The spinster and the wastrel

by Louise Bergin

  Because he would not have been hers. A tear started to trickle down her face, and she hurriedly wiped it away. This overwrought distress would never do.

  She had to face the facts. A marriage based solely on

  her love would have left her constantly seeking signs of affection from her husband. She would have been like an active puppy, appreciated occasionally, but never respected like an equal partner. She could not live in such a marriage. Eventually her love would have died from a lack of appreciation.

  Annette smoothed the work on her lap. She had made her choice in life. Losing Sir Gerard was the consequence. Always before, she had faced life's setbacks directly and moved forward. She could—no, she must—do the same this time.

  With grim determination, Annette set a stitch along the seam she was sewing. She made another one. Then another one.

  She had her school. Those children were going to learn. It was the only mission that remained to her. She would teach them.

  And someday, she would graciously call upon the new Lady Montfort.

  The private coach rattled on towards London. Inside, Sir Gerard and Linton bounced around like dice at a gambling table.

  Despite the rough treatment, Linton sighed with satisfaction. "I, for one, am glad to be leaving here. No offense meant to your home and all that, but it was a mighty quiet time."

  Grabbing the strap to steady himself, Sir Gerard said, "Quiet? I thought there was always something happen-mg.

  "The Assemblies were only once a week, with occasional dinner parties where the country maidens were

  displayed for our benefit." Linton shuddered. "It was not a social life."

  "You will get that in London."

  "Yes, and am I glad to be headed there."

  The anticipation in his friend's voice reflected the excitement within Sir Gerard. "At last," he agreed, "no more living as the necessary extra man for hostesses or working to survive by training horses. At last I am my own man."

  Linton punched his friend on the shoulder. "I am grateful you covered my debts, so I could join you."

  "We have been through too much together for me to leave you behind," Sir Gerard said.

  The carriage jolted over a series of deep ruts, nearly tossing its passengers from their seats. The coachman was obeying his master's orders to make Godspeed for London.

  When he had recovered his breath, Linton asked, "Did you ever find out why the spinster returned the money?"

  Annoyance shot through Sir Gerard. "You will call her Miss Courtney. She deserves your respect."

  Linton raised his eyebrows, but complied. "Miss Courtney surrendered it so easily. I wonder why."

  "I found out. She finally agreed to the justice of my claim." He did not want to remember his final call upon Annette. That glimpse of deep emotion he had caught upon her face still bothered him. As a very righteous woman, she could not allow such an injustice to continue. Many times since that visit he had reassured himself thusly, but somehow, he remained unconvinced.

  Linton chuckled. "You were lucky to escape without marriage."

  "Yes, lucky," Sir Gerard muttered. He did not want to think of that good fortune. With determination, he grinned

  to his friend. "I hope London is ready for us with wine, women, and song."

  Sir Gerard buried the twinge of regret pricking inside him and joined Linton in a rousing sailors' melody that would have been banned from the drawing room of any hostess.

  The coach rattled towards London.

  Ghaptet ^/owzteesi

  Annette wondered if the spring air was to blame for causing her students to act up. The early April weather still possessed a nip, but its breezes burgeoned with the promise of future blooms. The same energy infected the schoolchildren.

  More and more they shifted restlessly on their benches. Although she could not fault Sir Gerard, things at the school seemed to become difficult soon after he left for London over three weeks ago.

  'Tom, you can read this passage." She put as much encouragement for the nervous student into her voice. "These are all words you have studied."

  With great concentration, the boy wrinkled his brow and pointed his finger at the word in the Bible. "He went down to J-J-J ..." His voice trailed off, and he looked to her for help.

  "Joppa," she said. Her smile felt tight on her face.

  "Joppa." Tom struggled on. "Found a ship going to Tar-Tar-Tar—" The boy looked up. "I'd like to go on a ship. I want to be a cabin boy and fight the French."

  Annette tried to steer his attention back to his assign-

  ment, but the prospect of sailing tempted him more than the story of Jonah and the big whale. She saw the rest of the class no longer even listened to the slow reading. In fact, John had just tweaked Molly's braid. Molly retaliated with a push. Indignant whispers and pushing ensued.

  With a sigh, Annette sent Tom back to his seat and administered discipline to the restive children.

  Arithmetic fared no better. The simple addition and subtraction she had drilled into their heads seemed to have melted with the winter snows. Blank stares met her efforts at word problems. As for penmanship, why chickens scratched more neatly in the barnyard! Annette shook her head in dismay.

  Even Jack, the one student of whom she was so proud, appeared disinterested in the weekly lessons she taught him after school at her home.

  "Were you able to read the chapter in that history book?" she asked him. They were seated together on the couch in her drawing room.

  He shrugged. "I started to, Miss Courtney, but it weren't interesting at all."

  She had assumed knights and battles would attract a boy. "It is the history of England. You should know it."

  "But what does it have to do with being a steward?" he asked.

  "Knowledge of history is required of an educated man." She opened the book to the chapter and thrust it at him. "Please read this passage to me, and then we will discuss it."

  Jack stumbled through the reading and the following discussion, although it was she who did most of the talking.

