by Joan Smith
“Are you indeed? How very charitable of you, but I would prefer to remain ruined, thank you very much.”
“Don’t be so stubborn, Olivia. You only came to London to make a match. Oh, I know you claimed an interest in education, but it was no more than a ruse to rub shoulders with the ton. You have overestimated the worth of a title, but I don’t think it necessary to tell you that rather obvious fact.”
“I did not come to London to meet the aristocracy! You forget I stayed with the Monternes a year before
coming here. I met a dozen dukes and duchesses.”
“God yes, and never talked about anything else but the Tavistocks and Monternes, till we were all sick to death of hearing about them. The Monternes used you, and then laughed at you behind your back. Debbie at least... If you were not so blinded by this infatuation for titles you would see it. Has she ever once been to Russell Square to call on you?”
“No, you will be delighted to hear she has not!”
“I am not delighted. I think it damned impertinent of her. Ill-bred, equine behavior, as one would suspect of Strathacona’s lady. I expect she will give birth to a foal when her time is due.”
“That’s a fine way to talk about your friends.”
“Friends? I wouldn’t have given them the time of day if it were not for curiosity to hear what they had to say of you. They were the only ones in town who actually knew anything about you. Till I realized they were a pair of yahoos themselves, I put too much credit in their opinion. But I had eyes to see they were correct in thinking you lusted after titles and ton. Even toadying up to that jackanapes of a Harmsworth.”
“I don’t know who you think you are, talking to me like that.”
“I am a Lord, Olivia. A genuine peer of the realm. What other qualification should I require?”
“A little common decency would not go amiss. And don’t think I would ever have gone to your home had I had the least idea what you are really like. I regret I
ever locked horns with you.”
“Sorry your halo ever became entangled in my horns you mean. Don’t think I would have asked you had I realized you were not free to leave at your own pleasure. How was I to suspect you worked from necessity when you put up at the Pulteney, wore diamonds, and had set up your own carriage? I took you for an extremely eccentric lady but definitely one of independent means. Till I learned you had hawked your diamonds, I had no notion you were not.”
“I don’t see what all this has to do with anything.”
“To err is human, you said. To blame it on someone else is also human. I am trying to alot the correct share of blame to each. I acted badly because you misled me as to your true circumstances. I would not have behaved as I did to an ordinary governess, one who was dependent on her position."
“I expect you would not have given the world the idea she was in a bracket with Lady Beaton either.”
“I came here to rectify that unfortunate business. I am going to marry you."
“I wouldn’t have you if you were the King of England.”
“A sincere refusal would give me a better opinion of you. I shall be back tomorrow with a ring and license.”
“I won’t be here.”
"I think you will, Lady Philmot.”
"I would sooner die an old maid in Bedlam or Newgate than accept your impertinent, condescending insult of an offer. Whatever my former opinion of the aristocracy may have been, and I admit it was higher than justified, you may be sure I have rectified it. I have learned something from my experience at your hands.” I made a curtsey and turned to leave.
“What about my ball? I told everyone you would be there.”
“You will have to tell them you were mistaken,” I replied, and swept out the door.
Hearing his footfalls coming behind me, I hastened to the stairway and got halfway up it before he called after me. I did not stop, but went to my room to consider in peace and quiet this extraordinary visit.
What a degrading proposal of marriage, and to be told into the bargain his opinion of me would be higher if I refused! My opinion of him would not be quite so low had he not bothered to make it, and I wished I had thought to tell him so.
Chapter Twenty
The bolt of Indian muslin returned to Bath with the starch out of it, its blooms sadly faded, a rent here and there in the fabric, but with still a few years’ wear left in it. My father was happy to see me, Doris somewhat less so, I think, though she was polite.
“I never could see how it would work out,” she admitted. “Neither fish nor fowl, being a grand lady with a carriage and diamonds, and working as a governess. That is not the carriage Mrs. Crewes described to us, is it, Olivia?” You will notice I had finally become Olivia, at my own request.
“No, I traded it on a new one.”
“I made sure you would be wearing your diamonds, your first night home, and with company for dinner,” Papa added. He had invited neighbors in, but they had left early.
“The clasp is loose, Papa. I must have it repaired before I wear them again.” Lying to my own father and stepmama! I should have confessed the truth, but even after my humiliation in London, some pride remained with me.
“So the young lady caught the chicken pox,” Doris said next. “Very kind of the Danners to have you.” She smiled at Miss Danner, who sat with us. “Why did you not go back to the Synges when she was cured? You were ten days at Danners. We did not know what to think when Lady Synge’s brother wrote for your address. I thought from his letter they expected you back.”
“Why, Doris, you sound as though you want to be rid of me!”
“I did not mean that. This is your home. You must always be welcome here.”
Such unenthusiastic remarks as this showed me how unwelcome I was, but I would show her I had changed. I would. During Miss Danners’s visit, I was greatly occupied showing her a good time, to repay her parents’ kind hospitality to me. After her return had been arranged, I turned my talents to ingratiating myself with Doris.
