Beginning, Previous Section, Section IV, Next Section
Posted on Saturday, 20 March 2004
Upon reaching the house, I found Flora waiting in the foyer, along with six other people in uniform. I smiled hesitantly at the assemblage, wondering if I were expected to do something like do a somersault or juggle the three chairs that were sitting idly against the wall. I really hoped not, because at best I could probably only juggle two...
“You must be Miss Bennet,” said an older woman in the garb of a housekeeper. When I nodded, she smiled broadly and with a curtsy said, “Well, I’m Mrs. Kerseymore, the housekeeper here at Landrey Manor. But you can call me Mrs. K.”
“It is very nice to meet you, Mrs. K,” I said, already taking a strong liking to this cheery, apple-cheeked woman.
“This here is my husband, Mr. K; he serves as the butler around here, along with a million other things. And this here is our daughter, Sally, who does a lot of the maid work around here; and then our son, Jasper, who works out in the stables. And then there’s Mr. Harvey, the groundskeeper, but you won’t be seeing him until tomorrow, at the earliest, as he only comes in during the day.”
I smiled at these three she introduced and acknowledged their curtsies and bows, then turned to the other gentleman standing in the hallway. He approached at my inquisitive look, one hand outstretched. “Good evening, Miss Bennet, I’m Andrew Jacobs, your new man-of-affairs. Mr. Goodwell hired me.”
“Of course!” I cried, taking his hand and shaking it eagerly. “It is very good to meet you at last. Mr. Goodwell told me about you the last time I met with him in London. I do have a few things I would like to discuss with you, things relating to this estate, and so I would appreciate it if we can schedule an appointment for sometime in these next few days to go over them. Tomorrow? Perhaps around ten?”
He agreed readily, and so I turned back to Mrs. K and said, “I don’t think I shall wish a tour of the house tonight. I’m all for retiring early, I’m afraid, as the trip here was a long and tiring one. So if you would be so kind as to show me my room I shall be grateful. I shall also want a bath called and a dinner tray sent up, as well.”
“Of course,” she replied with another smile. “I’ll just show you up to your rooms now. Jasper can bring up your trunks.”
And so I was led up to a beautiful, luxurious yet cozy-looking room Mrs. K said was a part of the Master suite. “These here were old Lady Havermill’s rooms back when it was in that family. Since then only the Master bedroom has been used. It was nice to throw back the old covers and air this one out, though. Through that door there,” she said, pointing to a door on one side of the room, “there’s a dressing room and the bathing tub and such. And on the other side of that room is the Master’s bedroom. And then through that door,” she said, pointing to a door on the opposite side of the room, “is the sitting room. It has a lovely sofa that was just purchased new a number of years ago when old Lady Symington came through here. She didn’t stay at all, just remodeled a bit. The old antique writing desk is still in there, though. That didn’t change.”
I nodded and thanked her, and she said she would send Sally up with the hot water shortly, and then later with the dinner tray. “And will that be all?”
I merely asked that breakfast be set for eight the next morning, and then at nine I would like a tour of the house.
And so it was done. I had four restful nights, sleeping straight through until morning, and during the three days I was at Landrey Manor, I was always busy at something. I spent a lot of the time riding the estate, whether for a morning ride or on a tour to examining this or that aspect of the many acres of land that I now owned.
The house itself, I found, was quite beautiful. Mrs. K had taken me on the promised tour that first day shortly after breakfast, which had been preceded by my morning ride on Lysander, who I had brought with me from London. She showed me through each of the floors and we toured the rooms, most of which were still under Holland covers.
We visited the gallery, where a great number of paintings hung on the walls, portraits of former owners of the house or ancestors of said owners. Mrs. K knew them all, and rattled off their names like it was nothing. She even had a story to accompany each one. At the very end, though, we came to a portrait of a young man that looked very familiar.
“This, Miss, is Lord Peter” Mrs. K said with a fond smile. “I imagine you met him when you purchased the estate. It was sad to see him go, but needs must when the devil drives, I suppose. And we all believe you’ll be a wonderful mistress, as well.”
I thanked her absently as I continued to gaze at the portrait. It was extremely well done, the colors striking and the technique nearly flawless. He was standing in front of a lake where a few swans glided in the background, leaning negligently against a tree. He gazed down from the plane of the painting with an expression of seeming barely concealed amusement, his whole posture hinting at his willingness to...play. Yes, that was the right word--play. In the painting, Lord Peter looked extremely playful and happy. Something I hadn’t seen of him in London.
“That painting was done a few years ago” Mrs. K continued. “A Sir Thomas Lawrence, I believe it was, came to the Manor on the request of Lord Peter’s parents to have his portrait done for the gallery at Symington Grange. But the earl was very dissatisfied with the finished product, I believe, and ended commissioning another by a different artist. That one was done at the Grange and is hung there, if I recall rightly. But this one, Lord Peter was actually quite fond of it and had it hung here.”
I nodded, saying that it was an excellent work, and we moved on. In the hallway just outside the gallery, though, Mrs. K stopped me and gestured towards a pair of paintings on the wall that showed scenes of Landrey Manor--one depicting the lake with the folly in the background, and the other, a view of the hill I had stood on the previous evening. I stepped closer, looking with shock at the sight of a girl in drab grey sitting on the top of the hill. The figure was very small, and no identifying marks could indicate a particular person, but I knew, I just knew that it was me.
“These were both done by Lord Peter. He’s quite a good artist, himself. He did a number of other paintings of the manor, and some of the places around the estate, too. Some of them you can find around the rest of the house, here, and others were given away to close friends. This one,” she said, indicating the painting of the figure on a hill, “I always liked the best. There’s something about that person, there on that rise. She seems so lonely. I once asked Lord Peter who it was, but he said that it was merely something he had dreamed up one morning. Still, she just seems so real, there, doesn’t she?”
There just wasn’t a good response to that. So we continued on our tour.
On the ground floor was a library, complete with shelves and shelves of books. When I asked Mrs. K why the previous owner had not taken those away, she laughed. “Take the books away, Miss! Why, these books have been with the estate since old Lord Havermill bought them. They don’t mean much to anybody more’n something to look at. These books made him look like someone of learning. It didn’t matter much that he’d never read a single page of ‘em.”
She laughed again, and I found myself joining in. As much as it seemed an anathema to me that someone could buy a room full of books just for the sake of owning them, knowing as much as I did about the falseness of society I could see it easily to be true. I was the exact opposite of most of these dilettantes, these fools of fortune and status; whereas they were lying to cover a lack, I was lying to cover an excess.
I did wonder, for a moment, why Lord Peter had not done something with the library, though. But then I realized that Landrey Manor, he had said, was not his only estate. And with the added estates of the earldom itself and his rooms in London, he would have his choice of places to house any books he might own. Plus, I can imagine that any books he did own he would have cleared out before he sold the place.
”Now, Lord Peter, here,” Mrs. K said suddenly, drawing my attention as she picked up a book that was lying on a side-table and, dusting it off with the edge of her apron, slid it into a space left on one shelf, “he was always one to add to the collection. Many of the books on that side of the room,” she said, pointing toward a set of shelves near the window, “those he purchased himself. But when he was packing up, he said to me, ‘Mrs. K,’ he said, ‘I think I’ll leave these for the next owner. I have copies of them in London, anyway.’ And so he did, Miss.”
I grinned, realizing that Mrs. K had just answered my unasked question, and said, “That was very kind of him.”
“Oh, of course it was,” the housekeeper said with a jiggly sort of laugh. “Lord Peter was one of the kindest gentlemen we’ve ever had here at the Manor. At least in my time. And I’ve been around a number of years. He always spent a lot of time here, during the year. Said he didn’t like Town much; only went when his mother dragged him there to try and find him a wife. He used to laugh about that, Miss, saying how he wasn’t ever going to be able to find a wife in London, not with his mother breathing down his neck. Also said that if he ever wanted a wife, she’d have to be just as sweet, funny, and beautiful as me, which of course always made me laugh. Lord Peter was quite the joker, he was.”
