An Unmarried Lady Page 4

  “Papa, you are a complete hand! What can you be you planning now?”

  “My dear Elaine, I have given over to you the running of my estates, the management of this household, the rearing of my younger daughter, and even the care of my own body. You’ve taken charge over my servants, inhabited my office and my library, and emptied my stables and my kennel. Will you not leave me something to do for you and your sister?” There was a twinkle in his eye, but Elaine could not help but note with dismay the seriousness underlying his words.

  “Oh Papa! Am I such a managing female as that?”

  “Oh, no, my sweet, for you have only done what was required and indeed what I asked of you. You are a good girl and an excellent daughter besides being much superior to me in the understanding of economy and wise management. But believe me, my knowledge of Society is superior to yours, and we have been given an opportunity that I will not allow to go to waste. I promise you that this time I shall go beyond mere intentions and shall at last do my duty by my girls and see you both comfortably established.”

  Beyond that he would say no more, and at last Elaine took up the contract and, shaking her head, went in search of Chudleigh. Once that duty was taken care of she sought out her sister, finding her at work cutting a filmy cream-colored tulle taken from one of their mother’s old gowns.

  “Look how smoothly the fabric falls, Elaine. This will be perfect for an overdress for my gown of white lawn, and the cream will suit my complexion much better than the pure white. And look, the antique lace from that fine old gold peignoir can be used to good effect at the neckline and perhaps also at the hem.”

  Elaine admired her sister’s skills, saying, “No one can cut out a fashion better than you do my dear. Your eye for such things is perfect. I wonder if we could not just dot the lace here and there with the pearls that we took from Mama’s green velvet cloak.”

  “Oh, Elaine, you are a darling! That will be exactly the thing. I shall look wonderfully in it, shall I not?”

  “Yes, my dear.” Elaine hesitated and then spoke again. “Anne, my dear will you sit down for a moment and hear me out?”

  Anne complied and Elaine began slowly. “Although I have not taken time to share with you the specific problems that we have faced in bringing Lynnfield into a healthier condition, you cannot have missed the fact that we are living most economically and that our resources are at best very slim.”

  “Oh, Elaine. Please do not say I cannot have my Season! When I have already agreed to go in our mother’s made-over cast-offs and homemade gowns!”

  “No, my dear, it is not that, but I am at a loss as to how we will contrive to purchase your Court dress for the Queens’ Drawing Room and am wondering if we might take a look at how we might remake my old one into a splendid new gown for your presentation.”

  “Oh, am I to wear your cast-offs for the Queen? Elaine, it will not do. How shall I ever hold up my head when people recognize your old gown?”

  “No, how can you believe they will remember what I wore so many years ago, and after we have done with it, it will look nothing at all like my old gown.”

  “I had as lief not go to Court at all as to wear a hand-me-down!”

  “Well, I should be very sorry to see it come to that.”

  “Elaine, you would not, you could not mean me to miss my presentation to the Queen!”

  Elaine sighed and shook her head. “No dearest, somehow we will contrive.” She took herself off to the library, where Libby found her some hours later pulling some rather dusty volumes from the shelves and sorting them into piles.

  “Why whatever are you about, Elaine?” she inquired.

  “I am trying to decide which of these old friends I can bear to part with.”

  “You mean to sell your father’s books?”

  “Well, you are right, they are my father’s books, but what else have we left to sell? I have been contemplating this for some time now. The best of our furniture and the china and silver went long ago. We have already emptied the stables and the kennels. And though every penny has gone back into the estate, still our income is not sufficient to buy dear Anne her Court dress. So needs must we part with a few of these books. Come help me, dear Libby. That group contains books of sermons, which I think I will scarcely grieve, and although he has recently taken a turn towards contemplation, I do think Papa might not mind our selling those. This pile here is dedicated to Geography and Travel, and I am determined not to sell those unless we have no other recourse. Family histories, of course, we may not sell, and over there we have Philosophy and Poetry, another group with which I am loathe to part. There are a great number of works in Latin and Greek, only a few of which I have taken the time to study, and I fear we must part with most of those if Papa will only permit it.”

