Her Grace in Disgrace (The Widows of Woburn Place)

by Claudia Harbaugh

  *****

  Isobel stood beside Lord and Lady Mercer and greeted the guests as they arrived. Not a hint of the agitation that she felt showed on her carefully schooled features. The reaction of the other guests as they greeted Isobel was varied. Lord and Lady Stoughton arrived first and were obviously displeased with Isobel’s attendance at the house party. With a barely imperceptible nod in Isobel’s general direction, Lord and Lady Stoughton hurried their daughter, Lady Cynthia, past Isobel, their longish noses in the air. Lady Cynthia was, as promised, beautiful and as predicted, cold. Lord Pelton, a ruggedly handsome man of about thirty years and Captain Danvers, his and dashing, if not quite handsome friend strode in soon after. They were full of obvious admiration for the lovely Miss Kennilworth. Both men kissed her hand. Lady Mercer ordered tea.

  Lord and Lady Doncaster and their daughter, Lady Joanna, arrived next. Lady Doncaster seemed flustered by Isobel’s presence and her husband was cordially dismissive. Lady Joanna, however, was disposed to be friendly toward Isobel, giving her an open and charming smile and chattered about her lengthy journey, the pleasant weather and fashion in London. She seemed a disarming sort of girl with an easy manner and a ready wit. She was attractive in an understated way. Though expensively dressed, there was a certain carelessness about her appearance. Her hair was cropped stylishly short, her red gold curls framing an elfin shaped face. Though Isobel had just met the young lady, she guessed that the short coiffure was less for fashion than ease and comfort.

  Lord Doncaster had already found the tea tray, so it was incumbent upon Lady Doncaster to remind Lady Joanna that she must not monopolize Miss Kennilworth’s time and she had yet to greet Lord and Lady Stoughton and Lady Cynthia.

  “Oh, mama, I just saw them in London last night. I hardly think they are pining to greet me.” Isobel could not suppress a grin as she watched the spirited girl and her long suffering mother walk toward the others. Perhaps this will be enjoyable after all, she thought.

  The local vicar, Mr. Bertram Parrish, and his wife, Mrs. Anne Parrish greeted not only Isobel, but the entire party that had so far assembled with a hearty affability, so pleased were they to be included in such an auspicious gathering. Their daughter, Mary, trailed behind them looking as if she wished the floor would swallow her whole. She is not bad looking, thought Isobel as she greeted the young girl, just countrified and obviously painfully shy.

  Hard on the heels of the vicar and his family was Jeremy Ingles, Lord Westcott. Isobel felt a flutter of excitement as she saw him. He was not overly tall, but was well-built and very attractive. His finely chiseled features, including a pair of deep set dimples, dark hair and bright blue eyes, not to mention his boyish charm, had drawn her in from the moment they had met seven years ago. Isobel and Lord Westcott had first been introduced during her come out and she had been strongly attracted to him and he to her. However, their relationship had not developed into anything more than an enjoyable flirtation, since he had not been ready for a wife at the time. Wescott had only been twenty five years old, his father had still been hale and hearty, and he had no intention of being leg shackled until it was absolutely necessary. Now, at thirty one, his father in poor health, it was rumored he was on the lookout for a bride. Isobel reminded herself that she was not in the market for a husband as he took her hand and kissed it.

  “Ah, the lovely Miss Kennilworth. What a delightful surprise. Was it not only yesterday that we waltzed at the Putnam’s ball? It must be, for you look no different than you did then.”

  She smiled at him, hiding her pleasure at his remembering their first dance. “You must not pour the butter boat over me all at once, My Lord. We have a full seven days at Adelphi, so you must save some of your compliments for later.”

  He smiled charmingly, holding her hand just a moment longer than was proper. “I look forward to it, Miss Kennilworth.”

  The drawing room where the guests had gathered was buzzing with conversation when Lester, the butler, announced Lord and Lady Edgerton. Lady Beatrice Edgerton swept in as if the party had been waiting for her to begin. She had been the toast of the season three years ago, the Incomparable of 1814, and had landed the aging Earl of Edgerton. Lady Edgerton was breathtakingly beautiful and fully aware of it. She greeted Isobel with the ghost of a smile, but Isobel did not take it personally. She greeted every female in the room in the same manner, though every male in the room received a dazzling smile accompanied by a sparkling laugh meant to charm. It appeared to Isobel to be working. The Earl was nearly fifty and genial, if not a bit obtuse. If he noticed that his wife was only interested in the males in the party and their response to her, he never let on.

