Her Grace in Disgrace (The Widows of Woburn Place)

by Claudia Harbaugh

  Slowing Bella to a canter, then a trot and a walk, she meandered along the deserted bridle path and recalled the girl that she had been. She remembered the lofty aspirations that she and Drew had shared. We are going to help people, the childish, but sincere voices had declared. We are going to make a difference in the world! She remembered those halcyon days with Andrew Stafford and longed once again for his counsel. But she could not expect his help. She must find the answers on her own, or with heavenly help. Even as Bella ambled along, munching on the grass, Isobel had more questions, than she did answers. How could she find that youthful passion again? How could she possibly make up for all the pain she had caused? Isobel slid off of Bella and walked to the edge of a small stream running through the park. She listened to the babble of the brook for a short while, when suddenly one name invaded her thoughts and touched her heart. And suddenly she knew what she would do.

  Isobel was both nervous and excited to tell her Aunt the decision she had come to in the park. “Aunt Maude, I am going to find Laura Downing, that is, Lady Tyndale. I had heard that she was left poorly off after Tyndale died and that her parents wanted nothing to do with her. Do you know anything of her?”

  Surprised, Lady Whitcomb gave the question some thought. “I believe she became a companion for a maiden aunt who is rich as Croesus, and just as crotchety. She lives right here in London, I believe. Was it Berkeley Square?”

  “Do you remember the aunt’s name?” asked Isobel, intent on finding Laura without delay.

  “What has put this into your head? Why bother with Lady Tyndale now?”

  “Ruining Laura was my first truly shameful act and the only one that I can possibly atone for now. I cannot bring Reginald back to life or give Lord Charles money, since I have little. I cannot marry Saybrooke, for he will not have me. But perhaps I can make it up to Laura. We were friends once, though I betrayed her. I am hoping she might be willing to forgive me, though it matters not. I must at least ask. And if she is happy where she is, then I will be happy for her, but if she is not, then I will ask her to live here with us in Woburn Place.”

  “I was not suggesting last night that you needed to do penance, Isobel.”

  “It is not penance, Aunt. It is simply the right thing to do and you encouraged me to do something positive . I know that I cannot negate what has happened, but perhaps I can start again. As I sat waiting to hear Reginald’s will being read, that is all I could think of, that I was getting a new start. I hope that now I really can.”

  “Newsome! That is it. Maria Newsome, spinster. She lives near Berkeley Square. Hill Street if I am not mistaken. But there is something else that is nagging at me, but I cannot seem to put my finger on it.

  “God bless your memory, Aunt Maude. Is she an old friend? Do you know her well enough to drop by for tea?”

  “No, not a friend, but she was on the outskirts of my circle. Couldn’t stand the woman! But, suddenly I have a strange desire to become reacquainted with the old tartar. She will be horrified, but she will receive me. Very few people can tolerate her. Even an unwelcome guest is better than no guest at all.”

  Before they left for Mayfair, Isobel made sure that Lord Charles was brought down into the parlor to get a change of scenery, the parlor having a good view of the bustling Woburn Place from its bay windows. Renfrew and Griffin carried him down and placed his Bath chair near a window facing the street, making sure to prop his leg on the ottoman. Assuring him that they would be home soon, Isobel and Lady Whitcomb left him to spy on their Bloomsbury neighbors.

  And so shortly after three o’clock, Isobel and Lady Whitcomb instructed the coachman, William, to drive to Hill Street near Berkeley Square. “I do not know the house number, but I believe I shall remember the house when I see it. I went there to one of the first big balls of our come out season. The ball was quite a success. Miss Newsome’s matrimonial aspirations, however, were not.”

  Only moments after the two ladies left Woburn place, the Doncaster coach arrived bearing only Lady Joanna. Miss Parrish was laid up with a cold. Lady Joanna hopped out of the carriage. Today she was determined to see Miss Kennilworth, whether Miss Kennilworth liked it or not. When Renfrew told Lady Joanna that Miss Kennilworth was not at home, she assumed the young woman was still refusing company.

  “Fine, Renfrew, I will wait in the parlor,” said Lady Joanna suiting her words with actions.

