“Indeed, I should be happy to see either of the girls settled so well, especially since we cannot now give them a season this year,” Mrs Kingsley said. “It is so unfortunate, and Mr Kingsley was quite resigned to the expense and the house taken and everything arranged. But there we are, it cannot be helped.”
“Still, you look very well, dear,” Mrs Cherry said. “It is a blessing, after all, so soon after the last time. Now you may set it all behind you. Nothing can afflict you three times, after all.”
This so affected Mrs Kingsley that she was reduced to tears, and the ladies were fully occupied with consoling her until the gentlemen began to appear, first the young gentlemen, who made at once for the Miss Kingsleys, and some time afterwards the others. Several of the gentlemen set up a game of whist, while the rest of the party played a noisy game of vingt-et-un, but the card play broke up after an hour when Mr Kingsley became concerned about his wife, and the visitors took the hint and ordered their carriages.
~~~~~
Lucy got little sleep that night. Even if her own nerves had been calm enough to allow her some repose, Margaret’s almost incessant weeping would have kept her awake. They spent most of the night huddled together, finally falling into an exhausted slumber only after long hours of wakefulness. Janet woke them by bellowing in their ears, “Time to get up, Miss Lucy. Time to get up, Miss Margaret.” Janet had been a junior nursery maid when Fanny was born and had known the sisters so long that only death, it might be supposed, would stop her from addressing Lucy just as she always had.
“Great heavens, Janet, whatever time is it?” Lucy said, trying to bury herself under the covers.
“Time to get up,” Janet said firmly. “Mr Dalton wants to be away at first light.”
The sisters washed quickly in water that, Janet assured them, had been hot when it left the underground fastness of the servants’ quarters. By the time it had been carried up two flights of stairs, through long passageways, down a flight of stairs, into the tower and up yet another staircase, it could only charitably be described as tepid. Margaret dressed hastily in her travelling clothes, left out the night before. Lucy had not anticipated being up so early, and had no clothes ready. She threw on a random gown, and helped Janet finish packing Margaret’s box, while Margaret sobbed quietly.
“Dearest, you are going to live with our aunts,” Lucy said gently.
“But it will all be different,” Margaret wept. “I shall know no one.”
“You will grow accustomed,” Lucy said in desperation. “You must, dear. We all must.” But there was no stemming the tears.
Within half an hour of waking, they were waiting in the hall for the carriage to be brought round, Margaret still weeping, and Robin giving instructions in a low voice to the night porter and a yawning footman, for no one else was up yet.
The carriage arrived, the sound of the horses loud in the pre-dawn stillness. Robin for the first time spoke to the sisters.
“Well, this is farewell, Lucy. Remember, I am always at your disposal if you should need me at any time. You need only write, and I can be here within a day.”
“Thank you,” Lucy said, but her throat was too choked for more words. She hugged Margaret, and then pushed her gently towards the door. And within moments they went out into the freezing January air, the carriage doors slammed and the horses strained into motion. And then they were gone.
Lucy found her way back to her room, hurled her clothes aside, and wearing only her shift, climbed back into the still-warm bed.
3: Young Gentlemen, Young Ladies
Leo knew at once that he was in trouble. He had been under his host’s roof for less than a week, but already he was aware that a summons to the library, his sanctum sanctorum, was very bad news. Leo had not yet breakfasted, indeed he was barely dressed, and that was another clue that something serious was afoot. Browning helped him into his coat and as he padded down the stairs, he reviewed the last few days in his mind, wondering where the transgression lay. He had thought himself unusually well-behaved for a change, but one never knew when a man might take exception to some perceived slight.
The library was not a big room, and Sir Ruthven Caldecott seemed to fill it. He was a large man in every sense of the word, both tall and broad, with the sort of ample stomach that betokened a life well spent, and a good deal of it spent at table. He was usually an affable fellow, but affability was not the word that sprang to mind as Leo made his bow this morning.
“Ha! At last, Audley.” If Sir Ruthven had been a bear, his growl would have been no less unsettling. “This is the chap, Mason.”