  Just as Henrietta was about to suggest that everyone retire to their rooms to rest and dress for dinner, the butler announced Mr. and Mrs. Hyde-Price, who entered looking slightly bedraggled. Just behind them, supported by Lord Saybrooke, his clothes grimy and rumpled, his hair, as usual, in disarray, limped in Miss Lydia Hyde-Price. Saybrooke’s eyes bulged at the sight of Isobel, but his good manners reasserted themselves as he helped the limping Miss Hyde-Price to a seat.

  Mrs. Hyde-Price could barely wait for her daughter to be gingerly seated on the settee, her ailing ankle lifted onto an ottoman, before she burst out with the tale of their misadventures. It seemed that the Hyde-Price’s coach had suffered a broken wheel about ten miles from Adelphi. With the coach lurching from the impact, the coachman had tried to rein in the horses. But, he was thrown clear of the carriage. The frightened horses continued to run until the reeling carriage caused an axle to break, freeing the horses and causing the coach to topple on its right side into the ditch, pitching its occupants onto what was now the bottom of the coach. Mrs. Hyde-Price, in an effort to shield her daughter, had thrown her considerable bulk on top of Miss Hyde-Price and had succeeded in crushing her diminutive daughter’s ankle. This was, of course, not the way Mrs. Hyde-Price described it.

  “All I could think about was our dear Lydia and I did my best to shield our darling girl with my person,” declared the doting mother. No one doubted the sincerity of her words, merely the wisdom of her actions. “My goodness, I am parched. I believe I could use a little something for my throat.”

  After being plied with some tea laced with brandy and approbation for her heroic act, Mrs. Hyde-Price resumed her narrative. Mr. Hyde-Price had made a valiant effort to extricate his family from the broken carriage, but to no avail. Mrs. Hyde-Price did not mention that her husband’s excessive girth had made the exercise futile. It had seemed like hours to the desperate family, but was, in reality, slightly more than a quarter of an hour before Lord Saybrooke came upon them. With a great deal of effort, he managed to free the Hyde-Price’s, though after her mother and father, Miss Hyde-Price seemed like a feather. Saybrooke then proceeded to calm the traumatized family, assess their injuries, which were minor, check on the coachman, whose leg seemed to be broken and calm and unharness the horses. Just as they were discussing what to do next, Lord Saybrooke’s carriage, arrived on the scene, carrying his valet, Wilkes, and the luggage. The Hyde-Prices were bundled into the coach, along with the Hyde-Price’s ailing coachman. Wilkes was forced to sit next to the driver. The beleaguered group then made their way to Adelphi.

  During the narrative, Isobel looked over at the injured Miss Hyde-Price. She was a pretty, slightly plump little thing, with blonde ringlets and china blue eyes. Despite her current appeal, Isobel thought that she would look just like her mother in a decade or two. Miss Lydia Hyde-Price did not return Isobel’s look, for her pretty blue eyes were focused adoringly on Lord Saybrooke. Mrs. Hyde-Price continued to expound on the incident long after the story was told, referring again and again to Lord Saybrooke’s bravery, strength and chivalry. Isobel and Saybrooke exchanged a few speaking glances, while the rescued lady sang his praises. Isobel’s glances said that she was amused; Saybrooke’s that he was uncomfortable with such lavish praise.

  The guests were all directed to their rooms and the
doctor was sent for to tend Miss Hyde-Price’s ankle. Dinner was put off an hour so that the Hyde-Price’s and Lord Saybrooke would have the chance for some respite after their exhausting adventure. Lady Mercer headed to the nursery and Isobel gladly went to her room to ponder the varying undercurrents her appearance at Adelphi had caused. She had expected a certain amount of disapproval and had received it. But the situation was not hopeless. She certainly had not counted on such a warm greeting from Lord Westcott. Other than Henrietta and the hoyden Lady Joanna, he was the only person to truly seem glad to see Isobel. Drew had looked as if he had seen a ghost. Time would tell whether or not this was a wise decision to ease herself back into society so soon. But she would do everything in her power to show them that though she no longer held a title; she was a duchess at heart. She instinctively jutted out her chin and rang for Manning, steeling herself for the ordeal that would be dinner.

