Louise

by Oliver, Marina

  *

  Matilda was compliant for a while, but then she began to ask when she might be able to buy a sporting carriage of her own.

  'I want one like that high perch phaeton I saw yesterday when we were walking in the Park. That was being driven by a lady.'

  Lady Barlow raised her eyebrows. 'That is a most dangerous carriage. I will never even ride in one. It's so far to fall, and so unstable it will overturn very easily.'

  'I'm not afraid. But I want to cut a dash, so that people notice me.'

  They'd certainly notice the kind of disaster Matilda would provide, Louise thought.

  'What sort of carriages did you drive in Yorkshire?' she asked.

  'My father didn't like driving, so all we had was his chaise, which his coachman always drove, and a gig.'

  'With a single horse?' Lady Barlow asked.

  'Yes, but surely it can't be any more difficult to control a pair? I wouldn't want to try driving a team until I've had some more practice,' she conceded.

  Louise bit back a sharp comment. She glanced at her mother and saw Lady Barlow nodding thoughtfully.

  'Well, Matilda, I drive a curricle, so I will bring it round for you to try out in the Park, early tomorrow morning. It will be quiet then, and the Season has only just started, so we can be sure of no crowds to get in the way.'

  'But I don't want a curricle, they look boring.'

  'And safe. It's the only carriage I have, so it's that or nothing. If you prove a good whip with that, I'll find a friend who can permit you to try out a phaeton.'

  Louise, who was missing her daily rides in Devon, had hired a mount from a nearby stables, and meant to follow them. Her own groom, who looked after her carriage horses, was to accompany her on another hired mount. It was not just to watch how Matilda managed, but in case of accidents, she told herself. By now she was well aware of the girl's ability to delude herself, if not tell actual lies, about her accomplishments.

  When Lady Barlow drove up to the house, with her tiger perched on the seat behind, Matilda was all ready. She wore a pelisse in an eye-catching scarlet trimmed with sable fur, and a matching bonnet with two black feathers that curled round and almost met under her chin. She shrugged as she climbed into the curricle, and reached for the reins. Lady Barlow calmly took them away from her.

  'You cannot make your first attempt in a busy street,' she said.

  Matilda sat back with a sigh. 'It's not as busy as in York.'

  'How often have you driven in York? As I recall, your home is too far from York for you to drive a gig there.'

  Without waiting for a reply she gave the horses the office. Louise hid a smile. She knew her mother's taste in horses, and recognised in these a pair of sluggish underbred Welsh cobs Lady Barlow would normally hate to be seen driving. Where did they come from? But they would be ideal for Matilda, until her level of competence might be assessed. Louise followed, admiring her mother's skill as she turned into the busy Piccadilly, negotiated a stage coach and a couple of delivery drays, calmed the pair when a dog rushed out and barked at them, and finally turned into the Park.

  'Now can I have the reins?' Matilda demanded. The girl did not appear to have been frightened by the amount of traffic. Was she an able whip, or, and Louise suspected this was the case, had she simply not noticed the potential hazards?

  Lady Barlow shook her head. 'Not until we are in a quieter part.'

  'This is quiet, there are almost no other people around, just a couple of carriages and a few nursemaids with children.'

  'And just in case of problems we will go well beyond the children.'

  At last Lady Barlow began to instruct Matilda on the proper handling of the reins, but the girl ignored her, took them into her hands, and with them slapped the rump of the nearside horse. Startled, the animal broke into a gallop, dragging the curricle sideways as his fellow, not getting the same signal, continued in his slow walk.

  Lady Barlow snatched at the reins, further confusing the horses, but Matilda swung them aside. At least both horses were now galloping, raggedly and out of step, but at the same speed. Louise, keeping pace alongside, saw that Matilda had managed to tangle up the reins, and though her mother was trying to take hold of them, it would not be an easy task to disentangle them. She was wondering whether and how she might be able to halt the panicked pair safely when, on the far side of the curricle, a man on a large black horse came alongside and leaning over, grasped the rein of the offside horse just above the bit. Louise followed his example and came up on the near side, leaning dangerously sideways. When he saw she had the other horse's rein in her hand, he called across to her.

