Marriage.
Hunter was beginning to hate that word. His mother, who seemed to be finding respite from her bereavement by trying to force him into the parson’s mousetrap, was playing the busy matchmaker, much to Hunter’s annoyance.
A steady procession of “charming young ladies” were paraded in front of him, in a fashion which Hunter had cynically compared to a cattle fair, during one of his evenings with the Hounds.
“I always wait for my mother to ask them to open their mouth, so that I can inspect their teeth,” he had morosely complained. “And musical evenings bore me silly. The last one was a nightmare. I would have rather faced one of old Boney’s swordmasters in single combat. ”
“I know, Hunter, I was there,” Geoffrey had quipped. “That singer – you know, the vast female in pink – sounded rather like a cat caterwauling in a back alley. Absolutely ghastly. And remember, on Friday we shall have to attend to An Evening with Euterpe –silly name – at Lady Loynton’s.”
Hunter smiled. Most of his friends were undergoing the same ordeal as he, and nobody seemed very happy about it.
Well, he had to admit, some of the young ladies he was being introduced to were real beauties, and he was not a monk nor a eunuch. He was as appreciative as the next man of bouncing curls, sparkling eyes, long lashes, rounded arms and swelling bosoms, but, alas, that was that. Past a cursory frisson, an initial appeal, he could not bring himself to really like any of them.
Some of those girls were sweet natured, some were witty, some were attractive, but not a single one of them could make his heart beat faster. Only Nerissa was the least bit engaging - and she was not for him. As had been made clear by the attitude of his mother, and of hers. He needed an heiress, with a substantial dowry, as his mother persistently reminded him.
Nerissa, as Madame Beaumarais had predicted, had become the rage of the season. The latest accolade had been Beau Brummel’s approbation and it was becoming fashionable to describe her using one of the scandalous Lord Byron’s poems:
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
It was rumored that she had already received several marriage offers and had turned down every one, she was seen riding on Rotten Row on her lively mare, often accompanied one of her admirers, but often alone with her groom or with Lady Alyse.
She acquired the fame of being unpredictable and prone to sudden changes of disposition, from friendly to coldly aloof, from dreamy to wickedly witty. The company she kept, the gowns she wore, her mots d’esprit, all became common objects of speculation.
Nobody would have believed that Nerissa was simply bored. After the first weeks of elation at her unexpected social success, the charm of being courted, flattered and singled out began to quickly pale.
The only one whose attentions she really craved did not care for her, this seemed painfully clear. He was the perfect gentleman, but nothing more. Nerissa saw Hunter often enough, but never exchanged more than a few words with him and the ease with which they had talked, laughed and opened their hearts to one another seemed far, far away.
They sometimes danced together, they met during morning visits, they had once watched, together, the fireworks at Vauxhall Gardens, but Hunter had never shown her more than common courtesy, while he showered attentions upon a bevy of fluttering misses, clearly bent on snaring one of the best prizes of the Season. All of them were pretty, all were eligible, all were rich, all had more than willing parents, ready to welcome a Duke with open arms.
And what could she offer but a meagre dowry and hostile parents?
Nerissa sighed. Lady Loynton’s Evening with Euterpe was more than uncommonly flat and not conductive to uplifting thoughts.
‘Give up, Nerissa,’ she chided herself. ‘And look where you are going, you almost tripped upon Lady Coreley’s train. And oh my! Lord Puddleston has seen you!‘
Lord Puddleston was, among her admirers, the only one that she actively disliked. There was something insufferable in his demeanour, a mixture of hauteur and gross familiarity, as if she were nothing but a scullery maid whom he deigned to honour with his regard. Nerissa looked around and saw a half open door. She quickly scuttled in and found herself in the library.
The library! From the beginning of the Season, libraries had been her favourite refuge from bothersome admirers, silly giggling gossips and prying dowagers. Libraries, where she had often discovered interesting books about garden design, thus improving her knowledge. It was remarkable what books various Lords owned.