  *****

  Dinner was not a complete ordeal. The food and wine were superb and the conversation lively and entertaining, for the most part. Isobel sat between Lord Westcott and Mr. Hyde-Price. She began talking with Mr. Hyde-Price, who until that moment due to the confusion of their arrival, did not realize that Miss Kennilworth was the former Duchess of Warwick. His face clouded over. The Hyde-Price’s, though not a titled family, were very wealthy and influential, and Mr. Hyde-Price was known to be a stickler for convention. Isobel decided to go on the offensive.

  “I am sure you have heard of my misfortune, sir, and hope you do not hold it against me. I assure you, I had no knowledge of Warwick’s duplicity. It came as quite a shock. Dear Henrietta was kind enough to take pity on me and ease me back into society. She is a true friend and I mean to make sure that nothing spoils this lovely party for her. Do you not agree?”

  What could he say? Hyde-Price mumbled something that sounded like agreement and they spoke of the weather, the season in London, and the plight of his carriage, horses and coachman for a few minutes. Very quickly they had run out of things to say. She felt Lord Westcott’s eyes on her, nodded at Mr. Hyde-Price and turned to the neighbor on her left.

  “I must say, Miss Kennilworth, that color -what is it, some sort of blue- looks enchanting on you. You look divine,” stated the Viscount, full of admiration.

  “So you said when you escorted me in to dinner, Lord Westcott. And the color is called cobalt blue,” Isobel replied, careful to maintain a composed manner. “I thank you again.”

  “I heard you mentioning your…misfortune to Hyde-Price a moment ago. Does that make the subject permissible?”

  “It is not forbidden to speak of it, my Lord, but I do not care to discuss it at length,” Isobel said calmly and quietly.

  “I only want to convey my deepest sympathy and my disgust at Warwick’s treatment of you. I cannot imagine a more ungentleman-like thing to do. If you ever need to speak of it, of his unforgiveable behavior toward you, I put myself at your disposal.” Lord Westcott kept his voice low so that no one else at the table could overhear. He spoke with a gentleness and sincerity that brought tears to Isobel’s eyes.

  “Good heavens, Miss Kennilworth, I do not mean to make you cry,” Lord Wescott softly exclaimed in alarm.

  “I shall not cry, Lord Wescott. It is just that your solicitude has touched me quite deeply. I have lost much in the last few weeks, including my place in the world and most of my friends. But, first Henrietta reached out to me and now you. It gives me hope, my Lord and I thank you.” Isobel’s voice was barely above a whisper and despite her words, a stray tear trailed down the porcelain skin of her cheek.

  “I hope I will always stand your friend, Miss Kennilworth.” Lord Westcott’s voice was almost a caress, but realizing where he was, he raised his voice slightly and asked, “Have you seen Kean in “The Italians” this season? It has been quite remarked upon, but I found it dull.”

  This began a pleasant conversation about plays, books and music, that once Isobel had regained her composure, she enjoyed herself completely. Lord Westcott made her laugh, as she had not laughed in months, if not years. In fact, the two most impolitely ignored their partners on either side. But, Lady Mercer, noting this, did not plan to reproach either one of them. It was worth it to see Isobel laugh again.

  Across the table, Saybrooke also took note of how Westcott monopolized Isobel’s conversation. He glowered at the couple. The partner on his left, with whom he had been conversing before his attention had been diverted to Isobel and the rotter Westcott, spoke.

  “Is something wrong, My Lord? Are you quite all right?” Miss Hyde-Price asked with real concern, seeing the look on his face.

  “What? Oh, no, no, not at all. I apologize, Miss Hyde-Price. I was lost in thought. I tend to do that at times. I am afraid I am quite bookish.” Saybrooke laughed apologetically.

  “I think bookish men are wonderful. So many others in society are so violent with duels and boxing matches and the like. I find you quite refreshing.” Miss Hyde-Price batted her lashes in such an outlandish fashion that Saybrooke could barely stifle a laugh.

  Before he could think of a reply, however, his partner on his right claimed him. Lady Edgerton was a much more accomplished flirt than Miss Hyde-Price, and so the relief he felt when Lady Edgerton rescued him soon disappeared. He wished himself in the bookroom at Bentwood – or any bookroom really. He smiled at Lady Edgerton and silently wished her to perdition.

