An Intimate Education: A Comedic Tale of Open Hearts and Narrow Minds

by Anna Willman

  “No, but then, you do not judge. Others are less forgiving. And, Guinevere, you know that Thomas is right. I sinned with Lancelot, and then I lied to Jonathan. I brought this upon us.”

  “You are not alone, Marianne. This town is filled with women who have committed that same sin and told those same lies.”

  “All potential victims now for Lancelot. Oh, Guinevere, what can we do to stop him?”

  “I do not know,” Guinevere said. But she felt something deep inside, some dark sense of futility, shift just slightly. She sat down on a brocade settee and looked up at her old friend. “If you will call for a cup of tea, perhaps we can put our heads together and think of something.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN : In Which Mr. and Mrs. Digby Make Plans

  Thomas was now decided on giving his fortune to charity. He remained for a time undecided on which one. He considered establishing a school for the children of timber workers, or perhaps one for the progeny of any craftsman, or any child with the name of Digby.

  There had been quite a sensation just the past July of the trial of a chimney sweep for the death of his climbing boy. Thomas recalled that the child had been no more than five or six years old and his poor body was covered with burns and bruises from the brutal treatment he had received. The case had aroused such public sympathy and discussion that that Parliament had passed some bills to limit such rough treatment of apprentices, but Thomas considered them unlikely to be effective and now pondered the possibility of providing upkeep for mistreated climbing boys. But there were so many of them, the task seemed beyond his abilities, and he could not help but recognize that some degree of coercion was essential if the boys were to be persuaded to enter the dark and labyrinthine chimneys of the thousands of London townhouses. How was one to determine fairly when that necessary discipline became instead coarse brutality? He could not consider himself qualified for such a venture.

  He thought of a home for wayward girls, a place where they might retreat from life on the streets in order to learn an honest trade. He considered building a home for the aged and destitute. An orphanage for motherless children.

  All of these seemed like worthy projects, and yet, there were already people doing these things and Thomas could not say that he was prepared to do them better.

  Henderson, hearing these various proposals, recommended setting up a charitable trust to provide funds to those already doing good works, and after some consideration, Thomas agreed that such an arrangement would serve his purpose. The trust, he decided, would limit its charitable giving to enterprises addressing the questions of poverty and education, for Jonathan Digby had himself arisen from a family of no great means and had been insistent upon assuring that Thomas receive a good education.

  Once the trust was determined upon, the next step was to recruit trustees who would decide how the income from the trust was to be distributed each year. Henderson seemed a likely choice, but he demurred on the grounds that his skills would be better employed in managing the daily affairs of the trust.

  Thomas considered the possibilities among his wide acquaintance. He would need at least three trustees, but thought that five might be a better number, for there would be a substantial amount of money to give away each year and the responsibility attached was great.

  His sons-in-law seemed too young to him for the job, and he feared that they might feel some understandable resentment about being obliged to give away what they had once supposed would be their own inheritance. Even the men of his own generation suddenly seemed to him too preoccupied with pleasure and sport to take on the responsibility with the degree of seriousness and spirit of generosity that he would wish.

  He finally resolved upon three gentlemen well known for good works – Lord Levenby, Mr. Charles Stanton, and Sir Henry Wainwright. He paused then, thinking that the duties might be too onerous for such elderly men, for it was his intention that the trustees should inspect each charity personally before making a donation. At least two trustees, he decided, should be of his own generation, men in their forties who combined the vigor of relative youth with a mature sense of duty.

  When consulted, Henderson replied that Thomas would surely want to serve on the board of trustees himself, a suggestion that threw Thomas into a maelstrom of anxiety and stress. His plan had been to separate himself entirely from the fortune. Yet the idea, once planted, would not leave him.

  He did what he found himself doing more frequently than he ever had in the past. He consulted Sarah.

  Despite her refusal to accept the disbursement of their fortune, despite her insistence on visiting his mother, he had come to rely upon her good sense and unfailing support. No matter that she was a woman. This crisis had proven her worth a hundred times over, and he depended upon her.

  “Of course you must be a trustee,” she told him. “That way you can be sure that the money is well spent. Your honor must surely be satisfied knowing it is not being spent on our behalf. Why this is the very thing – it will give you something to occupy your time. You will be quite busy from one day to the next.”

  Thomas sat quietly a moment, tapping his finger on the arm of his chair as he thought. “You do not think it is taking advantage? I do not like to benefit in any way from this money.”

  Sarah sighed and spoke slowly, as if explaining something of great complexity to a small child. “Surely it is not taking advantage to busy yourself with good works, to use your skills and intelligence to make certain that the charities that benefit are worthy of receiving your father’s money.”

  Thomas smiled at her display of impatience and thought some more. “I do not wish to be unreasonable or stubborn. I have always been a man of moderation.”

  Sarah laughed at that, with only a little bitterness. “Oh by all means, Thomas, please do practice some moderation. You might start with your mother.”

  He shook his head, but smiled slightly to show her he took no offense. He was becoming inured to her persistence on that matter.

