A Woman's Estate (21 page)

“How lovely you look, Griselda!” Abigail exclaimed as she
came in.

“Lovely!” Hilda screeched. “She looks like an old woman.
She—”

“No,” Abigail interrupted firmly, “she looks like a very
handsome
young
woman—not a girl, but a young
woman
. That dress is
my gift to Griselda. I like it. And in any case, it is too late for her to
change. The carriage is already waiting, and I do not choose to be late to a
dinner at which I am the principal guest.”

“I am Griselda’s mother,” Hilda screamed. “I know what is
right for her.”

Abigail raised her brows. “And I am the mistress of Rutupiae
Hall until Victor brings home a bride. I am now going out to the carriage. You
may come with me, you may walk to Stonar Magna, or you may miss the dinner. The
carriage will not wait for Griselda to change, nor will I permit it to come
back for you. And I will not take you without her. A mother who knows what is
best for her daughter would not
think
of leaving her if she ‘felt too
ill’ to attend a party in honor of her sister-in-law.”

Chapter Fourteen

Having said she was leaving for the party, Abigail turned
and suited the action to the words, abandoning Griselda to what­ever fate she
chose for herself. Before she had reached the front door, Griselda was beside
her. The girl’s face was pallid, and her eyes wide and blind with terror. She
marched forward as if she were going to her execution—but she went. However, in
her agitation she had left the door to the drawing room open, and a screech
like that of an outraged harpy followed her out. Griselda jerked as if she had
been hit. Empson flung open the front door, and Abigail propelled Griselda
through it and into the carriage, but she did not give the order to start the
horses. As a businesswoman, Abigail had a fair acquaintance with bullies, and
she knew that it was characteristic of them not only to torment those weaker
than themselves but to knuckle under to those stronger.

True to her expectations, the door had hardly closed when
Empson opened it again to tell the coachman to wait, and only a few minutes
later Hilda herself came out and was helped into the carriage. Of course,
Abigail had not looked far enough ahead. She had not had to live with the
bullies she had successfully confronted over business matters. One advantage
had been gained. Hilda’s wrath was so completely directed at Abigail that
Griselda escaped entirely. Fortunately, arrival at Stonar Magna stopped Hilda’s
ti­rade, but her furious glare was fixed on Abigail as they entered to face
their host and hostess, who both exclaimed in surprised pleasure over
Griselda’s appearance.

As they offered their formal welcome, Arthur glanced once
more at Griselda, who was edging away from them, then looked at Abigail, and
seemed to choke on his next remark. Although Violet had been equally surprised
by Griselda’s appearance, she was no more than well pleased by Abigail’s, since
it did not arouse in her the sexual response it woke in her frustrated son.
Acutely, she guessed at the cause of Hilda’s thundercloud appearance, and
throwing herself bravely into the breach, she managed to engage Hilda in
conversation for several minutes, even involving her in greeting the next group
of guests to arrive.

By then, Griselda had disappeared into the drawing room, but
from the corner of her eye Violet saw Leonie and Roger St. Eyre together with
Lord and Lady Kevern, who had arrived only a moment earlier, advancing with
obvious purpose on Abigail. Violet cast her eyes up to heaven in silent prayer
but without much hope.
Damn
Hilda, she thought. If it had not been for
her, she could have warned them to stay off American politics. Now the fat was
going to be dumped into the fire.

“So you are the American,” Leonie cried, immediately proving
Violet’s worst fears to be true. “
Alors
, but I am glad to meet you! You
will tell my Roger the
États-Unis
is not a greedy beast seeking to
swallow Canada.
C’est vrai, n‘est pas
?”

“That is not a civil greeting, Leonie,” Roger remarked,
laughing. “One does not say one is glad to meet a person because of that
person’s nationality. It implies one would not care for the person if her
background was different, and I will tell you that I would be glad to meet Lady
Lydden no matter from what country she came.”

“Lecher,” Leonie whispered, quite audibly. “Keep your hands
off or I will scratch out your pretty blue eyes.”

“Leonie, you will drive me mad!” Roger exclaimed. “Is this a
time and place for such foolery? Poor Lady Lydden—”

Abigail’s attention was drawn away from whatever else Roger
was about to say by a gentle hand laid on her arm.

“Do please forgive my foster parents.” The voice was as soft
as the touch, and Abigail turned toward a beautiful silver-blond woman. “I am
Sabrina Moreton, and this is my husband, Perce. I suppose I should have said
Lord and Lady Kevern, but I would be glad if you would call us Sabrina and
Perce. I want to assure you that despite all appearances to the contrary, my
cousin Leonie and her husband, Roger, are
not
quarreling.”

