“Just so. I danced with a very handsome rake at the embassy ball there. I was just a little younger than you are now. His eyes had been positively the wickedest thing I’d ever seen, but so thrilling. I wonder if that was what set me on my path…”
She trailed off, lost in memories of those long-ago days, before remembering Holly, England, and the summer rain.
“Ah, I must ask you to forgive an old woman her musings, my dear. There comes a time when memories are all one has left.”
Holly met her new friend’s sparkling eyes. “I do not think that applies to you, Lady Louisa – you were in the journals just last month, dining with Lady Jersey. And I don’t mind your musings in the least. What a wonderful world you live in.”
“Me? But you live in it also, Lady Strathavon. While one does find the company rather lacking in such little villages, you could have all of London at your feet. You need not confine yourself to dull country circles. Have you noticed that once Mrs Mullins starts talking, it is near impossible to get a word in at all, for the duration of the visit?”
Holly giggled at such frankness and nodded, relived that she was not the only one who found Pontridge society too divergent from her own interests and temperament. “Yes, I have much the same trouble – they have all been very kind, but we have little in common, and I do think they feel it also.”
The dreams of a genteel country lady were too small for her, Holly realised. How much she thirsted for the exciting and unknown, for the world that had to exist just there beyond the horizon…
They spent the rest of the visit discussing Lady Louisa’s many travels – which had been extremely impressive and occasionally fraught with danger. Holly was especially taken with her friend’s stay in sunny Naples – the marvels she had seen and the adventures she had had.
Holly was surprised at how quickly the quarter hour of the visit passed – and she had not even once thought of her own sorry situation. Lady Louisa was an excellent companion: humorous, engaging, and in possession of the most wonderful repartee.
Holly was extremely grateful for the company and she happily accepted Lady Louisa’s invitation to call on her the following day.
Chapter 4
For all that Lady Louisa spoke of the place as a prison, Woodley Court was a magnificent building, and in much better repair than Pontridge, Holly noticed wryly, when the coachman handed her down the following day.
Her light summer cloak was taken by a footman dressed in impeccable velvet livery and an elegant wig. Then, she was shown into Lady Louisa’s boudoir, in the fashion of a generation ago.
“Ah, Lady Strathavon. How pleased I am to see you!” Lady Louisa exclaimed, rising from her mirror to welcome her guest. “You are just in time to help me decide on a gown. My seamstress is to come from town later this evening, and I simply cannot make up my mind.”
She indicated the fashion plates for two opera gowns, both of a remarkable splendour. The seed-pearl finish on the bodice alone would cost something ungodly, Holly thought in admiration.
“I really couldn’t say. They are both very lovely. Where do you mean to wear them?”
“Why, in London. For the Little Season, I think. I like the drape on the blue, but the silver has such lovely lace. And do you see the ruffle? Very charming.” She indicated the plate in question with a finely manicured finger.
“Then I think you had better take the silver,” Holly said reasonably.
“Hmm… Yes. But then, blue has always gone so much better with my eyes. And one should never disadvantage one’s eyes. They are the only way to charm a gentleman completely, Lady Strathavon.”
Holly hadn’t known that. She wondered who it was Lady Louisa meant to charm. The journals linked her with so many gentlemen of rank.
For her part, Holly had had no occasion to charm anyone – least of all her own husband.
“Do call me ‘Holly’, I beg. I find that being addressed by title is not something to which I can grow accustomed,” Holly said softly.
The lady paused. “Holly? A most unusual name. I do not think I have ever met a Holly before.”
Holly sighed wryly.
“Yes, it was a fit of fancy of papa’s – I was born near Christmas time and papa had been writing a study of the holly tree. Mama had been too exhausted from her lying-in to name me and so papa was allowed free reign. My siblings were all named as they ought, except for Rose, who also got a plant name. But hers is much better. Had mama had her way, I would have been a Susanna. She was most put out with papa for several weeks, I am told – it was just the sort of ridiculous thing he’d do on a whim.”
“How diverting! But it is a charming name. I think it is a great bore to be named as one ‘ought’ – an unusual name makes for better character,” said Lady Louisa. “If I had ever had a daughter, she would have had a very interesting name, I am sure of it.”
Holly was not convinced of the virtues of having a strange name. She would much rather have been a Susanna or a Charlotte.
“But why was your father writing about holly trees?”
“Papa is a very keen scholar of botany – he is known widely in that field. He had even been invited to speak in Berlin.”
“Really? How truly fascinating.” Lady Louisa seemed delighted by this.
“Yes, he spends many hours making sketches out in the gardens and he has even travelled to Brazil to look for rare flora. I wished to go with him, but mama would not hear of it.”
“Brazil? And to think, all I had to look forward to in life, according to my former school mistress, was the blessed state of matrimony. Your pardon, my dear Lady Strathavon.”
“Not at all. You seem to me to lead a very happy life, and you have made it so without the gamble of matrimony.”
“It is what suits me best. I have never found matrimony to my liking – it seems to me a thankless state more often than not. My problem,” said Lady Louisa with obvious amusement, “is that I feel I ought to be the one in charge of what happens to my person and my fortune, and I hadn’t the least intention of giving that up to marry quietly out of sight of society.”