Another man emerged from the shadows behind the baronet, small and thin and scowling. He wore unrelieved black, apart from the Geneva bands at his throat. Oh, wonderful, a clergyman, and, to judge by his expression, of the type with no sense of humour about the amusements of life, or the tendency of young men to enjoy such amusements. But Leo could not recall seeing this one before.
“You are Leonard Audley?” the clergyman squeaked, his voice several octaves higher than Sir Ruthven’s rumbling bear tones.
“I am, sir, but I do not believe I have had the pleasure of making your acquaintance.”
“Daresay you haven’t,” the clergyman said. “Weren’t in church last Sunday, were you?” That was true enough. Leo had taken the opportunity for a leisurely morning in bed, although alone, sadly. “I am Theodore Mason, Audley, and although you don’t know me, you know something of my daughter, I’ll be bound.”
Mason? Miss Mason? He had a momentary flash of a small, dark, pretty female, sitting too close to— Oh. That explained a lot.
“I believe I have met Miss Mason, yes,” he said, warily now. If there was a female in the case, he must be on his guard. But at least his conscience was clear this time. Whatever complaint Miss Mason had made of him was entirely untrue.
“Met her? Met her? I should think you have, sir! Reduced her to a shadow of her former self, you have, sir! Why she does nothing but weep and wail all day, poor child.”
“I am very sorry to hear it,” Leo said politely.
“Aye, you say that now, but you were full of blandishments before, I’ll wager. Blandishments and enticements, and what are you going to do about it, sir, that is what I should like to know?”
“You are mistaken, sir. I have not spoken above a dozen words to Miss Mason, and not one of them was a blandishment. Or an enticement, come to that.”
“Oh, denying it all, now, are you? You see, Sir Ruthven, you see? Young men these days have no moral scruples, none whatsoever.”
“This is not good enough, Audley,” Sir Ruthven boomed, so loudly that Leo had to force himself not to jump backwards in surprise. “Phoebe has formed an attachment to you, and now you must do the honourable thing, you know.”
Time to put an end to this foolishness. “Sir Ruthven, I must respectfully decline. Miss Mason can hardly be suffering a broken heart for a man she cannot have known for more than six days, and who has barely spoken to her. You may enquire of your other guests if I have been much in her company. I acquit her of ill-intent, for she seems a pleasant child, but if she imagines I have displayed the least interest in her as a possible marriage partner, then she has entirely mistaken the matter. I am sorry for any pain she suffers, and hope it will be but of short duration.”
“You are no gentleman, sir!” said the clergyman, his voice even higher. “You are a scoundrel and a rogue and a deceiver of innocent females.”
There was no possible answer to that, so Leo merely bowed in what he hoped was a suitably facetious manner.
“Damn you, Audley, for your cheek,” Sir Ruthven growled. “Get out of my house!”
“Today, sir? I promised to teach Miss Winslow to play piquet tonight.”
“Today! Now! At once!”
Leo sighed, but bowed again, rather more politely and withdrew without haste. A footman sprang to attention at his post outside the door.
“Have my carriage brought r
ound in one hour,” Leo said resignedly. “Tell the coachman and groom to bring all their things. Oh, and send my valet to my room. It seems we are leaving a little earlier than expected.” Again. But at least this time the misbehaviour was not his.
As he headed for the stairs, he heard female laughter emanating from the breakfast parlour. It would be an ideal opportunity to make his farewells to the other guests. He turned, and made his way to the room. About a dozen faces turned towards him.
“Oh, Mr Audley,” Miss Winslow said. “Do sit beside me. The ham is especially good this morning.”
She was pretty enough, apart from the freckles, but air-headed debutantes were not of the least interest to him. Still, the smooth words came easily. “I shall regret the ham almost as much as your company, Miss Winslow, but unfortunately I am obliged to leave at once. Urgent business takes me away from you all this very hour.”
They all exclaimed in dismay, and would have questioned him in great detail about it, but once he assured them that it was not a matter of illness, accident or death, and was merely a previously overlooked piece of business that must now be attended to without delay, he made good his escape.