I smiled and nodded, and we made our way out of that room into the next. We visited the ballroom and the conservatory and the main dining hall and then finally the music room, in which stood a beautiful black Cristofori-style piano. I went over to that instrument immediately and, sitting down, rested my fingers on the keys. “This is beautiful, Mrs. K! And fairly new-looking, too,” I added in some puzzlement. “How long has this been at the manor?”
She furrowed her brow a moment in thought. “Only a little while; six years, if I remember correctly.”
I played a few notes, listening to the resonating sound. “It is in perfect tune.”
“Oh, yes. Lord Peter always had someone come through every year to keep it in tune. He was very fond of that instrument. Played it all the time. He used to write his own music, you know, staying up all night composing them. The most beautiful pieces, too; I remember listening one evening before I put out all the lights, and I found myself crying, so sad did it sound. I can imagine he plays all the time at those musicales in Town, when he goes.”
Now that, I thought, was really strange, as I couldn’t recall ever hearing of Lord Peter’s prowess on the piano. Was he hiding his talent, much like I was? If so, he seemed to be hiding a number of things. It made me very curious what else he was hiding.
The tour was over shortly, and thanking her, I went in search of the estate office, where I found Mr. Jacobs. We briefly went over some of the accounts, and as I indicated my decision to return to London on Monday, he offered to take me on a tour of the estate and to introduce me to the steward, Mr. Cartman. I agreed, and we went to fetch mounts.
After riding the length and breadth of the estate, and a brief meeting with the steward, who was just preparing to depart for an estate some miles away to negotiate the purchase of some sheep, we returned to the office, where I told Mr. Jacobs my intentions regarding the disposal of the estate. He was, to say the least, shocked. He immediately expressed the same concerns that Mr. Goodwell had offered, but when I stuck by my decision he reluctantly confirmed that I would, indeed, be able to give up the estate without ruining my finances.
“It’s still highly unorthodox, you know,” he said as a final warning. “But if you would like I can set about looking for a new property for you.”
I smiled. “That would be nice. This time, though, I would like to go with something a bit smaller. A cottage somewhere, perhaps.”
“You would have to,” he replied. “I don’t think you could afford anything larger, not if you wanted to be able to buy food and clothing and such for more than a month.”
But I merely agreed to the plan, and so he sighed and said he would go about looking for cottages on the market. A short while later, I left the office in a curiously dissatisfied state of mind. Most of that dissatisfaction, I believe, stemmed from the fact that even I was beginning to question my decision to sell the estate. And over the next few days, as I roamed about the woods or rode down the paths and across the countryside, or sat on the edge of the lake, or at the piano in the music room, I started to realize why: I felt at home here. There was just something about this place that I had recognized that first time I had seen it, four years ago, that made me feel like I had come home. It wasn’t just the fact that I owned it; in truth, that had nothing to do with it. This place was just so restful, so accepting, so close to perfect. I knew that if I stayed here for the rest of my life, I would never be truly unhappy again.
But I couldn’t stay for the rest of my life. And it was all too soon that I was saying my goodbyes to the staff and climbing into the carriage to head back to London. And as we rolled down the gravel drive, and the sight of the house disappeared from view, I felt an incredible sense of loss that made me want to hop out of the carriage and quickly run back. But I knew that it was impossible; I had things left to finish, things I simply couldn’t run away from now.
I arrived at the Woodbridge townhouse late on Monday evening. Everyone had already departed for one thing or another, so I was left to my own devices. Which, for the moment, consisted in having a bath, some dinner, and going to sleep.
Tuesday morning came soon enough, and I woke with my usual promptness, went for a ride through Hyde Park on Lysander, and returned for breakfast. Maggie was already eating when I entered.
“Well, good morning, Mary,” she greeted me with a smile. “How was your journey?”
“Very long and very tiring,” I replied, “but the reward was worth it.”
She asked me more about Landrey Manor, and I told her all about it. She smiled at my enthusiasm, and I shook my head when at one point she began to chuckle. “When you see the manor, you will know what I mean. It is truly majestic, and I cannot even begin to describe the wonderful people who work there.”
“So you will enjoy living there once you leave London?” she asked.
I sobered instantly, setting down my fork and placing both hands as calmly as possible in my lap. “I have been considering relieving myself of the property,” I said hesitantly.
She raised her brow questioningly. “After all you have said in praise of it? Why do I detect there is something more behind this than you are saying? Does it perhaps have something to do with Lord Peter Trelawny?”
I bit off a very unladylike oath and, throwing my napkin onto the table beside my plate, I stood and paced to the sideboard and back. “You really cannot understand what it’s like, Maggie,” I said, finally coming to a stop behind my chair and bracing both hands along the back. “I know that he still wants me to sell the thing back to him, but I simply can’t--it has become like...like the apple of discord. Well, no, that’s not quite right, but you understand what I’m saying, don’t you? And I just don’t want it anymore. I just don’t want any of it.”
Maggie didn’t speak for a while, just looked at me. Then she cast her eyes to her plate and taking a piece of egg on the end of her fork, ate it. After she had finished swallowing it, she looked up at me again. “Is this really all about the estate, Mary?”
I stilled, hearing something in her voice that tightened the bands around my heart, and I looked at her and knew exactly what she was saying. But I still refused to acknowledge it. “I don’t know what you mean, Maggie.”
She didn’t say anything, just smiled, and I sighed, accepting a semi-defeat. “Perhaps it isn’t. Perhaps it is about more than that. But right now, I don’t feel like considering anything more than just that.”
She nodded in understanding. “Sometimes it’s easier to let a problem stew for a while. You’ll see the answer soon enough.”
I saw Alceste and Althea later in the morning, after they had awoken from their late night the previous evening, and asked me eagerly about my impressions of my new estate. I told them what I had told Maggie, and they both expressed their interest in seeing it, so beautiful did it sound when I described it.
Alceste then described all that had happened since I had left, telling me about the balls and routs they had attended, and about seeing The Rivals done at the theatre, and about all of the interest shown over my departure.
“But we told them you had business at your estate,” Althea said with a smile. “And they accepted that, for the most part. Although, there was a good deal of speculation that you had gone to visit Miss Hutchinson.”
I sighed. “Will they ever give up?”
“Not likely,” said Alceste. “You don’t seem to understand how mysterious this all is. Everyone is clambering to be the first with the news. They practically salivate upon introduction of the topic.
“Oh, and by the way, your sister showed up at our at-home on Friday,” she added completely casually, despite the abrupt change in topic. “She was looking for you. Seemed very disappointed that you weren’t here.”
I sighed again. “What did you tell her?”
“Merely that you were out. I didn’t even say that you were out of town, as I figured that would lead to a number of questions that would be very difficult to answer without explaining about Landrey Manor. So I kept it simple.”
“She wanted to know about Lord Peter, though,” Althea said. “Apparently he went to see her on Wednesday while she was at the Palmer musicale and asked a number of questions about you. I think she knows there’s something more going on than she’s strictly aware of. She wants you to contact her as soon as possible.”
“I can only imagine what he asked her,” I said with yet another sigh. “I knew I couldn’t fool her that day she caught us on the street.”
That statement, of course, made all three of my companions ask at once what had happened, and I realized that I had never told them. So I explained, briefly, what had occurred outside of Georgiana’s townhouse the morning I had called on her. They were all surprised--and disappointed that I had not told them before.
But we hardly had time to discuss what to do about this new complication before our first caller of the morning was announced. And once the final caller left, it was nearly time to prepare for dinner and the entertainments of the evening. We had to put off our discussion for later.
