“Yes, thank you.” Commander East swallowed what he was chewing. “Are there any more of these little buns?”
“I'll ask for some.” Harmonia smiled down on the young officer's sunny hair. “It will only take a moment, I'm sure.”
Sarah and her mother exchanged a swift glance, complete with raised eyebrows, over the bowl of flowers that decorated the white-swathed table. Inclining her head a trifle, Sarah saw a happy, if incredulous, smile lift Mrs. East's cheeks. Sarah couldn't help but smile weakly in return, though her head ached and tears would keep forming in her eyes. Every thought had as companion a whispered “Alaric will never ...” or “I shall never ...” Though she smiled with her mother, she thought. Mother will never smile like that for me, because she'll never meet Alaric again in my company.
“What are you children going to do today?” Mrs. East asked.
Mortimer looked up from his plate. “I must see about having new uniforms made up. Mine are threadbare after all these months at sea. And the coat I had made in Majorca simply won't do in London, although it's good enough for duty.”
“I know Harvey would be delighted to take you to his tailor,” Harmonia volunteered.
“Is old Harvey in town? I'll send a note to him at once, if you can furnish his direction.”
“I'll get it for you now,” Harmonia said, starting up from her chair.
“It can wait until after you've eaten,” Mortimer replied, waving his hand in a lordly fashion. Harmonia subsided into her seat, a faint blush rising into her face. She did not continue with her meal, but leaned her head on her hand, elbow on the table, and gazed at the handsome officer.
“I'll give myself today to be with you, Sarah,” he said. “Then, I'm afraid I must begin to haunt the Admiralty. I must find another ship as quickly as I can. Half-pay's a misery.”
“Oh, but you mustn't spend all day at your tailor,” Harmonia said, as though it were a dreadful injustice even to think of such a thing. “Sarah, which of the ‘lions’ did we enjoy the most? The panorama in Castle Street or the Waxworks? We could go to Saint James Palace, if it hadn't been for the fire. But Kensington Palace is open today. Let's go there! That is, if you'd like it, Mortimer.”
“Don't be ridiculous. Miss Phelps,” Aunt Whitsun said, speaking for the first time. Except for a disapproving flick of her eyes when Sarah had entered, she'd sat at the head of the table steadily eating her meal. “A man newly home from the sea doesn't want to spend his first day in London walking about some disused palace. Do you, Mortimer?”
The navy had taught young Commander East decision. “Actually, Aunt, I'd like it very much. After months cramped up in a seventy-four, enormous rooms and a bit of gold leaf sound just the ticket. Won't you come with us. Mother?”
“Of course I shall, my darling.”
Mrs. Whitsun rapped the table with the handle of her knife. “You'd best not, Marissa. I must speak to you on a very serious matter.” Once again her protuberant eyes rolled to Sarah with a hard glance.
“I'm sure it will be no less serious if we put off discussing it for an afternoon. I have never been to Kensington Palace. Let me see, that is the one at the end of Hyde Park, is it not?''
“Yes, Mother, that's right.” Mortimer dragged a last piece of bread through the sauce on his plate, ate it, and stood up. Despite his heroics at table, his figure showed trim and neat in his uniform. “If you ladies will gather your fripperies, we'll be off. ‘Lose not an hour,’ as Admiral Lord Nelson used to say.”
“Did he really?” Harmonia asked on a sigh.
“I think it was him. Will we walk, or use the chaise?”
“It isn't very far,” Sarah said. “Let's walk.” She would have said more, if the image of Alaric walking beside her had not risen before her vision and silenced her.
“That's an excellent idea,” Mortimer said. “That way we won't have to wait for it. I know; we'll tell Hannay to send the chaise over to collect us in two or three hours. You ladies will be tired by then, I know. If that meets with your approval, Aunt, of course.”
“It does not! Marissa, if you wish to have everyone hear what I have to say about—”
“I'll write to the groom while you girls prepare yourself.” The girls gratefully scurried out. Masterfully, Mortimer said, “You, too, Mother. Come along.”
“Marissa!”
Mrs. East spread her hands helplessly. “Later, Aunt. The children are so impatient.” Mortimer held her chair for her, waiting for her to rise. “I shall only be a moment, darling. I must find my shawl. It may be in the larger trunk.”