She looked at the books in this library, and saw, to her excitement and delight, the second tome of Palladio’s I Quattro Libri dell’Architettura open on a ledger: a most rare and famous text, which she had found quoted in many a treatise, but had never been able to peruse.
Nerissa was soon engrossed, to the exclusion of everything else, in reading the faded pages, written in Italian, a language she knew but imperfectly. Thus, she did not hear the door opening and a soft step on the carpet.
“If it isn’t the gorgeous Lady Nerissa hiding away between musty old parchments. What interest could they hold for such as you?”
The lazy drawl and the sneering tone could only belong to the hateful Lord Puddleston, who approached Nerissa with a catlike, menacing ease.
“Reading, are you? Hmmm, let’s see… The second Book of Architecture by Andrea Palladio?”
He burst out laughing.
“Pretty pictures, are they not? Of course you are looking at the pictures. I refuse to believe that you can actually read, or understand, a treatise on architecture written in Renaissance Italian. You should not fret your pretty little head over these dusty tomes. We could find more congenial ways to wile away the time on this rather tedious evening, you and I…”
Nerissa had realised at once that, by trying to hide from her unwelcome admirer, here, in the library, she had, instead, unwittingly trapped herself.
She was now at risk of becoming entangled in what could well become a very distasteful situation and, while Lord Puddleston was prosing on, she had been looking for an escape route.
And, as luck would have it, found one.
With her practiced eye, attuned to architectural features, she had already noticed that the music room and the library shared the same balcony. With nothing more than a cold look, not even deigning to answer Lord Puddleston’s sly innuendo, she turned, quickly unlatched the door, and slipped across the balcony to enter the music room through the doors which had, fortuitously, been opened, to freshen the air after the performance. Moving through the chatting company she sought someone to speak to.
She was safe, this time, but it had been a narrow escape. She had been careless and unconsidered in her actions. In this, her mother was right: it really took very little to mar one’s reputation.
~~~~~~~~
Some days later, Hunter went to Tattersall’s with Charles, to choose a new phaeton and horses to put to it. Old Nick, the head groom, had shaken his head and mumbled disapprovingly at his master’s lack of a suitable conveyance.
“A gentleman must be seen, must be seen driving, and a fine whip you are for sure, Master Hunter. Your father, bless his soul, had six carriages in his stable. After the accident, your mother went half-mad with grief and ordered everything sold. “No son of mine will die in a driving accident!” she cried.”
Nick shook his head again, sadly, as he remembered the Duchess’ grief.
“Your brother Charles persuaded her to keep the barouche – for the young ladies, you know - and the travelling coach, but that was that. The phaeton, your curricle, the gig and the chaise had to go.”
Apart from the pleasure of visiting Tattersall’s and inspecting fine carriages and prime cattle, Hunter was happy to spend some time with his brothe
r. Even living in the same house, their social life was frenzied and left little time for everything else. Also, if truth be known, Hunter had chosen to spend most of his free time with The Hounds, while Charles seemed to be constantly busy with the kind of activities that most young men of the ton would scorn – accounts, and plans for rotating crops, reclaiming bogs and improving drainage.
Hunter was beginning to feel a keen interest in the business of being a landed gentleman – he realised that he needed to learn about the way that his estates were managed, but did not want to infringe upon his brother’s interests, especially as Charles was managing the estate with foresight and efficiency. He valued those skills, and wanted Charles to know that.
“Well, Hunter, what do you think? These matched red chestnuts look a treat… and they are stallions, not geldings, methinks. They could be put to stud.” Charles laughed ruefully and looked sheepishly at his brother.
“I seem not to be able to silence the yeoman in me…”
Hunter laughed in response. “The yeoman in you is a very valuable, very shrewd gentleman. He could teach me a thing or two.”
“Would you be interested? I mean, really interested in learning about the land…?”
Hunter looked at his brother, frowning. “Would you mind if I wanted to? Would you help me to learn?”