That evening was the Huntington’s masquerade. It was considered one of the more popular events of the season, and was one of the more respectable masquerades. Everyone who was anyone was there, by way of a very exclusive invitation, dressed in whatever costume their heart desired, their identities hidden--not very well in many cases--by masks and dominoes and wigs. The thrill of being masked and mysterious was enough of an incentive to come and enjoy the ball for most people, but the crowning touch came when, at the stroke of midnight, all was revealed in a great unmasking, when everyone would discover exactly who they had been dancing and flirting with all night.
Shortly after entering the crush of people that filled the Huntington’s great hall, I lost sight of my companions. I had come with Alceste, who had dressed as Terpsichore, Althea, who had dressed as Helena from A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and Maggie, who had dressed as St. Dwenwyn, of whom I had never heard before; John had gone ahead of us, and so consequently I didn’t know his costume. But I could catch a glimpse of none of those four (supposing I even would recognize John) as I was swept up with the crowd flowing into the room.
At last, though, I separated myself from the throng of people floating in and out of the great ballroom and stood beside a large fern near one wall, watching the couples twirl about on the dance floor. There were Lancelots dancing with Cleopatras, Dresden shepherdesses prancing about with ancient kings, angels cavorting with devils, and a whole host of other mismatched characters all intermingling about the room. And I stood there, all alone for a while, contemplating the masse.
“Can it be possible that a beauty such as you does not have a partner for this dance?” came a deepened voice over my shoulder.
“And how, pray tell dear Sir, do you know that I am a beauty?” I asked in my own disguised voice, turning my face to this newcomer. “Unless you can see through the black silk of my mask, you cannot know what I look like. I may be as hideous as the old crone in some faerie tale.”
“Ah, but your eyes tell the truth, if your costume does not,” the gentleman replied with a sly smile beneath his mask of green, a color that made his eyes glitter a deep emerald green. “They tell me that here is a maiden of unsurpassed beauty, charm, and grace.”
I raised a skeptical brow. “And how is it you know that I am a maiden? Could I not be married?”
He took my left hand and held it up as if for my inspection, saying, “There is no band to indicate that you are chosen, my lady.” He then raised my hand to his lips and kissed it softly, somewhat expectantly.
Oh, yes, I thought, this was definitely a smooth one. And I had to admit that there was also something incredibly familiar about him, but I couldn’t quite place my finger on it. I had probably met him before, I was sure, at one of the ton functions. But at the moment...nothing would come to me. I didn’t bother thinking about it for long, though; after all, I would only have to wait until midnight to discover who he was.
I complimented him on his costume. “’The Corsair,’ am I right?”
“Exactly,” he said with a devilish smile that soon turned into a boyish grin. “I know that Byron is out of favor and the poem somewhat old, but I must honestly admit that I really liked the character.”
“As did I,” I said.
And then, as the music was coming to a close, he bowed and asked for the honor of a dance. I agreed and took his proffered arm, and we went out onto the dance floor, where the musicians were just beginning a waltz. He took me in his arms and, again, I had the strangest sense of recognition shoot through me. I looked up at him and realized he was looking at me with much the same expression as must have graced my face at that moment.
“I know you, do I not, fair incognita?” he asked in a hushed whisper. “Tell me it is not just I who is experiencing this feeling that we have danced together before.”
“No,” I replied, my own voice somewhat shaken. “We have danced together, I am sure of it.”
He didn’t reply, but simply spun me around the floor in wide, sweeping turns that made me feel like I was floating on air. I closed my eyes and let him lead me, feeling the strength in the arm that guided me through the turns.
“Your costume is perfectly apt, I see,” said my partner after a while. “You are the most graceful swan I have ever danced with.”
I smiled with honest pleasure at the compliment. I was fairly proud of the costume that I had designed and Madame LeClere had produced. The gown itself was pure white silk, light and flowing, with long, wide sleeves that swept out into a flare that resembled wings. The low neckline was framed by soft white down and the sleeves and skirt covered with white feathers that fluttered with every movement. Flora had set my hair into a mass of curls, covered by a cap of white silk and down. My slippers, fan, and mask were black.
“I had always wanted to be a swan,” I said in reply. “I never had the chance until now.”
“Because you believed you were always the ugly duckling?” he asked, and I almost tripped over my own feet.
And then with sudden clarity I knew--this corsair was John. “How did you know it was me?” I asked.
He smiled. “You are the most beautiful woman in the room, and the only one I know with eyes like yours. But I couldn’t be completely sure until just now. You gave me my answer.”
“Eyes like mine?” I asked in confusion; I had never noticed anything special about my eyes.
“Eyes like yours,” he repeated softly. “Eyes that a man could fall into and drown himself. They change color, from a velvety green to a steely grey to a blue as clear as the sky. Enchanted eyes.”
Well, I supposed there was that. I never did think much of my eye color, though. It was more an annoyance, I always thought, because I could never be sure whether what I was wearing would match my eyes or not. I would rather have had baby blue eyes or dark, chocolaty pools or rare violet orbs. Not a watery mix of colors.
Some of my skepticism must have shown on my face, for, spinning me into the wrap position, he said to me quietly, in a voice that betrayed a note of gentle laughter, “I’m sorry that you disbelieve me, but I speak only the truth. Your eyes truly are enchanting. I find you enchanting, Miss Bennet.”
And then he spun me again out of the wrap and into a promenade, with several turns that kept me breathless and unable to respond to his provocation. And when we finally slowed, it was only to end the song with one final turn. By that time I was a little upset at his high-handedness, but I took his arm with grace as he led me off the floor toward the doors that led out onto the terrace. When we reached the railing, I released his arm and put both hands on the cool marble, breathing in the refreshing night air.
“Thank you,” I said somewhat tightly. “It was very warm inside.”
He was gazing up at the stars, which were just visible in the night sky, but turned to me when I spoke. “I did not mean to insult you by what I said,” he said quietly. “I believe you seemed to take it as such.”
I sighed, all of the fight going out of me. “No, that isn’t...I’m sorry; I really shouldn’t have gotten upset at all. It was a stupid, silly thing. I’m not...that is, you know who I am,” I said, looking into his eyes and willing him to understand me. “Perhaps it is just a bit of the old, insecure me that still cannot accept such compliments. I do not see myself as ‘enchanting,’ and I don’t think I ever will. But I really shouldn’t get upset with you, or with Lord Peter, or with anyone else who says such things.”
His brows drew downwards over his mask. “Who do you--“
A voice behind us interrupted him: “Oh, good! I was so worried when we lost you, Mary, but Michael said he thought he saw you come out here, and, indeed, here you are!”
A very merry Terpsichore, a glass of champagne in her hand, was being led out onto the terrace by King Arthur (who I recognized immediately as Lord Thornfield), heading in our direction. Before they reached us, though, my corsair quickly bowed over my hand with a whispered apology and disappeared back into the ballroom. I watched him go, a bit confused over why he had run from his mother and her escort.
But I didn’t have time to dwell over that, as Alceste and Lord Thornfield had just reached me. “And who was that?” Alceste asked slyly. “He seemed in a great hurry to escape once he saw your chaperone bearing down on him.”
“My chaperone?’ I asked with a laugh. “When would anyone ever consider you a chaperone?”
She put on a mock pout. “I think I make a very good chaperone. Always the very image of propriety. Isn’t that right, Michael?”
He barely contained his grin. “Of course, Ceste.” He then offered his other arm to me, and the three of us made our way back into the ballroom, Alceste's original question completely put out of our heads.
During the course of the rest of the evening I danced with a number of other characters, from a mischievous Puck to a stately King Richard to a handsome Adonis, and I enjoyed myself thoroughly. But it was with some confusion that I realized that I had lost sight of my corsair, and when the unmasking came at midnight, I was extremely disappointed not to see him among the crowd.
“What happened to John?” I asked Althea as we made our way out of the ballroom to our waiting carriage. “I didn’t see him at the unmasking.”
“Oh,” she said in surprise. “He and several friends--Lord Peter and Lord Benton and Mr. Granger, I think--left early. I thought he said he had told you.”
