by Meg Kerr
“That does not explain why he so long hid that Johnny was his legitimate eldest son,” objected Mrs. Gardiner.
“Mr. Haywood had a very comfortable conversation with the housekeeper, and she provided a good deal of interesting information, some of which you, Johnny, may perhaps be able to confirm. For example, that Miss Elizabeth Brewster was the heiress to a fortune made in provisioning the Navy, and Ashbury Park was heavily mortgaged prior to the marriage.”
“I see,” said Mrs. Gardiner. “She might have taken her fortune elsewhere if the estate and title already had an heir.”
“Precisely.”
“I heard more than once that Lady Marlowe’s fortune rescued the estate from its creditors,” said Amaury. After a silent interval he said in a constricted voice, “I have no right to censure my father, or any one, for my own conduct has often been blameworthy. But there must have been a time when some one could have acted or spoken, and prevented a younger son taking all. Now it is too late.”
“No, not at all,” said Mr. Gardiner energetically. “You have been cruelly used, but it is not too late to right the wrong. I consulted with my own solicitors and they took counsel’s opinion.” He drew another document from the bundle. “Sir William Garrow declares without reservation that you are the legitimate heir to the Marlowe title and estate, and that if you bring an action in the High Court upon a writ of novel disseisin you must succeed in regaining them.”
“I am Viscount Marlowe?” said Amaury, astounded.
“Yes.”
They remained in stillness for some time as Amaury absorbed the improbable intelligence. One thing struck him very forcibly. When he had given up Georgiana he had done so for her own sake, and out of his sincere affection for the Gardiners. As much as it was a punishment to him to renounce her, he had not thought himself entitled to any reward for doing so. But here was recompense that sprang from that decision. If he had eloped with Georgiana, the Gardiners would have taken no trouble to tease out his history, and he would have remained marked his entire life a bastard mountebank. Because he had done right, it now appeared that he would receive his rights. This lesson in ethics was quickly eclipsed as, not very startlingly, his scattered reflections collected around Georgiana and the hope that all obstacles to obtaining her hand had suddenly melted away. The same thought was perhaps in Mrs. Gardiner’s mind when she caught her husband’s eye and smiled at him.
At length Amaury asked, “What is to be done now?”
“Tomorrow we will meet with my solicitors and arrange for the necessary actions to be taken. I will defray all expenses, and you will repay me when you come into possession of the estate. By heaven, I wish I so well liked the appearance of all of my ventures!”
By the time they returned to the dining room the soup was ruined and the joint dried out but the diners did not notice these defects.
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CHAPTER
31
Damson and London, August 1816
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Lady Mallinger had been seriously ill for many weeks and she had only lately so far recuperated as to be able to make the journey to Damson, accompanied by Mr. and Mrs. Hurst. Once they had arrived the visit appeared to be a great trial to Mrs. Hurst for she could not look at any landscape, room or article of furniture without regretting aloud that her sister would soon be required to vacate the house for Sir Henry’s heir, a second cousin. That Lady Mallinger would have possession of the Dower House was no consolation to her for it was scarcely larger than a cottage. “To think,” she said resentfully, “that we shall have to make do with Clifford Priory at Christmas. I feel the cold already. Really, Caroline, it was most inexcusably careless on your part to have lost Sir Henry’s son.”
Mrs. Hurst could scarcely have expected Lady Mallinger to concur with her last remark, nor did she provide opportunity for her to do so, immediately turning to a complaint about the weather. It was cold and wet, as it had been for months, and many in England suffered greater hardship from it than Mrs. Hurst. Generously she did not place her claim to misery much above others’ and ran through a short catalogue of the ills and misfortunes of their acquaintances. Lady Mallinger heard it all but listened to none of it until her sister mentioned Sir John Thorn. His name stimulated in her a nervous thrill and she instantly gave all of her attention. Mrs. Hurst was speaking of his financial difficulties, and of reports that he must go bankrupt. “A fall is no less than he deserves,” she declared.
