Anna Jacobs

PERSONS OF RANK

Anna Jacobs

Chapter 1

“Persons of our rank,” declared the Dowager, quivering with outrage at the mere idea, “do not fall in love! They may, if they are that way inclined, come to feel some affection for their spouses – I have known it to happen, even in the best of circles, though I myself consider it extremely vulgar – but – are you listening to me, Beatrice? Eleanor? – I repeat, persons of rank do not, under any circumstances, fall in love!”

The two young women standing in front of her exchanged speaking glances but knew better than to argue, so made noises to signify they were paying attention.

The old lady rapped her cane on the floor by her chair to emphasize this point and added with monumental scorn, “Nor do persons of our rank read sentimental tales about lowbred persons and their amours! They leave such absurdities for menials and governesses who know no better!” Her eyes flashed with scorn as she surveyed her niece, Beatrice, and her granddaughter, Eleanor, both in severe disgrace for being caught reading a novel together.

Beatrice suppressed a sigh and schooled her face into the calm expression she could summon up at will. Heaven knew she’d had enough years to practice that since her mother’s death, when she was brought to live here with her father’s much older sister. She shot a quick glance sideways, but saw with relief that Eleanor was staring past the Dowager out at the gardens and didn’t seem about to argue.

As she looked back at her aunt, another worry surfaced. What would happen to her if the old lady died? The Dowager had appeared so frail lately. Beatrice shut off that thought resolutely and tried to pay attention to what her aunt was saying.

“And both you girls come from good stock, so...”

On the other side of the room, Eleanor dug her fingers into her palm to distract herself. She was still filled with anger at seeing her enthralling tale thrown on the fire by her grandmother. Now she and Beatrice would never know whether poor Melissa managed to escape from the toils of the evil Count and be reunited with Gervaise, her childhood sweetheart!

And what’s more, Eleanor decided, simmering with rebellion as the lecture continued, she had every intention of falling in love one day, whatever her grandmother said, and had already begun to inspect the unattached men she met with extreme interest and care. Bea said that was not the way you did it, but Eleanor didn’t suffer from her young aunt’s shyness and had every intention of studying the field of candidates. Not that there were many young men here in the depths of Hampshire, and sadly, none of the ones she’d met so far had troubled her dreams in the slightest.

She caught a worried glance from across the room and winked at Bea, but didn’t defy or contradict her grandmother, in whose charge she had been for nine years. One didn’t get one’s own way by outright opposition to her ladyship. In fact, poor Bea rarely got her way at all, but Eleanor was never quite sure whether that was because she was submissive by nature or because she didn’t care enough to dispute Lady Marguerite Graceover’s authority.

She herself was cast in a more resolute mould, Eleanor felt complacently, stealing a quick glance sideways to admire her reflection in the mirror over the fireplace. The new way of arranging her hair looked very well, but this gown was far too plain. White muslin, for heaven’s sake, as if she were still a child instead of a mature woman of nineteen!

Well, she had no intention of allowing her grandmother to plan her whole life for her, let alone choose her husband. Why, Grandmamma had spoken approvingly only last week about second cousin Maria’s engagement to a quite elderly nobleman, who was thirty-two if he was a day. Just because his family had come over with the Conqueror!

Eleanor knew her own future was presently under consideration, because she’d just happened to overhear her grandmother talking to the family lawyer recently about marriage settlements. Unfortunately, one of the maids had come along at that moment and she’d to move away from the door. But there was no doubt she would be a rich prize for someone and she meant to make the most of that, whatever Bea said. Only - that would mean leaving her beloved Satherby to live with a husband and she hated the thought of doing so.

The Dowager paused for breath, then continued the attack. “Pray tell me, Beatrice, since you are the older, why you were reading such - such vulgarities?”

Eleanor watched an agonized expression creep over Bea’s face, so rushed to the rescue. “We only wanted to see what such books were like, Grandmamma. How is one to know about love and - and such things, if one cannot discuss them or read about them?”

“You have only to ask me. I can always tell you exactly what is or is not suitable for a Graceover of Satherby Abbey.” She saw a stubborn expression on her granddaughter’s face and added sharply, “I forbid you, do you hear, absolutely forbid you to read such housemaids’ trash again! Love! Pah! Love is only for the lower classes, who can afford to become quite ridiculous under its influence! Or for those fools who have forgotten their station in life. Fools like my younger brother Warwick.”

This was one of the Dowager’s favourite cautionary tales and was regularly trotted out and brandished before them as a warning. “Look what happened to him! Married for love, dead before forty, wife and child left living in poverty. It is I who have had to provide for my poor niece! My brother’s fate is a lesson to us all.”

Beatrice was alarmed at how white her aunt had gone, her lips a thin blue-tinged line in a face like wrinkled parchment. She exchanged worried glances with Eleanor and shook her head in warning to say nothing more.

After a few gasping breaths, the Dowager abandoned the rest of her customary diatribe and ended with the same old warning, “To marry without money is the height of improvidence, as I have told you many times before, have I not, Beatrice? And why are you both standing there like maidservants waiting for an order? Go and sit down on the sofa like gentlefolk. You know I cannot abide people looming over me.”

Beatrice nodded and obeyed, tugging Eleanor across the room with her. She had some sympathy with the Dowager’s views, since she and her mother had lived in extreme poverty for a while after her father’s death and she had never forgotten what it felt like to go to bed hungry. Or to be without the means to pay the doctor’s bills.

“Mind you,” continued the Dowager, in the softer tones of one determined to be fair, “Beatrice could perfectly well have found herself some curate or gentleman farmer to marry who wouldn’t care about her lack of dowry. She’s a Dencey, after all. My family’s pedigree goes back even further than the Graceovers’ and we can hold our heads up in any circles.” She squinted at her niece, as if seeing her for the first time. “She’s pretty enough to attract some gentleman’s attention, too, were she to set her mind to it.”

