Lady John (9 page)

“Well, at least there’s a starting point in that,” the
Duchess prodded.

“I suppose so, ma’am. But I knew a great many people in
Brussels—most of them friends of John’s.”

“John did have the knack of making friends, did he not?” the
Duchess agreed. “I used to wonder how he contrived it; I cannot delude myself
that he was loved for his wit or his loyalty or even his money, since he was
such a dreadful spendthrift. I should not wish to say what might hurt your
feelings, Livvy, but my John, while the dearest boy in the world, was a horrid
scapegrace. Unless you wrought some change in him?”

Olivia’s eyes lit with laughter. “I, ma’am? Good heavens,
no. But the secret was, he was a charmer. I think people loved John because he
so obviously thought they ought to. And I can recall friends and officers to
whom John owed money—gaming debts—who would come to our house all frowns and
severity, and leave not a penny richer, but smiling and laughing. I know John
could not have advanced them any money against his debts.”

“How could you know that?”

Now Lady John had the grace to look somewhat abashed. “I
realized shortly after our marriage that the tradesmen were not happy to deal
with us, and when I inquired I discovered that John was not in the habit of
paying them. When I taxed him with it he admitted as much—you know his way, ma’am,
all smiles and rueful looks—and suggested that I keep the accounts. And we
struck a bargain: one month’s income would go to the tradesmen and the next to
his personal debts. He even told it about in the Company, and when we were married
his friends knew not to dun him during Trade Month.”

The Duchess regarded her daughter-at-law with new respect. “You
got my son to agree to such a scheme? Child, I have undervalued you: you should
be made Prime Minister!”

“I admit that it did much better with John to soothe than to
berate him, although there were times when I should have liked to do so.
Exceedingly.”

“You show me the error of my ways,” the Duchess sniffed. “I
scolded where I ought to have cajoled, is that it?”

“I should not think of criticizing your management, your
Grace,” Olivia murmured, and bowed her head in a gesture of mock respect.

“Banbury-stuff,” the Duchess scolded. “And you are
distracting me from my original purpose: to know more about Menwin.”

“Then I think you had best ask Lord Menwin, ma’am. I am the
wrong person to question. After all,” Olivia reminded her stiffly, “the last
time I saw Lord Menwin he was still a lowly Colonel Polry, and I do not recall
that he was in line for the title then, either. Perhaps the viscountcy has gone
to his head.”

“Don’t come the injured maiden with me, child, I beg.
I
did not snub you last evening. And as for the
title changing Matthew Polry, I think that most unlikely.” Her tone softened
somewhat. “Come now, dear child. I am only trying to put this in perspective
and,” she added humorously, “to calm my wretched curiosity.”

A little ashamed of her curtness, Olivia smiled. “To tell
truth, ma’am, the last time I saw Colonel Polry he was perfectly amiable to me.
It was at a ball—no, at an assembly. He talked to me for a while; we danced, he
signed his name for a later dance, and then I was solicited by someone else. I
cannot think who. The last time I saw him, in fact, he was talking with John,
drinking punch. Later on John came and told me that Matthew—Colonel Polry—had
been called away, and had given him his dance.”

The Duchess, watching Olivia, closely, observed a
heightening of her color and a slight lowering of her voice. “Child,” she asked
in tones of great kindness, “were you in love with him?”

Olivia’s head came up like a shot and she stared, red-faced,
at her hostess. “Ma’am!”

“Olivia, you are a dear, sweet, honorable girl, and if I do
not wring your neck you will be in no wise to blame. I asked a simple question.
I am not trying to compromise you, and I promise I shall not think you horridly
untrue to John’s memory if you answer yes. But a girl does not flush and hang
her head when talking of someone she detests, or doesn’t care a fig for one way
or the other.”

“In other words, regardless of what I say, you shall believe
as you like.”

The Duchess laughed. “Precisely. What a perspicacious child
it is. I am awaiting your answer.”

Faced with the Duchess’s inexorable curiosity and a need
which she had long ignored for a confidante in the matter, Olivia saw little
choice but full capitulation. “I cherished something of a
tendre
for the Colonel, ma’am. In fact, I think
John suspected as much, but he made it clear that it did not bother him in the
slightest. In any case, Colonel Polry disappeared from Brussels—I believe he
was sent to Vienna and returned to Belgium just before the battle started in
June. He was in the habit of doing diplomatic errands and such—Sir Vivian Hussey
liked him.”

