by Jane Ashford
Gwendeline nodded. “And the way he talks of Mother… Well, he clearly admired her very much.”
“I see.” Miss Brown wore her stern governess look. “He doesn’t sound like the sort of person you should associate with, Gwendeline.”
“I don’t wish to,” she replied. “But he insists on talking to me at every opportunity. He makes me very uncomfortable.”
“Has he been impertinent or insulted you?” asked Miss Brown indignantly.
“No, no, he is always polite. It is only his tone, his manner, that I don’t like. I wish I needn’t meet him at every ton party.”
“It would be much more sensible to move in here and live quietly, seeing only a few good friends.” She nodded impatiently in response to Gwendeline’s gesture. “Yes, I know we’ve been over this before. Well, I think Lord Merryn should be told of this. I’m sure he could do something about Mr. Blane.”
“No,” exclaimed Gwendeline quickly. “I beg pardon,” she went on as Miss Brown gave her a startled look, “but I’m also uncertain about Lord Merryn.”
“Surely he hasn’t behaved badly toward you,” her old governess said. “He’s so much the gentleman.”
“No, of course not,” answered Gwendeline. “He hardly notices my existence. But Mr. Blane said things that made me wonder at his behavior. He suggested that the earl was also more friendly with my mother than my father. In fact, he implied that he and my father were enemies.” She looked at Miss Brown.
“I hardly consider this Mr. Blane a trustworthy source of information,” she answered. “I never heard Lord Merryn mentioned at all around your parents’ household. I cannot believe such assertions.”
Gwendeline felt a vast sense of relief. She hadn’t known until this moment how much Mr. Blane’s accusations had upset her. “But if he was a friend of my father’s?”
“He probably wouldn’t have been a subject of servants’ gossip,” finished Miss Brown.
“Of course.” Gwendeline sighed. “If he’d been an enemy, they would have talked of that. If they’d quarreled?”
“You’ve let this man’s talk upset you, Gwendeline. That is too bad. Lord Merryn has been all kindness to you. Why should you suspect him of duplicity?”
“It is just that I can’t find the others he says aided me with money and this house. He always evades my questions.”
“Perhaps they wish to remain anonymous,” offered Miss Brown.
“But why?” asked Gwendeline.
“In my experience, there are two types of philanthropists—those who wish to exert themselves as little as possible and to receive a great deal of credit, and those who do a great deal and tell no one. Perhaps your father’s friends are all the latter type.”
Gwendeline looked doubtful. “Perhaps. But it seems very unlikely. Especially considering my father’s life and the sort of friends he must have had.”
Miss Brown frowned. “When you put it that way, yes. But I think it could be true of Lord Merryn at least. He seems the sort of man who does not care to flaunt his good deeds.”
“But why, then, was he made the agent of this group? You see how confusing it is, Brown? And one thing remains most puzzling.”
“And what is that?”
“Why would he do this particular good deed?” Gwendeline looked at her. “If he wasn’t close to my parents, why would he help me?”
Miss Brown was at a loss for a moment. “Simple kindness?” she said finally, but her tone was doubtful. “To help a fellow human being?”
Gwendeline shook her head. “A stranger, with no connection to him? No, Brown, there must be a better reason. I’m perfectly ready to accept the idea that the earl is a charitable man, but even he must have some motive. Having no idea what it is makes me uneasy. I don’t distrust him as I do Mr. Blane, but I don’t understand him either.”
Miss Brown found nothing to say to this.
As they sat in silence, pondering the problem, Reeves entered the drawing room and stood before them. “Excuse me,” he said, “but Alphonse wishes to see you, Miss Gwendeline.”
“Alphonse?” asked Gwendeline, surprised. “What does he want?”
“I don’t know,” Reeves replied. “He refuses to tell me anything about it.” The butler’s expression was forbidding.
“Oh dear,” said Miss Brown. “I wonder what is the matter now.”
Gwendeline shrugged. “Very well. Ask him to step in here, Reeves.”
Reeves’s bearing stiffened further. “Yes, miss.”