  Lord Charles, turned his attention from the window to the door as he heard it open. In came what Charles could only describe as a force of nature in a sprigged muslin frock. She stopped when she saw him, her eyes widened and she said simply, “Oh.”

  “Lady Joanna, isn’t it? Are you looking for Isobel?” Lord Charles asked the young lady. The rather pretty young lady, assessed Lord Charles, though she looked a tad disheveled.

  “Yes, in fact I am. I am Lady Joanna Doncaster. We met some days ago.”

  “Oh, I remember,” said Lord Charles with a wicked grin. “You are out of luck, as to Isobel. She and Lady Whitcomb just left. Couldn’t have been more than five minutes ago.”

  “Oh, I thought Renfrew was hoaxing me, that she was avoiding me.”

  “So, you barged in?” Lord Charles retained his devious grin.

  “I did not barge. I walked.”

  “If that was walking, I would hate to see barging.” Lord Charles let out a chuckle. Jousting with this little minx was better than watching strangers out of the window.

  “How rude of you to say so, Lord Charles, I believe it was,” said Lady Joanna in her frostiest tone.

  “I beg your pardon. Yes, Lord Charles Aiken, since you don’t seem to remember our previous introduction. I would stand, but as you see, I cannot.” He gestured to his broken leg.

  Lady Joanna took a closer look at the young man in the Bath chair. “What on earth happened to you? Were you run over by a grocer’s cart?”

  “Nothing quite that dramatic. Set upon by footpads.” Charles watched as the plainspoken Lady Joanna grimaced while eyeing his battered face. Realizing he was not looking his best, he tried for humor to give himself a charming air. “If you think I look bad, you should have seen the chaps that attacked me!” Lord Charles attempted a cheeky grin, but his swollen lip made it look more like a sneer.

  “Well, if Miss Kennilworth is truly not at home, I suppose I should go along.” Obviously hesitant, Lady Joanna turned to leave.

  “No, please stay. Mrs. Kitchen prepares an excellent tea.” Lord Charles did not want the chit to go away. She was definitely amusing.

  “I am well aware of that Lord Charles, since I have been here on a number of occasions,” she intoned with dignity. “What brings you to Woburn Place, My Lord?”

  “Isobel…Miss Kennilworth, kindly offered me a place to convalesce. She is my sister in law. Well, at least she was. You see, she was supposedly married to my brother Reginald, who was the duke of…” Charles rambled.

  Lady Joanna interrupted, already acquainted with the tragic tale. “I know the story and I know who you are, which makes me hesitate in accepting your offer of tea.”

  “And what is it you think I could do? In this condition? Besides, I am a gentleman. I would not take advantage of you, even if I could.”

  “Prettily said, Lord Charles. Though, it really is not the done thing to be alone with a gentleman, no matter how incapacitated he may be.”

  “Ah, Lady Joanna, you disappoint me. I did not take you for a stickler.”

  “And I am not!” cried Lady Joanna, highly offended. But despite her disdain for societies dictates, she was a gently born lady and decorum had been drilled into her from young age. This caused her a moment’s uncertainty. “Nonetheless, it is highly improper…oh, fiddle, why not. Let us keep the door open. My friend Mary is ill and I am as bored as can be. At least jawing with you will pass the time.”

  “I am overwhelmed by your flattery, my lady.” Lord Charles said with another grin, which hurt like the devil. “Please do sit down.” She did.

/>   “I am curious, Lord Charles. I know you lost your inheritance to a nephew you did not know you had. It must have come as quite a shock to you. Though, I do remember hearing that you inherited an unentailed estate? Is it large? Have you seen it?” prompted Lady Joanna boldly. Her mother would be gasping for breath if she heard such a rude question leaving her daughter’s well-bred lips. Lady Doncaster would hardly approve this as a conversation starter.

  “What the devil!” Lord Charles, his eyes wide with surprise, was aghast at the impudence of the chit seated opposite him.

  “You forget yourself Lord Charles,” drawled Lady Joanna with a great deal of dignity. “I am not accustomed to such language.”

