The Loving Seasons

by Laura Matthews

  “Then,” Miss Clements said with a sad smile, “you would probably be giving to the wrong person. But I wouldn’t worry overmuch about that. Very few people can resist a sincerely offered gift. I don’t want you to misunderstand me. I am not speaking of a pair of cuff links or a handkerchief, but of yourself—your time, attention, thoughtfulness.”

  The carriage had stopped at the museum and Miss Clements cheerfully bustled them out into the street. “Only a half hour, I promise. You are not likely to find it elevating, I suppose, but I’ve always been fascinated and will be able to answer any of Mrs. Childswick’s questions if necessary. And we will want to have a brochure!”

  Amongst the skeletons and zoological exhibits, Emma regained her good humor, briefly dampened by what she thought of as Miss Clements’s opinion that she was likely to behave giddily during her first season. There was really no other explanation for the lecture, except possibly to encourage Maggie, who, Emma had to admit, was looking thoughtful. Emma did not for a moment think that Maggie’s interest was generated by scalpels, nor even by her own romantic tale. Without a doubt, Emma decided, Maggie had for the first time considered the possibility of winning Lord Greenwood’s affections.

  * * * *

  Lord Greenwood had been in no frame of mind to be alone the day after his second visit to Windrush House and he walked the short distance from Half Moon Street to Waverton Street. His destination, Waverton House, was a double-pile building of brick with Ionic pilasters and a stone pediment, every inch (and there were many thousands of them) the elegant gentleman’s London residence. In size and grandeur there was no comparison between it and his own house in Half Moon Street. His town house could have fit in half of the building in front of which he halted.

  When he was younger, he had thought it was the house itself that gave Viscount Dunn his superior air of refinement and grace, since to his untrained eyes there was little to choose otherwise between the viscount and his brother, Captain Midford. Both were men of darkly handsome looks, lively conversation, excellent understanding, even temper, and genteel manners. And there was no denying that Lord Dunn partook of the same daily round as every other gentleman of the time—a ride in the park in the morning, social calls until a light meal at midday, visits to art dealers or trying his hand at a translation of Horace, conducting business with his solicitor, displaying his conversational and epicurean prowess at dinner, dropping in at his clubs, and at length paying a visit to his mistress. Of course, the viscount did attend Parliament on occasion, and even delivered speeches from time to time, which were acclaimed for their ease and fluency, but he hadn’t the reputation of a Fox or a Pitt. No one did these days. So it had seemed natural to assume that the house’s grandeur added to the viscount’s distinction and set him apart from his peers.

  Over the years, however, Lord Greenwood had come to realize that wealth and the display of it had nothing to do with Dunn’s eminence. Gentlemen did not gather at his table because of his superlative dinners, and ladies did not vie for his attention because they expected him to shower them with jewels. Dunn was a man of refinement, character, and charm, with a personal magnetism that drew people of every class and walk of life to him like so many metallic filings. And though Greenwood was far from impervious to the man’s quality, he fervently hoped that the viscount would not be at home. When one had made a fool of oneself, one had no wish to display the fact to a being who, for all his involvement in every joyful pursuit, had never been known to disgrace or embarrass himself.

  Not that Dunn would prose on or moralize about the matter. Other than matter-of-factly telling you you were a fool, he would allow the subject to drop. And besides, he already knew about the wager and the unfortunate necessity of Greenwood’s having to marry Miss Somervale, because Greenwood himself had asked Captain Midford to sound his brother on any possible escape routes. Still, as he was shown into the library he was rather hoping that Dunn would be out and only the captain seated amidst the leather-bound volumes and leather chairs.

  His luck was out, as it had been for some time now, apparently. Dunn’s tall frame was disposed comfortably in one of the chairs, his long legs with their muscular calves stretched out on a hassock, and a book propped negligently on the chair arm. There was no mockery in the gray eyes, which looked up languidly to observe his entrance, and his greeting was perfectly cordial, though he made no attempt to rise. His brother, on the other hand, was immediately on his feet demanding, “Well, what happened?”

  “I am to marry Miss Somervale a week from today.”

