by Carola Dunn
“You see, I am ready for anything. The only trouble is that Alison regards me as an uncle. A favourite uncle, I hope, but nonetheless an uncle.”
“I do not believe she does. She has told me with unnecessary firmness that she looks upon Ralph as an uncle, yet she never said anything of the sort about you.”
“As a friend, then. That is a little better.”
“I fear I cannot hold out much hope. She is so very determined to wed a lord.”
“Yet she turned down Kilmore.” Philip refused to give up hope.
“A gazetted fortune hunter. She will not reject Fane if he can bring himself to overlook her breeding.”
“No, she will not reject Fane. It would be easy to put a spoke in that wheel, but if she wants him and can win him, she shall have him.” He sighed. “She gave every last penny in her pocket to Kilmore, you know,” he added irrelevantly. “A shilling or two.”
“To Kilmore! I will give you this, Philip, Alison is unique.”
He drove home with a wry smile on his lips. Perhaps he was a fool, but he could not forget that Alison was beginning to grow disillusioned with the works of Mrs. Cuthbertson and Mrs. Meeke.
* * * *
The season was drawing to a close. There was a frantic flurry of balls and picnics and breakfasts as mamas of daughters who had not yet won a prize in the Matrimonial Stakes made a last-minute bid for a trophy.
Not all parties had that purpose, however. Lord and Lady Witherington planned an intimate soirée to celebrate Fanny’s betrothal to Mr. Robert Gilchrist. As a member of Robert’s family, Lady Emma was naturally included: and as her protégée and Fanny’s best friend, Alison was also invited.
Fanny delivered the invitation herself. It was a fine morning, so the two girls went for a stroll around Grosvenor Square, followed at a discreet distance by Fanny’s maid.
“You will come, will you not?” Fanny begged. “It was through you I met Robert.”
“Yes, of course. I would cancel a dozen other engagements if necessary. You really love him?” Alison tried not to sound sceptical, but she had a tendency to see Robert through the eyes of his elder sister.
“You are thinking that he is not in the least like the hero of a novel,” said her friend accurately. “You are right, but he is such a dear. I am always comfortable with him, and that is a great deal, is it not? I daresay it would be monstrous uncomfortable to live with the hero of a gothick romance.”
“Perhaps.” Alison could not deny that that thought had crossed her mind more than once.
“I persuaded Mama to ask Lord Fane,” Fanny added with a giggle. “With any luck our engagement will set him thinking in the right direction.”
“As long as he does not suppose that I had any hand in the invitation!”
“He is some sort of distant connexion of the Gilchrists, I collect, so it is quite reasonable to invite him. It is time you made a push to attach him, Alison, or he will never make up his mind to offer. I would not tell this to anyone else, but I practically had to propose to Robert. Otherwise the poor dear would have gone on casting sheep’s eyes at me over his flute forever.”
“I will not set my cap at Lord Fane. The cases are quite different.”
“He seems to blow now hot, now cold. It is a pity that your cousin and Lord Kilmore are both gone. The competition spurred him on.”
“I miss Neil. And Lord Kilmore, too, as a matter of fact. You do not suppose Lord Fane heard about that business?” Alison had told Fanny all about the abduction.
“If word had got out, I am sure someone would have whispered in my ear by now.”
“All the same, he did not at all like my walking Midnight. Any reminder of my family discomposes him sadly.”
“In a way that is good,” Fanny consoled her. “When he does pop the question you will know that he must be deeply in love with you to overcome his qualms. To win against obstacles is far more romantic. It is most vexatious that no one had the least objection to Robert and I becoming betrothed.”
Her doleful face made Alison laugh.
Fanny’s plan appeared to have the desired effect. Throughout the soirée Lord Fane hovered solicitously over Alison, making remarks about the felicity of the married state. At the end of the evening, as he tenderly placed her wrap about her shoulders, he said with a look of marked significance, “May I have the pleasure of calling on you tomorrow morning, Miss Larkin? I have something most particular to say to you.”