  'Slow them down gradually.'

  Between them, they brought the sweating pair to a halt. Lady Barlow had disentangled the reins by now, and had control once more. Matilda was weeping loudly, and in the midst of her sobs complaining that she could not be expected to control vicious, wild animals.

  'Rupert? How fortunate you ride early in the Park. I have to thank you for your prompt assistance.'

  Louise was regarding him with interest. He looked tall, long limbed and thin. His hair was dark, cut in a military style, and his eyes, now twinkling with amusement, were a vivid blue. He had a jagged scar across one cheek. He glanced across at her and raised his eyebrows, and for some unaccountable reason she felt herself blushing.

  'With able assistance,' he said.

  Lady Barlow swiftly introduced them. 'My daughter, Lady Rushton. I think you knew Richard, her husband? He was in the army too. And Miss Hoyland, a cousin, who is staying with her. Louise, this gallant rescuer is Major the Earl of Newark, at present on loan to the Foreign Office while recuperating from wounds.'

  'I'm afraid Sir Richard and I never met. But Emily, what the devil are you doing with such a pair of slugs? And how on earth did you manage to prod them into a gallop?'

  *

  Chapter 3

  During the drive back to Half Moon Street Matilda kept her face buried in a handkerchief, and let loose the occasional sob. She heard barely a word of Lady Barlow's caustic comments on her stupidity and selfishness. She was thinking hard. Perhaps it would not suit her purposes to have her own carriage. Though not ready to admit it she had been frightened when the horses bolted. There were other ways by which she could cut a dash. She had realised, seeing a few carriages driven by men, in which young ladies rode, that being driven by wealthy young men would be far better than driving herself. She could concentrate on them rather than having to pay attention to unpredictable horses.

  Because she was intelligent she forced herself to look honestly at her situation. She had realised that to behave in London as she was accustomed to behaving in Yorkshire would not do. She had been indulged from the moment of her birth. Her father had given her everything she had wanted, and after his death she had been the real ruler of the Hoyland mansion. The servants learned early to obey her, or they would be dismissed. Her mother had descended into invalidism, spending increasingly longer times at watering places such as Harrogate and Cheltenham. She had been left in the care of a succession of governesses, and if they did not please her she soon contrived to make them leave.

  She had been an inattentive scholar. Arithmetic bored her until she realised that if she were to check that the servants were not cheating her she needed to be able to oversee the accounts books. She found French difficult, and having reasoned that while England and France were at war she would never visit France, had refused to learn more. Similarly, she would never want to visit India or the Americas, so why need she know where they were on the globes? The dates of Kings and Queens of England she regarded as irrelevant, but she enjoyed stories of battles and executions. She accepted the need to write proper letters, and some poetry was interesting, though not those incomprehensible plays by a Tudor player whose name she always forgot. Plain sewing she decided was a task for a servant. Embroidery was too slow, it took far too long for a recognisable picture to appear. Drawing and water-colour painting
were more to her taste. Results were fast. Her teachers always praised her efforts, as did her dancing master who visited once a week to teach her various country dances. To her fury he refused to teach her the waltz, which she had heard was becoming popular in the ton. As she wanted to become proficient in other dances such as the cotillion and minuet she swallowed her annoyance and did not dismiss him. She had long since given up any attempt to play an instrument. Like French, it needed too much effort.

  So, she accepted with an inward sigh, she must dissemble. She must first of all apologise to Lady Barlow. Then she had to pretend to be meek and obedient, to smile at people she disliked, to refrain from voicing her true opinions, and to accept whatever rules Louise and her mother laid down. It would be hard, but the sooner she found a husband and could escape from these ladies and once more do as she wished the better.

  The man who had rescued them was an earl. He was handsome, and his scar was romantic. Was he married? She knew she had little chance of finding a duke, they all seemed to be married or ancient. A marquess would be better than an earl, but there did not appear to be many of them around. Perhaps an earl was the highest she could realistically expect. She began to plot ways of meeting him, and realised, with reluctance, that she needed the help of Louise and Lady Barlow.

