by Diane Gaston
This was a man Dell would be interested to know. He rather liked what he’d seen of Edmund so far.
The second course was served.
‘You have a sheep farm, I understand,’ Dell said to Edmund after the food was on their plates.
Some wariness appeared in Edmund’s eyes. ‘We do. In the Lake District. And a more beautiful place in the world there cannot be.’
His wife spoke up. ‘It is not a country house, but a working sheep farm. I could not imagine a life more different than London, but I cherish every day we are there.’
The Duchess looked appalled. ‘Do not say you work on the farm?’
‘Of course we do!’ she answered. ‘That is the joy of it!’
Edmund gave his wife an adoring look. ‘Yes. Amelie has become quite adept at hay-making and sheep-washing. And there is no one better to tend to the lambs.’
‘You work?’ the Duchess cried. ‘Farm labour?’
‘Yes, Your Grace,’ Amelie responded proudly. ‘I quite thrive on it.’
‘Believe me,’ Edmund said. ‘I never figured myself a farmer. I was a soldier—’
‘He was wounded at Waterloo,’ his wife broke in. ‘And my brother rescued him and brought him back to Brussels.’
‘Where we nursed him back to health, did we not, Ossie?’ Lady Summerfield added.
‘Indeed, we did,’ the Count agreed. ‘Edmund and several other soldiers, as well. There were so many and we had a great house to shelter them.’
The Duchess’s smile froze on her face. How was she to take all this? A war hero who became a farmer? A scandalous lady and her lover nursing the Waterloo wounded?
Dell caught Ross’s eye. He was enjoying the moment as well.
‘The farm has prospered beyond anyone’s expectations,’ added Lord Northdon. ‘Edmund has increased its profits twofold.’
‘We are so very proud of them,’ Lady Northdon said.
‘I am so very proud of my daughters as well as my Edmund.’ Lady Summerfield smiled. ‘They have all chosen well.’ She slanted her gaze towards Lorene. ‘Well, perhaps except Lorene, but that all worked out in the end.’
Dell felt Lorene stiffen at her words.
‘Mother, really,’ Genna said disapprovingly. ‘What a thing to say.’
Lady Summerfield gave her that innocent look Dell was becoming familiar with. ‘It is true, is it not?’
From beneath the table, Dell found Lorene’s hand and squeezed it.
Tess spoke up. ‘Lorene has always taken care of us, Mother. We are all grateful for it.’
The Duke cleared his throat. ‘And you, Glenville. What are you about these days?’
‘I do some work for Lord Greybury from time to time,’ he responded.
‘Greybury?’ The Duke repeated. ‘A Tory, is he not? Heads some committee.’
‘That is correct,’ responded Glenville.
From that point, the guests conversed more with those nearest to them.
Lorene spoke in a low voice to Dell. ‘I have not told anyone of your town house, except for Mr Walters, my man of business. He accompanies me and makes certain the men listen to me.’
‘That sounds wise,’ he said. ‘How is the construction faring?’
‘Mr Good has workmen building walls on the ground floor. Next he says they will build the floors to the first floor, then the second. He has had the chimneys repaired.’
‘I thank you, Lorene.’ He did not want to see it, not until it was finished and looked nothing like he remembered.
She smiled. ‘It is my pleasure, truly.’
* * *
Finally the dinner was over and the ladies retired to the drawing room, leaving the gentlemen to their brandy. Only a short time to go and the whole evening would be over and Lorene could seek the refuge of her bedchamber.
When the ladies entered the drawing room, Lorene looked longingly at the pianoforte. What she would give to simply sit down at the keys and drown out everything with music. But, even though her mother had claimed herself as hostess, this was Lorene’s house and she felt responsible for the guests.
Genna and Amelie were already deep in an animated conversation.
‘I never knew you were an artist!’ Amelie exclaimed.
Genna laughed. ‘I never knew you were a shepherdess!’
‘Even I did not know that,’ Amelie said. ‘How was I to know how delightful it could feel to do something useful?’
