavia’s attention.
Octavia sat beside her on the striped sofa, placing her dog between them. The dog lifted its paw, cocked its head and peered up a
t Jane with yellow eyes, as if to fathom the spirit of this new person.
‘She wants you to shake hands with her,’ Octavia informed her.
Jane took the proffered paw and a pink tongue lolled out the side of the jaws almost in a smile. ‘Does your dog have a name?’
‘Poppy. She’s called Poppy.’
‘That’s a nice name. She is safe, isn’t she?’ Jane questioned with a teasing light in her eyes. ‘I mean—she doesn’t eat people, does she?’
Octavia tilted her head to one side and looked at her curiously, amazed that this lady should think her precious dog might bite. ‘No, of course she doesn’t. She likes you. I can tell. I like you, too. You are a very nice lady. Will you be my friend? I don’t have any.’ There was no hint of sadness in her remark. It was a matter-of-fact comment. That was the way it was.
Jane laughed and said she would like that very much. Stroking the ears of the Pekinese she studied the young girl. With silver-blonde hair and eyes a shining bright blue, her features piquant, she was a lively and restless girl with an independent spirit and full of energies she was unable to repress. For the time the visit lasted Octavia never left Jane’s side. Jane realised that Lady Lansbury was closely following their exchange and watching them attentively, speculatively. She did not withhold comment.
‘I can see Octavia has found a friend in you, Miss Mortimer. You are fortunate. She doesn’t take to people easily.’
From the small table beside her Jane took a painted tin of bonbons she had bought earlier and held them out to the girl. ‘I don’t think I can eat all these, Lady Octavia. Would you mind keeping the tin for me and helping me along with them?’
Octavia blinked her large eyes and looked enquiringly at her mother as if seeking her guidance. Lady Lansbury nodded and smiled her approval, and hesitantly Octavia’s gaze came back to Jane. Accepting the tin, she immediately opened it and selected a bonbon, popping the sugary confection into her mouth and beaming her delight at the taste.
* * *
London was an exciting and fascinating place to be. Jane loved it. Aunt Caroline accompanied her on her excursions, pointing out to her buildings and places of note. They strolled in the parks and Jane was thrilled to see all the bright and beautiful flowers in borders and beds. Having spent most of her life surrounded by hot and arid landscapes, she found it truly amazing to see so much colour in one place.
At other times she was trying to sort out her father’s affairs and considering her future. She gave little thought to her meeting with Lady Lansbury, so she was surprised when she called on the off chance one week later, hoping to find her at home.
Thinking her visit had something to do with one of the charities they supported, Aunt Caroline ushered her into the drawing room. Over tea they chatted about trivial matters. Jane listened, saying very little. Beneath a tiny jacket Lady Lansbury had on a beautiful gown in a silky material which shone where the light touched it. It was in a colour that reminded her of the sun when it was sinking at dusk, a sort of mixture between brown and gold and warm pink. The skirt was full and on her head was a pretty straw hat decorated with flowers to match her dress.
Jane was conscious of Lady Lansbury’s eyes studying her, not critically, nor with the kind of morbid fascination with which many of her class would gaze at her unfashionable attire and plain looks. Rather it was with an assessing frankness, a frankness and even an admiration one woman directs at another when she sincerely believes that woman is worthy of it.
‘How is Lady Octavia?’ Jane found herself asking. ‘It was a pleasure to meet her. She is such a charming, sweet girl.’
‘Yes, she is—but then she is my daughter and I love her dearly.’ Lady Lansbury placed her cup and saucer down. Her face, which had been firm with some inner resolve, softened imperceptibly. ‘Of course I am so glad you think so, Miss Mortimer, because my visit concerns Octavia. When we were here last week I could not help noticing that you seem to have a way with her—and she has talked of nothing else but you since. I have come here today to ask for your help.’
‘Oh!’ Jane uttered, slightly taken aback, for she could not for the life of her think how she could possibly be of help to the Countess of Lansbury.
‘When I spoke to your aunt, I seem to recall her mentioning that you have returned to England after spending many years travelling abroad with your father.’
‘That is so,’ Jane confirmed quietly. ‘Sadly my father died when we were in Egypt, which is why I have come to stay with Aunt Caroline while his affairs are put in order and I consider my future.’
‘Do you like children, Miss Mortimer?’
‘Why—I—yes, of course, although I confess that being an only child and constantly on the move, I have no experience of them.’
‘You appeared to get on with Octavia well enough. I wondered if you would consider helping me take care of her. She can be difficult on occasion. All the young ladies I have employed in the past do not make it past the first month before they are heading for the door.’
