The Hemingford Scandal

by Mary Nichols

  His promotion never came. The Duke had tired of his mistress and she had not taken it lying down. She had demanded a large sum of money to pay off debts she maintained had been incurred by having to live up to her position as a royal duke’s mistress; the Duke had refused to pay it and she countered by threatening to make public the details of their love affair. The wrangle had come to the attention of Parliament and it all came out in an enquiry into the behaviour of the Duke in the House of Commons at which Mary Anne Clark was the chief witness.

  Every member of that august body had listened with rapt attention to details of the love life of the King’s second son, heard his love letters read aloud and learned the names of those officers who came and went to the lady’s splendid home in Gloucester Place, among whom was a certain Lieutenant Harry Hemingford. At the end, the majority in favour of the Duke was so small he resigned as Commander-in-Chief and Harry felt obliged to follow his example. Jane was heartbroken and, encouraged by her father and Aunt Lane, had told him she could not love a man who got himself involved in such disgraceful goings on and broke off their engagement.

  Hard though it had been, she had tried to put it behind her, but now everyone seemed bent on reminding her. She had to tell Mr Allworthy, of course; you couldn’t deceive the man who hoped to marry you, but why did her aunt have to drag it up again? As for Anne, she felt very cross with her. She had promised she would not mention Harry again and it did not help to decide what to do about Mr Allworthy. Perhaps if she consented to marry him, it would put a period to the whole episode and everyone would stop prosing on about it.

  ‘I know how much you love your brother,’ Jane said. ‘And I admire you for it, but let us say no more. Tomorrow Mr Allworthy is taking me and Aunt Lane for a carriage ride in the park and I shall perhaps learn more about him then.’

  Anne sighed. ‘I can see I will never influence you, so I shall give up, but promise me you will not rush into anything.’

  Jane attempted a laugh. ‘I have no intention of rushing into anything.’

  They finished drinking their tea and Jane took her leave, wondering if she had been right to go and see Anne after all. She should have known that Anne could not be objective about Mr Allworthy, any more than her father and Aunt Lane were. She was on her own.

  She had slept badly, then worked all morning for her father until her thumb and finger were stiff from holding a pen and her head ached from trying to decipher his script. She ate a light repast and afterwards went upstairs to her bedroom where Lucy had already been dispatched and was waiting to help her change for her carriage ride. ‘What will you wear, Miss Jane? I have pressed your blue silk and your green taffeta, but it is such a warm day that I think the blue will be cooler.’

  ‘Yes, the blue, if you please, and the white muslin pelisse.’

  Half an hour later she presented herself to her aunt in the drawing room to await the arrival of her suitor. The blue suited her and its simple style showed off her slim figure. Her hair had been brushed until it shone like a ripe chestnut and was caught up into a knot on top of her head with two tortoiseshell combs. A few strands had escaped and formed ringlets about her face, softening the rather severe style.

  ‘Very pretty,’ her aunt commented. ‘I am sure he will be quite entranced.’

  They heard the door knocker at that moment, and a minute later Mr Allworthy was announced. He strode into the room, his hat beneath his arm, and bowed to them both. He was in grey, charcoal for his double-breasted coat, which had a high stand-up collar, dove-grey for his pantaloons. His waistcoat was lilac and his cravat tied in precise folds. His boots shone and his hair had recently had the attentions of a barber. ‘My carriage is outside, ladies,’ he said. ‘The horses are a little restive, so if you are ready…’

  He escorted them out to the carriage, helped them into their seats, climbed in facing them and ordered the coachman to drive to Hyde Park.

  It was, as Lucy had intimated, a very warm day and the park was crowded as it had been all Season. Whenever anything out of the ordinary took place in the Royal family, the whole haut monde converged on London and this Season was no exception. The King’s doctors had finally decided he would not recover from his madness sufficiently to rule and the previous February the Prince of Wales had at last become Regent. If those involved in the government of the country had expected sweeping changes, they were disappointed; the Regent carried on much as his father had before him, except that his love of pleasure meant there were even more balls and banquets.

