Monday's Child (Heroines born on each day of the week. Book 2)

by Rosemary Morris

  “At first my governess insisted I should write to you. When I grew older, I enjoyed doing so and looked forward to your replies. Thank you for the presents you sent me.”

  “Think nothing of it. I enjoyed choosing them. Now, please tell me what you know about our father’s affairs.”

  Anger flashed in Charlotte’s eyes. “I hesitate to mention something you would hear elsewhere. Father lost so heavily at Whites’ that…that…he suggested staking my hand in marriage on the turn of a card.”

  “What!” Langley nearly choked.

  Charlotte’s cheeks blossomed scarlet. “Oh, nothing came of it. The Duke of Midland intervened. I don’t know precisely what ensued, other than Papa did not make the wager.”

  Enraged, Langley walked back and forth across the parlour.

  “Please don’t disturb yourself, Langley. Palsy keeps Papa from the card tables, so he is counting on your marriage to Miss Tomlinson to restore the family fortune.”

  Langley sank back onto his chair. He gazed out of the window, and across the drive around the side of the house, which led to the stables and beyond them to fertile Hertfordshire farmland. He pressed his lips together. Last year, at the end of the war in the Iberian Peninsula, the heiress, Amelia Carstairs, tricked him into proposing marriage by leading him onto a balcony during a ball. First, she claimed she needed air, next, she pretended to faint so he had caught hold of her. Amelia’s grandmother, with a score of others, had followed them. In order to save the young lady’s reputation upon being discovered with her in his arms, he was obliged to propose marriage, although he wanted to marry Helen. Fortunately, the engagement ended by mutual consent. In love with Helen, he could not marry anyone else.

  “Charlotte, please tell me what you know about Miss Tomlinson.”

  “I am scarcely acquainted with her.”

  “After meeting her you must have formed some impression.”

  Charlotte’s large grey eyes stared into his. “Well, you heard Mamma say a reducing diet would greatly improve her. Even so, she is not ill-looking.”

  “Margaret said the father is vulgar, so I suppose the woman’s manners are common.”

  “You are too harsh. Although Mister Tomlinson is somewhat crude and ill-at-ease in a nobleman’s mansion, the lady is gently bred. She attended The Beeches, a young ladies’ school with an excellent reputation.”

  Langley rebuked himself for his reference to Miss Tomlinson as a young woman instead of a young lady. “Her mother?”

  “She died during Miss Tomlinson’s infancy. From something Mister Tomlinson said, I think her ancestry was superior to his.”

  Langley restrained a sigh. He hoped the earl’s financial affairs were better than they seemed.

  “Langley, there is no need to despair. I don’t dislike Miss Tomlinson. I think she is either shy or extremely reserved. She is well-educated and seems to share our older sister’s passion for gardening. Indeed, much to the head gardener’s astonishment, Miss Tomlinson offered excellent advice concerning the vegetable garden. Apart from this, I can only tell you she has pleasing manners.”

  Memories of Helen filled his head. Why he had fallen in love with a young lady barely out of the schoolroom remained a mystery. He believed he would be faithful to her until he died. Her natural calm would steady him. He wanted to confide in her, be her husband and share her bed. Langley swallowed hard. It seemed he would not be in a position to ask his love to wed him when he reached Brussels. Of course, he could not have expected her to tie the knot while he was in danger of being maimed or killed during the inevitable invasion of France and confrontation with Napoleon. Yet the knowledge she would have been his wife if he survived would have sustained him.

  “Langley, will you marry Miss Tomlinson?”

  He shook his head, turning his attention to Charlotte. “My dear sister, whatever happens in the future, I have sufficient funds to bear the cost of a London Season for you.”

  Charlotte’s lashes fluttered. “You are too generous, but what would Papa say?”

  Langley wanted to reply he did not give a tinker’s curse for whatever the earl might say. He choked back the disrespectful words concerning their spendthrift parent.

  * * * *

  Attired in his black and scarlet dress uniform, Langley went to the drawing room to join his family and the Tomlinsons, before they dined.

