Amberley Chronicles Boxset I: The Impostor Debutante My Last Marchioness the Sister Quest (Amberley Chronicles Boxsets Book 1) (33 page)

Chapter 29

As the only person at the Hall who could effortlessly communicate with Mme Fourrier, Celia was requested as interpreter at least once daily. Her visits to the nursery, sporadic before the new arrival, were becoming a pleasant part of her daily routine. She now went there every morning right after breakfast.

This summer interlude could not go on forever; she had a home of her own to return to. Her grandmother missed her, although they had devised a way to exchange letters that could not easily be traced. It was outrageous that such stratagems were even necessary. The last letter from Mr. Beecham had alarmed and angered Celia; if her father got his hands on her breweries, he would soon run them to the ground. Educated as a gentleman, with no other profession than the military, he had no idea of the principles of sound management.

As she built castles of wooden blocks with Charlotte’s brood, Celia wondered about the little boy, only slightly younger than Roger Ellsworthy, who was her brother in the eyes of the law. Simeon now had to live with a man who was his father in name only. The best the child could hope for was to be ignored, but what kind of existence was that for a young and vulnerable boy? Roger adored his father, and was adored in return. But then the Ellsworthy children were fortunate in all respects. She herself had lost her beloved mother to pneumonia when she had been seven, and later lived for several years with an indifferent father she only saw on rare occasions.

Did little Simeon have a father who loved him, perhaps, who had to watch helplessly as his woman and child were reclaimed by a man who had callously left five years earlier? Only Mrs. Conway would know. All her wealth was useless against the law, which deemed her and her child the chattel of her husband. That law was iniquitous. Why had so many generations of intelligent women not done anything to change it?

Of course that would only be possible with the help of their menfolk, and most of those would see such changes as being against their own interests. Just as the wealthy were reluctant to allow poor men to vote, even those same poor men would resist letting their wives and daughters do so. The whole world was unfairly set up, and it was hard, even for her, so find a lever for change.

Whatever she wanted to accomplish in her lifetime, it could be done more easily with a supportive partner and spouse, one whose own position allowed him to assist her, and not feel threatened by her brains and energy. What would her ideal family life be like?

It was evident to Celia that the principles of sound management so essential to any successful business also applied to families. Constant attention, scrupulous honesty, foresight, diligence, thrift, careful delegation to trustworthy individuals… Trust and affection, over and above the requirements of commerce. Sufficient capital would ease any enterprise, but was in itself no guarantee of success. Was love another kind of capital, and if so, could it be squandered, mismanaged, until if finally ran out? She had heard of such cases, but the Ellsworthy family proved that it was possible to keep a healthy surplus of that most essential commodity.

She watched Monique stand and take a cautious step forwards, clinging to her nurse’s hand. How sad that the girl’s mother was not alive to share this moment. Was health yet another form of capital? That some people had a much better constitution than others meant they were blessed with a larger amount of it, yet a sudden catastrophic loss was still possible, for anyone, at any time.

“Mademoiselle,” Mme Fourrier interrupted her speculations, “could you ask Nanny Mickling if I there is some white thread and a needle somewhere available, that I could use?” Celia’s ability to understand the nurse had created a bond between the two of them. Mme Fourrier had told Celia all about Monique’s life in France, the magnificence of Alphonse’s castle, the possibly villainous Comte, the wet-nurse’s argument with the Marquise and the arduous journey.

“Certainly,” Celia said, and relayed the request to the English nanny, adding, “How is the child fitting in here?”

“The little French Miss? She’s smaller than any of our children were at her age, but she’s doing fine, I believe.”

“Yes, like a pony among horses, but none the worse for all that,” her assistant agreed. “She certainly has a healthy appetite.”

“She’s not a Miss but a Lady, as much as Lady Verena,” Celia pointed out to the nannies. “Her father is a Marquis, a higher rank than Earl. She’ll be a great lady when she grows up.”

“Hard to imagine at this moment,” the older nanny said, while Monique took another couple of steps, her legs wide apart for stability. Releasing her nurse’s hand she tottered towards Celia, who deftly caught her as she was beginning to fall. She weighed very little. The child immediately squirmed, determined to continue her exercise, and managed to take three steps before Mme Fourrier caught her. Celia observed that the nurse’s eyes had a suspicious sheen, and congratulated her, in French, on the child’s progress.

