Marjorie Farrell (2 page)

“Now, now, you did the best you could, Ellen. Although you are right, Anne did handle her differently. When she was a little girl and very headstrong, Anne was able to stand very firm against her. And she was always able to make me see when I was overbearing. But I am more at fault than you, for I left her to you. But before God, I did not know what else to do,” said the earl, suddenly getting up from behind his desk and running his hand over his eyes. “I could not have lived at Stalbridge without Anne. And managing the estate has never held my interest in the same way as the military. But I left you alone with the responsibilities of a parent, as I abdicated mine. Maybe I should have let her come to Portugal with me when she asked?”

“Oh, no, James. That would have been a shocking upbringing for a young lady.”

“For Celia, perhaps. But maybe Arden needed a little shocking, a little hardship. I know that the army has made me more human,” the earl declared. “But enough crying over spilt milk. I wanted to have the girl settled before I returned to Spain.

“What can we do about it? Do you think it I talk to her and she mends her ways, we can find her a husband?” Personally, Ellen thought nothing could redeem the situation, but she was unwilling to condemn Arden or herself further.

“Perhaps if you talk to her, James, she will see how she appears to others,” she replied hesitantly. “Where is she now?”

“I believe she went shopping with Celia.”

“Then send her to me as soon as she returns.”

Ellen agreed, and left, leaving the earl to prepare himself for the coming interview.

When Arden and Celia returned, they were both hot and tired, and Arden’s first words were to the butler, as she handed him her packages. “The day was much warmer than we thought, Hoskins. Could we have some lemonade sent into the morning room?”

“Your father wanted to see you as soon as you returned, my lady. He is waiting in the library.”

“I’ll go into him as soon as I’ve quenched my thirst,” Arden replied lightly.

“I beg your pardon, my lady, but your father made it very clear that he meant without delay.” Hoskins, who was able to intimidate any footman or parlormaid in the house, always felt like an obsequious fool with Lady Arden whenever she looked at him with one of her eyebrows raised. Although she was shorter than he, he felt she was looking down at him, and his well-developed dignity fell away and he was once again the raw young footman facing her grandfather, the old earl, whose eyebrows were as mobile as hers and whose looks were positively murderous. With Lady Arden, it was the resemblance, not the suggestion of murder, that intimidated, and Hoskins left his encounters with her ready to bully the next servant he met in order to restore his equilibrium.

Arden’s eyebrows had gone up at this rather unusual summons from her father, but she shrugged and told Celia she would be with her shortly and walked slowly toward the library, unconsciously resisting her father’s demand for promptness.

She knocked briskly and her father called her in.

“Thank you, my dear, for coming so promptly. Please sit down.”

Arden seated herself on the leather sofa and waited for the earl to take the chair opposite. Instead, he stood in front of her, his hands behind his back. He had decided to start gently, but was not going to give up the advantage of his height.

“I understand from your aunt that this Season has not been as successful as we had wished?” He decided that a question might work better than a direct accusation.

“I’m not sure what you mean, Father. What has Aunt Ellen said to you?” His daughter looked not at all concerned and quite genuinely puzzled. Whatever else Arden was, she was no liar, and her father knew that it was going to be difficult to reach an understanding if she were truly ignorant of the disaster.

“Ellen has told me that you have earned yourself a title, so perhaps the Season does not seem a failure to you?” The earl could not resist the sarcasm.

“A title? No, I have received no offers.” Arden looked confused, and then laughed. “Oh, you mean the fact that some people call me the Insufferable.”

“So you are aware of it,” the earl asked, surprised by her nonchalance.

“Oh, yes, I could hardly not be. But it means nothing, Father. The
ton
is always categorizing someone. There is, after all, the Golden Ball and Poodle Byng.”

“And now Arden the Insufferable. It does not disturb you?”

“Why should it? I care nothing for the gossips. And it is only jealousy after all.”

“Jealousy of what?”

“My position and wealth, perhaps. I don’t know, but it does not concern me, Father, so it need not concern you.”

