by Anna Willman
“She will do very well,” she declared and nodded to Guinevere, who had stayed at Miss Manning’s side throughout the inquisition. “Now it is up to us to convince him. The sooner the better, I should think.”
“Yes,” Guinevere said. And the ladies agreed to make their call on Lancelot the following day.
As the ladies were taking their leave, Louisa and Guinevere retreated to the small parlor for a brief consideration of all that had passed.
“At first I had considered that we would need a woman of a strong moral character to counter Lancelot’s… unpredictable sense of right and wrong,” Guinevere said, “but I could not believe that a woman of character would be happy in such a union.”
“No indeed,” Louisa said. “Lancelot’s morals would be bound to shock her and cause much distress.”
Guinevere nodded. “I had been thinking a good deal about Miss Manning, as you had asked me to, trying to find a splendid solution for her, and it suddenly occurred to me that a thoroughly respectable woman like Miss Manning might serve our purpose just as well. And then, when she did what she did to you, I knew we could feel assured that Lancelot’s moral failings would not shock her in the least, for her morals are just as unsteady as his. It is only her innate respectability that holds her in check.”
“It is regrettable, but alas, I’m afraid you are right,” Louisa said. “But does not Lancelot have a profound dislike for respectability? Perhaps he will refuse to accept her.”
Guinevere smiled. “He professes to despise respectability, to be sure, but I believe it is hypocrisy that he truly hates. For I assure you no one can doubt my respectability, nor Charles’, yet Lancelot is sincerely fond of both of us. And I believe that Miss Manning’s strict sense of propriety is genuine.”
“It is indeed,” Louisa said. She hesitated a moment and then said, “Emily assures me that she will not poison Lancelot, but Guinevere, do you think we can trust her to keep her word?”
“I think so, for her attempt to overdose you caused her genuine distress. Besides, Lancelot will quite dote on her, you know. She will have no cause to resort to poison.”
Reassured, Louisa went to take leave of their hostess, and Guinevere, with Miss Manning in tow, was not far behind her.
CHAPTER THIRTY: In Which Lord Carew Accepts His Fate and the Tale Is Ended
Lancelot saw the first carriage drive up shortly after he had completed a modest nuncheon of cheese and bread. He watched from the library window as four redoubtable matrons stepped down from the carriage. He was about to go see what the ladies wanted when he perceived the second and third carriages pass the Dower House and pull up the long drive.
A moment later Jarman came in to announce that he had situated the callers in the largest parlor.
“It is not in a fit state for visitors, my lord, but they tell me that a good many more ladies will be coming.”
“So I see,” Lancelot said. He went back to the window and noted that three more carriages had driven into sight. “Perhaps you had better put on some tea. It appears that we will need a great deal of it.”
Jarman was called to answer the door again. Lancelot rang for William and asked him to see to the door while Jarman prepared refreshments. William’s elegant bow managed to convey both his willingness to lower himself to such menial duties for the good of the household, and his expectation that his willingness in this instance was not to be taken as a general agreement to undertake such activities on any subsequent occasions.
Lancelot retreated to the library window. He recognized almost all of the ladies who were descending from their carriages and being escorted to his parlor. Indeed, he had spent the last several days reminiscing quite pleasantly about them. His emotions on this occasion were considerably darker. He felt that the worst of his nightmares was taking place before his very eyes. When he saw the Dowager descend from her coach and make her way to the house on the arm of another all too familiar lady, he groaned aloud.
He considered making an escape through the kitchens and out the back, and was looking around for his cane when Guinevere opened the door and walked in.
“I might have known you were behind this,” he growled.
“I should say rather that it is a joint enterprise,” Guinevere said calmly. She removed her hat and sat down. “It was my idea, however, to come in here to prevent you from deserting the scene.”
“I don’t see what good can come from this,” Lancelot said.
“You will be surprised. I know that I was. You have a good many friends, my dear.”
“Friends?”