“Lady Emma and I will be delighted to receive you, as always, my lord,” she answered primly, and received a nod of approval.
In the carriage going home she told Lady Emma, who agreed that it sounded as if his lordship was ready to declare himself. In a flutter of euphoria mingled with apprehension amounting almost to dread, Alison lay long awake that night.
Philip turned up at the breakfast table the next morning. His news almost drove Lord Fane from Alison’s mind.
“I’ve found a berth as cabin boy for Tarry Joe,” he announced. “Bubble went to work in the mews yesterday, and already I have a good report of his way with horses from John. Squeak starts school tomorrow.”
Alison flew round the table and planted a kiss on his cheek, then looked guiltily at Lady Emma. “I know you said I must not do that, but you did say also that it was not quite scandalous with Phil. . .Mr. Trevelyan. Because he is such a good friend of yours.”
Lady Emma sighed and shook her head. Philip, his colour heightened, looked as if he was trying not to smile. Alison returned to her seat. There was a curious burning sensation in her lips and she toyed with her food, losing interest in it. Perhaps kissing would not be so horrid after all, with the right person.
“I take it you approve,” Philip said.
“It is splendid of you, especially to arrange what each wants most, not what you think best for them.’’
They were still in the breakfast parlour when Lord Fane was announced, at an unheard-of hour for that most proper of gentleman.
“Off you go, Alison,” Lady Emma directed. “I shall join you in fifteen minutes.”
The last thing Alison saw as she left the room was Philip’s sudden frown as he looked enquiringly at Lady Emma. She felt rushed, propelled into a situation over which she had no control, with no time to consider beforehand. Henry’s wink as he ushered her into the drawing-room did not help her composure.
Lord Fane appeared equally nervous. He was pacing up and down with a large bouquet of fully open roses in his hand. The flowers reminded Alison of the boys, and she seized on the topic with relief. Greetings exchanged, bouquet presented and admired, she impulsively reported Mr. Trevelyan’s charitable provision for Tarry Joe and Bubble and Squeak.
“Bubble and Squeak!” Lord Fane had so far managed to ignore his beloved’s propensity for consorting with guttersnipes. “It is estimable of Trevelyan to be sure, but I could wish you were not on terms of such familiarity with. . .with such oddly named characters,” he ended lamely.
Alison recognized that she had blotted her copybook. Instead of the expected dismay, she felt she had had a narrow escape. She was not quite ready to receive a proposal from Lord Fane, long though she had hoped for it. When he invited her to drive in the Park that afternoon she accepted cheerfully. He was taking his leave as Lady Emma came in.
“Going so soon, my lord?” she enquired.
He flushed, mumbled something and hurried out.
Alison did not tell Lady Emma that she had shocked him with talk of the boys. “He simply failed to screw his courage to the sticking point,” she reported.
* * * *
“You were so certain he would ask her this morning.” Philip slowed his chestnuts as they turned into Rotten Row. Emma had never wondered why he called them Spaniard and Conqueror. “What went wrong?”
Hyde Park was at its best. The trees were dressed in spring green and the birds were shouting loud enough to be heard over the clop of hooves, the creak of wheels and murmur of voices. The sun shone on t
he magnificent spectacle of half the ton taking the air. Only this morning, on Lord Fane’ s arrival, the world had suddenly turned drab and grey; now it showed itself to Philip in its true colours again—a delightful place to be.
Emma shrugged her shoulders. “She said only that he failed to screw his courage to the sticking point.”
“That is the sort of remark that makes me love her,” Philip said, laughing. “She was not greatly distressed, then?”
“For all she is so open, it is not always easy to tell how she feels, but I think not.”
“Are you sure she understands how little time she has left? If Fane retires to the country without speaking first, she may never see hide nor hair of him again.”
They were interrupted at that moment by Lady Edgehill, whose barouche drew up alongside the tilbury.
“Emma, my dear, that bonnet becomes you delightfully.”
“Thank you, Mama.”
“Do you not agree, Philip? Our dear girl is in looks today. There is nothing like an amiable companion to bring out a young lady’s best looks.”
