by M C Beaton
Harriet rushed to the pianoforte. She played competently, but very loudly and with little feeling for the music. It was a very long piece. It went on and on. Lord Granton looked at Frederica, but she was once more looking at her shoes. That chit is going to forgive me, he thought. He slid his quizzing glass down into the cushions at the back of his chair.
Lady Crown felt she had endured enough. She got to her feet.
“We really must go,” she shouted above the noise of Harriet’s chords.
Mrs. Hadley fussed about them as they went outside. She wanted to apologize for Frederica’s rudeness but did not want to call further attention to it.
“Thank goodness that is over,” said Annabelle as they drove off. “What a monstrous bore. And that Frederica! So farouche. She must really have given you a disgust of her, Lord Granton.”
“Good heavens, I have left my quizzing glass. Stop the carriage,” called Lord Granton to the coachman.
“But we can send a servant to collect it,” protested Sir Giles.
The carriage stopped and Lord Granton jumped out onto the road. “I feel like walking,” he called.
“So do I,” said Annabelle. “Wait! I will come with you.” But when she climbed down, it was to find that he was already some way off down the road and hurrying away.
Frederica was getting a resounding lecture from her family on her bad behavior when Lord Granton was announced. They broke off their tirade and stared at him, openmouthed.
“I left my quizzing glass,” he said, bowing all round.
Frederica went straight to the chair in which he had been sitting, put her hand down the cushions, and then produced the quizzing glass. She curtsied to him as she handed it over.
“Some more tea?” said Mrs. Hadley.
“You are very kind.” He sat down. He was determined to stay until he had managed to convey to Frederica that he was sorry for what he had said.
“Delighted to have your company,” beamed Mrs. Hadley. “Where is that maid? Excuse me, my lord. Frederica, come with me.”
Frederica followed her mother from the room.
“Go upstairs and stay there,” hissed her mother furiously. “I will speak to you later.” She bit her lip. Why could she not find the courage to tell this youngest daughter of hers that she could not go to the ball?
Frederica went upstairs and sat by the window. She had seen him hide that quizzing glass. Her heart beat hard. Had he come back to try to have a word with her? She heaved a little sigh. She would never know now.
Downstairs, Lord Granton clutched a teacup and listened to one of Mary’s longest poems. When at last it was finished, he asked, “Where is Miss Frederica?”
“She is abovestairs, I believe,” said Mrs. Hadley. “You must excuse her behavior. Frederica is not used to company.”
“Not surprising,” he said dryly, “as she obviously has not been in the way of enjoying any mannered society or being gowned to suit her position.”
“She is very young,” said Mrs. Hadley, coloring up.
“She is eighteen and should be wearing her hair up. She should also be able to dance.”
“My lord, you obviously do not understand the difficulties in having four daughters to bring up.”
“Obviously not.” He put down his teacup. “Now I really must be on my way.”
In vain did they press him to stay. He strode off in a foul mood. Be damned to the girl. He was making a cake of himself over the chit.
But when he was outside the garden, he found himself walking around to the lane that led along the back of the vicarage. He stood irresolutely by the gate and looked up. Frederica was sitting by the window. He let himself into the garden. Her window was open.
“I did not mean it,” he called up. “Not a word. I was worried about you. Please meet me tonight.”
She looked steadily down at him and then gave a little nod.
“Lord Granton!”
He swung round. Dr. Hadley was approaching round the side of the house.
“I was admiring your garden,” said Lord Granton. Above his head he heard the window close.
“Indeed!” Dr. Hadley looked around in a bewildered way at a rather dreary expanse of scrubby grass and shrubs. “You must be funning, my lord. The gardens at the back of the rectory are unkempt, to say the least.”
“That is just what attracts me,” said Lord Granton earnestly. “I detest formal gardens. I like a wilderness.”
“You certainly have it here,” commented the rector.
“I must be on my way, Dr. Hadley. Thank you for showing me your gardens.” He strode off. Dr. Hadley watched him go, a puzzled frown on his face.
Lord Granton felt relieved and cheerful. He would see her that night. Somewhere a little voice was trying to tell him that his behavior was outrageous but he ignored it. The day was fine and sunny and everything was all right with the world.
That was until he got back to Townley Hall. He had made no mental note of the social engagements his hosts had arranged for him and so was surprised that evening to find his valet laying out his best evening clothes.
“What is this, Gustave? Too fine for a family dinner.”
“It is the Blackstones’ ball this evening.”
“I cannot go!”
The major came in just in time to hear the last words. “Rupert, you must. If you do not go, they will be disappointed and angry. A great number of people have accepted the Blackstones’ invitation with a view to meeting you.”