Lady Mallinger expressed her alarm by rebuking her sister. “Louisa, your prejudice against him from the beginning has been violent. What cause do you have to rejoice in his adversity?”
“More cause than you are presently aware of, Caroline. I kept the knowledge from you while you were convalescing, for it would certainly have set back your recovery, but you may hear it now from me, before you hear it from all of our friends, for it was a fortnight’s scandal.”
“Of what are you speaking?” said Lady Mallinger very impatiently.
“Of Sir John Thorn, and his extraordinarily coarse behaviour. After you fell ill, when the fact of your indisposition had been circulated in society, he called and sent in his card. Naturally I was not at home to him. But he would not depart! He insisted that he would remain at the door until he received a bulletin of your health. I sent a footman to remove him, but he had not sufficient wit or courage to carry out his orders. At last, only to cause him to go away, I had the butler give him some word. But that was not the end of it. He came again the next day and we played the whole charade again. He came every day until I conveyed that you were out of danger. I cannot comprehend his motive, what advantage he thought to gain from such an uncouth exhibition, other than tarnishing your reputation, which he most assuredly has done. I say nothing of what it may have done to his reputation, for I daresay everyone takes it that eccentrically vulgar activities of this kind are considered the very height of refinement in Manchester.”
Lady Mallinger listened to this tale almost with disbelief, and with a pounding heart. Her wonder was increased by every detail of his conduct. It was the most unaccountable thing she had ever heard. Her spirits were so much disturbed that it was impossible for her to remain in company and on a pretext she withdrew to her own room.
She had believed her estrangement from Sir John final. Yet despite her contemptible manner of rejecting his proposal, and the rancour and incivility of their last conversation, he – who should have shunned her as his greatest enemyhad instead displayed the greatest anxiety for her! Was this, could this be, a relenting of his anger towards her? But a few minutes’ thought convinced her that it was not. He had not denied his love for her, only his desire to have anything further to do with her. His coming to her had been beyond his own volition. She understood this, for her feelings for Darcy would at one time have urged her to do no less had he been in danger. She would have lain across the threshold of his room like his hound, while he suffered within, if propriety would not have forbidden such a performance. But this proof of Sir John’s inalienable affection; yes, and compassion for her as well; which had induced him take outlandish pains and to expose himself to criticism and contempt, now awakened in her breast an unfamiliar sentiment: that of gratitude. It was accompanied by another sentiment, hope. Even if his conduct did not signal an amendment in their relationship, perhaps it offered her an opportunity. Selfish, cold-hearted, venalthese were the words he had thrown in her facecould she ever forget them! Had he created an opening that might make it possible for her now to take some action, that might demonstrate to him the erroneousness of his judgment?
But was his judgment in error? That was a question that rose unbidden to her brain. She was well aware
that all her life she had thought meanly of anyone beyond her own set. This was not difficult for her to acknowledge for she had never conceived it improper to act on this theory. Awkward manners, unstylish clothing, inelegant language, an absence of fashionable accomplishments: surely these were the hallmarks of the inferior individual? But on further contemplation, what were awkward manners in comparison to the refined derision, graceful scorn, tasteful disdain of a man like Sir Henry Mallinger? Or – of a woman like Lady Mallinger? Casting her eyes upon herself for what was probably the very first time she perceived with some discomfiture certain shortcomings. As shallow as it was the appraisal was rather disturbing and she almost began to suspect her inferiority to Sir John Thorn. How incredulous Mrs. Hurst would have been to discover her sister suddenly experiencing a modicum of disapproval directed towards herself rather than Sir John! But her thoughts did not linger in that place for a sufficient period of time for her to reach any definite conclusion. They turned instead to an acute sense of what she had lost, and what she might have had.
She now asked herself if there were some thing she could do for him, that would show her appreciation of his concern for her and demonstrate that she had a faculty not dissimilar to his. He was not sick; but he was distressed in another sense, and she had it within her means to lighten his burden.