The girl needed a mother as well as a nurse, though she was lucky in the latter. If Alphonse – the Marquis, she quickly corrected her thoughts – was inclined to punish or dismiss Mme Fourrier, she would have to make him see reason.

What was she thinking? He was a nobleman, a foreigner, a spoilt aristocrat, over a decade older than Celia. They had only known each other for a very short time. Did she really believe she had that kind of influence on him?

Well, if she didn’t, she’d still give it a good try. She might only imagine it, but there had been a special sympathy and easy understanding between them from the first. Was it only one-sided?

+++

Rook lost no time in visiting his father when he arrived in town, and listened to his sire’s reproaches, and an exhaustive description of the rumours concerning Minerva and him, with a stony expression.

“Thank you for telling me, Father. I am surprised that society could believe such foolish lies about Lady Minerva, who is a most virtuous and estimable young lady.”

“Then you’ll marry her? It is getting time. I’d like to see my first grandson while I’m still able to set him on his first horse.”

“Lady Minerva and I decided to remain friends, we will not be marrying,” Rook quickly quashed that hope. “I shall marry when I find the right lady, somtime next year. That is unimportant now. Our honour, as well as Lady Minerva’s, demands that we do not let such lies stand. I suppose most people have gone to their country estates by now, but is there some social event tonight, where I can try to stifle this talk?”

“You know that is impossible, but at Lady Menzies’ rout you could find as nice a collection of gossips and rogues as are still left in town at this time. I was not planning to go, myself.”

“I will go in your stead, then. Please excuse me now, I have much to do.”

+++

Rook looked forbidding as he was announced at Lady Menzies’ rout, and his unexpected late arrival immediately drew all eyes to him. There was a noticeable change in the level of conversation, as of an indrawn breath, and two seconds of silence, before the noise resumed at added volume.

Before he had moved ten steps after greeting his hosts, he was encircled by at least twelve people. “Rook!” his cousin David Nottlebrough cried. “What a coincidence, we were just talking about you!”

Had David always been this lacking in both tact and brains? Rook assumed his most supercilious expression, one that came naturally enough to him. “Do tell me what was being said, Cousin.”

A dozen pairs of eyes swivelled between him and his hapless cousin. “Err, wondering where you could be, old fellow. You left town so very suddenly.”

“Almost everyone does so at this time of year,” Rook said in a deliberately bored voice. “I attended a house party in Sussex. But I fail to understand why that could be of interest to anyone else.”

“You had been in determined pursuit of Lady Minerva,” David went on with a wink. “Did you finally catch her?”

“I beg your pardon? Is that any way to speak of a lady?”

One of the ladies standing in the crowd around them laughed sarcastically. “Oh, we already know she is not with you, Lord Molyneux. Lady Minerva has evidently preferred to be reunited with the father of her secret child.”

Everyone turned to stare at her, mouths open. Rook was startled as well, but recovered quickly enough to ask, “Lady Ernest, have you taken leave of your senses?”

“She admitted it to me, and I saw the child with my own eyes. Half naked, in her lap. And now we know why her season was
really
put off for a year. The state mourning was just a convenient excuse, I daresay.”

“You are slandering a lady who is all that is good and virtuous,” Rook interrupted this nonsense in a hard voice. “Whatever you may claim to have seen, Lady Minerva is staying with her brother James and her sister-in-law at their Sussex estate.”

Lady Ernest Frobisher was not so easily cowed. “How very gallant of you, to defend the lady under the circumstances. I prefer to believe the evidence of my own eyes.” A wave of tittering followed her pronouncement.

Calm
, Rook cautioned himself. He had to remain calm, or all was lost. He kept his voice cold and cutting. “If you were a gentleman, Lady Ernest, I would challenge you to a duel, and may yet do so with any man who dares to repeat your words. You malign an innocent lady who has never harmed you, for reasons that completely escape me.”

There was a pause, as the witnesses looked uncertainly between him and Lady Ernest.

“The child we saw did not look at all like Lady Minerva, I thought,” Annis Frobisher spoke up, to everyone’s surprise. “And she never said it was
her
child, Mother. She said it was the daughter of the Marquis de Ville-Deuxtours.”