  Lady Mercer rose after everyone had eaten their fill, indicating that the time had come for the ladies to retire and leave the men to their port, cigars, and no doubt ribald conversation. Before they could exit, Lester, the butler, rushed to Lord Mercer’s side and handed him a sealed envelope. Mercer calmly placed it by his wine glass and nodded to his wife as a sign that the ladies were free to go. Isobel regretfully left Lord Westcott’s side.

  “The Museum Room,” Lady Mercer directed the two footmen who were assisting Miss Hyde-Price. Her mother had insisted, and they all had assumed that Miss Hyde-Price would dine on a tray in her room, the doctor having diagnosed a sprained ankle and prescribed bed rest for the young lady. But Miss Hyde-Price was used to getting her own way and she was determined not to miss a moment of the house party languishing in her room. Heedless of the inconvenience it caused her host and hostess, Miss Hyde-Price had coaxed and pleaded and ultimately wheedled her way downstairs, flanked by two burly footmen. To her it was quite simple. If Lord Saybrooke was to dine downstairs, then so was she.

  The Museum Room was at the back of the house with French doors that led to the garden. It was so named because of the number of expensive and impressive paintings that graced the room. Mercer was an avid art collector and Isobel recognized a Rubens and at least two Vermeer’s. Before the advent of Lady Mercer the room had always been called the Garden Parlor, but when Lady Mercer had come to live at Adelphi after her marriage, she had taken one look at the room and renamed it. It was now the Museum Room.

  As soon as they entered the room and Miss Hyde-Price was settled on the couch with her foot elevated, Lady Mercer asked Miss Parrish if she would play the piano for them. She graciously agreed and began to play quite beautifully, with a surprising amount of passion in such a shrinking violet. As soon as the music began, the ladies formed little groups. Lady Cynthia dutifully went to entertain Miss Hyde-Price. Lady Stoughton held court with Lady Doncaster and Mrs. Hyde-Price. Henrietta chatted amiably with Mrs. Parrish. Isobel noticed Lady Edgerton seated by herself near the hearth and grudgingly felt compelled to join her, until she felt a hand on her elbow guiding her toward the settee. “I’d love a comfortable little coze, Miss Kennilworth. Would you join me?” Lady Joanna smiled at Isobel as she led her to the seat by the French doors.

  “Of course, Lady Joanna, it would be my pleasure,” said Isobel, happily dismissing all thoughts of Lady Edgerton.

  “I have heard all about what happened to you and want you to know I am sickened at how you were treated. My mama says you will not be accepted in society because of this. How ca
n anyone possibly blame you?” said Lady Joanna without preamble.

  “The ton does not need a reason to lay blame, Lady Joanna. Anyone involved in a scandal, innocent or not, is tainted by it.” While this was true, what Isobel did not say was that all of London knew that she had trapped Reginald into marriage. While she was duchess, this was of no account and not spoken of, except in whispers. Now that she was simply Miss Isobel Kennilworth, the unsavory details of her “courtship” and marriage would be trotted out for all to dissect until something juicier came along. The ton would agree with Drew, drat him, that Isobel had plotted her own demise.

  “I think men are horrible, do you not?” asked Lady Joanna, in what seemed to be a non sequitur to Isobel, but made perfect sense to the mercurial Lady Joanna.

  “Not all men,” ventured Isobel, thinking of Lord Westcott, but choosing not mention it aloud. “Lord Mercer is quite nice.”

  “Yes, but he is already married and Lady Mercer has him well-trained. This is my first season. It is not going well, at least according to Mama and Papa, so they brought me here to this house party. I am not taking, you see.” Lady Joanna did not sound the least chagrined. On the contrary she was gleeful.

  “And I would speculate,” Isobel said to the little minx, “that you are not taking, because you do not want to take.”

  Isobel looked at the girl before her. She was not a beauty, but she had that golden red hair, green eyes and a vitality that made her attractive and engaging.

  “You would be correct, Miss Kennilworth.” A mischievous smile lit up the young girl’s face. Gradually Lady Joanna’s smile faded and she stuck her chin out. “I have told my parents that I will not marry. They do not believe me and will most likely try and force me. My father says he will not, but he tires of my lack of interest. He has begun pressuring me, but I will not be bullied!”

  Isobel admired her spirit. She herself had spirit like that once, for all the good it did her. Something made her want to protect this girl, this hoyden, from the very things that ruined her own life. “What are your options?”