“Oh, I knew
that
,” Abigail said, smiling at Sabrina.
“If I looked a trifle dazed, it was because your cousin seemed so approving of
my being born in America. Everyone else regards it as if it were a rather
unmentionable disease.” She turned the smile on Leonie. “Is…how do I address—?”

“You call me Leonie, or Lady Leonie, and Roger just Roger or
Mr. St. Eyre if you wish to keep him at arm’s length—but I see already there is
no need. Dear Arthur will protect you. As to why I am Lady and he not Lord, it
is a long story, not now worth telling. And you understand, I am sure, that it
is not only for being American that I am glad to meet you. You are very
beautiful and,” Leonie winked broadly at her, “you are cleverer than most
pretty women. Nor, I must tell you at once, am I a republican. Not at all! I
say
pouf
to a silly government where each two years they change the head
of state.”

“Every
four
years,” Abigail put in quickly as Leonie
paused to take breath. “It is the representatives, those who sit in what is
like the House of Commons, who are elected every two years!”

“You see,” Leonie said triumphantly, looking from Roger to
Perce, “I said she was not a fool, this one, that she would know more than the
inside of her kitchen and drawing room.”

“Yes, well, I agree,” Perce put in blandly, “but I think we
should stop blocking the passage and go into the drawing room. And if you would
stop talking for five minutes, Leonie, you might even get the answers you
want.”

“The perfect diplomat,” Sabrina murmured, touching her
husband’s hand affectionately as they moved into the drawing room.

Momentarily recalled to a concern for Griselda, Abigail
looked around for her and discovered that she had taken refuge beside Bertram,
who seemed to have kindly drawn her into conversation. Relieved of
responsibility, at least temporarily, Abigail returned her attention to
Sabrina’s remark.

“I understand,” she said, “that it is a necessary skill for
a diplomat to know when to use a feather and when a hammer.”

The blank stare, which had made Abigail wonder how so
exquisite a woman as Sabrina had come not only to marry but clearly to love a
man who looked to be not much better than an idiot, focused on her for a brief
flash. In that instant, Abigail recognized the keen intelligence behind what
she now realized was a carefully cultivated vacuity of expression.

“That’s very true, Lady Lydden,” Perce drawled. “Odd thing
for a woman to say, though.”

“That is an even odder thing for
you
to say,” Abigail
riposted. “You cannot tell me your wife or Lady Leonie do not know as much or
more.”

“Certainly,” Perce agreed promptly. Then he added with
extreme gravity, “Have to say it, even if it weren’t true, you know. In their
presence, you know. Get my ears pinned back for implyin’ they were ignorant.”

Abigail sputtered into laughter while both Leonie and
Sabrina accused Perce of having a depraved and evil sense of humor. He had
spoken so seriously that all of them had given him their full attention, not
realizing he was teasing until the whole statement had been made.

But before the rest of them had quite finished laughing,
Leonie cocked her head at an inquiring angle and asked, “
Mon vieux, appeler
un chat un chat
. Why do you try to draw us from the topic of America?”

“
Belle mère
,” Perce replied with good-humored
exasperation, “it is impossible to do anything
but
call a spade a spade
in your presence. The answer is, I do not know, but when you spoke, I saw an
expression on Violet’s face that said this was a subject that should be
avoided.”

“That’s because of me,” Abigail offered.

Apologies immediately flowed from all her companions, who
assured her that they knew she was not really American but a British subject
from a respectable, landed family.

Abigail laughed. “I am not sensitive about being called an
American. That is not why Violet did not wish the subject raised.” Having
stopped, she realized she had said both too much and too little and could not
let the matter rest there. “I-I lose my temper,” she added, and then shrugged
helplessly. Seeing she had only made matters worse, she finished defiantly, “I
may be British, but I do not approve of the British position or of many of
their actions in this war.”

“You do not think we should fight Bonaparte?” Roger asked
neutrally.

“Bonaparte? What has Bonaparte to do with the war?” Abigail
caught their amazement and shook her head. “I meant the American war.”

“It was not of our making,” Roger said quietly.