Rook forced a light laugh. “There you are then. I have seen the child in question, she is the legitimate daughter of Alphonse and his late wife Louise-Henriette, as blue-blooded as any of us here. I believe the family was ancient by the time of the Crusades. Please don’t spread your outrageous theories any further, Lady Ernest, they could harm to an innocent, motherless child. Surely you would not want that.”

“Um – well – “, Lady Ernest was on the back foot, and everyone could see it.

“I am glad to know the truth, at any rate,” Lady Maxwell, an older woman, said. “How is Lady Minerva doing, Molyneux? Will she accept one of her suitors soon?”

“That is entirely up to her,” Rook said. “Whoever she accepts will be a most lucky man.” He bowed lightly, ironically, and moved away from the group with unhurried steps. Appearing in society often required acting, and though he could do it as well as anyone, it was not to his liking.

When he got around to choosing a wife, he would not look to these worldly and bored circles. A simple, unspoiled girl - yes, a good-hearted young woman who did not delight in destroying reputations just for fun, would be best. A momentary vision of red hair and laughing blue eyes rose before his eyes and was quickly banished.

He saw an old friend and stopped for a short talk. His work tonight was by no means done; malicious gossip was like a weed that sprang up the more vigorously elsewhere, after you eradicated one spot. 

Behind him, the level of noise was still growing by the minute.

Chapter 30

The Ellsworthy ball was a great success, even without the French Marquis. Rook had come down from London and danced the first dance with Charlotte, and later with Minerva and Celia, as well as several girls from the neighbouring gentry, who greatly appreciated this condescension. Several were on the verge of falling into hopeless infatuation. He had moreover brought his father, and the presence of an actual duke in the neighbourhood was sensational enough to ensure the success of the ball, no matter how surly his demeanour. After all there were fewer than thirty dukes alive in the whole British Isles.

Yet even his Grace was merely an additional embellishment, and the fairy tale setting Charlotte’s hard work had achieved was all she had hoped for. Small glittering lights twinkled among the blooming rose trellises, and bigger lanterns had been hung on the branches of the oak trees. Underneath, round tables seating six each were as beautifully laid and decorated, as in the finest London household. Each  stiff white napkin was folded into the shape of a swan, and the heavy silverware reflected the light of wax candles amidst artfully arranged small bouquets of roses.

The outdoor dining area was close enough to the French windows of the ballroom that the music provided by the orchestra of twelve musicians was clearly audible, but not so loud as to impede conversation.

Ladies proudly showed off their most elegant gowns and jewels, and the gentlemen rivalled them in elegance.

“May I ask for the supper dance, my lady?”

The familiar voice caused Minerva to turn quickly, as she was standing with a group of guests between dances. “Mr. Beecham! I am happy you were able to come down after all. From what Miss Conway told me, you have been very busy.”

“I would not have missed this ball for the world,” Beecham declared. “Dancing with you would complete my happiness.”

She had kept the supper dance open for him, but could hardly tell him so in front of the other guests. “By a strange coincidence, the supper dance is the only one that is still available. I look forward to it. Do you know everyone – may I introduce –” The evening wore on, and the supper dance came quickly enough. It was a waltz. Securely held in Mr. Beecham’s arms, Minerva whirled across the floor. They passed Charlotte dancing with James, and Celia with Rook, arguing about something or other even now. The speed of the dance was exhilarating, and some of the older guests were puffing already.

“I have thought about our last discussion in London every day,” she said in a low voice as they were sweeping into a turn. Where had a solicitor learned to dance this well? “Do you still feel as you did then?”

“I love you,” he said, pitching his voice so none of the other dancers could overhear. “No matter how hopeless, I have given up fighting against it. If fate wants me to languish for you, so be it. A single smile from you is enough to lighten my dreariest day.”

“And do you expect this state to continue, or will it pass?” She followed him effortlessly.

“My nature is constant,” he said. “But forgive me, Lady Minerva, why this interrogation?”

“Surely a smile is not all you want from me? What about a kiss, for instance? This warm summer night seems made for kissing in a rose garden.” His lips were well-defined, neither too thin nor too thick. Would he kiss as well as he danced? Minerva was determined to find out before much longer. With fascination she saw a vein rapidly pulse in his neck.