“Do you need my help, Mother?”
“No, I think I can find it.”
“Then I shall write that note. Pray excuse me, Aunt Whitsun.” Sarah's tall brother bowed out, leaving Mrs. Whitsun in solitary command of the dining table.
Somehow, upon leaving the house, it seemed natural that Harmonia should take Mortimer's arm. After considerable heartburning, Harmonia had accepted Sarah's advice. A woodland hat, tilted to one side to show glossy brown curls, complete with a rippling ostrich feather for a dashing accent, was far more becoming to her round face than a close-fitting cottage bonnet, demure though it might appear.
Sarah was quite startled by Harmonia's sudden descent into meekness and her stubborn insistence that Mortimer would prefer a docile girl to a lively one. Sarah, however, agreed with Aunt Whitsun so far as to believe that a sailor, newly home, would appreciate something piquantly feminine to offset the sturdy reliability of the able-bodied seamen with whom he spent so much time. Not that all men felt that way. Alaric, for instance, made his preference for elegant and gracious ladies splendidly clear.
“I think I won't go after all. Mother,” Sarah said, hanging back for a moment as Harmonia and Mortimer walked on ahead.
“The fresh air will do you good. I believe the sun is going to shine for us.”
Perhaps in honor of Mrs. East's visit, the sun emerged from behind the clouds. London looked like a marzipan replica of itself, newly made and faintly sticky with the remnants of last evening's haze. Though many people walked or rode in the Park, the East party had the palace largely to themselves, except for a group of rather noisy Americans who romped like true rebels through the princely chambers.
“Coo-ee, Martha. It ain't a patch on the Presidential Mansion!”
“Say, I like that staircase, huh. Which one of them gals is that painter fella's lady-friend, if you take my meaning?”
The Easts followed along behind the Americans, as they had hired the only guide on duty, an elderly lady in a grey stuff gown. At first, Mrs. East had been hesitant about joining the group, but the older of the American ladies said, “You might as well come along with us. These old ruins don't mean a thing unless you've got someone along who knows which king is which. I can never keep them straight! They all look alike, don't they?”
“H'in 1762,” the guide said, pushing back her mobcap to glare at the American lady, “our good King George chose not to live ‘ere h'at Kensington, preferring the modern comforts of Buckingham ‘Ouse. Step this way, if you please, gentlemen, and don't point at the paintin’ with your h'umbreller, there's a good sort, sir. The ceiling in the Presence Chamber is famous for its h'imitation of the H'italian style. That there bright red's never had to be redone, not in ninety years. Move along, please, ladies and gentlemen.”
Gazing up at the brilliant, mysterious decorations of caryatids and sphinxes, and the roundel of Apollo driving his chariot against a flaming red background, Sarah did not at first notice that the group had gone on. “Come and sit down, Sarah,” her mother said, patting one of the low settees covered in soft red velvet. “I'm tired.”
“But don't you want to hear the rest?”
Faintly, she heard the strident voice of the guide saying, “It was ‘ere, in the King's Gallery, that good King William the Third collapsed after his riding accident at ‘ampton Court. ...”
“Look,” an American man said. “Stop callin’
them good King this and that. We all know what these kings are really like. Scalawags and scoundrels, the whole boiling of ‘em.”
“See here,” Mortimer said. “I resent that.”
“Oh, you do, do you?”
“Mother,” Sarah said. “I think Mortimer's about to fight with someone.”
“Let Harmonia handle him. She'll have to get used to it. Mortimer has always been ready to defend his honor at the drop of a hat.”
Surprised, Sarah sat down beside her mother. “Then you think they'll ... ?”
“Bound to, dearest. To confide in you—and you mustn't tell Harmonia—Mortimer has hardly been able to talk of anything else but her. Even before they met again yesterday. He didn't realize he was doing it. Every subject whether it be the weather or ... or vegetables seems to remind him to some story with her as the heroine.”
“I can't believe it.”
“Oh, they are exactly right for one another. Marriage will steady her, and having a wife to care for may persuade Mortimer not to take so many frightful risks. And if not, at least we may have grandchildren.” Mrs. East patted her daughter's knee. “But enough about them. My dear, if I asked you about vegetables or the weather, who would be the hero of your stories?”
