by Julia Parks
“Mr. Pendleton is leading us to a quiet little spot on his estate near Richmond. It shouldn’t take too long to get there.”
“How is it you know Pendleton?” asked Lord Sheridan.
“I was friends with his late wife. Such a tragedy. He took it so hard. I am pleased to see that he is rejoining society this Season.”
“Why would he not? He still has need of a broodmare.”
“Lord Sheridan! Your conversation is not only unsuitable, it is also quite heartless. How can you say such a thing?”
“I say it because it is the truth. Pendleton needs an heir. How else is he to get one without marrying a young woman all over again—just like last time. I assumed that was why you sought him out.”
‘That is insulting to both me and my late friend. What is more, it is untrue! Suzannah cared for Mr. Pendleton.”
“For his money, you mean. I hear the marriage settlement pulled that foolish brother of hers out of the River Tick just in time. And as for her mother’s extravagance at the dressmaker…”
“Nevertheless, Suzannah cared very deeply.... “
“Yes, yes, that is what they always say. But I ask you, would your friend have married Pendleton if he had been penniless?”
Lord Sheridan dropped back then to ride beside one of the carriages, conversing with the people inside for a moment. Olivia, still fuming, could not have managed speech if her life depended on it. She had known he was cynical, but his attitude was positively disparaging of his own class. How he could bear to be a part of something he so despised, she could not imagine. How hypocritical of the man.
Olivia vowed to have nothing to do with him for the remainder of the day. He could just take those broad shoulders and that handsome face and find someone else to annoy!
“I don’t know why I let you talk me into coming today,” muttered Sheridan while he frowned at his friend. They passed the tables and chairs that had been set up for the picnic and strolled toward the others.
“Talk you into it? Why, you practically begged to come along. Don’t blame me if you and Lady Olivia cannot play nicely together.”
“Hell and blast! She is the most infuriating female. The look she gave me for merely telling her the truth about Pendleton and his young wife.”
“Suzannah Humphries? I understand from Miss Hepplewhite that Olivia and Suzannah were the best of friends. No wonder she did not wish to hear your usual complaints. I tell you, Sheri, you must learn to play by the rules if you wish to be included in society’s games—for your daughter’s sake, if not your own.”
Sir Richard moved away to speak to the pretty Lady Olivia and Miss Featherstone, Lord Hardcastle’s new fiancée. Sheridan ground his teeth and glared at the entire assemblage. For tuppence, he would have mounted his gelding and ridden away. No one would have missed him. They were absorbed in their childish games of croquet and archery.
“Come and sit with me, Lord Sheridan,” said Lady Olivia’s aunt. She patted the chair by her side, and he obediently joined her. “I know when one has a picnic, one is supposed to recline on the ground on blankets, but I am too old for that. I am so glad Mr. Pendleton had his people come out and set up tables and chairs so that we could dine as civilized folks.”
She glanced at him and raised her brow. “This is the part where you tell me that I am not at all old, that you are delighted to sit with me instead of joining those annoying children over there who are playing croquet.”
Chuckling, Sheridan said, “And do you always want gentlemen to state the obvious, Miss Hepplewhite?”
“Oh, I knew I would like you. Hand me that plate of macaroons, won’t you? I intend to eat only sweets today. That is my reward for coming outside and sitting in the open all day. I do so hate picnics,” she added.
“Now that I know you feel that way, I think we shall rub along very well together, Miss Hepplewhite.”
“Oh, do call me Amy. Miss Hepplewhite is such a mouthful. And yes, I know it is not at all the thing, but it will do me the world of good to have such a handsome man call me by my given name.”
“Very well. Amy, it shall be, and you shall call me Sheri.”
“How very wicked of us, Sheri,” said the older woman, downing her glass of wine and holding it out for him to fill again. “Only look at that silly Mr. Jenson. A physician, you know, and yet you would never guess the way he is concentrating on that shot he is about to make. There! Muffed it, he did. He always was a bit of a clunch.”
“I have heard of Mr. Jenson. I believe he has an excellent reputation in the medical world.”
“What has that to say to the matter?” she replied, turning and staring at him for a moment. “I ask you, what good is it being such a bright fellow in the medical world if you go and make mice feet of all the rest of your life?”
“Would you like another macaroon, Amy?” he asked, handing the entire platter to her.
She took one, and he looked about him for more food that might appeal to his strange new friend.
Obviously, she was not accustomed to drinking great quantities, and the lack of food coupled with Pendleton’s excellent wine must have made her light-headed. To his surprise, he found her very amusing and didn’t wish for her to say anything she might regret.
“These little meat pasties are wonderful,” he said, handing her two.
She put one in her mouth and smiled at him. After swallowing, she said, “I am not usually so talkative, my lord. And I am not as disguised as you think. I am just in a foul mood, though I have no intention of explaining the why and wherefore. I do apologize, my lord.”
“No apology necessary, Amy. And I thought you were to call me Sheri.”
“Perhaps, when we are not surrounded by the children,” she said with a laugh. “Even my sweet Olivia would not approve of such an arrangement, and she likes everyone and everything.”