“Olivia, I beg you will never seek a career in the theater.
You would make a remarkably bad actress: all you feel is writ upon your face
clear as day. So Matt Polry disappeared. You married John as next best—you
needn’t say yea or nay, dear; it’s perfectly obvious and does John credit too,
that you would take him as second choice after a man of Menwin’s cut.”

“And now Menwin is treating me as if I were—I don’t know
what. If
you
can see some reason for it, ma’am,
pray tell me. I cannot.”

“Perhaps he returned your affection and was unhappy to find
you married when he returned to Brussels?”

“He never indicated any intentions beyond a mild flirtation,
ma’am. I thought, once or twice, but—nothing came of it. If he had cared for me
at all, why did he not at least take his leave of me when he left for Vienna?
Why did I never hear from him at all? Aside from which, John told me—”

“Well?” The Duchess leaned heavily toward Olivia, impatience
plain writ on the rounded angles of her face.

“Only that Colonel Polry had—I mean, Lord Menwin—had another
attachment here in England. When I knew that…” Olivia turned palms upward in a
gesture of hopelessness.

“I see. Well, dear, as far as I can see you acted all for
the best. And there is no denying you made John a good wife: I had letters from
him—horrid misspelt scrawls, worse even than Julian’s letters—that praised you
to the skies. I thank you for making him so happy.” Her Grace permitted herself
one deep, lachrymose sigh, then pulled herself back into plump cheer with a
visible effort. “Now it is my turn to do my possible to make you happy. Never
you mind Matthew Polry’s bad manners, Olivia. Someday, perhaps, we shall know
what was behind his manner last night. In the meantime, I mean to make it my
job to find a new husband for you this Season.”

Olivia regarded her mother-at-law with a mixture of awe,
dismay, and amusement. “Do I have a choice in the matter, ma’am? And ought not
you to concern yourself more with Lady Bette’s marriage than mine?”

“Bette is more than capable of taking care of her own
interests in that respect, Olivia,” the Duchess assured her. “Whereas you, I
suspect, if left to your own devices, will sit by meekly and make no push to
attach some nice man to make a home for you.”

“You and my mother must deal together excellently,” Olivia
commented dryly.

“Oh?” The Duchess poured herself another cup of tea and
toyed diabolically with the roll beside it.

“Mamma’s idea was that we should come to Catenhaugh in hopes
you would be moved to help me establish myself in Town—for the same reason. To
find a husband. But to be quite honest with you, ma’am—” Olivia broke off.
Began again. “I don’t wish you to think that I am in any way asking your
assistance, but I must make it plain to you how we are situated. Mamma has her
jointure. I have my marriage portion and the pension from John. If it is ever
paid! We are comfortably left if we do not become overambitious. I fear that a
Season in Town is grossly overambitious for us. I doubt we could stand the
expense of—”

“My dear child—” the Duchess interrupted expansively, her
copious bosom swelling with her gesture.

“No, ma’am.” Olivia shook her head agitatedly. “I will not
sponge upon the Temperers. We may have a few weeks in Town, and if you like to
include us in your plans that will be very kind in you, but it is better for
us, I think, to settle somewhere like Bath, or Cheltenham Spa, where we may
have some society, but not be troubled with the great expenses of London.”

“Fiddle.” The Duchess popped the entirety of a pastry into
her mouth and sat chewing furiously for a few moments, glaring at her daughter-at-law.
“What do you expect your expenses to be?
I
mean to present you at court, as befits my son’s widow, and always providing
that the Queen is healthy enough to hold her Drawing Rooms again this winter.
And nothing will keep me from doing so. As for other things—”

“Such as a house. Carriage. Clothing. Stabling. A voucher
for Almacks Club, if we find a patroness willing to issue one. And a million
other little things. When you tot it up it comes to a sum we cannot afford.”

The Duchess, staring discontentedly into Olivia’s steady
brown eyes, wondered if perhaps, after all these years, she had met her match
in the quiet-spoke woman before her. “If we could find a way that you could
have your Season and not outrun the constable, would you do it?”