  At the announcement Dunn rose and offered his hand, while Captain Midford looked on in something like shock. “Congratulations, Adam. I’m sure, with the proper effort, you will make the young lady a good husband.”

  “Uh, thank you.” The last thing Greenwood had expected was for anyone to congratulate him on the match, and he had given no thought at all to whether or not he was likely to prove a respectable mate. He was a great deal more concerned with whether Miss Somervale would make an acceptable wife.

  Impatient, Midford thrust such considerations aside. “What’s she like? Is she ugly?”

  Though Dunn threw his hands up in a gesture of despair, Greenwood promptly answered, “She’s a mouse and, though she’s not ugly, she’s certainly not pretty.”

  In a voice of quiet authority Dunn interrupted what were apparently to be further confidences in the same vein. “There is no chance of your succeeding in this marriage if you intend to disparage the girl, Adam. You could as easily, and with more propriety, say she is shy and has a certain amount of countenance.”

  Before Greenwood could answer, the viscount excused himself, leaving the two to have an unadulterated discussion of Miss Somervale’s faults, since Greenwood appeared too agitated to turn a blind eye to them. In the long run it might prove more beneficial for the young man to vent his frustration and annoyance to a friend, rather than keep it bottled up in him to explode in the poor bride’s face one day.

  When the door had closed behind him Greenwood heaved an expressive sigh of relief. “It’s not that I don’t like Dunn, you know; it’s just that he don’t understand. He don’t have to marry the girl! I always thought to marry one day, of course, but I’d envisioned some lively, pert little thing who would blend in with my set. Miss Somervale is so timid I can’t picture her even facing a tea party, let alone matching wits with my friends. She’s terrified of her father, and I’m not so sure she isn’t rather afraid of me, too. Imagine being afraid of me!”

  Captain Midford laughed. “Even your worst enemy isn’t afraid of you, Adam. Maybe it wasn’t fear, but disapproval.”

  “Oh, there was that, too. Apparently Lady Anne Parsons is one of her friends and I told you the Marquess of Barnfield thought I had set out to seduce one of the housemaids at Parkhurst.” Even to Stephen, Greenwood had not confessed the whole of that disastrous day. He sat with chin in hand, gazing glumly at the hearth. “I suppose she knows about the Jewel, too. What the devil am I going to do about Julia?”

  “It would be a great pity to give her up now, when you’ve just provided her with that smashing rig,” Midford commiserated. “You’ll have to learn some discretion.”

  “Damn! This is taking all the joy out of everything. I don’t like the idea of sneaking around. And what’s the fun of having a mistress if you can’t show her off?”

  “I’ve always thought there was a great deal of fun in bed, myself,” Midford teased him.

  “Oh, you know what I mean. I was looking forward to Julia driving me through the park. She’s not a bad whip, you know; not like some of them. Can’t drive to the inch, precisely, but she’ll not overturn the carriage either. Before all this I told her I’d take her to Vauxhall.”

  “Just pick a masquerade night and no one will be the wiser.”

  Greenwood eyed him with disgust. “Don’t be a dunce. Of course they would. Who else would I be with? No, no, Stephen, what it amounts to is that my exchanges with Julia w
ill dwindle to the scope of her house—quiet suppers there and having to leave without spending the whole night. Very likely skulking up to her back door so I won’t be recognized in the street, with my hat pulled down over my eyes and a cadogan wig perched on my head. And you know what will happen then.”

  “What?”

  “The Jewel will get bored just sitting at home. She’ll find someone who can show her a lively time—take her to the pleasure gardens, to card parties, to masquerades and ridottos. You can’t buy the loyalty of such a woman; just see how she’s treated that protector of hers in Lincolnshire. He comes down every few months and she warns me away for a while.” Greenwood frowned thoughtfully at a whimsical Staffordshire salt-glaze mounted figure that was probably meant to be King George II. “I wonder if he’s coming to town for the season.”

  “Hasn’t she said?”