“I don’t think--” I said, confused. But then I remembered one of my partners, dressed as Marc Antony, who had mentioned something of the sort. “Oh, yes. But it was one of the others who told me, I think. I must have forgotten.”
Not that it really mattered, though. After all, I already knew who he was dressed as. Although, it might have been interesting to see what Lord Peter’s costume was. And despite my intention of avoiding him at all costs, I found myself wishing I had at least had a chance to see his costume. And perhaps...just perhaps, have one more dance.
Chapter 16
Posted on Sunday, 4 April 2004
At breakfast on Wednesday, I found waiting for me a letter from the post. I picked it up, bemused by the notion of someone writing to me here in London, and slit the seal on the back with my knife. I read it once through, then a second time through, and then set it down slowly and stared at it as if it had just turned into some vile creature that was going to suddenly rear its head at me and bite.
"Is the news that awful?" asked Maggie as she came into the breakfast room.
I looked up at her, distracted, and said, "No, I suppose not. Well, yes, I suppose it is."
As soon as she had filled her plate, she came and sat at the table across from me. "So which is it? Good or bad?"
"What's good or bad?" asked Althea as she entered the room.
Maggie pointed a bunch of grapes at me and said, "News."
"Bad," I said, finally rousing myself from the thoughts that had been clouding my brain, a confused fog of thoughts produced by the words on the page before me. "The news is bad. This is a letter from my father."
Althea shook her head as she sat down. "Bad news is a horrible way to start off the day."
Maggie nodded and ate a grape. "And what does your father have to say?"
"Not much, I suppose," muttered Althea. "He's not a very good correspondent."
"He says that my mother is coming to town," I replied, watching Althea butter her toast. "She is to stay with my sister, Jane. Apparently this plan has just been formed, and he writes to warn me of her imminent arrival."
"Ah, mothers," Althea said, taking a bite of the bread and then staring thoughtfully off into the distance as she chewed. "They can be so flighty, can't they?"
"What's going on? Whose mother is flighty?" asked Alceste as she swept into the room, headed for the sideboard.
"Well, John's is, sometimes," Althea said at the same time as I replied, "My mother is coming to town."
"My mother is indeed flighty," said John, coming into the room and bussing his mother on the cheek. "That's why we love her so much."
"Does it say when she arrives?" asked Maggie.
Alceste huffed, "I am not flighty, young man!"
"Who says we love her?" Althea asked with a raised brow.
"Thursday, apparently," I said, picking up the letter and re-reading it.
John laughed, taking the plate from his mother's hand before all of its contents slid off and spilled all over the floor. "Of course we love her. How could you not love such a beautiful old dear?"
"Well, that's tomorrow," said Maggie, stabbing a piece of melon with her fork.
"I am not old! I'm only forty-two!"
"I guess so," I murmured thoughtfully.
"Forty-seven, Alceste," Althea said with a grin. "Forty-seven. With twenty-eight and twenty-nine year old sons."
Alceste harrumphed loudly as John set her plate on the table and pulled out a chair for her. She sat down with a thump. "Fine, forty-seven."
"So what are you going to do about it?" asked Maggie.
"I like to think of myself as twenty-eight years young."
"I don't know," I said honestly. "I'd really like to avoid running into them as much as possible. I don't think I can face my mother right now."
"Ooh! Invitations!" Alceste cried.
"Is she really that bad?" asked John.
"Yes; the post was delivered an hour ago, according to Barton," Maggie said.
Althea laughed. "Despite the fact that she's merely excitable, not venal, I'd like to think Mary's mother could give Lucille a run for her money."
"She's not that bad," I replied. "She just tends to be a bit grating on the nerves--both hers and mine."
"I think I'd like to get tickets to that fight," said John, cutting his sausage.
"Have you ever told her how you feel?" Maggie asked me.
Althea nodded. "I would, too, John."
"There's a fight?" asked Alceste, looking up from her invitations. "Where?"
"I could never tell her that, Maggie. That would be the equivalent of setting a fox among the chickens."
"No; we were hoping there would be a fight," said John.
"In other words, there'd be a lot of squawking," commented Althea.
"Between whom?"
Maggie shook her head. "Still, it might be better than this shilly-shallying around. You might consider it."
"Mary and her mother," Althea said.
"No, Mrs. Bennet and Lucille," John corrected.
"I'd rather take the easy way out, Maggie, and just avoid them all."
"Wait--what's going on?" Alceste asked, flinging a piece of egg at one of the footmen in her agitation.
"Whoa. Watch the flying food," said Althea with a laugh, reaching across the table and taking a few of the invitations from in front of her sister.
"You'll have to face them some time, you know."
"Sorry, Alfred."
"We were wondering who would win in a fight," John said, "Mary's mother or your daughter-in-law."
"I know. Just not right now."
"Lucille, hands down. I don't even know Mary's mother, but I'm sure of it. She's got claws like a jungle cat."
Althea held up an invitation on light blue stationary. "You might be able to avoid your mother and sisters this weekend, at least, Mary."
"Hey! Did you steal my invitations?"
"Is that the Symington's crest on there?" asked John curiously, peering across the table.
"Why? What is that?" I asked.
"Who said you could read my mail?"
"We are all invited to a house party at Symington Grange."
There was silence in the breakfast room. It lasted for about one minute. Tick, tick, tick.
"Where is Symington Grange?" I asked finally.
"Just outside of London," replied Maggie. "About thirty miles to the west."
"That's quite an interesting invitation," Alceste said, reaching over and snatching it from her sister's hand. "The Symingtons don't usually invite people to the Grange."
"That's not very far from London, is it?" I said. "Three or four hours?"
"Not unless they're trying to find a wife for their son and heir," Althea said with a sly smile directed at me.
John clenched his jaw. "They're certainly setting the cat among the pigeons with such a statement, aren't they? Singling Mary out like that?"
"Depending on how fast you travel, yes," Maggie said. "A light carriage or curricle might be able to make it in two."
"Well of course she's not the only single young lady who's going to be there," Alceste said.
"Who is singling me out?"
Althea shuddered. "I wouldn't want to be in a curricle riding along at that pace. Not with the roads the way they are now."
"The Symingtons," John said. "They're basically announcing to the world that they want you to marry their son."
"When did you get a curricle?"
"That's not necessarily their intention," Maggie tempered.
I shook my head. "I'm not going to marry Lord Peter."
"I didn't say I got a curricle, Ceste. I said I wouldn't want to be in a curricle."
"Even if he asked you?" asked John casually, a certain tension in his shoulders betraying how important the answer to the question was.
"Well, why would you be in a curricle, then? Who has asked you to go driving with them? Was it David?"
"I don't intend to marry anyone, John. I've said this before."
"You really shouldn't make sweeping vows like that, Mary," said Maggie, taking a sip of her coffee. "You're bound to break them."
"No one asked me to go driving," Althea practically shouted in exasperation. "It was hypothetical!"
"No one? Not even someone like me?"
"Well, you don't have to shout at me. I heard you the first time," Alceste muttered.
"Is that a proposal, John?"
There was a hushed silence, yet again, for the space of a minute, all eyes jumping between me and John. Tick, tick, tick.
"Yes, I guess it is," he said finally. "You seem to me the kind of woman I would look for to be my life partner--sweet, demure, and honorable. You are the most wonderful, intelligent, enchanting lady I know. I would be most honored if you became my wife."
"You're asking her to marry you, John?" cried his mother in shock.
"That was incredibly sweet," said Althea.
"Enchanting?" I repeated. "I really don't like that word, John. I told you last night--"
"Last night? When did we speak of this last night?"
"I can't believe it--my son getting married!"
"At the ball."
"Your son already did get married, remember?" Althea said with a snort. "Her name is Lucille."
"You didn't mention anything like this at the ball," John said, his brow furrowed. "Did you?"
Alceste frowned at her sister. "I know that. I'm talking about my other son."
