by Anna Willman
“That is bad enough,” Guinevere said, following her dear friend to their accustomed chairs near the fire. “But I am concerned even more about what it is that he may have already done. Oh, Charles, I am afraid that my darling Edmund may be in terrible trouble!”
When at last they left the library to go up to change for dinner, the crease between Charles Stanton’s eyebrows echoed the look of grave concern on his wife’s face.
CHAPTER FOUR: In Which Lady Legerwood’s Spirits are Elevated and Miss Manning’s are Disturbed
Miss Emily Manning was a plain woman of some thirty-three years. She was unquestionably well bred. The Manning family was ancient and well respected. Her manners were unexceptionable in every way – a paragon of womanhood – yet she lacked that elusive quality known as charm.
Her features were regular – there was no obvious flaw with which one might find fault. Her nose was neither too long nor too small. Her eyes were an unremarkable shade of grey. Her mouth was a perfectly acceptable mouth, her lips neither too thin nor too full. Her complexion was neither sallow nor brown. Her hair neither too thin, nor excessively abundant.
And yet, there was no helping it – in some way, the totality did not work to her advantage. Miss Manning was plain, unremarkable, easily overlooked, quickly forgotten.
When two London Seasons had failed to excite the interest of even the most unprepossessing of suitors, Miss Manning retired, with a sense of profound relief, to the country to make way for her two younger, prettier, and livelier sisters. There, for a brief span, she harbored a modest hope for a proposal from the local curate, a widower with five small children in sore need of a woman’s hand. But it came to naught when he withdrew his half-hearted attentions and offered instead for a lively widow some seven years her senior.
And so commenced her career as a spinster.
When her distant cousin, Lady Legerwood, invited her to come and serve as her companion, Miss Manning was glad to oblige. Sir Legerwood not only promised her a comfortable and secure home with easy duties, but also a substantial salary, which allowed her to provide herself with fashionable clothing and still have sufficient funds remaining to add to the considerable nest egg she had put aside for her old age. Miss Emily Manning always dressed modestly, to be sure, and avoided the extremes of fashion in which Lady Legerwood so often indulged, but she did appreciate fine fabrics and an expertly turned seam.
Her existence may have seemed humdrum, even tedious, to many, but Miss Manning had become happily accustomed to her life in the Legerwood household. She was genuinely fond of Lady Legerwood and took pleasure in cosseting her, brewing tisanes and heating up mustard plasters and fetching the Hartshorne, and always on the lookout for new remedies with which to treat her cousin’s many imagined ailments.
So it is not to be supposed that she reacted with equanimity when, the afternoon following Lady Guinevere’s visit, Louisa rejected her posset and arose from her velvet chaise lounge to announce that she felt much energized and considered that perhaps she would venture out for a short walk on Rotten Row.
“You may come with me, Emily,” she kindly informed her astonished companion. “I do declare it will do you as much good as it will do me, for my tiresome ailments have kept us at home far too long. No, no, I want none of those powders, my dear,” she added as Emily reached for the most recent soporific remedy provided by Dr. Bartley. “I don’t wish to be soothed today. I’m tired of all this quackery. Gwen was right. I need some adventure in my life.”
And so it was to the astonishment of all who knew them, that the two gentle ladies were seen out walking in Hyde Park just before the hour of five o’clock, Louisa in a charming walking dress of sea foam green with bands of blonde lace adorning the neckline and hem, under a perfectly tailored pelisse of a darker green, and a dashing bonnet adorned with three billowy plumes, and Emily in a more sober, but well-cut garment of blue serge, under a pelisse of grey with matching braid trim, a simple grey poke bonnet tied with blue ribbons, and a dark blue woolen shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders.
Louisa strolled quite contentedly, stopping to greet old friends, accept their compliments on her improved health, and engage in a bit of the latest gossip. Emily remained silent throughout, her face a mask of polite interest that hid the alarm churning below the surface. In her nine years of service as Lady Legerwood’s companion, she had never seen her fragile cousin exert herself in this manner, and she was not only confounded, but genuinely fearful of the possible consequences.