He found Browning still in the bedroom, awaiting instructions. “I take it we’re leaving, sir?”
“You are prescient, Browning. Yes, we must pack and leave at once, if not sooner. Once again, it seems, I am a rogue and a scoundrel and… oh, I forget the rest.”
Browning laughed, and went off to retrieve the box from storage, while Leo began to empty the contents of drawers onto the still rumpled bed.
A timorous knock on the door was followed almost at once by a familiar face.
“Yes, do come in, Tom, so that I may scold you in proper form.”
He slunk in guiltily. “Is it about Phoebe?”
“It is indeed about Phoebe, a lady I can barely call to mind, who is apparently labouring under the conviction that I promised to marry her and is now convulsed with grief at my reprehensible failure to do so.”
“I am very sorry, Leo, but I told her to give your name to her father, if he started asking questions. You understand how it is with me, and if my uncle found out—”
“I know, I know, Tom,” Leo said, patting him on the shoulder. “One never minds helping out one’s friends, and no one would stand by and watch your uncle cut you off without a penny. But why would the girl speak to that prosy father of hers in the first place? What need was there to say anything at all?”
“That was exactly what I said to her, and she said she would try to keep it all from him, but he had a way of weaselling things out of her, especially when she was upset.”
“But why was she upset? Six days, Tom. How can you reduce any lady to jelly in so short a space of time, and, more particularly, why would you, especially the vicar’s daughter? Good grief, man. You are a very agreeable fellow and attractive to the ladies and all that, but it seems fast even by your standards.”
Tom frowned. “It did seem a bit havey-cavey, to be honest. I mean, she was very sweet and so on, but I am very careful what I say. You taught me well, after that first business, so I know I never gave Phoebe any reason to think… But she started talking about marriage and naturally I was obliged to explain my circumstances — I mean, my uncle would never agree to it, not for a second. Then she cut up rough and turned on the tears, you know how girls do, and started talking about if she had to give my name to her father… so I told her to give him yours, instead. Of course, I never expected she would be stupid enough to actually do it. I am truly sorry, Leo.”
“Oh, do not give it another thought. I am not sorry to leave, not really. I had hopes of the delectable Mrs Winslow, but her hopes are all for her daughter, and that will not do for me at all.”
“Thank you, Leo. No one ever had a better friend,” Tom said. “But where will you go? We were supposed to have another week here, at least.”
“Oh, I shall go to Gussie’s.”
“She is the one with the husband who disapproves of you, is that right?”
“Oh, yes, Kingsley’s a crashing bore, but whenever I visit, I drop her a pony or two, so you see, she is always happy to see me. And she always has company about her, so I shall find some amusing diversion, you may be sure. At the very least, I shall take a few guineas from that stuffy husband of hers, who is too polite to refuse to play whist with me, and too stupid to win.”
At that point, Browning and a footman came in, manhandling Leo’s boxes between them and all private conversation was at an end.
~~~~~
Lucy had expected her first morning at Longmere Priory to be a leisurely one, spent in quiet conversation with Mrs Kingsley, perhaps, to receive her instructions regarding her step-daughters. Not a bit of it. At breakfast, the two girls wheedled their step-mama into agreeing to allow them to go visiting. They had not, it seemed, been able to pay any calls since Christmas and their consciences were pricking them in the most dreadful way. So many good friends and neighbours neglected because their mama could not go about, but now Mrs Price was there and surely they could pay a few calls, just to their closest acquaintances or those who might feel slighted by any neglect? Mrs Kingsley argued against it, but her resistance soon crumbled. No one could withstand the combined persuasive powers of two girls barely out of the schoolroom.
Lucy was not averse to the idea. She would be able to make herself known to a few of the Kingsleys’ neighbours, and assure herself of some companionship on the dowagers’ seats, should they attend the Extons’ ball.