“Amazing, isn’t it.” A dimple appeared briefly at the corner of her mouth.
He could think of nothing to say and so did not speak. Guinevere smiled at him in a kind manner and seemed content to sit in silence. He sank into a chair near hers. They sat waiting quietly until William came to announce that he had been informed that the entire contingent of ladies had arrived. He added that Jarman was serving them tea. Then he surveilled Lancelot’s attire with a critical eye, sighed in resignation, bowed a little stiffly, and left the room.
“I wore my second best coat today,” Lancelot said. “Wasn’t expecting callers.”
Guinevere looked him over, mimicking his valet’s disapproving air. “You’ll do,” she said at last. “It’s a friendly crowd.”
But when Lancelot entered the parlor, he felt a distinct chill. If the ladies were friendly, they did not appear ready to show it. They were, in fact, in a mood to scold.
The Dowager took the lead. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Lord Carew. Look at all these ladies and every one of them has a bone to pick with you.”
“Once you brought us happiness. Now you destroy our peace of mind,” one matron said.
“How could you turn on us, on your own children?” another matron asked.
“Well, I haven’t actually done anything to most of you,” Lancelot muttered.
“You didn’t have to. Look at poor Marianne! How could you shatter her life this way?” another lady said. “How can any of us face our future with equanimity.”
Lancelot looked around miserably until he spotted Marianne Digby seated on a sofa between two other ladies. He hobbled over to her and bent over to speak to her. “I do beg your pardon, my dear. I had no idea that young jackanapes would act so rashly. Truly, I never intended to bring you harm.”
“And yet, you did,” Marianne said. She paused, swallowed, and raised distressed eyes to his. “Our whole family is in turmoil, and it is a great sorrow to me to be the cause of it. My son still will not speak to me.”
“He’ll come around,” Lancelot said, his voice urgent with concern. “He must. I could tell he’s a decent lad at heart. Has a sense of humor, too, when he lets go of his dignity a bit.”
Marianne sighed. “I expect he will, eventually. His wife believes that he will. But that does not take away the sting of your betrayal, Lancelot. You were a sweet memory I carried close to my heart. It has a sour taste now.”
A murmur of agreement rose from the ladies assembled there.
Lancelot hung his head. He turned to face the ladies and spoke in great earnest. “I want you all to know that there will be no more betrayals. I cannot ask you to forgive me for causing you such alarm, but please be reassured. There never were any memoirs, and I have given up my other scheme – to prevail upon my children for their support. Lady Guinevere told me I would regret it and, truly, I do.”
The ladies could see tears in his eyes, and with that peculiar shift in temperament so often remarked in the fair sex, swung quickly from censure to praise. He walked around the room, stopping first in front of one and then another, hearing them out.
“You gave me hope when I had none,” said one, reaching a soft, plump hand up to him. He took the hand and patted it gently.
A younger matron spoke. “I have a beautiful daughter who has your golden hair and your laughter, too. She is a daily reminder of the sweet hours we shared.”
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br /> “You gave me my youth back,” said the Dowager.
He walked from one lady to the next, taking their hands, listening to their memories, smiling and nodding, scarcely knowing how to respond. He was deeply moved by their words, which echoed his own reflections of the last few days, and the ladies were touched to see their emotions mirrored in his eyes. Not all spoke, but many did, and these spoke of sorrows eased and happy hours shared, of beloved children, of husbands made amenable, of lives renewed.
“I thank you in my heart each time I see my beloved Suzanna,” Mrs. Westlake said in a voice scarcely above a whisper. Guinevere started and looked to see if Louisa had heard. Louisa sat as if transfixed, then catching Guinevere’s eye upon her, raised her brows and nodded.
More ladies spoke their thoughts. A few wanted still to scold, but more wanted to reminisce. It was the Dowager who called a halt, banging her cane on the floor for attention.
“Enough!” she said. “This is all very well, but we must get to the purpose of our visit.”