  Jane sat stiffly beside her aunt, facing Mr Allworthy, seeing and yet not seeing all the hubbub about her. Every sort of carriage, from high-perch phaetons to gigs, from grand town coaches to curricles, was there, getting in each other’s way as they stopped for the occupants to exchange gossip and scandal. Aunt Lane was in her element and commented on everyone they saw. It was astonishing the number of people with whom she could claim a connection.

  ‘There is the Countess,’ she exclaimed. ‘Mr Allworthy, please stop so that I may present Jane. Her ladyship has a particular interest, you know.’

  Donald’s coachman skillfully avoided a collision with an oncoming tilbury and drew up opposite the Countess of Carringdale’s coach. ‘Countess, we are well met,’ Harriet called out. ‘Allow me to present Miss Jane Hemingford. You remember, we spoke of her.’

  ‘So this is the gel.’ The Countess peered closely at Jane through her quizzing glass. Jane was annoyed enough to look her straight in the eye and saw a very old woman in a dark purple coat and a turban of the same colour, which had three tall plumes dyed to match waving from the top of it. Her deportment was regal, her pale blue eyes taking in every aspect of Jane’s dress and demeanour.

  ‘Very pretty,’ she said at last. ‘Too thin, though what can you expect from young gels nowadays, always rushing hither and thither, enjoying themselves?’

  Jane thought that remark uncalled for and opened her mouth to protest, but her aunt quickly intervened. ‘My lady, may I also present Mr Donald Allworthy.’

  The Countess moved her examination to Donald. ‘Mr Allworthy and I are already acquainted. Good day to you, young man.’

  ‘Countess, your obedient.’ He smiled and bowed stiffly from the waist.

  ‘Harriet, I shall expect an accounting,’ she said to Aunt Lane, and waved a peremptory hand to tell her coachman to proceed. ‘I shall wish to be informed if an announcement is imminent.’

  Jane was seething and her aunt knew it. ‘Do not take her remarks to heart, Jane, dear,’ she said as they drove on. ‘She is only thinking of what is best for you.’

  ‘I shall decide what is best for me, Aunt,’ Jane said. ‘And I hope you will tell her so, when you see her.’

  ‘But should you be so adamant, Miss Hemingford?’ Donald said and, though his tone was mild, Jane detected an undercurrent of concern, which surprised her and added to her vexation. ‘Her ladyship is surely worth cultivating? She is wealthy and your kinswoman and I have always believed that family comes first.’

  ‘There, Jane!’ Mrs Lane said, triumphantly. ‘Have I not always said the same thing, times without number?’

  ‘Yes, Aunt, so you have, but the relationship is so distant, I would not presume—’

  ‘Fustian! If her ladyship chooses to take you up, then you should be grateful. She has no children of her own, you know, and approbation from her will ensure a place in Society for you and your husband. You will have an entrée to all the best drawing rooms.’

  Jane had no intention of toadying to the Countess, even if her aunt, and Mr Allworthy too, thought she should. He was looking pensive, as if he would like to add his arguments to her aunt’s, but she forestalled him. ‘Mr Allworthy, do you think we could drive somewhere else? I find the park too crowded for comfort.’

  ‘As you wish, of course,’ he said. ‘We will leave by the next gate and drive back up Kensington Road to Park Lane.’

  Jane was silent as they drove along; she was so put out by th
e top-lofty behaviour of the Countess and Mr Allworthy’s condoning of it that she could hardly speak. He seemed to sense her displeasure and leaned forward to murmur, ‘Miss Hemingford, I beg your pardon, I was only thinking of our…your interests. Lady Carringdale can make or break…’ He paused, as if realising he might make matters worse if he went on. ‘Please do not let it make any difference to us.’

  She looked up at him. ‘Us, Mr Allworthy?’

