by May Burnett
“Ask Perkins,” Mrs Trevor advised. “The upper servants always know what we are up to and where, in my experience.”
“Yes, and give him this bottle for his father while you are about it,” the Countess said, handing the paper-wrapped parcel to Anthea. “How are you getting on with your new sister?”
“Very well, so far. She gave me a pretty pendant, and also brought gifts for the children.”
“You introduced her to the children?” Lady Desborough bit her lips. “I suppose I should have done that myself. How did it go?”
“The children like Cherry and her husband well enough,” Anthea reported, “and they also liked Mr Denham, who was with us. Remember that you asked me to be attentive to our mystery guests? Since I am related to Cherry and you are not, it is only logical that I should spend more time with her.”
“I appreciate it.”
Her aunt also gave Anthea an approving nod. She might not be any good in the stillroom, but she was not useless, for all that.
***
The earl’s countenance was serious as Peter and Anthea entered the library an hour later. Contrary to Anthea’s expectations, her mother was not present.
Acting on Perkins’ information, Anthea had tracked her brother to the otherwise deserted billiards room. Peter had been irritated when Anthea interrupted his practice shots. Once he understood the reason, however, he had put up his cue stick without further protest, no doubt sharing her curiosity.
“Sit down,” her father invited them. “I suppose it is natural you would want to know how Madeline’s – Cherry’s – legal claim may affect your own inheritances.”
“And dowry,” Anthea said. “I don’t care, myself, but I very much fear that Silas and his mother do.”
“If you don’t care, you are a fool,” Peter said. “Only a blockhead would say such foolish things.”
Anthea pressed her lips together, to prevent a hot-tempered reply from emerging. It was hard, having to be ladylike and polite all the time, with a brother like this.
“Peter,” their father said in a deceptively mild voice, “you will beg your sister’s pardon for this gratuitous rudeness.”
Peter looked mutinous but after a long second said, “”Sorry, Anthea, I did not mean to insult you.”
She merely inclined her head a fraction, and did not deign to reply. He really was an ass.
“To come back to our subject,” the Earl went on, “I would have informed you in due course, once I knew more myself. I have not yet heard from my solicitors; they are sending a representative down from London next week, with the relevant papers.”
Anthea leaned forward on her big chair. “What papers would those be, Father?”
“Ah.” He steepled his fingers and looked bleak for a moment. “Primarily the sixth earl’s will and the trust he set up in favour of his daughter and her descendants. You might as well know that a large part of our fortune belongs to Cherry and her future children.”
“More than Anthea’s dowry?” Peter sounded shocked.
“Considerably more, I’m afraid. That dowry would not have been so large, had I been aware of my firstborn child’s survival.”
“How is that possible?” Peter demanded.
“The sixth earl could not prevent me from inheriting the entailed properties with the title, but apart from his younger daughter’s large dowry, his entire personal fortune was settled on Mariah and her issue. Since he arranged our marriage at the same time, it seemed a fair solution; her issue would be my issue as well, and the Earldom would not be diminished.”
Anthea nodded in comprehension. Peter frowned, but did not interrupt.
“When Mariah and her child disappeared, the trust continued, of course. It was highly inconvenient, as I had to administer the estates without access to the large capital sitting idly in the bank, accumulating interest. In the long run, it may have been for the best, as that situation forced me to husband resources carefully, and look for additional profitable investments.”
“Who were the trustees?” Peter asked. “Surely they would have given you some of the money, had you asked.”
“They were bound by the terms of the trust, and quite scrupulous about it. Two old friends of the sixth Earl, and the senior partner of our law firm. None of the three is still alive now, thirty years later. The trust was eventually wound down, after the second of them died.”
“Do you mean you received all the money after all?” Anthea asked. “Everyone simply agreed that Lady Mariah and her little girl had to be dead, and that was that?”
“More or less, yes. Now it turns out that Madeline – Cherry – was about eighteen at the time and quite alive. The trust should never have been wound down. She could sue the trustees, were they still alive.” He drank a sip of brandy.
“To make a long story short, twelve years ago, when you were still children, I received a large sum, as well as other assets – land and jewels and art collections. By that time I did not need the additional fortune, and thus I settled a large part of it on my younger children - you, Anthea, Irmaline, and William. Another part I used to increase your mother’s eventual jointure.”
“Oh dear.” Anthea’s head whirled at the implications. “So that is why Silas is so annoyed. Does he know all that? Did you tell him my dowry really belonged to Cherry?”
“Of course not,” her father reassured her. “And your dowry is still yours, but there may have to be some adjustment, or delayed payment schedule, depending on what my solicitors advise with regard to settling Cherry’s claim. We are still rich and secure, just a little less rich than we thought.”
Peter scowled. “How inconvenient that our sister turned up just now.”
Her father frowned at him. “I only regret that she was not found long ago. If I find you treating Cherry with the kind of disrespect you showed to Anthea earlier, I shall use your allowance to help repay what we owe to her. Take care.”
Peter nodded sullenly.
The Earl turned to Anthea. “Are you certain that Winstanton is worried about your dowry? He has not said anything to me.”