Charles smiled. “Not in the least. I would be glad. I am, I think, planning to enter the church, you know. I must have a reasonable independence, if I want to marry. And I would be relieved to be able to leave the management of the family estates in your hands. I know that Mother would like to hire a steward, but I am convinced that the landowner must take an interest, lest any hired man fail in his duty and the estate not prosper. I had hoped that you might come to care about these things, but I could not be sure what you might think.”
Hunter thumped Charles on the shoulder. “So, my little brother wants to marry! And who is the lucky young lady, may I ask?”
Charles shrugged.
“Call me crazy, she might not want to marry me, now that the whole world is at her feet, but I liked her even when she was bundled up in those awful gowns her mother chose for her. Besides, she has brains, that girl. You know, when Mother was so ill after the accident, old Doctor Stapleford bled her repeatedly, until Nerissa put her foot down and would not let him. He went away in a huff, mumbling about interfering females, but Mother recovered in a thrice.”
Of everything his brother had said, Hunter had heard only a single word: Nerissa. Nerissa? Did his brother want to marry Nerissa? His Nerissa? Impossible! Inconceivable! Outrageous!
Hunter took a deep breath and tried to get his feelings under control. Why should he be so shocked? His brother wanted to marry Nerissa? There was nothing strange about that – at present, everyone wanted to marry Nerissa, dreamed about Nerissa, lusted after Nerissa.
Besides, how could he prevent his brother from courting Lady Nerissa, their childhood companion, their neighbour, the daughter of one of his father’s oldest friends? He had no claim upon her, in fact, he knew very well, as he had only reminded himself last night, that Nerissa was not for him, could never be his. Still the concept did not sit well with him, for some reason.
Now that he knew, he remembered several instances in which he had seen Charles and Nerissa laughing, talking earnestly, their heads together, or riding in the park. Maybe his brother held her esteem, maybe his regard was reciprocated.
Hunter closed his eyes, the brightness of the day suddenly gone.
Pleading fatigue, he left Charles to finish the purchase of the horses, and went back home, changed and spent the evening at White’s, playing piquet with Geoffrey and Charlton and rather morosely answering their good natured banter.
The next morning, Hunter was in a foul temper. He tried, with all his might, to calm down and enumerate the very good reasons why Nerissa and he should not suit.
He had nothing to offer and Nerissa would be better off with somebody who could love her without reservation. The concept of that sort of love terrified him – the pain that he had felt at Beatriz’s terrible death, the terrible black emptiness that still waited inside him, surfacing in his dreams, told him that offering anyone love without reservation was a path to the perpetual risk of pain. He could not offer that, could not ever take that risk again. He wanted someone safe, a friend, as a wife, nothing more. And Nerissa deserved more than that, much more. Besides, if he wanted to really improve his estates he had to have a hefty fortune available to him, and the only way to obtain what he needed was to marry an heiress…
Yet, sensible as all of these reasons were, it had been a vain effort.
Nerissa’s face, her wonderful slanted eyes, her perfect body enhanced by the bright, bold colours of her gowns, her quick wit, her mysterious passion which resulted in drawings, those dreams that she would not speak about, were ever present in his mind.
And he felt awfully guilty when he considered his brother. He had no right whatsoever to prevent him from courting Nerissa. Charles had cared for his mother and sisters during the difficult time after the accident, had taken over the management of the family estates, had been Nerissa's true friend, well before he, his worthless elder brother, had even taken notice of her. Charles was a steady, responsible young gentleman, capable of deep affection and true commitment. Charles was handsome too, with his raven black hair and keen hazel eyes.
‘Look at yourself,’ he thought. ‘You are a good for nothing bleater. Plagued by your memories, afraid to love again, unable to settle down and do something worthwhile. It would have been better not to sell your commission, to leave Charles to manage your estates and to turn into a hoary old veteran. Admit it, Nerissa deserves far more than the little you can offer her.’