Beatrice picked up her embroidery and made a determined stab at it with her needle. Over the years, she’d grown accustomed to her role as the Dowager Lady Graceover’s unpaid companion and had developed a genuine affection for her aunt; but once in a while she could not help thinking wistfully how pleasant it would be to marry and have a home of one’s very own - and even, perhaps, to have a family. She’d always loved children, which was why she’d welcomed the chance to help raise Eleanor, who had been orphaned at the age of nine. But that wasn’t the same as having a child of one’s own. Or a husband.

“In future, kindly do not forget what you owe to the Family!” the Dowager said, in what was, for her, quite a mild tone. “I have better things planned for you, Eleanor, than falling in love! You’ll be the last of the Graceovers, more’s the pity, but you’re rich enough to seek a husband among the True Nobility.”

Eleanor perked up and leaned forward, eagerness in every line of her body. “What exactly have you got planned for me, Grandmamma? May I not know?”

But this was going too far for the Dowager. “No, you may not know, miss! I’ll tell you what you need to know when the time comes. And what are you doing lolling about on the sofa like that? If you have nothing better to occupy yourself with, you may go and practice your music. I wish to have a word with Beatrice in private.”

Eleanor breathed deeply and rose to her feet. It was no use arguing with her grandmother when the old lady was in this mood. As she turned to leave, she rolled her eyes at Bea, then composed her expression and left.

Still feeling thoughtful, she made her way to the Blue Salon downstairs, where her favourite piano had been placed out of her ladyship’s hearing, since only inconsiderate persons inflicted the sound of their practice upon the ears of their families. There she sat down and began to play, for she loved music and could lose herself in it for hours.

But she kept wondering what was happening upstairs. Clearly her grandmother was seriously considering the question of her marriage. But to whom? She wouldn’t marry someone she did not like, however well-connected his family, on that point she was quite determined.

* * * *

In London a gentleman of high enough rank to satisfy even the Dowager and handsome enough to delight the most romantically-minded young lady as well, got ready to go to a small, pre-season ball designed to introduce some of this year’s crop of young ladies to the ways of the ton. In the middle of tying his neckcloth, he paused, scowled at himself in the mirror and swore softly, tossing aside the piece of mangled cloth. “No, definitely not.”

Turning round, he stared at his valet as if he had never seen him before, then said harshly, “I’ve changed my mind. I shall not be going out tonight, after all, Beamish.”

“But sir - “

“That will be all, thank you.”

Beamish breathed deeply, but said nothing. He picked up the pile of mangled neckcloths and walked out with his usual measured tread.

When the valet had left, the gentleman flung himself down in the comfortable armchair in front of the fire and stared blindly into the flames. If he set one foot in that ballroom tonight, everyone in the ton would know that he was seriously looking for a wife this season. And did he really want that? No, he did not! He loathed being a focus of gossip, absolutely loathed it.

The trouble was, his mother was growing very insistent that he marry. She had driven up from Bath to Hertfordshire to visit him twice in the past year, and the last time she had made him promise to spend at least part of the coming season in London.

He stretched his tall body with a sigh, feeling a sudden longing sweep through him for his home in the country, for a canter through the woods and a fresh breeze on his face. Then he sighed and scowled down at his feet, forcing himself to face facts. It was his duty to marry. His absolute and inescapable duty. His mother was right about that.

But somehow, he’d never met a lady who didn’t bore him to death after a few encounters. They were all so obliging, so breathlessly eager to please him that it made him feel angry. If he’d said the moon was purple, they’d have agreed. And they’d be just as eager to please any other gentleman of fortune, anything to get themselves a wealthy husband. He gave a snort of bitter laughter. Oh, he was a fool, expecting the impossible. Persons of his rank did not marry for love, but for sound social and financial reasons. Why should he be any different?

He jerked to his feet and went to pour himself a brandy, then slumped down in the chair again with a growl of annoyance and stared down into the rich amber liquid. He was three and thirty, and his mother was right, damn her. He had to marry. He raised the glass in a mocking toast, “To my future Lady Wife!”

He wouldn’t go to tonight’s ball, though, but would wait for the season proper to start and proceed with caution, drawing as little attention to himself as possible.

He raised the glass in another toast to his reflection in a mirror. “Here’s to the last of the Serles!” He would suit himself as well in choosing a wife, he decided. He didn’t want just a woman of breeding and fortune, but one of a pleasant nature and with a reasonable intelligence. Surely there must be some women around who didn’t use their beauty as a weapon, live for gossip and fashion, and regard men merely as providers of heirs and money?

“Ha!” he said a little later, as he refilled his glass, spilling some brandy on the polished surface. “Maybe I should look at the ugly ones this time. At least they’d be grateful!” He drank to that as well.

Beamish peeped in a little later, worried that his master had not come down for dinner. He gaped in amazement at the sight of the overturned glass and the figure sprawled in the chair, sleeping soundly. It wasn’t at all like Mr Serle to dip into the brandy. Shaking his head in surprise and disapproval both, he woke his master and persuaded him, not without difficulty, to go to bed.

“She’s pushing him too hard,” he muttered as he closed the bedchamber door. “There’s going to be trouble.”

* * * *

When Eleanor had left the room, the Dowager fidgeted and cleared her throat a couple of times, then snapped, “Put that sewing down and pay attention to me, Beatrice! This is important!” There was a pause, then, “It’s time we were thinking of the chit’s future, but I’m out of touch with the younger set.” She scowled across the room. “Don’t know who’s who in the ton any more.”