Amberley Chronicles Boxset I: The Impostor Debutante My Last Marchioness the Sister Quest (Amberley Chronicles Boxsets Book 1)

by May Burnett

  “Of course not,” Mr. Potts said soothingly. “Everyone must see that you mean well, Jennifer.”

  Celia was regarding the scene with the air of a theatre connoisseur watching an indifferent performance. Rook turned to her unexpectedly and asked, “And what do you make of these accusations, Miss Conway?”

  “They give me a very poor idea of the ton. Whoever is circulating such baseless slanders can only be seen as a malicious busybody. Is that characteristic of fashionable society? I suppose people who do no useful work, and have too much time on their hands, will be especially prone to engage in such rumourmongering.”

  “Upon my word!” Lady Jennifer stared at Celia. “And who are you, pray, to engage in such wholesale condemnation of your betters?”

  “Miss Conway is my guest, Jennifer, and a young lady of unusual common sense and perspicacity,” Charlotte said firmly. “I can only concur with her judgement.”

  “Indeed,” said Rook with an ironic smile at Jennifer.

  “It seems to me,” Sir Mortimer said thoughtfully, “that if such slanders are circulating, surely some of the blame must adhere to Lady Minerva’s mother, for abandoning her in such a fashion. Had she remained in town for a few more days to answer any questions, society would have focused on some other imaginary scandal.”

  At this new criticism of her family, Lady Jennifer’s colour rose to such an alarming degree that her husband and Charlotte between them strove to convince her that she needed more rest after the arduous journey. Since she had hardly touched the food on her plate, a tray with food especially suitable for sufferers from travel fatigue would be delivered to her room forthwith.

  “I have never heard of any special diet for fatigue,” Celia said after she had gone.

  “She will get exactly the same food we have here,” Charlotte explained, “Why not let her believe it, if it helps to calm her down and make her feel better? And in the meantime, the rest of us can finish this meal in peace.” She called her butler Jenkins to issue the order.

  “How serious are these rumours? Will they really damage Lady Minerva’s prospects?” Celia was frowning. “It all seems a great piece of nonsense.”

  “I wish I could agree with you,” Rook said. “Gossip in our circles is never-ending, and quite vicious. In order to deflect attention from their own foibles, people are very quick to cast stones on the next person, whether deserving of censure or not. A misunderstood quip can ruin a whole life.”

  Celia cast a quizzical look at her uncle, who was still regularly urging her to marry into the aristocracy. If even Minerva was this vulnerable, for an outsider it must be like voluntarily jumping into a lagoon full of sharks.

  “About Lady Minerva,” Rook said to Charlotte, “as you know, I came down here to renew my addresses, with perfectly honourable intentions. She made her wishes clear, that she does not want to accept my suit. In view of these slanders, I shall renew my offer to her once again. But if I am any judge of her character, I do not expect her to accept me merely to appease the tabbies.”

  “Nor should she, surely,” Celia said. “That would be a very poor basis for a marriage.”

  Rook bowed briefly in agreement. “As you say, Miss Conway. Even so, I do not regret having travelled here. These days of convalescence have been most instructive; enlightening, even. Count on me to do whatever I can to refute these vicious rumours.”

  “Thank you, on Minerva’s behalf,” Charlotte said. “I do hope people will see they were mistaken, if you reappear back in town and laugh off all these exaggerated stories.”

  “Of course I will do that, and it should help to some extent. However, once a story has taken hold – no matter how empty of substance – the denials of the principals are mostly discounted. People are much more eager to believe in a scandalous lie, than admit to themselves or each other that they have been taken in.”

  “Very true,” Sir Mortimer agreed, “and it is not all that different in villages or small towns; gossip being the main entertainment and pastime for every age, sex or class.”

  “Will there ever come a time,” Celia wondered, “when people will stop being so curious about one another’s business, and so prone to gossip?”