“And how many offers have you received since you earned this title?” inquired the earl quietly. Had Arden been an officer under him, she would have been quaking, for the quieter the earl became, the more dangerous.

“Why none, Father. But I am not particularly interested in any of the men I’ve met. In fact, I am not that interested in marriage.”

“What do you propose to do with yourself after the Season is over?”

“Why return to Stalbridge, of course, with Celia and Aunt Ellen. I was hoping that you would come with us. Do you have enough leave for a summer visit?”

The earl ignored her question. “And if Celia receives an offer?”

“She
does
seem to be very friendly with Lord Heronwood, although how that stilt-legged young man could attract anyone, I’m sure I don’t know.” Arden smiled up at her father, expecting him to grin in appreciation of her sally. Instead, his eyebrows were drawn together in a frown, and she was reminded of her childhood view of him as a great raven, staring at her over his beak. Although he is a little more like a magpie now, she thought inconsequentially, with those streaks of white in his hair.

“Yes, Lord Heronwood. A young man known for his kindness to others, his generosity…”

“His fortune,” teased Arden.

“And his shyness.”

“Yes, those attenuated types are often shy,” replied Arden coolly.

“Do you feel no regret for the pain you have caused him and evidently others?”

“Pain, Father?”

“I understand that you made him a laughingstock one evening.”

“Hardly. I did compare him to his namesake. And people laughed, as they usually do. But
ton
gossip is often far crueler than a little mockery. I’ve heard women say things of other women that were untrue. I only elaborated on a physical characteristic.”

“Gossip is indeed cruel and as you say, sometimes untrue. But it is an undercurrent of
ton
life. Only rarely is there public humiliation. And you, my dear, from what I have been told, have become quite expert in skewering someone publicly.”

Arden was beginning to feel a little angry. Here was her father dressing her down for a few entertaining comments. People had laughed, hadn’t they? She was incapable of entering into the feelings of a Lord Heronwood or that squat adolescent she had dubbed “the Frog Prince.” The memory of his cold, moist hand on hers still made her shiver.

“Father, I still think you exaggerate the effect of all this.”

“No, Arden, I do not. You have, it would seem, over the past weeks, effectively ruined yourself.” As his daughter spluttered in protest, he put his hand up to silence her.

“Have you received vouchers for Almack’s?”

“Why, no,” she admitted reluctantly, only to hurry to explain that “Lady Jersey had been planning to send them, she knew, but had most likely forgotten. Now that you are here, I am sure we will receive them.”

“So you have had an effect on Celia’s Season as well.” The earl’s pronouncement lay there between them.

It was the first thing he had said that touched Arden at all. She frowned slightly and the earl was glad that something had moved her. He was beginning to wonder if his daughter had any feeling for others at all.

“Aside from Almack’s, which I had not connected with my reputation at all, I think Celia has had a pleasant start to her Season,” said Arden slowly, as though she were inwardly checking the accuracy of her own statement as she made it. “She is very popular with the young ladies and has attracted a few young men in addition to Heronwood. I am certain she will be entertaining several offers by June.”

“And if she accepts one of them? What will you do then?”

“Return home, as I said, and come back for a second Season next year. Although, unless some dark horse appears, I can’t imagine that next year will produce anyone who would tempt me to the married state.”

“What about your friends in the military?”

“My, you have done your research well, haven’t you, Father?” replied Arden tartly, getting more annoyed that her unexceptionable behavior was being scrutinized. After all, she had not acted in an undignified or immodest way. Had never moved off onto a balcony to allow a stolen kiss. Had never danced with anyone more than twice in one evening. “I have enjoyed the companionship of a few officers, that is true, but they are friends, nothing more. And I have been very careful not to cause a scandal with them or any others. This will blow over and I can start again next spring.”

“I cannot allow that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I cannot allow you to remain in Stalbridge without a companion.”

“But Aunt Ellen would be with me, if not Celia.”

“Your aunt has devoted enough of her life to you, Arden. She will, of course, be welcome anytime, but her presence will be needed by her own daughter, especially if Celia marries.”

“Well, then, I will find another companion,” protested Arden. “Or come with you.”