  Which Mr. Howard, when appealed to, most decidedly refused to do. “Put those books back on their shelves, my girl. I will not allow you to dispose of the one pleasure left to you.”

  “But Papa, how are we to contrive? You know that Anne must have her Court dress.”

  “And you, too, my dear, for I am determined that you shall have your second Season, and I’ll not have you in rags or makeovers. Now stop this nonsense and put a little trust in your father. For I have a splendid scheme in mind. And don’t tell me you will not leave me, for you know very well that your good Miss Miles and Mrs. Fraidy between them can keep me comfortable for a few months, and the good Doctor Tinsley will I’m sure continue to come by to see me several times each week. You know, my dear, London is not so far after all that you cannot come back here once in a while to see for yourself that I am quite well looked after. Now go away and let me rest. I have had quite a busy morning. There will be time enough later to sell off only those books which neither one of us want. For now I beg you to put this notion to rest. Give me but a few weeks, and I will show you what can be done.”

  With that she had to be content, for he would tell her no more.

  CHAPTER THREE: In which Miss Howard has a Surfeit of Suitors.

  In any event it was considerably less than a week before Mr. Howard’s correspondence began to bear fruit. Elaine was out in the gig, visiting the home of one of their tenants whose son, one of the young scholars in her Dower House schoolroom, had fallen into one of the new ditches and was suffering much pain from a sprained ankle and badly bruised arm, so it was Anne and her father who received a caller who had ridden out from London in a curricle and pair for the sole purpose of leaving his card. After some fifteen minutes’ conversation, the young man retired, expressing his intention of putting up at the Inn of the Green Oak, which was situated just a few miles away in the hamlet of Dunnswood, and of calling again in the morning when he hoped to find Miss Howard at home.

  Elaine returned a half an hour later to find her sister quite awed by the sartorial grandeur of their visitor. A look at the card that the gentleman had left sent Elaine first into a brief struggle with an impulse to fall into a state of the giggles and then, with a much sterner countenance, into the Green Parlor to confront her father, Anne following close at her heels. She laid the gentleman’s card on the table in front of him and stepped back.

  “Is this the fruit of your scheming, Papa? Lord Lindon is the ‘opportunity’ you seek for me?”

  “Well hardly that, my dear, but you know word of your good fortune must have got out eventually, and we cannot avoid the consequences of that.”

  “With the resulting enrichment of the proprietor of the Green Oak and the village of Dunnswood,” he laughed. “Well, my dear, you shall soon send the likes of Lord Lindon on their way I have no doubt.”

  “And what is to be gained from that but a lot of wasted time and energy I know not.”

  “Well,” he said thoughtfully, “I am not sure, but perhaps by the time you make your way to London next spring, those gentlemen on the look for a likely heiress will have become so thoroughly discouraged that you will be able to enjoy your Season free from their importunities.”<
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  “You can be sure that it will not be my fault if they are not discouraged,” Elaine replied. “Most especially those with a tendency to corpulence who will insist upon wearing a green-striped waistcoat!”

  “And white tops with gold tassels on his boots,” chortled Anne. “And collar points up to his cheek bones and a neckcloth all tied up around his short neck into such a mass of pleats and ruffles that the poor young man’s chin was propped up so high that he could scarcely see aught but the ceiling!”

  Elaine grinned. “I collect that Lord Lindon is experimenting with the ‘Waterfall’. He considers himself to be quite a Pink of the Ton, you know. I only wish I had been here to see it!”

  “Doubtless that treat awaits you,” her father promised with a broad smile, “for I believe the young man said he would return on the morrow.”

  “I wish I knew what you were about, sir.” Elaine responded on a more somber note. “I collect that my Aunt Katherine has been busying herself, spreading our news ever since her receipt of your letter. I wonder what other persons you have put to work, and to what purpose.”