“Emma is never less than handsome, Lady Edgehill.” From the corner of his eyes, Philip saw Emma’s fulminating expression. He added hastily, “We are blocking the way, ma’am. Excuse us, pray.”
“It is a wonder,” snorted Emma as they drove on, “that she has not yet egged Papa on to ask your intentions. It would not surprise me to learn that they are encouraging you to run off with me to Gretna Green.”
“Lord no, your mother would never countenance such indecorum, even to see the knot safely tied.”
“Why will they not accept Ralph?” she wailed.
Philip was astonished at such an outburst from his usually imperturbable friend.
“Hush!” he hissed. “Lady Jersey’s carriage is upon us. Compose yourself and smile. I have an idea—no, better than that, I have a famous notion.”
“What is it?” she asked eagerly, bowing and smiling at Lady Jersey.
“I shall have a house party at Nether Beeches. It will serve to give Alison one last chance with Fane.”
“That is excessively noble of you, Philip, but—”
“You will come, of course, and I shall invite Osborne. After that, it is up to the two of you.”
“Philip, you angel!”
Much to his embarrassment she kissed him heartily on the cheek, just as Lord Fane’s carriage came into view. Alison’s wave of greeting faltered.
“Damn,” muttered Philip through gritted teeth.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Golden green light and shadow flickered among the smooth grey beech trunks. Alison exclaimed in delight as a rust-red squirrel bounded across the road and sat with bushy tail erect to watch the Edgehills’ carriage roll by. Lady Emma and Fanny exchanged tolerant glances.
They emerged into sunshine again. Parkland dotted with mighty oaks and chestnuts, browsed by a herd of fallow deer, swept up to a mansion of age-mellowed red brick. It stood two-thirds of the way up the slope, sheltered from the north by the crest of the hill, gazing with an air of benevolence over the valley.
Alison gasped. “Is that Nether Beeches?”
“It is.” Emma was amused.
“I never imagined anything half so grand. Mr. Trevelyan is a very important gentleman, is he not?”
“His wealth, his family connexions and his personal qualities have brought him influence and authority, both here and in Town, that many a peer might envy. Yes, he is a gentleman of considerable consequence.”
“Papa says he is a pillar of the establishment,” Fanny put in.
“I did not know. He is not at all pretentious. He never talks about the distinguished history of the Trevelyans, only about his family, his brothers and sisters. They sound most agreeable. I hope I shall meet them?”
“Mark is the vicar of the parish, and Dorothy is to be his hostess, I collect.”
“Lady Vernon? She has a daughter and two sons, does she not? Do you think they will be here, too?”
“You seem to know all there is to know about the family! It is not at all like Philip to bore his acquaintances with such stuff.”
“But I was not bored. I never had parents and brothers and sisters, so hearing about them was almost like a fairy tale. I do hope Lady Vernon’s children will be here.”
Mr. Osborne, who with Robert Gilchrist was escorting them on horseback, drew closer to the carriage window and addressed Lady Emma.
“I did not expect so impressive a mansion.”
Alison thought he sounded anxious, dismayed even, and she felt a sudden sympathy for him. They were both embarking upon uncharted seas. Lady Emma seemed to understand, for she spoke reassuringly.
“I came here often as a child. As I told you, my father’s house, which is now my eldest brother’s, lies not two miles off. You will find Nether Beeches perfectly homely and comfortable. Philip does not go in for pomp and display.”
Mr. Osborne smiled at her warmly and drew off a little. He was a splendid figure on horseback, holding himself erect but with an easy dignity Alison had to admire. Nonetheless she did not want to marry him. A moment of panic shook her—she might end up doing just that if Lord Fane did not come up to scratch in the next two weeks.
Philip came down the front steps to meet them. Alison expected to be a little in awe of the owner of this magnificent estate. However, he was no less approachable in buckskins, top boots and a slightly worn shooting jacket than in impeccable evening dress. As he ushered the party into his house, she asked him eagerly whether the deer were tame enough to be fed by hand and whether his sister had brought her children to Nether Beeches.