  He entered the room too quietly for them to notice his presence. Mamma sat next to an excessively plump young lady gowned in white, and ablaze with diamonds more suited to a matron than an unmarried girl. He could not see her face, for she gazed down at the carpet as though nothing could be of more interest. His mamma said something. The young woman, whom he presumed to be Miss Tomlinson, nodded, her thick brown hair glowing in the candlelight.

  Opposite Mamma, deep in conversation with her, sat a man of ample proportions, garbed in a dark blue velvet coat and breeches, white stockings and a waistcoat embroidered in gold thread and garish colours.

  Langley suppressed a desire to flee. “My lord, my lady.” He inclined his head toward his parents.

  The guest, who must be Mister Tomlinson, stood. He guffawed with obvious delight. “No need to stand on ceremony, Lord Langley, for judging by your uniform that’s who you are.” The man winked at him. “After all, we will soon be on the best imaginable of terms.”

  Langley quenched his first instinct to snub the presumptuous man. Good manners did not allow him to be rude to a guest in his father’s house.

  With extravagant gestures, Mister Tomlinson indicated the faded straw-coloured brocade upholstery and shabby carpet. “I’ll soon set all to rights.”

  Langley stepped back to avoid the manufacturer nudging him in the ribs. Across the room he caught sight of Charlotte, seated at right angles to Mamma, her eyes filled with amusement.

  “A glass of wine, my lord?” Chivers asked Langley, his face impassive.

  “Of course the lad will have one,” Mister Tomlinson said.

  “Father,” a small, reproachful voice spoke. “You have not yet been introduced to the gentleman.”

  “No need, no need, he knows who I am.”

  Papa stood, elegant in a perfectly cut corbeau-coloured coat and breeches, a white waistcoat, white silk stockings, and a cravat cunningly arranged in the style named ‘The Oriental’. “Miss Tomlinson, may I present my eldest son, Viscount Langley. Langley, I have the honour to introduce you to Miss Tomlinson.”

  Langley hoped his disapproval of the profusion of fussy trimmings at the lady’s ample bosom did not reveal itself on his face when she glanced at him for a second or two.

  Miss Tomlinson looked down, giving no time for more than a glimpse of a pair of hazel eyes and slightly sun-kissed complexion, something most ladies went to great lengths to avoid. What was her Christian name? Her age? Nineteen, twenty or a little older? Regardless of Mister Tomlinson’s plans, did she want to marry him?

  “My lords, ladies and gentlemen, dinner is served,” Chivers announced.

  They stood. Mamma placed her gloved hand on Mister Tomlinson’s arm.

  The earl committed a breach of etiquette by accompanying Charlotte. No doubt Papa was determined to make sure he missed no opportunity to become acquainted with Miss Tomlinson. He offered his arm to the young lady.

  Still conscious that Papa should have escorted his guest to the dining room table, Langley sought to set the young lady at ease. “Miss Tomlinson, my sister, Lady Charlotte, tells me you are interested in horticulture.”

  Despite the anxious expression in her large hazel eyes and colour flaming in her cheeks, she nodded.

  What agitated her? “I apologize if I am mistaken.” He led her down the high-ceilinged corridor, past oil paintings of his ancestors. Among them was a picture of the Longwood hunt, its men dressed in hunting pink and mounted on fine horses surrounded by a pack of hounds.

  The hand on his arm quivered.

  “Is my sister mistaken?”

  “Yes, I enjoy garde
ning, but I beg you not to mention it. My father does not think it is a proper occupation for a lady.”

  “I see,” he said, although he did not. His mamma devoted much time to her rose garden. His eldest sister, the mother of several offspring, enjoyed cultivating her flowers and herbs with the help of a gardener. Indeed, while he served overseas she enclosed sprigs of dried lavender, rosemary, thyme and other fragrant dried herbs with her letters.

  He led Miss Tomlinson into the large dining room, the table decorated with a centrepiece of early daffodils and laid with silver and fine china.

  Langley guided her to her seat on his father’s right. He took his place between her and his mother, who sat at the foot of the table with Mister Tomlinson on her right. This necessitated Charlotte having to sit between their father and the manufacturer.

  A footman served chicken soup. Papa picked up his spoon. Before he could taste it, Mister Tomlinson spoke. “My lord! Grace!”