  But her father only shook his head, so Elaine and Anne took themselves off to busy their hands with the fashioning of still more gowns for the coming Season. Libby, and Mary as well, joined them in their labors and the rest of the afternoon was spent in companionable work and humorous speculations.

  The next day brought not only Lord Lindon, but also two other hopeful suitors, and the days that followed brought others, though not many of these could compete with the dashing Lord Lindon’s sartorial excesses. These gentlemen were all received in the Blue Drawing Room, which was the only room currently kept in a condition suitable for such purposes. It was a little too large to be truly comfortable, but it held the best of Linnfield Manor’s remaining furniture, those few pieces which Mr. Howard had been unwilling to part with, or for which no buyer had been found. The result was a kind of hodgepodge of varying styles of furnishings, that, thanks to Elaine and Mrs. Fraidy’s careful arrangement still managed to convey a degree of intentionality that bespoke (Elaine hoped) perhaps originality of taste rather than the incipient poverty which more accurately lay behind it. No where in the room could be found any article of furnishing or décor which justified its appellation, for it been named the ‘Blue’ Drawing Room in a previous incarnation when, more than a century before, the walls had been covered with a fine fabric of figured blue silk and the furnishings had all been upholstered in a like color. In its present state, no one color or theme predominated, though perhaps there was more russet than any other color, with varying green accents, giving the room a soft autumnal flavor that quite suited the season.

  In addition to those callers whose interest was clearly piqued by rumors of a fortune to be had, a few less mercenary minded gentlemen also came to wait upon the sisters, including one at least whom Elaine had counted an honest friend during her First Season. Sir Edmond Pace was a notable Corinthian and sporting man of some twenty-eight years, who arrived in a high perch phaeton pulled by a beautifully matched pair of greys.

  “Oh, not you, too, Edmund. I had hoped to be spared this at least!” exclaimed Elaine when he was ushered in. She jumped up from where she and Anne had been sitting with Libby, attempting to finish some embroidery and other fine handwork while waiting for their usual assortment of morning callers.

  “Abominable girl! Is this how you greet an old friend?” Sir Edmund laughed and took her outstretched hands in his. “How could I stay away when I knew you to be under siege? I have come to assist you in chasing the riff-raff away.”

  Elaine introduced him to her sister and companion and smiled fondly at him as he seated himself across from her. “My knight in shining armor! Oh Edmund, I have indeed been besieged. I can scarce credit my new attraction for old, often very tenuous acquaintances. New suitors arrive every day and with the flimsiest of excuses for calling upon me. You would think that the distance would discourage them, but I have been offered newspapers containing the most dismal news, which individuals with whom I have previously had no more than a nodding acquaintance have deemed it imperative to bring to me at once, knowing, they say, how partial I am to the latest on dits about our royal family. I trust I am quite happy to hear that the latest news from the Spanish front is hopeful and I am always ready to hear news of old friends, but you know I have never been partial to gossiping about people that I have never met. So I sincerely hope, my dear Edmund, that you have not brought me another copy of the Morning Post or some pamphlet deriding the nocturnal pastimes of members of parliament.”

  “I bring rather a book from my sister that she assures me will amuse you greatly even though it is a work of fiction and not, I think, your usual meat. It is called Pride and Prejudice and is the latest work by its author, who is, I understand, a lady of quality. Perhaps your sister might find it to her liking.” And he smiled at Anne.

  Elaine thanked him and placed the book on a side table beside her discarded embroidery.

  “As for on dits,” Edmund continued, “you cannot be unaware that you yourself are the latest on dit, for there is little else talked about in Town this week. I hear that we are to see both you and your sister in London for the Season this spring. Can this be true after such a long absence? Dare I hope that this means your father’s health is improving at last?”