  *

  When they turned into Half Moon Street they saw a large travelling coach outside the Rushton house, and servants were carrying in trunks. A groom stood just beyond the coach, and when she came nearer Louise realised he was holding Fire, her own favourite mare. She swiftly dismounted and ran into the house, to find her mother-in-law directing the servants.

  'Mama Rushton! What brings you to London?'

  They embraced, and Lady Barlow, following Louise into the house, exclaimed with pleasure.

  'Isobel, my dear! It's years since I've seen you. Have you come to keep an eye on Louise?'

  The Dowager Lady Rushton laughed. 'No, but I confess that her being here has made me long for some gaiety. So I am accepting your invitation to stay with you, Emily. Louise, don't look so worried, you won't have me looking over your shoulder. I told Mr Littleton he need not come back to London, I would bring everything. I'm just delivering the clothes and things you may need here. I've given Peg your jewels. And I thought you might like to have Fire with you.'

  Louise laughed. 'It's the lack of suitable bedrooms here that would concern me! It's wonderful to see you, but who is looking after Rushton Manor?'

  'You have an excellent steward, dear. He doesn't need either of us telling him what to do.'

  Matilda, who had been standing in the doorway, was introduced. She gave Lady Rushton a meek smile, bobbed a curtsey, and asked if she might be excused, as she had developed a headache.

  Louise glanced at her suspiciously. 'Yes, but I will be ordering a nuncheon for my mother-in-law and Lady Barlow in half an hour, while their carriages are taken to Mount Street, so I hope you will feel well enough to join us.'

  Matilda nodded, and escaped to her room. She had no doubt suffered a fright when the horses bolted, but she was unduly quiet. If only it could last! Louise dismissed the child from her thoughts and turned to ask after the tenants at Rushton Manor. They retreated to the drawing room, and later to the breakfast room where ham, fruit, and cheese had been set out. Matilda appeared, having changed her gown, and spoke barely a word unless asked a direct question.

  Soon the older ladies said they must depart, but Lady Barlow promised to arrange a small dinner party soon.

  'More people are arriving every day, and the Season is beginning. It can be a start to introducing Matilda to the ton,' she said, and smiled at the girl. As Louise escorted her and her mother to the front door she nodded in satisfaction. 'Perhaps she will be more manageable now,' she said. 'She seems to have heeded my remarks. I admit I was fierce with her. I was so frightened we'd be upset, and at that speed – ' she laughed suddenly. 'I didn't know those slugs could move at more than a gentle trot! Thank goodness for Rupert! But don't, on any account, let the wretched chit drive anything at all!'

  *

  The Earl, amused by the sight of Lady Barlow, famous for her match greys, driving those bone-setters, stabled his horse and made his way to the office. Her daughter had been unafraid, leaning over as she had done to catch the rein. For a woman on a side saddle such a manoeuvre could have been disastrous, but Lady Rushton had been fearless, and without her help he would have had more difficulty in stopping the runaways.

  Lady Barlow had spoken as though her daughter's husband was dead. He hadn't known the fellow, but someone in the office no doubt would. There were no dispatches awaiting his attention yet, so he wandered around chatting, and soon found an older man who had known Sir Richard Rushton.

  'One of the best,' this man said. 'He was married in 1808, but within weeks was sent to Portugal. I don't think he saw his wife again, and he was killed at Ciudad Roderigo. She was only eighteen when they married, one of the year's loveliest debutantes. And she's remained in the country ever since.'

  'She's in London now,' Rupert said. 'I met her this morning in the Park. She appears to have a young cousin staying with her, a bird-witted female who made a mess of driving Lady Barlow's pair.' He laughed. 'You should have seen them, as mismatched a pair of slugs as I've ever seen!'

  'Lady Barlow, driving bad horses? I don't believe it!'

  'I suspect she borrowed them. I don't think she would give stable room to any like that. I understood she had been testing the chit's ability to drive a pair, and it was clearly nil. A Miss Hoyland. Do you know the family?'