Lorene knew that as well. She was delighting in helping refurbish Dell’s town house, but she didn’t want to tell any of them.
‘I admit I was looking forward to earning my own money.’ Genna sighed. ‘Not enough to give up Ross, though.’
‘Of course not,’ muttered the Duchess. ‘He will be a duke some day.’
Genna sent her a scathing glance, but did not engage with her.
Lady Summerfield crossed the room to Genna and gave her a hug. ‘I had no idea you wanted to be an artist. How exciting for you.’
Genna looked as if she tolerated the hug, but did not like it. ‘Well, you were not around.’
‘Edmund and Tess knew where I was. You could have written to me,’ Lady Summerfield said.
Genna faced her. ‘Why, Mama? You never wrote to us.’
Lady Summerfield stiffened. ‘Your father refused my letters to you.’
Genna, Lorene, and Tess exchanged glances. None of them ever conceived of that possibility.
Lady Northdon, Tess’s mother-in-law, spoke up. ‘We can do nothing about the past, no? It is best to start from what we might do today.’
If anyone knew this it must be Lady Northdon. Her family’s past, her humble status, were things she could not change.
‘Vraiment, Lady Northdon?’ The Duchess spoke the French word mockingly. ‘Does not the past affect the present? Surely you know it does.’
Lady Northdon met her eye. ‘The past affects the present, c’est vrai, Your Grace, but as we cannot change it, we must do what we can with what we are able to change.’
‘So true, do you not agree, Lady Summerfield?’ The Duchess smiled patronisingly at Lorene’s mother.
Her mother lifted her chin. ‘I do believe one must take the reins of one’s life, yes.’
‘Then certainly you will marry Count von Osten,’ the Duchess said.
‘Why do you harp on that subject, Your Grace?’ her mother snapped. ‘Surely it can be of no concern of yours?’
‘Oh, but it is my concern,’ she countered. ‘My husband’s son—the future duke—is tainted by your scandalous behaviour. You make yourself the object of gossip and that reflects on your daughters, one of whom is married to the future duke.’
‘Your Grace,’ Lorene said sternly. ‘Let us not discuss this.’
‘Oui, madame,’ Lady Northdon added. ‘It is not suitable for polite conversation.’
‘Oh?’ The Duchess raised a brow. ‘You would know?’
‘Please,’ Lorene tried again.
‘No, I want to discuss this,’ her mother flared. ‘I fail to see how whether I marry or not reflects on my daughters.’
‘Don’t you, Mama?’ Genna cried. ‘Do you not realise that we have lived with the scandal of your behaviour our whole lives? The scandalous Summerfields! Do you not know that is what people called us? Call us even now?’
‘Genna—’ Lorene attempted.
‘Why should what I have done have anything to do with you?’ her mother said.
‘Why?’ Genna’s voice became even more shrill. ‘Because it has! It does! Do you not think that people now whisper at us as we go by, “There is the daughter of Lady Summerfield. Did you see what was said of her in the newspaper?”’
‘I cannot help what people say of me!’ she protested.
<
br /> ‘You can behave with more propriety,’ the Duchess said.
‘This is nonsensical.’ Her mother turned to Tess. ‘Surely you do not see it that way, do you, Tess? Surely no one even remembered me from those early days.’
‘We were always tainted by your scandal,’ Tess replied. ‘And by Papa’s behaviour, too. When he died, what prospects did we have?’
‘You made out very well,’ her mother huffed.
‘I dare say we found happiness in spite of the scandal that tainted us, but it did taint us,’ Tess said. ‘It was not easy. Look what Lorene had to do to try to help us.’
‘Marrying that old lord?’ her mother said. ‘Well, she came out better than all of you. She is a wealthy widow, the best circumstance of all.’
Lorene felt her cheeks burn.
‘Lady Summerfield,’ Lady Northdon said in a soft voice, ‘perhaps you had better stop talking of this. Your daughters become very upset.’