Lancelot came and stood before her once more. “Very well,” he said.
She looked him sternly in the eye. “We have decided – we ladies – that you must not go on as you have done.”
He gave a little bow and said, “I agree.”
“No more dalliances,” the Dowager said. “No more schemes. It is time you lived a settled life.”
“I fear I have no choice in the matter. I am without funds and cannot do otherwise.”
He might as well have said nothing, for she ignored him and continued her proclamation. “You shall marry Miss Manning here and put an end to your rambling ways.”
Lancelot stiffened slightly and shot a dark glance at Guinevere. Then he looked at Miss Manning who had risen from the couch where she had been sitting next to Mrs. Westlake.
She was young, he saw, and not ugly. She stood calm and erect. There could be no doubt about her ton. She was a lady in every respect. She lifted her chin and returned his stare. He thought it unlikely she could be pleased with what she saw.
He bowed politely. “I do not know by what means these ladies have persuaded you to offer yourself as a sacrifice to my dotage,” he said. “But you may disregard it. I do not look to marry.”
She nodded. “I needed no persuasion, my lord. I have a wish to be married, and am not likely to have another opportunity. I bring with me a substantial competence. Enough to put this place back in order if we do it in small steps – and to keep you in comfort as well.”
“Take heed, Lancelot,” the Dowager interjected. “We’ll get some lawyers to tie it up, so you cannot waste it as you have your own fortune.”
Lancelot ignored her and continued to address Miss Manning. “I am a crochety old man burdened with gout. I will probably beat you on my bad days.”
She smiled. “I will gladly nurse you, and I will not allow you to beat me.”
“And how will you prevent that?”
“I will stamp on your foot and run away.”
There was a moment of shocked silence in the room. Then Lancelot put his head back and laughed. And laughed. When he had caught his breath, he said, “A practical expedient. I expect it will prove most effective.”
“Yes,” she said. She flushed slightly and added, “I should inform you, perhaps, that I have no wish for motherhood. I am not particularly fond of children.”
Lancelot smiled and glanced around the room. “There is no difficulty for me there. I believe I have sufficient progeny.”
“So I understand,” Miss Manning said, all seriousness.
“Why do you wish to be married?” Lancelot asked after a moment of consideration. “Is it possible that you wish to become a viscountess?”
“I do not care. I do not mind a title, but that is not my reason.”
“Then why would you consider a match so unsuitable in every possible way?” Lancelot was genuinely curious. He was finding this plain young woman fascinating.
“I am not pretty. Neither am I clever or talented. I have no facility for foreign languages or music or painting. My conversation lacks charm. My wealth is insufficient to tempt a suitor. I am therefore, at thirty-three years of age, a spinster. The only thing I can do well is nurse the old and ailing.”
Louisa gave a little outraged snort and Miss Manning smiled apologetically in her cousin’s direction before continuing.
“I live with my parents. They are not unkind, but rather, indifferent. They are in excellent health, you see, and do not need me, and…I was never a favored child.” She paused and lifted her chin slightly. “I might occasionally visit my sisters, but there is nothing useful for me to do there either, unless the nursemaid falls ill. And, as I have told you, I cannot like the children.”
“You are unhappy?” Lancelot asked softly.
“Profoundly,” Miss Manning said.
“Why don’t you let a house in town?”
She spoke firmly. “It would not be respectable. And I should still be alone.”
Lancelot stiffened slightly. “You would turn me respectable?”
“I should not think that possible,” Miss Manning replied. She paused as the ladies around her laughed, and then continued, all seriousness. “Besides, you are a man, my lord, and can do as you please. And I already have respectability – more than enough for the both of us. It is liberty that I want. You must know that the rules are as different for married and unmarried ladies as they are for men and women.”
“And what would you do with your liberty?”
Miss Manning thought a moment before answering. “I scarcely know, never having experienced any. I know I should like to be useful.”