She rose from her sofa, picked a book off her little side table, and handed it to Holly, who looked at the cover curiously. The Wild Irish Girl.
“It is all the rage,” Lady Louisa said. “Miss Owenson has a most remarkable talent for scandalous, barbed narrative. You must read her, and you must only ever read her unapologetically.”
Holly was surprised. She wondered what such a book could hold, to be considered scandalous. There hadn’t been a single scandalous tome in the whole of the vast library at Millforte. Unless one counted preposterous treaties on the growth of conifers, which had always put her papa out of temper.
“May I borrow it?”
“Indeed! That is exactly what I meant. In my opinion, it is a novel worth reading for any lady of intelligence. One of many, in fact, but an auspicious start.”
Holly was sorry that, being so far from town, there was no chance of getting near the circulating library.
*
As summer drew on, and the house began to take shape, Holly’s friendship with Lady Louisa only grew stronger. This was a blessing, for there was still no sign of Strathavon, though he sent the occasional letter, and dispatched people to work on the drainage and the roads.
Lady Louisa was kind and well-bred enough not to ask Holly about her husband’s continued absence or to comment on the sadness that sometimes clung to her eyes and mouth. It was really lovely to have a friend at last.
They were discussing the latest work by Mr Walter Scott, seated on a bench in Pontridge’s lovely herb garden, when Lady Louisa informed Holly that she had made up her mind to return to London for the Little Season.
“To spend the autumn and winter in the country is too bleak a prospect, my dear Holly,” the lady said. “Even walking out will be impossible, and I find I could not bear the isolation.”
Holly felt a stab of sadness. She understood Lady Louisa’
s sentiments perfectly. None better. And yet she would be very sorry to see her leave, because then she would be all alone once again.
She wondered if she could remove home to Millforte for the winter. Surely her husband could not expect her to remain here all by herself?
“I would like it very much if you considered coming with me as my guest,” Lady Louisa continued, looking at Holly shrewdly.
Holly didn’t know what to say. “I… I am very grateful, Lady Louisa, but I am uncertain…The house…”
The truth was that she wanted very much to go with her friend and to join society, but she was also afraid. Surely, they would not think much of her at all in fashionable London. And Strathavon…
“It’s quite alright – you need not give your answer now. But I beg you give it some consideration. ”
*
Returning to her study after Lady Louisa had gone home, Holly found a letter waiting for her, along with the latest society journals from town.
She knew the hand right away. She ran a finger over the address, hastily scribbled.
Was this letter from the duke to be yet another formal monstrosity? He had a way of asking after her wellbeing that made her feel as though he were writing his steward rather than his wife. Or was he writing to explain again that his business would keep him away a few weeks longer?
She decided to ignore it for the present, and opened the topmost journal without even looking at the name. Reading about the glamorous and bizarre happenings in London always made her feel both better and worse by halves.
As luck would have it, her husband was the subject of a story right on the first page.
It seemed that His Grace of Strathavon had already taken a new mistress, the writer speculated with great enjoyment. Some lady with whom he was seen having a very tense conversation in Hyde Park.
An opera dancer, some said, while others claimed it was the scandalous, widowed Lady Charlotte Holland, who gallivanted about town in the most astonishing jewellery imaginable.
Holly closed her eyes and sank as far back as the stiff back of her chair would allow. She concentrated on taking deep breaths, fighting the urge to cry.
Is the world suddenly reeling? She wondered.
It was nothing new for gentlemen to take lovers – Cyprians of great beauty and loose morals, who toured the town in expensive carriages and donned the sort of gowns Holly herself would never dare wear.
Who was this Lady Charlotte? She had never had occasion to see the woman for herself, but she did know that opera dancers were always beautiful and charming.
Then, with trembling hands, she opened the letter. The polite, impersonal simplicity of it came as the harshest blow yet. It really was as though he were writing to his groundsman!
She had no real right to be hurt, Holly tried to reason: he had never promised to love her. And yet she had hoped in her secret heart that he would. That he might see what she had done with the house for his sake, and grow to love her simply because she loved him.
But that had been a stupid thing to expect, and she had wasted a whole summer in dreadful longing. She thought of Lady Louisa, who had been a grand beauty and who never sat about longing for anyone.
She was much too busy for that, if the scandals left in her wake and the hearts she had broken were anything to go by.
Truly, if ever there was a life well lived, it was hers. Holly couldn’t imagine that any gentleman had ever preferred an opera dancer to Lady Louisa.
It was then that something changed within her. She wiped her eyes on her plain shawl and sat still as a statue, thinking furiously and feeling an anger grow within her.
If her husband could go out into the world and seek his pleasure in the arms of some opera girl, then she had every right to enjoy an outing.
It was not unheard of: why, even the Lady Patronesses of Almack’s indulged themselves in every amusement to be had in town.
She glanced at the letter again, wincing as her eyes scanned the contents. I trust you will have no trouble keeping matters in hand until I return. I shall no further trespass on your time, he’s written, and Holly had to swallow a sudden lump in her throat.