  Lord Charles was flabbergasted and that happened rarely. This saucy little baggage was an unholy mix of prickly propriety and intemperate impertinence. “Where did you hear such a thing?”

  “Oh, here and there. Gossip abounds in the Haute Monde, as you should well know,” said Lady Joanna matter of factly.

  “God bless the ton. How nice it is to know that everyone, even girls fresh out of the school room, know one’s business.”

  “I am not fresh out of the schoolroom. I am eighteen years old.”

  “That old?”

  “You may make fun sir, if you will, but you did not answer my question.”

  “Pardon my lapse. Indeed I do have a smallish estate in Derbyshire named Hidenwood.”

  Just then Renfrew arrived. “Renfrew, bring tea and a map of England if you please. And perhaps you could ask Manning if she would act as chaperone for Lady Joanna.” Renfrew looked a bit wary of the situation, but gave no argument.

  Manning grudgingly agreed to act as chaperone. Tea was served, the map was brought. Before long Lady Joanna and Lord Charles were conversing as if they had known each other for years.

  Chapter 15

  Lord Saybrooke sat across from Charles Simeon, the vicar of the Holy Trinity Church in Cambridge and his personal friend and mentor, a glass of sherry in hand. The vicar, at aged fifty eight, looked drawn, his health of late, poor, but he retained a certain understated vitality, an intensity that Saybrooke admired. At Cambridge his benevolence and goodness were legendary.

  “Andrew, it is good to see you. How does the peerage suit you?” asked Simeon by way of greeting.

  “Honestly, sir, at first I felt quite unsuited to it, but I believe I am finding my way. I only wish myself back in the Surrey vicarage every other day rather than daily,” Saybrooke said, only half-jokingly.

  Simeon chuckled which led to a fit of coughing. Andrew waited while his mentor regained his composure and breath.

  “Forgive me,” said Simeon with a weak smile. “My mortal shell is not cooperating of late. But, God willing that will not slow me down forever. Now, you have not come all the way to Cambridge to listen to an old man complain about his ailments. How can I help?”

  “I am in need of your sage advice and great wisdom, sir.”

  “No need ply me with flattery, Andrew. I am glad to give what paltry advice I am able.” Simeon took sip from his sherry.

  “As you have mentioned, I have recently become heir to a good deal of money. I am not fabulously wealthy like some in the ton, but I have far more than I need or is good for me. I would like to take on a charity, sir.”

  “I thought you were quite active in a variety of charities and Parliament as well.”

  “While I do try to be active in Parliament as is my duty, I do not feel that politics, while useful and necessary, is where I want to concentrate my time. And I am active in a handful of causes in a small way, playing cricket, reading stories to tots, praying with the sick, sir, and that will continue, but I want to be involved in a larger sense, make it my life’s work if that is not too dramatic a phrase. I want to give my money, my time, and my passion to something more than dressing well and attending ton events.”

  “I see. Well, I do notice that your dress is much more elegant than what I remember. I seem to recall a good many spots on your neck cloth and waistcoat in the past.”

  “I have also inherited a valet, sir. It makes him cry if I appear in public looking so shabby.”

  Simeon smiled. “Ah, that would explain it. But, I still am not certain what you wish from me.”

  Saybrooke pulled out a piece of paper and placed it on his knee. “I have brought a list of charities and worthy causes that interest me. I have been over the list time and again, weighing pros and cons, and I have prayed over them. Nevertheless, I cannot seem to choose one that I can commit to whole heartedly.”

  “Andrew, my boy.” Simeon gave a Saybrooke a fatherly smile. “One does not pick out a life’s work as if you were buying a horse at Tattersalls. Leave it in God’s hands. It will find you.”

  “But, I would like to get started, sir. I need to get started,” said Saybrooke almost desperately.

  “And from where does this need spring?” asked Simeon.

  “I beg your pardon, sir?” returned Saybrooke, confused.

  “I am not clairvoyant, Andrew, but it seems to me you wish to bury yourself in good deeds, because something else is eating at you. I could be wrong, of course.”