  “Grace?” the earl said. “There is no one present called ‘Grace’.”

  “My lord!” Mister Tomlinson repeated. “I refer to thanking the Lord for our meal.”

  “No need to thank me.” Papa’s mind was obviously elsewhere. “I have an excellent cook.”

  A half-strangled sound escaped Charlotte, who buried her face in her linen napkin.

  Mister Tomlinson’s face reddened. “Don’t mock me, my lord. Remember the commandment ‘thou shalt not take the Lord’s name in vain.’”

  “I think,” Langley began, careful not to allow his amusement over his papa’s obtuseness to reveal itself, “Mister Tomlinson wishes to thank not you, sir, but the Lord our God.”

  “Why did he not say so instead of rambling on while my soup becomes cold? What does he take me for, a damned bishop or a mealy-mouthed parson?”

  Charlotte removed the napkin from her face. “Heavenly Father, we thank you for the food we are about to eat. Amen.”

  His face brick red, Mister Tomlinson picked up his soup spoon. “Well, Lord Langley, what do you think of my girl?” he asked presumably mollified by the brief Grace. “You needn’t worry in case she’ll waste away if she becomes sick; she’s enough substance to her not to miss a few pounds or more.”

  Charlotte seemed to choke. Speechless, Mamma stared at Mister Tomlinson. Miss Tomlinson’s cheeks flushed rose-red. “Father,” she murmured.

  Langley pitied the young lady’s embarrassment. “I am sure your daughter is all that is agreeable.”

  Silence filled the dining room. Turbot in white sauce garnished with parsley, lobster, a fish stew, and sundry other dishes replaced the soup tureen.

  Conversation resumed. The meal progressed until the ladies withdrew, leaving the gentlemen to enjoy their port. Papa, still annoyed by the request to say Grace, drank no more than a single glass before he retired.

  “Pass the port, Langley. There’s a good lad,” the manufacturer said. “Can’t deny I’m pleased with the chance to have a private word with you. Provided you treat my girl right; you’ll never find me ungenerous. Bless you, I can solve your pa’s financial problems and set you up for life. There’s no need to delay the wedding. My girl knows it’s my ambition for her to be a titled lady and mistress of a great estate.” He eyed the tarnished gold tassels which trimmed the royal blue curtains. “At least, with my money, Longwood Place shall be great again.”

  Torn between affront and amusement, Langley opened his mouth to respond. Before he could do so, the fond father spoke. “No need to thank me, lad. It’s a privilege to shackle my girl to a hero. Oh yes, I know how often you were mentioned in dispatches. Mind you, I don’t think much of your pa, but I’ve nothing but respect for you.”

  “Why? You have only just met me.”

  Mister Tomlinson’s brown eyes widened. “Upon my word, you don’t think I’d marry my girl off without investigating her husband-to-be? I know more about you than you can imagine. I have decided you should marry my daughter before your furlough ends.” His forehead puckered. “Don’t be surprised if she seems reluctant to enter the parson’s noose so fast, my girl is a little shy.”

  Instead of giving in to his immediate reaction at the idea of wedding a virgin who would submit to her fate on the altar of matrimony, Langley gulped some port before he spoke. “Mister Tomlinson, there is much for me to mull over before I consider marriage. I might be seriously wounded, lose a limb or die. To wed Miss Tomlinson now would be dishonourable. She might be widowed in a few months.”

  The manufacturer thumped his fist on the table so hard that his glass wobbled and the nuts in a bowl rattled. “She might not. No, no, I’ve decided you’re the husband for her, so there’s no need to delay.” He guzzled some port. “By the grace of Almighty God, you’ll survive. If you don’t, my daughter might have your child to console her. You may be sure I’d take good care of it.”

  Unbearable to think of any son or daughter of his being raised by this blunt man, unversed in the ways of polite society. “We have pursued this matter far enough.”

  “Well, well, my lord, I see you think I am a rough person.” He grinned. “Don’t forget I’m a shrewd one. It’s only a question of time before your pa’s bankrupted. Where will you and your family be when his creditors are banging on the door? What will you do?”

  “My plans are uncertain. The entail could be broken.”