  His colleague was exceedingly well informed.

  'Yorkshire. Mines and mills and other things. It was a small affair at first, then when the older Hoyland died there were two brothers who expanded it. The brains were those of Frederick, the elder, and soon the younger, name of Joseph, I think, was put out to grass. As far as I know he went travelling. Then Frederick died and his son took over. Joseph lives in Bath now. Lady Barlow was married to his son, then when he died she married Barlow. This Lady Rushton must be his grand-daughter.'

  'And the older branch? Would this Miss Hoyland belong to them?'

  'I think so. Frederick's son died a few years ago and the businesses were sold. He had just the one daughter. There's a mint of money there,' he added. 'If you don't mind the smell of the mills and the fishing boats.'

  'Thanks. I'm not a fortune hunter, and chits her age don't appeal.'

  'They do to a lot of men when they come with her money.'

  Rupert thanked him, and went back to his desk to deal with the messages that had arrived. He found it hard to concentrate. He kept visualising the runaways and Lady Rushton's daring help in stopping them. He would perhaps call and ask if she was all right after her exertions. She could have strained her arm, or a shoulder. It would be the polite thing to do. Before he could do so, however there was a sudden flurry of activity which kept him busy. He would have to wait, but he had been invited to dine in Mount Street and surely Lady Rushton would be there.

  *

  'Just a small party,' Emily Barlow said.

  Lady Rushton smiled. She knew all about Emily's small parties. Without any effort they normally expanded from a family gathering into a rout for a hundred guests.

  'The family?' she asked.

  'Well, dear Louise and her protégée, of course. And to make up the numbers I'll ask Rupert Dubarry, and Sir Arthur Warton.'

  'I don't know him.'

  'An excellent fellow. Rupert's uncle. From one of the best families, but he insists on practising as a doctor. Mind, he's very good. He helped Martin when he was laid up last summer. That leaves me one man short. Have you any preferences?'

  'Emily, you know I have not been to London for years. I don't know anyone now.'

  'I could ask Cedric Dubarry,' Lady Barlow said slowly.

  'Isn't he the Earl's heir?'

  'Yes, and a despicable creep! The very thought of seeing him step into Rupert's shoes is
appalling.'

  'Then don't invite him.'

  'I know, I'll ask Sir Henry Goodger from next door.' She laughed. 'They were his horses I borrowed when I took Matilda to see how she could drive a pair. I thought I'd be safe with them, but they surprised me. I've never seen them at more than a trot when he drives them in the Park. However, thanks to Rupert and your Louise, there was no disaster. That's eight, just a cosy family party for dinner.' She paused. 'Though it's an awkward number round a table, one gets women seated next to one another. I'll have to think of another couple. I may invite a few more to come in for drinks afterwards.'

  'A few?'

  'Half a dozen neighbours?'

  'Won't that be rather overwhelming for Matilda?'

  'But we have to begin sending her to parties, so that she can entrap some foolish man and Louise needn't be bothered with her any more.'

  'Can you manage to get vouchers for her?'

  'I'm trying. I know there are a few needy men with titles but no money, and they have supporters with the power to supply the wretched vouchers. I'm pinning my hopes on that. I'm inviting a couple of the patronesses to tea next week, and I'll threaten Matilda with dire consequences if she does anything to spoil her chances. Of course, Louise will be given them, with your connections and her late husband's, so perhaps I can indicate she won't be able to attend unless Matilda does. Does Louise look to marry again?'

  Lady Rushton sighed. 'I know Richard would have wanted her to find happiness again, but until now she has resisted all my attempts to introduce her to suitable men. I think this was in old Joseph's mind when he foisted Matilda on her. He is very fond of her, despite his curmudgeonly manners. And it's another reason I came to London, to try and ensure she looks to her own happiness, not simply being a duenna to that wretched girl.'

  *

  Louise felt as though she were a debutante again, about to attend her first party. She changed her mind half a dozen times, driving Peg to distraction as she tried on various gowns, discarding one as too frivolous, another as too severe, a third as the wrong colour, which made her look too pale.