  Saybrooke looked at the man he held in such esteem and sighed. “You are not wrong, though I know I am called to good works.”

  “We are, all of us, called to good works.” Simeon said no more, but waited until Saybrooke was ready to speak. After a few moments of hesitation, Andrew Stafford, now Lord Saybrooke unburdened himself to this godly man, as he had done so many times in the past. “I have two passions in life; being active in charitable causes in God’s name, and Isobel Kennilworth. The first I have spoken of, but the second has turned out to be a truly lost cause.”

  “How so?” prompted the Vicar when Saybrooke lapsed into a brooding silence.

  “She made some rather poor choices that ended in serious and undesirable outcomes.”

  “And this has made her ineligible to you?” asked Simeon quietly.

  “No!” His vehement outburst caused Simeon to spill a bit of his sherry. “ It is my own actions that cause me sleepless nights. I do not condone her actions, but mine were far worse. I acted as judge and jury! I showed no mercy, when that is precisely what God calls for and precisely what she needed. Because of my bad behavior, despite hers, I am unworthy of her. She will not have me and I must forget her.”

  Simeon looked at the tortured man and smiled knowingly. “Andrew, you as a former clergyman must remember the concept of original sin? No man can in any measure resemble the scripture saints. None of us deserves good things. That does not mean we should not enjoy them if they come our way.”

  “Are you saying I should try again and offer for her?”

  “No, nor am I saying you should not,” Simeon said, leaving Saybrooke frustrated.

  “I do not know what to do. How should I proceed?” Saybrooke asked helplessly.

  “Ask God, not me. Let him guide you. Now, you know me well enough to know that I am not speaking of a fatalistic sort of approach of sitting on one’s hands and waiting for God to do all the work. No, get on with your life, stay active in Parliament, get involved with your causes, but do not hide behind good works as a shield to protect you from the other areas of your life. “

  “Do you feel I am doing that, sir?”

  “Only you know that for certain, but I charge you to be honest with yourself and before God and it will all be made clear. Now, that is the extent of my ‘sage advice’ for today,” Simeon said gently, but dismissively. “Let us simply drink our sherry and visit. Have you seen Wilberforce of late? My health precludes me from getting about much.”

  “I met with him, Clarkson and Sharp last week. After our victory in ’07 and the abolition of slavery on our own shores, we felt that further abolishing that evil trade in our colonies would not be difficult. It seems we have been wrong. But we continue to promote the cause.”

  The two gentlemen talked for the better part of an hour of mutual interests
and acquaintances until Saybrooke noted Simeon’s fatigue. Saybrooke folded his paper, returning it to his pocket and said his goodbyes to the ailing vicar. He left still not knowing what course to take, but feeling better nonetheless.

  *****

  A discouraged Isobel and Lady Whitcomb stood in front of number seventeen Hill Street, as the footman opened the door to their carriage. They had been at the address for less than five minutes and had learned nothing. At least nothing helpful. They had been admitted by an ancient butler who informed them that Miss Newsome had passed on eight months previously. When asked if he knew Lady Tyndale’s direction, his answer was standard butler fare. “I could not say.” When pressed further, he simply glared. In a subservient manner, of course. He began unobtrusively ushering them to the door.

  “We would speak with your new master or mistress, then.” Isobel spoke with as much authority as she could muster.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Meriwether are not at home,” declared the butler in his haughty tone, inching them toward footman who stood ready to open the door.

  “Well then, we would like to ask some of the other staff. Perhaps they would know Lady Tyndale’s whereabouts.” Lady Whitcomb tried her best to be both polite and forceful.

  “They do not.” They had reached the door and the inflexible butler nodded his head toward the footman who opened the door. “Good day, ladies,” the old butler said with finality.

  The footman held out his hand to Lady Whitcomb and assisted her into the carriage. He was about to do the same for Isobel when she heard a peculiar noise.

  “Psst. Miss…Psst.” The voice was female and sounded young. It came from behind the coach. Isobel, curious, released the footman’s hand and walked around the back of her carriage. There stood a young woman in a maid’s uniform. She was a pretty young thing, if a bit thin and worn looking. And she was uneasy.