‘Oh, my darlings!’ She walked from one to the other, kissing them on the cheek. ‘I do not wish to upset you!’
‘Then you will become respectable,’ the Duchess said so quietly only Lorene heard.
The gentlemen entered the room then, talking of investments.
The Duke was having a tête–à–tête with Count von Osten. ‘Will you come to my club tomorrow so we might talk more of this? I am intrigued.’
Edmund scanned the room and frowned. No doubt he sensed something was wrong, as did Ross and Glenville. They each went to their wives.
Lorene rose. ‘Pardon me.’ She hurried out of the room into the hallway where she leaned her forehead against the cool plaster.
‘What is it?’
She turned. Dell was there.
Without thinking she walked into his arms. ‘Oh, Dell! There was such a nasty quarrel!’
He wrapped his arms around her. ‘The Duchess?’
‘She started it, but my mother—my sisters—everyone quarrelled.’
‘Not Armageddon then,’ he murmured, rocking her slightly. ‘Merely a quarrel.’
‘I am not so certain,’ she said. ‘It may have been Armageddon.’
He loosened his grip and put a finger on her chin. ‘No. No real harm done. You are still as beautiful as ever.’
Her eyes widened in surprise. ‘Oh, Dell.’ She put her arms around his neck and embraced him, clinging to him. How could it be that Dell was the one person to make her feel right?
‘We had better return to the drawing room,’ he said as they broke away. ‘Are you quite recovered?’
She wiped her eyes and attempted a smile. ‘Quite recovered.’
She gazed at him, so handsome, so caring. She was at great risk of becoming infatuated with him again, filling her head with romantic notions. Look what had happened when she’d felt like that before. She’d almost got him hung for murder.
‘Let us go back,’ she said.
Chapter Twelve
After the night of the dinner party, tensions worsened. As the month wore on Lorene’s mother’s outrageous behaviour seemed to escalate. She and the Count attended a ball given by those on the very fringe of society and the newspapers covered every bit of it. Her name was attached to a different gentleman each night. A satirical print was sold showing her flirting with the Prince Regent while the Count was depicted as a hapless buffoon.
She and the Count began to quarrel.
‘Must you flaunt yourself wherever you go?’ he asked at breakfast, throwing the newspaper down in front of her.
‘Flaunt?’ Her eyebrows rose. ‘I do not flaunt. I am merely enjoying myself. I’ll not allow any newspaper man to dictate how I ought to behave, nor will I allow you to do so.’
‘You must consider that your behaviour affects more than you alone,’ he went on, ignoring her admonishment. ‘It affects me as well.’
‘You have been with me for over a decade and now you complain about how I behave?’ She looked affronted.
‘You have never acted like this.’ He lowered his voice. ‘What is wrong, Hetty?’
‘Nothing is wrong!’ she protested. ‘I am merely enjoying the entertainments that the Season affords. It has been many years—’
He leaned forward, an earnest look on his face. ‘I urge you to stop this at once before you alienate everyone who should matter to you.’
Lorene sat in silence, watching and listening to this exchange and wishing she had taken her breakfast in her bedchamber. Too many memories returned of her mother and father shouting at each other.
Her mother turned to her. ‘Am I alienating you, Lorene?’
Her mother spoke the question as if demanding Lorene to make the answer she desired.
‘It is difficult to talk to you, Mother,’ Lorene said truthfully.
‘Difficult?’ Her mother’s colour was high. ‘I am not difficult.’
Her mother fended off any criticism with denial.
Lorene knew that Genna and Tess were experiencing the effects of their mother’s scandalous behaviour.
‘Tess and Genna say they receive fewer invitations than last Season,’ Lorene told her.
‘That is not my fault!’ her mother protested.
‘But it is, Hetty,’ the Count broke in. ‘You know how people are.’
She crossed her arms over her chest.
‘Tonight, Hetty,’ the Count went on, ‘please behave yourself. Lord and Lady Northdon are very good people and will not complain of you, but it will be so much pleasanter if you remain on good behaviour.’