  Rook shook his head. “Most unlikely. A war or some other great calamity might take their minds off the subject temporarily, but such a remedy would be worse than the original problem.”

  “It is odd,” Celia said, “that we have been anticipating malicious gossip from one direction, and now it has apparently come about from quite a different source, and targeted poor Lady Minerva.”

  “Nobody is immune at any time,” Rook said. “Not even a title and fortune are sufficient protection. In fact, detractors take especial pleasure in annihilating those whom they see unfairly favoured by fortune.”

  “Those advantages cannot prevent gossip, but they do provide a shield against some of its effects,” Sir Mortimer observed. “For a professional man or small businessman, a false rumour can mean ruin. Whereas the rich and powerful go their merry way, and let the masses say what they will.”

  Rook shook his head. “They still suffer. Look at our current monarch, or his erstwhile wife. Would you want his crown, in exchange for all those decades of public mockery and contempt?”

  Charlotte was not interested in such futile speculation. “Had I had the least idea that rumours were already circulating about Minerva, I would never have accepted her offer of travelling up to town, unchaperoned. She was only trying to be helpful. However little I might like Jennifer’s way of drawing our attention to this gossip, we have to be grateful that she did so.”

  “I shall write at once to a number of my friends, casually mentioning that I am staying in the countryside,” Rook offered. “From the location they will infer that I am continuing my courtship of Lady Minerva, but here in her brother’s home there can be nothing scandalous about it.”

  “You had not yet informed anyone of your accident?” Charlotte said. “We did offer to send a message to your family when you were first brought here.”

  “Until this morning, I still was plagued by a persistent pounding of my head. I don’t know why my spending a week away from town in this warm weather should have led anyone to worry, or even take notice. Cursed busybodies – er, I beg your pardon, ladies.”

  “I wonder how the Marquis will like having his name linked to Lady Minerva’s?” Celia said. “She told me she has known him forever, since he used to visit Amberley during his schooldays in Eton. But she must have been quite young then, as there is an age difference of almost a decade.”

  “Yes, Minerva was born nine years after James, the next youngest,” Charlotte said. “It is an unusually large gap. She must have spent many lonely hours in an otherwise empty nursery. But that age difference does not signify any longer. The moment a girl comes out she is treated as an adult by all and sundry, and can be married to a man decades older than herself, without raising comment. Some girls become quite giddy from the sudden change in status.”

  Chapter 25

  Monique had been very thirsty. She greedily drank the watered milk administered by the cook in a small pewter cup; and when given a slice of bread she clutched it in her little hand, and eagerly gnawed on it with her tiny white teeth. A piece of boiled pear and a slice of cheese were also consumed by the hungry child, but after that she refused another piece of bread.

  “Well,” Minerva said briskly, “so much for that. “What else will she need?”

  “A bath, if I might suggest, milady. The one for the nurse is being prepared, but the child needs it even more badly, I fear.”

  “We could use one of the big fish pots,” the assistant cook suggested, only to be angrily admonished by her superior that her kitchenware was not available for such an unhygienic purpose. Fortunately Minerva remembered that the nursery held a perfectly suitable small bathtub, used by Verena when she was younger, and it was forthwith carried down to the kitchen. All three of them were wet and splashed with tepid
water by the time the child had been thoroughly but carefully cleaned, and provided with an improvised diaper in the form of a thick linen napkin.

  “Doesn’t she have any clean clothes?” Cook asked at this stage.

  “I don’t think so,” Minerva said doubtfully, “at least I didn’t see any. We can wrap her in towels for now, and I think there might be some old baby clothes packed up in the attics, though sadly out of date.”

  “One of the maids could go out and buy new ones,” Cook suggested. Minerva immediately agreed to this plan, contributing a half guinea from her purse.

  Minerva carried Monique up the back staircase to the nursery, where she was hoping to relinquish the child back into Mme Fourrier’s care. This proved impossible, the nurse being heavily asleep and unresponsive to touch or call. The child seemed happy to see her even so, but continued to cling to Minerva.