  “I don’t think she knows, but fortunately he always sends word when he’s expected. I’ve told her I’d take her entirely under my keeping if she’d get rid of him, and all she will do is smile and say that young men are volatile. This Osgodby must be fifty if he’s a day, and apparently very attached to her. Perhaps she has a fondness for him, too, or maybe she simply likes the security, I don’t know.” He drew a hand over his brow in a gesture of defeat, grimacing at his friend. “I suppose I must tell her about my marriage. Lord, if I have to marry I wish it had been one of the other two!”

  “Which other two?” the captain asked, bewildered.

  “Lady Anne or Miss Berryman. Especially Miss Berryman. Just wait 'til you see her, Stephen. A regular flirt or I miss my guess. She’s Lady Bradwell’s niece,” he explained with a meaningful roll of his eyes.

  “You don’t say! When can I meet her?”

  “At my wedding, no doubt,” Adam rejoined gloomily. “Oh, God, how could I have been so stupid as to make that wager?”

  “I think, my dear fellow, that you were more than a little drunk, and Thresham and I were in no better condition. Sir Robert surely has the hardest head of any man I’ve ever met. Why, he must have drunk at least four bottles of canary by himself! Dunn says you should never try to out-drink someone who obviously has a hard head, and they don’t come any harder than Sir Robert’s!”

  “Just once I’d like to see Dunn make a fool of himself,” Greenwood growled.

  Chapter Five

  Emma was aware that Maggie slipped out of the school several times during the week to go into the village on an errand which she did not disclose to even her closest friends. Lord Greenwood and his sister or brother-in-law visited her, as did the modiste for hours of fittings, but it was not of these visits that Maggie confided in Emma: it was the visit her father made two days before the wedding.

  “He came to inform me of the terms of the marriage settlement,” she explained, her face drawn. “He has been very generous. I told him I could never use such a large allowance.”

  “Living in the ton, I daresay you’ll think it barely sufficient two months from now,” Emma said with a laugh.

  “That’s what he said, more or less. And he gave me advice about spending it and not getting into debt and never lending money to my . . . husband. He said Lord Greenwood is reckless, especially when he’s been drinking. That he’s a careless gambler and I shouldn’t encourage him by coming to his rescue.”

  “You will have to be the one to decide that, Maggie, not your father. I don’t know anyone here who has a better mind for figures than you, and you’ll soon know how best to deal with your finances. Don’t worry about what Sir Robert said.”

  Maggie bit her lip and turned her lead slightly away. “He said something else.”

  Conscious of her friend’s need to tell her, and also her reluctance, Emma busied herself with sorting through her sarcophagus of treasures. “Did he, love?”

  “He said . . . he said Lord Greenwood is currently 'playing footsie’ with a pretty actress.”

  “Men often do, Maggie. He’ll drop her when you’re married.”

  “My father said he might not. That I might hear gossip about it and that I should ignore it. He said if I made a fuss, Lord Greenwood would take an aversion to me.”

  The lid of the sarcophagus snapped to with a bang as Emma rose to confront her friend. “No one could take an aversion to you, Maggie, ever! Aunt Amelia says men have mistresses after they’re married only if they are neglected or unstable. I’m sure you won’t neglect Lord Greenwood and he doesn’t strike me as unstable.”

  “But Anne said he was a rake!”

  “Which is only to say that he’s been sowing his wild oats, just as one would expect of a healthy male, my love. He probably won’t sit in your pocket after you’re married, but he’ll come to be as devoted to you as Anne and I are. Only in a different way, of course. Aunt Amelia says that the intimacy between husband and wife generates a unique affection.”

  A flush of color crept up Maggie’s cheeks. “Emma, what if . . . if he doesn’t like going to bed with me?”

  “Why wouldn’t he?” Emma asked, startled.

  “I don't know. I haven’t much bosom, you see. He’ll probably think me skinny and unattractive.”

  “Goose! Of course he won’t. Aunt Amelia says men hardly even notice whom they’re in bed with once their passion is aroused. I think probably Lord Greenwood is a passionate man, don't you? Otherwise he would not have a reputation as a libertine.”

  “He hasn’t shown the least passion.”