Lord Granton scowled furiously, but he could see no way out of his dilemma. He did not trust servants to be discreet, any servants, even Gustave. Gustave would certainly find a way to deliver a note to Frederica, but then Gustave was always in love with some housemaid or other, and he would gossip, and the gossip might spread. Jack Muir, the poacher, was to be trusted, only because he might find himself dangling on the end of a rope if he opened his mouth about it.
At last, feeling like a prisoner, he set out with the Crowns and the major for the Blackstones’ ball. She would wait by that pool, and he would not come, and that would be that.
His temper was so bad that he decided to fight it and behave as well as possible. This he did to such good effect that Annabelle glowed with triumph and all the Blackstones’ guests said that his reputation must have been all a hum, for he did not appear wicked at all. He even danced with several of the wallflowers.
Frederica sat by the pool and waited. At first she could not really believe that he would not come. But as a whole hour passed, she realized that something must have happened. She had a sudden vision of what her life would be after he had gone. For some nights she would probably come and sit here, waiting and always hoping to hear the sound of his step, just as she was doing tonight.
And then she heard someone approaching and sprang up, but the smile of welcome died on her face as she recognized the figure of the poacher.
“Are you spying on me?” she asked angrily.
He touched his greasy hat. “No, miss. I was keeping clear, like.”
“Then what do you want with me?”
“You don’t think that Lord Granton will report having seen me in these here woods to Sir Giles?”
“I do not think so, Jack. He would have to explain what he was doing here himself.”
Frederica, unlike her parents and the Crowns but like a good many of the villagers, knew of Jack’s poaching activities. “You will be caught one day, Jack,” she said, “and you know the penalties are severe.”
“You are very young, miss.”
“What’s that to do with anything?”
“Just that when a great lord meets a young girl on the sly, reckon it don’t bode no good for the girl.”
“We are friends, that is all, and you are being impertinent.”
“S’pose it’s your business, miss, and no one will hear a word from me. He won’t be coming anyhows.”
“Why is that?”
“Blackstones are having a big ball ton
ight. Look, miss, there is even talk that he’ll announce his engagement to Miss Annabelle this night without waiting for the ball at the Hall.”
“Oh,” said Frederica in a little voice.
“So you see, miss, it don’t seem right to me that he should be sneaking off to meet you while courting t’other. I mean, it looks like he don’t reckon you good enough.”
“Off with you, Jack. You are talking about things of which you know nothing.”
He touched his cap again. “Have a heed, Miss Frederica.” Then he backed silently off into the blackness of the woods.
Frederica sat down slowly again by the pool. She found her hands were shaking and clasped them tightly together. All her innocent dreams were crashing about her ears. How could she have been so naive? She did not think his motives in meeting her base. She was sure that he was only amusing himself.
But the fact that he was really courting Annabelle gave her turbulent emotions. She had imagined he would marry one day, perhaps soon, and her mother would read the announcement of the betrothal in the social columns. Her magic picture of dancing with him at the ball in her new gown now seemed childish. She would need to stand at that ball and listen to Sir Giles announce his engagement to Annabelle—that was unless the announcement was being made even at this very moment.
He was in a world from which she was barred because of her age, because she was the youngest daughter, because of her inferior social position. She did not belong to his world and never could.
A little breeze rustled the leaves above her head, and she shivered and got to her feet. Time to put childish dreams away. Time to lose herself in books again and stop inventing fictional stories in real life.
She had just gained the security of her room and was preparing for bed when her mother came in. Frederica swung round, startled. She could not remember the last time her mother had visited her room.
“Where have you been?” demanded Mrs. Hadley. “I called earlier.”
“I felt restless,” said Frederica, “and walked over to the church.”
Mrs. Hadley sat down on the bed and took a deep breath. “You have never troubled yourself much over frivolities, Frederica, and considering your rude behavior to the Crowns today, do you not think it would be better if you did not attend the ball?”
Frederica looked at her wide-eyed. “I have not troubled myself over frivolities, as you put it, Mama, in the past, for the simple reason I have not been allowed to do so. I am determined to attend the ball, and furthermore I am going to wear my hair up.”
“But your behavior to the Crowns…”
“I have apologized for that, Mama. They irritate me with their contempt, their condescending airs. I feel they need a good set-down.”
There was iron in Frederica’s voice and Mrs. Hadley shuddered. She had come to get the painful business of telling Frederica that she was not to attend the ball over and done with.
But now she decided it would not answer. What if the Crowns called again and a disappointed Frederica was even ruder than ever? Then all invitations would be canceled.