  Afterwards, through the window, she watched him run

  up the street for home. She let out a long, slow breath, and her shoulders slumped as she sat down again on her chair.

  To be honest, she knew her discontent was not the children's fault. They acted" no differently from when she started the school.

  She amended that thought. Maybe a bit more restless due to the seasonal change, but their antics had not worn on her the way they did now. Now she saw only the disciplining she must administer, not the nurturing of blossoming learning. She had her school, but her joy in it had vanished when her dream had changed.

  Now the dream of a family of her own surged within her, only this time she knew who wore the wanted face of her husband. She had had her chance when he had proposed, but she had refused. Without love from him, this dream too would have withered. She would never gain her heart's true desire, but she must not wallow in discontent. She punched a pillow into shape and arranged it in the corner of the couch. Thoughts of the baronet must be banished. The school was enough for her. She would make it so.

  London suited Sir Gerard just as he always dreamed it would. He found a small, yet elegant, apartment for himself, but he was seldom at home in it. The clubs, the parties, and the balls all beckoned. He filled his days and a good portion of his nights with the pleasures his money bought.

  One of the most pleasant was his interview with Mortimer Wallace. Sir Gerard summoned the money-lender to his chambers. He was careful not to rise in a greeting when the man was admitted.

  "Baronet Westcourt." Wallace bowed.

  "I am glad you came." Sir Gerard leaned back in his chair. He was pleased to notice the fine sheen of perspiration covering the other man's face. The climb up the stairs must have winded him.

  "You said it was urgent." The money-lender glanced at an empty chair, but Sir Gerard did not offer it to him. He intended the man to realize who was in command of thi
s interview.

  "Yes, I have two items to deal with you." Sir Gerard pulled himself upright in his chair. Beneath his tightened grip, he felt the roughness of its brocaded upholstery. "First, you will shortly receive a draft on my bank which will pay off the balance of my loan to you."

  A wide insincere smile creased Wallace's face. "That is no longer necessary, sir. I have learned of your good luck in gaining your uncle's fortune. I am quite willing to abide by the original terms. You can pay the installments—and interest—as we agreed."

  "I no longer agree." Sir Gerard stood and moved closer to let his height tower over the money-lender. "The contract no longer exists between us. In fact, I have contacted the magistrates, both in Wiltshire and here in London, to investigate an attack made upon me."

  "I am very sorry to hear—"

  "When the culprits are found, they will testify as to whom ordered that attack."

  Wallace spread out his plump hands in an ingratiating manner. "Surely that is not necessary. You survived, and I am getting my loan repaid."

  Sir Gerard's gaze bore into the other man. "You would not want such ruffians running free. Law and order must be upheld."

  The wet sheen on the money-lender's face appeared

  even thicker. A drop rolled down his chin. "Of course, the law must deal with criminals, but you and I can forget any unpleasantness between us. Should it become necessary, I would be happy to lend you any further sums."

  Smiling so that his teeth showed, Sir Gerard said, "I will not be borrowing from you again, but I eagerly anticipate prosecuting all of those involved in my attack. I now have the money to do so."

  Wallace visibly trembled. He cleared his throat. "Surely that is more action than is needed."

  "Oh, but it is very necessary." To send him on his way, Sir Gerard distastefully took the money-lender's arm and propelled him out the door.

  The man started to sputter. Sir Gerard shut the door on him and felt an immense satisfaction that was worth the revulsion of inviting that disgusting man into his rooms. He was grateful to Annette, both for saving him physically from that man's attack and giving him the financial means for revenge.

  A little smile crossed his lips as he wondered what she was doing. Probably teaching those students. She was determined to drill knowledge into those boys and girls, whether they wanted it or not. He was a little surprised at not receiving any letter from her by now. The steward must be following his orders to listen to her suggestions. From the dry, factual reports Sir Gerard received, he knew estate matters were progressing well. Somehow the prospect that he was not needed at Hathaway Hall depressed him.

  Two weeks after his encounter with Wallace, Linton stopped by one evening. Sir Gerard had just poured two glasses of a smuggled French brandy for Linton and him-

  self. He relaxed in the chair to enjoy it and a bit of conversation. The two men raised their cups in silent toast to each other.

  After tasting his drink, Linton said, "That is a fine brandy. You can certainly afford the best now."

  "The journey was not easy. You were there through it all, for which I am grateful." Sir Gerard felt the brandy tingle as he swallowed. In the same manner, Annette's memory tingled at his brain, causing him to miss her. He thought of her more often than he expected.

  "I certainly am grateful you paid off those debts of mine," Linton said. "It enabled me to return to London."

  Sir Gerard grinned at his friend with fondness. "I had to. What would the Season be like without you by my side?" Linton had stuck with him through the bad times, and now he wanted his friend to enjoy the good ones. "Here's to good times ahead." He raised his glass in another toast.

  'To good times."

  They both sipped their drinks. Then Linton said, "I want to keep the good times, but I have run into a slight problem."

  "What is it?" Sir Gerard waited to learn how he could help his friend.

  The other man did not look at him. He studied the rich amber color of the brandy before clearing his throat. "There is no easy way to say it. I need some more money."