  Emma surveyed her companion's face carefully to assess whether Maggie found this comforting or upsetting. The mixture of wistfulness and alarm were so well blended that it was impossible to judge. “He will,” she said confidently. “I don’t think it has quite occurred to his lordship that along with the wedding there is a wedding night.”

  Not even to Emma could Maggie confide all the doubts that assailed her. When Sir Robert had stomped about the room blustering that he had gone to a great deal of trouble to see that she was well provided for, and that he expected her to do her part by making Greenwood a good wife, she had lifted her chin proudly and announced with dignity, “I shall certainly do my best.” But in the nights, when her friends were asleep, she could not help but be less than optimistic.

  There was no drawing back; she had no intention of disgracing her father or her bridegroom. The thought of her father's wrath was horrifying, but when the day agreed upon arrived, when they were adjusting the white satin gown with its long train to her slender figure, she could almost not bear the heaviest burden of all. A white chip hat with one row of ribbons rested on her head and laylock slippers adorned her feet, the whole forming an image in the mirror that Maggie could not quite believe was real. Emma and Ann were chattering to her but no sense of their words seemed to filter through. Cynthia Morton stood watching the proceedings with a nostalgic smile.

  Abruptly, Maggie grasped Anne’s hand. “My dear, could you and Emma. . . ? That is, I should like a word alone with Mrs. Morton.”

  “Of course, love. We’ll be in the hall.”

  Concerned, Cynthia stepped forward as the door closed behind the girls. “Is something the matter, dear?”

  “I... If…” Maggie swallowed and moistened her lips. “How can I go through with this? I’m afraid of my father, but it’s so unfair to ruin your brother's life. I know everyone has gone to a great deal of trouble and expense, but it might be better to see them all wasted than go forward with the ceremony.”

  “Poor Maggie. Are you afraid? May I tell you something? Every bride has doubts, to some degree. At the last moment one has second thoughts and they seem especially clear because in a short time there is no turning back. My mother was violently opposed to my marrying James. I cannot tell you the number of times she expressed her disapproval of my attachment to a captain in the Coldstream Guards with no pretension to title or fortune. She had married for both and, had no intention of allowing me to throw myself away on such an unworthy object. Oh, Adam was impressed with the way I stoically bore all
her rages and threats, with my calm assertion that we would simply wait until I came of age. But when I did, when I finally stood there at the altar, I was quaking in my shoes. I had fought so long for what I wanted that the fight had become almost more real than the love I felt for him. And I wondered if I, so young as I was, could possibly be right, and my mother wrong. I realize your situation is entirely different, but do you see what I'm saying? Even loving him as I did, I felt uncertain, alone facing an enormous change in my life.”

  "But you weren’t alone, really. You had Captain Morton, and he loved you. Your brother—”

  "Don't waste your pity on Adam,” she said crisply. “I’m convinced marriage could be the making of him. Does that sound callous? I assure you I love him dearly and I do not envy you the straightening of him but—do you know, I think you are the perfect woman for him. On his own he would doubtless choose some flighty, exotic chit without the least sense, and then there would be no impetus to change his way of life."

  “Papa said I would alienate him if I didn’t just let him go his own way,” Maggie protested, the gray eyes moist.

  There was a look of surprise on Cynthia’s face. “Did he? Well, that’s true, of course, so far as it goes. I didn't mean you should nag at him, but that by your example you will be a calming influence. Adam has far too much money and freedom for his own good.”

  “Do you . . . know how he came to offer for me?”

  “Yes, my dear," Cynthia said sympathetically, “but it’s not an enlightening tale. If the time comes when you feel you must know, come to me, but don’t fret yourself about it.”

  “Please, don’t you think it would simply be best if I cried off now?”

  “No, dear. If you don’t marry Adam, your father will be very displeased, won’t be?”

  “He can’t actually force me to marry.”

  “Well, not precisely. He can make your life miserable, I imagine." A gentle smile lit Cynthia’s face. “Will you let me be your friend? I probably know Adam better than anyone else does and I assure you I would be honored for you to come to me with any problems. Adjusting to marriage is never easy, and when you hardly know your husband…”