To be sure, their progress was leisurely, and Louisa’s landaulet followed them closely with a groom to hand the ladies up into the carriage and whisk them safely home should they tire from their exertions.
But Louisa did not tire. She rather sparkled with energy. Her plumes danced in the autumn breeze. Her cheeks flushed a merry pink in the cool October air. Her eyes were quick to spot an acquaintance on the path before her. Her smile was ready and her chatter lively.
Walking beside her charming, slender cousin, Emily felt large and drab and invisible – a sensation too reminiscent of her long ago social Seasons for comfort. Inevitably, perhaps, along with her concern for Louisa’s health, there arose unbidden in her plain bosom a slight sense of resentment. Not of dear Louisa, of course – she could never allow herself to resent the woman who had been so kind to her all these years – but resentment nevertheless.
Too honest to deny the emotion, Emily searched for its cause. She had long ago resigned herself to her lack of countenance, or indeed of any quality that might endear her to the ton. She had also long since accepted her spinsterhood. That had been a kind of relief even – a letting go. But the relief had been occasioned by her release from the need to venture out into society. And now, suddenly, after all these years, it seemed that Louisa was preparing to thrust her back into that uncomfortable, even at times humiliating, world.
Emily decided that it was the sudden change that had unsettled her spirits. It hardly seemed fair for someone to disrupt a long established routine without warning. Not that she blamed dear Louisa. It was almost certainly Lady Guinevere’s doing – a restless soul if she ever knew one – and unnecessarily secretive, too. Putting odd notions into Lady Legerwood’s head so that the dear, sweet creature had sat long and silent for a good hour after her friend’s departure the day before, fretting herself, no doubt, over whatever nonsense Lady Guinevere had disclosed to her.
And now this queer start. Emily wished most fervently that Louisa would tire of it soon and that they would be able to find their way back to normal.
The two ladies made their way slowly through the park in this manner, strolling, stopping frequently, moving on – seeming to move together, but in reality far apart in spirit.
At last Louisa was satisfied and signaled the groom, who carried them safely home where Emily prepared a soothing tisane of chamomile with just a touch of lavender. Louisa settled onto her blue chaise and sipped the soothing infusion in great contentment, exclaiming all the while about how fat Lady Dawkins had become, how sad it was that Georgina Ferber had lost her second son at Waterloo, how the once beautiful Mrs. Digby – that used to be Marianne Dawes – had looked distracted, even worried about something and did Emily think perhaps she might be one of Lancelot’s unfortunate inamoratas?
Louisa thought she would ask Ned to buy her a copy of Lady Caroline Lamb’s scandalous book Glenarvon, for Mrs. Goodwin had promised her it was most entertaining to guess which members of the ton provided the models for the various characters in the story. Everyone knew that Lord Ruthven was Lord Byron, but there were others equally recognizable, though of course one must keep in mind that the exercise revealed a great deal more about poor Caro than it did about the individuals she intended to portray. So unfortunate to see a pretty young thing like Caro lose all sense of propriety, but what else might one expect from the Ponsonby set? Lord Byron would have done better to keep his distance.
How pleasant it had been to go out and about, j
ust as if she were young once more! Didn’t Emily think it had been a grand day? And maybe they would do it all over again on the morrow.
CHAPTER FIVE: In Which Lady Legerwood Opens Her Mind to Her Husband
When Sir Legerwood joined the ladies after dinner the following night, Emily excused herself on account of a nagging headache (in accordance with Louisa’s precise instructions), and went upstairs to her bed. As Edmund was dining out that evening, this left husband and wife alone for a cozy, if not altogether comfortable, tete-a-tete.
Having assured himself of his wife’s comfort by offering her a shawl and a pillow, the baron settled himself into his usual fireside chair and smiled fondly at the beauty he had married so many years ago.