Gwendeline looked at Miss Brown. “Reeves is struggling not to tell me he knew this would happen, of course. Foreigners.”
Miss Brown laughed. “Alphonse is a very excitable foreigner.”
A few minutes later, Alphonse came into the room with his customary energy. He looked defiant as he stood before Gwendeline, his black eyes snapping and his small moustache bristling alarmingly.
“Yes Alphonse,” she said. “What’s wrong?”
“I wish to inform you that I depart immediatement,” he answered dramatically. “I cannot work.”
Both ladies sat up straighter. “But what’s happened?” asked Gwendeline. “I thought you were happy here.”
Alphonse gave a helpless shrug. “The house, it is good. I have nothing to say against it. But I cannot work with that dolt, that imbecile of a cookboy.” His look expressed infinite contempt. “That Michael. He drive me crazy!” The little man struck his forehead with his palm.
Miss Brown glanced at Gwendeline with amused resignation. This was a recurrent problem. Whenever Michael made some mistake, Alphonse threatened to leave. Gwendeline had heard of such scenes, but she had never before had to cope with one herself.
“Oh, Alphonse,” she said. “What has Michael done this time?”
“Well may you ask.” Alphonse looked incredulous. “He has thrown away all the truffles. Ah, mademoiselle, he is a barbarian. He says he thinks them garbage.” He made an extravagant gesture to convey his horror to his listeners. “Garbage, mademoiselle! It is too much; I cannot live with such ignorance. I, Alphonse Lorvalle, who have cooked for Brillat-Savarin. You know him, mademoiselle?”
Gwendeline shook her head helplessly.
“Ah. The greatest, the most subtle of palates. A genius, en effet. He has approved me, mademoiselle, I swear it. Before we all have to flee from that bête Buonaparte. And now I should endure this Michael?” Alphonse looked outraged. “No,” he finished. “It is not to be thought.”
“Oh dear,” said Gwendeline. “Well, let’s go and talk to him. He must learn better than that.” She rose and the three of them went downstairs to find Michael. After nearly half an hour of talk and negotiations, greatly aided by Miss Brown, Gwendeline pacified Alphonse and made Michael promise he would be more careful. She then made a thorough inspection of the house, before walking back to Lady Merryn’s. As she went, her thoughts turned back to Miss Brown’s story. She had found out a great deal, but she wished to know still more. Perhaps careful questioning would elicit some information from the countess, she thought. After all, she must know something of Gwendeline’s parents and of her son’s doings as well. Gwendeline quickened her pace, resolving to learn whatever she could from Lady Merryn that very day.
But when she arrived, she found the countess was entertaining part of her literary group, and there would be no opportunity for questions. Gwendeline was vexed and disappointed. Not only could she learn nothing now, but she would have to endure the conversation of Mr. Woodley and his ilk. She determined to avoid that if at all possible. As she was removing her bonnet in her bedroom, one of the maids knocked. “Lady Merryn’s compliments,” she said as she came in, “and she says would you join the luncheon party as soon as may be.”
“Thank her for me please, Mary, but say that I am tired and have a slight headache. I beg to be excused from luncheon.”
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nbsp; Mary’s eyes widened. “Oooh, but miss, there’s all sorts of important ladies and gentlemen come to lunch. My lady is half-distracted.”
“Even so,” replied Gwendeline firmly. “Please tell her what I said.”
Mary went out, but in a few minutes there was another knock and Lady Merryn entered Gwendeline’s room. “Gwendeline! You can’t miss luncheon. Mr. Woodley is here to tell us more about the Godwins, and Lady Penton is just back from abroad. She has brought mounds of French novels”—she paused—“which you, er, would not like, I imagine. But this is one of the most important literary gatherings since you arrived in town. You can’t miss it.”
Gwendeline repeated her plea of tiredness and headache.
“Well, you’ll make yourself ill if you insist on rising at dawn the day after a ball and going out. Where have you been at this hour, by the by? When I came to find you, the servants told me you are often out early.”