"You mean...you weren't the corsair?" I asked, a cold feeling sweeping through me.
"Well, you should probably remember you have two before you make statements like that," Althea said.
"I think you're getting ahead of yourself, Ceste," Maggie said gently. "She hasn't answered him yet."
"Corsair?" John echoed. "No--Trelawny was dressed as a corsair, though."
"Well, I don't see how hard it is to answer," Alceste said. "It's a simple yes-or-no question."
"Lord Peter," I breathed. "Oh Lud."
"I seem to recall you putting Roger off for three days when he asked you that same question," Althea said with another snort. "It wasn't so simple then."
"Why? What did he say to you?" John demanded.
"Mary, are you all right?" asked Maggie in some concern.
"Oh, Mary! You do look pale," Althea said in alarm, getting out of her chair and rushing over to kneel beside my chair.
"John, what did you say to her?" Alceste asked her son, rapping him on the arm with her fork.
"I asked her to marry me," John replied, looking in dismay at the egg that now decorated his waistcoat.
"Do you need some wine?" Althea asked. "Barton, go fetch some wine!"
Alceste scowled at her younger son. "Well, as you can see that's not a very nice thing to spring on a woman over breakfast. Ruins the digestion."
"I'm fine," I said, warding off all attempts to help me. "I just need some time to myself." I picked up my letter on the table and stood. "Excuse me."
I turned and made my way to the door. Just before I left the room, though, I turned and looked around at the concerned faces that were watching me leave. "John, I'm sorry, but I can't marry you. And Alceste, tell the Symingtons we'll be at their house party."
And with that, I retired to my room for a well-deserved nap.
Chapter 17
Posted on Friday, 9 April 2004
Symington Grange was a very nice house. Large and overly-opulent, perhaps, but that’s the case for most houses of wealthy aristocrats these days.
I was placed in what I suspected was the best guest suite in the house, a very rich-looking burgundy-and-gold bedroom with an attached dressing room and sitting room and a view facing the gardens in back of the house. Lady Symington herself directed me to it.
“This is the Queen Anne bedchamber,” she said in a voice that indicated I had better be impressed. “When she visited the Marquess of Symington during her reign--several times, mind you--she stayed here in this chamber.”
“It is quite lovely,” I said.
Lady Symington looked like a cat given a whole vat of cream. “Well, we want your stay to be comfortable, Miss Bennet. If you need anything, do not hesitate to mention it to me, and I will personally look into it.”
Oh, yes. The butter boat had definitely been tipped. In fact, at that point it was completely overturned and bobbing in a whole ocean of off-yellow dairy. I wondered idly whether she was going to bow and scrape her way out of the room, or just back out respectfully.
“I thank you very much for your consideration, my lady,” I said. “I will be sure to let you know if I have any concerns whatsoever. When shall we be dining this evening?”
“We will be meeting in the drawing room before dinner at seven. As you see, we don’t keep country hours here.”
I nodded. “Of course not. I couldn’t imagine anyone as cosmopolitan as you and the marquess doing any less.” I curtsied, and Lady Symington made as if to go out the door. And then, on second thought, I stopped her. “Oh, there is one thing, Lady Symington,” I said.
She turned around. “Yes?”
“I recently visited my estate in Berkshire, and I happened to hear that you once had property there, as well.”
“Oh!” she replied, a little surprised. “Yes, in a somewhat roundabout way I suppose that is true. Did you happen to pass through Thatcham?” When I said that I did, she said, “The town is very near an estate of my father’s that was given as dowry to my husband. So really, it wasn’t quite mine in the way that you mean--it was only my dowry.”
I nodded. “I understand completely. So then it is part of the Marquess’s estates?”
Lady Symington shook her head. “Not anymore. A few years ago my husband gave over full control of a few estates to our son. Peter has been running Landrey Manor for three years, now.”
“And is Lord Peter a good property manager?”
“Oh, yes,” she said, pride evident in her voice. “My husband is extremely proud of the way that Peter has been managing the estate. In fact, every one of the properties he has taken control of has shown a marked increase in productivity. There are no worries of the earldom being passed into anything but very capable hands. And any property my son’s future countess might bring to the marriage would be well taken care of, as well.”
I furrowed my brows. “Still, that’s a great deal of responsibility for one so young as Lord Peter. What would happen if one of the estates started showing a loss, or had to be mortgaged or sold or something? How would the marquess take losing one of his properties?”
“Oh, I can’t imagine that happening,” scoffed Lady Symington. “Our Peter would never sell off one of the estates. Even if he did get into some minor trouble, he would only have to discuss it with my husband, and all would be fixed.”
“Still,” I said, “there are always those few times...I remember a neighbor of ours had to sell off an estate of his after some of his investments went unexpectedly awry. I cannot even imagine if his father had still been alive and he then had had to tell him what had happened...I can imagine that interview would not have been very friendly.”
She nodded. “I suppose I can see that. But Peter I’m sure would never hesitate to lay claim to a mistake. And besides,” she said with a smile, “it really wouldn’t matter in the least if by some chance one of the estates were lost. They were given to him without condition, and the earldom is not the least bit diminished by their removal from it. My husband wouldn’t be too upset, I don’t think.
“But listen to us, chattering away like men about money and property!” she laughed, shaking her head and moving towards the door. “Sometimes, Miss Bennet, I do tend to ramble on about the most incredible things!”
“Oh, that is quite all right, Lady Symington,” I said. “I didn’t mind in the least.”
“Well, in any case,” she said, opening the door, “I hope to see you at dinner. We meet in the drawing room at seven.”
I thanked her and curtsied, then sighed when the door was closed behind her. It looked as if Althea had been right; some of Lady Symington’s comments had been simply too obvious to be regarded as anything but very pointedly singling me out as the prime choice for daughter-in-law. It was going to be a very difficult weekend.
Although not as difficult as if I had stayed in London, I imagined. On that thought I went to my reticule, which I had placed on the dressing table when we first had entered the suite, and pulled out the letter I had gotten from my father earlier that week. Settling into the wingchair in front of the hearth, I opened it and read through it once again.
Mary:
Your mother has decided to go to London, and will arrive Thursday 13 May. She will stay with Jane. I tried to dissuade her, but to no avail. I suggest a visit to your estate. Give my regards to the twins.
Papa
To be quite honest, I really wasn’t sure which part I found the most disturbing--the implication that he knew about my owning Landrey Manor or the implication that he, Alceste, and Althea all knew each other. In either case, I think, I felt betrayed, but the latter would feel far worse because it involved people that I had believed were my friends.
But the real question was why was he revealing this now? He could easily have left out both of the last statements, perhaps instead say something about suggesting I go to a house party, or find myself busy all day and all evening, or never leave the house. He could easily have done so, but he didn’t--why?
I hadn’t said anything to either Alceste or Althea. I hadn’t mentioned a word of my distress of mind to either Maggie or John. Instead I had been my usual cheerful self as we sat in the rocking carriage for over three hours on our way to Symington Grange, ignoring the troubled little voice in my head that whispered that I was sitting among strangers.
In the silence of my room, though, I was given the freedom to read through the letter again and ponder its meaning. But for all of that pondering, I could only come to one conclusion: I had to ask Althea what it meant.
But not at that moment. Flora bustled in after hearing the first dinner gong, ready to help me into my dinner gown, and I stood and followed her into the dressing room, where I sat at the dressing table and allowed her to brush my hair. As she stroked the brush through the long strands, I thought again about the letter, and this time about the complications my mother’s arrival had caused. It was already a difficult situation, with Elizabeth already asking questions, but I could still perhaps muddle through it. But the question was whether it was worth the effort. Wouldn’t it simply be so much easier if I simply told the truth?
I had already sent Elizabeth a note on Wednesday apologizing for not responding sooner to her call. In it, I explained that I would be out of Town until the following Thursday, and would call on her the next day, Friday the twenty-first. I had until then to decide what to do.