‘Northdon?’ she cried. ‘We are attending the theatre tonight with Lord Alvanley.’
Lord Alvanley was a member of the Prince Regent’s set and a man young enough to be Lady Summerfield’s son.
‘No. Tonight is the Northdons,’ he said patiently. ‘A dinner for Edmund.’
She waved a hand. ‘We can go to the theatre afterwards, then.’
Lorene dreaded this party. The last time the family gathered together, tensions had been high and tempers had flared. Her mother was already primed for losing her temper.
Anything could happen.
* * *
Dell shared a drink of claret with the Duke of Kessington in his library in the late afternoon.
‘Come to the opera tonight, Dell,’ his Grace said. ‘The Duchess and I have some important people sharing our box. It should be a productive night.’
Dell took a sip of his wine. ‘I cannot, sir. I am engaged.’
‘Oh?’ the Dukes brows rose. ‘Is there some other event of which we are not aware?’
The Duke was always alert for the most advantageous social events during which to pursue his political aims. Not that Dell’s commitment would fit that description.
‘A small party,’ he explained. ‘I am invited to dinner at Lord and Lady Northdon’s.’
‘Northdon!’ The Duke’s voice rose. ‘He is a pariah. Whatever induced you to accept that invitation?’
‘It is on behalf of Edmund Summerfield. He is leaving soon.’
‘Edmund Summerfield is not a connection that will do you any credit at all,’ the Duke told him. ‘You would be better off coming to the opera with the Duchess and me. There are always alliances to be made during the interval.’
‘Another time, perhaps,’ Dell said.
His Grace made a derisive sound. ‘I suppose that abominable woman will attend as well.’
‘Abominable woman?’
‘Lady Summerfield.’ The Duke shook his head. ‘There is gossip about her in the newspapers every day, it seems. She’s been fraternising with the Prince Regent’s set. Men of the town, the lot of them. You should distance yourself from them, my boy. Cannot allow their reputation to damage yours.’
‘It is to be a fa
mily gathering,’ Dell responded. ‘No newspaper men allowed.’
‘You jest.’ The Duke lifted his glass to his lips and sipped his claret. ‘I do not know why you are included. You are not family.’
He should keep his distance. By God, he’d never questioned why he was invited to a family party. They were making him feel as though he belonged with them.
Dell finished the last of his wine.
It was a losing battle warring inside him not to become attached to the scandalous Summerfields. As much as he resolved not to attach himself, he was drawn to them.
‘Where are you off to now?’ the Duke asked.
‘I am taking Lady Alice for a turn in the Park.’ Although it felt more like duty than pleasure.
‘Well done, my boy!’ the Duke exclaimed. ‘The Duchess will be very pleased.’
‘Do not raise her hopes,’ Dell said. ‘I am not at all certain I am ready for a courtship.’
‘Better now than later.’ The Duke saluted him with his glass. ‘You never know what can happen.’
Dell knew. In an instant a flame could go out of control and fire could consume all that was dear.
* * *
A short time later Dell was admitted into Lord Brackton’s drawing room. Lady Brackton was already seated there.
Dell bowed. ‘My lady.’
‘Penford!’ the lady said eagerly. ‘Lady Alice will be down shortly. Do sit down and have some tea with me.’
He sat and allowed her to pour him a cup of tea.
She enquired as to his health. Discussed the weather and what the public would soon learn about Brackton’s views on the next bill coming up for a vote.
‘Lady Alice will be delighted to take some air this afternoon. It is such a fine day.’ She repeated a review of the weather.
Lady Alice finally arrived. ‘Forgive my lateness, Penford.’
‘Indeed,’ he said. ‘It is of no consequence.’
She was not really a plain young woman. Pleasant was how he’d describe her. She lacked Lorene’s intensity, though.
Was that to Lady Alice’s advantage? Lorene drew him to her and he did not want to be drawn.