Tea and Scandal (10 page)

“
Family gatherings are usually horrid, one way or the other,
”
he said, and smiled ruefully at the memory of large family gatherings he had attended.

“
Really?
”
She frowned to consider this.
“
I always regretted having so few relatives. My friends used to have their houses bulging at Christmas, with aunts and cousins and I don
’
t know what all. At home there was just Papa and myself. I don
’
t remember Mama at all. She died when I was born.
”

Fenwick murmured some sympathetic sound. He was thinking that if Pargeter had put his by-blow up for adoption, he would not have left her with a widower. He would have put her in a home with a mother.

“
Family parties combine the worst of all worlds,
”
he said.
“
Intimacy and familiarity without the civility we accord to outsiders. You will see what I mean at Phoebe
’
s dinner party.
”

“
That doesn
’
t encourage me to urge Auntie to attend.
”
Yet she wanted to go. Fenwick and Swann would be there.
“
Swann will make it a pleasant evening,
”
she said.

Fenwick felt a jolt of annoyance. “Fenwick will also do his poor best to make the evening pleasant,
”
he said. Then he took her hand and continued the walk.

First she had repelled his offer of friendship, and now she had compared him unfavorably to Swann. Why was Miss Lonsdale immune to him? The little puzzle gnawed at him after he had seen her home. Miss Lonsdale was certainly different from the other ladies he met. She was more provincial, with virtually no experience of gentlemen. He was not unduly conceited, but experience told him she ought to be bowled over by his wealth and title, if not his person. Yet she preferred Scawen Swann. It was a baffling situation.

Having decided there was no scandal in Miss Lonsdale’s past—she was a vicar’s daughter who had got her position at Miss Prism’s through ecclesiastical connections—he was now faced with another mystery. Why did a pretty young lady not throw her bonnet at the most eligible gentleman she had ever met? Had she no ambition to better herself? Her aunt’s success must have shown her such a thing was possible. Had she no romance in her soul? Impossible! She might have stepped right out of one of those novels ladies read: a poor, beautiful orphan, working for a living. Why didn’t she recognize her hero when he was right under her nose?

When Jane returned to Wildercliffe, Lady Pargeter informed her of Lord Malton
’
s call.

“
He behaved just like his old self, as friendly as can stare,
”
Fay said.
“
It was not Lady Sykes
’
s interference that has kept him away, but age and indolence. It was good to see the old rogue again. He promised he would come back soon. I doubt he will come, but at least I know he is on my side. And how was your outing, Jane?
”

“
Wilkie attacked us,
”
she said, and told the story of the cob.

“
Nasty things, swans. I cannot imagine why all the world admires them so. One of them made a flying start at me the last time I went down to the lake for a stroll. It frightened the life out of me. You and Scawen get along well, do you?
”
she asked, and looked sharply for a reaction.

Everyone liked Swann. It had occurred to Lady Pargeter even before sending for her niece that Jane might like him well enough to marry him. It would be nice to have Jane living close by. It was even nicer to have her at Wildercliffe, but she must not be selfish. Jane was young, and should look out for her future. Fay would not live forever.

“I like him very much. He’s so foolish, and so easy to talk to. I never feel uncomfortable with him, as I do with Lord Fenwick.
”

“
Oh, Fenwick! He
’
s a handsome rogue, but I wouldn
’
t waste any time throwing my hankie at him. All the fine ladies are after Fenwick. That would be looking a good deal too high.
”

Jane colored up briskly.
“
I have no intention of throwing my bonnet at him. Such a thought never entered my head.
”
Yet she felt guilty. It was impossible to meet someone like Lord Fenwick and not at least wonder what it would be like to be a part of his world. To change the subject, she mentioned that Lady Sykes was planning to invite them to a dinner party.

This news was received with disbelief, tinged with suspicion.
“
It
’
s a hoax. If she is inviting me to dinner, it is only in the hope of poisoning me.
”

“
I think it
’
s an olive branch, Aunt Fay. You want to reestablish yourself in the neighborhood. Why refuse this first offer?
”

“
I
’
d like to know what the shrew is up to,
”
Lady Pargeter said.
“
First calling, now asking us to dinner. That is one gift horse whose mouth I shall examine thoroughly before accepting. She couldn
’
t have known of Malton
’
s call so soon.
”

“
You mentioned inviting the folks from Swann Hall to dinner. No doubt Lady Sykes had a similar idea.
”

“
I shall go, and I shall wear the Pargeter diamonds to rile her,
”
she said, and laughed spitefully.

Jane began to see that family parties could be every bit as disconcerting as Fenwick had said.

In the afternoon Lady Pargeter had another nap. Jane donned an ill-fitting riding habit five years old and went to the stable to see if there was a suitable mount. She was not a very experienced rider, but she enjoyed the sport. The groom recommended Brownie, a middle-aged bay mare of mild disposition, and accompanied her on a ride about the estate to familiarize her with the animal. She enjoyed her outing immensely, and thought that if Fenwick happened to invite her out riding, she could now acquit herself without shame.

When she returned, Fay was having an early tea with Lord Malton, who had been to see his man of business in Bibury, and brought her the latest journals. The two of them were obviously on friendly terms. In fact, Lord Malton
’
s behavior was not an inch short of flirtation. He seemed unhappy with Jane
’
s return, and left almost at once.

“
Your new beau is wasting no time,
”
Jane said.

“
He
’
s lonesome, as I was myself, before you came,
”
Fay replied.

“
All this eating and no exercise!
”
Jane scolded when she saw the cold mutton and bread, the plum cake and other dainties spread out.
“
Tomorrow you and I are going for a long walk in the park.
”
Then, after scolding her aunt, she partook of a substantial tea herself. The teas at Miss Prism
’
s had been parsimonious in the extreme. And besides, her ride had whetted her appetite.