“You may ask her yourself,” he said, smiling. “Dorothy, you know Emma, of course. These beautiful young ladies are Miss Fanny Witherington and Miss Alison Larkin.”
Dorothy, Lady Vernon, was a plump, cheerful matron two or three years younger than her brother. She welcomed his guests warmly, and said to Alison, “I left my little imps at home, but I mean to go over now and then to see that they have not driven their governess to distraction. It is not far. Perhaps you will like to go with me?”
“Yes, please.” Alison accepted with such alacrity that Lady Vernon laughed.
“Good. I daresay Philip will drive us.” She cast a sly glance at her brother. “Their father is only too glad of a respite. Ah, Jenny, there you are. Come and make the acquaintance of our guests.”
Her ladyship looked toward a tall, quiet, fair-haired girl who turned out to be the Reverend Mark Trevelyan’s betrothed. Alison envied her for belonging to the family.
“Shall I take Miss Witherington and Miss Larkin to their chambers, ma’am?” she enquired in a soft voice.
“Yes, please do, Jenny, but how many times have I told you to call me Dorothy! Philip, you will see to Robert and Mr. Osborne, will you not, so that I can make Emma comfortable. Miss Witherington, your parents are expected to arrive in time to dine with us, I collect?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Fanny agreed. “Papa had some last minute business in Town.”
“And Lord Fane will be here tomorrow morning. What a delightful party we shall have, Philip.” Lady Vernon beamed with pleasure and bustled up the stairs like a mother goose leading her goslings.
Alison saw Fanny exchange a few words with Robert on the landing before they followed Miss Jenny Barton to a pair of prettily decorated chambers with a connecting door. She was not at all surprised when, after tidying herself quickly, Fanny disappeared.
“She is betrothed to Mr. Gilchrist,” Alison explained to Jenny. “Tell me all about Mr. Mark Trevelyan.” She sat down in a well-cushioned window-seat, from which she could see Fanny and Robert strolling with unconvincing casualness towards a shrubbery.
Jenny’s shyness was not proof against such an invitation. She described how they had met and catalogued in glowing terms the young vicar’s many virtues. Not given to scepticism in the first place, Alison was the more ready to believe him a saint because Philip had told her mu
ch the same. By the time they went downstairs to take tea, the girls were well on the way to being intimate friends.
After tea, most of the party went out into the gardens. The sun still shone high in a flawless blue sky, the long June evening scarcely begun. Alison found herself wandering through a rose garden with Philip.
“How Aunt Polly would love this,” she said, burying her nose in a gloriously fragrant, deep red bloom. “Nothing grows so well in London.”
“If you think they would enjoy it, I should like to invite all your aunts to come down for a few days later in the summer.”
She glanced back dubiously at the grand mansion behind them. “That is very kind of you, sir, but I am afraid they would feel lost in your house.”
“There is a cottage not half a mile off that I use for guests who prefer privacy. They could stay there. I shall ask them when we return to Town. Only think how happy Midnight and the terriers would be.”
“Aux anges! You mean to invite them, too?” Alison laughed—and wondered whether she would be included in the invitation. At least it meant that she might see him again, even when she was no longer living with Lady Emma. “Aunt Di will certainly accept, then.”
They strolled on into the formal Italian garden and joined the others.
Alison met Mark Trevelyan at dinner that evening. Though taller and more slender, he looked very like his brother. That, together with his gentle manners and obvious adoration of Jenny, endeared him to Alison at once. She was equally ready to like Dorothy’s husband, Sir Alfred Vernon, though he showed a distinct tendency to ignore her as soon as he discovered that she did not ride. His chief interests appeared to revolve around hunting, coursing and shooting.
When the ladies retired to the drawing-room after dinner, leaving the gentlemen to their port and brandy, Alison told Jenny how much she liked the vicar. Fanny began to sing Robert’s praises, and as the talk continued, Alison could not help feeling somewhat left out, especially when the two young gentlemen came in very soon, without their elders. Not that she was by any means excluded from the conversation, but it seemed an age before the others joined them.