It was all so incredibly unfair. Holly was not completely certain whether it was this event that changed the whole course of her life, or if it had merely served to set her on to her path, pointing her gently to where destiny awaited.
She felt herself go suddenly brittle, like one of the daisies Cassandra had dried for her plant press book. A single gust of wind could easily have been the death of her just then.
Her situation was common enough. Members of the ton often chose to enter a marriage de convenance. And Holly even thought she might have been able to accept such an arrangement, if only she had known from the first that that was what is would be.
She would not have sat about imagining that it was affection that had compelled him to choose her over all the other young ladies on the Season.
She had built castles in the clouds and dared reach for the impossible.
And more fool she, for having fallen in love with him, for having read in his words, his manner and the looks he had given her, something far greater than what had ever been there.
Duty hung heavy on her, like a millstone about her neck. Holly brought out her stationery, inked her pen, and wrote the first line of exactly the kind of letter she was expected to write back.
I am very sorry to hear it. You may rest easy that I will keep the house in your absence. I can only hope that the spring will bring you with it to cheer me.
Then she looked again at what she had written, tears prickling the corners of her eyes, and her throat seized up. It was all so unfair, a voice in her head repeated.
She found herself brought to Point Non Plus. She hadn’t even had a chance, really. It was as though she were possessed by a strange force greater than herself – Queen Boadicea maybe, or some other legendary lady.
Holly was angry and outraged. She crumpled up the letter and hurled it into the fire.
The blasted letter was the outside of enough.
She felt chilled despite the warmth of the room. If he did not mean to live with her, then that was just fine. But it did not mean that she would stay buried in the country, a dull paragon of relentless, impassable respectability. Before Strathavon had come into her life, Holly had always stood up for herself, and it was high time she did so again.
She would not let this house be her tombstone nor mope here while her youth faded away in the wake of misery and loneliness. No. She would go to town, and she would live the life which was her due. She had done her duty, she had restored the house, and now it was her turn.
It felt unsupportable to be obliged to remain at Pontridge while Strathavon was free to enjoy himself as he pleased.
She forced herself not to consider what such enjoyments might entail.
She knew that even despite her anger she could not bear to imagine him in the company of another woman – it didn’t matter that such was to be expected from a gentleman of his standing and calibre.
But maybe all was not lost, another part of her whispered.
If only she could truly win his affection and to hold it, then the world would feel put to rights again.
It was not until she caught sight of her blotchy, tear-stained appearance that Holly realised how hopeless such a manoeuvre would prove to be, if she were ever bold enough to attempt it.
She needed advice – solid, sensible, unromantic advice. The kind of advice only Lady Louisa would be able to provide. It was most fortunate that they were good enough friends for Holly to be permitted the liberty of calling after five.
She rang for her old brougham, which had belonged to Strathavon’s mother, hastily threw on her bonnet, and hurried to Woodley Court.
Bored of sitting primly at home after no more than a handful of weeks, Lady Louisa had taken into her head to teach Holly how to drive. She had persisted even after Holly had nearly driven the brougham into the carriag
e-washing pond in an attempt not to hit a passing duckling. Holly was more than grateful for this tutelage.
The butler seemed amazed at her arrival and her rather frantic appearance, but he took up her card to the lady of the house and returned shortly afterwards saying that Lady Louisa would see her presently.
Holly was escorted into a quietly comfortable parlour, with yellow walls and a vase of flowers on a table near the window.
An easel with a half-finished floral composition in oils stood in the far corner of the room and, despite her agitation, Holly paused to admire the painting. There was an open window, and the room smelled faintly of smoke.
“Sir Joshua Reynolds I am not, but I daresay I made acceptable work of those snapdragons,” Lady Louisa’s voice spoke from the doorway, startling Holly a little.
“Oh, good evening, Lady Louisa,” Holly said, suddenly unsure what it was she had come for, exactly.
“Good evening, my dear. Would you care to sit? I shall ring for lemonade. I am sorry about the smell – I’ve been indulging in the tobacco, I’m afraid. My doctor tells me cigars are a dreadful affectation, but I find they help me focus on the brushes.” Indicating the easel again, the lady produced a green silk fan and waved it around a little, in an effort to dissipate the smoke.
“I wouldn’t want to impose. Any more than I have already done, that is…”
“You wouldn’t be. You’d be surprised at how free my social calendar is these days. I think even my placid sister would find it dull. Can I be of some assistance? You seem agitated.”
Her eyes took in the untied ribbons of Holly’s bonnet, and her puffy eyes, and her hand stilled, the fan snapping shut.
“I have come to accept your gracious offer to accompany you to London,” Holly said, her voice determined.
Lady Louisa raised an eyebrow.
“I am very glad to hear it, but I suspect that there is more afoot than that. I think I shall be very rude again, my girl, and ask you what it is that has happened to put you so very out of countenance. But first, do take a seat, I beg.”
Sitting down in the pretty armchair, Holly hesitated.
Lady Adventuress 01 - His Wayward Duchess Page 8