Gwendeline braced herself for reproaches. “I like to get a little air in the mornings, Lady Merryn. Sometimes I stop to check on my house, to make sure the servants are getting on all right.”
“Do you indeed?” asked the countess. She looked at Gwendeline worriedly. “Well, I am sure they manage perfectly well. You mustn’t worry over that house.”
Gwendeline said nothing.
“If you really don’t want to come down…” Lady Merryn looked at her doubtfully, but Gwendeline shook her head. “It’s a pity to miss such an opportunity, Gwendeline. You don’t hear such talk at ton parties.” She brightened. “Though they are giving me a wealth of material for my new novel. I’ve definitely decided to write a society novel; did I tell you? A sort of roman à clef full of well-known persons, disguised of course. That sort of thing is excessively popular now, you know.”
Gwendeline murmured something noncommital.
“I hope to start writing next week, and I know I shall receive a great deal of invaluable advice today. Perhaps you’ll be able to help me as well, my dear. You’ve met all the young people.” She smiled brightly. “I must go down. You rest, Gwendeline. I’ll have a tray sent up. You mustn’t be fatigued for the musical party this evening.” She hurried from the room.
Gwendeline sat down in her armchair and put her chin on her hand. She was tired, she found, and dispirited. She didn’t wish to go to another party this evening. She sat for a while staring out the window, then she shook herself. You are ungrateful, she thought, you don’t wish this and you don’t understand that. You’re becoming a bore. She rose and rang for Ellen. “I shall go riding,” she said, “to clear the cobwebs out of my brain.”
Within a short time, Gwendeline had changed into her dark blue riding habit, eaten a light luncheon from the tray, and gone down to the stables. She found her horse saddled and ready. The young groom who would accompany her held the bridle. Gwendeline took it and stroked the nose of the lovely little roan mare that Lord Merryn had sent over for her use some weeks ago. “Hello, Firefly,” she said to the horse. “You’re glad to get out, too, aren’t you?”
They rode to the park and through its gates. The day was still sunny, and there were a number of coaches and riders already there. Gwendeline turned into a nearly empty track and set her horse to trot. Coming to the end, she reined in and turned onto the broader, more traveled path that intersected it, the groom keeping just behind her. She hadn’t gone far when she heard someone call her name. It was Lord Merryn, mounted on a magnificent black, rapidly coming abreast of her.
“Shall we ride together?” he asked, as he reined in beside her. “It’s a fine day for it.”
Gwendeline nodded her agreement, and they went on together. Lord Merryn seemed in good spirits.
“I’m glad to see that you’re getting some use out of your horse,” he said. “I thought she would suit you. Do you like her?”
“Oh yes,” answered Gwendeline, patting Firefly’s neck. “We’ve taken many rides together, but I’m usually out rather earlier.”
“Ah. You ride very well, Miss Gregory.”
Gwendeline flushed with pleasure at this compliment. “Thank you. Riding in Hyde Park is very dull, however, don’t you think? How I long for more space and a fast gallop.” She laughed up at him guiltily. “You’ll think I’m ungrateful, but riding at Brooklands there were miles of fields.”
“I agree with you completely. Riding in the city is very flat,” replied the earl. “Perhaps we should get up a party to go riding in the country?”
“I’d like that very much. And I know Lillian Everly would be delighted also.”
“Then it shall be done,” said the earl, smiling at Gwendeline with no trace of the sardonic gleam that she disliked. “If only because it is the one thing I have seen you express real enthusiasm for since you came to London.”
“That’s not true,” cried Gwendeline. “I like everything excessively, and I’m very grateful for all…” She paused as she encountered the earl’s teasing glance. “Oh, you’re roasting me again.”
“I was,” he said. “But it is true that you haven’t shown such eagerness many times. Seeing you at gatherings lately, I almost concluded that you disliked London.” His eyes grew teasing again. “Or that you had become as blasé as some of the other young ladies.”
Gwendeline didn’t rise to his bait this time. “I’m not blasé. But I admit that I often feel restless or, or not quite happy, or… I can’t really explain the feeling. There are so many things I can’t understand. I’ve been thinking more and more lately of retiring to my—to the house you have kindly lent me, and giving up parties entirely.”