  "More money!" The request astounded Sir Gerard. "I thought I paid off your debts when we arrived here. Did we overlook some?"

  "No, you paid them all."

  "Then what happened?"

  "You know how it is," Linton explained. "Society is expensive."

  Sir Gerard nodded. 'True. Yet this is only the end of April. I just paid off everything when we got here in March."

  "You sound like a money-lender yourself," Linton muttered, and gulped a large swallow of his brandy.

  Sir Gerard stiffened at the insult before forcing himself to ignore it. Linton was upset over his finances. Having been in such a situation more times than he cared to remember, Sir Gerard resolved not to treat his friend in the same humiliating manner.

  "Forgive me," he said. "Your request surprised me. Tell me what you need."

  Linton bestowed a genial smile upon him. "I knew you would understand. You are a true friend."

  Raising his glass in acknowledgment of the compliment, Sir Gerard asked, "How much do you need?"

  "About eight hundred pounds!"

  Sir Gerard choked on his brandy and began to cough. Linton leapt to his feet and pounded his friend on the back.

  When Sir Gerard could speak, though his throat was raw from the coughing fit, he asked weakly, "Did you say eight hundred pounds?"

  Linton studied his friend with concern before being satisfied he was recovered. He sat down again. "That is about what I estimate I need right now to cover the most pressing ones."

  "You mean there are more?"

  "Dash it all," Linton complained. "You are starting to sound like the pater when I ask him for an increase in my allowance."

  Sir Gerard had forgotten about his friend's allowance. Since Sir Nigel had never granted him one, he tended to overlook the existence of Linton's, yet it had sustained the two of them during the lean times. It was this past obligation that caused him to repay Linton's debts.

  "What happened to your allowance?" he asked. "Did your father not pay it at the quarter?" March was barely a month passed.

  Linton squirmed under this questioning. "Yes, he paid it."

  "You already spent that, too?"

  The man shot him an angry look. "I do not have to account for every penny to you."

  An answering anger began to build within Sir Gerard. "You do if you expect me to fund you."

  "I thought you were my friend."

  "I am, and I remember how you stood by me. But this is an outrageous request."

  "It takes a lot of money to make your mark in society— as you should know."

  To steady himself, Sir Gerard took another sip of his drink. "I do know that, but I also have plans for my fortune. There are so many things I want to do with Hathaway Hall and the estate farms. I do not intend to waste the money."

  Linton's eyes narrowed. "You sound just like that spinster Miss Courtney. You used to have different ideas before you went to Upper Brampton."

  Slowly Sir Gerard shook his head. "No, I always anticipated the day I would take over the title and could restore the estate."

  "If that is true, then why did you bother returning to

  London? You should have been content to stay in that backwater countryside."

  "Because I also wanted to be a part of society. You know that."

  Linton glared bitterly. "All I know is I need eight hundred pounds. Rather than go to a money-lender, I thought I could count on my friend."

  "A friend or a convenient source of the ready?"

  "It's the last time." Linton's eyes were wide with desperation. "I won't ask you for money ever again. I prom-lse.

  Sir Gerard looked at Linton with regret. He was a good friend, and they had been through much together, but Sir Gerard knew that the last promise was a he. He could not keep funding the man's extravagant spending. Not if he wanted to proceed with his own plans for taking care of those whom depended upon the estate
. "I cannot pay your debts this time."

  Linton jumped to his feet. "A fine friend you turned out to be. As soon as you get the money, you turn out to be a miser just like your uncle."

  The insult hurt. Sir Gerard also stood. "I am not a miser. I do spend money, but wisely, not foolishly."

  "I am not a fool." Linton was breathing, heavily. "Or maybe I was to ever consider you my friend. But no longer."

  He spun on his heel and stamped from the room. The door slamming behind him signaled the end of their friendship.

  Despite the loss of Linton's companionship, London still suited Sir Gerard. He liked having such acclaimed beauties as Miss Lydia Holbrook in his arms when he danced

  at a rout. Last Season, this blue-eyed, well-dowered girl would not have even acknowledged him. This Season, he had the supper dance with her while her mother nodded with approval. The change in status pleased him very much.

  He held her chair for her as she sat down, and he sat on the chair beside her. A choice selection of the delicacies were arrayed on their plates. Cold ham and crab crowded the lobster patties, while a fluffy roll edged the cut pineapple and orange chunks.

  "Thank you, sir." Miss Holbrook batted her eyelashes flirtatiously at him. "This food looks very good."

  He smiled at her, noticing the smooth creaminess of her cheek. Her hands were encased in white kid gloves, so he could not determine if they were work-roughened. There was never any question of Annette's hands being applied to work. He frowned at the thought. Why had he remembered that?

  "Is something wrong?" Miss Holbrook asked.

  "No, just an errant thought." With determination, he smiled again at her.

  "I hope it was not an unpleasant one."

  "How could a man think of anything unpleasant when he is with you?"

  "You are too kind." She simpered at him but did not blush.

  After all, her shyness at the compliment was only the practiced gesture of an experienced London beauty. Unlike Annette, whose every emotion and action was based on reality and candor.