  Mister Tomlinson laughed. “You’re prepared to lose your inheritance?”

  Langley considered the pleasures of riding on his ancestral land, fishing and hunting. No, damn it, he would not give it up. With careful management of the income from tenant farmers and elsewhere, the house and huge estate could be gradually restored to its former glory.

  “Given you something to consider lad, haven’t I?”

  “Indeed, you have.” He drank the remainder of his port. “It is time to join the ladies.” Langley put the crystal glass on the table with exaggerated care. “Come to the drawing room where the countess will preside over the tea tray.”

  During the short walk along a corridor, Langley considered the unbelievable truth. His father expected him to marry the ill-bred manufacturer’s daughter instead of Helen.

  By birth, he and Helen were unequal, but she was a lady, born and bred. Moreover, he looked forward to their marriage strengthening his relationship with her brother-in-law, his closest friend. He looked back to the days when he and Rupes first went to Eton and then to Oxford, before they joined the same regiment. Comrades-in-arms, they fought for over ten years with few furloughs. Best man at Rupes’s wedding to Georgianne—whom he considered an honorary sister—he knew Rupes and Georgianne were aware of his love for Helen. What would they think of him if he did not propose? Before he could decide whether or not he should explain his situation to them, a footman opened the drawing room door. Langley gestured to Mister Tomlinson to precede him.

  They sat on chairs opposite the ladies. Chivers brought the tea tray, which he placed on a low table in front of Mamma. Relieved, because she neither suggested they entertain themselves with music nor that they play cards, Langley relaxed a little.

  “You may go, Chivers.” Mamma picked up the teapot. “Charlotte, dearest, please pass the cups?”

  Langley stared at the heavy silver tea service. How much was it worth?

  He must save the property. Surely there were enough treasures in Longwood Place to pay Father’s creditors. If there were not, the London house and the hunting lodge could be sold. Of course, this could not be accomplished without Father’s approval. His jaw tightened. He sighed. So few days before he must embark for Brussels, but first he would speak with the bailiff and the steward, then consult Father’s man of business in London.

  “What do you think, Langley?” Mamma asked.

  He turned his attention to her. “I beg your pardon.”

  “I referred to Mister Tomlinson’s suggestion.” Mamma drew her Paisley shawl a little closer around her shoulders.

  “I don’t know what to say,” he said, suspicio
us of any suggestion the manufacturer might have made.

  Charlotte laughed. “Langley, confess you were wool gathering. Mister Tomlinson said he prefers ‘piping hot food’ to cold food and suggested the dining room should be nearer the kitchen.”

  Langley considered the conveyance of meals up the servants’ stairs, through the door on the first floor and along the corridor to the dining room. Nothing remained hot. He turned his attention to Mister Tomlinson. “A sensible solution if my parents agree to the change.”

  “Some more tea, Mister Tomlinson?” Mamma asked.

  “I don’t mind if you pour me another cup, Missus.”

  “My lady!” Langley exclaimed, rigid with outrage. “Mister Tomlinson you will address my mother by her title.”

  The manufacturer cheeks turned red as a rooster’s wattle. “Will I? It seems I—”

  “Don’t lose your temper, Father,” Miss Tomlinson intervened in a low voice. Her hand shook. A little tea spilled into the saucer.

  Her parent subsided like a punctured pig’s bladder which poor children used in place of a ball. “Yes, well, lad, I don’t think worse of you for taking your ma’s—”

  “Father!” Miss Tomlinson looked down, seeming surprised by her temerity.

  “For taking her ladyship’s part,” the manufacturer said hastily.

  Mamma stood. “Some more tea, anyone? No? Then I suggest it is time to retire. Come, Charlotte.”

  Langley hurried to open the door for his mother and sister.

  In the hall, the countess glanced at Mister Tomlinson. “Although your dinner was too cold, I hope you will find nothing lacking in your bedchamber. Charlotte, your arm, if you please, I need your support. I am overset. Perhaps I need my sal volatile.”

  “For goodness sake, Mamma, you don’t need your smelling salts.” Charlotte frowned. “Mister Tomlinson is quite right. We would enjoy hot food.”