Though he looked a bit amused, the earl responded to her tone. “You’re free to do so if you wish. But I see no need for you to cease attending parties. My mother would be happy to accompany you until we found a suitable companion.”
“Oh, I have Miss Brown,” said Gwendeline before she thought. Then she flushed with annoyance and embarrassment. She’d been so enjoying the ride and the easy conversation that she’d forgotten to mind her tongue.
“Miss Brown?” asked Merryn, watching her confusion with a mixture of perplexity and amusement.
“Yes. I, uh, you see, when I was readying the house.” Gwendeline paused. She took a deep breath and continued more coherently. “I told you of Miss Brown, my governess for many years. When I knew about the house, I wrote to her and asked her to come. She kindly consented, and she has been living there for some weeks.” Gwendeline glanced apprehensively toward the earl. “She’s very respectable. I’m sure there could be no better chaperone for me.”
Lord Merryn was smiling at her. “I’ve underestimated you, I fear, Gwendeline. There are devious twists to your character that I never imagined. Does my mother know of the existence of this Miss Brown, pray?”
Gwendeline shook her head. “Are you angry?”
He laughed. “Why should I be angry? I’m much relieved to find that you’re capable of managing such things. Shall I be allowed to meet Miss Brown?”
His tone was so encouraging that Gwendeline risked teasing him a little. “To make sure she’s suitable?” she asked slyly.
The earl held up a hand. “Merely to make the acquaintance of an estimable lady. She must be quite extraordinary to have been your governess for years.”
“Well, I’ll ask her,” answered Gwendeline, laughing. “But she’s very strict. I’m not sure she would receive you alone. I may have to accompany you.” The earl’s response was a laugh so hearty and genuine that Gwendeline was surprised. She’d never seen him so unguarded.
She returned from her ride much more cheerful and ready for another foray into London society. It was nearly time to change, as dinner would be early tonight, and she ran lightly up the stairs to her room to dress. There was no sign of Lady Merryn.
When Gwendeline descended to the drawing room, wearing her new evening dress of pale blue trimmed with knots of dark
blue ribbon, there was still no sign of the countess. She sat down to wait for her, a bit puzzled, since it lacked only a few minutes to dinnertime. But Lady Merryn had not appeared when Allison came in to announce dinner. Gwendeline asked him if her ladyship had gone out.
“I don’t believe so, Miss Gwendeline,” he answered. “She left no word if she did. I shall inquire.” Gwendeline sat down again, uncertain whether she should worry. Lady Merryn had never been absent without leaving a message for her.
Very soon, Allison returned; he looked resigned. “Her ladyship’s maid informs me that Lady Merryn went up to her study after luncheon,” he told Gwendeline. “She has not come out or rung since then.”
“I see,” said Gwendeline. “Perhaps she’s very busy. I’ll go up and see if she wants to have dinner sent up to her.”
Allison’s resignation deepened. “Yes, miss. I will inform the kitchen,” he said as Gwendeline left the room.
She walked down the corridor and knocked softly at the door of Lady Merryn’s study. There was no answer, but she opened the door slightly and saw the countess seated at her desk. The desktop was covered with papers, as was the floor around her chair. There were several open volumes before her, and Lady Merryn was writing furiously. She had a spot of ink on her sleeve.
“Excuse me,” said Gwendeline quietly. “Shall I have some dinner sent up to you, Lady Merryn?”
For a moment, she seemed not to have heard. Then, the countess ended a sentence with a flourish and put down her pen. “Two chapters,” she said to Gwendeline triumphantly. “Finished! I’ve written thirty pages without stopping once. The ideas discussed at luncheon fired my imagination, and I resolved to begin my new novel at once. I think it will be my best so far.”
“That’s wonderful,” replied Gwendeline. “I’m very glad.”
“Thank you, my dear. Did you want me? I think I’ll go on working since it’s going so well. We can talk at dinner.”
“I came to see whether dinner should be sent up to you,” Gwendeline answered.