Lady John fixed her mother-at-law with a look of
exasperation. “Wouldn’t anyone, ma’am? Show me the gates of heaven: I am as
like as any to walk in.”

“Well, thank heaven for that.” The Duchess leaned back in
her chair, much relieved. “Do please ring for Glessock, will you? More tea, and
a few more of these excellent pastries, I think. And I shall need Fanny, too.”

The tea and pastries arrived some few minutes in advance of
Miss Weedwright, who appeared much flustered by the summons. Ordinarily Miss
Weedwright was accustomed to join her cousin after noon, and to spend the
afternoon easily employed in small duties as required. But Frances Weedwright
as well aware that she was fortunate among ladies’ companions in her easy life,
and lived in constant fear that one day she would be called to account for
duties unasked and therefore undone. “Yes, Cousin Judith?”

“Sit down, Fanny, do, and have some tea,” the Duchess
suggested easily. Olivia, watching the exchange, suspected that the Duchess was
not truly aware of the terror in which her companion held her. Miss Weedwright
sank wordlessly into a chair and sipped meekly at a cup of tea; when the
Duchess urged her to sample the pastries she obediently picked the smallest on
the plate and nibbled on it.

“Fan, you have a cousin or some sort of connection who lives
in London, do you not?”

“Yes, Cousin Judith,” Miss Weedwright squeaked. “My sister’s
husband and his second wife. Mr. Jenafry is a surgeon, but I believe he keeps
his offices elsewhere. They have two of the dearest children, but a trifle noisy,
you know the way that children are. I recall the one time I—”

The Duchess, apparently fearful the explanation would take
up a good part of the morning, broke in. “And did I not hear you say that the
doctor and his family would be from Town this Season?”

“Why, yes, Cousin. Mrs. Jenafry has inherited some property
in Ireland, and they intend to spend the winter and spring there, inspecting
the property and perhaps looking for a buyer for it. Mr. Jenafry is not much
pleased to close his house for such a time, I believe, to say nothing of the
loss to his practice, and I fear that the children, poor things, are not very
good travelers—”

“Quite,” the Duchess, said firmly. “Has your cousin found no
one to take over their house for the winter?”

“Why, no, I believe he had intended to close the house
rather than find a tenant,” Miss Weedwright began again.

“Excellent!” The Duchess crowed. “I wish you will give me
Mr. Jenafry’s direction. I hope to provide him with a tenant very shortly.”

Miss Weedwright, quite overwhelmed by this kindly notice by
her cousin, named an address in Queen Anne’s Street, and was released again to
her own apartments.

Olivia had said nothing through the whole of the interview.
Now she spoke. “Ma’am? ’Tis all very well to find us a house we
could
rent, but that does not settle the question
of how we could pay for it. Not to mention those other expenses—”

“Do not wrinkle your nose at me in that unbecoming style,
wretched child. I have said that I would contrive it, and contrive it I shall.
I propose to offer the Jenafrys passage to Ireland on the
Judith,
and the use of Derhardie Manor, one of
my
properties, near Dublin, should he need it. So
that this doctor brother of Fan’s should be happy to
loan
the Duchess of Tylmath his townhouse for
five months. A very simple thing. As for the rest of your expenses: there are
staff at Catenhaugh who will not be needed whilst we are in Town; all you need
hire are a butler and a cook. I will procure your voucher myself from Emmy
Cowper; she is a friend of mine and has long been intimidated by me. And I
shall make your presentation costume my gift to you; I would have done so had
John returned to London with you, so there is no reason for you to complain of
it. Now, the only expenses I can see are for your butler and cook and your
clothes. And food and drink for your establishment, of course. Will your income
come up to that, do you think?” Somewhat dazed, Olivia replied that she rather thought
it would.

“O, and for stabling, good Lord, child, we have more
carriages and horses and grooms and what not; cannot we share them with you?
And stable them for you? It’s not a matter of ‘sponging,’ as you put it before;
and what a charming expression. Is it one of John’s? I do not mean to be
overbearing, my love, but I have been so looking forward to bringing you and
Bette out, and I shall be crushed if you thwart my plans!” The Duchess assumed
what she supposed to be a crushed sort of expression. Olivia giggled.