~~~~~~~~
Lady Chester beamed at her younger daughter, an event almost unheard of, before that fateful Season.
They were seated in the parlour, taking tea, and discussing the social whirl. It was not a conversation that Nerissa cared for, but she had little choice. Her mother could conceive of no more fascinating topic.
“Well, now, my darling, I think that the Earl of Langley is going to drop the question soon. He is a very eligible young gentleman, well-mannered, obliging, attentive and handsome. His reputation is immaculate, he is not a gambler and he does not associate with disreputable acquaintances. Your father tells me his estates are very well managed and unencumbered, his townhouse is in very good taste and his sister is a delightful girl, spirited but sweet natured. Not that you will have to worry about her, she will probably marry in a few months. Lord Ackland seems quite taken with her.”
Lady Chester looked speculatively at Nerissa, who was gazing out of the window with unfocused eyes.
“I do hope, Nerissa,” she said, with some asperity “that you are not thinking of marrying young Lord Charles Barrington. I know you are fond of him and he is a really nice gentleman, but you can do much better than a younger son, soon to become a clergyman, if I heard Lady Melton correctly. He may currently be Viscount Wareham, as the Duke’s heir, but that title will pass to the Duke’s son, once he has one, and Lord Charles will be a nobody clergyman. Last year I would have been more than happy for such an alliance, but now…” and she let her voice trail off.
“Do not worry, Mama” answered Nerissa. “I like Lord Charles, but only as a long-time friend, and so I told him. I did not want him to cherish unfounded hopes on my behalf. I am too fond of him to play ducks and drakes with his feelings.”
Lady Chester released a sigh of relief at these words, wondering, once again, what magic had transformed her hoydenish younger daughter into this sensible, vibrantly attractive young woman.
“Very good, my dear. I can see that you are a sensible young woman. Now, we have received an invitation for a house party, to be held next week at Lord and Lady Stanmore’s country house. It is only a few miles from London, and Lady Bayford has told me that they have recently redone their gardens, in the most delightful fashion. We
will attend. You will, of course, need some new gowns and suitable jewellery to go with them. I am sure that Madame Beaumarais will think of something flattering.”
Well, Nerissa thought, at least she would be able to have a look at those new gardens. And no more trips into the library, however much she may wish to discover what books her hosts may have! After the near disaster at Lady Loynton’s “Evening with Euterpe”, she was set on behaving with unimpeachable manners.
~~~~~~~~
“Is it really necessary that we attend, Mother?” Hunter asked in an aggrieved tone. “It really sounds a dead bore. Besides, Lord and Lady Stanmore are not my favourite kind of people. He can speak of nothing but hounds, horses, rifles and game and she is a malicious gossip with a mean attitude.”
Lady Melton sighed. “I wish you were less blunt in your speech, Hunter. Speaking one’s mind is all well and good, I am sure, in the military, but amongst the ton a little tact never comes amiss. One should always avoid giving unnecessary offense or…” She coughed delicately.
Hunter looked at his mother, his eyes dancing with merriment. “Or acting like a sanctimonious prig?”
Lady Melton smiled.
“I would not have put it in such a straightforward manner, but yes, that is the gist of what I meant. Besides, your sisters yearn to go. I believe Alyse nurses a tendre for Lord Uppingham and I would like your opinion of the gentleman. He seems unobjectionable, but…”
“What are you afraid of, Mother dear? Unsavoury acquaintances? Gambling debts? Bits o’muslin hidden away in side streets? A despicable tendency to be foxed at ten o’clock in the morning? A bevy of maiden aunts?”
Charles, who was coming into the drawing room, laughed heartily and Lady Melton blushed.
“You know, Hunter, sometimes I despair of you. These are topics wholly unsuitable for a lady’s contemplation.”
Hunter smiled.
“Do not fret, Mother, I will investigate. And I will come with you to this insipid house party. It would not be seemly for you and the girls to go alone, without a responsible and sedate male presence.”
Claiming the Heart of a Duke: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 1) Page 4