  ‘My hope. You did say I might hope, did you not?’

  She smiled a little woodenly. ‘How well do you know the Countess?’

  ‘Only slightly. My goodness, you did not think I connived…? Oh, my dear Miss Hemingford, I can fight my own battles.’

  ‘Is it a battle?’

  ‘A battle, to win you? Yes, but it is one I take pleasure in fighting, hoping for a happy outcome.’

  She did not know what to say to that and sat back in her seat and put up her parasol, to shield her from the sun. It was as they were passing Knightsbridge barracks that she caught a glimpse of a familiar figure, disappearing through the gates. The set of the shoulders, the dark curly hair, the jaunty way his arms swung as he walked, stopped her breath. With an effort, she managed to stop herself from crying out, glad that her parasol hid her face. As the carriage passed the gates, she leaned forward to look again, but whoever it was had gone.

  It could not have been Harry. The man had a kind of lopsided gait that was not at all like Harry’s quick stride, and he had looked older. Besides, Harry had resigned his commission and gone into exile; he was no longer a soldier. Her imagination was playing tricks on her. She had been reminded of him so many times in the last few days, she was seeing him everywhere.

  ‘What is it?’ her aunt asked her.

  ‘Nothing, Aunt. I had something in my eye, but it has gone now.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Oh, yes, Aunt, I am quite sure.’

  The rest of the ride back to Duke Street, the smiles and gracious thanks to their escort, the promise to go to a musical rout somewhere or other the following evening, passed in a blur. Jane’s head was full of memories, memories she could not erase, not even when she slept. She had said it was all in the past, dead and gone, and something had to be done to make sure it stayed that way.

  Chapter Two

  It was two weeks since Jane had seen the figure entering the barracks, two weeks in which she expected to come across him round every corner, two weeks with her heart in her mouth. She had not dared to visit Anne in case he was there, though she told herself a dozen times a day she had imagined him. And even if she had not, if he really had returned, did it matter? She had sent him away, told him she never wanted to see him again and had meant it.

  And there was poor Mr Allworthy, still doing his best to win her, escorting her to functions, taking her out in his carriage, even walking with her to the library when she wanted to change a book and helping her to choose ribbons for her new bonnet. She did not think she needed a new bonnet, but Aunt Lane had insisted that if she was to be seen out and about with Mr Allworthy, who was always in prime rig, she must dress accordingly.

  Often she had no chaperon apart from Hannah, dawdling several paces behind them, and when they were out in the carriage there was only Mr Allworthy’s coachman to give lip service to propriety. No one could fail to see that the gentleman was seriously courting Jane and many of her friends had asked her when they could expect an announcement. She had been evasive, but was she being fair to him?

  ‘Miss Hemingford, do you ride?’ he asked her one day. They had been out in his carriage as far as Richmond and were coming back along the Kensington Road. She had not been that way since she had seen what she chose to call the apparition; as they approached the barracks, she could feel herself stiffening, holding her breath, half expecting to see it again. There were several officers about, but none that looked at all like Harry, and she let out an audible sigh.

  ‘Is anything wrong?’ he asked.

  ‘Not at all.’ She sat upright, inching away from him. ‘What were you saying? I am afraid I was not paying attention. I have been doing some work for Papa and it suddenly came to me that I should have pointed out an error to him.’

  ‘I believe he works you too hard. If you were to consent to be my wife, you would not have to do it.’

  ‘Oh, but I love doing it. And Papa could not manage without me.’

  ‘Is that why you have delayed giving me your answer?’

  ‘I suppose in part it must be.’

  ‘Then do not let it be a consideration. I can find him a good secretary.’

  She laughed. ‘No one but me can understand his hand.’

  ‘Oh, I am sure someone could learn to decipher it, and perhaps he ought to try and make it easier to read.’ He paused. ‘You did not answer my question. Do you ride?’