“My sister has expressed her willingness to help over the years. I chose Ellen because she was your mother’s sister. But I can send you to Millicent and resolve all our problems.”

“Millicent! That dried-up stick of a woman? Why she is a martinet. Boring and overbearing. You dare to accuse me of having no feelings, but your sister… Pardon my frankness, but I know you feel the same. She is a coldhearted, unfeeling woman. And you would have me live with her?”

“I would have you happily married or living with family when I return to the campaign. You cannot come with me. Perhaps I should have let you years ago, but you could not cope with army life now. You do not have the sense of fellow feeling that is needed. I was lucky in my choice of spouse,” the earl continued. “Our whole family has a tendency to arrogance and your mother and my career helped temper mine. Had Millicent married someone other than Somers, perhaps marriage would have tempered hers.”

“I love Ellen and Celia,” broke in Arden, with a catch in her voice. “I hate Millicent.”

The earl smiled. “I am not overly fond of her myself. But I see no alternative.”

“And if I did receive an offer?”

“I would accept the first man who offered for you.” The way things stand, thought the earl, I would accept the first man who walked through my door.

Captain Gareth Richmond looked at himself in the long pier glass and gave a half-serious, half-humorous groan. He had arrived in London the day before after a long, tiring journey from Portugal, only to find that his luggage, limited as it was, had not arrived with him. The only things he had when he arrived at the hotel were the clothes on his back and the letters and dispatches he was carrying from Wellington to the War Office. And the clothes on his back were travel-stained and smelled like the fishing vessel he had sailed on. The hotel manager had been able to provide him with a clean shirt, but the buttons strained across his chest and his choice was to have small gaps revealing tanned flesh, in order to show some sense of cleanliness, or to keep his coat buttoned up and look as dirty as he truly was.

Of course he would be able to purchase new clothes, but his first stop in London, which must be made immediately, were to the War Office and to the home of his superior officer, James Huntly, the Earl of Stalbridge. The Beak will understand, he thought, but those desk soldiers in Whitehall will be shocked. Most of them have been on nothing more uncomfortable than a chair for the last few years.

At least he had been able to wash. He grinned at the dirty bar of soap floating in a basin of brown water. He rubbed his face ruefully, however. He had not shaved for several days, and looked like a ruffian with his dark stubble of beard. But he had fallen in bed last night almost immediately after his arrival and slept right through the awakening knock he had requested. His errands were urgent, and now he had not the time to shave, much less visit a barber. He could only hope that he would meet no one he knew until he had a chance to restore his appearance.

If he had been taller and leaner and finer featured, he might have passed for a gentleman worse the wear from a night of cards, drinking and whoring. As it was, he did look like a ruffian. He was not a short man, nor a heavy one, but his shoulders and chest were as broad as a laborer’s and his thighs thick with muscle. He had an average face, with blunt features, saved from the ordinary by bright blue eyes set off by skin darkened from his years on The Peninsula. His hair grew in short curls. No fashionable hairdos were possible for him. If he let his hair grow at all, it grew into a wild tangle, so he kept it close-cropped. He was wont to tease his mother that her tendency to eat, breathe, and sleep sheep-breeding, had resulted in his ‘fleece.’ “After all, my lady Mother,” he would tease, “if seeing a fire when increasing may cause a woman to give birth to a child with a red mark, then perhaps being around sheep leads to this” and he would offer his curls for the next shearing.

* * * *

Gareth was aware several times on his way to the War Office that people moved out of his way. Not obviously. But peddlers did not approach him and dandies on the way home from a late night suddenly found something interesting in the nearest shop window, in order to let him pass. And when he reached Whitehall, he had a difficult time getting past the reception clerk, until he started threatening to report the man, and showed the official seals on his dispatches. He finished his business quickly, eager to get the second part of his errand over with, and knowing that at least he would receive a warm welcome from the earl. Although if my letters are what I think they are, he will not, after all, be so glad to see me. For Gareth was sure that the earl was about to be called back to Portugal to take part in Wellington’s new offensive. And when he hears I have sold out, I know he will be even more upset.