“Not certain, but I received that impression. When you presented Cherry to the family, the first thing he said to me was, ‘Think what this means’ – and his mother looked as though she had bitten into a sour apple.”
“Once I have spoken to my solicitors, I may be able to reassure them,” Lord Desborough offered.
“Please don’t bother.” Anthea tossed her head. “If he only wants me for that large dowry, I had rather know now than later.”
“In any case, too late to cry off now,” Peter said, shaking his head. “It’s puffed up in the papers. Can’t end it without being called a heartless jilt in all the clubs. It would severely damage your chances.”
“Even if I find Silas is no longer keen on the match?”
Peter shrugged. “He’d better be. Cannot cry off either, as a gentleman.”
Her father shook her head at her. “You are a pretty, well-born, and well-dowered young lady, and he is very lucky to have won your hand. I really cannot imagine young Winstanton minding so much about a few thousand pounds more or less.”
From Peter’s sceptical look, he could imagine it all too easily.
“Talk to your betrothed,” her father advised. “This is why we invited him, so the two of you could learn to know each other better before the wedding.”
Anthea nodded mutely. It sounded so sensible – in theory. But what if you got to know someone better, and found you probably would not ever learn to love him? That not even friendship and respect seemed likely to last and grow, despite closer acquaintanceship?
It was not something she could discuss with the men in her family.
Chapter 11
The whitest ewes are likely to breed at least one black sheep.
Maxims for Young Gentlewomen, by A Lady, London 1823
“Now that we’ve been here for four days,” Jonathan said to Cherry, “what are your impressions?”<
br />
She was lying on his bed in delightful disarray, her dark hair askew after their recent lovemaking. The changing light of the fireplace played over her soft curves. Each time he looked at her, he marvelled at his good luck. So many other men had frigid spouses and perforce slaked their desires with mercenary courtesans, but he had all he could ever wish for right here, more perfect than he could ever have imagined. Their marriage was still recent enough not to take this bounty for granted.
Cherry absently rubbed her nose. “Actually, I am agreeably surprised by them. With a few notable exceptions the Desboroughs are charming, and it would have been no hardship to have grown up as one of them. I particularly like the children, Anthea and Cecily. Lord Desborough is coping with this difficult situation with as much grace as can be expected. His wife and her sister are keeping rather out of my way, but perfectly pleasant otherwise.”
“I notice you don’t mention Lord Minton – your brother Peter.”
“He falls on the minus side of the ledger. How Anthea can bear him is more than I can understand. Maybe she is a poor judge of male character, and too indulgent. Her engagement certainly points in that direction.”
“We agree on that much. The only pleasant young man in the house is Charles Denham. Why would Desborough allow his daughter to contract an alliance with a boor like Winstanton?”
Cherry shrugged. “Most likely Winstanton never showed Anthea’s parents that unpleasant side of his character that is so immediately obvious to us. He is a Viscount, and his looks, birth and fortune make him highly eligible. There are not all that many titled young men on the marriage mart in any particular year. I imagine he was the best of the lot, on paper form.”
“Only a fool buys a horse on paper form, let alone a son-in-law. You need to check for vicious habits as well.”
“Indeed.” Cherry sounded troubled. “My half-sister has a lifetime of vexation and humiliation before her. The mother alone should have put her off. A puffed-up, sour woman, almost as haughty as Lady Amberley.”
“Have they been rude to you, darling? If so, we can be away in two hours, easily. Just give the word.” Surely he would have noted her feeling unhappy. Jonathan was still learning all her moods, but he was getting quite adept at noting the rare times when his wife was truly upset.
Cherry smiled and shook her head. “No, love, there is nothing that would warrant running away. From Lady Winstanton it is all catty remarks that could be taken in different ways; I pay no attention to her, and she cannot hurt me. Lady Amberley treats me with courtesy, for my birth and the fact that we are now connected through common forebears.” She thought a moment. “How shall I put it? If somebody is perfectly polite to you, because of your birth, but thinks nothing of openly showing her contempt for the less fortunate, would you take their courtesy at face value?”
“No, because you still sympathize with the class of people she looks down upon, even if there is no direct personal insult. I understand that very well,” Jonathan said. “It must gall her to be polite to us, and particularly to me. She assiduously avoided meeting or inviting me for all the years of my close association with James. He never said so, but I gathered that his mother disapproved of our friendship.”
“Then Lady Amberley was foolish indeed. James Ellsworthy is a far richer man today, thanks to you.”
“I don’t think that matters to her, as she has been rich all her life. Lady Amberley puts people into mental boxes when they first come to her attention, and stubbornly refuses to re-assess them later. When James married against her wishes, the reasonable course would have been to forgive him and eventually make up with her daughter-in-law; but it has been six years, and she still has not relented. The same thing occurred with Minerva’s match. She is permanently estranged from two of her four children, even though everyone would be overjoyed to extend the olive branch if she but made the slightest gesture towards reconciliation.”
“No wonder she is unhappy,” Cherry said. “If she had not brought this on herself with her overweening prejudice, I could almost feel pity for her.”