  He had a disconcerting way of abandoning the subject under discussion just when she was gathering herself up to answer him. Was it because he sensed her reluctance to delve deeper into her feelings and wanted to spare her or was he simply assuming she agreed with him? She smiled to show him she was not put out by it. ‘I used to when I was a child and we lived in the country, but I have not done so since Mama died and we came to live in London. Perhaps I have forgotten how.’

  ‘Then I think we should find out, don’t you?’

  ‘I have no mount or habit.’

  ‘A hack can be hired and I will purchase a habit for you.’

  ‘Certainly not!’ she said sharply. ‘I could not possibly accept gifts of clothing, they should only ever come from a husband.’

  His smile was a little crooked. ‘I wish that I were he.’

  ‘I asked you for time to make up my mind, Mr Allworthy.’

  ‘And while you do so, the whole haut monde waits with bated breath.’

  ‘The haut monde is not the least interested in my affairs. I doubt more than half a dozen have even heard of me.’

  ‘There you are wrong. Your fame goes before you.’

  ‘Fame?’ she faltered. ‘Oh, you mean the tattlemongers have been at work.’

  ‘With the help of your Aunt Lane and your relative, the Countess. The more your aunt sings your praises, the more people talk.’

  ‘What do they say? No, you do not need to tell me, for I know already. I broke off one engagement for what many consider to be a trivial reason and any man who offers for me had better bear that in mind. I think I will never live it down and you were best to turn your back on me or some of the calumny will rub off on you.’

  ‘I am not such a Jack Pudding as to turn tail at the first setback, and if anyone should say a word against you in my company you may be sure they will be sorry for it. But it was not that I meant. I was speaking of your goodness, your modesty and obedience, the way you have helped your papa.’

  She tried to laugh. ‘Oh, Mr Allworthy, how gallant you are, but it is all flummery and you know it.’

  ‘Not at all. But you could put an end to the tattle at once, you know, if you were to consent to be my wife. I could carry you off to Coprise and they would soon find someone else to talk about.’

  ‘Is that the answer? Would you find it so easy to forget?’

  ‘I have your assurance it is all in the past, that you have no affection for the man in question and do not regret your decision to sever your ties with him, and that is enough for me.’ He paused. ‘Now, we have discoursed on the matter long enough. Shall we ride out together one morning? Friday, perhaps? Nine o’clock?’

  Nine o’clock was early, but at that time there would not be so many people about to witness her clumsiness and so she agreed, knowing that the more invitations she accepted the more she was compounding her problem, if problem it was.

  She purchased a ready-made habit in deep blue grosgrain. It had a tight-fitting military-style jacket decorated with silver braid and frogging. Her hat, like a man’s top hat, was softened with a length of bright blue gauze tied about its narrow brim with the
ends flowing freely behind. The skirt was full and plain. She decided if she did not take to riding again, it could be altered to make a walking dress and the money would not be wasted. Practising economy had become a habit with her since she had been in charge of her father’s household and she could not break it, even though Aunt Lane had generously paid for many of her new clothes and told her to think nothing of it.

  Donald arrived at her front door at the appointed time, with a magnificent black stallion and a small bay mare. ‘She’s called Blaze,’ he told her as he escorted her out and helped her to mount. Having made sure she was comfortably seated, he mounted the stallion and they set out at a walk. She was aware of a groom, following them on a cob, but he was so far behind that as a chaperon he might just as well not have been there.

  ‘Green Park, I think,’ Donald said, watching her carefully to see how she was managing. ‘It will be less crowded than Hyde Park.’

  As soon as she was in the saddle, she knew she had not forgotten how to ride. It came back to her as something comfortable and familiar. She had ridden almost daily when she was young, mostly in the company of Anne and Harry, whose home had been less than a mile from hers. They had been three rather wild children, sometimes riding bareback, often bareheaded, frequently barefoot, chasing across the countryside, up hill and down dale, until they had been driven home by hunger. How happy they had been, how easy in each other’s company, unaware of what lay ahead.