It was pathetically easy, for she was eager for my friendship. We shopped together on Milsom Street. There was some unsuspecting wisdom buried in her ample bosom. She was not fooled into laying out fifteen shillings for Indian muslin.
“What a take-in!” she declared. “No more threads to the inch than in the nine shilling. One would have to be a flat to pay more.”
I was careful not to find her selections garish. Actually she looked well in the more lively shades she favored, and as Papa adored them, why should I tell her they were not worn in London? She would not be adorning Almacks or Carlton House in her green and gold striped gown. She would be sitting in her saloon, or a neighbor’s.
I made no demur when she selected those sentimental novels and poems that appealed to her particular nature. Her taste was at least more refined than Miss Millichope’s. I urged her to try one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s gothic novels, and made a new fan for that genre. She doted on them. As I had some familiarity with them from my greener years, I could point her to the best of them.
“I had no idea you liked this sort of thing, Olivia,” she said happily. “I thought they would be too simple for your taste.”
“No, I enjoy them very much.”
We stitched together on the green and yellow striped silk. “Why do you not try the new slit sleeve, Doris? They are wearing nothing else in London, and you have such pretty arms.”
“I would like to, but your Papa would not approve. In his position you know…”
“He won’t disapprove of anything you do.”
“He won’t say anything, but he won’t like it. I am a minister’s wife now, and must act the part. No point getting above myself.” More wisdom, learned too late.
On another occasion she said happily, “I must confess, Olivia, I was worried when I heard you were coming home. I was afraid we should not rub along together, but I see now I worried for nothing. Your Papa always told me we would be friends, but I thought you were too clev
er and stiff for me.”
I was happy to learn I had made myself acceptable, but there was an undeniable lack in my own life. The extreme edges of Doris’s and Papa’s daring and willingness to dabble in cultural matters just touched that point where mine began. I hope this was not pride leading me astray once again, but while I do enjoy an occasional gothic, it is in the nature of a sweet after a more substantial meal. There were no potatoes and meat with Doris’s intellectual diet, just the dessert. A few tentative suggestions of essays were politely but firmly rejected.
Lady Monterne wrote from Dawlish, having found a new use for me. She was taking Sylvia for a tour of the lake district for the summer, and wanted me to go to them in September when they returned. “Odd she did not offer to take you with them on the holiday,” Doris said, when I showed her the letter. “It sounds a lovely trip. I see she mentions Deborah will be at home for her lying-in, and you could help them out with that.”
“Very kind of them,” I said in a caustic tone. Deborah had a lot of nerve to suggest anything of the sort after the way she had treated me in London. I wondered if that conversation overheard when I barged in to visit her mother had not been about myself. “Bossy old scold” or something of the sort, she had said. The curt note sent back by me refusing the offer was couched in such terms as made a second request for my services as unpaid governess and nurse unlikely.
I harked back often to my experiences in the city. It seemed as though on every occasion when my path had crossed that of the nobility, I had been used badly. The Synges had all but thrown me into the streets, Harmsworth had stolen my necklace, and Philmot had tried to seduce me.
Failing in that, he had done a pretty fair job of ruining my reputation anyway, due to his own amorous intrigue with an expensive trollop. The impudent offer of marriage rankled with all the rest. What a merry chase he would have led me, reminding me with each new affair he undertook that I knew what he was before I married him. I had seen more love, compassion and true happiness at home and at Danners’ than in any noble mansion. The only person I missed was Dottie. When I received a letter from her one day, I felt tears stinging my eyes. Wishing privacy to peruse it, I took it to my room.
Dottie had sunk back to her execrable manner of expressing herself, without my stern influence. For half a page, I could not make heads nor tails of it all. Philmot was furious about it; Mama insisted it was a wonderful match; and Alice said she would go through with it, even if she hated him, because she had had a falling out with Captain Tierney. Not till I got to the very bottom of the page did the awful name of Lord Harmsworth pop out and hit me between the eyes.
Good God, how was it possible? Alice was promised to Lord Harmsworth, the marriage to take place in two weeks time. The announcements were out, and would I not please write to Mama, for she spoke of Miss Fenwick still with admiration, and Dottie felt—how had she discovered it—that I did not like Harmsworth. I must have let something drop during our last conversations, though I could not recall it.
My duty was clear. I must inform the Synges what sort of a man Harmsworth was. One hesitates to put such incriminating matters in black and white, in case the letter should go astray. Or perhaps the tedium of my life was goad enough to make me welcome the excuse to return to London. I felt the affair was partly my fault. I had talked Harmsworth up to Alice, and had never told any of them the truth about him.
It was not a fear for the rattle’s reputation that had kept my lips sealed, either; it was pride. I was not eager to confess to anyone that I had been made a dupe of, but I must tell them now. While the mood of resolution was upon me, I went to Papa and confessed all.
“The bounder! Stole your mama’s diamonds!” he exclaimed, pale with shock.
“In a way he did. He said he pawned it for thirty guineas, but the chit did not get it back. For an outright sale he would have gotten more than thirty guineas.”
“I paid a hundred for it twenty years ago. It is worth hundreds by now. Why did you not tell me, Olivia?”