She soon discovered that every house they called at had a young man in the family, of an age to be of interest to two girls of eighteen summers. At first Lucy was suspicious, but when she discovered that the two girls treated every young man to exactly the same breathless and wide-eyed attention, she relaxed a little. There was no one, it seemed, of particular interest to either one of the girls, and neither seemed in any danger of forming a serious attachment. They were fledglings trying out their wings and showing off their feathers in front of young men that their mother could not but approve of — the sons of wealthy neighbours. She saw no harm in it, but she carefully memorised names so that she could check in more detail with Mrs Kingsley.
This jaunting about making calls and a few visits to shops consumed almost the whole morning. Lucy was not inclined to complain, however, for she had enjoyed some pleasant conversation herself and made a few small purchases, so she decided that her time had been well-spent.
When she entered the morning room after her return, it was not a surprise to find Mrs Kingsley was not alone, but her visitor was of an unexpected nature. Such a fashionable young man would be less astonishing in the company of Deirdre or Winifred. However, the similarity of appearance to Mrs Kingsley told her at once that this was a relation. He was also the handsomest young man Lucy had ever seen. No… not handsome, not in the conventional sense, for his features had not that perfection of form which merits such a description. He was attractive, that was as close as she could come to it. His hair was a soft brown that fell becomingly around his face, his lips were quirked in a smile that suggested a permanent enjoyment in life, and his eyes—! Oh, such eyes, golden like a cat’s and filled with so much mischief that it was impossible to suppress a smile. Lucy certainly could not, and nor could Mrs Kingsley, that much was evident. Lucy had never seen her look so excited and happy.
The stranger jumped up as Lucy entered the room. “Why, Gussie, you did not tell me you had such charming company staying with you. Do introduce me this instant.”
Mrs Kingsley tutted at him, but her smile did not falter. “Lucy, dear, pray allow me to make known to you my brother, Leonard Audley of Stoneleigh Hall and Bath. Leo, this is Mrs Price from Brinshire, who has very kindly agreed to chaperon the girls about while I am restricted.”
He bowed, and Lucy curtsied. “How do you do, Mr Audley. I did not know that Mrs Kingsley had a brother, but I can see the family resemblance.”
“You flatter m
e, Mrs Price, for Gussie is very much the beauty of the family.” Mrs Kingsley simpered and protested. “No, indeed, Gussie, you cannot deny it, and I am delighted to see you in such looks just now. I had thought you must be laid low, to be so confined to the house as you are, but I never saw you look in better health.”
“Hush now, Leo, for you know the reasons as well as anyone. It must be so.”
“But surely—” he began, but the door burst open just then and Deirdre and Winifred raced in, with delighted cries of “Uncle Leo! Uncle Leo!” and the interesting subject was lost.
Lucy found her work basket, and began sewing without enthusiasm, while listening to the others chattering. She wanted to know more of the attractive Mr Leo Audley, he of the mischievous eyes, but the girls were busy relating their adventures of the morning, and he was engaged in chaffing them gently about the young men whose names appeared at regular intervals, while his sister looked on, still smiling. It was true that she seemed to be perfectly well, and Lucy would have liked to know more of this mysterious illness that afflicted her. Yet the subject was not mentioned again, and she hardly knew her hostess well enough to enquire on so intimate a matter.
But if the conversation was not terribly enlightening, she could still feast her eyes on Mr Audley’s comely form. If ever she should be drawn to a man, she decided, this would be how he should look. His garments were well-fitted and clearly expensive, fashionable without ostentation, and his coat enhanced his manliness without, so far as she could judge, the artifice of buckram padding. He had the sort of slender physique that would never run to disagreeable fat, yet there were muscles in those shapely legs that drew her eye more often than was proper. Once or twice, she looked up from her perusal of these attributes to find those golden eyes, filled with laughter, watching her. Was it laughter, or speculation? One never knew what was in the mind of a man of that age. Even so, she blushed, and then was annoyed with herself. Good grief, how many years was it since a man had made her blush? She very much disliked being the object of such a man’s scrutiny, and determined to take no more notice of him, attractive or not.
The Chaperon (Sisters of Woodside Mysteries Book 2) Page 3