An Improper Companion

by April Kihlstrom

  “A woman who sleeps alone rarely conceives,” I said bluntly. Avoiding Leslie’s angry eyes, I added, “I believe my father ought to know what to expect. Or, rather, what not to expect. Well, father, on our wedding day Leslie promised not to force himself on me.”

  Lord Pellen whirled to look at Leslie. “That was a damn fool promise! You ought to have begun as you meant to go on. If you’ll accept my advice, you’ll forget that promise. The girl is simply frightened. All brides are. They soon accustom themselves to the inevitable. Will you next be living under the cat’s paw? You’re the master of the household and you’d best be sure she understands that.” My father was clearly deeply shocked. “We can discuss those other matters later, Sir Leslie. Now I think I ought to leave you alone with Heather. It would seem you’ve some things to settle.”

  He left before we could stop him. Leslie glared at me and I tried to hide in my chair. His voice was sharp and angry. “Was it absolutely necessary to tell him?” I stared back, helpless to answer. “I warn you, Heather, if you cannot keep your tongue between your teeth, I cannot answer for the consequences. Good God, woman! Don’t you understand? If anyone should hear of this, not only would they not believe I married you for love, but other rumours would start as well.” Leslie was white with anger and very near to hitting me. I leaned farther and farther back into the chair as he stood above me with smouldering eyes. Then, abruptly, he turned and strode from the room saying, “Damn you!”

  It was awhile after the library door slammed before I could force myself to move. And then I only drew my handkerchief out as I broke into tears. I had never seen Leslie so angry, nor angry with such good cause.

  The sound of servants’ voices made me start. With surprise, I saw it was well past noon. I must return to my room and change. Lord Pellen might well be expecting more callers. And by now, Mrs. Bentworth’s tongue would be at work. Whatever came I must be prepared.

  Chapter 11

  The servants, Ellen informed me when she answered my summons, were discussing how marvelous it was that I was the daughter of an earl. “Who would have thought it, my lady?” she said as she helped me change. “And such a romantic story! After all these years!”

  “You know what happened?” I asked with some surprise.

  “Oh, yes, my lady. Sir Leslie discovered that one of the maids had overheard Lord Pellen say he was your father. Well! Sir Leslie felt it would be best if everyone knew the truth instead of rumours. So he told Mrs. Morgan and told her to tell us! No need to be ashamed of your birth.”

  I laughed. “Truly, Ellen, I am amazed how well informed the servants always are. What else do you know?”

  “Well, nothing certain, my lady. But the head footman said that, surely now, Sir Leslie must arrange for you to be presented at court,” she said hesitantly. “And they are saying, my lady, since you asked, that it is a shame, it is, that you cannot have children.”

  I frowned. “It’s not impossible, Ellen. Simply unlikely.” “Yes, my lady. Well! Everyone says that if it were not for that, you and Sir Leslie would be very happy. Since you asked, my lady.”

  I flushed. Happy! If they knew ... there would be no talk of happiness. “Yes, well, please leave me now, Ellen.”

  She nodded sympathetically and departed. I dressed my hair myself, no difficult task, since until a few weeks before I had never had anyone to do it for me. A smile twitched at my lips, for I could easily picture Ellen in the kitchen listening to gossip. Or, perhaps she would be telling how I had dismissed her, wanting to be alone because I was so unhappy at the thought I could have no children.

  I was composed when I entered the drawing room. Leslie glanced at me quickly, then looked away. My father regarded me more carefully before nodding gravely. I understood that he had signified his approval. Philip, of course, was staring with undisguised astonishment. I smiled at the two strange women in the room. Mary was speaking, “... Lady Kinwell. Heather, may I present Louise and Irma Connelly?”

  They murmured a polite greeting and I spoke with the combination of warmth and self-assurance that was appropriate, though feigned. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance. I presume Mary has already introduced you to my father, Lord Pellen. And, of course, you know Sir Leslie and perhaps Mary’s son Philip as well. Shocking of me not to be here to greet you. I was unfortunately delayed with a household matter.”