  “The Frenchwoman never even touched the food we brought, and let the bathwater get cold, milady,” Robert, one of the footmen, explained. “She must have been half dead with exhaustion.”

  “Very well,” Minerva said. Her attempts to set the child down in the nursery proved unsuccessful. The small arms clung to her with surprising force.

  Giving up her attempts to foist the child on her reluctant staff, she carried Monique downstairs again, and settled with her on a sofa in the morning room, to await Mr. Beecham’s call. His advice and calm common sense would be most welcome. She found her mind drifting into strange channels, such as imagining how a child of Mr. Beecham’s would look … darker and more solid than this little girl, no doubt. Her own children would most likely inherit her chestnut hair, characteristic of the family, though George and Verena did not have it. But James, Jennifer, and little Roger did … would Charlotte’s new child be a boy or girl? No matter, as long as it was born alive and healthy.

  She had half drifted off when she heard the front door open and close, and blearily sat up straighter. The child had at last succumbed to sleep in her lap, though one small hand was tightly clutching her skirts.

  “My lady,” the butler interrupted her momentary rest, “there is a gentleman who wants to see you most particularly.”

  Minerva shook her head. “I told you I was not receiving.”

  She spoke softly, and perceiving the sleeping infant in her lap, the butler also lowered his voice. “But it is the Duke of Ottway, milady! He insists on seeing you at once, and refuses to leave.”

  Rook’s father? Minerva had met him only a few times, and hardly spoken more than a few commonplaces to him, which was more than she ever wanted to; he had impressed her as a proud, disagreeable nobleman who looked down his long nose at everyone else. Rook had seemed positively open and democratic in comparison. Yet even such a man might harbour concern for his son and heir. Most likely the duke was anxious for news about Rook’s injury, and she could alleviate his fatherly worries in a few minutes. “Very well, I will see him briefly, but I would like to have the child taken to the nursery. Isn’t any of the maids available to take care of her?”

  “They are all packing the items you want sent to Sussex, milady.”

  “Well, let them pack more slowly. The child is far more important.”

  “I will see to it, my lady. Can I show the Duke in now?”

  She might as well get this new interruption over with. ”If you must.”

  The broad-shouldered man who came striding in a moment later looked like an older, greyer version of Rook, though the latter would not appear quite so leonine and intimidating at sixty – or perhaps he would. Thankfully she no longer needed to care.

  “Lady Minerva– “

  “Please lower your voice, Sir, do you not see that I have a sleeping child here? She is very tired from a long journey.”

  “What?” The duke peered at Monique, bushy brows contracting. “Never mind about that – where is my son?” His voice was still far too loud, and the sleeping infant restlessly moved her head.

  Minerva raised her brows in astonishment. “In Sussex, staying in my brother James’s house. Did he not write to you? Rook has had a riding accident, and a bad concussion as well as a bruised ankle, but was already on the mend when I last saw him but this morning.”

  The duke continued to stare at her for almost a minute out of piercing blue eyes. Eventually she had enough. “I suppose you came to ask how he was, Sir, and I hope I have allayed your concerns. I am only in town for a short while and have many things to do, and so have you, I am certain.”

  He looked somewhat calmer than before, but did not seem predisposed to leave despite her broad hint. “Lady Minerva, are you not aware of the rumours circulating all through the ton, regarding yourself and my son? I do not care to have my family name bandied about by every tittle-tattle, and whatever really happened, I hold you entirely to blame!”

  Her heart sank for a moment, but anger came to the rescue and she raised her chin. “No, until this moment I had no idea. Pray enlighten me.” She gestured towards an upholstered armchair facing her chaise longue. “If this is going to take a long time, please be seated.”

  He lowered his bulk to the chair with a heavy movement, all the time regarding her without blinking. “One school of thought had it that you had refused him, and Rook had abducted you in revenge.”