“I was ashamed of my folly, and did not want to worry you.”
"What else have you not told me, foolish girl? It was not like you to refuse Lady Monterne’s invitation to Dawlish. Never mind, I shall learn the truth. I am going to London with you. We shall call Harmsworth to account for this business.”
Awful visions of a duel and a dead father reared up in my head. “No, no, I had much better go alone.”
“Alone? You have proved to me you are too green to be about the countryside alone. It is my fault for having allowed it. I admit I did not try very hard to keep you home, Livvie, for you and Doris did not hit it off as I hoped you would. I thought you were clever enough to take care of yourself.”
“I thought so, too. I was mistaken. Come with me then, if you think it for the best, but you must not challenge him to a duel.”
“You forget I am a church man. I shall call in Bow Street, and have him clapped in irons if he does not give back the diamonds.”
“How sensible you are! Why didn’t I do that?”
“Because you are a ninnyhammer, like your mama.” In the end, we took Doris along for the drive. She seldom went to London, and thus greeted it as a great outing. “We’ll put up at the Clarendon, and I shall go to see Lady Synge,” I outlined as we drove quickly through the green countryside.
“We’ll put up at Reddishes for half the price, and I shall go to see Lord Synge,” Papa contradicted.
“Reddishes is not at all elegant, Papa.”
“Good.”
“We don’t want to be too elegant,” Doris pointed out. With a view of her green and yellow striped silk still in my mind, I felt perhaps she was right. My old pride was creeping up on me again. Even—how shameful to confess it—I was wondering what impression Papa would make on the Synges and Lord Philmot.
Why was I worrying what a confirmed lecher and a superficial pair of noble nobodies cared about him, who had never harmed a soul in his life, but done a great deal of good. He was worth more than the pack of them rolled up in one. I stayed in our room at the hotel with Doris while papa went to pay the necessary call on Lord Synge, to acquaint him with the character of his proposed son-in-law. There was virtually nothing for me to do. We ordered tea and a newspaper to while away the hour and more we had to wait.
“I haven’t been to London in an age. Isn’t it exciting?” Doris asked as she poured our tea.
My heart went out to her. Exciting, to be pouring tea in a room no larger than a closet, with a view of another brick wall close enough out the window that one could touch it. “Just being here, I mean,” she added, reading the surprise on my face. “My, such crowds in the street. I do wish we could go out a little.”
“When Papa gets this business settled, we shall go shopping, and perhaps to a play this evening, if Papa is agreeable,” I promised rashly. She beamed like a baby being offered a lollipop.
“I think I’ll buy a yard of blond lace to use in the neck of my new gown,” she confided, with a daring giggle.
“I know just where to get it,” I told her, refraining from mentioning that the neckline was the best part of her new gown, and it would be a pity to conceal it.
The hour came and went. The tea was drunk, the pot grew cold, the newspaper had been perused for interesting items, and still Papa did not return. As the shadows lengthened, I suggested we make our toilette for dinner in the dining room belowstairs.
Doris drew forth from her clothespress not the green and yellow—that she would save for the night at the theater—but an even worse creation in bright blue, with black lace. I was requested to do up her hair, which I did, employing only the beaded combs for ornaments, and laying aside the black ostrich feathers as too handsome for a simple spot like Reddishes. She was disappointed, but ready to take my counsel on sartorial matters. Uncaring for the opinion of provincials, I wore a plain gold crepe gown, with only my pearls for adornment.
"Why, Olivia, you dress up better than that at home,” sh
e chided.
“My shawl has gold threads, and a three inch fringe,” I explained, selecting a fancy shawl to please her.
I looked with silent regret to see it was her white shawl Doris planned to wear, when she had a perfectly good black one that would have subdued her outfit. “How do I look?” she asked, patting her curls.
“Very chic. You will turn all their heads."
The door opened and Papa stepped in at a jaunty pace. “What happened?” we demanded in unison.
“I spoke to Synge. He was not sorry to hear the story, to tell the truth. It seems his daughter only accepted the offer in spite, and has been spouting like a watering pot ever since doing it. They were at their wits’ end how to break it off, but this gives them an excellent reason. He sent a note around to Harmsworth not five minutes after my arrival, but there was no answer. The bounder did not dare to show his nose at the door. I cannot imagine how you came to have doings with such a person, Livvie.”
“It was worth my necklace if it prevents Alice from making this dreadful misalliance,” I said, much cheered to hear of Synge’s rational behavior.
“There was another fellow there, brother to Lady Synge, the one who wrote us at Bath. He seems to think he might get your diamonds back for you,” Papa informed me.
“Lord Philmot?” I asked, experiencing a quake inside me.
“Aye, that’s the name. He seems a reasonable fellow. He is very generous. He has offered to put us up at his place for a few days, as I mentioned the cost of staying here at Reddishes to chase after Harmsworth.”
“No! I would prefer not to, Papa.”
“You can talk about it over dinner. The Synges insisted we take our meat with them, to pay us for our trouble in bringing this news. I came to collect you ladies. Give me a minute to change.”