Lady Mallinger was capable woman, although she did not often put her aptitudes to the best use, and now that a motive of goodwill was within her she did not have to weigh opposing desires. It was plain to her what she had to do. How best to do it was more difficult to determine, and as she knew herself unfit to carry out her purpose alone she wrote a letter to her solicitor, seeking his advice on the offer of a substantial loan to Sir John Thorn.
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The solicitor at first attempted to remonstrate with her for this flight of absurd liberality but when it became evident to him that she was determined to proceed, with his assistance or that of another man, he provided the necessary counsel and drew up the necessary documents. He sent a request to Sir John to come to his offices in the Temple, with a short explanation of the purpose of the meeting. Sir John sent an instant reply of acceptance, on condition that Lady Mallinger herself be present. This unexpected occurrence threw Lady Mallinger into a state that was composed of apprehension and confusion, with just a touch of exhilaration that she might, if she wished, see and speak to him again. She could not avoid thinking that his desire to see her was prompted by an appetite for excoriating her conduct once more; but he was a businessman; perhaps his only interest lay in dealing directly with a potential lender. After some anxious cogitation she wrote to her solicitor that she would consent to be present, and a day was arranged. Lady Mallinger returned to London, telling the Hursts that she had affairs related to Sir Henry’s estate to deal with. They, after some irritable discussion, elected to remain at Damson without her.
Lady Mallinger was waiting with the solicitor in his dusty chambers when Sir John was announced by a clerk and entered. She was agitated, but she received him quietly and with a serious air, determined that her demeanour should reveal nothing except commercial acumen. He too was very serious but he did not appear angry or sullen. There was about him, rather, a barely repressed energy. He turned to the solicitor and glanced at the documents laid out on his desk.
“Sir John,” commenced the solicitor, “Lady Mallinger has made to me a most unusual request, to offer you an investment in your manufactory. I tried first to dissuade her from this course but she is resolved to follow it, and the result is that we meet here to discuss the conditions of the investment. Please take a seat.”
Instead of doing as he was asked Sir John said almost peremptorily, “I wish to speak to Lady Mallinger alone. Would you leave us.”
The solicitor blinked, unaccustomed to being evicted from his own rooms, but Sir John’s tone allowed of no objection, and he went. Sir John took a chair, drew it nearer to Lady Mallinger and sat down. Looking at her with a penetrating expression he said, “A manufacturer or trader who requires a woman’s gift to prop up his enterprise is a poor specimen. There is but a single situation in which I would accept any money from a woman. In the event, my financial circumstances are not as disastrous as you seem to have been informed, and I regret that you have been led to feel any disquiet on my account. I therefore thank you for your offer but I decline it. Now do you wish to speak to me of any thing else? Did you contemplate anything beyond a financial transaction? I will hear you, whatever you have to say.”
Lady Mallinger could say nothing, for she was now in such a jumble of nerves that she could scarcely distinguish where she was.
“If you will not speak, then I will. I came here for one purpose only.” He was regarding her with all the power his eyes possessed. “You are free again, and I have not been inconstant. Is it unjustifiable in me to arrive here with a measure of expectation? I cannot tolerate uncertainty; I must know at once.”
Here was no waste of time! Two minutes after his entering the room, she was deep in happiness, or at any rate understood herself to be so, for her feelings were in a chaos that did not permit the identification of any particular one of them. She was also too bewildered to open her lips. Neither spoke but a wordless dialogue took place between them: on his side, command; on hers a momentary resistance dictated by nature and habit, and then, under the revolutionary effect of their encounter – surrender.
He rose to his feet. “Caroline, come to me!”
It was perhaps due to the baseness of Lady Mallinger’s descent that she did not then engage in any of the coy practices of elegant females. Quite to the contrary, she threw herself into his strong arms and felt herself pressed to his heart. For some precious minutes neither could utter a sound.