“Very well,” she said crossly. “But do not blame me if you find the Crowns have taken you in dislike. You must learn to be more civil to your betters, Frederica.”
“I consider the Crowns my inferiors.”
“How dare you! The next time they call, if they call, keep to your room.”
“Gladly,” said Frederica.
Mrs. Hadley went out and slammed the door behind her.
Frederica felt miserable. Her mother had the right of it. Being nasty to the Crowns was dangerous. Dr. Hadley owed his living to them. Perhaps it would be better if she did not attend that ball. But, oh, that beautiful gown. She must go.
Chapter Five
Lord Granton awoke feeling more like a prisoner under house arrest than ever. The weather had turned warm and sultry again. He decided to go without breakfast, to walk toward the village. Perhaps he might by chance come across Frederica.
But there seemed to be a great many people moving about as he walked in the direction of the village, and he realized he could hardly walk about unnoticed. The news that he was abroad spread quickly to the rectory. The girls were told to put on their prettiest gowns, and Frederica was ordered to stay in her room.
Frederica decided to go to the stream and sit and watch the cool rushing water, for if Lord Granton called, she felt she could not bear to be shut up in her room on this fine day, hearing the sound of his voice belowstairs.
The pine wood was quiet and still. She walked through it, her feet making no sound on the carpet of needles at her feet.
She had taken a copy of the Ladies’ Magazine to read. Usually she read only the more serious essays, but for the first time she found herself reading an account of the gowns worn at a royal party. In comparison to the dresses worn by the aristocracy in London, her ball gown began to seem like nothing out of the common way. The Countess of Grosvenor, she read, had been wearing a crepe petticoat embroidered with draperies and variegated silver cord, with a border at the bottom to correspond. The train was of sea green satin and her headdress of diamonds and ostrich feathers. And here was the Duchess of Rutland: dress entirely of lace, the petticoat of honiton lace over pink sarcenet, the two draperies of point lace intermixed with wreaths of roses and jessamine, the draperies looped up with two long chains of diamonds; pink silk train, trimmed with lace; girdle and stomacher of diamonds.
But, then, these were court dresses, and at Court the ladies still sometimes wore the panniered gowns of the last century, often so bedecked with jewels and ornaments, she had heard, that they could hardly move.
She sighed and turned the pages to more serious matters. Here was an essay outlining the difference between men and women. “Could women,” she read, “be admitted to an equality with men, be recognised as rational partners, divide with them the schemes of life, enjoying the full intercourse of intellect, it certainly would be a beautiful scene; besides, the collision of so many developed understandings would undoubtedly contribute to the advancement of civilisation. We know not what revolutions in government might be saved, or to what sudden perfection laws might attain.”
“So this is where I find you!”
She gave a little gasp and looked up. Lord Granton smiled down at her.
Frederica put down her magazine and stood up. “Are you sure you have not been seen?” she asked anxiously. “The rectory was abuzz with the news of your approach, and I was sent to my room.”
“Why?” he demanded sharply.
“Mama is afraid I might be rude, and she has the right of it. I am truly badly behaved.”
“I took care not to be seen,” he remarked. Frederica looked at him doubtfully. “I should think it is very hard for a gentleman, six feet tall, and dressed in the height of Bond Street fashion to pass anywhere in the countryside on a sunny day unnoticed.”
“I may have been seen coming here, but what matter? No one knows you are here. Now, I was caught last night with the Blackstones’ ball.”
“So I heard.”
“Ah, so you did not expect me?”
“It was Jack Muir who told me. I went to the pool. How did you guess I would be here this morning and not at the pool?”
“Because here is nearer to the rectory. What are you reading?” He took the magazine from her.
“This piece.” She pointed to the bit she had just read.
He smiled and said, “You should have read on. It goes on to say, ‘The idea of exalting man above the whole creation, without exception and without an equal, is very grand and noble, nor can it be thought much degradation to a woman to obey so distinguished a lord.’”
“Why cannot I believe that?” said Frederica.
“Ah and here is a lovely piece. ‘If a man stretches out his arm to a woman and woman leans upon his bosom, the picture is found in every heart in the world.’”
“Let us sit down,” said Frederica sharply, “and talk of something else.�
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She sat down and glared at the rushing water, her back ramrod straight.
He lounged beside her. “So what shall we talk about? Although I could argue it was a very womanly trait to abandon the subject when you are losing the argument.”
“Did you propose to Annabelle Crown last night?”
“No, I did not. Nor do I think it is expected of me.”
“Are you sure? Papa says that your visit to the Crowns was always viewed as a proposal of marriage.”
“Had I married every miss in every household I have stayed in over the years, I would be a sort of pasha by now.”