Abigail opened her mouth, and then closed it and smiled with
great deliberation. “It is a silly subject. Instead, let me say how very
pleased I am to have this opportunity to meet you. Arthur has mentioned all of
you, and do forgive me for not asking sooner, you must see that I tend to get
carried away, I wish you would call me Abigail instead of Lady Lydden. Having
been called Mistress Lydden for so many years, I feel rather a usurper—and
besides, every time you say Lady Lydden, Hilda looks at us.”

“My,” Sabrina commented with admiration, “that was almost as
masterly as one of Perce’s divagations. Did you promise Violet not to discuss
the American war?”

“Now that is very wise if you are going to talk to Angela
Vernon or Mrs. Basingstoke,” Leonie put in, nodding approvingly. “They would be
shocked and angry if you did not wave the flag and cheer for any tactic that
would reconquer what they still think of as the rebel colonies.”

“This is assuming they realize either that the so-called war
of liberation is over or that there is a new war going on with America,” Roger
put in with a shrug.

Leonie frowned at him and made a shushing gesture. “In
fact,” she continued, turning back to Abigail, “they would doubtless call
you
a rebel and most likely cut you dead the next time they saw you. But you need
not worry about us,
ma petite
. Not that we will agree with you.
Pas
du tout
. Perhaps we will even shout at you, but we will love you all the
better for speaking your mind and never, never cut you dead.”

“Does it not occur to you, my beloved Leonie,” Perce said
with a grin, “that what Violet might have been trying to avoid was a shouting
match about the American war in her drawing room? I would imagine the argument
must surely apprise just such persons as Angela Vernon, who is entering the
room, and others of her ilk of Abigail’s unpopular opinions.”

“
Bien sûr
,” Leonie agreed. “Do you think I am such a
fool as to shout at Abigail in Violet’s drawing room? I will take her home with
me or visit in her home if I wish to scream at her.”

There was a moment of silence in which Perce and Roger both
smiled fondly at her, and then Lady Vernon reached them and was introduced. She
obviously knew Abigail’s background, but Roger’s remark about her seemed well
deserved, for her conversation with Abigail did, indeed, smack of the
sophisticate condescending to the poor little colonial. Mrs. Basingstoke was
more of the same. Neither, as Roger had implied, seemed to realize that America
had become an independent nation or that the Americans were at war with the
British. They commented unfavorably on American fashions and manners and
required Abigail to agree that she was relieved and delighted by her removal
from the wilderness. Violet had followed them, but she quickly abandoned
Abigail to divert Hilda from joining Bertram and Griselda when she saw that
Abigail was struggling with mirth rather than temper.

Fortunately, before she disgraced herself, Lady Vernon and
Mrs. Basingstoke were replaced by Mrs. Cowper and Lady Walters. These two
ladies were even more removed from any scenes of life larger than those in
their dressing rooms and nurseries, but Abigail found no difficulty in talking
about clothing and children, although from time to time she cast a brief,
longing glance at the Keverns and St. Eyres. But they, too, were engaged in
small talk. Perce, Roger and Arthur had tried to coalesce, but they had been
reprimanded and driven apart to do their duty now that all the guests had
arrived.

Dinner was soon served and partial relief from boredom was
at hand, for, as guest of honor, Abigail was seated at Arthur’s right hand.
Unfortunately, protocol seated Hilda at his left and Lord Vernon on Abigail’s
other side. The time Arthur was able to devote to her was delightful, although
obviously he could say nothing about their trip to London at the dinner table.
Nonetheless, a brief glance and touch said enough. Abigail knew the
arrangements had been made. She felt herself flush slightly with excitement,
just as she was required to turn to her other partner. This move left her time
to think. It was not that Lord Vernon neglected to give her his attention.
Indeed, he seemed ready to devote all his time to her, but as his interest was
exhibited solely by trying to look down her dress to see what little the
garment did not reveal, Abigail found him somewhat heavy at hand.

But when Violet gathered her ladies to leave the men to
their wine, the worst was over. Abigail knew she was approved, there was a word
and smile for her from all the ladies, but most of them clearly found her less
interesting than their cronies. The usual cliques gathered, with Violet moving
from one to the other for a few tactful words, but Sabrina and Leonie came
directly to Abigail.

Sabrina said softly, “Would you mind telling me what you
know about the war, Abigail? Perce and I expect to be returning to Russia soon
as part of the embassy there. Do you know the name Count Rumiantsev?”

“Indeed I do,” Abigail replied. Could the mission the
Keverns were to go on be related to the mediation of peace by the Russians
despite what Arthur had said? “He is the Russian chancellor and has proposed
that the tsar try to find terms of agreement to end the war.”