When the solicitor returned, in annoyance, to request re-admission, Lady Mallinger’s cheeks which had been pale were now brilliant and Sir John seemed almost to fill the room. Before the much put-upon man could say any thing, Sir John, pointing at the desk, said, “You may dispose of those documents, we have no need of them. However shortly we shall put you to the trouble of drawing up a marriage settlement.”
Lady Mallinger and Sir John went together to Sir Henry’s house in Bruton Street where, alone in the drawing room, they exchanged promises, and indulged in those explanations of the past that are so fascinating to new-joined lovers, plans for the present and hopes for the future.
“I was angry, very angry, at you when we last parted, and in my anger imagined I could learn to forget you. I thought I would be able to repudiate you as an unexceptional woman who yielding to avarice had given up a man who sincerely loved her for one who was indifferent to her. But it was not long before I regretted and abhorred the pride and bile that I had displayed before you. I loved you still, and knew there could be no other to equal you.”
Lady Mallinger was much moved. It was almost beyond her conception that she was truly loved by Sir John, when she had expended so much effort to make clear that she had no feelings for him. But recovering a little of her former self she said, “Your language to me that day was abominable.”
“As was yours to me.”
She was suspended fleetingly on the verge of a retort, and then spoke slowly, searching for a fresh path. “I admit it. The difference was, that you were speaking the truth and I falsehoods. I could not humble myself before you and tell you of my feelings, and of my regret, as much as I wanted to do both.”
“My dearest, dearest Caroline: never will you hear anything but truth from me,” he said in a tone of tenderness. “The pain of recalling our conversation after I learned you had been widowed was extreme –”
“Ah! It was exactly the same in my case!”
“– but it was increased tenfold, a hundredfold, by your peril. The horror I felt was indescribable and I could take no action for your safety. I could do nothing but look on with anguish, and make a fool of mysel
f to all London.”
“They know nothing of foolishness and wisdom, of civilized and uncivilized manners, and neither did I, before now.”
So in this way the two of them were brought subjugated by love from misery to joy. Every doubt was removed, every rift healed. Each was certain of being beloved, and each was absolved of all turpitude in the mind of the other. And their new condition of security and mutual delight was due not only to the rapture of requited affection but also to dawning truth and reason, and that is a triumvirate which creates a most excellent foundation for a marriage.
The news of the engagement burst on Mrs. Hurst like a mortar shell. Her chagrin can in no way be described. The rest of the world took the announcement tranquilly. Almost no one thought it a bad match for Lady Mallinger; as the gentleman had a knighthood and might confidently look forward to a baronetcy (new-created though it be), and the lady had an independent fortune, there was no reason for any body’s opposition.
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CHAPTER
32
Pemberley, September 1816
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The engagement of the relict of the aristocratic Sir Henry Mallinger to a rough Northern manufacturer paled into insignificance in comparison to the affairs of the Marlowe family, and very soon the whole world could talk of nothing else. Its unconventional domestic practices and imprudent arrangements for succession were first discussed. Those who wished to descend into the muck delighted in re-telling stories of John Amaury’s former and present wickedness – which fortuitously expanded the scene to include not only Georgiana Darcy but the entire Darcy and Fitzwilliam connexion and their recent marriages, thus spreading misery farther – and retailing stories of Tom Marlowe’s debauched life and feats of seduction, which had until now been only whispered of. Lady Catherine de Bourgh heard just a fraction of his exploits but enough to cause her to write to notify him that any engagement with her daughter was at an end. Those whose tastes were more cerebral found much pleasure in arguing over the nature of the lawsuit brought by John Amaury, and whether novel disseisin were the proper action. A wag of Gray’s Inn pronounced that the suit ought to be brought instead on a writ of withernam as the younger brother had eloigned the elder’s chattels, and at dinners where there were no other guests present than men of the legal profession this was thought a very good joke and was laughed at heartily.