‘I—I don’t know...’
‘Miss Mortimer, please, I beg you, let me finish. I want to offer you permanent, full-time employment. We will be leaving London for our family home—Chalfont House in Oxfordshire—within the week. Octavia has developed a slight cough. I believe the country air is so much better for her than this London smog. I can’t tell you how happy it would make me if you were to come with us.’
‘Lady Lansbury—I don’t know what to say. I freely admit you’ve taken me by surprise.’
‘I hope you will say yes. I will not pretend that it will be easy taking care of Octavia. As you have seen she is not—not quite—like other girls of her age. She is twelve years old but looks and behaves much younger. She is fragile and needs tender care. She finds it difficult to tell people what she needs and how she feels—she also finds it difficult to understand what other people think and how they feel. She finds it hard to meet people—and to make friends—but she seems to like you. I do love her so very much, but I have grown weary and I often despair of what will become of her...’
For a moment Jane thought Lady Lansbury was about to break down. She bent her head, placing the back of her immaculately gloved hand to her head, swallowing painfully. Jane stood up, ready to go to her, to kneel and place her own soothing hand on hers, wanting to comfort, but recollecting herself when Lady Lansbury raised her head staunchly.
Jane smiled, a compassionate warmth lighting her eyes. She could almost feel the tension inside this regal lady splitting the air. Jane didn’t take any persuading to accept her offer of employment. Through his work her father had told her that on his death she would be a wealthy woman, but until his lawyer had sorted out his affairs and the will was read she had no idea of her worth, although she knew it would be considerable. Never being one for crowded places, getting out of London into the English countryside for a while appealed to her.
There was also another reason that added weight to her decision—Lady Lansbury’s son, the Earl of Lansbury. The temptation to see him again was too great for her to resist. She had not believed their paths would cross again and for the first time in her life she acted on impulse.
‘I am sorry to hear that, Lady Lansbury, and I will help if I can.’
As she spoke a kindly light appeared in Jane’s eyes. Her interest and feeling towards the girl were obviously sincere. Octavia was unpredictable, dainty and fragile as gossamer. She reminded Jane of a fluff of swansdown blown along on the breeze and may blossom that showed its beauty so profusely in spring. The blossom, flushed with pink, was no more delicately lovely than this child who had latched on to her from the first.
‘I accept your offer, Lady Lansbury. I will return with you to Chalfont House—although I cannot commit myself indefinitely. But for the time being I would dearly like to be Lady Octavia’s companion and I promise I will
be patient with her.’
Lady Lansbury’s eyes were bright with tears of gratitude. Miss Mortimer’s acceptance of the post lightened her spirits, as though a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. ‘Thank you, Miss Mortimer. I can’t tell you what a relief that is to me.’
‘There is one thing I must ask of you, Lady Lansbury. When my father died a good deal of his work was not completed. It meant a great deal to him—and to his publisher and other antiquarians he worked with. I was his assistant and I am doing what I can to finish his work.’
‘Of course you must. I quite understand. You will not be caring for Octavia all the time. We have a perfectly good library at Chalfont. It is a quiet room. I am sure you will find it the perfect place for your work.’
‘Thank you. I would appreciate that.’
‘Nonsense. It is I who am grateful to you.’ She looked at Jane’s aunt, who had listened to their exchange closely. ‘What do you say, Mrs Standish? I do so hope you approve of Jane’s acceptance to my proposal. I am certain she will be a great help to me—and to Octavia.’
‘It is not for me to approve or disapprove, Lady Lansbury,’ Mrs Standish said, choosing her words with care. ‘At twenty-one my niece is old enough and sensible enough to decide her own future. But since you ask my opinion I will say that I am—concerned about the position she will hold in your household and how it will be seen by the others who work at Chalfont House. In age Jane will be on a par with your maids in the kitchen and...’
‘Please, say no more, Mrs Standish. Jane will never be on a par in any way with the maids in the kitchen. I know that she is the daughter of an academic, a highly intelligent man, an acclaimed writer, whose own father held a high-ranking position in the army. Her mother is from good stock, the Grants of Derbyshire. They were not a wealthy family, but they were of the class.’
‘But—how do you know this, Lady Lansbury?’ Jane asked.
‘When I saw how taken Octavia was with you, I—made a few enquiries. I ask nothing more of you, Jane, than that you be my daughter’s companion—her friend. Octavia has never reached out to anyone the way she has to you.’
Lord Lansbury's Christmas Wedding Page 2