  And why, I wondered silently, had no one informed me of this arrival sooner? Irma was speaking and I endeavoured to concentrate my attention on her. “... us about you and your father, Lady Kinwell. Such a romantic tale! How happy you must feel to be reunited!”

  I smiled, but was saved the necessity of hypocrisy by Miss Louise. “I must admit, Lady Kinwell, that we have been somewhat concerned as to your parentage. It seemed quite unusual that no one knew your family. Now, of course, we are perfectly satisfied.”

  My anger grew as I listened, and I might have spoken had Lord Pellen not forestalled me. “My dear woman,” he said, “I hope you are not trying to say that had my connection to Lady Kinwell not been known she should have been unacceptable. Even lacking such credentials, the veriest fool must have seen Lady Kinwell is quite unexceptionable! Her very carriage and bearing proclaim her to be bon ton!”

  Under his fierce gaze, Louise and Irma Connelly distinctly quailed. I felt grateful indeed to my father. And the arrival, just then, of the tea tray provided a welcome diversion. I was relieved to be able to sit aloof, pouring tea as the others talked. Once again, Leslie was describing his plans for our trip to London, and later, to the Continent. Then Mary was explaining I had been educated at Mrs. Gilwen’s school. By the time I had finished pouring tea, conversation had turned its attention to Philip. I felt sorry for him as the admission that he had been sent down from Oxford was extracted. Happily the two sisters soon recalled that my father was come straight from London and they begged him for news of acquaintances. Lord Pellen and the Connelly sisters did not move in the same circles, and he deftly turned away questions he could not answer by volunteering gossip. When his supply of on-dits ran short, he shifted to the topic of London fashions. This subject was inexhaustible and seemed further to inflate my father’s worth in their eyes, for at one point Miss Louise said, “My lord, how very clever you are. Few men would have noted so many details or described them so well.”

  Lord Pellen smiled. “You are much too kind, Miss Connelly. I am sure there are many details I have forgotten and which you will tax me with should we meet again after your next visit to London.”

  “Do you intend to visit here often?” she asked eagerly.

  He continued to smile and glanced at me. “Can you doubt the answer, my dear lady? I have so recently discovered my daughter. Shall I now relinquish her?”

  “How touching!” Irma sighed.

  Lord Pellen glanced again at me, mockingly. I understood. Whether he visited or not, it could not but help my social position if it were generally believed he would. I smiled at him. “And of course my father shall always be welcome here. We have many years of not knowing each other to make up for.”

  Leslie looked at me sharply, but I avoided his eyes. And when he spoke, it was to Irma. “How is Mr. Connelly?” he asked.

  “Oh, my,” she began, “you know of course my husband’s knee...”

  I ceased to listen, needing the time to compose myself again. Irma had no children to discuss, but when the subject of her husband was finally exhausted, it was also time for the ladies to leave. “Will you be at church, Sunday, Lady Kinwell?” Louise asked.

  “We will all be at church,” Lord Pellen replied smoothly. “May I escort you to your carriage, ladies?”

  Amid flutters and polite farewells, they withdrew. When they were well out of earshot, Mary exclaimed, “Concerned about Heather’s credentials indeed! And who is Mrs. Connelly to cavil? Married her own cousin. And for that matter, the family is Irish!”

  Leslie laughed. “The first Connelly came to England three centuries ago.�
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  “The Irish blood is still there!” Mary insisted. “You know very well that the Connellys have often sent to Ireland for brides for the men. Questioning Heather’s background like that! The fact that she is your wife ought to have been sufficient, Leslie.”

  “Ah, but I am so eccentric,” Leslie teased. “How could they be sure I had not married an opera dancer?”

  “Leslie!” rang out Mary’s shocked voice. “I beg of you not to speak so lightly of such an important matter.”

  “Oh, Mother,” Philip said impatiently, “everyone knows Uncle Leslie is too top-lofty to marry an opera dancer.”

  At Philip’s words, Leslie raised an eyebrow in amusement.

  I wondered, not for the first time, how Philip had acquired such an absurd notion of Leslie. Well, that was not my affair. Philip grinned at me. “Your father rang a peal over Mrs. Bentworth this morning for her rudeness.”