“Yes, I had noticed that about her. Does she never frown? Even when I made her mad on the way here, she merely stopped talking. She should have railed at me.”
“She is like that—sweet to the very core.”
“But surely there are things that anger her. One cannot be forever smiling and gay.”
‘The things that upset her are the things of life, and she prefers fixing the ones she can without talking about it.”
Sheridan would have questioned Amy about her cryptic remarks, but just then, they were joined by Mr. Jenson.
“I had to leave the game of croquet to the younger ones,” said Mr. Jenson, sitting down at the table. “My back just won’t permit me to bend in that uncomfortable manner.”
Sheridan wanted to laugh at the frosty reception Mr. Jenson received from Miss Hepplewhite. He put her age at near fifty, but she was twisting the good doctor into knots like the most accomplished coquette.
Taking pity on the man, he said, “I don’t believe we have met formally, Mr. Jenson, though I know your reputation. I am Sheridan.”
“How do you do, my lord? Isn’t it fine weather we are having today? Perfect for a picnic.”
“Splendid weather. Don’t you agree, Amy?” he said, earning a chuckle from the irrepressible Miss Hepplewhite.
“Yes, quite splendid, Sheri,” she replied, touching her gloved hand to his sleeve with a smile.
The doctor’s brows rose, and his chest puffed out. Sheridan would have felt sorry for him, but he was enjoying himself too much to stop. He wasn’t certain why Amy Hepplewhite was torturing Mr. Jenson, but he had no desire to spoil her fun.
The others finished their games of croquet and archery and returned to the tables for refreshments. Richard, with Lady Olivia on his arm, lingered near the archery set, his head close to hers.
As they came closer, Sheridan turned to Miss Featherstone’s cousin and said, “Miss Fallon, you must try the meat pasties. Le
t me serve you.”
She giggled and accepted his offering, gazing up at him with soulful eyes. He knew it was his turn to say something witty, to offer her a compliment, but his momentary lapse of good sense had fled, and he said nothing. A moment later, she turned away.
Hell and blast. Now everyone will think I’m nothing but a tongue-tied youth, moonstruck by her beauty.
“Lord Sheridan, you can give me another one of those,” said Miss Hepplewhite.
“Certainly. Is there anything else you require? Another glass of wine?”
“No, no, I have plenty, thank you. Mr. Pendleton, a perfect setting for a magnificent picnic.”
“First rate, sir,” said Sheridan, raising his glass. “To our host, Mr. Pendleton.”
Everyone toasted the old man, who rose and said a few words of welcome. Sheridan did not bother to listen. His mind was meandering into unfamiliar territory as he watched his friend hook arms with Lady Olivia as they sipped from their glasses. This caused a frenzy of copycats as the younger people did the same. Even the sensible Miss Hepplewhite was persuaded by the good doctor to attempt this feat.
Once again, Sheridan felt the veriest outsider. Not that he minded. He preferred his solitary state. He had never planned to be otherwise.
Still, when Lady Olivia threw back her head and laughed, he felt his stomach twist as a wave of envy for his friend swept over him. Her skin was like porcelain and her cheeks were dusty pink. He had never seen a more beautiful woman.
“Lord Sheridan, you are not drinking?” asked the doctor.
Sheridan started. Glancing at the glass, poised for a drink but forgotten, he drained it and set it on the table. Without a word, he filled his plate and set to eating.
Odd, how Mr Pendleton’s repast suddenly has the consistency of sawdust.
After everyone had had their fill, they drifted back to play croquet or take a walk. Lord Hardcastle and Miss Featherstone took a blanket and wandered away to sit together under an oak tree. Mr. Pendleton had secured Lady Olivia and strolled toward the stream.
Without hurrying, Sheridan followed. He wasn’t eavesdropping, but he could not have ignored Lady Olivia’s quiet gasp of excitement. The thought that the old miser might be asking for her hand sent a cold shiver up his spine, and he walked a little faster.
Mr. Pendleton, flustered by the hug she had bestowed on him, was blushing a fiery red and stammering without saying anything coherent.
“Is everything all right?” asked Sheridan, covering his suspicion with concern.
“No, no, my lord. That is, Lady Olivia is only a little excited by my suggestion.”
“Am I to congratulate you?” he asked faintly.
“Only on Mr. Pendleton’s generous gift,” exclaimed Lady Olivia. “I wanted him to give some money for a charity of mine. Instead, he has offered us land for our school. The land we stand on right now!”
The old man shook his head and said, “It is nothing. Besides, what am I to do with it? As they say, you cannot take it with you—money or land.”
“Still, it is so generous of you. You will not be sorry, sir. And we will call it…Pendleton School.”
“Really, my lady. Quite unnecessary…quite…oh, well, if you insist. I suppose that would be all right.”
“I do insist,” said Lady Olivia, placing a chaste kiss on the man’s wrinkled cheek. His colour deepened, and he excused himself and hurried away, leaving Sheridan alone with Lady Olivia.
“I didn’t mean to intrude,” he said.
“You didn’t, I was just so surprised. Mr. Pendleton is not known for his generosity, but it is such a good cause.”