The remainder of the afternoon passed quietly. Jane found some old fashion magazines and looked through them for a pattern for a riding habit. With her new salary, she could afford to splurge. It was not the undemanding Swann she had in mind when she chose her pattern and mentally selected a royal blue serge for the material. It was Lord Fenwick. She shook away the thought. Fenwick wouldn
’
t even be here by the time the habit was made up. He would be continuing to his hunting box any day now, thence back to London, or Brighton, or to his estate.

The ladies dressed for dinner, which reminded Jane she would also have to have a few evening gowns made up. She would not choose black, but subdued colors that honored Lord Pargeter
’
s passing without actually going into mourning for this gentleman she had met only once.

When the door knocker sounded at eight-thirty, she was sitting with her aunt, discussing her new gowns. Fay had not begrudged the cost of mourning, and she had not settled for bombazine either. She wore a black crape gown and again the pearls. Jane wore a modest navy lutestring gown that was used on those rare occasions when evening wear was required at Miss Prism’s. Miss Grundy herself could have found no fault in its neckline, which revealed no more than the clavicle. The sleeves came to just below the elbow. Miss Prism did not approve of her schoolmistresses flaunting their charms. She insisted they all wear similar navy gowns and identical white muslin caps. The outfits robbed them of their individuality.

Both ladies looked lively at the sound of masculine voices from the hall. Broome soon appeared at the doorway to announce Lord Fenwick, Messrs. Swann and Gurney. Gurney made a dash toward Lady Pargeter and the wine decanter. Jane, in a turbulence of happy confusion, was left to entertain the younger gentlemen. She felt her eyes turning more than once to admire Lord Fenwick’s elegant black evening suit. A diamond of just the right size, neither ostentatiously large nor meagerly small, twinkled in the folds of his immaculate cravat. She tore her eyes away to examine Scawen, who looked, as usual, like an unmade bed. The black of his jacket was liberally sprinkled with dust. His cowlick rose like a jay
’
s crest at the back of his head. He had nicked his chin while shaving, and not bothered to remove the daub of powder he had put on to stanch the flow of blood.

It was Swann who delivered the dinner invitations. Lady Sykes, always a high stickler for the proprieties, had written up separate cards for the two ladies. Jane read hers and looked to her aunt for guidance.

“
Thank you, Scawen,
”
Lady Pargeter said, setting the card aside.
“
It happens Jane and I are free tomorrow evening. We shall be happy to attend.
”

“
Not really a party,
”
Scawen said apologetically.
“
Just ourselves and one or two neighbors.
”

“
Then we need not write a formal reply. You will tell Lady Sykes.
”

“
Told her she need not write cards. But that is Phoebe all over. She actually enjoys writing cards and letters.
”
He shook his head in wonder, his cowlick wobbling.

Jane girded herself to do the pretty by her guests.
“
Did you arrange with your gardener to put extra food out for the swans?
”
she asked Scawen.

“I did, and they went at it as if they were starving, poor souls. It is as Fenwick said, the large flock ate up all the water plants. Now that we are down to the smaller number, the plants will grow back. The lake can
’
t accommodate two dozen. I aim at one dozen even. Once the grass grows back, I shall buy a pair of black swans.
”

The swans having been discussed, she rooted around for something to say to Fenwick. Her life at Bath had been so narrow that she couldn’t think of a thing. She did not attend plays or balls, routs or concerts. She knew none of his friends. He wouldn’t be interested to hear Miss Prism was raising her charge to parents, but not raising her teachers’ salaries accordingly. That and Fortini’s unwanted advances had been the main items of interest in her life for the past month. After ten minutes’ uneasy conversation about how she was enjoying life in the country, Lord Fenwick came to the rescue.

“
Do you play the pianoforte, Miss Lonsdale?
”
he asked.

“
A little. I
’
m a bit rusty, I fear.
”

“
Then you didn
’
t teach music at Miss Prism
’
s?
”

“
No, we had a music master who came in twice a week,
”
she said. Her eyes glittered and a light flush suffused her cheeks at the mention of Fortini.

Fenwick noticed her animation, and wondered at it. Had there been a romance between the two?
“
I expect the music master caused quite a flurry in the dovecote,
”
he said.

“
No! Why do you say that?
”
she asked in alarm.

“
They have a reputation that way. Did I touch a nerve?
”
he asked archly.

“
No, not at all,
”
she said firmly, but the color in her cheeks heightened noticeably.

“If you’d care to give the piano a try, Fenwick and me will sing,” Scawen said. “I know all the words to ‘Green Grow the Rushes, Ho’ and the chorus of ‘The Maid of Lodi.
’
Mind you, my pipes are a bit rusty as well, but I
’
m game to give her a try.
”

Jane cast a grateful little smile on her rescuer and rose at once. They went to the Music Room, a stately chamber that held a hundred seats arranged as in a theater. The walls were embossed and the ceiling was painted to resemble the sky, with cherubs frolicking amidst the clouds. The pianoforte sat on a raised platform. The late Lord Pargeter had enjoyed music, and often held musical soirees. There were also a clavichord and two harps on the platform.

“
This is rather intimidating,
”
Jane said, gazing around at the large room as she took her place at the piano bench.

“
At least there
’
s no one but ourselves to hear if we hit a sour note,
”
Swann said.

Jane played a few tunes and the gentlemen sang. She enjoyed Fenwick
’
s firm baritone. Swann sang surprisingly well, too, but the interlude was strained. Her playing was indeed rusty, and with Fenwick standing at her shoulder, her fingers refused to behave themselves. It was not a room for intimate music. The notes seemed to echo like ghosts from the high rafters and bounce mischievously from the walls and windows.