  “Alas, it does not. My father’s health continues to fail, though his temperament remains as optimistic as ever. This rush of callers has been a sad trial for him, and he has been unable to bestir himself to receive visitors. Indeed, he did try at first, but was so exhausted after no more than half an hour that I sent him away to his own cozy parlor where he can rest quietly.”

  She poured him out a cup of tea and then continued. “Certainly Anne will have her Season this spring, but do not look for me. My father wishes me to go, but I am reluctant to entertain such a scheme. Perhaps I shall allow myself to be persuaded to venture into Town for a fortnight some time during the Season, but I am unlikely to stay longer than that.”

  “What? How then will you find yourself a husband, my dear?”

  “Oh, I don’t look for a husband, Edmund. No more now than before.” She shook her head in mock despair. “This is all such a piece of nonsense! I can’t imagine what can have possessed my Great Aunt to create such a stir in this manner.”

  Sir Edmund let out a shout of laughter, almost oversetting his tea cup. “No, but you are the one creating a stir! Can it be that even a fortune such as this will not tempt you to matrimony?”

  “And well you know that I was never inclined to marry for money. Why should I let this unfortunate circumstance overset all my plans?”

  “Only you, my dear friend, would consider this an ‘unfortunate circumstance’. I perceive now that the on dits are true in every particular. Oh what a famous Season this is going to be! I would not miss it for all the world.”

  “I must hope that by spring the story will have the advantage of being quite old and uninteresting news,” Elaine said. “I would not have this circumstance shadow Anne’s debut in any way. I was at first quite cross with my father and my Aunt Katherine for putting the story about, but I am beginning to see that there is some considerable wisdom in what my father has done. But now, Edmund, you must tell me the news. How is my dearest Alicia? How kind of her to send me a book. I promise you I shall take a close look at it. She writes to me that she is increasing and I am to become a godmama. Is she indeed as well as she claims?”

  Edmond relaxed slightly into his chair so that while his posture remained exquisitely and correctly erect, he nevertheless gave every appearance of experiencing great comfort and ease. “Alicia is in excellent spirits and grows quite fat. I come bearing her felicitations on your good fortune and her most insistent request for you to go to visit her immediately you come to Town. She and my brother-in-law Harry are quite cozy in a little house just off St. James’s Square which they have decorated in a most charming style. His career is sho
wing much promise and we expect to read about him in the press any day now, for you know once you enter the world of Politicks you become a target for all the journalists and pamphleteers.”

  Elaine smiled. “How wonderful to know they are getting on so well. Will you please give Alicia my love and tell her that I shall be certain to call upon her?”

  “Of course, and you must bring your charming little sister as well, for I know Alicia will be very pleased to count her as a friend. Are you looking forward to your Season, Miss Anne?

  Anne blushed only a little and answered simply that indeed she was. Sir Edmund was a gentleman of considerable address, and Elaine was pleased to note that he took the time to draw her sister, and Libby as well, into the conversation, making allowance for the younger girl’s initial shyness and the governess’s quiet reserve, and including them in such an easy manner that neither one felt either slighted or pressed to contribute more to the conversation than felt entirely comfortable.

  Elaine smiled her approval at him and asked for more news from Town. “Is it true what they tell me, that young Gerald Burton has bought a set of colors at last and is on his way to America? I would not have believed his doting father would ever give his consent.”

  “I believe his doting parent grew extremely weary of the young idiot’s constant habit of falling hopelessly in love and making a cake of himself over one beautiful female after another.”

  “You disillusion me, sir,” Elaine protested. “Here I was thinking I had ruined all his hopes forever and that he was doomed to enter upon a lifetime blighted by cynicism and regret just like his hero, Lord Byron.”

  “Oh, that lasted for at least three weeks after you left town, but then he actually met Lord Byron and took him in great dislike. Just imagine, my dear. Your disillusionment can be nothing compared to his. However he recovered his balance soon enough and next was seen ardently following one of the lovely Misses Edgewood about. I’m sure if you put your mind to it you will find that you can recover nearly as quickly as he did.”