“Perhaps he is trying to impress you,” said Sheridan, not thinking before speaking.
“I might have known you would question his motives.”
“No, I didn’t mean…that is, I do not think that at all, Lady Olivia. I apologize.” He smiled at her, and she seemed to soften. Taking her arm and strolling away from the others, he said, “Just who will go to this school? Girls from good families, I suppose.”
“No, no, it will be in part an orphanage—a home for children who either have no parents or have parents who have failed them. Right now, the school is in the city—a location that doesn’t allow for the children to play outside like they should.”
“And the other part?” At her puzzled frown, he added, “You said that the school will be an orphanage in part. What is the other part?”
“We have several children whose parents cannot afford them at this time. Their mothers are alive—some are soldiers’ widows, but they cannot afford to keep their children with them. This home will allow the mothers and children to be together again—I hope. It depends on how much money it will take, but I envision small cottages for the mothers with children and then a larger building, a dormitory, for the orphans and abandoned children. They will be so much happier here!” With a gurgle of laughter, she twirled around in delight, her arms open wide.
Sheridan smiled at her. “I fear I may have misjudged you, Lady Olivia.”
She stopped and stared, a slight frown wrinkling her brow. “In what way, Lord Sheridan?”
“I had no idea you cared about anyone except society and all its frivolity. Again, I apologize.”
“And again, your apology is accepted. Perhaps now you will not think so poorly of us.”
“Is that what you think? You think that I look down on everyone else?”
“Don’t you?”
His expression had lost all trace of lightness as he replied, “I suppose I do, my lady. I have seen little in society that has earned my admiration. Oh, beauty and grace, but with a hollow core. You may not see it. Perhaps one has to have lived away from it for a few years. For me, I married quite young, and the part of society I took to my home, to my bed, was nothing to admire.”
“I am sorry,” she whispered.
“So was I, but I had no one to blame but myself. I was naive. I did not understand society at that time.”
“If you despise society so much, why come to London for the Season?”
His crack of laughter held no mirth, only self-mockery. “I have my daughter to consider. She will be seventeen next year. She will expect her own Season, and I have not the will to deny it to her. I only hope that she will be wiser than I was.”
He turned and walked away. This time, he stopped to bid his host and Miss Hepplewhite goodbye. Then Sheridan mounted his horse and returned to London.
Chapter Five
How her heart ached for him. Olivia had done nothing all evening except worry about the taciturn Lord Sheridan. If he had remained with her another minute, she was certain she would have thrown her arms around him to comfort him—and what a disaster that would have been! It would have convinced the uncompromising man that she really was addlepated.
And that, much to Olivia’s surprise, was not at all what she wanted him to think of her.
On this disturbing reflection, Olivia turned over in her bed and punched the pillow into shape. She flopped over again and tried to settle in for sleep—an impossible undertaking. After several minutes of thinking very diligently about the tasks she had set to accomplish the next day, her mind returned to Lord Sheridan.
He really was a stubborn man!
Very well. She sat up in the bed and lit the candle on the table. She picked up a small notebook and opened it. Taking out the pencil tucked inside, she was ready to begin her list of eligible young ladies, suitable young ladies, young ladies worthy of the Marquess of Sheridan.
Five minutes later, Olivia set the pencil aside, staring in wonder at the words she had doodled while waiting for inspiration to strike.
Olivia, Lady Sheridan.
“I tell you, Fitz, I was fairly thunderstruck when I heard about Lady Olivia Cunningham�
��s school. There she was, talking about raising funds to build the thing, and I never opened my mouth about helping.”
‘That is not like you, your lordship, ” said his secretary from his station behind the battered desk that had belonged to the old marquess.
At the sideboard in the library, Sheridan poured a large brandy before strolling across the room and sitting down in front of the desk. His secretary closed the ledger he was working on and took out a sheet of paper to receive his instructions for the day.
Sheridan, however, was in a reflective mood and didn’t pay it much attention. After a moment, he said, “No, it is not like me. I made a cake of myself, but I intend to remedy that. I want you to find out all you can about her school—the one she has now is in London—and then I want you to find a way that I may donate to it.”
“Without her knowing?”
“Precisely.”
Fitzsimmons scribbled a few words on the paper and then looked up, waiting for further instructions.
Sheridan sipped his brandy. “Find out about any charities she’s involved with. Go to Bow Street, and get Butters to help. He can go ’round to her house and question the servants. You have the address from when you sent those flowers for me, don’t you?”
Fitzsimmons opened a drawer and pulled out a small sheet of paper. Sheridan took it and read it before handing it back again. “Good, good. Butters can talk to the servants then. They always know more about what is going on than anybody else.”
“I’ll contact him immediately, my lord.”
“Good.” Seeing the look of bewilderment in his secretary’s eyes, Sheridan said gruffly, “lf I have misjudged the lady, then she probably has other causes she could use help with, though the school is the main one I am interested in. Helping orphans and abandoned children. And the widows of our soldiers, too. Now that is something I admire.”
The secretary let his pencil fall as the marquess rose, tossed off the contents of his glass, and then strolled through the door.