“You look every bit as lovely as the day I married you,” he told her. “Perhaps even lovelier. There is a bloom in your cheek tonight that I have not seen there for some time. Dr. Bartley must have prescribed some new powder to enliven your spirits.”
“Not Dr. Bartley, but Guinevere. Ned, dearest, I have something I wish to discuss with you once the tea is served.”
“Of course. I thought Miss Manning did not look so very ill. I can see that you ladies have been scheming. What is it, my dear? Have you a fancy for some new trinket? Or have you decided to redecorate this parlor again?” He cast a quick glance around the room, which glowed gold in the candlelight, and a soft orange near the fireplace where they were ensconced. It had been completely refurbished just one year ago in the fashionable Chinese mode with lacquered tables and screens painted with dancing dragons.
She shook her head and laughed, her voice a delicate tinkle. “No, it is something altogether different that I desire. But hush now. Here comes Fimber with the tea tray. No Fimber, do not stay. It is just the two of us tonight, so I will pour. You may go, and please don’t come again until we ring for you.”
Ned waited as she counted out the sugar and handed him his cup. “What is it, Louisa? What do you want? You know you need only ask.”
Louisa looked at him over her cup. Her lashes fluttered slightly as she took a sip of the hot, sweet tea and carefully set the cup down on the enameled table beside her.
Then she folded her hands in her lap, took in a deep breath, and said, “I have been thinking that I should like to take a lover, if you please.”
Ned set his cup down beside his lady’s. For a moment he said nothing. Louisa waited. He cleared his throat and then was silent again. He did not look at his wife.
“You did not ask my permission the last time,” he said at last in a soft steady voice.
“Lancelot said I must not. But I think now that he was wrong. I did not like to deceive you.”
“You did not deceive me.”
“I know that now, dearest, and just think how comfortable I should have been all these years if I had but known that you knew.”
Sir Legerwood looked at her then. “Who has put this notion into your pretty little head, my dear? I would swear it was not your idea to take a lover.”
“Well, no. I had not thought of it. Indeed I never did think of it, for I knew nothing of such things. It was all Lance’s idea before. But now that I understand about you, it seems… well, Gwen says I should take a lover, and it does seem to me, upon careful consideration, that she is in the right of it.”
“Oh. Guinevere. That explains a good deal.” He waited, then went on, a little hesitantly. His face was a little flushed and he would not meet her eyes. “And just what is it that you now…understand about me?”
“Oh, only that you prefer men. And my dearest, what a relief it is to me! For I thought I had done something to give you a distaste for me, and Gwen explained that –“
“I don’t think I care to hear precisely what Gwen explained,” Sir Legerwood interjected quickly.
“Perhaps you would prefer to explain it to me yourself? There are some questions I have that Gwen was quite unable to answer.”
“Questions? No, my dear Louisa. I should definitely not prefer to answer any questions.” His face had become quite red.
Louisa sighed. “No one ever explains anything to me. Is it a wonder I am so ill informed?”
“This is not a topic suitable for the ears of a gently bred female.”
“Oh, Ned! You have no idea how tiresome it is to be a gently bred female. Will you not be open with me, my dearest? I have been so miserable simply because I did not understand why you wouldn’t come to me. If Gwen hadn’t told me, I’d be unhappy still.”
“I never meant you to be unhappy.” Ned spoke quietly. He still had not looked at her. “I could not tell you. I was afraid you would feel a disgust for me. I thought you would hate me.”
“I could never hate you, Ned. But indeed, I have cause for complaint. Your silence left me feeling that you had a disgust for me.” She turned her lovely face to him, and at last he found the courage to raise his eyes to meet hers. Tears glittered in the firelight as they slid down her cheeks and he felt his own tears well up in response.
“I never meant for you to feel that way,” Ned said, feeling a surge of desperation mixed with profound relief. He could scarcely credit that she did not despise him. “Don’t cry, my dearest. Oh, please don’t cry.“
“I feel my whole life has been wasted waiting for you, and now I understand that you are never going to come to me. That you are not interested in me simply because I am a women. So I must look elsewhere. May I take a lover?” Her tears had stopped now, her tone insistent.