But a few moments later I abandoned these thoughts to allow Flora to help me into the gown she had carefully pressed and prepared for tonight. Only ten minutes after that I was descending the stairs for dinner.
Everyone was beginning to congregate in the drawing room when I arrived, and Lady Symington immediately bustled over when she saw me enter. Linking my arm through hers, she then led me around the room, introducing me to those I didn’t know and allowing me to exchange greetings with those I did. And once we had circumnavigated the room, she led me over to where Lord Peter was standing and said, “There, now. Peter, would you mind taking my place here with Miss Bennet? I absolutely must see to the rest of my guests.”
He bowed without saying a word, and we both watched as Lady Symington then slid away and began pairing people for the procession into dinner. I turned back to Lord Peter to find his gaze already on me, his expression showing slight discomfort. “I apologize for my mother,” he finally said, after we had been standing there for a few minutes in silence.
“There is no need, Lord Peter,” I responded. “She is a wonderful woman. Perhaps a little officious, but that is only to her credit. It means she gets things done with efficiency.”
“Very true,” he said with a nod, a slight blush rising to his cheeks at my set-down. “Miss Bennet, I wanted--“
“Dinner is served.”
The rest of what Lord Peter was going to say was exhaled on a frustrated puff of air at the sound of the butler’s intonation. But he smiled politely and offered his arm, which I took graciously, and we entered the line of people making their way out of the drawing room and into the dining hall. He seated me first, holding out the chair properly, then removed his gloves, put them in his back pocket, and seated himself to my right. I smoothed my skirts and tried to act completely natural and as unaware of his presence as possible.
The dinner itself went well. Lord Devlin, a slightly elderly gentleman with a funny tuft of hair in the middle of his balding pate and a sense of humor that was as dry as the Petit Cabernet in my glass, sat to my left and was an extremely entertaining dinner companion. Even conversation with Lord Peter was not a trial, as we kept strictly to polite dinner conversation and touched upon nothing more personal than our opinions of the roast duck.
After the dessert course, the ladies retired to the drawing room, where we discussed the fashions of the day and Town gossip until the gentlemen joined us, at which point Lady Symington declared that this evening’s entertainment was to be tableaux vivants, and we would be paired with another guest to perform each tableau for the party. In the bag, she said, were the names of all of the gentlemen present, each on its own piece of paper, and each lady would choose her partner by selecting one of these papers from the pouch without looking.
I waited in trepidation as we each had a chance to select a piece of paper from the bag. Alceste, I had noticed, was paired with Lord Devlin, Maggie with a gentleman named Lord Manning. Althea somehow chose Lord Farrington, but she didn’t seem overly distressed by the selection, though I thought perhaps it was merely because we were in company.
Then the bag came to me, and I reached in, felt among the few pieces of paper that were left, selected one, and pulled it out. I took one look at the name on the paper and nearly groaned, but after but a moment I managed a polite smile and held it up for everyone to see. “Oh, look,” I said lightly. “It seems I got Lord Peter Trelawny.”
A couple of the ladies giggled, and Lady Symington’s smile bordered on smugness, and I pointedly avoided looking at Lord Peter. I did catch, however, John’s what I can only call ‘glowering’ expression--which he had been wearing since Wednesday--grow a bit darker.
When once we had finished selecting names, Lady Symington passed out to us the tableau we would be performing. I looked at this paper and, again, nearly groaned aloud but managed instead to keep my social smile pasted firmly on my lips.
“So what do we have, Miss Bennet?”
I looked over my shoulder to where Lord Peter had come up from behind the couch. I handed the paper to him without a word. He looked at it, raised an eyebrow and glanced over at his mother. “Well, well,” he muttered under his breath.
All of the pairs were charged to discuss their separate tableaux and then in an half hour we were to come together again and perform them. So I followed Lord Peter to one end of the room, where we sat down in a pair of chairs. Neither of us spoke.
Finally he said to me, “I can understand that you would wish yourself elsewhere and with someone else, Miss Bennet, but I’m afraid you shall have to do with me tonight.”
I smiled tightly. “Then we should probably discuss how we are to perform our tableau.”
An half hour later, Lady Symington called us back to the drawing room (some couples had found other rooms or had gone to find props, and had had to be fetched by footmen), where chairs had been ranged in such a fashion as to create an area for the performers to enact their scene. Several of the other guests were chosen to go first, enacting such scenes as “Oedipus and the Sphinx” or “Wellington and Napoleon” (which, of course, got a large, standing ovation). Althea and Lord Farrington then went, performing “Selene and Endymion” for the party, drawing a number of giggles and guffaws at Althea’s portrayal of the moon goddess.
By what was undoubtedly design, Lord Peter and I were left until last. In some measure of embarrassment, I went to stand before the crowd who was looking at us expectantly. I glanced at Lord Peter, and with a somewhat resigned sigh, nodded, holding up the egg we had stolen from the kitchen. He immediately pulled out the map of France’s capital he had found in the library, held it in one hand, and in one swift movement (which almost caused me to drop the egg on the carpet) threw me over his shoulder and posed as if to run off with me.
A few gasps and titters were heard from the crowd, but no one suggested the meaning of our tableau, everyone looking in confusion at us. I waited patiently, feeling incredibly exposed with my backside sticking up, as it were, in the air, and praying that Lord Peter was as strong as he felt and wouldn’t drop me on my head.
Finally Althea, in a dry voice, said loudly, “I believe that you are Paris abducting Helen. Although I would hope he didn’t have to carry her like that all the way back to Troy.”
I heard Lord Peter’s sigh of relief as the party dissolved into laughter at Althea’s sally, and I blessed her silently for diverting attention. I was set down lightly on my feet, and Lord Peter and I both curtsied and bowed to our audience, and then quickly went our separate ways, mingling with the others who had gotten up from their chairs. Some decided to retire then for the night, and fairly soon there was something of a mass exodus from the room.
It was with relief that I sought out my bed. I really honestly didn’t know how I was going to take five more days of this.
Luckily, I had something of a respite the following day as the gentlemen and ladies were separated for most of the day, their time spent mostly in different pursuits. I joined some of the ladies who were doing archery while others had tea on the terrace, and didn’t do too badly for myself. I was by no means very good at the sport, but I managed to hit the target once or twice. The gentlemen, meanwhile, were off on some jaunt to a sporting event in a nearby town, and were not expected to be back until the afternoon.
Later on, just before the gentlemen were expected to return, the party dispersed for the most part to allow for other activities, and I decided to retire to my bedchamber to work on some sketches. As I was sitting in the window seat, I noticed some movement in the garden below. I glanced out, expecting to see a gardener, perhaps, or one of the other guests roaming through the flora and fauna, not really caring overly much either way, to be honest, but curious all the same.
It was with a bit of surprise, then, that I identified the two people strolling side by side among the azaleas and hydrangeas as Althea and Lord Farrington. I set my notepad down on my lap and watched as Lord Farrington stopped, turned, and took one of Althea’s hands in his.
I pressed my nose against the glass, wishing I were close enough to hear what was going on. Not that I’m some sort of busybody, wanting to always know everyone else’s business, of course. It’s just that here was my closest friend, reunited with her long-ago lover. Their earnest conversation seemed to me indicative of some sort of truce, if not accord, and it was important to me to know that it was true--that my friend may, indeed, have found peace with her past.
As I watched, Lord Farrington bowed his head, gazing at their entwined hands, and then looked into her eyes again. After a moment Althea turned her face away, and he drew her back with gentle fingers under her chin, tipping her face up to his...
I looked away in embarrassment, unwilling to be a witness to their intimacy. Such a moment was incredibly personal, and I had no intention of intruding on that privacy. I fiddled with the notepad in my lap, wondering how long it would be until I could look again, not even having a relative estimate due to my lack of experience at that sort of thing.