Lancelot’s smile was gently mocking. “We have here a philanthropist?”
She shook her head, and then looked up at him straight on, a glint of unexpected humor in her eyes. “From what I have heard today, it seems that you have been a philanthropist in your own way, have you not?”
There was an audible gasp from the ladies, but Lancelot threw his head back and laughed. Most of the ladies joined in, though a few looked slightly offended. The Dowager snorted and tried to scowl, but her eyes glittered with amusement.
When the room was quiet again, Lancelot spoke again. “What would you expect from your husband?”
The look she gave him wrung Lancelot’s heart.
“I should expect kindness,” she said softly.
Lancelot looked around at the ladies, who sat watching him closely. He looked at Guinevere, standing beside him. He looked at the young woman before him and didn’t find her plain. There was a kind of charm in her calm good sense, in her directness, in her utter seriousness. In her loneliness.
He stepped forward and took her hand and held it gently in both of his. “Miss Manning, will you marry me?”
A sigh shuddered through her whole body so that he could feel her hand trembling with the force of it.
“I will,” she said. Their eyes remained locked as with her free hand, she reached up and gently smoothed the fabric of his slightly rumpled coat.
A storm of chatter erupted in the room. Guinevere hugged them both and stepped back as the ladies all crowded forward to congratulate the couple. The Dowager made her way through the throng and briskly kissed first Lancelot and then the bride-to-be. “You’ll do very well together,” she told them and it sounded as much a command as a promise.
Amidst the noise, Louisa and Guinevere pulled Mrs. Westlake aside.
Guinevere led them into the hallway and spoke softly so that no one might hear them. “Dear Mrs. Westlake. Forgive us for asking, but will you tell us – you said ‘Suzanna’. Have you got another daughter? It is this Suzanna who is Lancelot’s daughter, then, and not Elizabeth?”
Mrs. Westlake looked from one to another and then gasped. “You thought that Elizabeth was Lancelot’s child?”
Louisa spoke then. “Yes, we did. And it has occasioned much distress, for, you see…,” she glanced at Guinevere and then continued,” Edm
und is Lancelot’s son. And we were so afraid that a terrible wrong had been done.”
“And that is why you came to see me, Lady Guinevere?”
Guinevere nodded. “I saw your letter to Lancelot. It mentioned a daughter. I could not be certain that you were that same Lydia Westlake, but we could find no other in London. And if Elizabeth was your only daughter, then it seemed we must step in to prevent the marriage.”
Mrs. Westlake looked at Louisa. “I had no idea, of course, about your Edmund. But I felt that something was amiss.” She spoke to Guinevere. “I thought you were intent upon nosing out trouble. I have spent my entire life afraid that my secret would be exposed and my children’s careers ruined because I was once young and foolish. When you came to see me, it seemed that my worst fears were to be realized just as Elizabeth was about to be married.”
“Sir Legerwood and I would not care about such a thing.” Louisa said.
“That is what Edmund said – that you would never object to their marriage because of some old scandal – but I dared not take the chance. Why did you not tell me what you feared?”
“It was not my secret to tell,” Guinevere said. “Lady Legerwood and I intended to call upon you together, but then she became ill, and when we were able to go see you, you had left the city.”
“You can be sure I left as soon as I could arrange it. I can see now that it was a mistake, but how was I to know?”
“Indeed, you could not,” Louisa said. “Will you tell us about your Suzanna?”
Mrs. Westlake hesitated, but then nodded. “Of course. I should tell you that Colonel Westlake was my second husband. I married, too young, a handsome young officer. I was underage, but so determined upon the match that my parents relented and gave their permission. His red coat made him appear gallant and brave, and, indeed, I understand that he was both upon the battlefield. However, at home he proved a surly and brutal husband. God forgive me, but I was glad when he was sent to fight in America. It was near the end of that war – his was among the last regiments shipped out.” She paused and then added, “Lord Carew saw how sad and frightened I was and…befriended me.”