“I don't understand,” Sarah said, turning her head to look at a portrait of a silk-and-satin lady smirking only a few inches above the narrow wainscoting.
“You have never told an untruth to me before, Sarah.'’ Mrs. East smiled and said, “Well, then, never mind. I'm sure Aunt Maudie will tell me the whole tale. Someone lay on his back for weeks to paint that ceiling. His clothing must have been fearfully spotted by the time he was through.”
“Mother ... don't believe all the bad Aunt Whitsun is bound to tell you.”
“Then you had best tell me all the good.”
Sarah hardly knew where to begin. “Alaric—that is, Lord Reyne and I ...”
“Lord Reyne? The Earl of Reyne?”
“Yes, Mother. You remember him; he stayed with the Phelpses and took the chicken pox.”
“Oh, yes, I remember him perfectly well. Has he been annoying you with unwanted attentions, dearest? I shall have your father call him out. He was accounted a very fair shot, your father.”
“There's no reason for Father to do anything of the kind! Mother ... I love him so dreadfully much. He's going to marry Lillian Canfield, but I know he doesn't love her. Not that there's much hope he'd ever be mine, even if he didn't marry her. They announced the date of their wedding; that's why I left early, as Aunt Whitsun will tell you. And there's more.”
“More?” The paintings of gaudy creatures who had lived on the crumbs of politics and gossip seemed to vibrate at this revelation of one more scandal. They almost turned painted ears to catch the whispers of the young girl confused by the flattering notice of a man of the world.
“I ... I danced with him on the lawn at the Duchess of Parester's May party. I didn't know it was wrong. You see, Miss Canfield had already retired to bed. Aunt seems to think I'm disgraced.”
Mrs. East breathed more easily, and the great silent room shrugged and returned to the fifty-year-long dream of glory gone by. A shy tale of unrequited love was not sufficient to stir it into wakefulness. Only the recitation of the steps of a stealthy seduction could have had that power. The silk-and-satin lady seemed to sneer at a mere dance causing this much concern.
“And that is all?” Mrs. East asked.
“Yes, except that I'm so unhappy.” Sarah stood up and drifted toward the entrance to the King's Gallery. The group was in the act of turning out of this immensely long chamber. Mortimer and Harmonia stood together in a great square of light, shed through windows behind them, apparently enraptured by a huge wind-dial over the chimney-piece. Sarah supposed a sailor would be interested in such a device. That Harmonia was too seemed clearest possible proof that her feelings for Mortimer were deep and real.
“Don't dawdle! There are more visitors waitin’ for me, and at this rate we won't never be through,” the guide complained. “The White Court is shut up today. Pass along to the Great Cupola Room. Watch that h'umbreller, sir, reely. You nearly ‘ad that bit o'statuary h'over.”
At the end, after tipping their lady usher profusely (a thing the Americans took great exception to), Mortimer said, “That was precisely what I needed. Now I can go back to sea and enjoy myself. A cramped cabin will seem positively restful after all that magnificence. Imagine, Harmonia, bulkhead after bulkhead with not a picture in sight!”
“No red flocked wallpaper, either,” Harmonia said.
“Now that was one thing I approved of. Red wallpaper with gold furniture. Just the combination to make a cottage cozy. No one would ever look ill with that shade reflected onto their cheeks. I like healthy cheeks, myself.” He peered under the tilted brim of Harmonia's hat. “The rosier the better, I always think.” If that were true, he must have been pleased by the color that flooded the girl's face at his words.
That day at Kensington began a romance between Mortimer and Harmonia. Between her amazement at the speed with which their love ripened, and sightseeing with her mother, Sarah almost failed to notice that she'd been dropped by the ton like a too-hot chestnut. Persons who, two weeks before, would greet her with particular notice now passed her by without a nod. Aunt Whitsun made her displeasure known.
“Almost two weeks without an invitation from a single respectable person. Although there have been plenty from the other kind. The only flowers she receives are from notable roues to whom I would not trust a potted plant! Marissa, your daughter has ruined every chance she had of finding a worthy husband.”
“There are many worthy young men at home, Aunt.”