I sighed and leaned back against the wall, looking up at the ceiling. I was glad for her. I really was. Althea had waited so long for this, and she certainly deserved to find happiness and love. And from what I had seen and heard of Lord Farrington so far, he seemed deserving of her.
But I did wonder what it would mean for me. If he and Althea were to have a true reconciliation--perhaps marry-- where would that leave me? I would suddenly have no companion, no friend to accompany me to Landrey Manor or wherever I decided to go. Perhaps if Althea were to marry Lord Thornfield, I could take Maggie with me...
I glanced back out the window to see Althea and Lord Farrington now walking hand in hand towards the rose arbor, where they sat down with their backs to me on a bench under a white trellis entwined with roses. He put his arm around her and pulled her close, and she leaned her head against his shoulder. They looked the very image of an old married couple, and my heart contracted with both joy and a bit of envy.
The sight of those two, arranged in such a pose of seemingly blissful relaxation, put me in mind of my parents, whom I had never seen hold hands, much less lean on each other in peaceful contentment. Had they ever been happy with each other, my mother and father? I mean, I supposed they had at least sometime, else why would my father, a gentleman of at least relatively good standing, have chosen to take a merchant’s daughter to wife?
I thought again of the letter from my father, and again the sense of betrayal flowed through me. What was wrong with us, with my family, that we could not show each other who we truly were, that we could not trust each other enough to love one another and care for each and every member of our family circle? Would we ever really find some common bond upon which we could rebuild our foundation, if it was ever really there at all?
Cursing under my breath in a highly unladylike fashion, I thrust myself out of the window seat and left the room. I needed to go somewhere to escape from these thoughts. I had no intention of dwelling upon such melancholy ruminations and putting myself in a dismal mood. There were too many people here to indulge in a fit of abstraction.
Going to the music room near the rear of the house on the first storey, I opened the door and looked inside. There was no one there. Sighing in relief, I went to the piano that stood near the double glass doors that lead out onto a terrace and sat down, placing my notepad on the music stand before me. I flipped to the correct page in it, then closed my eyes and rolled my neck and shoulders to relax. I then set my fingers lightly on the keys, opened my eyes, and began to play my as-yet-unfinished opus.
It had been inspired by the tale of Atalanta, a story I had always loved since I first read it in one of the books on Greek mythology in my father’s library. Not that I had ever felt any particular connection to the character, but she had always seemed to me admirable in her insistence on being able to do anything, on being equal to a man in ability. Perhaps I felt a little envy.
In any case, the piece I had written was in two movements, the first of which told the story of the hunting of the great Calydon boar. The notes and chords mirrored her strength and persistence throughout the battle, the joy and pride when at her arrow struck the boar first, the pain and rejection when her efforts when the battle was done and her efforts were not rewarded and, in fact, denied, and finally the relief and humble gratitude when Meleager stood up for her and bestowed the boar skin upon her.
The second movement was trickier, and in truth I was still having some difficulty with it. This movement told the story of the race, of her refusal to accept any suitors who could not outrace her and the following challenge by Hippomenes. The beginning I had no problem with; I pictured her as a saucy, laughing young woman who was unwilling to give up her single life, unwilling to bind herself to a man, pitting her strength and stamina time and again against the unworthy ones who sought her hand. She ran swiftly and surely, never checking her mad dash towards continued freedom, reveling in the wind in her hair, the sunshine on her face, and the sand beneath her feet.
But when Hippomenes challenged her, there I began to falter. In truth, I didn’t want her to succumb to his trickery. I didn’t want her to lose to him because she couldn’t resist the temptation of Aphrodite’s apples. I simply didn’t want to think her that weak.
As I came to this point in my playing I slowed, finally stopping in my frustration at not being able to find the right notes. I nearly slammed the keys down in irritation, but held myself back from such an outward showing of my emotions.
“Have you considered the possibility that she wants him to win?”
I spun around on the bench so fast that my outstretched hand caught on my notepad and sent it fluttering to the floor. I hurried forward in haste to retrieve it. “What are you doing here, Lord Peter?” I asked, not able to keep the annoyance completely from my voice, as I closed the notepad and set it back on the stand. “I did not realize anyone else was in the room.”
“I apologize for not announcing my entrance,” he said, rising from the chair in which he had been sitting near the open door and coming towards me. “I didn’t want to disturb you in your playing. You seemed to be absorbed by it.”
“I do tend to lose myself in my playing,” I admitted. “But I would have liked to know that you were there. I do not like an audience when I am practicing.”
He sat down on the bench beside me, and I moved over to leave him more space. “You play very well, Miss Bennet. How long have you been a pianist?”
“For as long as I can remember,” I said. “But I only truly began to improve some six or seven years ago.”
Lord Peter nodded. “You are truly gifted. I did not recognize the piece you were playing as something I have heard before, though. And as I could tell you were having some difficulty at the end, I suppose it is relatively new to you, as well?”
That made me smile. “Yes. It is a relatively new piece.”
“It isn’t by chance one of these pieces by Imelda Hutchinson, is it?” he said, reaching for my notepad. “I happened to hear from Lady Woodbridge that you had played one at a dinner at Woodbridge house recently.”
I grabbed my notepad from his hand before he had a chance to open it, holding it tightly to my chest. “It is, indeed, by Miss Hutchinson, but it is a newer piece than the one I played that evening.”
“Really?” he asked in interest. “What is its title?”
“Atalanta.”
“I knew it!” he cried. “When I was listening, I was so sure that was the myth the composer had in mind.” He paused and glanced down at the notebook, then back into my eyes, a thoughtful expression entering into his own. “But I don’t think you quite have the ending right for that last movement you were performing. It sounded to me too tense, too unhappy. I cannot believe that’s what Miss Hutchinson had in mind.” He paused, and when I didn’t answer went on: “I happen to have some talent with music. If you would like I could take a look--“
“No!” I cried.
His brows rose in confusion. “It really wouldn’t be that much trouble, I assure you. I’m sure that the both of us together could figure it out.”
I shook my head adamantly. Obviously, I couldn’t let him see the notepad, the notes that I had written in on this rough copy of the work. The very fact that it was unfinished might raise a few questions I would rather not answer. “I thank you for your offer,” I said more calmly than before, “but it really is impossible.”
His jaw tightened, but he nodded. “I apologize for inflicting my presence on you, Miss Bennet.” He then stood and began to move towards the door. Before he was halfway there, though, he stopped and, turning around slowly, said, “Miss Bennet, while we have this moment of solitude, I wished to ask you something.”
I tensed. “I do not promise to answer,” I said finally, “but I give you leave to ask me your question.”
He nodded, then pulled a chair close to the bench and sat down. “I spoke with your sister some days ago at the Palmer musicale. She seemed very surprised at my interest in you. And after hearing her description of you, I can honestly say that her surprise is probably warranted.”
“What did you tell her about me?”
His cocked one brow at my somewhat demanding tone. “I didn’t tell her anything. In fact, I believe I implied that the incident in Grosvenor Square was, indeed, the first time we had met. I did not wish to interfere in anything you were...involved in. However,” he continued, “I believe that I am entitled to some sort of explanation.”
“Entitled!” I scoffed. “What makes you entitled to know anything about me, Lord Peter?”
He leaned towards me and said in a low voice. “Miss Bennet, I don’t know what sort of rig you are running, but I know that who you claim to be in London and who your sister claims you were in Hertfordshire are seemingly two different people. It would take very little for me to reveal this dichotomy to the ton, who might not be so pleased to discover your deception.”
“You wouldn’t,” I gasped.
Lord Peter didn’t answer me for a while, merely gazed at me with an inscrutable expression. “No, I wouldn’t,” he finally replied. “For reasons I will not go into, I would never do this to you without seeking an explanation for this odd behavior first. I have already probably guessed a lot of the story, but I would still like an explanation, Miss Bennet.”
I closed my eyes, my shoulders slumping in resignation. It seemed as if I had no choice. I was painted very neatly into a corner--by my own foolish deceptions, no less--and the only way out was to give Lord Peter the explanation that a part of me had wanted to give him anyway for some time.