“Don’t toy with me, I beg of you.” There was almost a growl in his voice now. “Do you have any idea what it is like to have one’s heart’s desire within reach, and then snatched away? If you are not serious… but you would not be so cruel.” He searched her eyes, his own very dark and intense.

“No, I am not a cruel person, at least usually.” She smiled at him, trying to lighten the moment. “But I like a bold man, who does not put himself down, and reaches for what he wants. Who is willing to fight for it, against anyone who says him nay.”

“If you gave me the right, I would fight the devil on your behalf,” Beecham vowed. “Just say the word, though it seems inconceivable that a lady of your beauty and standing would want me as her husband.“

“It is not inconceivable to me.” Minerva looked steadily at him as they danced. “These last few weeks have led me to understand that the competition for the highest title is an empty sport, and the society in which I have moved in the past no better than any other. A man who truly loves me is worth more to me than a high position. I shall remain a lady in any case, even if I marry a commoner. Besides, don’t pretend that you are not a gentleman, or unable to support a wife.”

“Well, as to that, Lady –“

“Call me Minerva, please. Surely we are beyond titles at this point.”

“Minerva,” he repeated slowly. “What happiness to be given the right to call you thus! As you have surmised, I am well able to maintain a wife and family in comfort. In the past few years I have made a number of successful investments, and do not depend solely on my work as a solicitor. It was my plan to try for a political career eventually, which impelled me to put aside a large part of my capital.”

“A member of parliament?” Minerva grinned. “This is perfect. Amberley can give you the seat that is opening up shortly.”

“But your brother James might want to take it –“

“I doubt he’ll care to. In any case, if not that seat, there are plenty of others. So I may end up as a political hostess after all.” She shook her head with a smile. “What about that kiss now, before everyone else leaves the dance floor and the garden becomes crowded?”

“You are quite certain, Minerva?”

“I’ll answer that after I see how you kiss.”

“You are a rogue. I had no idea.”

“Prepare yourself for many more surprises, Henry.” It felt odd, yet right, to use his first name. His happy smile reassured her that she was doing the right thing, even as he deftly pulled her outside the open French window to the terrace. Arm in arm, unhurriedly they walked in the direction of the rose garden, as though trying to reach to the lavish supper buffet early. The delights Minerva had in mind were of a quite different kind, and proved even more delicious and exciting than she had imagined.

“You realize,” Beecham said after they had kissed for the fourth time, in a manner that would have been shocking had they not just become engaged, “that it is too late to back out now – after tasting this joy, I am never going to let you go.”

“Who wants to back out? On the contrary, I would prefer an early wedding, so that we can explore the other stages that still remain forbidden.”

“Ah.” He turned serious. She loved to see that passionate seriousness on his handsome features, and lightly passed her hand through his brown curls. “You are under age. Nineteen, I believe?”

“Yes, I shall not be twenty-one for another twenty months. I do not want to wait that long.”

“No, indeed. Who is your guardian?”

“My brother George, the earl. He will surely give his consent, if I tell him my happiness depends on it, but who knows when he’ll be back from Constantinople. We have to wait for his return, since he will want to give me away. And in the meantime all those rumours will die down, I hope. I would hate
you
to be embroiled in them.”

“We should in any case write to Lord Amberley immediately.”

“James and Charlotte will advise us how best to go about it,” Minerva said optimistically. “Mother and Jennifer will not like it, but they have no right to prevent us.”

They kissed again. “If anyone does try to come between us, we could always marry in Scotland, as you have been advising Celia to do,” Minerva said. “And we needn’t have a vulgar Gretna Green wedding, either. My brother has a castle in Scotland that is traditionally used for wedding trips in the family. Only James and Charlotte went to Cornwall instead.”

“We’d better tell James and Charlotte right away,” Beecham said. “Until they know, and hopefully approve, I will not feel easy. But your sister’s approval, or your mother’s, I hardly care about. My own family will be overjoyed, but rather intimidated by you and your connections.”

Minerva hooked her arm in his, as she planned to do many, many times yet during their joint lives. “You can tell me all about them over supper. People are coming towards the buffet. Show me how you can fight for me there, Henry.”

“I will not fail you, my lady.” His joyful expression warmed her heart. “Come, love.”