“Cabbage-heads! With her beauty, she could have aspired to the highest in the land. Did not one Gunning sister marry a duke?”
“Two dukes, I think. One after another. And as for invitations,” Mrs. East said, lifting her attention from her embroidery a moment and squinting beyond the circle of light shed by the candle at her elbow, “Miss Canfield has asked us to dine.”
“Which invitation Miss Sarah insisted I refuse.”
“Never mind. We were out to dinner three times last week alone.”
“Yes, but to whose houses? That Mrs. Annistead—married to a banker! And Mrs. Greendial—her husband is in trade!”
“They are old friends of mine from my own Season, as I explained. The kind of friends who married for love and have stayed true to their husbands and to me. When I was young, I had many acquaintances who married well, even brilliantly. But they did not continue to know me once I married—a nobody.” With a soft smile that Mrs. Whitsun did not understand, Mrs. East returned to plying a slow needle.
“I only hope your precious daughter is aware of how much she has thrown away by this foolish infatuation with a man who is as good as married.”
“Do not tell her, Aunt. It will do no good for her to know.”
“I like that! What is to prevent her falling in love again if she is not warned?” The amount of disgust Mrs. Whitsun loaded onto the phrase “falling in love” made Mrs. East glance up again.
“I hope nothing prevents her. I would not like her to believe that marriage is only for security or gain.”
“If that is to my address, Marissa, I cannot but think you horridly ungrateful. If I had not warned her, do you think she would be wise enough to refuse the carte blanche Lord Reyne might have been on the point of offering. Yes, I don't wonder you're surprised. He'd be a perfect idiot not to realize the girl's in love with him, and you know nothing makes a man a fool faster than having some young girl obviously mad about him!”
“Are you talking about me, dear Aunt Whitsun?” Mortimer, resplendent in a new uniform, entered the room. “I knocked, but you didn't hear me. And as for young girls in love and the fools who love them in return... Mother!” He knelt by her chair. “Mother, did you always know that it would be Harmonia?”
Mrs. East searched her son's fac
e. “You've asked her?”
“Yes. She was sitting by the window all alone, and the candle shone on her hair, and...” His tanned face darkened by a blush, Mortimer lifted his light eyes. “She's telling Sarah about it now. She didn't think it was fair to make Sarah wait until you knew.” From his tone, it was obvious that there was now only one “she” in young Commander East's life.
Sarah turned from counting pale London stars through a closed window to stare blankly at her friend. For a moment, she had the strangest notion that she stood again outside the drawing room at Hollytrees and would have only to walk a few steps to stand beside Lord Reyne.
“I'm sorry,” Sarah said. “Will you repeat that? I thought you said that you and Mortimer ..."At Harmonia's patient nod, Sarah reached out to embrace her. “I thought perhaps I dreamed it. I dream so much these days. Sometimes they seem so very ... But tell me. When and how did he ask you?”
“Just now. Downstairs. I wasn't expecting him to. And look at me. This is the oldest dress I brought with me. He couldn't wait until I looked like something besides a fright, could he? He didn't seem to notice, though.”
“Mortimer kissed you? Mortimer? He used to say he'd die before he'd kiss a girl—but I suppose I shouldn't repeat tales out of school. I promise myself I shall tease him about it!” They laughed, though with a sob in their throats. Sarah sobered first. “What about his ship? He has to take command soon, doesn't he?”
“I asked him about that. It won't be commissioned for a month, though he'd like to go on, that is, he'd like to go aboard her as soon as he can. He says we can go home to be married and then travel to Plymouth. Then we'll have two weeks together, if he can get permission to sleep out of the ship.” Though her blush deepened at this mention of matters she should know nothing about, the sparkle in her dark eyes told of her anticipation.
Sarah hesitated a moment before embarking upon a delicate subject. “Harmonia, you're certain about this? I mean to say, it has only been two weeks since you were engaged to Harlow Atwood. I know Mortimer will wait.”
“Oh, no. Not that mistake a second time! Delay is too dangerous for a man. If they have the chance to look about them and think it over, good-bye to the first girl. I'm going to marry him as soon as I can; it may be the only way to keep him!”
A Lady in Love Page 19