“I grew up in a family with five daughters,” I began at last in a quiet voice. “I was the middle child. Our situation in life was well-off; we were by no means poor, but we were never wealthy, either. Our family, again, was respectable, but by no means with the greatest connections in the world.
“My father and my mother were very different, and at times I truly questioned how they had ended up married to each other. They each had their own way of interacting with their children, and with society at large. My father was a bit more reclusive, not as social, but with a rapier wit and quick understanding. He doted on my eldest two sisters most, especially Elizabeth--Mrs. Darcy, that is--because he admired most their intelligence and sensibility.
“My mother, on the other hand, is a woman of excitable temper and mean understanding. She spends most of her time gossiping and visiting and, when the five of us were still at home, engaged in trying to find suitors for us. Her favorite daughters were my younger sisters, Lydia and Kitty--who you may know as Lady Halliwell. My mother was especially fond of Lydia, I believe mostly because of their similarity of character.”
“And what about you?”
I looked over at Lord Peter, somewhat surprised at his question. I had almost forgotten his presence, so caught up in my story had I been. I smiled bitterly. “I was the one nobody really cared about that much. Everyone else seemed to have their own little club that didn’t include me. Lydia and Kitty were always running off together, getting into some sort of mischief while visiting Meryton. Elizabeth and Jane spent time walking, visiting with Charlotte, a neighbor of ours who was close to them in age and disposition, and talking together and with Father. When he wasn’t busy with them, he was mostly in his library, closeted away from the rest of his family. My mother was either with Lydia and Kitty or visiting with one of her friends. I was left, for the most part, to my own devices.”
I closed my eyes against the remembered loneliness, took a deep breath, and willed away the tears that were forming. The battle to control my emotions only worsened when Lord Peter placed a comforting hand upon mine, and I quickly removed my hand from beneath his to hide my reaction to his touch. “Things changed a bit when I met Althea,” I said in a voice that I believed betrayed none of my inner turmoil. “She gave me something of an escape, a way to be myself while at home I was shuffled into this role of odd duck. During that first year I changed so much, really blossoming in Althea’s friendship. I had never really had a friend before her, and it was such a relief to have someone to confide in, to help me expand my knowledge and my talents. And I remember trying to then show my family how I was changed, thinking that now because I had a friend, I could be included, too.
“It didn’t quite work that way.” A short laugh escaped my lips, somewhat harsh and bitter. “I don’t know if I was trying too hard, or if it was simply a battle I couldn’t possibly win, but I was still the outsider, the one that was different than the rest. I was simply not as beautiful, not as witty, not as bubbly, not as talented.
“So I hid. I hid behind a mask of indifference, pretended that I didn’t care about their opinions. I also hid my friendship with Althea and everything that came out of that. I suppose I felt that if they weren’t willing to share their lives with me, I wasn’t going to share my life with them. And I became so hardened and so bitter about it, that I began to do things that I knew would annoy them in some sort of twisted idea of revenge.
“And then they started to leave. Lydia married first, then Elizabeth and Jane, and finally Kitty. And I was left alone again, estranged and alone. I then became Mother’s companion and Father’s constant worry. She took me visiting with her, and talked to me when she had no one else to talk to, had me fetch things and read to her. He grew concerned over the future, what would happen to me when he was gone and the estate went to our cousin, and I was left with a small portion and nowhere to go. At times I remember catching an expression in his eyes that made me think that he felt that somehow he had failed me. And at those moments, it grew so hard not to tell him the truth. But I was too caught up in my lies by then. It had become too ingrained in me, to hide from the truth, at least with my family.”
“Is that when you came to London?”
I nodded. “In the past five years, I had made a great deal of money, with the help of Althea and her solicitor--but I won’t bore you with those details of that. Suffice it to say that I was rather wealthy. I had just purchased your estate, a security for me, really, and I wanted to have a chance to go to London, to be myself, and I think, in a way, to discover if I were truly worthy. I needed to find some sort of acceptance, to believe that I was not some misfit.
“So I set out to dazzle society with everything that I had become those years I had been hiding from my family. But it began to get complicated. I had thought I could still hide from my sisters, from my parents, what I had become, but I kept getting tripped up by one thing or another. And now...I don’t know how much they know. And I don’t know what I’m going to do about it.”
A wave of frustration flowed through me, and I felt the tears collect in my eyes. I looked away, unwilling for Lord Peter to see my pain, but something ripped the words from me, anyway. “I just wanted them to love me. Why does nobody love me?”
His arms came around me as the tears started to flow steadily down my cheeks and my body began to wrack with long pent-up sobs. I leaned into his comforting warmth, burying my face in his shoulder, and allowed the sadness that had long been hidden behind a mask of indifference and detachment to come through. And he just held me, stroking my back gently, and didn’t say a word.
At last I realized the impropriety of our situation, and I broke away, wiping my cheeks with my sleeve before Lord Peter offered me his handkerchief. “I apologize, Lord Peter,” I said somewhat stiffly after blowing my nose. “I can’t imagine what came over me just then.”
His lips curved into a gentle smile and he said, “You don’t have to apologize. I only regret that I forced you to explain something that is obviously still very painful.”
I shook my head. “No, you of all people, I think, were deserving of an explanation.”
At that, he stood and paced away from me, stopping in front of the large fireplace at one end of the room and leaning one arm on the mantle. “I’m not sure I’m deserving of any such consideration from you, Miss Bennet,” he said at last, still facing away from me.
Taken slightly aback, I didn’t have anyway to respond to that, and when I didn’t answer, he turned around and said, “I cannot forget my behavior towards you since we have met; it has been unforgivable. My only possible excuse is that I have been under such stress, trying to recoup my losses in my investments and at my properties and, I admit, from my inexcusable gambling at Reggie’s party. I have been an absolute pillock about everything, especially everything related to Landrey Manor. The night after the theatre, in your library--“
“I’d rather not discuss it, Lord Peter,” I said, interrupting him. “I’ve already forgiven and forgotten it, and I’d rather it stays that way.” I paused and looked down at the handkerchief twisted in my hands. “What I really don’t understand, though, is why you don’t just tell your parents what happened. Your mother said that--“
“You talked with my mother about this?” he exploded. “You told my mother that I had sold the estate?”
“I didn’t tell her anything of the sort,” I responded coldly, offended. “We discussed it in the broadest of terms. But what I was saying was that she said all you had to do was talk to your father about it, and everything would have been fixed.”
He laughed bitterly. “It’s not that simple, Miss Bennet.”
“I don’t see why,” I said. “Just tell him the truth.”
“Tell him the truth?” he echoed incredulously, pacing across the room. “This coming from one whose every word is a lie. And you’re telling me to tell the truth?”
A charged silence, thrumming with unvoiced rage, descended as his words echoed through me, sparking a wave of anger that began to course through my blood. A surge of renewed fury drove me to my feet as he came towards me, his expression one of astonished regret. “Miss Bennet--“ he began.
Unable to listen to another apology, I turned away and began to make for the door, but he laid a hand on my arm to detain me, spinning me back towards him.
The next sound that filled the air shocked both of us, and the silence that followed it was heavily oppressive. My stunned gaze traveled from my hand to the spot on his cheek where an angry red flush was already starting to form, and I felt the shame at the violence I had done him begin to blossom inside me.
“Lord Peter, I--“ I croaked at last.
“No, madame,” he said in a stiff voice. “It is I who should apologize. You have every right to think ill of me and my behavior, and I can only beg your forgiveness for my words. I shall leave you to your music. I apologize again for intruding.”
And without another word, he went past me out the door. I stood there for a moment longer, still slightly dazed by everything that occurred. I felt suddenly drained and very tired, and turning on my heel, I fled to the solace of my room, where I sank down upon my bed and, with a heavy heart, fell asleep.