  “I’ll do it,” he said at last. “I’ll be a trustee. I only need one more now and we can move forward with the trust.”

  “And whom will you choose for the last position?” Sarah asked.

  “I do not know. It must be someone of our generation, but when I think of my friends, they all seem like such frippery fellows, immersed in sports and idle amusements. I don’t want someone who will fob the work off onto his secretary.”

  Sarah considered the gentlemen of his acquaintance, and found that she rather agreed with his assessment. They were fine gentlemen, some of them also good men, but they were generally preoccupied with sporting events and gaming and other gentlemanly pastimes. A few were dedicated family men, but none of them seemed to her to be of a charitable inclination.

  As no answer came to mind, they put off the discussion for another time. But that night, when Thomas came to her room, Sarah surprised him by asking, “Must it be a gentleman?”

  “No, of course not,” Thomas said,” but on the whole, it is my impression that members of the merchant class are in general too busy making money to have time for giving it away. Of course there may be just the right person out there somewhere, but as my father did not encourage me to befriend such people, I have no idea where to find him.”

  “That is not what I meant,” Sarah said, drawing him into their favorite nook.

  When they were seated there, side by side, she leaned her head against his shoulder, and said quietly, “I was thinking you might find a lady with sufficient time and energy to serve as a trustee.”

  “A lady?” Thomas asked, starting so that her head almost bounced on his shoulder. “I never even considered such a thing.”

  “I know you don’t like to do business with women, in general, but after all charity is different, is it not?” Sarah said, taking his hand in hers.

  Thomas leaned back comfortably, one arm around his wife’s shoulders, his other hand clasped warmly in hers.

  After a time he said, “I sup
pose you have someone in mind.”

  “If you weren’t insistent upon it being someone of our generation, I would propose your mother, for she knew Jonathan Digby better than anyone and would know if a particular charity would have appealed to him or not.” He stiffened, and she went on quickly, “But I agree that she is too advanced in years for the purpose, so it must be someone else. Perhaps someone who is in her confidence. Someone who can comfortably sound her out on the proposed donations, and bring her advice to the table.”

  Thomas looked down at his wife. “You are proposing yourself. ”

  She nodded. “I, too, will want something to fill my hours.”

  “That would give us two votes out of five. Perhaps an unfair advantage when there are important decisions to be made.”

  “It would indeed if I were the kind of wife who always did as her husband commanded.”

  Thomas laughed then. “Which you assuredly are not! Very well, my sweet harridan, you shall be the fifth trustee. I promise you I shall make you work very hard.” He paused and then added carefully, “You may consult with my mother and take her ideas into consideration, if you like, but it is your judgment I wish to have on the board of trustees, not hers.”

  She nestled against him, a smile on her lips.

  CHAPTER TWENTY : In Which Lord Carew Encounters Difficulties

  One does not become a successful rake, no matter how handsome or wealthy one may be, without some degree of skill in pleasing the ladies. When Lancelot left Sir Humboldt’s tidy establishment in St. James Square that afternoon, he was fully prepared to employ his considerable charm upon his daughter. He would woo her, he thought, and make no reference to any possible threat to her happiness. He would be so delightful that she would be eager to assist him, and any fear of exposure that she might experience would be solely the product of her own strict sense of propriety and not the outcome of any suggestion from him no matter how subtle.

  Unfortunately, the expenditure of charm requires propinquity, and when Lancelot handed his card to the solemn-faced butler who answered the door, he was informed sorrowfully that the young lady in question was not at home, nor likely to be for some extended period of time. Upon further questioning and an ample application of Lancelot’s persuasive manner, the butler so forgot himself as to disclose that the family had removed to Bath to visit an aunt who was partaking of the waters there.

  Lancelot relished a strong distaste for the waters of Bath and all that was associated with that town, due to a disreputable circumstance that had occurred there several decades previously. It had ended well enough, but thanks only to the timely intervention of Charles Stanton, at the behest, no doubt, of Guinevere. Looking back at that unfortunate episode, Lancelot felt an inexplicable pang of loss. Damn the woman! How could Guinevere desert him now, just when he needed her the most?

  Sir Humboldt had only reluctantly succumbed to his request for hospitality and could not be counted upon to tolerate the imposition of an extended visit. Lancelot’s charm was not altogether wasted on his own sex, but neither did it have the lasting impact that it was found to exert upon the ladies.

  As Lancelot made his way slowly from his daughter’s home towards the park and Rotten Row, he pondered his alternatives. He could follow his daughter to Bath. He could retreat to his country home. He could peruse his letters for a different daughter or son to approach. He could abandon his project – temporarily – and take refuge with Guinevere and Charles for a se’ennight or two.

  This last prospect was by far the most appealing, and he rejected it with regret. He would not go back on his promise to himself to deal fairly with Guinevere. Nothing, he told himself, would sway him from that course. It rankled no small amount that she thought him a complete cad, that she understood him so poorly. He would give her no just cause to condemn him further.

  She had offered to find him a wife. He shook his head and sighed. She meant well, of course she did, but how could she possibly understand these things. He knew that it was much too late for marriage.