  “I have never heard anything so silly in my life. All that happened was that I told your son I needed time to think his proposal over, and went to stay with my brother and sister-in-law in Sussex while I did so. Your son arrived a couple of days later and we agreed we would not suit. That night Rook had a nasty fall from his horse. Most fortunately some guests coming to join our house party found him and brought Rook back to my brother’s Hall. He has received medical attention and the best of care.”

  “A fall from a horse? Rook? I cannot believe it. And why did you agree you would not suit? That sounds even more unlikely. Are you saying that Rook changed his mind? He would not. He told me he had made his mind up to have you.”

  Minerva longed to tell this arrogant man that it was she who had rejected his son, but that was between Rook and herself. “I suggest you ask your son exactly what happened, and how.” She was also reluctant to mention the – for Rook – most unusual state of inebriation that had caused the accident.

  “The other rumour was that you had fled from Rook’s proposal to the arms of a former lover. The Marquis de Ville-Deuxtours was mentioned several times.”

  Minerva’s eyes involuntarily dipped to the small child in her lap. “A malicious and baseless fabrication. The Marquis is an old friend of my brother James, and was also staying in Sussex, until he had to leave for France on urgent business. What concern this is to anyone outside my own family and his, eludes me completely.”

  “I daresay it is all a pack of lies, but I do not want my son and my family involved in such tales. I advise you to take better care of your name in future.” He finally took his leave, not before Minerva had grown heartily tired of the interview. She did not want this overbearing duke as a father-in-law, and felt only relief that this possibility was now gone for good.

  +++

  Mr. Beecham arrived in the early evening. Minerva had finally been able to relinquish the child back into her nurse’s care. It was amazing how much better Mme Fourrier looked after a few hours of sleep.

  Several new outfits had been procured for the child in Oxford Street by one of the maids, and a search of the attics had yielded quantities of soft, clean diapers as well as additional infant clothes, still serviceable, since fashions for the very young did not change as quickly as for adults.

  Minerva had reason to be proud of all that had been accomplished under her direction. The purchases on Charlotte’s list were completed, all items packed, and delivery by a well-escorted cart organised for the next day. Her own departure was set for seven in the morning, when their fashionable neighbours would still be fast asleep.

  She had even found time to dispatch a letter to James and Alphonse in France, announcing
that the child had been found, and was safe. A shorter letter would await Alphonse at his London residence.

  Henry Beecham found Lady Minerva in her brother’s library, writing at a Sheraton desk. He paused a moment on the doorstep, drinking in her lovely figure and profile as she was absorbed in this task.

  The butler’s announcement of the visitor broke her concentration, and she put down the quill with an expression of relief.

  “Mr. Beecham! Thank you for coming to me. You have heard that we have the child safe?”

  “I am very glad of it, Lady Minerva.” His gaze fell on a small, endearing ink stain on her soft hand. “Pray forgive me for not coming sooner, after your message; I had a painful confrontation in my office, that kept me away much longer than I could have wished.”

  “You have neglected your other work for this. I am sure there must be many urgent matters that require your attention.”

  “Nothing could be more important than serving you, but this was Mr. Conway, Miss Celia’s father. He has found out that I am administering her inheritance, under her grandmother’s orders, and peremptorily demanded access to it, and to his daughter. You are in her confidence, so I can speak freely, and it is not inconceivable that he might even come here. I only hope I have not been followed when I left my chambers.”

  “Let him come,” Minerva said, tossing her head back. “This day has stretched my patience to its utmost limits, and I would welcome an occasion to vent my feelings, such as a visit of that scoundrel would afford me.” Beecham had no doubt that she would soon put Conway to rout, probably faster than he had finally managed, with all his professional experience.

  She went on, “That reminds me, Mrs Conway seems to have called here in our absence, along with every gossip in the capital. I found her card among the others.” A long-forgotten memory stirred. “Can she be the odd woman who once accosted poor Charlotte in the park? Mother was most upset about the incident. I was there, but didn’t understand what that was all about.”