  Mary intruded, “Philip! Show a proper respect for your elders!” She turned to me, “Are you well, Heather, dear? I thought perhaps you might not wish to see anyone this afternoon or I should have informed you the Connellys had arrived for tea.”

  “But I was informed,” I said with some surprise, “albeit a trifle late.”

  “Quite right,” a voice behind me said. I turned to see my father standing in the doorway. “Forgive me, Lady Mary, I did not know of your intentions. I simply asked one of the maids to tell Heather she was late. I thought my daughter shy, perhaps, and felt it necessary she overcome such missishness. When she is presented to the ton, neither fatigue nor nerves will excuse rudeness, nor any action which might be construed as rudeness.”

  Mary flushed under Pellen’s gaze and I wondered again at my father’s ability to bend others to his will. But I pondered too deeply, for he found it necessary to speak my name sharply before I attended to his words. “Heather! I pray you will listen for a moment, daughter. I wish to discuss Sunday. It is of the utmost importance our arrival be properly timed. We do not wish to arrive so late that we disturb the service; however it is imperative we should be the last to enter.”

  “Why?” Philip broke in.

  My father smiled and answered patiently. “Because we wish everyone to have the opportunity to gossip about Heather. And they will. Also, I have an aversion to standing about when people around are gossiping about me. After church, it must be borne since we must greet as many gentry as possible. They will expect it of us.” He paused and frowned, “You and Heather do attend regularly, do you not, Sir Leslie?”

  Leslie smiled, but I noted his eyes were grim. “We’ve had but one opportunity, thus far, and we were there. One could hardly say ‘regularly,’ yet. But we will.”

  My father nodded as though satisfied, but I suspected Leslie’s irritation had not escaped him. It was not to be wondered at that so autocratic a man as my husband should chafe at having his actions determined by another. Lord Pellen turned to me again. “Well, Heather, I was pleased to see you had regained your composure. I believe you shall deal well in London, very well indeed. Particularly as Lady Phyllis will be there to guide you. Sir Leslie has informed me you patronise Mademoiselle Suzette. I might have recommended another, but that does not matter. Mademoiselle Suzette obviously understands what suits you. Phyllis will ensure you receive all the important invitations. And she will tell you which ones to refuse.”

  “Oh?” I said dangerously. “Why must I refuse any?”

  “Because you must show everyone that you consider yourself as important as you are. That means that for your debut, at least, you must be a snob,” my father answered quite practically, his eyes warning me there should be no protest. His voice softened. “Of course, if it is a matter of an old friend from school, you may tell Lady Phyllis and I am certain she would not object.”

  “How kind!” I murmured.

  My father chose to ignore my sarcasm. He looked at me critically. “You are in need of rest, my dear. In London you must have a care. Neglect your rest and you will endanger your appearance. Upstairs with you now.”

  I was relieved to be dismissed at last, for it was a clear dismissal. I nodded and gathered my skirts to leave when Leslie spoke, “I would like a moment with you first in the library, Heather.”

  Though tired and unequal to being lectured further, I could not refuse. I nodded and followed. I think he might have taken my arm, save that I drew away when he moved to my side. In silence we walked, and in silence he held the library door for me. Only when I was inside and seated did he speak. And even then it was not easy for him. “Heather,” his voice was taut, “if you choose, we need not follow your father’s plans for London.”

  I sighed. “I admit I am not altogether pleased with my father’s proposals, but I have seen that he is an expert at dealing with people. I suppose, therefore, that his advice must be sound.”

  He turned and stood with his back to me. “I see. Very well, I shall go ahead with the arrangements your father wishes me to make.”

  He paused and, on impulse, I asked, “Leslie, what is this settlement my father spoke of?”

  Leslie was tired, very tired, or he should never have answered so frankly. “Your father is deeding you one of his estates. The smallest one. In return, I shall pay off the mortgage on the estate and—”

  “My father is deeding us a mortgaged estate?” I demanded in shock. “What sort of gift is that?”

  Leslie answered wearily, “It’s not meant to be a gift. It’s a gesture your father feels is necessary for appearances. Ostensibly your father will pay the mortgage himself and only the three of us will know otherwise.”