  No, his present lamentable course was the only way open to him. He must rely upon the good will of his children. All he could do was try to inflict as little pain as possible – to avoid another calamity. Well, if it must be done, then he was the man to do it. He would take another look through the letters as soon as he returned to his rooms at Sir Humboldt’s home.

  But first he would let London know that he was in town.

  He turned into the park only a little early for the afternoon promenade, and began to stroll slowly, swinging his cane as jauntily as his aching foot would allow. As he walked, he cast his wandering eye on the pretty girls and watched out for old acquaintances. Perhaps Providence would bring him an answer.

  It is a lamentable truth in our society that while a woman of quality may be pilloried by her peers for the slightest indiscretion, a gentleman, so long as his collar points are sufficiently starched, his coat of a superior cut, and his boots shined to perfection, may commit any number of sins and still be accepted everywhere. Thus it was that those very same ladies who had, of late, avoided the company of Lady Guinevere were the first to greet Lord Carew with expressions of great affection when he encountered them on his leisurely promenade.

  Lancelot flattered himself that he was not such a fool as to be taken in by their expressions of good will. He accepted their flattery and protestations of affection with a jaundiced eye, knowing full well they hoped to cajole him out of mentioning them in his now infamous memoirs. And yet, no life-long admirer of feminine charms such as Lancelot could entirely resist the display of overwhelming graciousness with which he was met, and it did not take him long to persuade himself that Guinevere must surely have exaggerated the evils of her situation.

  He had just left the presence of one extremely alluring lady, when he turned and nearly stumbled against a gentleman engaged in conversation with a couple of his cronies.

  “I do beg your pardon,” he said with a slight bow. “I’m afraid that my gout has made me a bit clumsy.” And looking up he found himself addressing Ned Legerwood.

  “Well met, Ned, my boy,” he said with a grin. He had always been fond of Sir Legerwood and was genuinely delighted to see him. “If I am to bump into someone, I can think of no one that I would rather meet in this way.”

  Ned, however, looked less than gratified by the encounter. His bow was chilly. He exchanged the merest of civilities before excusing himself on account of being late for an urgent engagement and hurrying away. His cronies appeared mildly astonished at their friend’s rapid departure, eyed Lancelot with curiosity but little kindness, and with the merest of bows, went on their way together.

  And Lancelot, watching them, considered that perhaps Guinevere was not, after all, overstating her experience of social isolation. He turned to continue his stroll along Rotten Row, but found that he had little zest left for the adventure. His foot was paining him. He took the next turn that would take him out of the park and back to Sir Humboldt’s, and while he bowed to the ladies that he encountered, he did not dally, but went on his way, a thoughtful and somewhat troubled expression on his face.

  chapter twenty-one: I n Which Miss Westlake Shows Her Mettle

  “I cannot talk with Charles if he is not at home,” Guinevere complained to Louisa the next day when Miss Manning had finally left them in peace.

  “Good gracious, where is he?” Louisa said. She lifted her new hat out of a box filled with crumpled tissue paper and walked over to the mirror to place it carefully upon her head.

  “At one of his clubs, or visiting some crony, or out walking in the park. He doesn’t come home until just before dinner and then he goes out again not to return until after I’ve gone to bed. I have scarcely seen him since our…disagreement, and then only when there were others present. It is clear that he does not wish to talk with me alone.”

  “You will have to catch him unawares,” Louisa said, turning her head slightly to see how the hat sat among her caref
ully coiffed curls. “What do they call it in the military? Ambush him.”

  “Yes, but how?”

  “You know all his usual routines. Perhaps you should catch him in the morning when he is occupied with tying his cravat. Walk in and send his valet packing. Or go to his room in the night after he has gone to bed. Pull off his night cap and demand to be heard.” She shifted the hat slightly so that it tilted rakishly to the right.

  Guinevere could not help but chuckle at the image of an astonished Charles bareheaded in his nightshirt. “That would capture his attention.”

  She watched Louisa fuss with her hat for a few minutes. When she spoke next, it was on a different subject.

  “I think it would be a good idea to bring Edmund along with us when we go to call on Mrs. Westlake,” Guinevere said.

  “Oh, but surely not!” Louisa said, much startled.

  “We will need him, my dear goose, to occupy Elizabeth, who will otherwise deem it improper not to stay and visit with us.”

  “Oh, of course,” Louisa nodded. “An excellent scheme.” She stood before the mirror, adjusting the ribbons that decorated the charming confection on her head with a considering expression on her face that Guinevere was convinced had nothing to do with the tilt of her hat.

  Louisa turned and looked at her friend. “There is a limit, I believe, to the benefits of openness.”

  “Yes, indeed,” Guinevere said.

  “I do not quite understand it, but Ned is often anxious that I will say something I should not to people to whom I should not say such things.”

  “I should think he would be,” Guinevere said with a glimmer of fun in her eye.

  “He says people will despise him…and me…if I say anything that indicates I understand him – his…passions – or that he understands mine.”

  “Ned is wise. But I think you may be getting close to saying something to me that you should not, you know.”