“Some people have everything others only dream of, and still needlessly embitter their existence. A good thing we would never be so foolish.”
“Not even if our child makes a decidedly imprudent match some twenty years from now?” Cherry passed her right hand over the swell of her stomach.
“I would do my best to prevent that before it could happen,” Jonathan vowed, “but once the knot was tied, I would still love and support our child, if at all possible.”
“I feel the same. But with any luck he or she may inherit your common sense, and make a wise choice.”
They were silent for a minute, trying to imagine this. Given that they did not know if she carried a boy or girl, Jonathan’s imagination proved unequal to the task. “Let’s not borrow trouble,” he said pragmatically, “first we have the birth and childhood to get through, before needing to worry about imprudent marriages. To have raised a child to the point where they risk doing that, is already no mean task.”
“I wish I could do something for Anthea,” Cherry said impulsively. “I don’t feel exactly motherly towards her, with eleven years between us, but still … Even if her parents are unable to see that she picked the wrong suitor, it may not be too late to save her, until she is actually married. It would be good practice if we ever need to do something similar for our own offspring.”
Jonathan chuckled. “She might not thank you. Have you seen that huge stone on her engagement ring? Your sister is going to be a rich Viscountess. This is what she has been brought up to expect and hope for. Unless Anthea herself indicates that she has second thoughts and wants to be free of her engagement, it would be wrong to interfere.”
“I suppose you are right … but if I see her waver in her determination to wed him, or if she asks my advice, I shall do what I consider best.”
“What could you do, anyway? A formal engagement is not easily broken.”
“You underrate my ingenuity.” She smiled mysteriously.
“I would never underrate anything about you,” Jonathan assured her.
Cherry stretched languorously. “I don’t quite understand why Lady Winstanton is so hostile towards me.”
“Ah. That would likely be for financial reasons, which is my area of competence.”
“Enlighten me,” she invited. “I am not aware of any financial links between Lady Winstanton and myself.”
“Were you aware that Lady Anthea’s dowry of forty-five thousand guineas is uncommonly high?”
“Lucky girl. I did not have anything to my name at all, the two times I married, except for a few jewels the second time.”
“That’s what you think,” Jonathan informed her. “You are in fact a very wealthy woman, or should be, as your mother’s fortune was settled on you and your descendants. It was wrongly given to your father over a decade ago.”
“Oh. So that is what he referred to that first evening. Is he planning to give any of it back? I suppose it would be only fair, though I don’t want more than the other girls are getting.”
“It may not be a question of what you want. I have written to Henry Beecham. He cannot leave town just now – something about a bill coming up in the House – but he wrote back with his advice on the matter. I only received his long letter today.”
Cherry frowned. “And when were you going to inform me of its contents? It concerns me, after all.”
“You know that the law considers it my business rather than yours, sweetheart. But I was going to discuss it at some appropriate moment. Can you blame me if other things took precedence when we retired tonight?” He suggestively passed his palm over her large breasts, more sensitive than when he first met her.
His wife’s breath hitched for a moment. “I cannot fault your sense of priorities. But I still would like to know more about Henry’s letter. Just how much money are we talking about?”
“About a third of Desborough’s entire net worth, s
omewhere in the region of two hundred thousand pounds.”
“Good Heavens!” Her eyes opened wide. “I am surprised he didn’t quietly have me murdered when he first learned of my existence.”
“He is your father, Cherry. I give him credit for wanting to do the right thing, which he certainly owes you after so carelessly losing you.”
“But his other children, and even his wife,” Cherry said, “will not likely see it in that light. No wonder Lady Desborough has been a little distant, and left entertaining me to Anthea.”
“I don’t think Anthea or the children are even aware of your claim.”
“Do you suppose this explains Peter’s long face whenever I am around, and his tendency to shoot me long, glowering looks brimming with resentment? They turned much worse the day before yesterday.”
“Possibly his father informed him of the details of the legal situation. He may have heard from his own solicitors.”
“So should I take care never to be alone with Peter? My own brother?”
“Half-brother only, and from what we have both observed he does not feel at all brotherly towards you. He would not be so foolish as to actually harm you, I imagine, but do not expect to be on close terms with him when your father is no longer alive to keep the peace in the family.”
“He’s still very young and callow,” Cherry said optimistically. “He may yet improve.”
“He may,” Jonathan said drily, “or he may develop in the other direction. Winstanton, with whom he seems to spend a great deal of time, is hardly a good influence on his character.”
“No, indeed.”
“It may have been Winstanton or his mother who alerted Peter to the danger you pose to the family coffers. Now you know why these two do not like you.” Jonathan was not entirely sure about Winstanton, who sometimes stared at Cherry with reluctant attraction, damn him. Almost no man was entirely immune to her.
Jonathan should know – he certainly was not. Deciding they had wasted enough time with talk, he leaned close and kissed her sensitive earlobe. “Are you rested, darling? I can think of better things to do than discuss these unimportant matters.” He nibbled at her nape, satisfied to feel her soft arms encircle his neck to draw him closer still.