  “But this is absurd!” I protested. “You must refuse. I have cost you too much money already.”

  Leslie chuckled bitterly. “You do not understand, my dear. I cannot refuse. But I appreciate your concern.”

  A suspicion grew in my mind. “Mary said Lord Pellen was scorched. Are you giving him other money also?” Leslie did not speak, but his face answered for him. “Leslie! I will not have it, do you hear? I will not have you franking my father. I would rather do without his goodwill!”

  Leslie faced me squarely and his voice brooked no dispute. “You will not have it? This time you’ve gone your length, madam. I shall do as I choose with my blunt! Your father was quite right, you have forgotten who is master of this estate.” I stared at him, shaken by the force of his anger. “You will go to your room and rest,” he said in the same manner, “and ponder what your father and I have said today.”

  I had no choice than to do what he wished. Shakily I rose and withdrew. It was difficult not to run, but I was learning to keep in step with my role as Lady Kinwell, and it was with dignity intact that I reached my chamber. Nor did I tremble when, later as she helped me dress, Ellen clasped the emeralds about my throat.

  It was at dinner that I began to truly feel I should be able to deal with London society. For nothing could have been more difficult than that meal. Mary was again disturbed over the emeralds and I feared Leslie almost regretted the gift. Philip was curious and asked me questions for which I had no answer. It was left to my father to reply, and though he did so with ease, I grew more and more distressed with the curious mixture of truth and falsehood he spoke. I believe Leslie felt as I did, but I could not be sure, for we avoided each other’s eyes and indeed conversation so far as it was possible to do so. Nor could I feel at ease with my father after all I had learned that day. Yet I believe an outsider would have thought all was well, so smoothly did the conversation flow. If our smiles were without true warmth, I think few would have guessed it. And more than once, my father nodded his approval to me. If this was to be an example of my future, I should not be happy, but I knew I should be capable.

  After the meal, my father suggested a game of whist, to which we all agreed, somehow it was arranged that my father should partner me and I became quickly aware he was testing me. How well could I play if my partner were a fool? How well if he were skilled? Did I lose gracefully? Did I w
in graciously? Could I both converse and play at the same time? Did I appear to consider the cards too lengthily? Too lightly? He tested me until I grew weary of it. I considered warning him that I knew what he was about and was on guard to please him. But I did not do so for fear he should devise a more devious test. From time to time, Leslie regarded me anxiously, it seemed. But I would not let him see my weariness. Philip, I am convinced, noted none of this and Mary placidly wrote letters, oblivious to the rest of us.

  Leslie had again ordered a cold supper to be served at midnight. I thought it ironic that Lord Pellen ascribed the efficiency to me. For the first time that evening, Leslie and I exchanged truly amused smiles. So little escapes my father that he noted even that and nodded to himself, as though with satisfaction. Mary bade us good evening in a rather abrupt manner and I wondered what had overset her. Perhaps she did not welcome Lord Pellen’s presence in the household, disrupting as it did our previous quiet existence. And yet, I should have thought her pleased at the right to claim such close ties to someone so important. Perhaps she feared my newfound father would claim all my affection and I should have no time for herself. I determined to find an opportunity to reassure her.

  I withdrew shortly after Mary, climbing the stairs slowly. To my surprise, Ellen was not waiting to help me undress. Instead, as I looked about Mary came out of the shadows. “Mary!” I exclaimed. “What’s wrong?”

  “Hush,” she whispered, and made haste to shut the door. Then she smiled, but spoke little louder, “I’m sorry, my dear, I dismissed your maid because I wanted to warn you to bolt your doors tonight, if you could, and if not to sleep in my room.”

  “I shall assuredly bolt the doors, as always,” I said in puzzlement, “but I do not understand your distress. What has happened?”

  Mary sighed unhappily. “My poor child! Leslie spoke with me this afternoon. He told me your father had bade him ignore the promise he made to leave you in peace. And when I asked if he meant to do so, he said he was sorely tempted ... that your father was, after all, a man of sense. I was shocked, my dear, and told him be reasonable, but he seemed too angry to listen. So I came to warn you, my dear, to bolt your doors. Though I believe it was an empty threat.”