“I love you, Louisa. My whole life depends upon you. Is that not enough?”
Louisa shook her head. “I know that you love me, but it is not enough.”
“And who is it that you wish to take for a lover?”
“I don’t know yet. I haven’t had a chance to look about me.”
“You will leave me.” His voice was low, almost a groan. His hands gripped the arms of his chair.
“Leave you? Oh, no. I don’t at all wish to leave you, Ned,” Louisa said quickly. “How absurd you are! But indeed, I am tired of Dr. Bartley, of pills and powders, of Emily’s insipid tisanes.”
She was quiet a moment, staring into the firelight. Then she looked at her husband and spoke with great earnestness. “I have gone out walking on Rotten Row for the past two days without any ill effect. Just considering the possibility of taking a lover has enlivened me. Can you not understand, my dearest? I’m tired of waiting. I want to experience life a little before I grow too old.”
“We’ll take a trip. We’ll travel to France, or to Italy. You will like that. Now that the war is over, the whole continent is there for us.”
“But I’ll still be sleeping alone,” Louisa said incontrovertibly. “Ned, I want a lover. Please, may I have a lover?”
Ned picked up his teacup and drank it down. His smile was a thin line that belied the note of desperation in his voice as he said, “You may have a dozen lovers, so long as you don’t leave me.”
Louisa jumped to her feet and clapped her hands. “We shall go to France first, and I’ll take a French lover. Then Italy and an Italian. Shall we go to Bavaria? No, a Hungarian lover would be better, don’t you think? Will you help me find someone suitable? He must be well bred and kind and not mind my having a husband. Oh, Ned, you are the kindest, the best of husbands!”
Ned laughed a low, quavering laugh and shook his head as he stood up and took her hands in his. The light from the fireplace flickered on his face.
“I am a fool, of course,” he said as he took her lightly in his arms. “We must be very discreet, my dear. And that must start right now. You must promise me not to confide in anyone – not even in Lady Guinevere.”
“Oh, Gwen will not be stuffy about this. It was her idea.”
“Her idea to tell me?”
“Well, no, not that, but I couldn’t bear to deceive you.” She stepped back out of his arms, and looked up at him.
“You are my angel,” he said. “Still, you must trust me on this. If Lady Guinevere speaks
to you again about taking a lover, you must tell her you don’t wish to do so. Tell her she was wrong about me. That we are in love and going abroad together. And then tell her nothing more.”
“You don’t trust her? She is my dearest friend.”
“I cannot afford to trust anyone. Nor can you. Guinevere may mean well by you. I believe she does. But she is Lance’s friend, after all, and Lord Carew is not a man to be trusted.”
Louisa looked at her husband with troubled eyes. “Gwen would not say anything to Lancelot.”
“Perhaps not. Certainly not maliciously. And yet, it may not be in her to resist a joke at our expense – at my expense. That is the way of the world, my love. To mock men like me. No, it is better not to put her to the test. Will you obey me in this, my dearest? Without your promise, I cannot agree to go forward.”
“All right. I won’t tell her. It shall be as you wish.” Louisa leaned her face against his shoulder.
Ned put his arms back around her. “That’s my good girl.” Then he frowned, and speaking very softly, with his lips close to her ear, added, “There’s another difficulty we must face.”
“What s that, dearest?”
“Miss Manning.”
“Emily?”
“We cannot take her with us.”
”Oh no. Of course not. Why, she would be very much in the way.”
“I will leave that to you, my dear, to think of a reason. Shall we dismiss her? Retire her with a comfortable allowance? Or merely leave her in this house to wait for our return.”
Louisa closed her eyes. “Guinevere would know what to do.”
“Ask her advice, if you like. Just do not tell her the real reason why we do not want Miss Manning to travel with us. Tell her anything. Tell her you are tired of Miss Manning’s tisanes, if that will suffice. That much is true at any event.”